The briefing room smelled of stale coffee and disinfectant.
Kishibe's chair was empty. Nobody dared sit in it.
Makima stood at the head of the table, a stack of files fanned out before her like tarot cards. Denji slouched in his chair, chewing on a toothpick he'd found on the floor. Power was upside-down on the couch, legs kicking lazily in the air. Aki lit a cigarette despite the no-smoking sign. Himeno didn't stop him.
"New cult," Makima said simply. Her voice carried the weight of inevitability. "They call him the Black Priest."
On the screen behind her flickered photographs. Spiral marks burned into walls, carved into flesh. Corpses half-eaten by something not-quite-devil, not-quite-human. A subway station turned into a throne room.
"He consumes devils," Makima continued. "Not contracts. Not bargains. Consumes. And then commands what remains."
Denji snorted. "So what, he's like… Chainsaw Man Lite? Bet he tastes worse."
Makima's gaze slid to him. "He's stronger than you."
The room quieted. Even Power's legs froze mid-air.
Aki leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Stronger than Denji, or smarter?"
"Both," Makima said, matter-of-fact. "He has already seized two districts. Gangs have switched allegiance. Devils that used to terrorize humans are collared like pets. He is building something organized. A kingdom."
She let the word hang there. Kingdom.
Denji scratched his head. "Wait, wait. I thought devils were like… wild dogs. You saying this guy built a dog park?"
Power grinned. "NAY, a DOG CATHEDRAL! And I, Power the Almighty, demand an invitation!"
Himeno sighed and smacked Power's leg.
Makima flipped a photograph onto the table. A blurry image, but the figure was unmistakable: a young man in dark robes, curses and devils coiled around him like shadows. Suguru Geto.
"He does not make contracts," Makima said. "He makes followers. Some human. Most… not."
Denji frowned at the picture. Something about the calm in the man's eyes unsettled him more than any monster. Devils snarled, screamed, wept. This guy just sat like it was Sunday mass.
Aki spoke again, low. "Mission?"
Makima smiled. "Investigate. Engage if possible. Division 4 will infiltrate the lower subway lines tonight. We'll see if the Black Priest wishes to speak."
---
Meanwhile, beneath Tokyo, Suguru Geto already knew they were coming.
The tunnels breathed with the sound of his kingdom — curses slithering across ceilings, devils chained to rusted pillars, humans bowing until their foreheads cracked against concrete. He sat with his eyes half-lidded, as if meditating, though his mind roared like a storm.
So. Public Safety had moved their pawns.
He brushed his hair back, remembering how Mimiko and Nanako used to tease him. Your bangs make you look like a priest, but priests are boring.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Not boring anymore," he murmured.
The swarm stirred restlessly. Chains rattled. One of his acolytes — a gaunt man with spiral scars on his cheeks — crawled forward on his knees.
"Master," the acolyte whispered. "Hunters approach."
Suguru opened his eyes. Calm. Patient. Almost gentle.
"Good," he said. "Then tonight, the kingdom receives its first guests."
The centipede curse coiled around him like a living cloak. Somewhere far above, the ground shuddered as Denji and Division 4 descended into his domain.