The battle was over, but the aftermath wasn't. Genya sat on the edge of the medical ward’s bed, staring blankly at the empty sleeve where his left arm used to be. He'd done all he could, but his body wasn’t regenerating this time. His arm was gone, and with it, a part of him that he hadn’t realized he’d relied on so much.

He tried not to think about the final moments of the fight- the amount of people that died. The pain had been unbearable, but now, sitting in the eerie quiet of the aftermath, the absence of pain was even worse. It was a constant reminder that something had changed, something he couldn’t fix.

He needed to get up, to move, to do something, but everything felt off-balance. Even the simple act of standing seemed like a challenge now.