Kanasei leaned over the sink, looking at himself in the mirror.
The needle pierced through his lip again.
Blood ran freely now, warm as it slipped down his chin and dotted the porcelain below. His fingers trembled, but he didn't stop. He pulled the suture tight, forcing the torn corners of his mouth inward, back toward something almost human...normal. At least while the stitches held.
His reflection stared back at him.
Unwillingly smiling.
Knock. Knock.
Kanasei froze.
The needle hovered inches from his skin. His breathing slowed as he listened.
Nothing. There were no sounds. Pure silence.
He swallowed, finished the final stitch in one sharp motion, and hissed through clenched teeth. He rinsed his face quickly, watching pink spiral into the drain, then dried himself with a towel. The blood stains didn't fully come off. They never did.
He stepped toward the door. Unlocked it and swung it open.
A man knelt at the bottom of the short staircase.
His knees pressed into the concrete, his body folded inward like it wanted to disappear. Long, filthy hair clung to his face. His clothes were torn, stained, hanging off him in a way that barely counted as wearing them. He shook as he groaned softly, his face buried in his hands.
"Do you have any spare change…?"
The voice was weak. Like it might snap if pushed any harder.
Kanasei hesitated.
He barely had enough money to survive himself. The eyepatch. The stitches. Everything had drained him dry. He sighed, already knowing the answer.
"Nah, man…sorry. I don't got any."
The man groaned again. His shaking worsened.
"Please…"
He slowly lifted his head.
Only his eyes showed through his hands, which covered his face in a strange shape. The index and middle separated from the ring and pinky fingers on each hand, forming a V-shaped split between them, as if he were offering a strange, frozen peace sign.
"…anything will do…."
Kanasei looked away.
"Sorry, man…"
The man trembled harder now.
"Please…"
The word came out quieter. Almost swallowed by the air.
Kanasei stepped backward and began pushing the door closed.
"Sorry, bro. You gotta go beg somewhere else."
A hand slammed against the door.
The wood shuddered.
Kanasei's breath caught.
The door stopped moving.
Locked in place.
What the fu—
Another hand emerged.
Then another.
They stretched out from the beggar's back.
Kanasei stumbled backward as the man stood up, hands still covering his face in that same shape. His body unfolded with an unnatural slowness as he stepped inside the apartment.
"Why didn't you give me money…?"
Kanasei didn't answer.
Another arm slid free from the man's back, joints bending the wrong way as it reached forward. Then—
It bolted.
Kanasei turned and ran.
He sprinted into the kitchen, heart hammering, lungs burning. The kitchen. Knives. Tools. Anything he could use.
Behind him, the sound of movement followed.
Kanasei's eyes snapped to the sink.
A knife lay half-submerged in cloudy water.
He didn't hesitate.
His hand shot forward and closed around the handle just as the first extra limb burst from the beggar's back.
It moved fast.
Too fast.
One of the hands elongated, fingers snapping outward like a whip as it launched toward him.
Kanasei turned with it, blade flashing.
Slash.
The knife carved clean through the wrist.
The severed hand hit the tile with a wet slap before dissolving into twitching spasms. The remaining arm recoiled violently, retracting back into the man's back as if sucked in by invisible threads.
The beggar stepped into the kitchen.
He looked down at the stump where the hand had been.
"…So not only will you not pay a poor man…" His voice trembled.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"…but you'll hurt him too?"
His shoulders shook.
"What have I done…?"
The answer came in the form of more hands.
They burst outward, ribs shifting grotesquely beneath his torn clothes as flesh split and stretched. Limbs unfolded like grotesque flowers blooming.
Two shot forward at once.
Kanasei ducked under the first.
The second froze directly above him, hovering for a split second, then slammed downward.
Kanasei thrust the knife up.
The blade sank deep into the palm.
He ripped it free and stabbed again.
And again.
And again.
The hand spasmed violently before retreating, dragging itself backward into the man's body.
Kanasei surged to his feet, and saw another arm snaking past him.
It stretched along the floor, coiling around the kitchen island.
He pivoted and swung.
The blade sliced through forearm and bone.
The detached limb fell, fingers still twitching as it slid across the tiles.
The severed arm reeled back into its owner.
The beggar's expression changed.
The tears stopped.
Then he lunged.
His body shot forward unnaturally fast, and this time bunches of hands erupted from his back.
Kanasei stabbed another hand as it came for his face. But before he could pull the blade free, the fingers clenched around it.
The hand yanked backward.
Another limb caught the knife midair, tore it from its own flesh, and hurled it down the hallway.
It clattered out of reach.
Hands flooded the kitchen.
They came from every direction.
Kanasei grabbed one that lunged at his chest, wrapped his arm around it, and twisted.
A sickening crack split the air as he snapped it backward.
Another flew toward him.
He vaulted onto the counter, boots scraping against marble.
The hand swiped. He dropped, seized it mid-motion, and flipped his weight over his shoulder.
The limb bent the wrong way and broke.
Both broken arms retreated, twitching.
Kanasei turned and froze.
There weren't just a few anymore.
There were dozens.
They filled the kitchen like a living wall.
Two shot straight for his throat.
They clamped down, fingers digging into his windpipe.
Kanasei was lifted off the ground.
More wrapped around his torso. His arms. His legs.
They tightened.
He struggled, but there were too many.
The beggar stepped forward slowly, hands still arranged in that unnatural split-finger gesture across his face.
"All I wanted…" he said softly, voice trembling again, "…was spare change."
Another limb grew from his spine, thicker than the rest.
"…Something to buy myself a meal."
The new arm extended outward. It slowly curled into a fist.
"…You…"
The fist drew back.
"…were the one who brought this upon yourself."
It drove forward.
Thwack.
Kanasei's head snapped sideways.
Another fist struck his ribs.
Another his stomach.
Another his jaw.
Blow after blow after blow.
The kitchen filled with the sound of flesh striking flesh.
And Kanasei could feel something inside him beginning to respond. It was different.
The fists kept coming.
Left. Right. Jaw. Ribs. Stomach.
Each strike snapped his head back or folded his body forward, but the hands never loosened their grip. They held him upright just to keep hitting him.
Blood sprayed against the cabinet doors.
The blows blurred together. For a second, it wasn't the beggar's fists anymore.It was Nobu's empty eye sockets.
The beggar watched silently.
Then—
The punching stopped abruptly. All at once.
The hands around Kanasei's body unraveled like ropes being withdrawn. The fingers at his throat tightened for half a second, and then hurled him.
Kanasei's body slammed into the tile floor and skidded, crashing into the lower cabinets. The impact knocked the air out of him.
He rolled onto his side, coughing violently.
Air wouldn't come. His chest burned. He forced himself to inhale. It came in ragged pieces.
The beggar walked toward him slowly, shoes scraping against tile.
He stood over Kanasei's crumpled form.
"Look at that," he said calmly. The trembling in his voice was gone. "Now you're in the same position I was."
Kanasei blinked blood out of his good eye and forced his head up slightly.
The man tilted his head.
"…Should I show you mercy?"
There was no pleading left in him now.
Kanasei spat a thin line of blood onto the floor.
"And who the fuck are you supposed to be?"
The man's expression didn't shift.
"They call me..." He paused briefly. "…Grasp."
The name hung in the air.
"I was sent by someone," he continued. "Someone important. They didn't have time to deal with a weak-ass afterthought like you."
Kanasei's jaw tightened.
His fingers twitched against the tile.
"Oh yeah?"
Something shifted.
His left eye, the one hidden beneath the eyepatch, began to burn.
The pain returned. But this time it wasn't overwhelming.
A thin red glow bled through the fabric covering it.
The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken.
Kanasei slowly pushed himself up onto one elbow.
"We'll see..." he said quietly, voice no longer strained.
The red light intensified, bleeding through the eyepatch like a warning flare as his right eye started to glow as well.
"…who's the weakling he didn't want to waste his time on."
The corners of his stitched mouth twitched.
The sutures slowly started to rip, as blood started running down his face.