The bustling Public Safety Devil Hunter HQ buzzed with energy, a mix of hurried footsteps, the rustle of paperwork, and the murmur of mission briefings. The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the organized chaos. Denji sat in front of the office workers desk, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to make sense of the rules being explained to him.
Denji: (scratches his head, looking incredulous) "Wait, you're telling me Power needs permission to leave? Like, for real?."
The Public Safety office worker glanced up from his clipboard, an amused glint in his eye. He adjusted his glasses and gave a knowing smile.
Public Safety Worker: (matter-of-factly) "It's standard protocol. Fiends, especially ones like Power, have to be monitored. We can't risk her running off and causing, well... mayhem. You know how she is."
Denji's expression shifted between skepticism and mild amusement. He scratched his chin, a crooked grin starting to form.
Denji: "Hah, sounds like you guys are scared of her. Can't blame you, though. She's pretty nuts. So what, if she doesn't come back on time, you send out a search party? Like, a whole squad looking for a blood-crazed maniac?"
The worker chuckled, his tone remaining light but laced with seriousness.
Public Safety Worker: "Something like that. If a fiend goes AWOL, it's a big deal. Reports get filed, higher-ups start asking questions, and then... well, let's just say it's not pretty for anyone involved. Keeping tabs on Power isn't just about her; it's about protecting everyone else too."
Denji tilted his head, his grin faltering slightly as the weight of responsibility started to sink in. For a moment, he looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. Then, with a shrug, he pushed himself off the wall.
Denji: (grinning again) "Babysitting, huh? Sure, why not. Can't be that hard to keep an eye on the crazy, blood-sucking gremlin. I've handled worse."
The worker raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile.
Public Safety Worker: "Just be careful out there. Power's... unpredictable, to say the least. And remember, she's your responsibility while on patrol. Any trouble she causes comes back to you."
Denji rolled his eyes but nodded, his grin widening.
Denji: "Yeah, yeah, I got it. I'll keep her in check. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
The worker didn't laugh but shook his head with a wry smile.
Public Safety Worker: "Let's hope nothing happens okay?. Good luck."
With that, Denji turned on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets. The seriousness of the rules lingered in his mind, but his usual devil-may-care attitude quickly pushed it aside. Whatever was waiting for him out there, he'd handle it. After all, how hard could it be to keep up with Power?
As he exited the building, the faint sound of Power's voice carried in from the distance, loud and obnoxious as always. Denji smirked. His day was just getting started.
As Denji and Power head out of the bustling Public Safety HQ, the city hums with activity around them. Cars honk in the distance, and the chatter of pedestrians fills the air. The two devil hunters walk side by side, with Power's stride as chaotic and unbothered as ever. Suddenly, Power slaps Denji on the back of the head, hard enough to make him stumble forward.
"Hey, Denji! Didn't you promise to help me find Meowy?" she shouts, her crimson eyes narrowing as her sharp teeth flash in annoyance.
Denji, rubbing the back of his head, blinks in confusion before realization strikes him. "Huh? Meowy? Oh! Meowy!" he exclaims, the memory of his careless promise from the night before surfacing. "Ah, sorry, Power. I, uh... forgot!"
Power stops in her tracks, her hands on her hips as she glares at him. "Forgot? FOOLISH HUMAN! Meowy is the most important being in existence! You dare forget a promise to Power, the almighty Blood Fiend?"
Denji winces under her fiery gaze, thinking quickly. "Shit, I shouldn't have said that yesterday," he mutters under his breath. His mind races. What was I even thinking promising her that? What do I even get out of it? Gotta distract her... fast.
He flashes her a grin, scratching his head sheepishly. "Listen, Power, we've got this super important patrol to do first. You know, big-shot Devil Hunter stuff. But after we're done, I swear, we'll go look for Meowy, okay?"
Power narrows her crimson eyes, her frustration evident as she huffs, "Patrolling can wait! Meowy needs me now, you fool!" Her sharp teeth flash as her voice rises, attracting a few curious glances from nearby pedestrians.
Denji scratches his head, trying to come up with a way to calm her down. Then, an idea strikes him—a good one, or so he hopes. "Fine, fine," he sighs, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just hold on a sec. We'll go get Meowy, alright? You know where she is, right?"
Power huffs, puffing out her chest with pride. "Of course I do! Power knows everything!"
Denji nods slowly, a sly grin forming on his face. "Great. Then we'll handle it... later." He turns on his heel and starts walking away casually, waving a hand over his shoulder as if the matter is settled.
Power's eyes widen in surprise. "What? Later? Why not now?" she yells, stomping her foot with enough force to make nearby pigeons scatter.
Denji pauses, his mind scrambling for a convincing excuse. After a brief moment, he snaps his fingers as if struck by a brilliant idea. "Well, uh, you see... we've gotta take care of something first. Yeah, I, uh, wanted to check out a few shops while we're in the area. You know, look for some stuff we might need."
He turns to her with a sheepish grin, trying to sell the lie. "It's super important. Trust me, you'll like it!
As Denji walks ahead, he can feel the burning anger radiating from Power just behind him. He knows he's in deep trouble, but at least for now, she's holding back—probably because she realizes killing him won't get her closer to Meowy. His mind races, searching for something—anything—that might keep her distracted.
"Shit, come on, Power. It's just a damn cat, not a dog!" Denji thinks frantically, trying to focus on finding a solution.
His eyes dart around as they pass by shops. I have to find something quick, or I'm dead meat. Suddenly, something catches his attention—a small store nestled between two larger buildings. "Great Grand Manga Store?" Denji mutters aloud, his thoughts briefly pulling away from the danger at hand. Manga... that could work.
With a burst of energy, Denji jogs toward the entrance, relief flooding him as he pushes open the door. The small bell above jingles as he steps inside, Power following closely behind with a murderous glint in her eye. Denji quickly surveys the store, filled with rows upon rows of manga—some popular, others obscure titles that no one outside of a hardcore fanbase might recognize. The atmosphere is quiet, the air thick with the scent of paper and ink.
"Alright, Power, check this out," Denji says, trying to sound casual as he gestures toward the shelves. This better work, he thinks, praying that the sight of all the manga will captivate her for at least a little while.
Denji glances over at the shelves, his mind scrambling for a way to keep Power distracted. "Uh, are you interested in... Jojo's Bizarre Adventure or Hunter X Hunter?" he asks, trying to sound casual, but Power glares at him, unimpressed.
"You know I can't read, right?" she snaps, her tone sharp as ever.
Denji scratches the back of his head, trying to recover. "OH! Sorry, Power, um... how about something easier to follow? You know, something full of pictures that even you can understand without all those pesky words," he says awkwardly, glancing back at the shelves for something that could work.
His eyes catch on a particular title. Lights Released—the cover features a blonde-haired, blue-eyed character standing next to a red-haired figure with similarly piercing eyes. A black-and-white sphere resembling a white hole is subtly placed between them. Denji pulls the manga off the shelf like he's drawn to it, flipping it open as if it might hold the answer to his problems.
The first page of Lights Released presents a scene. The dialogue starts with a female character, dressed in a brown coat, asking a man with red eyes and hair, "Excuse me, sir, um, I would like to ask for your number, if that's fine?"
The next panel shows a café in the background, as footsteps echo. The young man, who had been on his phone, turns toward the woman, a slight curiosity in his expression. The woman, looked at the young man as he is currently on a call as she appears flustered, nervously glancing away.
"Oh, I'm sorry, you're calling someone, um, I'll..." she stammers, but the man cuts her off with a calm, dismissive gesture.
"No, that's fine. It wasn't that important," he says casually, his tone easygoing.
The woman hesitates, looking flustered. "Oh, well, um... well, I was wondering if you have some free time. Maybe we could hang out?"
The man smiles warmly, clearly unbothered by her sudden proposition. "Sure, but I can't right now. Let's talk on the phone for now," he replies with a relaxed shrug.
He writes his number down on a piece of paper and hands it to her. "See you later," he adds with a small wave, as the woman's friend nearby watches, blushing and shaking her head, clearly amused.
As the man walks away, the woman and her friend are left flustered, their conversation now hushed as the young man continues on his way to work. The scene captures the casual confidence of the man, his ease with the situation seeming to leave the women in a daze. Denji closes the book, suddenly realizing he's been so engrossed in the story that he didn't even notice if Power was still standing next to him.
"Uh, Power? You... you good?" he asks, snapping back to reality.
"Am I? AM I?!" Power erupts, her voice like a storm ready to tear through everything in its path. Denji winces, bracing himself for the worst as he feels the impending explosion of Power's rage.
In the blink of an eye, the scene shifts. The chaos fades as the pair now find themselves sitting on a cable car, the steady hum of the train the only sound between them. Denji, now with a few fresh bandages wrapped around his arms and head, stares out the window, the copy of Lights Released—now with chapters 1 through 3 in hand—resting on his lap. His mind is still reeling from the encounter with Power, but he's grateful that, for now, she's quiet.
Power, on the other hand, is seated across from him, looking pointedly away, her posture relaxed in the seat as though she's trying to ignore him, though the tension in the air is thick. Her gaze is distant, focused on nothing in particular as her arms are crossed, a frown lingering on her lips. The storm may have passed, but the clouds are still hanging low.
Denji lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead. That was close, he thinks, trying to shake off the last of the unease. The silence between them is heavier than he expected. He glances at Power, wondering if he should say something to break it, but then thinks better of it. With her mood, anything he says might set her off again.
As Denji sighs, his eyes lingering on the plastic bag with the manga he bought. He glances at Power, still seated across from him, her gaze focused somewhere in the distance, her posture nonchalant as ever. "Man, I can't get along with her, can't I?" he mutters to himself, rubbing his temples. After a moment of silence, he sighs again, a bit more heavily this time. He figures there's no point in dwelling on it right now, so he flips open Lights Released and begins reading again, trying to lose himself in the story.
The scene shifts in the manga, and the red-haired man steps through the Glass door of his office building. He greets the security guard with a polite nod, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. As he passes a few coworkers, he exchanges a few casual words, his tone friendly and effortless, the kind of light conversation that blends into the background of an average workday. The elevator doors slide open, and he waves goodbye to his colleagues as he steps inside, the small hum of the elevator's mechanics the only sound.
When the elevator reaches the top floor, he steps out and makes his way to his office, his pace purposeful yet unhurried. One of his coworkers, a man with a warm smile, hands him a steaming cup of coffee. "For you, Mr. Stansas," the coworker says.
He accepts it with a nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just call me Aven, Tim," he replies easily, offering a casual dismissal of the formal address. He takes a sip of the coffee, appreciating the warmth, before heading into his office.
The door clicks shut behind him as he places his bag on the desk. Aven sets the coffee down and takes a moment to smooth his business attire, adjusting his blue polo and light brown pants. The mirror on the far wall catches his reflection as he stands before it, straightening his posture and fixing his shirt. With a satisfied nod, he walks over to his chair and sinks into it, settling in for the day, the weight of the moment subtly shifting as he prepares to get to work.
As Aven takes a deep breath as he settles into his chair, the familiar rhythm of the office already beginning to take shape around him. He adjusts his posture, the slight shift of his body signaling the beginning of his regular day. The hum of the fluorescent lights above and the quiet clacking of keyboards from nearby desks create a dull, comforting background noise.
The first thing he does is glance at his inbox. Several new emails have piled up overnight—client updates, reports from his team, and a few meeting requests. He opens the first one, a progress report from his assistant. He skims through the figures, nodding to himself as he notes a slight increase in the last quarter's revenue. Nothing too exciting, but solid numbers. He makes a mental note to discuss it in the afternoon meeting.
Aven shifts to the next task: drafting a response to a client's inquiry about a project delay. The email is professional but empathetic, a balance he's mastered over the years. He types a few lines, carefully worded to ensure the client knows the delay is a result of unavoidable factors but that their concerns are heard. After hitting send, he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of coffee, mentally preparing for the day ahead.
The phone rings, interrupting his moment of respite. Aven picks it up on the second ring.
"Hello, Aven Stansas speaking."
"Hey, Aven. It's Tim. We're still good for the 2 PM meeting, right?" Tim's voice is steady but tinged with a hint of urgency.
"Yeah, we're set," Aven replies. "I'll be there. See you then."
Aven hangs up and checks his watch. It's still a little early for the 2 PM meeting, but he knows the next few hours will be packed. His to-do list looms in front of him, a steady stream of responsibilities that don't allow for much downtime. He dives into his next task: preparing for a presentation he'll be giving at the end of the week. The slides are mostly ready, but he still needs to fine-tune the data to make sure everything flows smoothly.
Minutes turn to hours as Aven runs through meeting agendas, answering emails, and reviewing project timelines. His assistant stops by to drop off a few files for him to sign. Aven glances through them quickly, checking the key points before scribbling his signature at the bottom. He thanks her with a quick smile and watches her leave, returning to the mountain of work on his desk.
The phone rings again, this time with a more familiar voice—his boss, Mr. Thompson.
"Aven, I need you to review the final draft of the quarterly report. Could you do that by the end of the day?"
"Of course, I'll get on it," Aven replies, making a note of it on his desk calendar.
"Great, I'll be looking forward to your thoughts. I trust you'll have it all in order."
The call ends, and Aven leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He's grateful for the trust Mr. Thompson has in him, but the constant stream of work does wear on him at times. Still, he takes pride in getting things done, in keeping everything organized and running smoothly.
The afternoon rolls around quickly. Aven joins the team for their regular meeting, where they discuss the latest projects, potential partnerships, and any challenges they're facing. As usual, Aven contributes his thoughts, offering insights on budgeting and timelines. His team members appreciate his clear, level-headed approach. The meeting wraps up, and Aven returns to his office, quickly transitioning to his next tasks.
He reviews the final draft of the quarterly report, fine-tuning a few numbers and polishing the language to ensure everything is as concise and professional as possible. Once he's satisfied, he sends it off to Mr. Thompson.
As Aven sighs in relief as he pushes through the last of his tasks. The end is in sight—just a few more clarifications and confirmations, and his day will be over. He continues tapping away at his laptop, sending replies, finalizing meeting dates, and ensuring everything is in order. The steady rhythm of his work is interrupted when, suddenly, the power cuts out.
"What the...?" he mutters, glancing around his dark office. His fingers instinctively reach for his phone, flicking on the flashlight. "There should be a backup generator," he thinks, but there's no hum of power returning. The silence is unsettling. Normally, you'd hear people groaning or making jokes about the outage, but there's nothing.
His unease grows as he stands, heading for the door. He grasps the handle and turns it, pushing the door open to peer into the hallway. He raises his phone's flashlight, but the beam cuts through the darkness only a few feet before being swallowed. "It's way too dark," he thinks, a shiver running down his spine. His logical side tells him it's better to stay inside—he's not about to wander through an unfamiliar, pitch-black hallway.
He shuts the door quickly, locks it, and, for good measure, drags a chair in front of it, barricading the door. His breath comes out in a shaky exhale as he steps back, reassured by the barrier, but the feeling of dread hasn't left him.
"That's weird," he mutters, glancing down at his phone again. He checks the battery percentage—73%. He remembers charging it only a little while ago, and the number seems off. He shakes his head, brushing it off, but the creeping unease won't leave.
He paces the room, his flashlight cutting through the thick darkness, but there's no sign of life outside his office. Through the window, he stares out at the city, but what he sees sends a chill up his spine. The usual city lights? Gone. The sky? No stars, no moon. Just an expanse of void. The darkness is absolute. It's as if the city itself has been swallowed by something far worse than just a power outage.
Aven checks his phone again. 39%.
"What? No... no way," he mutters under his breath. The phone was at 73% just moments ago. His heart rate quickens, and he glances at the phone in disbelief, then back at the darkened city beyond his office window.
Before he can process what's happening, the percentage drops again. 24%.
"What the hell?" Panic creeps into his voice. "No, no, no, this can't be right," he whispers, staring at the screen. The flashlight flickers, its beam growing weaker with every passing second.
The percentage drops again, 18%.
"Wait—no! I didn't mean to complain! Please—please, just stay on," he begs, his breath quickening. But the phone's flashlight is now almost useless, the light barely cutting through the darkness. As he stares in horror at his phone, the room around him begins to shift.
It's subtle at first—just a slight distortion—but as Aven looks around, it becomes clear: the office is aging. The once pristine desk is now scratched, the walls slightly peeling, the carpet a dull shade. The air feels different, heavier, as if the room itself is eroding.
But Aven doesn't notice it immediately, too focused on the phone and the ever-decreasing battery. His mind is racing, trying to understand what's happening, but every time he looks back at his phone, it's even worse.
"No, no, no..." he gasps, a strangled panic rising in his throat. The office continues to age, but his attention is locked on the device—on the now faint flashlight that's barely a glow. His mind screams for answers, but no matter where he turns, the silence is deafening, the darkness suffocating.
Aven stares at his phone, the screen completely black now, its battery drained to 0% in a matter of seconds. His breath catches as the weak glow of the flashlight fades entirely, plunging the room into an oppressive darkness. The silence around him is overwhelming, yet it feels as though something is shifting—something bigger, something far beyond his comprehension.
Unbeknownst to Aven, time around him begins to accelerate at an unimaginable rate. The office continues to decay, but now it's far more drastic. The walls crack and crumble, the carpet disintegrates into nothing but dust, and the desk warps and collapses. The once-modern fixtures of his workspace are now ancient, forgotten remnants of a time long past.
As the room crumbles away, Aven finally hears and notice the change . He stumbles back, his heart pounding. "What the hell is happening?" he whispers, but his voice feels small, swallowed by the vastness surrounding him.
Then, something miraculous begins. In the void beyond his window, pinpricks of light start to appear—small, flickering stars dotting the endless black canvas. Aven's eyes widen, his panic momentarily giving way to awe. The stars multiply rapidly, filling the dark expanse with constellations, nebulae, and swirling galaxies. Colors burst into existence—deep purples, radiant blues, and fiery oranges painting the sky in a cosmic dance.
The cityscape below his office window is gone now, replaced entirely by an endless, breathtaking view of space. Massive planets float in the distance, their surfaces shimmering with alien textures. Rings of debris encircle some of them, glowing faintly in the starlight. A comet streaks by, its fiery tail leaving a trail of light that illuminates the ever-changing scene.
Aven feels as though he's been transported to the edge of the universe, standing alone in his crumbling office amidst the infinite expanse of stars. The floor beneath him begins to dissolve, pieces of it breaking away and floating into the void like fragments of a forgotten memory. His office is no longer a building but an island suspended in space, a tiny speck in the vast, overwhelming grandeur of the cosmos.
Despite the beauty, unease claws at Aven. The speed of the changes is dizzying. Planets appear and vanish, stars explode in brilliant supernovas, and galaxies are born, only to wither into black holes moments later. It's as if time itself is unraveling before his eyes, rushing forward at an incomprehensible pace.
Aven reaches out instinctively, trying to steady himself on what remains of his desk, but his hand passes through it—it's no longer solid, fading like a ghost. He gasps, spinning in place as he looks around, searching for anything familiar, anything real.
As meteors streaked past him, their fiery trails lighting up the cosmos in a dazzling display, Aven's breath caught at the sight of something new—a spark of green amidst the swirling void. He watched in awe as tiny specks of light began to materialize around him, flickering like fireflies in the darkness.
Before his eyes, those specks morphed into seeds, floating gently in the zero-gravity expanse. They pulsed faintly, as if alive with an inner energy, and then began to sprout. Delicate tendrils extended outward, growing with impossible speed. Aven stood frozen as vibrant vines curled and twisted through the air, intertwining like dancers in a cosmic waltz.
Lush leaves unfurled, glowing faintly with an ethereal green light, casting gentle shadows on Aven's crumbling surroundings. From these vines, flowers began to bloom in colors he couldn't even name—blues deeper than any ocean, reds as fierce as the sun, and purples that seemed to drink in the starlight around them. Their petals shimmered with a translucent beauty, catching and refracting the light of the passing meteors.
The plants spread rapidly, carpeting the remains of the office floor and crawling up the decayed walls. Branches extended outward, sprouting fruit that glistened like polished gemstones. Trees formed next, their trunks solid yet iridescent, their roots weaving into the remnants of the crumbling structure. The trees stretched higher and higher, their canopies intertwining until they resembled a floating rainforest suspended in the vastness of space.
Aven reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers against a nearby leaf. It felt cool and smooth, yet it hummed faintly with life, as though it were breathing alongside him. Around him, flowers opened and closed in rhythm, responding to some unseen cosmic pulse.
The transformation was not just limited to greenery. Streams of water began to appear, weaving through the vegetation like shimmering rivers. They sparkled with light, reflecting the growing ecosystem as it flourished around him. Small orbs of light hovered near the plants, buzzing like curious insects, adding another layer of life to this surreal, floating garden.
Aven's awe deepened as he realized that this was more than just growth—it was creation itself, unfolding at an accelerated pace. He could feel the vibrancy in the air, as though the plants and flowers were alive in ways far beyond their physical presence. The once-terrifying void had transformed into a breathtaking sanctuary, a living, breathing ecosystem born from the ruins of his crumbling reality.
Even as the stars continued their chaotic dance in the background, this blossoming paradise offered a strange sense of peace—a quiet reminder that life, no matter how fleeting or fragile, could thrive even in the most unexpected places.
As Aven's bewilderment deepened as he stared at the strange young man that came out of nowhere. he looked far too at ease in this bizarre situation. The cosmic garden around them still pulsed with life, but the sudden intrusion of Party blower and this overly cheerful figure sitting atop a speaker felt entirely out of place, the vibrant green and glowing foliage framing him like a surreal painting. The man had unruly blonde hair and piercing dark blue eyes, his carefree grin at odds with the cosmic chaos around them.
"Hey there!" the man called out, his voice warm and lively. He leapt down from the speaker with an effortless grace, landing as if gravity had no real claim on him, his blonde hair catching the faint glow of the shimmering plants. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, as if he found the entire situation amusing. Aven instinctively took a step back, his mind racing to make sense of this surreal encounter.
"Um, who are you?" Aven asked cautiously, his voice tinged with unease.
Yuri gave a casual wave, completely ignoring the tension in Aven's tone. "Hm who am I, Hm? just Call me Yuri. Nice and easy, right? Not like it matters too much anyway. See, I already know who you are, Aven Stansas." His grin widened as if he were sharing a private joke.
Aven's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name? And what are you even talking about?"
Yuri shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, that's not important. What is important is this!" He gestured grandly to the enormous mystery wheel standing beside him. The wheel was an overwhelming spectacle, painted in bright colors with sections labeled with Power's: Reality Manipulation , Concept Manipulation, Death Manipulation, Adaptation, and Millions more. It radiated a faint, otherworldly glow, and just looking at it sent a shiver down Aven's spine.
"I'll explain it quick so we can get this over with," Yuri said, gripping the wheel's handle. "This bad boy here is gonna decide your power and your weapon. Think of it like a... divine lottery! Whatever the wheel lands on, you get. Simple, right? Let's hope you're lucky!"
Aven blinked, his confusion only growing. "What are you even talking about? Power? Weapon? I don't need anything like that—"
"Ah, ah, ah!" Yuri cut him off, wagging a finger. "Doesn't matter what you think. The rules are already in motion, my guy. You're here, so you spin the wheel. Or I spin it for you. Either way, destiny's got a plan, and I'm just the delivery guy."
Aven looked around, his heart pounding. The plants, the stars, the surreal environment—it was all too much. And now this? His instincts told him to refuse, to demand answers, but something about Yuri's casual confidence made it clear that resistance was futile.
"Fine," Aven muttered reluctantly, crossing his arms. "But if this is some kind of joke, I'm not going to find it funny."
Yuri's grin only grew. "Oh, trust me. You'll find it very funny... eventually." Without waiting for further protest, he spun the wheel with a dramatic flourish. The sound of clicking filled the air as the wheel spun rapidly, its colorful sections blurring together.
"Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows!" Yuri sang, stepping back and crossing his arms as he waited for the result.
Aven could only watch, his stomach twisting in knots as the wheel slowed down, the clicking growing louder with each passing moment
The wheel spun with a dizzying speed, its colorful segments flashing brightly in the air, accompanied by a lively tune that seemed to mock Aven's growing sense of disbelief. Despite the chaos around him, the spinning wheel almost felt... exhilarating. Bright lights reflected off the foliage, creating an otherworldly glow as Aven's mind raced. He had no idea what was happening or why he was even here, but the idea of possibly gaining a powerful ability from the wheel made him momentarily forget his panic. After all, who wouldn't want an op power straight out of an anime?
The wheel clicked to a halt, and the vibrant music abruptly stopped. Aven's heart skipped a beat as the pointer landed on "Flame Manipulation."
Yuri tilted his head, looking at the wheel as if considering it with mixed feelings. "Flame Manipulation, huh?" he mused aloud, scratching the back of his head. "Well, it's not bad... Could've been better, I guess. You could've gotten something crazier, like Reality or Death Manipulation, but hey, fire's always a classic."
Aven, still stunned by the rapid turn of events, let out a groan. Flame Manipulation? Of all the powers he could have gotten, this was the one he landed on. He had imagined something more... grandiose. Something that could bend the very fabric of reality or control time itself. But no, he was stuck with fire. He crossed his arms, clearly frustrated.
Yuri, noticing Aven's disappointed look. He clapped him on the shoulder with surprising familiarity. Hey, hey, don't be so down about it," Yuri said, patting Aven's shoulder with mock encouragement. "Fire's classic! Iconic, even! You're in the same club as some of the greats—fire-benders, wizards, uh... barbecues. Lots of potential here! You just gotta work it."
Aven exhaled sharply, still unsure of whether he should be relieved or annoyed. But Yuri's words did carry some weight. Fire had its uses—he'd seen enough action movies to know that. Maybe it wasn't the most glamorous, but it sure could be deadly. And who knew? Maybe it was just the start.
"Alright, fine," Aven muttered, forcing a half-smile. "Let's see what the weapon wheel has to offer."
Yuri's grin returned, more mischievous than ever. "That's the spirit! Now, let's get you some firepower." He motioned toward the next wheel, which loomed ominously in the distance, just waiting for its turn.
With a deep breath, Aven steeled himself for whatever came next.
Yuri's grin widened as he spun the second wheel with a dramatic flourish. "Alright, this is the bad baby! This one's gonna decide your weapon. Now, no matter what you're comfortable with—what you think you're good at—if this wheel picks it, you have to make it your main tool in battle. And if you don't... well..." Yuri paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully, his grin turning mischievous. "Well, let's just say you'll regret it. Paralyzed, cursed, maybe even worse. So, take this seriously, alright? Oh, and yeah, your powers count too. So, without further ado..." He gestured grandly at the wheel. "Let's spin!"
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Aven stood stiffly, his jaw tightening as he eyed the black-and-red wheel. Its ominous design seemed to mock him, the sections filled with foreboding weapon names like The Revolt, Crain Rifle, Zweislander, Red Rover, and Dead Man's Blade and millions more. Each name radiated menace, as if the weapons themselves were alive, waiting to be unleashed. But one name, in particular, froze Aven in place Swift Blade.
His heart dropped. Not that one. Anything but that.
Yuri, catching the flicker of fear in Aven's expression, smirked with cruel amusement. "Oh, you're nervous. Good. Makes this more fun. Better start praying, my friend. You're gonna need it."
With a dramatic sweep, Yuri spun the wheel. The mechanism clicked rhythmically, each sound hammering into Aven's chest like a countdown to doom. The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unease as the wheel spun faster, blurring the names into a sinister haze.
Aven's fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms. Please, anything but the Swift Blade. He fixated on the spinning wheel, each click elongating time, turning seconds into agonizing eternities.
As the wheel began to slow, the clicking grew louder, each sound hitting like a gunshot. The hand inched closer to Swift Blade, the dreaded name now in sharp focus. Aven's stomach churned, his mind racing with panicked thoughts. This is it. I'm finished. I'm not strong enough to handle that.
The wheel crawled to a near stop. Aven's breath caught in his throat. The hand hovered, the thin sliver of safety shrinking as it drew closer to Swift Blade.
Then it happened. The wheel stopped.
Aven squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable.
This is it. I'm doomed. how in the world am I going to get stronger with that. I'll never—
Then, something unexpected happened
instead of Yuri's triumphant laughter, there was silence.
A puzzled voice broke the tension. "Huh?" Yuri leaned closer to the wheel, scratching the back of his head. "That's... weird." I don't remember putting that there."
Aven's eyes snapped open. The hand hadn't landed on Swift Blade. It had stopped on something else entirely—a section that had almost seemed invisible until now. The name glowed faintly, etched in jagged letters
The All Handed Blade.
Yuri's grin faltered for the first time, his playful demeanor giving way to genuine confusion. "The All Handed Blade?" he muttered, as if testing the name on his tongue. "Well, sounds like a strong Sword"
Aven stared at the wheel, his heart pounding. Relief washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by an odd sense of foreboding. The name resonated with him in a way that felt uncomfortably personal, as if the blade had chosen him rather than the other way around.
As the name glowed faintly, as if the Its name itself is alive. Aven stared in disbelief. He hadn't seen that option on the wheel before—he was sure of it even tho there was maybe a thousands or maybe even millions of possible weapons he didn't even saw it. The name alone seemed to resonate with an energy that felt both strange and familiar, as though it was calling out to him specifically.
Yuri straightened, his grin returning, though less confident now. "Well, well. Looks like you dodged a bullet—or a blade, in this case. But don't get too comfortable. That thing's bound to come with its own set of surprises." He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and mischief. "Guess you'll find out soon enough what it really means."
Aven exhaled shakily, his fists unclenching. His reprieve felt temporary, like the eye of a storm. The ominous hum of The All Handed Blade echoed in his mind, a promise of power—and the unknown.
This was far from over. But for now, he had his weapon. The real question loomed heavy in his mind: What will it demand of me?
Yuri's grin returned, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he adjusted his stance. "Ah, you see, that sword—The All Handed Blade—well, it's not exactly from around here. It's not something you can just pick up off a shelf, my friend." He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in closer to Aven as if sharing a secret. "It's hiding in a different universe. A little tricky, right?"
Aven blinked, still trying to process the surreal nature of everything happening around him. "Wait... so, you're telling me I have to travel to another universe to find my weapon?"
Yuri gave a carefree shrug. "Well, not exactly. Think of it more like... I need to locate the right universe where it's currently chilling. Once we pinpoint its location, we can pull it into this one. But hey, no big deal! It's just a minor cosmic detour."
Aven's confusion deepened, but something in Yuri's tone made it sound like this was just another typical day for him. Aven clenched his fists, trying to focus, despite the swirling chaos around them. "Alright, so what do we do now? How do you even find the right universe?"
Yuri's grin widened with a mix of pride and mischief. "Well, I'm glad you asked," he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "I've got this amazing ability. It's kind of like Time Manipulation, but, well, I can do pretty much anything with it. It's hard to explain in full, but let's just say... I can navigate between universes and pull things from them. In this case, I'll find the one where the strongest version of The All Handed Blade resides, then make a bunch of copies and hope for the best."
Aven stared at him, disbelief written all over his face. "So you're telling me you're going to create a bunch of different universes and just hope we land in the right one?"
Yuri gave a casual shrug, the gleam in his eyes not fading. "Exactly! A little chaos never hurt anyone, right? Besides, I've got a good feeling about this. Let's just pray the right universe decides to pop up."
Aven blinked, trying to wrap his mind around the sheer absurdity of the plan. "And what if it doesn't work?"
Yuri simply grinned wider. "Well, that's part of the fun. You'll get your weapon one way or another."
Aven let out an exasperated sigh, but before he could process his frustration, there was a strange flash. In the blink of an eye, he found himself sitting on a stool in a dimly lit bar, surrounded by the hum of idle chatter. Yuri, now beside him, was casually sipping a glass of milk, completely unfazed. Both of them were dressed in adventure gear straight out of an isekai anime—leather armor, boots, and various odd gadgets hanging from their belts.
Aven looked around, disoriented. "What... just happened?"
Yuri grinned, unbothered by the sudden change. "Oh, you know, just a little universe-hopping magic to speed up the process."
Aven groaned, still trying to wrap his head around everything. He glanced at the bartender, who was wiping a glass and staring at them with a mixture of suspicion and indifference. Yuri leaned forward, asking casually, "Afternoon, friend. Ever heard of a tale about the All Handed Blade?"
The bartender blinked at him, a confused frown pulling at his brow. "Im sorry sir but I have no information regarding such Weapon."
Yuri's face fell, clearly disappointed. "Man, I really thought we'd hit the jackpot on the first try." With a snap of his fingers, the atmosphere shifted, and suddenly, they were no longer in the bar.
Aven's stomach lurched as the world around them warped, and before he knew it, they were standing at the entrance to a dimly lit dungeon. The air was thick with dampness, and the sound of dripping water echoed from deep within the stone walls. Aven blinked, adjusting to the new environment as he looked at Yuri, who was already adjusting his armor and grinning like this was just another ordinary day.
"Alright, Aven," Yuri said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's try our luck here. Time to find your weapon in this dungeon!"
Aven shot him an incredulous look, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Are we seriously just going to wander into a dungeon like this?"
Yuri gave a nonchalant shrug. "Why not? Dungeons are always a good place to find hidden treasures... or powerful weapons. Plus, it's not like we have any better leads."
With that, they ventured into the dungeon, the atmosphere growing heavier as they descended further into its depths.
As they wandered through the dimly lit dungeon, Yuri suddenly stopped, his face lighting up with excitement. "Hey, Aven! I just had a brilliant idea. Why don't we use this chance to try out your new fire powers?" He turned to Aven with a wide grin, clearly proud of his suggestion.
Aven shrugged, still adjusting to everything. "Sure, I guess. Might as well figure out how this works."
Yuri nodded, satisfied, and continued leading the way. "Perfect! So, what do you think of—ouch!" He stumbled back, rubbing his forehead after walking straight into a wooden sign hanging from the ceiling.
"What the—?" Yuri grumbled, glaring at the offending sign. His irritation quickly turned into intrigue as he read the text scrawled in bold, messy letters: "Free OP Limited Items This Way →"
Yuri froze for a moment before dramatically turning to Aven with an exaggerated gasp, his eyes wide as if he'd just discovered the meaning of life. "Aven, look! FREE OP ITEMS!" He pointed at the sign with both hands as if it were some divine revelation. "We have to go down that scary, totally not suspicious dark hallway. It's destiny!"
Aven squinted at the ominous path the sign was pointing to. The corridor was pitch black, with strange echoes coming from its depths. "You sure about this? It's probably a trap."
Yuri waved off Aven's concern with a dismissive gesture. "Pfft, come on! What's the worst that could happen? We'll either find amazing loot... or die in a blaze of glory. Either way, it's a win-win!"
Before Aven could argue, Yuri was already striding confidently into the darkness, his enthusiasm practically dragging Aven along.
"Oh, come on!" Aven groaned as he followed Yuri, his reluctance clear in every step. Before he could finish voicing his protest, the ground beneath them gave way.
With a loud crash, they tumbled down into a trap. "OUCH!" Aven shouted as they hit the bottom of the booby trap Youch that has to hurt. But before he could fully process what had happened, his vision went black for a split second.
When Aven opened his eyes again, he found himself back on his feet, completely unharmed. Yuri stood beside him, grinning smugly. "Tada! See? Told you the sign wasn't lying!" Yuri gestured grandly ahead, and Aven's eyes widened in awe.
"Don't try to lighten up the situation! We literally just fell into a tra—" Aven's voice was abruptly silenced as Yuri raised a finger to his lips, his expression suddenly tense.
"Shh," Yuri whispered, his eyes narrowing as he gestured toward the floor pointing where they are standing on in a vast, ornate hall, its atmosphere both majestic and unsettling. Marble sculptures of soldiers and famous emperors were scattered throughout, all depicted on their knees as if bowing in eternal submission. The statues bore expressions of anguish and reverence, their postures eerily lifelike.
The walls were lined with massive banners, battle-torn and weathered. Each bore the symbol of various factions, united only by a prominent cross, a haunting reminder of their shared struggle. Above them hung an enormous chandelier made entirely of hands—skeletal, stone, and flesh-like. Some of the hands gripped glowing orbs of light, while others were sculpted in desperate poses, clawing toward the luminescence.
And at the center of it all, illuminated by a beam of eerie golden light, stood The All Handed Blade. The weapon rested in a pedestal reminiscent of the legendary Excalibur's, but with a grotesque twist—dozens of hands were gripping to the blade, their fingers clutching it tightly, as if refusing to let go even in death. The blade itself was a masterpiece of ominous design, its surface etched with intricate, almost otherworldly carvings, and its edge gleaming with a dangerous, otherworldly glow.
Aven took a step closer, the weight of the hall's ominous atmosphere pressing down on him. "That... is the creepiest sword I've ever seen."
Yuri, completely unfazed by the eerie surroundings, rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Creepy or not, that beauty is yours, my friend! Now, let's grab it before something—oh, I don't know—tries to kill us."
Aven nodded, his resolve hardening as he stepped forward. Each step echoed ominously in the vast hall, the sound bouncing off the cold marble walls. As he approached the sword, he noticed something unsettling—the sculpted hands gripping the blade seemed to shift ever so slightly, their fingers loosening and tightening as though they were alive. It wasn't his imagination; the hands were moving, as if recognizing his presence.
The statues of knights and kings scattered throughout the hall reacted as well. One by one, they lowered their heads in reverence, bowing so deeply that their foreheads touched the ground. Their once-stoic faces now bore expressions of humility and submission, as though acknowledging Aven as the rightful heir to the weapon.
Above him, the chandelier began to descend, its ghostly light casting eerie shadows across the room. The hands forming the chandelier seemed to writhe and twist, reshaping themselves. Fingers extended toward Aven, not in menace but in a gesture that almost felt... welcoming, as if they were guiding him toward the blade.
Aven could feel the air grow heavier, thick with a strange energy that sent shivers down his spine. Each step seemed to carry more weight, not from fear, but from the sheer magnitude of the moment. This wasn't just about claiming a weapon—it was about accepting the legacy, the power, and the responsibility that came with it.
As he reached the pedestal, the hands on the blade shifted once more, loosening their grip slightly, as if granting him permission to take what was now his. Aven extended his hand, the energy around the blade pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Whatever came next, he knew there was no turning back.
Aven wrapped his fingers around the handle of the weapon, its cold surface sending a jolt through his arm. As he pulled, the blade resisted at first, as if testing his resolve. Slowly but surely, it began to slide free from its eerie grasp. The sculpted hands clutching the blade trembled violently, their stone-like texture cracking and splintering.
Then, something horrifying began to unfold. The hands touching the blade started to bleed, dark crimson dripping from their fingers and pooling at the base of the pedestal. The lifelike statues scattered throughout the hall followed suit, their unyielding marble exteriors splitting open to reveal veins and arteries that oozed with fresh blood.
Aven's eyes widened as he noticed the sword itself was changing. Its polished steel surface darkened, and pulsating veins began to appear, intertwining across its length. The weapon seemed alive now, a grotesque yet mesmerizing creation, breathing with an ominous power that radiated in waves. The veins glowed faintly, as if the sword was drinking in the bloodshed around it, feeding on the chaos.
The hall responded in kind. The chandeliers above dripped with blood from the reshaping hands, and the statues let out faint groans, as if awakening from centuries of silent torment. The air grew thick with a metallic scent, and the energy around Aven became suffocating, pressing down on him from all sides.
Despite the growing horror, Aven didn't falter. He tightened his grip on the weapon, his determination unwavering. Whatever this sword was—whatever it demanded of him—he had chosen it. And now, it seemed, it had chosen him too.
As the room darkened further, shadows stretched and slithered across the walls like living tendrils. An unsettling silence swallowed the hall, the air thickening with an oppressive weight. A swirling mist began to gather before Aven, spiraling upward in unnatural patterns. It coalesced into a hazy, indistinct figure, its edges shifting like smoke, as though reality itself struggled to contain its form.
Then, a voice broke the silence—deep, resonant, and imbued with an ancient authority. Each word struck Aven like the toll of a bell, vibrating through his core.
"I see you have claimed me," it intoned, the cadence slow and deliberate, each syllable reverberating as if drawn from the marrow of the earth itself.
Aven's pulse quickened, but his face betrayed no fear. His sharp eyes narrowed at the apparition, his stance steady despite the oppressive aura emanating from it. "Are you... my blade?" he asked cautiously, his voice even but laced with curiosity.
The figure shifted, its form trembling on the brink of coherence. Slowly, it began to solidify, as though emerging from behind a veil of dense fog. The outline sharpened, revealing more of its essence, and the motion of its nod was deliberate, almost reverent.
"Yes," the figure replied, its voice carrying an ethereal timbre. "The voice you hear is the very essence of the blade. I am the soul bound to its core."
Aven tilted his head slightly, his expression calm, though his thoughts raced. Encounters with ancient artifacts imbued with sentience were not foreign to him, yet this felt different—heavier, more personal. "I see," he murmured, his tone thoughtful. "Then tell me—will your loyalty to me be absolute?"
The mist continued to dissipate, and as the figure stepped forward, Aven's breath caught for a fraction of a moment. The figure was him—or rather, a reflection of what he could be. It wore a flowing white robe, its surface adorned with intricate gold patterns that glimmered faintly in the dim light. A hood rested on its head, shadowing its features, yet a few strands of jet-black hair escaped, catching the glow of the surrounding room.
What transfixed Aven most were its eyes. A mesmerizing fusion of ruby red and molten amber, they radiated an ageless wisdom, drawing him in like the pull of a powerful tide. They weren't just looking at him—they were peering into him, unearthing every thought, every fear, every ambition.
The figure smiled faintly, an expression of serene assurance that carried an almost divine quality. "Rest assured," it said, its voice unwavering and resolute, "I WILL BE YOUR BLADE"
The words carried a weight that was both a promise and a pact, echoing through the chamber like a sacred vow. Aven felt an electric surge coursing through his veins, a tide of power that left his senses sharpened and his resolve steeled. This was more than a weapon—it was a bond, forged in the crucible of destiny.
As the oppressive atmosphere lifted slightly, Aven straightened, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the blade by his side. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would not be faced alone. With this ally—this fragment of himself—he felt, for the first time, an unshakable certainty.
The scene once again transitions back into Denji and Power
As the bus roared off in the distance, leaving a cloud of dust behind, Denji let out a tired sigh, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His thoughts wandered lazily. "Oh well, I can finish the rest later," he mused, falling into step behind Power as they trudged up the hill.
The air was still, the faint rustle of leaves their only company. Denji broke the silence first, his voice tinged with boredom. "So this Meowy... you sure she's still alive?"
Power didn't even glance back, her crimson eyes fixed ahead. "Yeah," she replied curtly, her tone laced with an unsettling certainty. Her fingers twitched, curling into a fist, as though preparing for something.
Denji frowned, his instincts prickling. Before he could question her further, Power stopped abruptly. Her eyes narrowed at the sight before them—a dilapidated house at the crest of the hill, now bustling with activity. Vehicles bearing the insignia of the H.G.O. surrounded it, and agents were combing through the area.
"Meowy..." Power whispered, her voice trembling ever so slightly. Without a second thought, she broke into a determined stride, heading straight for the house.
"Power! Hey, wait up!" Denji called after her, his tone a mix of irritation and concern. He quickened his pace, eyes darting between Power and the H.G.O. agents. What the hell is she thinking?
As Power approached the house, completely ignoring the presence of the agents, Denji's unease deepened. Whatever was driving her, it was clear she wouldn't stop—not until she got what she came for.
Denji hesitates for a moment, taken aback by her sudden urgency. He watches Power dart into the fray, a mixture of concern and determination brewing inside him.
Denji chases and chases after her. "Wait up, Power! Be careful!" He follows closely behind, navigating the debris.
As Power rushes forward, combat members block her path, their expressions firm but sympathetic.
Combat Member 1 stood firmly at the entrance, his expression unyielding. "Sorry, ma'am, but there's a scene in progress. We can't allow any unauthorized personnel in here."
Beside him, Denji arrived, glancing around at the devastation. His mind raced, searching for a way to help.
"Power," Denji began, his voice calm, "maybe Meowy is just hiding. Cats do that sometimes, right?" He stepped carefully over a fallen beam, his sharp eyes scanning the wreckage for any sign of the missing feline.
Power's expression tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as her fists clenched. Her voice trembled, straining with desperation. "You don't understand! Meowy is my friend! She wouldn't just leave!" Her glare fixed on the combat members as her tone escalated. "Unhand me!"
The combat members held their ground, firm but resolute.
A third member appeared, his presence adding weight to the refusal. "Unauthorized personnel are not allowed on the premises. Please leave."
Denji stepped forward, his resolve sharpening. "Hey, don't worry! I'm part of the H.G.O.—well, I don't have my ID on me," he admitted, pulling out his Public Safety Devil Hunter ID instead. "But here's this. And this is Power. She's looking for her cat, Meowy. It was caught by the devil that lived in that house. Do you have any information?"
The second combat member scrutinized the IDs for a moment, then nodded, his stance softening. "Let her go; she's from Public Safety."
As the combat members released Power, a visible sense of relief washed over her. She stepped forward quickly, still clutching onto her hope.
The combat member turned back to Denji. "The Devil Hunter responsible for taking down the Bat Devil and the Leech Devil sent a cat to a nearby vet. That might be the one you're looking for."
Power's eyes widened, her determination reigniting. "Thank you! Where is this vet?"
He gestured toward a nearby street. "It's at Dove Love Vet, just over there," he said, pointing past the scene of destruction. "Next to a convenience store."
Without waiting, Power bolted in the direction he indicated, her heart racing with renewed energy. "Let's go, Denji!" she shouted over her shoulder.
Denji sighed but followed closely, dodging debris as he kept up with her frantic pace. "Power, slow down! We need to be careful!" he called out.
As Power ran as Denji trys to catch up as they ran for a while turning a corner, they spotted the brightly lit convenience store, its garish colors a sharp contrast to the gloom of the surrounding area. Nestled beside it was a small clinic, a swinging sign reading "Dove Love Vet."
Power's face lit up with a mix of urgency and relief. "There it is!" she exclaimed, sprinting toward the entrance.
Denji kept pace, his own heart pounding with anticipation. This was important to Power—and by extension, to him.
As Power pushed open the clinic door, the soft chime of a bell greeted them. Inside, the warm, welcoming space was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Bright posters of smiling pets adorned the walls, and the faint smell of antiseptic mingled with a soothing, homely aroma.
Power strode to the reception desk, her determination blazing in her eyes. A kind-faced receptionist looked up, her curiosity piqued by Power's red horns and the urgency in her expression.
"Hello," the receptionist said. "How can I help you?"
Denji stepped forward. "We're here for a cat," he explained. "I heard it was brought here after a devil attack."
The receptionist's gaze shifted to Power. "Are you the owner?"
"Yes!" Power declared, her voice firm. "It's mine!"
Denji nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's hers."
The receptionist regarded them both for a moment before smiling reassuringly. "I'll check for you. Please wait here."
Power's breath hitched as the receptionist disappeared into the back of the clinic. Denji offered a small smile, trying to ease her nerves. "I'm sure Meowy's fine. Just hang in there."
Moments later, the receptionist returned, cradling a small, fluffy cat in her arms. "Is this your cat?" she asked.
Power's face lit up with pure joy. "Meowy!" she cried, rushing forward to take the purring feline into her arms. Tears threatened to spill as she clutched Meowy tightly.
Denji watched the reunion, a smile tugging at his lips. "See? I told you we'd find her."
Power looked up at him, her eyes glimmering with gratitude. "Thank you, Denji. I couldn't have done this without you."
The receptionist's warm smile grew. "What a nice little reunion."
As Power beamed, Denji cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, so, about the cost for all this...?"
The receptionist waved it off. "No need. The devil hunter who brought her here already covered everything."
Denji's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? That's... kind of them."
"They didn't leave a name," the receptionist explained, "but they seemed focused on helping anyone affected."
Power's smile deepened as she looked down at Meowy. "Whoever they are, Meowy and I owe them a lot."
Denji chuckled. "For now, let's just celebrate the win."
Denji and Power walked away from the vet as they strolled through the busy streets, Power held Meowy close, beaming with pride as her precious cat purred contentedly in her arms. There was a visible change in Power's usual chaotic demeanor she looked almost radiant, a picture of satisfaction and joy. Her eyes gleamed as she glanced toward Denji, her grin wide and playful.
"Denji!" Power called out, her voice unusually light and cheerful. "Tell me, what reward do you desire for aiding in Meowy's triumphant return?" She lifted the cat toward him as if presenting a prized trophy, her smile full of satisfaction.
Denji scratched his head awkwardly, a little caught off guard. He hadn't planned for this moment. Part of him wanted to ask for something extravagant—something ridiculous—but then again, Power is unpredictable. Asking for something over-the-top might not end well, especially considering how easily she could flip from cheerful to violent. She was a fiend, after all, and her tendency for chaos was something Denji couldn't ignore. Could he really trust her with anything more than a casual request?
Then, there was the matter of money. Denji doubted Power had any cash on her. Being under Public Safety's umbrella probably didn't afford her much freedom, let alone any allowances. If anything, she was the last person he'd imagine would spend on anything other than herself.
Denji scratched his head again, mulling it over. After everything they'd been through to save Meowy, he definitely felt he deserved a reward—but something safe. Something simple. Power's volatile nature kept him cautious. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he asked for anything too personal or extravagant, it would end badly.
Power tilted her head, her grin widening. "What's wrong, Denji? You look... conflicted," she teased, her gaze locking onto him as she held Meowy close, the cat purring blissfully in her arms.
"Eh, it's just..." Denji hesitated, avoiding her eyes. "I mean, if I ask for something, you're not able to do it, right?"
Power burst into laughter, her voice echoing as she asked, though her grin suggested she just might. "Come on, just ask! I, Power, shall honor your wish for assisting me with Meowy's rescue!"
Denji sighed, giving in. "Fine... How 'bout this—maybe we could get something to eat? On you."
Power stared at him for a moment, her brow furrowing in disbelief. "Food? That's your grand reward?" She sniffed, almost disappointed. "Fine! We shall feast gloriously!" Her mood brightened instantly as she held Meowy up like a trophy. "Meowy and I shall accompany you to the finest of places! And... you can pay."
"Wait, what? That's not how it works!" Denji protested, his frustration mixing with amusement. "You're supposed to—ah, whatever." He waved it off with a grin, feeling a strange mix of defeat and amusement as Power practically skipped down the street, Meowy nestled contentedly in her arms.
[Time Skip]
The evening air hung heavy with the weight of the city's lights, the towering skyscrapers below reduced to mere toys from the height of the Public Safety headquarters. The dim glow of neon signs outside reflected off the large windows of Makima's office, painting the room with streaks of purple and orange as night fell. Makima stood by the window, her back to the room, her black coat cascading down her figure like a shadow. She studied the lights below, her expression unreadable, lost in thought as she observed the distant hum of the city.
The elevator doors on the sixth floor slid open with a soft chime, and Aki Hayakawa stepped out, smoothing his tie and adjusting the hem of his coat. He had spent most of the day tracking down leads for his investigation, and now, he was ready to report his findings to Makima. With a steadying breath, he approached her office door and knocked lightly.
"Come in," came her cool voice, clear and commanding.
Aki opened the door and stepped inside, straightening his posture as he entered. Makima's eyes flickered toward him, her smile appearing almost imperceptibly as she gracefully returned to her chair. The air between them was thick with a quiet tension that seemed to hum beneath the surface.
"Good evening, Aki. Is there anything you have to report on your investigation about the case?" Makima asked, her voice gentle yet laced with an underlying sharpness that made her words feel heavier than they should.
Aki cleared his throat, trying to keep his face neutral despite the unease that always settled around her. "One of the Devil Hunters from the H.G.O. successfully exterminated the Bat and Leech Devils, but... there were no traces of The Gun Devil's Flesh in either of the Devil's heads." He paused, letting the silence hang for a moment before adding, "That concludes my report."
Makima's smile remained, but her gaze was piercing. She folded her hands, resting them calmly on the desk as she considered his words. The silence stretched, but she made no move to break it immediately. The distant hum of the city was the only sound filling the room, punctuated by the occasional tap of Makima's finger against her desk.
"I see," she said softly. "Well, that is fine."
Her eyes met his with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. "But I have another assigned task for your division, Aki."
Aki stood at attention, the familiar tension creeping up his spine as Makima's eyes remained fixed on him. He nodded slightly, mentally preparing himself for whatever task she had in mind next.
"Of course, Makima," Aki replied, his voice steady but betraying a hint of wariness. "What is it you need from me?"
He shifted his weight, waiting for her next instructions, fully aware that the calmness in her tone usually signified a task with implications he wouldn't fully understand at first.
Makima's gaze remained steady as she leaned back in her chair, her fingers lightly tapping on the desk. "Currently, there's a motel nearby with an unusually high number of missing tenants and personnel. The H.G.O. was called in to investigate, but the men they sent have also disappeared. In response, they've reached out to us for assistance. As close acquaintances, I would like to assign you and your team to complete the task."
Her tone remained calm and composed, but the weight of her words carried an underlying sense of urgency, as if she were carefully weighing the importance of the mission. "Do you accept, Aki?"
Aki gave a firm nod, his expression resolute. "Understood, Makima. I'll make sure we're ready."
Makima's smile softened, a subtle gesture that held a note of satisfaction. "Thank you for your cooperation, Aki. Please see to it that your squad is prepared for tomorrow," she said, her voice calm and unwavering. "And enjoy your evening."
Aki offered a respectful bow before turning to leave, his mind already shifting to preparations for the mission ahead. As he exited, the quiet click of the door echoed behind him, leaving Makima alone once more with the dim, neon-streaked cityscape below.
[Sudden Location Change]
In the Deep Grounds of Earth the dimly lit chamber of the H.G.O's World Class Containment, shadows stretched into every corner, deepening the oppressive atmosphere. The flicker of a crimson emergency light illuminated the massive, fragmented figure of the Misfortune Devil. His towering, skeletal form was draped in a swirling cloud of ash, drifting downward like cursed snowflakes. His black crown, adorned with rubies that glinted menacingly in the dim light, sat above a dark ring that hovered over his Skull, casting a chilling aura over the chamber. His skeletal body appeared incomplete, one half exposed in stark bone while the other was shrouded in charred darkness.
A small orange dog with a tiny chainsaw protruding from its head padded calmly into the chamber, unbothered by the devil's overwhelming presence. The contrast of its innocent appearance against the colossal devil was absurdly striking. Yet, as the creature gazed up at the Misfortune Devil, a glimmer of purpose shone in its eyes, laced with an underlying resolve.
Misfortune Devil: His voice, deep and ancient, reverberates through the stone walls. "Chainsaw. You have come."
Pochita: In a voice that carried innocence but a hidden edge. "Yes, Misfortune. I'm here to ask a favor."
Misfortune Devil: Tilting his massive skull, a hint of amusement in his hollow eyes. "A favor? From me? You amuse me, Chainsaw. What could a creature like you possibly want?"
Pochita: His tail, a chainsaw cord, wags in a faintly playful rhythm. "There's a boy—Denji. I want you to look into his future."
Ash swirls from the Misfortune Devil's half-charred form, his hollow gaze narrowing with intrigue.
Misfortune Devil: With a low rumble. "The boy with your heart... Curious that you'd be concerned for a mortal's fate, Chainsaw. Even more curious that you've fused yourself with him, yet stand here before me."
Pochita: Resolute. "Irrelevant, Misfortune."
Misfortune Devil: A deep, dark chuckle rolls through the chamber, sending fresh waves of ash spiraling downward. "Ah, but I should remind you... I don't grant favors without a price, Chainsaw."
Pochita: A faint, mischievous smile forms as he leans forward, eyes gleaming. "I figured as much." His tone turns light but sharp. "In exchange, I won't tear you apart when we meet in Hell, Misfortune."
The Misfortune Devil pauses, visibly taken aback by Pochita's audacity. Then, with a rumbling laugh, he nods, amusement giving way to a dark acceptance.
Misfortune Devil: Finally nodding in agreement. "Very well... Let's see the path of this boy you chose."
The Misfortune Devil raises a colossal, skeletal hand, his hollow, white spheres spinning at impossible speeds as he scans the threads of fate. After a long silence, he regards Pochita with a knowing, almost weary look.
Misfortune Devil: "The boy you've chosen is entangled with great calamities. His path will be paved with blood and hardship. Are you certain you wish this fate upon him?"
Pochita: Eyes narrowing. "I don't need every detail, Misfortune. Just the scale of what's coming."
Misfortune Devil: With a note of satisfaction. "What lies ahead is vast and dire. Enough to demand your intervention."
Pochita: Giving a subtle nod. "Then I'll be ready... and might just need to forge a pact."
The Misfortune Devil's hollow eyes gleam with curiosity.
Misfortune Devil: "Tell me, Chainsaw... which Devil do you intend to revive this time?"
Pochita's smile becomes enigmatic, his head tilting slightly as the chainsaw tail behind him sways in a quiet, foreboding rhythm. He leaves the question hanging in silence, offering no answer.
Pochita: Turning to leave. "You'll find out soon enough, Misfortune. Just remember—when the time comes, stay clear of my path."
As Pochita disappears into the shadows, the Misfortune Devil watches him, his skeletal grin fading into a somber contemplation. Alone in the dim, ash-laden chamber, he ponders the Chainsaw's parting words, the weight of what was left unsaid sinking deep into his ancient, fractured bones.
In the dim stillness of its chamber, the Misfortune Devil's hollow, white spheres shifted, drawn to a sudden ripple in the threads of fate. His gaze pierced through the layered veils of destiny, capturing fleeting images of Chainsaw's machinations—an intricate web of carnage, alliances, and defiance all tethered to the boy Denji's path.
Misfortune Devil: A low, resonant murmur, almost to himself. "I see... so this is the path you carve, Chainsaw. Awakening powers long buried... devils that once commanded terror itself."
Around him, spectral ash stirred in eddies, swayed by the weight of his contemplation. His colossal, skeletal fingers twitched, as though reaching for unseen threads, sensing the monumental forces Chainsaw was poised to unleash. The eerie glow in his empty sockets intensified, casting a brief gleam along the jagged edges of his blackened crown.
Misfortune Devil: With a faint, grim satisfaction. "You tempt fate itself for this boy, Chainsaw. A dangerous game... but one worth watching."
The rubies encrusting his crown caught the faint crimson light, casting dark, flickering shadows across the chamber as he leaned back, melting into the depths, still yet profoundly aware. The implications of Chainsaw's intentions unfolded before him like fractures in a glass web, each crack a conduit to calamities yet to come.
In the solitude of his containment cell, the Misfortune Devil allowed a rare expression to flicker across his skeletal face—not joy, but a slow, sinister smile of anticipation. For the coming storms, for the horrors awaiting the mortal world, and for Chainsaw's unyielding defiance.
The Misfortune Devil muttered to itself, "Sovereign, I sense the inevitable release of the Devil."
In the depths of H.G.O.'s Sanctum of Supreme Sealing (S.S.S.), an unyielding silence reigned, pressing down on the vast, dimly lit chamber like the weight of eons. The facility, hidden from mortal eyes, was no ordinary prison—it was a fortress built from ancient stones and bound by enchantments whose origins were lost to time. Each surface hummed faintly, resonating with the dormant power that held the very fabric of reality in check. Even the faintest breath felt dangerous in this space, where the air itself seemed to be woven with containment wards, spells strong enough to cage the unimaginable.
At the heart of the sanctum lay the Ancestral Chamber, its bounds seemingly endless, stretching into shadows that swallowed the ceiling and corners of the room. The chamber's walls were veiled in runes and sigils, some faintly glowing with an eerie phosphorescence, others shifting subtly in place. The symbols layered upon one another like the threads of an impossibly complex tapestry, each marking a containment barrier against entities who might otherwise wreak havoc on the living world.
But tonight, something was different. The walls felt charged, and the symbols seemed to burn faintly brighter, the air thickening as if the chamber itself sensed the stirring within.
In the chamber's center hovered the Sphere of Binding, a translucent orb hanging above an ancient stone altar, defying the rules of gravity and form. Its surface was a liquid-like silver, shimmering with an ethereal glow that seemed to come from no particular light source. Yet it appeared not entirely solid, as if it were both material and spirit, a paradox caught between realms. Its aura was profound, a quiet testimony to the knowledge of ages far beyond humanity's reach.
Encircling the sphere, golden rings adorned with symbols drifted in slow, steady orbits. Each symbol etched into the rings was from a lost language, complex and angular, a tongue unspoken since the dawn of time. They turned with deliberate grace, each rotation emitting a soft, harmonious hum that resonated through the stone floor beneath. This hum filled the chamber, a sound like whispered secrets from a long-forgotten world, speaking of things buried beneath countless epochs.
From the unseen heights above, black feathers began to drift down, each one falling with a spectral lightness, as if descending from a dimension hidden from mortal perception. They spiraled slowly, touching down on the orb's surface before disappearing, their essence absorbed by the orb's radiant glow. Each feather added to the weight of the atmosphere, the chamber growing heavier, more suffocating, with each vanishing whisper of darkness.
An oppressive tension wound through the chamber, a pressure so palpable it felt as though the walls might buckle under its weight. This was no simple holding cell; it was a crucible of unimaginable strength, a place where powers beyond comprehension were kept in check by sheer force of will and ancient magic. The hum of the rings intensified, vibrating in a strange, unearthly cadence, a rhythm so deep it resonated within the bones of anyone who dared approach.
Then, breaking the silence, the orb's glow began to pulse—a beat slow and steady, like the deliberate thrum of an awakening heart. The rings around it quickened, their symbols blazing as they spiraled in a dance of power, each rotation pulling unseen forces into alignment. An unheard voice seemed to emanate from the orb, a low, profound resonance that echoed not in the ears but in the mind. It was a voice ancient, reverberating with authority, as if it could bend the very laws of existence.
The Misfortune Devil felt it—the presence it had sensed growing nearer, pressing against the very fabric of fate. The release was no longer a question of if but when. And as the orb's light brightened, pulsing in a steady, unbreakable cadence, the chamber seemed to tremble, the containment wards tightening in a final, desperate bid to hold the entity within.
Sovereign, an unseen yet all-knowing figure of power, sensed the weight of the Misfortune Devil's murmur in his dark domain. It was a warning—an acknowledgment of fate's shifting tides.
One Bright Light || Episode 7 - Upcoming Death