Pain was the first sensation Kaito registered. Not the cold, unmaking poison of the blight, but a hot, searing, physical agony that ripped through his shoulder and chest with every beat of his heart. The black river roared in his ears, a torrent of icy, fast-moving water that tried to tear Aiko from his grasp. He held on, his grip an iron band on her harness, the physical tether the only thing that mattered in the chaotic, lightless world.
She was unconscious, a dead weight in his arms. He kicked, fighting the relentless current, his Kamaitachi-enhanced strength warring with the searing pain from his wound. He could feel warm blood pouring from his shoulder, mixing instantly with the freezing water. Kuroda's attack had been precise. It hadn't just been a magical strike; it had been a physical one, aimed to sever arteries, to kill.
She pulled it out.
The thought echoed in his mind, a single point of clarity in the agonizing, roaring dark. She took the blight into herself. She healed me. He remembered the sensation, that all-consuming, golden, holy fire that had scoured the poison from his soul. He had been ready to die, lost in a cold memory of his mother, and she had dragged him back from the brink with the force of her will.
He had failed. He was her protector, her king, and he had failed. He had let the enemy strike her. And in his failure, he had done the one thing he'd sworn he never would: he'd put himself in the path of the blow, an act of pure, stupid, human instinct.
And in response, she, Aiko, the girl from the convenience store, had saved his life.
The realization sent a new, different kind of fire through his veins. It was not just adrenaline. It was a rage so pure, so profound, that it gave him a second wind. He would not die here. He would not let her die here. He would drag them both back to the surface, and then he would personally, methodically, and painfully tear Kuroda Masamune's world to pieces.
He kicked harder, his body screaming in protest, his only guide the feel of the rough concrete wall against his free hand. The tunnel seemed endless. Aiko's body felt impossibly heavy. His shoulder was a point of white-hot fire, and his strength was fading, the blood loss making him dizzy.
Hold on. Hold on, Aiko.
Just as a black-spotted haze began to cloud his vision, he saw it. A faint, grey, rectangular patch in the absolute darkness ahead. The manhole. The exit. Hope.
He stumbled, his boots finding the concrete ledge of the access tunnel. He fell to his knees, still in the knee-deep water, dragging Aiko with him. He could hear shouting from above, the scrape of metal.
"Sama!" Kenji's voice roared, echoing in the tunnel.
A beam of a high-powered flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the horrifying scene: Kaito, soaked and bleeding profusely, kneeling in the black water, clutching Aiko's unconscious form to his chest.
Kenji was down the ladder in a second, another operative right behind him. They didn't hesitate, splashing into the poisoned water. "Sama, you're hit!"
"Her," Kaito growled, his voice a raw, painful rasp. He shoved Aiko's limp body into Kenji's arms. "Get her out. Now."
"Your shoulder—"
"NOW!"
Kenji recoiled at the sheer, demonic fury in his master's voice. He and the other operative grabbed Aiko, carrying her up the ladder to the safety of the street. Kaito followed, one hand on the rungs, the other clamped over his gushing wound, hauling himself up with pure, agonizing willpower.
He collapsed onto the cold, wet pavement of the alley, the rainy night air a shock to his lungs. Kenji was already ripping open Aiko's dive suit at the neck, checking her vitals.
"She's alive, Sama," Kenji reported, his voice tight with relief. "Breathing. Shallow, but steady. She's just... unconscious. Completely drained."
Kaito let his head fall back against the brick wall, relief washing over him, almost making him pass out. He looked at her. Her face was pale as death in the moonlight, her hair plastered to her skin. The golden, divine light of the Kirin was gone, or at least hidden, her own inner light dimmed to a flicker after the incredible power she had expended. She had spent everything to save him.
"Kenji," Kaito gritted out, the words forced through a jaw clenched in pain.
"Sama, your wound, we have to apply pressure—"
Kaito grabbed his loyal assistant's arm, his grip still impossibly strong, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, cold fire. "Get her in the car. Get Master Jin to my quarters. I want every healer in this clan on standby." He pushed himself to his feet, swaying, his entire left side soaked in his own blood. "She comes first. No one touches me until she is safe. Do you understand?"
Kenji understood. This wasn't just an order. It was a law of nature.
The ride back to the estate was a blur of agonizing silence. Kaito sat in the back, Aiko's unconscious head pillowed in his lap. He held one hand clamped tight against his bleeding shoulder, the other hand gently stroking her damp hair, his gaze fixed on her pale, peaceful face.
They had gone into the darkness as a king and his partner. They had returned as a wounded soldier and the miracle that had saved his soul. The war with the Chinkonshi was no longer tactical. It was, from this moment on, deeply, brutally personal.