Useless

Alaric stood at the threshold of the house, his breath shallow as he stared into the empty, darkened room. The air felt heavy, thick with the smell of blood, and his skin prickled with an instinctual unease. The silence was suffocating, unnatural. He'd grown accustomed to a quiet house in the evenings, but this… this felt wrong.

"Yuuta?" he called, his voice breaking the stillness. The sound echoed back to him, hollow and unanswered.

A knot of dread formed in his stomach as he took a hesitant step inside, his gaze sweeping over the room. The faint flicker of a lantern in the corner cast ghostly shadows, and there, slumped against the wall, was a figure—Yuuta.

Alaric's breath caught as he moved closer, his steps faltering. The older man was slouched against the wall, his head bowed, his face obscured by the dim light. But the dark stain that spread across his stomach told Alaric all he needed to know. A knife protruded from Yuuta's abdomen, the blade buried deep, its hilt slick with blood.

"No…no…" Alaric whispered, his voice trembling as he dropped to his knees beside Yuuta's lifeless form. He reached out, his hand shaking as he gently touched the man's shoulder. "Yuuta, please…not you. You were…" His voice cracked, the words catching in his throat. "You were the only one who tried to understand me."

He stared down at the man who had given him a place to stay, who had looked past his strangeness, who had treated him with a kindness he hadn't felt in what seemed like lifetimes. The man who had accepted him, welcomed him into his family, even though he was nothing more than an outsider.

"You didn't deserve this," Alaric whispered, his voice choked with grief. "I should have been here. I could have—" He cut himself off, the words too painful to finish.

His gaze drifted across the room, his heart sinking as he noticed another figure lying just beyond, a few feet away. Kurumi. Her delicate frame was sprawled on the floor, her hand outstretched as if she'd been reaching for something, or someone, in her final moments. The wound stretched from her shoulder to her neck, deep and jagged, staining her once-beautiful kimono with dark, drying blood.

Alaric's vision blurred as he crawled over to her, his hands shaking as he took her hand in his, feeling the coolness of her skin. "Kurumi…" His voice was a whisper, barely audible. "I'm so sorry. You…you didn't deserve this. None of you did."

He held her hand tightly, as if somehow, by sheer force of will, he could bring her back, could undo the horror that had befallen them. But the lifelessness of her gaze, the stillness of her form, was a cruel reminder of the reality he was facing.

He pressed his forehead against her hand, his eyes squeezing shut as tears slipped down his cheeks. "I should've been here. I should've protected you… I should've…"

The house felt colder, emptier, the silence pressing in around him, amplifying his guilt. He thought back to the moments he'd spent with them, the laughter, the warmth. Kurumi's gentle smile as she fussed over him, Yuuta's quiet wisdom as he'd offered guidance, even when Alaric didn't want it. They had been his family. The closest thing he'd had to a family since he'd been reborn into this world. And now, they were gone.

"This is my fault," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I was selfish. I was…" He trailed off, unable to find the words to express the weight of his regret.

He looked around the room, the scattered remnants of the life they'd shared. The small trinkets, the worn furniture, the faded tapestries that Kurumi had taken such pride in. It was all so ordinary, so painfully ordinary, and yet, it was all gone.

As he sat there, holding onto Kurumi's hand, his mind drifted to Mikasa. The terrible story he'd tried to ignore, to pretend wasn't true. Mikasa was supposed to be taken by the men who had killed her parents, to be sold, to suffer a fate he couldn't bear to think about.

"Mikasa…" he murmured, his voice filled with a renewed sense of urgency. "They took her. They…"

He rose to his feet, his gaze steely as he looked down at the bodies of Yuuta and Kurumi. "I promise," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I promise I'll bring her back. I'll come back with her, and I'll bury you both, like you deserve."

With one last, lingering look, he turned and made his way out of the room, his steps heavy with the weight of his grief. The night air was cool as he stepped outside, the silence of the forest pressing in around him. He knew where he had to go, the faraway cabin where the men had taken Mikasa. It was a long journey, dangerous and uncertain, but he didn't care. He would find her, no matter what it took.

As he moved through the trees, his mind filled with images of Yuuta and Kurumi, their faces, their voices, the way they had looked at him with kindness and understanding. He carried them with him, their memory a burning reminder of what he had lost, of what he had failed to protect.

But as he walked, a new resolve began to take root within him, a fierce determination that overshadowed his grief. He would find Mikasa. He would bring her back. And when he did, he would make sure that those who had taken everything from him paid for their actions.

The night stretched on, the darkness thick and unyielding as he made his way through the forest.

As Alaric ventured deeper into the forest, the night air grew colder, the shadows denser, swallowing what little light filtered through the thick canopy above. Every crunch of leaves underfoot echoed in the silence, each step a reminder of the purpose that drove him forward. The pain in his chest was relentless, a mixture of sorrow and fury that churned inside him, yet his path was clear. He didn't know exactly where this cabin was, but he knew one thing: he wasn't going to stop until he found Mikasa.

He gripped his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms as he replayed the faces of Yuuta and Kurumi in his mind. The blood on their bodies, the lives so brutally stolen… It was as though the horror had seared itself into his memory, haunting him with every step.

Suddenly, a voice seemed to echo in his mind, an unwelcome memory from his past life. It was his older brother's voice, comforting and steady, as if somehow reaching out to him across the vastness of time and death. "Sometimes you can't save everyone, little brother. Sometimes, you have to let go."

"No," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper against the night. "I won't let her go. Not Mikasa. Not after all this."

As he pressed onward, his thoughts drifted to the virus. The hunger that had taken over him earlier, the darkness that surged in his veins—it had been powerful, uncontrollable. His fists still bore faint traces of it, a black residue he couldn't shake off, as if the virus itself had left a stain on him. It reminded him of what he was, what he could become if he lost control again.

"I have to keep this in check…" he told himself, his voice barely audible. "I can't let this… thing take over me. Not now."

He moved quickly, pushing through the branches that clawed at his clothes, ignoring the cuts and scrapes that dotted his skin. The forest was a labyrinth of darkness, twisting and turning, but he pressed on. He had to find her. And as the hours passed, his mind fell silent, focused only on the rhythmic beat of his footsteps and the distant memory of Mikasa's face—her quiet, curious eyes, her smile that always seemed just on the verge of breaking through her usual reserved expression.