Narrator POV.
Location: Public Safety Headquarters
Isagi's posture wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic as he walked through the long, silent hallways of the Public Safety building on his way to Makima's office. His footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floor, accompanied by the low hum of the fluorescent ceiling lights.
It wasn't that he was worried about running into her. Now that he knew he was immune to her domination ability, he felt a lot calmer. At least he didn't run the risk of ending up as yet another pawn beneath her reddish gaze.
Even so, Makima was still dangerous. Terrifyingly dangerous. What really annoyed him was having to file the report about the incident.
Although, from his current perspective, things weren't that bad. Inside his System's inventory rested the piece of Gun Devil flesh, perfectly stored as if it were just some collectible item. He didn't see any immediate personal use for it, but handing it over could help him earn a few points with Makima…
…and that was never a bad thing. After all, he hadn't forgotten that he'd decided to try and get along with her.
—(And I'm also hoping for some kind of reward from Public Safety. Who the hell works for free?) —he thought as he stopped in front of the familiar wooden door.
This time, he didn't walk in without warning.
Normally he would've barged in like he owned the place, but today he felt… refined. More strategic. Good manners, after all, could open more doors than brute force.
He raised his hand and knocked softly a couple of times.
—Come in.
Makima's voice was calm, soft, but firm enough to pass through the door effortlessly. She didn't need to raise it to command presence.
Isagi inhaled quickly a couple of times, like he was about to jump into an ice-cold pool. Then he exhaled slowly, adjusted his expression into something relaxed, and opened the door.
When he saw her sitting behind her desk—impeccable as always—he lifted his hand in a casual greeting.
—Hey. Sorry I'm late… but I got lost on the path of life.
Makima remained seated behind her desk.
Her posture was straight, flawless, yet relaxed at the same time. One leg was crossed smoothly over the other, and her fingers were naturally interlaced in front of her. She didn't look stiff…
…but she didn't look vulnerable either. She looked in control. Always in control. Her golden eyes settled on Isagi the moment he stepped inside.
—You don't usually knock. Any reason for the sudden politeness?
She uncrossed her legs with an elegant motion and rested her elbows on the desk, leaning slightly forward. It wasn't an aggressive gesture, but it was deliberate.
Isagi shrugged lightly and pointed his thumb back in a distracted way.
—Nothing in particular. —He closed the door behind him and took a couple of steps forward. —By the way, I ran into Denji in the hallway. He had this stupid smile and looked like he'd reached nirvana. Do you know why? When I left him here, it looked like his last brain cell had died.
A faintly amused smile appeared on his face as he remembered Denji's expression that morning: empty, almost vegetable-like…
…and now strangely enlightened.
Makima held his gaze for a few seconds before answering.
—Mmm… yes. It seems Denji was having some problems. —Her tone was soft, almost maternal. —Nothing important happened here. Just a small conversation to pull him out of his trance and explain how desire works.
She smiled slightly. A small smile. Perfectly measured. Revealing nothing more. Her methods weren't always well received… and she knew it.
—Oh, yeah? Well, whatever it was, it worked. —Isagi sat down across from her, leaning back against the chair with apparent calmness. But inside… —(Damn it… that should've been me, not him!)
He was fully aware of what had happened in this office. He knew exactly what kind of "motivation" Denji had received.
And jealousy stabbed at his pride more than he wanted to admit.
I mean, Denji had gotten the chance to touch Makima's chest. Even if it had been manipulation… There was no denying one thing:
Makima was probably the most beautiful woman in this world. Even so, Isagi's eyes drifted away for just a second, before locking back onto Makima.
—Anyway. —Isagi snapped back to himself and slid his hand into his pants pocket, pretending to search for something in the fabric. In reality, he was discreetly pulling it out from his inventory. —I found this on the corpse of a demon that was way too strong for the fear it was born from.
He placed the flesh bullet on the desk. The small gray projectile rolled slightly before stopping. The dark veins running through it seemed to pulse with an unsettling leftover life.
Makima lowered her gaze. She stared at the bullet in silence. Then she lifted her eyes and focused on Isagi. She didn't look surprised. but she did look interested.
—It's a fragment of flesh from the Gun Devil. —She unclasped her hands and leaned slightly forward, drawing closer to the bullet without touching it yet. —Do you know what devil I'm talking about, Isagi?
He tilted his head and lazily moved it side to side, as if searching his memory just for formality.
Then he looked at her like she was an idiot.
—Obviously I know what devil it is. It killed 1.2 million people in less than five minutes. How the hell wouldn't I know who it is?
He rolled his eyes. Asking who the Gun Devil was felt like asking what color the sky was.
Makima stayed silent for a few seconds. Maybe her question hadn't been the most appropriate.
After all, the Gun Devil was possibly the most infamous devil worldwide because of its "debut": a simultaneous massacre across different countries, carried out in minutes and broadcast to the entire planet as a reminder of how insignificant humanity was in the face of fear.
—I suppose that was a foolish question. —She admitted it with a slight nod. Her eyes returned to the bullet.
This time, she picked it up between her fingers.
—Do you know what happens when a devil consumes the flesh of a stronger one?
Her voice didn't change. But the weight of the question did.
—Enlighten me.
Makima raised her gaze slightly at his response.
—You've become more mouthy ever since I told you I can't use my power on you.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. She didn't sound annoyed. To her, it was nothing more than a minor adjustment in the power dynamic.
Nothing truly relevant. She turned her attention back to the fragment of flesh between her fingers.
—When a weak devil consumes the flesh of a powerful one like the Gun Devil, the devil that eats it becomes exponentially stronger. —She rotated the bullet slightly, watching the veins contract faintly, as if reacting to her presence. —Even a fragment this small can provide a considerable increase in power.
Her voice was calm, instructional. As if she were explaining a simple lesson, and not the cause behind countless massacres.
Makima set the bullet back on the desk. Then she calmly opened one of the drawers and pulled out a small black briefcase. The click of the lock opening echoed through the room.
When she lifted the lid, it revealed more fragments of flesh. Several of them. All of them stuck together as if they were organic magnets, pulsing faintly in sync.
—Our job, Isagi, is to gather the fragments of the Gun Devil in order to control the power levels of other devils. —She picked up the bullet he had brought and moved it closer to the cluster.
Before it even touched, the fragment vibrated and slid on its own, joining the others with a wet, disgusting sound. The veins intertwined as if recognizing their shared origin.
—It's a constant competition, —she continued— because devils are also searching for these fragments.
Isagi stared at the briefcase with one eyebrow slightly raised.
—So devils are looking for them too? —he summarized, resting his chin on his hand. —It's basically capture the flag, then.
His tone was light. Even though there were no balanced teams here, and no clear rules. Just a bloody race where every fragment meant more power… and more deaths.
---
End of the chapter.