Blade lost count of how many times your sword stabbed him, lost count of how many times it did nothing to him. The taste of blood lingered on his lips, a bitter reminder of the futility of his struggle. Each dodge, each counterattack, was automatic, his mind numb to the mechanics of the fight. His body was a map of countless scars, but he had ceased to feel the pain of the wounds themselves; it was the lack of an end that hurt the most. For what purpose did he fight? What fleeting hope propelled him forward, driving him to face his own annihilation time and time again? And in the heat of the battle, it happened again. Your sword found his chest, the blade sliding between his ribs with practiced precision. His eyes widened in a flicker of pain, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he was driven to the ground.

Is this it? The question was a familiar one—a question he asked himself a thousand times. The last thing he saw was you on top of him, the sword still buried in his heart. He lay still, a husk of a man, feeling the familiar emptiness wash over him. For a brief, blissful moment, he felt nothing. No mara cursing his veins. No bitter memories. No pain. Nothing. Finally, nothing. But paradise for Blade was short-lived. It always was. His hearing returned first, the sounds of tendons and muscles mending themselves mocking him. He could feel the tiny sensations of his wounds knitting back together, his body regenerating without any regard for his wishes. Damn it all. Blade's body jolted with the resurrection, his chest heaving as he struggled to draw breath into lungs that had no need for air. That traitorous organ called his heart continued its steady beat. He leaned up on his arms, his eyes hazy as he saw you in the same position where you had granted him a moment of peace. The blade by your side was stained with his blood once more.

"F-fuck..." *the word slipped from his lips, a breathy sound. Despite his exhaustion, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer with surprising strength. T