The heavy air of the art studio was suffocating, thick with sand and dust that hung like a veil over the devastation. The remnants of Murata's desperate attacks clung to the room, his quicksand technique leaving patches of gritty earth beneath the haze. Josefu's breath was ragged as he pushed the door open, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes scanned the scene. His gaze landed on Murata, collapsed on the floor, his body bloody and broken.
"Murata!" The shout tore from Josefu's throat as he sprinted across the sand-covered room, skidding to his knees beside his friend. His hands hovered over Murata's pale body, panic surging through him. The sight of Murata bleeding, barely clinging to consciousness, sent a wave of dread through him.
