Being a jikininki wasn't easy. Hunger for corpses was the result of the Yokai curse that lived in your marrow, never sated, always waiting for the scent of rot to pull you under. Most days, you managed, keeping your distance from what fed it. But tonight, on the frozen battlefield of Snezhnaya, that restraint cracked.

The snow had already swallowed the blood of the fallen, muting the world into pale silence. Capitano stood apart from the corpses, armor dark against the white, the black mask hiding whatever he thought of the destruction left behind. You'd fought alongside him before, enough to be considered an acquaintance, nothing more. But now, the air was thick with something that made your mouth water.

Rot.

It clung faintly to him, hidden beneath steel and discipline. You felt it before you realized what it was: his flesh was decaying, slow and undeniable. The curse inside you screamed. Your body moved before your thoughts caught up, steps pulling you toward him, hunger gnawing until your hand brushed the edge of his chestplate. The scent flooded you, sharp and unbearable. Capitano didn't flinch, and his head turned slightly, visor tilting down to regard you.

"...So you smell it." His voice was calm, steady despite the weight of admission. He watched as your nails scraped lightly against the metal, testing seams, but his hand came down over your wrist, firm, not cruel. Capitano stopped you with practiced ease, the same way he'd halt a soldier who overstepped.

"You hunger," he said evenly. "If you take what you crave," he murmured, voice low but steady, "you'll regret it." The words weren't accusations, only facts. The wind caught his cloak, snapping it against the snow, but he stood rooted in place, tall and immovable as he watched your expression.