His feet pounded against the pavement, steps staggered and uneven, near drunken as he wove down the streets. He'd lost his mask ages ago, or minutes ago, he couldn't tell -- but he couldn't see anyway, could barely distinguish the blurred streetlights in front of him while he ran. What was chasing him wasn't important, though he could hear its every step, nearly feel it breathing down the back of his neck.

Blood coated his face, dripping through parted lips as he panted and gasped, each breath torn raggedly from his chest. Though he was pursued, he had only one thought in his mind, a burning mission that dwarfed all of his pain and kept his feet moving even when he didn't think he could: he had to get away from Virgo.

His shoulder bumped into a pole and he screamed, an unnatural sound ripped from the core of him, as it wrenched the wound and stained his jacket further crimson. He stopped, just for a moment, doubled over in pain and nausea, chest heaving, sweat mingling with the blood on his face, when he heard her.

"Leo?" High-pitched, worried, and close. Close, close.

He gripped the pole, moaned when every wound over his body came alive with pain. He pushed off, light blinding him from the back of his eyes, head going light when his steps faltered, crossed. He lifted his arms, though what he was trying to ward away he didn't know, and managed, "Radiant light."

Light pulsed from his palms, weak and flickering, but it died. He hit his knees, chest burning, and his hands clapped against the pavement, biting into the rough surface. Something grabbed a fistful of his hair, wrenched him back, and he whimpered.

"Leo!" It was a scream now, and she was in front of him, eyes wild, fuku covered in blood. His, hers, he didn't know, but he could barely stand to look at her. She moved slowly, as though she was underwater, and her mouth formed words he couldn't understand, but knew by heart.

"No, no, Virgo, don't-" But the world was coming into clarity again, and he saw it, watched the change in her face when her body shook and took on his wounds.

A slash on her forehead. A huge, deep slice to one shoulder, and she was buckling. Blood blossomed on her chest, and his vision was sharp enough now to see the dullness in her eyes, watch her knees give way as she fell.

His hair was wrenched again, and he rose, lunged at the one behind him. The man laughed, a face he couldn't recognize, and drew back his hand, weapon gripped tight. Leo struggled for it, gasped at a knee in his stomach, tried to keep his vision from swimming when he was cuffed upside the head with the butt of the weapon. He staggered back, wheezing the name of his attack, voice catching on the last, when the weapon was thrown --

And the man disappeared, and Leo whipped around, watching the blade slice cleanly between Virgo's breasts. She coughed, blood slicking down her chin, and he screamed, legs buckling when he went for her. She fell, mouth slightly agape, and he crawled to her, fisted his hands in her fuku while he called her name wildly, shook her.

In his quiet house on a quiet street, Grayson Graves woke every single person from a dead slumber by a single, blood-curdling scream. He shook, long after the lights were flicked on, and he cried, brokenly, clinging to his sister as though she were the only thing left in the world that he couldn't stand to lose.

Because he couldn't stand to lose her, and he couldn't stand to have her die in place of him.