We left Tokyo on a private fishing trawler that smelled of salt, diesel, and revenge.
Oni (real name Kenji Sato, though he hated the surname now) stood at the bow for three straight days, letting the Pacific wind scour the last of the red pigment from his skin.
By the time we hit the equator he looked almost human again.
Almost.
The horns had retracted into thick bone ridges under his hairline, and his eyes still glowed faintly when he was angry, which was most of the time.
I spent the voyage teaching him everything I knew about living without a System HUD in your head.
How to feel pain again. How to sleep without nightmares instead of respawning. How to be mortal and still choose to be a monster.
He learned fast.
We made landfall in northern Brazil on a moonless night, thi
