He'd lost track of time, between the attacks and deaths. Time had blurred into struggling and the screams of others. There was blood dripping down his scythe-arm, as well as some down the side of his face from a superficial cut over his eye. Gai was oblivious to the arrival of anyone else as he leaned against a stalagmite, eyes on the Kishin that kept sneaking closer and closer. One of these attacks would be the last, and he didn't know how long he had left.

There was no belief system that Gai relied on, nothing supernatural that he had faith in. Early in being trapped here Gai had wondered if it was easier to have something like that. One of the other prisoners had been praying as he fell. Did that matter? He didn't know. It was too late now, really, and Gai thought he'd seen too much of life to ever really trust in a higher power.