Ryuuji simply stares as Varada drops down to his brother's side, his left hand lowering. His gun is slick, slick with blood, his hand lightly trembling, he... Ryuuji may be a fool, but he's not that stupid. Ryuuji is aware of just how much blood is pouring from his brother's mangled body—more importantly, he knows what this means. He's seen it all too many times himself.
After all, inflicting—killing with—gunshot wounds is one of his specialties, right?
The kokuei's stomach turns at this thought, and he swallows hard, giving a blink of his eyes. Varada is speaking to him. Focus... Focus, or he will die. Ryuuji shoves that slippery gun back into its holster, moving to drop down to his knees, directly by Shiox's side. His intent gaze focuses to those wounds—so many, too many—his purple lips set in a deep frown. “If the wounds are clean. If the bullets are still in, it's going to be a problem,” he flatly states, his voice holding deceptively little emotion... yet his words make that swimming in his stomach nearly unbearable.