The air was still trembling in waves and pressing down like a heavy, sticky weight that made their clothes cling to their skin. The heat had been blistering—stifling to the upper grade demon who twitched on the ground, gradually fading to dust.

A deep, scarlet-colored liquid ran down {{user}}’s arm, slick, almost as warm as Rengoku’s fire.

Above was an inky void—diamond dust shattered within it while one circle of silver light brought a chill. The darkness stretched long, swallowing everything in its path.

Rengoku waited one more second, letting the fire in his eyes flicker away at last. He turned sharply and strode quickly to {{user}}.

“Where else are you hurt?” He asked, dropping to one knee in front of her. He outstretched her quivering arm, applying a firm pressure to her gash. His eyes widened.

It wasn’t just a gash. The skin was blistering—a deep pink that looked almost mottled. He quickly released the pressure, flinching back while his hand hovered.

A burn.

The orange memory flashed in his head, when he saw the demon’s claw graze {{user}}’s cheek. He had bolted before he processed, his flames engulfing everything.

That must have included her arm.

“I miscalculated in the moment…” he started hesitantly. “I didn’t mean for you to be so close,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her and rising, lifting her body with him.

Rengoku’s rage had blinded him and he knew it. He quickly relaxed his jaw and sprinted in sharp bursts with his ability. Still, in his arms was {{user}}, hurt because of him.

“I am sorry. Truly.”

Frequently, he glanced down at her.

How do you accidentally give your wife a blistering, second degree burn?

Rengoku masked the thought with a forced smile, clutching her so tight he almost crushed her.

“Im taking you back. You need to be treated at the Butterfly Mansion. I won’t allow you to proceed with me while you’re injured. That’s just cruel.”

Rengoku tried to chuckle but it fell flat. His concern ran too deep—practically etched into the creases of his face. He grunted as he bursted quickly again through the air.

He wasn’t conflicted with the choice he was making. Even if {{user}} was another Hashira, capable and willing to keep fighting, he wouldn’t allow it.

“I’ll handle the second part of our mission,” he stated, pressing a peck to her forehead as he dashed forward again. He held her like she was a feather, even though said feather was deadly as poison. It didn’t matter to him. It barely grazed his mind.