Black and red haloes pulsed across Raidou’s vision. He tried for words, achieved a grating rasp. Tried again and got out, “No—time.”

Kimiko’s nails dug painfully into his shoulder, but she was shouting at Genma. “Where’s Sango? Is she with you? Where’s my baby?”

Where was Kakashi?

Two chakra signals went out, messily. Raidou pulled the chain away from his throat and flung it down. Air whistled with each breath, but it was moving. He staggered upright.

Just in time to see Fukuda fall.

The sound Kimiko made was like a woman stabbed. Ryouma’s head snapped up. He saw Fukuda on the ground, yanked his hands free from a melting corpse, and bolted to her. Kimiko was only seconds behind.

Genma’s hands made one short movement. Bone cracked. The man he’d been holding slumped to the ground, neck bent to an unsurvivable angle. He flicked a single glance to Fukuda, saw Ryouma with her, and moved swiftly to place green-glowing hands on Raidou’s throat. Blessed cool sank into Raidou’s skin; his breathing eased.

“Hound wasn’t with you?” Genma asked.

“Gone,” Raidou rasped. “No tracks.”

Ryouma’s voice cut up, high with something very like panic before Genma could even swear. “Lieutenant!”

Genma’s head jerked around, but his voice was iced calm. “Has she got a pulse?”

“Fast and weak. I think she’s in shock. She’s not even hurt—” Ryouma’s blackened hands shook over Fukuda’s throat.

Genma cut his healing jutsu and ran.

When Raidou made it to them, Genma was on his knees at Fukuda’s side. Kimiko had both fists pressed against her own mouth, knuckles blanched to bone. One of Genma’s hands curled around Fukuda’s wrist; the other touched to her neck, avoiding black smears. Fukuda’s skin was salt-white, covered in sweat. She was breathing high in her chest, far too fast.

When Genma pressed a hand to her abdomen, she groaned and her knees jerked up.

Raidou’s heart sank. He crouched down at Genma’s side, steadying himself with a hand on the ground, and asked quietly, “Spleen?”

Genma’s lips had compressed to a flat white line. “Or liver. I hope not, but…” He laid both hands very gently over her abdomen, where her lower ribs arched down. “Slow, easy breaths. I’ll do what I can.” To Ryouma, he rapped out, “Morphine. Give her ten and have another dose ready.”

Ryouma wiped his hands over his shirt and fumbled with his med kit, leaving black streaks on both. His hands were still shaking. “I thought it was just a concussion.”

Fukuda groaned, sweat dripping off the sharp blade of her jaw. “Rikyu’s jutsu. Broke a rib, I thought…”

And she’d still run headlong in to save her sister.

Raidou wasn’t medic-trained, but he’d been through a war. He took the kit from Ryouma before the syrettes fell and said, “Tousaki, clean your hands.”

Ryouma swallowed and jerked a nod. He pulled back enough to twist a water jutsu out of the misty air, making a thin stream pour over his hands. Filth sleeted away. He did something with fire next, burning off whatever remained. Raidou stopped watching; he freed a morphine syrette from Ryouma’s kit and sank the needle under Fukuda’s skin. Fukuda blew out a shaky breath.

Kimiko knelt by her sister’s head, stroking Fukuda’s blonde hair with thin, steady hands. There were tears in her eyes, but she held them back. Raidou thought: Kakashi, Sango. They didn’t have time for this.