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Thirty minutes later, in a car

“…So what was it that Akane asked about? She said ‘talk to you later,’ right at the end. Are you going to see her again today?”

“Oh, it was just a bit of small talk. And a secret, too.”

They were in the backseat of a luxury car on the way to the Awakusu-kai office. Akabayashi smirked carelessly as usual from the seat next to Mikiya’s.

“…Akabayashi.”

“Really, it was nothing major. Maybe what happened yesterday gave her some ideas? She said she wants to get stronger. I happen to know someone who runs a dojo—more like a sports gym—that teaches women and children self-defense in addition to the usual stuff. I said I’d take her there this afternoon.”

“Oh…I see. Why would she ask you, though?”

“Ha-ha, well, that’s the funny part.” Akabayashi chuckled, pulling out his cell phone.

“What are you doing…?”

“Do you know how the young miss learned about our work?”

“…No.”

“This thing here.” He showed Mikiya his phone screen, which was displaying a webpage.

“Ahh…I recognize that.”

It was an Internet encyclopedia—Fuguruma Youki.

The site was a freely editable online encyclopedia in the mold of Wikipedia, where users congregated to add their own information and build a massive database. While much of the information was faulty or based on rumors and lies, these things could be corrected by other users or even the people featured in the articles themselves.

“I had the younger guys correct a lot of the particularly sensitive bits.”

The site’s article on the Awakusu-kai had all kinds of detailed information on their operation—even down to the names of principal members—right there in the open for anyone to read. Mikiya saw his name on the phone screen and scowled.

“So she could have seen it on her phone? Convenience is making our job harder now.”

“This is what happens when you give a kid an online-accessible phone without thinking. But the cat’s out of the bag now, and that ain’t my problem.” Akabayashi chuckled.

Mikiya glared at him, then down at the phone again, where he saw his underling’s name on the article as well. It featured simple profiles of the group members, and his read, “A capable fighter with many legends under his belt. Along with Aozaki, they are known as the Red Ogre and Blue Ogre of the Awakusu-kai, respectively.”

“Look at how they puff us up. Basically, the young miss read this nonsense, and since she knew me from her childhood, she decided to ask me for self-defense help.”

If Akabayashi wore a permanent, lopsided grin, Mikiya’s face was equally frozen in a frightening scowl. “Well…better you than Aozaki. But I would have hoped that Akane would talk to me or her mother first.”

“Ha-ha, she probably just doesn’t want to make you folks worry more than she already has. She’s a good daughter.”

“My daughter trying to keep me from worrying is the most concerning thing I can fret over. So…I assume this dojo or sports gym or whatever is a trustworthy place?”

“Oh yes. It’s a regular old place, no yakuza operation. It’s the one over near Zoshigaya Cemetery. You know that German fighter, Traugott Geissendorfer? It’s kind of a worldwide chain that teaches his dojo style…”

The conversation continued on in this manner.

At this point, Akabayashi was not outright lying, but he also wasn’t telling the entire story. And for his part, he knew that Akane hadn’t told him everything, either. He chose not to pry into it—but the girl had clearly been partially broken by someone.

Resigned, Akabayashi decided that what Akane needed right now was to interact with more people, those who wouldn’t treat her like something exotic and special. The best option for that was the dojo.

There will be plenty of other girls there, too.

He mulled over the benefits of asking Akane for more information later in the afternoon versus keeping his distance and observing her more.

Next to him, stone-faced, Mikiya decided to broach a completely different topic. “You cracked down on some kids pushing last night, didn’t you?”

“Ah, that? I put Kazamoto in charge of it.”

“…Well, it’s turned into a bit of a thing.”

“Pardon?”

Despite all the ups and downs of what happened with his daughter, Mikiya’s frank, flat delivery betrayed no emotion. “I assumed they had to be working under some group or other…but nothing. They say it’s just a regular college club.”

“Club?”

“They’re students at Raira College… Just normal students by most accounts, but those ones you pulverized all had the same stickers on their necks, right? The fake tattoos.”

“That’s right, they did,” Akabayashi said, recalling the young men from the previous night. He’d nearly forgotten the details already.

They had flashy tattoos visible around their throats and collarbones, but even they admitted that the marks were just removable decals.

“Raira College is actually a fairly prestigious school. Just goes to show, there are idiots to be found anywhere.”

“I see. So I guess they just cultivated and mixed those pills themselves? Y’know, there’s something to be said for young entrepreneurship.” Akabayashi chuckled, shaking his head.

Mikiya noticed that the smile did not extend to his companion’s eyes and glanced at the cell phone again. “Well, they’re certainly crafty. Everyone in their operation from the dealers on up communicate only through phones. They change numbers regularly, so they must be using burners.”

Burners were phones registered under falsified names designed to be used for short periods of time. It was easy enough to pay a large number of people a small amount of money (or a bit of debt relief) to sign up for a phone and then collect the phones for anonymous use. Once the cellular contract ran out or the police got involved, the phones were unusable, so you just switched to the next disposable phone. It was a favored tactic for scam artists and others outside the law.

As a matter of fact, Mikiya and the Awakusu found burners to be handy tools at times, too. “Kazamoto said he’d run the numbers of the phones past his burner dealer, but it’s not clear if we’ll be able to track down whoever’s at the center of this operation. Apparently, they’re all college students, though…”

Mikiya tsked his tongue, his expression still flat. “It’s an ugly time to be alive. Normal-lookin’ kids, using the Internet or whatever to get into our side of the business? People talk about the yakuza blending in with regular professionals—but these kids are just straight-up normal.”

“Good point. If those guys yesterday didn’t have the fake tattoos, they’d just look like ordinary fellas who happened to be well-built.”

“…By the way, you know about a group of kids called the Dollars?”

“Where’s this comin’ from?” Akabayashi asked, not bothering to mention or deny his registration as a member of that very group.

“Well, the kids who Kazamoto ‘questioned’ yesterday told us a whole bunch of stuff…but one of the things they mentioned was that there was some kind of upper organization that they only talked to on the phone…”

“Apparently, they were founded after the Dollars’ model—only this group just sells drugs online.”

The same moment, Awakusu-kai headquarters

The Awakusu-kai was an organized crime operation, or what the rest of society termed a “violence group.” It was a large group, one of the midsized members of the Medei-gumi Syndicate. No one outside of the gang had a firm grasp on their total number, but the name itself carried quite a bit of clout within Ikebukuro.

In the depths of the office building that the group used as a headquarters, a spare room held an overbearing atmosphere, as a person spoke in a gravelly voice.

“Ahh. There is no problem with that matter.”

The timbre of the voice marked him as a significantly elderly man. But there was powerful strength to it, as well as a solid menace, like a looming craggy mountain.

“We have no intention of souring our relationship with you. However, we cannot handle the matter ourselves, you understand. With reconciliation with the Asuki-gumi at hand, it would not do to have rumors that we are killing our own. If he screwed up, that would be one thing, but this is entirely your own request.”

There was no answering voice from within the room; he was apparently speaking on the phone.

“But…I can promise you that however you wish to settle things with him, the Awakusu-kai will not take action. If he should meet an unfortunate accident or turn up missing, that would not weaken our position with the Asuki-gumi.”

He spoke in clear, polite language, neither debasing himself nor patronizing his conversation partner. It was clinical and businesslike, with no hint of personal emotion.

“On the other hand, you will not harm anyone else of ours. If anyone else, be it member of our organization or their relatives, is brought into this—there will be a reckoning.”

After this there were a few more statements, and the speaker ended his call. A wrinkled hand set down the receiver gingerly, as if licking at the air.

During the call, he had been perfectly composed and utterly in control, but his next words were a lament. “Even after decades…I just can’t get used to this phone thing.”

Hanging lanterns and a little shrine altar decorated the space, making it the only room in the place, decked out as it was like some kind of securities office, that looked like the chamber of a traditional yakuza.

Sitting in the back of this head honcho’s office was the speaker, sunk deep into a rich leather chair. It creaked, releasing some of the suffocating tension in the room. He leaned back behind his desk—which was simple in design but clearly built of very fine wood—and gave a toothy grin.

“Funny thing is, most of my teeth are fake by now. Got a couple of bolts jammed into my pelvis. Wouldn’t that make me a— What’s the thing from the movies? Cyborg? A robocop? And somehow I don’t know my way around a machine. God musta made some mistake with me.”

He rubbed the silent phone receiver and addressed the large man standing near the door. “What about you, Aozaki? You like phones?”

Aozaki and the old man were the only ones in the room. He bowed his head and rumbled, “If you want me to, boss, I’ll destroy my own cell phone in a snap.”

It sounded like a joke, but the tone of voice indicated otherwise. The old man, Dougen Awakusu, just chuckled and shook his head.

“If you don’t call me ‘Chairman,’ you’ll get an earful from our director and Shiki, too.”

Dougen was in his early sixties, if appearance was any judge. His actual age was a mystery, but the full white beard did a good job of projecting maturity. It was well-kept, so he looked more like Santa Claus than some ragged old hermit from a fairy tale.

The other man, one of the most combative and aggressive of the Awakusu officers, said politely, “There’s no one around to hear me, boss. So was that call about the you-know-what?”

“Hmm? Ahh yes. Is that what you’re here to talk about, too?”

“Indeed. I’m surprised that those remnants are still going after him—and even more surprised that they actually called you directly, boss. Say the word, and I’ll have them wiped out within a day,” Aozaki said.

His words were rough, but his deference to the boss was unmistakable. He was an overbearing man by nature, and he often slighted Mikiya, the actual heir to the group—but he had nothing but deep respect for the Awakusu boss before him.

“Ha-ha, I’m sure you could. You’re not the Blue Ogre of Awakusu for nothing.”

“Don’t mention that, please. It makes it sound like I’m just great pals with that Red Ogre guy.”

“What’s the harm in that? You know you respect Akabayashi’s skill.”

“Oh, he’s trustworthy in a fight, that’s for sure, but it means nothing against a whole organization. He might have that little group of pet bikers under his wing, but the man’s not suited for working with a team.”

Aozaki paused, squinted up at the ceiling.

“Which is probably why stuff like this comes up.”

Dougen Awakusu cackled dryly and said, “Perhaps. Those remnants want nothing more than to kill Akabayashi. Nothing else matters to them.”

“What group are they affiliated with now?”

“You promised to snuff them out in a day without knowing the answer to that question? Well…I suppose I should have expected that from you.”

Dougen leaned forward off the back of the chair, resting his elbows on the desk. He tapped the surface with his index finger and smiled cruelly. “Apparently, a number of them got out of jail recently and decided to start their own group. It operates under the guise of a small realty office.”

“They never learn.”

“Can you blame them? They’ve still got their suspicions,” Dougen said, stroking his beard with an eager smile.

“They still think it was Akabayashi who killed their old boss.”

There was a rumor about Akabayashi.

While he was an important officer with the Awakusu-kai, he hadn’t come up through the organization. In fact, he had originally been a muscle man for a rival group that had fought with the Awakusu for territory in Ikebukuro.

He wasn’t really just a disposable muscle man used for suicide missions, but a highly prized all-around weapon for the group. His presence there was invaluable…

But the group did not last.

The kumicho—the boss of the group—was murdered.

At the same time, the police discovered a large drug-smuggling operation the group was running and arrested most of them. It was essentially disbanded.

But Akabayashi, one of the most notable of its members, was absent from the major arrest. And he had been the bodyguard with the kumicho when the murder happened.

These two facts were enough to plant suspicion in the minds of the men who got caught. Perhaps he had killed the boss and ratted them out to the cops.

Their suspicions festered and grew, but no evidence supported them.

And now, Akabayashi was a principal member of the Awakusu-kai, their former rivals. Regardless of suspicions of murder, this was more than enough to earn the rancor of his former comrades.

But then the Awakusu-kai were brought under the umbrella of the Medei-gumi, and the remnants of that now-rival gang were totally powerless to do anything about the matter.

And now, the man in question was known as the Red Ogre of Awakusu. However, most of the fame behind that moniker stemmed from his past exploits; since joining the Awakusu, he had been a valuable member but was seen as a relative moderate among the muscle flexers.

And of course, there were those like Shiki, who saw Akabayashi’s aloof attitude as a mask to hide his true nature and stayed cautious of the man.

“Most of the ones who handled the drugs are still locked up, but for those who did manage to get out early, I bet they were sure Akabayashi did it, once they found out he’s with us now.”

“Normally, when you kill your own, you don’t last long in our world. Where there’s smoke, you gotta assume there’s fire…and yet you brought him aboard, boss.”

“I suppose I like to go against the grain. And I wasn’t going to be shy about a few rumors when there was good money to be made. Somehow, he really gets around with the younger folks.” Dougen cackled.

“But you just cut down that money tree on the phone right now,” Aozaki cautioned.

“Perhaps I did.”

“Let us settle our score with Akabayashi.”

That was the request the brand-new group had been making of Dougen recently.

They were former rivals, fresh out of prison. Normally, this matter would have been ignored, but from the very start, these fellows seemed suicidally desperate.

“We don’t intend to start anything with you. But none of us can go to our deaths knowing that we haven’t avenged our boss. If you cover for him, we’re prepared to go out in a blaze of glory.”

Ultimately, Dougen ended up giving them his answer, minutes ago: “If you make it unrelated to our group, through accident or disappearance, we will not retaliate.”

This wasn’t out of some yakuza tradition of honor or recognizing a wrong that ought to be made right. It wasn’t out of respect for their desperate gamble to avenge their slain leader.

To Dougen, it was sheer practicality: Starting a war now would make the Medei-gumi look bad and lower their standing before making peace with the Asuki-gumi.

On top of that, men fresh out of prison would naturally be under police scrutiny. Starting trouble with a desperate gang was a risk for very little reward—even if they could be crushed “in a day,” as Aozaki promised.

They were no fools. They were men of the night, responsible for building the darkness of Ikebukuro.

“You see, I can’t betray my men…but I can abandon them.”

Six years ago, Tokyo, near Sonohara-dou

It was supposed to be like any other night.

The job was simple: Act like a robber and rough up a store owner.

He had given up a tender conscience long ago. He never even thought about guilt anymore.

What possible threat could the owner of an antique curio shop pose?

The man’s arrogance was a symbol of his violence.

He had little interest in money or women. But he didn’t glorify poverty, and he wasn’t attracted to men. He just loved being a conduit for violence.

“If necessary, involve the wife and kid,” they’d told him, but he wasn’t particularly interested in doing that. He just wanted to rough up the owner and be done with it. He’d never been violent against women and children, but it wasn’t out of some sense of kindness or chivalry—he just found no interest in doing so, because it wasn’t worth bragging about.

He didn’t know how he started learning how to fight. What was more important was that he had honed his skill through constant combat and experience.

He had no interest in humans themselves—they were vivid targets for exhibiting violence, but little else. His fist was clenched today for the sole purpose of displaying his strength, to create new scars that would speak of his existence.

But as he approached Sonohara-dou, he noticed a figure standing in the street. He had chosen a moonless night, so the only light to illuminate the person was the flickering streetlamps. He couldn’t really tell who it was.

“Hey…who are you?”

He couldn’t just ignore them and continue on his way.

There was a long silver object in the figure’s hand—a katana.

“…A shock trooper sent to eliminate me? If you think havin’ a sword will give you the edge, you’re gonna learn a real painful lesson,” the man threatened, cracking his neck aggressively.

Normally, he would seize the advantage by throwing something before talking, but on this day, he didn’t. Something about the figure, something eerie, chilled his instincts.

Once he was within ten steps of the katana’s range—

The blade flickered, like a heat haze in midsummer.

That ripple in the darkness threw off his sense of distance. It felt as if the figure had approached five steps within a single flicker of the streetlight.

But in fact, there was another part of the scene he felt closing the distance.

The sword…stretched…?!

The blade should have been an ordinary length for a katana, but in the span of that brief moment, it changed shape, stretching to nearly double the length.

The man knew from experience that while a solid thrust or iai drawing of a blade could create the illusion of shifting distance, this was not one of those cases.

The reason he couldn’t understand it was because the truth was that the blade really did stretch.

The streetlight flickered on again, and he was able to see the figure clearly.

A woman?!

It was a woman wearing indoor clothing—her eyes glowing red like the light on a police car.

Wait, is that who they talk about…?

Like two red moons shining from her eye sockets.

Gleaming. Blazing.

The slasher…

The next time the light flickered on, his mind reached further depths of confusion. Somehow there was another katana stretching for him, but from where her shoulder met her neck, rather than her hand. The tip reached out to him, desperate to pierce his skin.

—!

He leaped sideways on reflex, evading the two oncoming blades by just the slimmest of margins. When he recovered his stance and turned back, ready to fight, his body froze.

What is this?

Blades.

What am I looking at?

Not just from her shoulder.

What the hell is this?

The silver of the blade was protruding from her limbs, her back, her stomach—even the ends of her long hair. It wasn’t chaotic growth like wild mushrooms, but functional and methodical, sprouting from locations like her elbows, such that the blades were like bits of body armor.

What am I looking at?

A mechanical puppet, a robot bristling with blades.

Those red glowing eyes had to be made with light bulbs, he imagined. It was an utterly nonsensical image, but the thing was there. Right in front of him.

Is this…real life?

It was a monster. The slasher was a monster.

A red-eyed monster sprouting katana blades wherever it wanted on its body, performing impossible feats.

He didn’t know this monster’s name.

“Dammit…”

He was unfamiliar with Saika, the cursed blade that loved humanity.

“What the hell are you, dammit?!”

There was no reply. The monster clutched in the red-eyed woman’s hand spurred its wielder’s body onward into a direct leap toward the paralyzed man. It was the jump of a female lead in a romance movie, leaping into the arms of the man she loved.

But this sword’s lips did not caress the man’s mouth or his cheek.

He managed to break out of his emergency paralysis and tried to move out of the way.

But the tip of the sword stretched out even farther…

And split his right eye, directly down the middle.

Present day, Tokyo, empty room

There was an air of abnormality shrouding the shop.

It was an empty building that combined a storefront and living space under one roof, plopped down in the midst of an ordinary residential area far from the station and shopping district.

There was a sign out front reading SONOHARA-DOU, but the letters were faded and missing so that it was nearly impossible to make out any longer. All the furnishings that identified it as an old antique shop were still there, but the display cases visible from the outside were full of nothing but piled-up dust.

It was obvious at first sight that the building was abandoned, though the details of the empty display cases and oddly patterned pillars gave the place a type of presence that went past strange and right into creepy.

A man stood in front of it, unbothered by this aura, giving the building a wistful look.

“Five years, and this place still hasn’t sold. Figures.”

After dropping Akane off at his acquaintance’s gym, Akabayashi came to visit this abandoned store by himself. He wasn’t doing anything in particular—just staring at the place through his tinted glasses—when he heard a faint voice nearby.

“…Mr.…Akabayashi?”

“Hmm?” He spun around and saw a girl standing there. She looked shy and quiet and wore the Raira Academy uniform, along with a pair of glasses. She’d probably been watching him approach with trepidation before calling out, but the gangster broke into a grin.

“…Ohh! Is that you, Anri? You’re so much taller now. How long has it been…? Two years?”

“Yes, it’s nice to see you again… What brings you here?” Anri asked, bowing. She didn’t seem afraid of the man.

“Oh, I was just in the area. What’s with the uniform? Shouldn’t you be on break today?”

“I had to show up at school for the class representatives’ meeting… I was just getting home now.”

“Gotcha. Must be hard having to go to school during your vacation,” Akabayashi offered with a breezy smile.

“Umm…I really should thank you for what you did.”

“You know, you say that every time we meet, but you really don’t need to. I’m the one who owes a debt to…to your mother.”

“But…if you hadn’t helped me find a new apartment back then, who knows what might have happened to me…? I lost my father and mother and had to leave the house…”

She put on a rare, gentle smile, one of pure gratitude.

Anri Sonohara lost her parents years ago in an incident.

She wound up passed around among her relatives, a time of great upheaval—and ultimately, they sold off many of the remaining Sonohara-dou items to put together a fund that would pay for her living costs until she was an adult.

The person who helped deal with this inheritance fund was a man named Akabayashi, who came to pay his respects at her parents’ funeral. Later, when she decided to move out on her own and save her relatives the trouble, Akabayashi was there to help arrange an apartment for her. He claimed that he owed her parents a favor and helped her with a number of very important things, all for free. She felt nothing but gratitude toward him.

She bowed, over and over, so Akabayashi scratched his head uncomfortably and changed the topic.

“So, uh, is that the Raira uniform? You’re in high school already, then. Wait…second year?”

“Yes, that’s right…”

She bowed yet again, and Akabayashi scratched at his cheek this time.

Suddenly, he recalled things Mikiya had said in the car earlier in the day:

“I don’t know if it’s like a game to them or what, but even in this college club, the guys at the top are bad news. They believe they’re totally safe from trouble, even against the real thing like us… They had beef with another gang in the past, and the fellows in that group got attacked.

“You need to be careful. Don’t hang around with Akane too much. I’ll set it up so that someone else goes to the dojo tonight to get her.

“In any case, this is very abrupt stuff, so while I’ll spare some protection for Akane, I don’t have the extra leeway to guard you, too. You’ll have to fend for yourself.”

Something about what Mikiya said snagged in Akabayashi’s head. He said to Anri, “I’m curious—I have a question about school fads for you.”

“Y-yes…? Well…I’m really not that up on fads, either…”

“It’s fine. I’ll take whatever you can tell me,” he said and decided to bring up the name, figuring she wouldn’t know. “Anri, have you ever heard the name Dollars at school?”

Her breath briefly caught in her throat. He noticed the change and asked, “You know something, then?”

“N-no…just…that I’ve heard a friend talk about it… But I don’t know any details.”

“…”

It was painfully obvious that she was lying. Akabayashi wasn’t going to rake her over the coals for it, but he also wanted more information.

“Ah, I see,” he said and patted her on the shoulder with a smile. “They’re dangerous folks I hear, so steer clear of them. And if anything happens, you let me know at once.”

“Oh no… I couldn’t impose on you any further…”

“No, I insist. You know I got a lotta clout around here, right? So call on me for anything. You got a problem? Just call that number I gave you. On the other hand…since I’m so well-known, there are folks who don’t like me. So if you happen to see me around town and don’t have anything to ask, feel free to ignore me.”

“Uhh…”

Perhaps she didn’t realize what he did for a living; in which case, the girl probably thought he was acting rather strange. Akabayashi gave her his usual tilted grin and was about to say something to put her at ease—

When a third party interrupted him.

“Is that you, Sonohara?” said the voice. He spun around to see a young man.

“Oh…Yagiri,” said Anri. It was Seiji Yagiri, the boyfriend of her best friend, Mika Harima.

The newcomer glanced around the area. “Wait, so…does that mean you’re done with whatever you were doing with Mika?”

“Huh…?”

She was confused, and now, so was he.

Recognizing that the two were friends, Akabayashi turned his back and waved to her. “Well, I’ll just be going now. You take care of yourself, hear?”

“Oh…yes! Of course! Thank you!” she replied, still bobbing up and down, until Akabayashi left the vicinity of Sonohara-dou.

“So who was that?” Seiji asked.

She smiled and said, “That was Mr. Akabayashi. He knew my mother…and he’s done a lot to help me.”

“What does he do?”

“Umm…I heard he delivers fresh crabs or runs a café or something… I think he does all kinds of stuff.”

“Huh… Seems like a strange guy…”

Seiji was still curious about Akabayashi, but then he came to his senses and returned to the topic on his mind.

“Oh, right. So are you saying you weren’t the person who called Mika earlier?”

“What…?”

Within seconds, Seiji Yagiri realized the truth and headed in a rush for a certain pharmaceutical company’s warehouse lot.

But that’s another story.

Six years ago

A shock ran through the skin around his right eye.

He could feel that much.

But whatever happened after that was a mystery.

A voice.

“I love you.”

A voice, an overwhelming voice that drowned out everything else, commanded his brain.

It was coming from around his eye, where he just felt the shock.

Oh, I see.

Understanding was instantaneous.

That katana hit my right eye…

And it was as if the eye itself was screaming in pain.

The voice raced from his eye through the rest of him, shredding his nerves, his bones, his muscle, his brain.

It was an unstoppable flood of words that threatened to wash his mind away. It was as if they had form, a solidity like lead that rocketed around inside his body.

For the first time in his life, he felt fear. He felt his mind and flesh being devoured from the inside out.

The voice speaking of “love” might erase him entirely. It might alter him, re-create him as something else.

The man who lived through nothing but violence now felt a bizarre, foreign fear.

However—amid his fear, he felt a different impulse rising within him.

This, too, was an overwhelming urge that he had never experienced before.

Hey… What the hell is this? Why now? What am I thinking?

But all the while, the voice grew, increasing its pressure.

It grew to hold its own will, flooding his heart with words of love and

and

and

love

love

was all

ve, love, love, lo

ause of love.” “So mu

ust love people.” “Don’t be ridicu

“Don’t talk about who you love, that just

o, no, no! I love all, all, all of humanity equally

“Shut up for a second.”

What do I love? Don’t be ridiculous! It’s everything

love blood splatter.” “I love hard bone.” “It’s love.” “Nice

so I forgive you.” “So you can forgive me, too, okay” “I won’t

all of this.” “Ah!” “The slice of meat during the moment of ecstasy

I just love the soft and yet hard muscle that rips right apart!” “And there’s

that hard bone, so smooth and supple, weak yet sharp, tough and cracking!” “Love

trembling and soft and silky and squishy sticking and sticking and sticking tight together

as voices echo with cries of love, yes? I’m so jealous I wish I had words of love to speak but I

don’t so I want you to love me instead I want to be filled but yes oh yes but oh yes I’m so jealous even dying can be a form of love lust is a powerful form of love but no you can’t try to narrow love to a definition that’s blasphemy against the heart there is no definition of love all that you need are those simple words I love you I love you I love you I love you