Yami sat alone, staring at his reflection in the darkened blade of his scythe. The cave was silent, save for the distant echoes of dripping water. His body ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the emptiness inside him.
Kira was dead.
He had torn her apart in his blind rage. The moment he realized she was nothing more than a shapeshifter, using his sister's face as a disguise, something inside him had snapped. He couldn't even remember how many times he had slashed at her—only that when it was over, there was nothing left but blood and silence.
His hands trembled.
Rei and Lina sat nearby, watching him cautiously. They had seen it all—the way he lost control, how his power surged on its own, how even wounds that should have killed him didn't even slow him down.
"Yami…" Rei finally spoke, her voice softer than usual. "We need to talk about what happened back there."
Yami didn't answer.
Lina hesitated before saying, "You weren't yourself. You—"
"I was myself," Yami interrupted, gripping his scythe tighter. "That was me."
Silence.
Rei and Lina exchanged worried glances, but Yami wasn't in the mood to explain. He didn't need their pity.
He needed answers.
What had happened to him back there? Why did he feel like he was drowning in something far worse than rage?
And more importantly…
Why did it feel like the God of Death himself was whispering to him in that moment?