#crestcut

     “ ...We’re lost. “

     It’s a simple statement, and that bitter truth is planted along Yuichiro’s tongue -- seeping through his words as he mutters this undeniable reality. The boy is marred with the callouses of bloodlust -- the scratches of fangs that failed to dig into his carotid artery, yet he remains unfazed. Yuichiro was a warchild who lived through destruction, and let it take him wherever it wanted him to go. However, there are times when this leads to the unknown -- and he’s stuck at a dead end once more in his life. Both he and Shinoa were thrown into battle -- and were now thrown into this polluted world the constantly mocked them, and accompanying them both with its decimation.

     Thus, when he realizes that their unlucky selves have separated from the main convoy -- Yuichiro seems empty, lacking the panic that should have settled into his gut. Even he himself fails to understand why this happens. As his wounds throb with the sting of the undeads’ immorality. Emerald eyes blink once, accepting their horrid reality, before a shaky sigh full of dread wisps past his lips. With an audible clink, Yuichiro firmly jabs Asuramaru into the endless landscape of ruin and soil surrounding them, and seats himself upon a conveniently present steel bar. Perspiration drips from his forehead, both hands clasping tightly along the top of Asuramaru’s handle.

      ❛  Really ? It was so sunny hours ago, though... !  ❜

            “WHY THE CHANGE of heart?”

     “ Oi... Shinoa!! L-Let’s talk this out! “