practicality

The wood floor of the corridor was cool underneath his legs. He could hear fighting - muffled, farther out, and he could smell blood. Could taste it, too, along with the sweet-sticky taste of phlegm in his mouth. He was coughing, badly, and his chest ached with every one. Were memories supposed to hurt like this, like reality did? This was worse than it had been right after he'd been born into the Sphere - and he knew it was what was waiting for him when he returned.

There were footsteps, and he glanced up, away from the floor to see roughly-dressed men with swords in front of him. One of them sneered as he continued to cough. "Ooh, you poor thing, that looks like it must hurt! But we'll make you feel all better~!"

"...Filthy." That was his voice now, soft and hoarse from the coughing. His hand came up, and he wiped the blood he'd coughed onto it onto his kimono.

"Filthy. Filthy..." His sword was out now, the soft slide of metal on lacquered wood. It was a light step to push off the ground, bare feet against the wood, and they fell before his blade with the same effortless grace it took to down the training dummies. The men who hadn't been cut down in the first sweep started running, abandoning their comrades.

"Aiiiieee!! He's coming!"
"That must be Okita Souji!"
"You... you're supposed to be dead!"

Dead, was he? Death would probably hurt less than this. He was coughing again, kneeling among the blood and limbs as his chest shook. There was blood on his lips and chin now, and apparently the sight of that was enough to frighten off the remainder of the pack.

"He... He... He's a ghost! Run!"

Too late, though - two thin blades appeared to embed themselves firmly in the foreheads of two of them. Susumu - though not dressed as he usually was. He looked almost more like a medic with those short sleeves and the cloth tied over his mouth.

"Okita-san."

Souji rose from the floor, tried to walk past him even as his lungs still burned.

"Okita-san. You can't go."

Susumu's arm was blocking his path

"...Please let me go."
"You can't go. Please return to your room."

Susumu held some sort of authority, here. Though his own weakness wasn't helping as he struggled from the handhold.

"Please let me go."
"What do you think you can do with that body?"

"Please let me go. Let me go! Let me go...!"

He was shouting now, voice hoarse and harsh even in his own ears, as he struggled to free himself from Susumu. Then there was a stab of pain at the back of his neck, and the vision ended.