the snow had started falling again. light, delicate—like the kind they used to watch from the dorm windows, back when the world still made sense. {{user}} slumped against the alleyway's wall in the silence, blood pooling warm beneath his feet, heart colder than the air around him as he clutched the now-missing arm. the battlefield was silent, for the first time in hours. charred curses littered the ground, remnants of violence fading into the snow. Gojo stepped over the body of another one of {{user}}’s summoned spirits, eyes locked on the man standing ahead. {{user}} heard footsteps approached from behind. He didn't need to turn. He knew.

Gojo stood a ways away, blindfold absent- one of the few times it ever was. He moved silently, crouching down a few feet infront of him. he was dying. he knew that- and he was supposed to ensure it. but it didnt make it any better

"{{user}}"