It had been a week since I killed him.
I still didn't know how to feel about it. Not the killing… I could live with that. It was the way he laughed when he came back. The way he smiled at me with blood still dripping from his eye socket, like I'd gifted him a flower and not a blade through the skull.
I don't dream anymore. Not since that night.
Since I took a life. Since… Riku.
That's when I chose to stop being afraid.
Haven't killed him since then.
But he's broken me everyday.
And I thank him for it.
But today... I was ready for my next kill.
The hold stank of fish, mold, and the last batch of dead rats I hadn't bothered to clean up. I crouched in the shadows behind a stack of cracked barrels, clutching my blade like it was the last piece of me I still owned.
The deck creaked above.
Sunrise was near.
He would wake soon.
Then piss.
Then feed.
I felt him first, his presence. Like fangs hovering on my neck. Like a mountain lion staring at me from the shadows.
Heavy. Deadly.
Then I heard him.
Footsteps. Not quiet. He didn't need to do quiet. He didn't care about being heard by me.
Like he wanted me to hear him. Wanted me to know I was no threat.
To him… I was just meat.
The creaking stopped as the trapdoor to the hold groaned open, and he dropped into the shadows with the grace of a falling anvil.
He strutted through the hold shirtless, blood-stained wrappings hanging from his waist like trophies. He yawned like a lion, stretched like one too. Then, with a growl, he plunged his hands into a barrel, came up with dried fish and hard biscuits, and started chewing like a starving god.
I moved when his back turned. Blade in hand, feet silent, eyes focused.
One chance.
I launched from the shadows, slicing for his spine.
He moved. Not fast. Effortless. His body bent just out of reach, as if he already knew where my blade would land.
I skidded past, spinning into a low crouch. He didn't even look at me. Just kept chewing.
Bastard.
I lunged again, fury in my veins, and this time he turned. His hand caught my wrist. I shoved the blade down hard, letting it sink into his palm. Blood squirted between our locked hands.
He didn't even flinch.
He pulled me forward until his palm, bleeding around my blade, hovered inches from my face. His fingers curled tight around the hilt.
"Rule two," I snarled. "Understand your enemy!"
He raised an eyebrow. His grin was all blood and teeth.
I twisted. Pulled two small blades from my hair and slashed across his ribs and arm. We collapsed together, a mess of blood and fury on the hold floor.
"Shit," he muttered, holding his gut. "You gut my stomach. Can't even eat now."
I stared at him, breathless, my whole body trembling with pain… and pride. Then I laughed. Short. Dry. Real.
He cackled in return.
Then he stood first, dragging himself upright with all the grace of a half-dead war god. Blood streamed down his chest, and he didn't care.
He started counting.
"Ten."
I blinked. Shit.
"Nine."
I scrambled to my feet.
"Eight."
I turned and bolted.
By the time he hit one, I was already halfway up the stairs.
For four hours he hunted me.
Like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse.
But this mouse had fangs now.
Fangs he sharpened.
Sunset came.
We lay sprawled across the deck, bruised, bloodied, and burnt by the day's sun. My ribs ached. My eye still throbbed under its patch.
His arm was half hanging off, dangling like wet meat.
He bled, slowly. Dying. He didn't care.
He grinned at the sky.
"You're still alive," he said.
"Only just," I muttered. "Thanks to you."
He turned his head lazily. "Don't thank me. I just hit you until you got better at not dying. You're learning. Your body is learning. Good."
"That's training."
He laughed. "That's survival."
We were silent a while, the waves thumping against the hull beneath us. The scent of blood and salt thick in the air.
"You ever wonder what we're even doing?" I asked.
"No."
I smirked. "Of course not."
He looked at me sidelong. "You want something?"
I nodded. "To live. Not just survive. To live."
He didn't laugh. Not this time.
"I want power," I whispered. "Enough that no one can chain me again. Enough that no one can hurt me. Enough to take what I want. Kill who I need."
"You'll die chasing it."
"Then I die. But it'll be my choice."
He stared at me. And for once, I felt like he saw me… not the child, not the slave, not the knife-wielding mutt on his leash. Just me.
Just Yumi.
"You're shaped like a killer already," he said. "Your jungle just had different trees."
I smiled.
"Tell me yours," I said.
He rolled his shoulders. "I woke up. Covered in slime. In a forest. No voice. No name. No past. Died a lot. Got stronger. Killed things. Then killed bigger things."
"That's it?"
"That's all I need."
"You think there's a reason you came to our world?"
He shrugged. "Don't care."
"You should. You could change it."
Later that night, I sat beside him, rubbing the bruises on my thighs from our last sparring match.
"You'll need a name on the mainland," I said. "If you're serious about killing the lords."
"I don't care."
"You should. Names have power."
He ignored me.
So I kept talking. "How about Akuma? It means demon."
He spat.
"How about Gekkou? Moonlight. You strike from the dark."
He yawned.
"Uzumaki? Whirlpool. You pull everything into your chaos."
"Sounds like something that drowns."
"Then… Renzoku"
His eye twitched.
I saw it. That gleam. That interest.
"What's that mean?"
"Unbroken. Relentless. Just like you."
He sat up straighter. Repeated it.
"Renzoku."
Again, louder.
"RENZOKU."
The wind answered.
A gust slammed across the deck. The sea frothed and slapped the ship's sides. The sky seemed to hum with it.
His grin stretched wide.
He roared the name again into the heavens, fists raised, chest slick with blood and rain.
I stood before him, back straight, chin high.
"Thank you, Master Renzoku," I said, bowing low. "Thank you for letting me walk beside you. For allowing me to help you change the world."
He cackled. "I don't care about in changing it."
"Then what?"
He grinned and, his voice a snarl of joy, he said: "I will devour it."