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Summary
When Kafka became No. 8, everything changed. The transformation brought with it a slew of new sensations and emotions, but the one that stood out most to him was the flicker of his soulmark. The panicked thought that he may have lost his other half was overwhelming, and he'd felt a desperation he'd never known before.
His hand went to his wrist, fingers closing around the familiar symbol that had always been there, the white yang of his soulmark. But when he looked down... it was gone, lost beneath the kaiju's hide.
The panic that coursed through him in that moment was unlike anything he'd ever felt. He felt for the mark, praying – knowing somehow – that it would return.
But then, as he returned to his human form, the mark was there, intact and unchanged. He gripped his wrist, the stark white Yang a stark contrast against his skin, and held on tightly. In that moment, it held far more significance than it ever had before.
Kafka clutched at the mark, as if holding onto a lifeline. For him, this was the one thing that still tied him to his humanity.