Sakura blinked awake to the sound of gunfire.
Heat scorched the air as a shot zipped past, exploding against a nearby wall with a hiss, leaving a glowing burn mark behind.
She realized she was moving—fast.
Angus was running, her weight on his back, breath ragged as he weaved through narrow corridors of metal and shadow.
From behind them came voices—angry, distorted through rebreathers and echo:
"There! Don't let the human escape!"
"He's carrying one of ours!"
"Bring me his head!"
"Wha—what's happening?" she mumbled, her voice groggy, the world still blurry.
"Who's shooting at us?"
Angus ducked behind a pipe just as another round cracked past them.
"Uh," he muttered, trying to sound casual, "so… you know how people really don't like that I'm human?"
Sakura groaned. "Oh no."
"Yeah. Turns out we were, um… sleeping in Oni gang territory."
Finally making it out alive he places her down saying." hey i think we should get you some cloak or something, so we don't run into any more trouble."
"Cause if they see me with you again, they just might have my head."
Finally making it out alive, Angus slips into a narrow service tunnel, the air thick with dust and old heat. He doesn't stop until they're far from the echo of boots and gunfire. When he's sure no one's followed, he gently sets Sakura down, his breath ragged, sweat clinging to his skin.
He glances over his shoulder, then back at her, still half-asleep and shaken.
"Yeah," he mutters, brushing off his coat, "we should probably find you a cloak or something."
He cracks a tired grin. "If anyone sees me with you again, they just might take my head off—and I'm kinda using it right now."
They made their way to a small, dimly lit shop tucked between the towering walls of the city. The air smelled of old leather and rusted metal, thick with dust and forgotten time. The bell above the door jingled softly as they entered, and the shopkeeper—a wiry old Oni with faded gray horns curled tightly against his skull—glanced up from behind a cluttered counter.
His stoic face gave away nothing as his yellow eyes flicked between the two.
"Hello, good sir," Angus said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "I'd like a small brown cloak."
The Oni raised an eyebrow, his voice dry and rasping like worn parchment. "That'll be 112 credits."
Angus's hand immediately went to his pockets, his fingers fumbling through the meager scraps of credits he had left. He pulled out a small pile, counting the credits one by one before sighing in frustration.
"Shit, I'm 12 short," he muttered under his breath.
He looked up at the shopkeeper, who now watched him with a curious, almost amused expression. "Hey, sir, could you spare me the 12 credits? I've only got 100 here…"
The old Oni leaned forward slightly, his horns catching the low light. His silence stretched just long enough to make Angus sweat.
"Yeah, I'll spare you the credits," the shopkeeper said, his voice dripping with condescension. He smirked, eyes glinting with malice as he added, "But only if you give me a peek at your little one-horned slave there."
Angus's fists clenched, the anger bubbling up in his chest. His muscles tensed, and he stepped forward, ready to lash out.
The shopkeeper leaned back, his smile widening as he taunted, "What? You gonna hit me?"
Before Angus could move, Sakura's hand gently wrapped around his. Her touch was a calm anchor to his raging storm.
"It's okay, Angus," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of sadness and resignation. "Just let it go. It's not worth it."
Angus's hand trembled, his fury slowly giving way to frustration. He exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to tear into the man.
"Yeah," the shopkeeper sneered, his tone smug. "That's what I thought. Now get out of my store."
That was the last straw. Angus's fury surged, and in a flash, he grabbed the shopkeeper by the remnants of his gray hair, yanking him forward and slamming his head hard against the metal counter. The sickening sound of bone hitting metal echoed in the small shop, and blood sprayed from the shopkeeper's nose, dripping onto the counter.
Without hesitation, Angus jumped over the counter, unleashing a flurry of punches—each one landing with a sickening thud. The man's face was rapidly disfigured, his eyes bloodshot and dazed.
Sakura moved quickly, her voice urgent and panicked. "STOP!!!"
She reached over the counter, grabbing Angus by the shoulders and pulling him away, her hands firm but gentle as she forced him to stop. His fists hovered in the air for a moment before he slowly let them fall, his anger fading into something else—something darker.
Angus looked down at his bloodstained hands, the crimson red stark against the pale metal floor, a sickening reminder of the violence that had just unfolded. What have I done? His gaze lingered on the man beneath him, broken and battered, his body slumped like a discarded rag. For a moment, Angus didn't know what to think. His chest was tight, his mind blank, yet the gnawing feeling of something darker—something dangerous—tugged at him.
Without a word, he wiped his hands on the man's torn shirt, trying to erase the stain, but it lingered in the air, in the room, in the corners of his mind. He grabbed the brown cloak from the counter, his movements sharp and mechanical, as if the jacket were a simple object, nothing more.
Sakura stood frozen, her gaze fixed on him, her voice barely a whisper. "I told you it was okay… You nearly killed him."
But there was something else in her voice, something deeper. As she spoke, her eyes traced the lines of his face, lingering for a moment on the veins in his neck, the tight set of his jaw, the glint of something feral in his eyes. And then, it happened.
Her eyes locked with his.
For a breathless moment, the world seemed to narrow, the sounds of the store fading into nothing. It was as if she was pulled into the depths of his gaze, her mind caught in the undercurrent of his emotions. His eyes weren't just eyes—they were a storm, a churning vortex of anger, pain, and something far darker.
She felt it, that pull. His rage vibrated in the air, so thick it seemed to press against her skin, filling her chest with a cold weight. It was a red-hot energy, fierce and wild, as if the very essence of his anger had taken root in his soul, and now it was spilling out, feeding into her. She couldn't look away, couldn't break the connection, even as the edges of his gaze darkened, his pupils narrowing into something wild and predatory.
Her breath hitched. It was like staring into a void, a black hole that threatened to swallow her whole. She could feel it—like a shadow creeping in, pulling at her thoughts, wrapping her in a cold embrace.
Don't look too deep, don't let him drag you in.
Her heart raced, and she fought to tear her gaze away, but it was as if his eyes had anchored her in place, chaining her to him in ways she didn't understand. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach for something, anything, to pull herself out of the pull of those eyes, those haunting, burning eyes.
And then, as she tried to steady herself, something else tugged at her. She realized, beneath the heat of his fury, there was a strange satisfaction, a strange pleasure that flared up inside her. It was buried deep, but it was there—the knowledge that he had taken control, that he had struck back against someone who deserved it. Her chest felt lighter for a moment, a brief spark of something resembling satisfaction, something darkly gratifying in seeing him lash out.
Did I like that? she thought, the realization making her feel uneasy. But it didn't change what she'd seen. The shopkeeper's arrogance, his cruel words—they had made him deserving of the pain. She didn't have to admit it aloud, but the satisfaction still lingered in her.
She blinked, trying to shake off the conflicting feelings as she stared at the aftermath. Finally, the weight of the moment faded when she heard his voice, rough and low, cutting through the silence.
"Let's go."
Sakura blinked again, shaking off the weight of the moment, her breath still uneven, her pulse racing in her ears.
She could still feel the trace of that darkness lingering in the air, the tension still thick around them. But this time, she pulled away, steadying herself.
Angus had already turned, walking towards the door, the brown cloak still draped over his arm.
Sakura didn't say anything for a long moment. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground, lashes low, as if afraid that looking up might unravel her. "Angus thought she'd gone quiet again, hiding behind the walls she'd built to keep her real emotions locked away." But then—soft and raw—her voice broke through the silence.
"I used to think names were everything," she said, each word trembling like a thread barely holding. "Like if I just had the right one… people would stop looking at me like I was cursed. Like maybe they'd finally see me as someone worth keeping."
Her fingers clutched at the cloak he'd given her, pulling it close like armor. "But they never saw me. Not really. Just the horn. That's all they ever needed to judge me."
Angus didn't reply. He didn't need to. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was shared. Felt. Like two ghosts recognizing the same wound in each other.
Then it came—the sound. Subtle, but wrong. Metal scraping against stone. Voices echoing too close. Footsteps, slow and deliberate.
Angus stiffened instantly. The cigarette was gone in a flick, boots planted as his eyes darted toward the alley's mouth.
"We need to move," he said, his tone quiet but sharpened like a blade.
Sakura didn't hesitate. She nodded, adjusting the cloak tighter around her shoulders, the softness in her gaze fading into something steeled. But something between them had shifted. A thread—delicate but real—now pulled them closer.
They slipped into the city's veins, winding through the underbelly—beneath holo-ads that flickered like dying stars, past signs blaring promises of power they both knew were lies.
After a long stretch of silence, the weight of their shared thoughts pressing down on the moment, Sakura finally broke it. Her gaze flickered up to him, but she kept her voice low, like she was testing the air for something she couldn't name.
"So... what do we do now?"
Angus stood still for a moment, the cool air swirling around them like a distant storm. His eyes, pale and sharp, seemed to carve through the tension, focused on something far beyond the immediate world.
"We find someone who knows the meaning of my name. We find out why they wanted me dead."
Sakura hesitated, the flicker of a memory passing through her eyes. She shifted slightly, her stance unreadable but her voice steady. "And if we fail?"
Angus's jaw tightened, but his response came without hesitation. "Then we make them regret ever trying."
There was no smile, not even the ghost of one. But the shift in him—his shoulders dropping just a bit, like the weight of everything pressing down on him—was enough. It wasn't relief or hope, but something deeper, something primal.
Sakura's lips twitched, a wisp of something close to a smile. It was gone almost before it could be caught, a shadow of something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time.
"Sounds like a plan, then," she murmured, the words almost lost in the noise of the crowd.
Angus didn't reply. Instead, he turned his back to her, his movements smooth but deliberate. She followed suit, falling into step beside him, their figures merging with the throngs of people around them. Side by side, they moved through the wreckage of a world that had tried to erase them—two scars left behind by forces that had never understood them, that had never seen what they were capable of.