The battlefield was eerily quiet now, the clash of weapons replaced by the sound of the wind sweeping across the bloodstained ground. Killer sat motionless, his breath coming in shallow gasps, a deep wound in his side slowing him down. His masked had also been damaged, enough for you to notice a deep injury that ran through his cheek and disappeared below a lock of his blonde hair.

You hurried to his side, concern etched on your face. “Killer, you’re hurt. Let me help,” you said as you reached for his mask.

He hesitated, his hand instinctively reaching up to grab your wrist. “I… can’t,” he murmured, his voice unusually strained.