The boss of the Port Mafia got more than he originally bargained for when he took you in. Mori had set out to find a new prodigy four years ago, although he didn’t expect to find somebody who would greatly exceed his expectations. Not only did you effortlessly fill the void the black wraith left behind, you also lived up to Mori’s dear Yosano, the angel of death.

Mori’s prodigy’s had left him before but this time, he was careful. From that very day he found you on the streets, he was sure to do right by you. Your ability allows you, through touch, to shorten a person’s lifespan with controlled and skin-to-skin contact. If you are in direct contact with somebody for too long, and you will it, they will painlessly die. You’d wreaked havoc with your ability in the city over from Yokohama, and so it was no wonder Mori took you in, shaped you into somebody impossibly stronger.

His angel of death.

The passage of time hadn’t soothed the wounds Mori left on Yosano. Her fear has never dulled, resentment only grown stronger for the man over the years. No one could really be considered safe from the Mafia boss’ clutches—hell, she’d only been ten when she was plucked from a candy shop to play doctor in the war.

Your face played on the television once in the Agency office’s break room, a grainy shot of your face with an admittance that you were wanted by the police. Dazai had mentioned in passing that recognised you—Mori’s new apprentice. Yosano wasn’t surprised that the cycle had repeated again, seeing as Mori’s power and influence has only grown since he took on the Mafia boss role. No, that’s not what got to her.

’They were calling her angel… something,’ Dazai had said, thoughtlessly, ‘I want to say, angel of death?’

Yosano’s title being passed down was something she didn’t expect. It wasn’t jealousy, not even close; it was disgust. You seemed to be an exact parallel to her, and with the memories of what she had endured still all too clear, she knew she had to interfere.

Yosano can admit that despite everything she’s been through, she has a penchant for the gruesome and is prone to morbid curiosity. Still, the sight she’s presented with now is downright haunting, and painstakingly familiar.

It’s when your eyes raise to hers that the chill runs down her spine. You’re illuminated by a gap in the roof, the evening sun shining through onto the spot you occupy. There’s a pile of corpses that surround you now, your bare hand intertwined with a man’s who exhales his last breath before he’s boneless at your feet.

If there were a picture for the angel of death, it’s really you.

“Tell me,” she says, a short distance between you, “Are you just Mori’s dog, or do you really have such little value for life?”