You only have time to snatch a quick breath before water erupts around you, pouring into your still shrieking mouth, flinging itself into your eyes. You cough and splutter, gulping down even more. It tastes like tears left out in the cold. Your legs flail as you search for the bottom, more octopus than human.

A domain?

You're freezing, shivering, and as you open your eyes to the murky darkness, you sense another presence in the shadows. Turning your head, you find yourself face-to-face with the Curse. A black horse, with a coat shining like sealskin, its eyes burning like coals in the darkness.

The Curse squeals.

Currents twist around you like a nest of snakes. The water boils and bubbles. The waters are angry, and dark with danger. You can't even swim. The waters are so dark and wild, so strong, that your body is spun and dragged along by the lashing current.

Think, think. You refuse to die like this. Slaughter Demon is tucked away, in the inside pocket of your jacket. With trembling fingers, you pull it out and grasp it in your hands. The weight of the weapon in your hands is reassuring. Prickles scurry up your arms as if the energy contained within the blade seeps into your skin and trammels through your veins.

Your course of action is simple, really. Fight. Exorcise the Curse. Get back to Yuta and Inumaki. You wrap yourself around the same silent mantra, the words repeating and reverberating through you. Fight. Live. Exorcise. Return to Yuta and Inumaki.

Come on, come on. Your lungs begin to burn and scream for air. You know what happens to drowning victims. Burst lungs, a collapsed heart. Your legs kick feebly, but it's like trying to swim in a dream. You know the Curse is near. You know it's only a few feet in front of you. You know it's poised to attack. I'm here. Devour me.

Another squeal.

Two hooves catch you in the chest. You hear a crack, and feel hooked talons sinking into your chest. The water runs red with blood. You open your mouth, screaming soundlessly when the skin and muscle are split apart. The Curse buries its claws deeper into you, and opens its mouth, revealing a maw full of jagged, gleaming teeth. Your vision blurs and you struggle against unconsciousness as pain threatens to overwhelm you.

You can't use your Technique.

Not yet.

Mentally taking a deep breath, you muster all your strength and force your arms to move, lifting the knife in a blindingly swift motion. You strike its face with a series of rapid blade strokes, tearing flesh and crunching through bone. Desperation drives your limbs, working them up into a frenzy. You attack with renewed focus. Your eyes roll white and wild, and your lips are twisted up into what might be a smile, with bared teeth and claws and venom.

You don't feel like yourself.

More unhinged.

Definitely wilder.

The Curse screeches and spends the last of its strength clawing at you, tearing through clothes and flesh. You don't shy away, locked in its fatal embrace. Your body embraces the pain, welcomes it home like an old friend, and you draw on this energy, raining blows down onto the Curse. Your smile never falters.

You stab at it again, and again, until the surrounding waters are blooming with blood.

Splash!

You take a ragged, coughing breath, realising that you can breathe freely. Your body shakes and pain racks you. Waves of exhaustion beat at you as you slip Slaughter Demon back into its sheathe. The domain is gone. The Curse lies beside you, its remains piles of seaweed and foam. Rivulets of water drip from your hair into your eyes. Your uniform has been shredded beyond belief, leaving your bare skin and tender wounds exposed to the cold air. Trying to call out for help is useless; only a croak slips past your lips.

The black swell of unconsciousness threatens to pull you into its depths. Much too exhausted to think about conserving your Cursed Energy, you activate your Technique. You'll never make it back to your friends if you don't. Warm fingers tingle up your spine, and the feeling spreads throughout the rest of your body. You can feel the heat pooling in your chest, and in your belly; you can see the once ruined skin knitting itself back together, feel torn blood vessels and bones and muscle fibres mending.

The warm, buttery glow from your Technique reveals the familiar shapes and silhouettes of the shopping mall. It offers no clues to Yuta and Inumaki's location – only eerie silence. You can't hear sounds of your friends or of battle. You hope this means that they've managed to dispatch the other Curse.

Your skin prickles. You can't shake the feeling of being watched; that itchy, uncomfortable feeling you can't shake.

Given how unsteady your legs feel, you think it a miracle that you're able to walk at all. You're forced to lean heavily on the walls, trying to force your anaesthetized limbs to move in a slow, painful procession. With a regretful sigh, you dispel your Technique, watching the glow fade until you're bathed in the shadows once more. A chill replaces the creeping heat in your limbs as your body registers the dampness of your clothes, still plastered wetly to your skin.

Your calves wobble, and force you to the floor in a wet, crumpled heap. You try to swallow, tipping your head back up to stare at the ceiling. The skylights are still cloaked in darkness. The Curtain hasn't been dispelled. Is Mr Ichiji worried? Your gaze moves, settling on the horizontal beams. A flicker in your vision. Movement. There's a man there. He's much too high up for you to clearly make out his features, but even at this distance, you can feel the pure power and malice he projects. Your stomach twists at the sight.

Who is he?

A small part of your mind warns you that you shouldn't stare at him for much longer, and you hastily drop your gaze back to the ground. A quiet voice whispers to you that something is horribly wrong. That this man, whoever he is, is bad news. You choke on your breath, your body remaining rooted to the ground with fear and a cold foreboding.

You have no idea how long you sit there, in the dark and the quiet, barely moving, barely breathing, when you hear the soft thud of feet against the floor. At first, you think it's a figment of a dream, but then you hear Yuta's voice, calling out your name in a voice fraying apart at the edges.

"Yuta." Then, in a louder voice, you cry, "Yuta!"

"[ NAME ]!"

Oh –

You find yourself wilting back against the wall when Yuta appears, Inumaki several paces behind him. All at once, the dark hallways are less of a menace. Blood seeps from an open wound on his forehead, but other than that, he and Inumaki appear to be unharmed. Yuta drops to his knees, props up your back with sturdy hands, and pushes the wet hair back from your forehead.

"Who did this?"

You've never heard the icy fury in Yuta's voice before. His shoulders are set, his face calm but unyielding as he searches your face intently. You're unable to look away from him. Your own gaze is caught in the dark stormy blue of his eyes, and, unable to speak, you shake your head.

You don't doubt that if you hadn't killed that Curse, Yuta would have done it for you.

"I'm fine." Your voice is a whisper. "Don't look like that. Please."

Reaching out, you touch the skin of his cheek, stroking it with the edges of your fingertips. Your hands are trembling, but you don't want to stop. He's so warm.

"I'm sorry." He says, voice low. "I should have been here."

"It wasn't your fault."

Warmth concentrates in the tips of your fingers as you activate your Technique once more. The gash on Yuta's face closes itself, the blood drying and ebbing away. Your fingers trace the contours of his face until the tension leeches away from his frame, until the frost coating his eyes has melted. Inumaki lingers several feet away, his shoulders hunched in a posture of awkwardness, but he approaches when you beckon him over and motion for him to sit.

You keep your voice low, forcing the words into the still air. Your hands drop back to your sides. "Toge. Yuta. You have to go. Right now."

"Mustard leaf?"

"[ NAME ]?" Yuta searches your face, sees how chalky it is, the tension pinching the corners of your mouth. "What's –"

"Don't say anything more. We're being watched. There's someone else here. He's watching in the upper levels." You haven't forgotten about the man, lingering above you, unseen and out of sight. You aren't sure if he can see you, but you aren't taking any chances. You force a smile to your lips so that the man will be fooled into thinking you're babbling about something silly. "Don't look or he'll know."

"Salmon."

"O-Okay."

Yuta's eyes dart around, searching the shadows for the ears listening, for the eyes always watching. You hope that the man can't hear you, that he's too far away. But you don't fully believe it. You don't want yourself to be proven wrong.

To Yuta's bewilderment, you force out a high, false laugh. "You and Toge have to leave. Find Mr. Ijichi. Call Gojo-Sensei."

Inumaki shakes his head. "Okakka!"

"Shit. The curtain. We can't leave." You chew on your bottom lip, debating. "Fine. Fine. Then you and Toge have to hide."

Yuta bites his lip, before remembering that the three of you are being watched. His smile is frozen to his lips. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to stay here."

"No!"

Yuta's outburst takes you by surprise; his hands grip your shoulders with surprising firmness. You stare at him, your chest constricting. Your pulse is a steady drumbeat, low and hard, that echoes in your ears.

"No. I'm not leaving you."

Yuta's gaze is heavy on yours. Your throat is too tight to speak. You can only nod, and allow him to help you to your feet.