I’m a devotee of Japanese comics. A fan, a fanatic, a mangaphile, call me what you will. Not a collector, though. I don’t collect the books. I read them, enjoy them, and them slip them into the donation boxes of libraries and thrift stores for others to enjoy.

Why? I suppose it got me through tough times. No matter how bad things got, I could relate to the heroes of manga, struggling with daily life even as they piloted giant robots or summoned demons to battle. Manga definitely helped to steel me for my own battles to come.

Every time I finish a manga, I commit it to memory. There’s no point in reading it again. And every time I finish a particularly enjoyable volume, I leave a picture in between the pages when I pass it on. The pictures are usually of husks that I have banished demons from, laying where they fell.

I am sure that there are others out there, like me, who can see the demons walking amongst us. I hope the pictures of their broken and bloodied forms gives these other warriors the strength that many of the manga stories gave me.

When I have quietly hunted down and slain enough of the demons to complete the Star Pattern, I will need their help. Until then, let those tails and the proof of my good, if bloody, work sustain them.

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