SATORU DOES NOT miss the fangs in this stranger's mouth, but you must remember something very important: .. in this memory, it is halloween.
He thinks it's kind of cute, in that patronizing way that only someone who is the strongest could be; as if this was some sort of little lost soul, looking up to him. But he's shifting into teacher mode right now, so the cuteness aggression is going to have to be capped for the moment.
"Of course you're my beloved student!" Satoru says, because this is dream logic and dream logic means that this stranger has been his student for more than ten seconds. Another important thing to remember: .. in this memory, students die.
( or. at least he thinks they might. )
And something pulls at Satoru, tells him that this time he can change it, this time he can alter history and protect those who he cares about: he won't mess up this time. His weakness is plain on his sleeve if one cares enough to look.
He sees the flower-curse ahead, and it's deja-vu. He leaps forward, but that weaker curse -- the one with the flames -- darts behind him and ...
"!!!"
Satoru grabs the eye stalks of the flower curse and turns his head around. When did he lose his blindfold? He presses his knees on the curse's chest and tugs.
But not before it shoots something at his new student.
USUALLY ,
ferid was more observant than this. to be apt, a loss of limbs was a strategic choice and he knew it. vampirism, accursed as it was, came with benefits where wounds that would ensure just about anyones mortality were a mere scratch.
the vine pierces him directly through the shoulder — separating socket and joint in the process of it. aged bones strain against foliage & instinctively does ferid go to ' rip ' himself free , yet his body is not compliant. he can see it, from the exit that coiled about himself, that the exposed green was coated with a slimy blood as thick as molasses. the way in which his muscles instinctively restrict themselves was a greater barrier than any to tear his limb off and simply reattach it.
" uh oh ! not good at all !" he laughs, dry, cold. his body would typically burn & loop itself around the intrusion, sizzling itself into a mended wound - but it simply did not. the gaping wound left nothing but red. hand grasps vine and, for reasons unknown to himself, can he push nails through the thickness and cut it with bare grip alone - he still retained his strength. it cuts, and yet it still hangs, lolling from himself. "heeeey, aren't you supposed to be my teacher ? do you let all your students die ?"
at that, he clenches harder around the vine, pulling it out of himself. it's like a wet noodle pulled twixt muscle and bone, allowing it to drop onto the ground with a dull thud. granted his vamprisim, the blood did not gush nor did it spurt, it simply . . . oozed. it oozed, and it was black. it was old, aged and hadn't seen the light of day in some time. that, the carcass he was, embraced far longer ago than gojo had been born had been sat with stillbloodedness in a way that humans simply cannot understand.
ferid windmills his arm, encouraging it to heal. it does not. it makes no motion of it, the only respite being the stilling of his blood as it slowly trickled out. much of himself had been lost in previous fights, to the point he barely had much of the fluid left within him - it had been wasted on mediocre things beneath his time. like his father, like with guren. they had both made him bleed in the past, and yet it was in a more thrilling way than this ever could be.
ferid smiles. "if you let all your students drop dead," and it comes as a very sing-song tune. charming, even, and laced in all his admiration. "then you truly may be my finest teacher yet. do you promise ? to let us all die here ? i mean it, i truly do. not a slight of sarcasm."
until he realizes - its halloween. that's his birthday. he hasn't spent any of those in shibuya. something wasn't quite right.
". . ." it begins to dawn on him that, no, yeah, something truly isn't well. "and to think, you never wished me a happy birthday!"
