[That is Stiles' insightful assessment of the situation, the situation being: Art, slumped at the side of a sakura tree, bleeding enough to stain the ground black-red with his blood. The tree, slowly regaining its color.
Shit sounds about accurate.
He runs (or stumbles, in these robes it's hard to even try to run) to his side, eyes carefully focused on his face and not the blood as he bites his lip, breathing shallow enough not to smell the iron in the air.]
Okay, on a scale of "best day of my life" to "I'm going to bleed out here in about two seconds and give you permanent trauma", how bad are you feeling?