The scent hit him first.

Blood—your blood—sharp and coppery, thick in the air like a warning. Gyutaro’s sickle dug into the rooftop tile as he froze, pupils contracting into slits.

Someone had touched you. Hurt you.

He dropped from the rooftop like a viper, landing hard enough to crack stone beneath his feet. The alley was dim, cluttered with broken crates and the scent of rot, but his eyes only searched for one thing.

And then he saw you.

Slumped against the wall, clutching your side, blood seeping through your fingers. Your breathing was ragged, uneven. Your eyes met his—wide, terrified—but not of him.

Of whoever did this.

Gyutaro’s whole body twitched.

“Who,” he rasped, voice barely human. “Who did this to you?”

You tried to speak, but he was already moving. The scent was still in the air—a demon’s scent. He followed it like a hound on the hunt, his rage boiling over until it blurred the world around him.

The other demon barely had time to react.

Gyutaro didn’t speak. Didn’t warn. He tore through flesh and bone with his sickles like they were paper. Blood sprayed the alley walls, hot and fast. The other demon screamed, begged, tried to run—but Gyutaro was pure fury.

“You thought you could touch what’s mine?!” he roared, voice cracking with something deeper than hate—grief. “You think you can lay a hand on her and live?!”

By the time he was done, there was nothing left to recognize.

He returned to you drenched in blood, his chest heaving, eyes wide and wild.

But the moment he dropped to his knees beside you, the rage melted away.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper now. “I took care of it. No one’s gonna hurt you again. I swear it.”

His fingers, usually so deadly, touched your face with a gentleness he gave to no one else.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, “and I protect what’s mine.”

You smiled faintly, even through the pain, as he pulled you into his arms.

For a monster feared by all, Gyutaro was willing to become something even worse… if it meant keeping you safe.