Chapter Text
The sound of gunshots and screams echoed in the air. It also echoed in Chuuya’s head, made his ears ring. The thunderous noises were what he hated the most in battlefields, but there was nothing he could do about that.
Because of this, Chuuya sometimes preferred shooting practices rather than the battlefield. At least, in practices, he could use earmuffs; here, he could only block out most of it from his mind and hope he didn’t go deaf.
However, shooting wasn’t the most interesting thing to him. Hiding behind a gun and cover, trying to hit your enemy and trying not to be hit, knowing that any hit received could be fatal—those things had their excitement, but they didn’t compare to a hand-to-hand combat.
And that was why Chuuya loved to be at the forefront, why he loved his Ability so much for letting him be in the frontlines and able to leave it unscathed—or, mostly unscathed. Accidents happened, that was true—but when he dashed through the enemy lines and crushed his opponents with his power, when his heart beat so fast that its vibration in his chest could almost rival the gunshots, he felt alive. All others don’t matter while he was in the zone.
He was in yet another raid. One fought against a minor criminal organization that wasn’t really a big deal, but could be exactly that in a few months or so. It was best to cut their fun before they got ahead of themselves.
Chuuya had been in a number of other battlegrounds; he was in his element at the moment. He isn’t exactly one who would search for conflict, but he would be lying if he said he disliked the thrill of a fight.
Bullets flew past his head, one after another, and he used his powers to stop a few of them and to leap so he can dodge the remaining projectiles. To him, it is not that hard, once one got used to it. It’s even easier when one can will oneself to concentrate entirely on the combat.
Being able to focus on every single bullet that came his way, to focus all his senses in staying alive was something Chuuya was proud of. His awareness went up to inhuman levels when he needed to, but when the rhythm of the fight changed, when something foreign entered the scene, he could get off-track too.
Like a flicker of pure white feathers—one that took him by surprise in the middle of a dash, on his way to kick an enemy to oblivion. The bright plumage was so out of place in an otherwise bleak scenery. He lost his focus temporarily, tripped on his feet—something grazed past his head—and ended up falling on the ground comically. He felt a sting of pain on his right temple, but didn’t have time to process it when he needed to get himself out of the suppressing fire from the enemy.
Tripping and falling like that was a low blow to his morale, but nothing he couldn’t remedy by crushing a few skulls.
Chuuya quickly rolled out of the way of the bullets that flew in this direction, vaulting off the ground and finding cover behind a wall. He never noticed his injury, not until the blood got in his eye and started stinging. The redhead cursed and used the back of his wrist to hopefully wipe away the irritant, only to find it sullied vermillion after.
“They have a sniper, sir!” a subordinate shouted in his communicator.
“No shit, Sherlock,” he growled back in annoyance.
So that’s what shot past him. That was a close call with a sniper round. He could’ve been dead by now.
Chuuya commanded the infiltration squad to go in and deal with the sharpshooter ASAP. He was the head of the operation, so of course he would be the main target. It was clear that he couldn’t rejoin the battle as long as that marksman had a clear sight of him.
While he waited for the squad to do their work, he leaned against the wall and looked around. The sounds of the battle still went on, but they didn’t seem to be as loud as before. It was annoying to have to be on standby, but he couldn’t do anything else.
His eyes roamed the area around him, trying to find something interesting to distract himself with before receiving the all clear confirmation of the infiltration squad.
A figure caught his attention.
Standing in the middle of the warzone, unharmed and carefree, was a man—or could be a man, if it weren’t for the immaculate wings carefully folded at his back. The man who only Chuuya could see, the man that was supposed to protect him yet didn’t do—never did—his damn job. Chuuya clicked his tongue.
Dazai gazed around with what seemed to be a bored expression, a hint of something akin to disappointment and somberness in his eyes. The bullets that came to his direction did not hit him, instead flying right past his body. It was unfair.
Their eyes met after a while, and Dazai raised an eyebrow at him, a silent inquiry of what he was looking at. Chuuya huffed in reply. Was Dazai just that oblivious to his wounds? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened.
The confirmation of the sniper’s death finally came and Chuuya didn’t spare a second glance at the brunet before dashing into the fight again.
He and his team needed to be done with that raid still. It was no use wasting his time on Dazai now.
When Chuuya finally reached the enemy building, he hadn’t expected to be greeted with a bomb trap. He narrowly managed to avoid it, which was a relief, but his exits were all cut and the entire place was going down.
Lucky him for having the ability to bend gravity to his will. Unlucky him for being locked into a crumbling building with a sorry bunch of suicidal enemies that wanted him dead more than they feared death.
Chuuya drew his dagger and faced them; it was no use wasting time thinking of luck. Most of them were too out of their mind to even pose a significant threat. It was a strange behavior and Chuuya could only guess the reason behind it.
He managed to cut most of them down, with only a few remaining. Nevertheless, it was apparent to him that the structure of the place wouldn’t hold for much longer. He spotted a window, tried to dive for it, but was blocked by another dagger-wielding enemy. He made quick work of the foe, still managed to come out on top, as always.
Seeing his path to the window free, he resumed his run. Except that when he took a step ahead, something stopped him.
A fleeting ruffle of feathers—again—on the left corner of his peripheral vision followed by a silvery glint.
Chuuya quickly raised his dagger and turned just in time to block another blade coming straight for his throat. He held the defensive position a moment longer, before kicking to get some distance between him and his opponent.
Before he could even think about what was happening, the ceiling collapsed down on them. Chuuya managed to stop some of the rubble, but left arm was heavily damaged. The pain was excruciating and he was pretty sure it was broken, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that.
Chuuya gritted his teeth, held his arm close to his body as he leaped off the window, using his Ability to carry him safely back on the ground.
The job was done, but once again he had unnecessary wounds.
He wondered what was the point of having a guardian angel when said ‘guardian’ did nothing to help him—