Narrator POV.
—The only thing you're going to taste is my top-quality Katana. —Isagi grinned from ear to ear as cursed energy surged through his muscles like an electric torrent, reinforcing every fiber of his body.
The Zombie Devil twisted its grotesque mouth into a sneer of contempt. Its tentacles writhed restlessly, reacting to both hunger and anger. Seeing the katana in Isagi's hands only fueled its rage… though the scent of Marechi blood had it panting like a starving dog.
—Are you… are you a Devil Hunter? —it spat through clenched teeth, its voice trembling with irritation. —You… demon hunters disgust me. I hate you! You kill my demon brothers!
Isagi let out a short laugh.
—Wow, a demon with family values. That's a new one. —he mocked, watching as the zombies began to approach slowly, dragging their feet like rotten puppets. —Sorry, guys, but I can't give you maintenance right now. I've got work to do.
Taking a firm step forward, Isagi raised his hand. A flash of cursed energy vibrated through the air, and with a single motion of his arm, he generated three compressed wind blades. The cutting waves tore through the air like invisible projectiles.
In an instant, they pierced the zombies' rotten flesh, slicing them from torso to spine. Dark blood sprayed out, splattering across the rusted floor as bodies collapsed one after another.
Isagi moved forward without losing rhythm, executing fast, precise slashes, weaving through the walking corpses with an almost dance-like lightness.
Suddenly, a zombie tried to bite him from the side.
—Get lost, you stink! —Isagi snarled before delivering a brutal kick.
The zombie flew through the air as if it had been kicked during a soccer match, crashing into a rusted pillar and collapsing into a heap of bones and decomposed flesh.
Isagi snapped his head toward the Zombie Devil. Fast. Abrupt. His neck cracked as he turned, flashing a smile so dark and confident that the demon's tentacles recoiled involuntarily.
For the first time, the demon felt something akin to fear. A devil born from fear… feeling fear. What delicious irony.
—No, no, no! Stay away! —the Zombie Devil whimpered, stumbling backward as its tentacles and intestines twisted in a desperate attempt to defend itself.
With a wet snap, one of its intestines stretched like a whip and wrapped around the torso of a nearby zombie. The demon lifted it and hurled it at Isagi like an improvised projectile.
Isagi didn't even blink.
With a casual, almost lazy slash, he split the zombie in half. The pieces flew off to the sides with a disgustingly wet sound.
—Don't worry, I'm just going to kill you. All for the bounty. Nothing personal, Venezuelan. —he quipped mockingly, sending the demon into even deeper panic.
In a burst of speed, Isagi vanished from where he stood. The floor cracked under the force of his push-off. He lunged toward the demon with an eager smile, almost excited to finish things quickly and collect his reward.
Isagi focused all his strength, twisting his body like a whirlwind. His motion rose into an uppercut, generating a clean, lightning-fast arcing slash that left a black trail in the air.
The blade cut through the Zombie Devil from side to side.
The demon froze. Its massive mouth opened and closed a couple of times, as if trying to say something… but all that came out were bubbles of coagulated blood.
Seconds later, a metallic thunder echoed through the factory. Fragments of the ceiling began to break loose and fall; Isagi's cut had been so powerful that it reached part of the upper structure.
A torrent of thick blood poured down like a waterfall, dyeing the floor a dark red. The demon's body slowly split in two, separating in opposite directions before crashing down with a heavy thud.
Isagi let out a relaxed sigh and turned around, a satisfied smile forming on his face as he walked away with katana in hand.
The job was only just beginning.
—Alright… now, where are Denji's remains? I think they threw him in the trash. Literally.
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The metallic clang of a container opening echoed through the factory. The lid flew backward, and from among piles of garbage and torn bags, a messy-haired blond teenager burst out, gasping.
—Pochita! —he shouted, reaching his hand forward as if trying to stop someone from leaving.
His brown eyes, sunken with deep dark circles, blinked several times as they adjusted to the dim light. Then he wrinkled his nose in pure disgust.
—Ugh… it smells like pure shit in here. —he muttered as he used the container's edges to push himself out, falling clumsily to the floor.
He stayed still for a second, breathing. Then he looked down… and saw it.
From the center of his chest, right where there had only been scars before, now protruded a chainsaw cord. A real one, like that of a freshly assembled machine. Denji brought his hand to that spot, feeling a warm heartbeat that wasn't his… yet somehow was.
—So… it really happened. —he whispered, his voice trembling between shock and gratitude. —Pochita… thank you. —He clenched his fist against his chest before looking ahead.
In the distance, dragging their feet and moaning like starving beasts, the zombie horde approached. Hundreds of putrid bodies, corpses fused together, advanced toward him.
Denji took a deep breath.
—Thanks for this second chance… and for the chance to kill these sons of bitches!
Without a shred of doubt, he grabbed the cord and yanked it with all his strength.
The roar of a chainsaw exploded through the factory, tearing the silence apart like a metallic demon awakening from a long sleep. Sparks, noise, vibration… the Chainsaw Devil hybrid was born.
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Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the building, Isagi frowned… and sneezed.
—So the chainsaw kid finally showed up? —he asked as he heard the familiar BRRRRRRMMM echo throughout the place. He snapped his fingers like calling a waiter. —System, what about my reward? Come on, hand over the cash.
[Ding]
[Mission: The Beginning of the Story — Completed]
[Reward: +5 points to all stats, T-Virus in its perfected version]
A slow, satisfied smile spread across Isagi's face. The holographic screen glowed in front of him, displaying the letters that confirmed his victory.
—Perfect… —he murmured. His path to power was going far too well.
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At last, the day had come. The sun was just beginning to rise, timid golden rays spreading across the country with gentle warmth.
Outside the abandoned factory, the roar of an engine cut off abruptly as a black car stopped a few meters from the main entrance. The doors opened simultaneously, and three figures stepped out. Their footsteps echoed over the gravel, crunching beneath each step.
The shortest figure moved first: a red-haired woman, her hair tied into an immaculate braid resting against her back. She walked with confidence, always two steps ahead of the other two individuals—both taller men flanking her like silent bodyguards.
They stopped right in front of the doorway, without crossing it. The massive metal door stood wide open, allowing sunlight to spill inside and partially reveal the scene.
The floor and walls were drenched in dried and fresh blood, mixed at random into a grotesque mural. Mutilated bodies, torn apart without the slightest trace of care or mercy, occupied every available corner.
—Ohhh… —Makima's exclamation was soft, almost curious, as she took in the sight—. Looks like someone beat us to it. —she said as she slowly slipped her hands out of her coat, like someone removing gloves before starting work.
Her expression remained as calm and serene as ever; nothing about the bloodbath disturbed her. One of the men beside her, however, frowned when he noticed something among the remains. There, amid shadows and bodies, a figure still stood.
—Miss Makima, look… —the man said, nodding forward—. It seems… there's still one left.
And there it was. A humanoid figure—though it could barely be called that. Its metallic, demonic head looked almost exactly like an orange chainsaw, equipped with long, jagged teeth interlocking in a brutal design.
The typical saw blade protruded from his forehead. Two more blades were from his arms, one on his right arm and the other on his left, still dripping drops of blood.
—Mmm… —Makima began walking steadily toward the figure responsible for the massacre, as if the stench of blood and metal didn't affect her at all.
She stopped right in front of him, so close that anyone else would have panicked standing before such a creature. But she showed not a hint of fear. Instead, her gaze radiated a calm, almost dull curiosity—like someone examining an interesting object behind glass.
—Did you do all this? —she asked with a gentleness that sharply contrasted with the chaos around them.
While Makima and Denji met for the first time, Isagi moved stealthily through the shadows, watching every step to avoid drawing attention. His intentions were clear: get the hell out of there as fast as possible.
His danger-sense Quirk was completely out of control, vibrating like a broken alarm the moment he perceived Makima's presence. Simply being in the same room as her sent a chill down his spine.
It wasn't fear of death—that was almost impossible for him. What truly froze his blood was the possibility of being controlled.
Isagi valued his freedom above all else: he didn't do forced labor, only well-paid jobs. And though he was joking, carefree, and sometimes shameless, his survival instincts were solid… not to mention the Quirk whose sole purpose was to detect danger—literally Deku Midoriya's danger sense.
—You shouldn't try to escape from devil hunters. If you're not a devil, you have no reason to be afraid. —Makima raised her voice slightly.
Maintaining that disturbing serenity while Denji lay drowsily across her lap, right after she offered him the chance to become her pet.
(She found me! Emergency retreat, emergency retreat!) —Isagi screamed in his mind as cold sweat ran down his neck and he prepared to bolt with everything he had.
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End of the chapter.