"It's the lanterns," he says, choosing to explain the mechanics of how before the actual result. He reaches for his own and sets it on the floor closer to Law. "I think somehow, since our lives here are tied to them, when we die if the lantern ends up damaged, then it's... we reflect that."

His lantern doesn't actually look terrible. A dent here and there, a chip out of the metal. Winters' was worse. But it's enough.

"There was a guy here named Daylight and he lost the ability to see the color yellow. Captain Winters, he had scales on his arm instead of human skin. I, um. I'll just show you."

Nothing like ripping off the bandage. At least by now he's had time to come to terms with the change. He can look at himself in the mirror and not feel complete revulsion. So it's less difficult now than it might have been some months ago to remove his hat, then reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it off over his head.

His left arm is still wrapped in bandages from the spirit at the radio tower, and relatively recent but scabbed-over bite marks mar his neck and shoulder. But those injuries are insignificant when juxtaposed with the fact that his rib cage is simply not where it should be but instead sits an inch or so too high, above and intersecting with flesh and muscle.