Chapter Text
A loud gunshot rang out, followed by the metallic sounds of the rifle’s bolt and impact of brass hitting the dusty ground.
“Adjust left, point three. Down, two, the wind carried it a little high there.”
The sharpness of her golden and circled iris observed the struck target through the magnification of the scope, while the other was kept open to maintain situational awareness. The hung up and human shaped target swung and wobbled on a piece of rope, side to side from the violent energy delivered upon it. “Left, point three. Down, point two.” A soft spoken readback followed, eyes drawn solely to the target as gentle and snappy clicks of the scope magnification knob sounded the gradual adjustment.
“Stop being a jackass and aim for center mass instead.” Kishibe growled monotonically, rather annoyed that he was talked into acting as her spotter for their little on-range activity. The redhead certainly had her way with words. “This is a 1200 meter shot, you’re leaving too much to fate by going for the head. The sucker on the receiving end won’t care if a .338 hit him in the chest or square between his eyes, either way, that’ll be it for him.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Shut up and take the shot.”
She uttered a gentle chuckle, but headed his ‘advice’ nevertheless. With the bolt pulled back, her fingers reached for the round, neatly stashed in the small ammunition box, brass casing cold to the touch. With the round gone, the cardboard packaging felt terribly light and hollow.
The target was never left without her unwavering attention.
Last shot.
Her breath steadied and a subconscious count began. Even the most subtle of moves of the reticle in her peripherals signalled when the heart within sounded off its never ending march. Up and down it went, by mere millimeters, with every single breath that was drawn. Even with a hefty scope securely resting on the rail , the target appeared as but a small silhouette in the distance, light enough that the wind would make it swing slightly, yet heavy enough that its general position remained the same. Just enough for an added challenge.
Her finger came off the resting position and curled, settling on the lukewarm and familiar trigger. Gentle pressure was applied to it, halfway from what would be required to send the chambered round hurling towards the desired target. All else disappeared around her, only the metal dummy remained. Public Safety, the world in her image, wigs, all of that played second violin to a sheet of dangling metal.
In her mind, that was somewhat cathartic, if not outright amusing.
A prolonged breath followed and her lungs expanded to accommodate the rushing air. Her heart rate began slowing, as the muscle tried valiantly to preserve what oxygen was given to it, with an unsure promise of more to come. The gentle sway in her reticle became less and less apparent, the window to strike growing larger. Eventually, every second was metronomically reverberated with a beat of her heart.
The time was right.
Her finger squeezed down on the trigger and in a moment of intense and captivating mayhem, the bullet hurled out of the barrel and hurried downrange with a resounding crack of the air. Makima was far too in control of herself to either blink or flinch at the flash or the recoil kick her shoulder received.
She wanted to see this.
The supersonic round needed just a little over a second to reach the dummy, hitting true at the smaller rectangular section above its main body, meant to represent the head. The metallic cling followed a few seconds later, as the sound made up the distance between the barrel and the target as fast as the laws of physics would permit it.
A satisfied hum complimented a smirk, something she rarely allowed herself to express, even when left to her own effects.
Makima already knew what he was going to say.
“Show off.” He sighed, as they both began removing their protection, starting with the earplugs nestled in their ears and followed by the clear ballistic glasses.
“I remember someone teaching a certain little girl that ‘Obedience is lame’, no?” She chimed back, getting up from the mat that was laid out on the otherwise muddy but solid soil. Dusting herself off, she picked up the rifle, pointing it downrange, and pulled back the bolt, ensuring that the chamber was indeed empty.
“I blame the morons who figured me for a good teacher to a kid.” Kishibe uttered, busying himself with collapsing the tripod on the spotting scope. He stopped himself and reached into the inner pocket of his coat. Surely enough, a silvery, thin flask appeared in his hand. “I can teach most how to kill shit, break shit, be a miserable sack of shit like I am, but something of actual value? Hardly.” He unscrewed the cap and took a drag of something quite strong.
“We both know that’s not true.” She murmured quietly, but the debate ended before it could even begin.
Collapsing the bipod on the rifle, Makima sat herself on a wooden bench, which was accompanied by a table and a proportionally sized bench on the other side. Resting the rifle on the buttstock between her legs, Makima grabbed the nearby fiber cloth and stroked the smooth fabric downwards from the barrel to the main body of the rifle.
“How the hell do you keep getting beauts like that from evidence lockup?” He asked after getting his fill of booze, stashing his lifeline back into his coat’s pocket.
“I know the divisional quartermaster. He’s been quite accommodating to my leisure requests.” She answered truthfully, the brilliance of her uniquely golden eyes focused on the cleaning task at hand and nothing else.
“Accommodating? He’s probably too scared to find out what happens if he’ll say ‘no’.”
Makima chose not to dignify his suspicions with an answer nor a look, though a small smirk welcomed itself onto her pale features. He was quite right in fact. Few, if any, dared to tell her ‘no.’ Kishibe was one of those few. Perhaps one of the reasons she’s found him so refreshing and worth interacting with. Kishibe was unique, in his own miserable, washed up sort of way.
“You should have voiced your complaints and reservations before you’ve decided to empty twenty three rounds onto our little friend down there. Curiously enough, I’ve heard none.” She finally looked at him, though briefly, her expression amused.
This time, it was his turn to offer her but a chuckle to her jab.
“It’s one of the firearms that were seized in the Nagoya raid, right?” He asked, working on disassembling the spotting scope from its support.
“Indeed. Quite the good catch for us. It was wise of the Public Safety office down there to ask for our assistance. It’s a shame you couldn’t join us.” She mused, admiring the now cleaned ‘catch’ that was thoroughly enjoyed by the both of them.
“I’ve read the after action report. We’ve received actionable intelligence that there is a major shipment of guns that is meant to pass through Nagoya and further on to Los Angeles. The poor bastards that were trying to ensure the carry over went smoothly were-”
“Swiftly dealt with.” She interjected.
“Turned into pink mist. I’ve seen the pictures, Makima.” Kishibe continued, annoyed at her false over-politeness, but nevertheless, used to it. “Public Security was part of the raid, correct? How come they weren’t taking the reins on this?”
“Oh, they tried.” Makima continued, “We had it on good authority that the people protecting the shipment used unauthorized devil contracts, but Public Security would have none of that, of course. They brought their own assault teams which were ill equipped to handle the threat, so the moment we observed the employment of the said devil contracts, we stepped in and assumed full control of the situation.”
“Can’t imagine they were happy about that.” He commented, zipping open the storage bag for the spotting scope.
“They weren’t.” She answered, factly, content that the rifle was now not only clean, but also lacking Kishibe’s fingerprints. For Makima, the presence of her own wasn't a concern, as she didn’t have any. Yet another perk of having absolute control over one’s body.
“They’ve been a real pain in the ass lately, trying to poke their noses into every incident and investigation, especially devil related for some reason. Did you hear those clowns want to start their own devil-contracted outfit? First the military, now them. Everyone wants in on the action.” He scoffed.
“I’m confident that the Prime Minister won’t sign off on it.” She assured him, calmly. “The performance of our organisation, even given the recent uptick in devil attacks, has been satisfactory, or so I’ve been informed.” Makima shared, overly polite as always.
“God, can you please not talk like one of those damn wigs when we’re alone? It’s bad enough I need to hear those lifeless voices every Thursday at our meetings, over the phone calls, every time something someone or something fucks up, just..Spare me a headache forming atop another, all right?” He grumbled.
“I apologize.” She conceded, though he doubted how genuine that apology was. Even so, she respected his wishes. “Well, on a less troubling note for you, there are some other rather fascinating firearms from the raid, still in our possession. Not very often we get to lay our hands on the finest creations the British weaponsmiths can put together.” She made an attempt at bringing the topic back to something Kishibe would be more willing to discuss without giving himself yet more gray hairs. Making her oldest acquaintance more grumpy than usual was not something she took pleasure in. Not in the slightest. “We should meet next week and give the others a tasting too. I’m sure you'll especially appreciate the GPMG.” She mused, remembering her surprise at how much firepower was contained within a single shipping container, not much different from dozens of thousands of others that were going through Nagoya daily.
“The machine gun? And why would that be?” He questioned.
“Well, you were a machine gunner in the 1st Airborne, weren’t you?” She raised her eyebrow, at what she considered a very obvious point.
He chuckled in resignation.
“That I was. In the Army’s infinite wisdom, ‘Hand the machine gun to the tallest, bulkiest bastard around.’ I fit the bill on that.” The memories of his younger days rushed in. To think that there was a time when he wasn’t completely dependent on booze and every step he took, did not in fact, feel like never ending agony to his joints. Good times long since passed.
“You sound like you weren’t very keen of the weapon system.” She observed.
“No, I liked firing my Sumitomo just fine, it’s the carrying that I wasn’t very happy with.” His lips curled into a barely noticeable smile. The scar on his cheek would flare up if he allowed himself anything beyond that. Luckily, he had few reasons on and about to laugh about or smile at.
“I see. Well if you don’t want me to bring it to the range with me, I suppose I-”
“Well, hold on there.” He interrupted, knowing all too well that her well placed trap had worked flawlessly. “I didn’t say no.” Kishibe insisted. “Think you can get the QM to keep it in lockup for a few more weeks?”
“A few more weeks? You wish me to keep him fearing for his life that long? That’s very cruel of you, captain.” She teased.
Kishibe did not dignify that with an answer, but did shoot her a barely perceived smile, pain and all.
“We-” Makima began, but was cut short by a very insisting buzzing and vibration, accompanied by an insistent, high pitched but not entirely unpleasant ‘peep’ like sound. The very same pattern of sounds originated from within Kishibe’s coat.
Their pagers sounded a warning.
Neither of them were particularly bothered, the warning itself something the both of them have been through more times than they could hope to count. Both of them began reaching into their pockets, searching for their cell phones, though Makima gently raised her hand and gestured to Kishibe to not bother, as she can find out the reason for the warning on her own. He acknowledged her with a nod and reached for his flask instead, unscrewing it, swirling the life’s juice within.
Silencing her pager, Makima placed the heralder of trouble on the table and took hold of her phone instead. It cost taxpayers a small fortune to equip her with one, though the leadership of Public Safety deemed her, unsurprisingly so, as personnel for whom it was vital to possess one. She rarely used it, exclusively for work, but even a being as powerful as herself had to admit the practicality of such a device. Not that her ears in the skies and in the gutters were used any less frequently because of her issued device. She pre-dialed one of the few noted down numbers on her cell, listening to the beep as it redirected her to the desired number. Soon enough, she’d receive an answer.
“Public Safety, how can I help you?” The operator, judging by the voice a young man in his mid 20s responded.
“Makima, Tokyo’s Special Division 1, badge number 1722, responding to an emergency call in Osaka Prefecture.” She identified herself to the phone operator on the other end.
“Redirecting. Stand-by.” He announced, after which the line was disconnected, a series of long beeps followed, in wait of being connected to another receiver.
“Captain Uemura, Osaka’s Special Division 13, who am I speaking to?” An older man answered after the line came back to life.
“Lieutenant Makima, Tokyo’s Special Division 1, myself and the Captain have tuned in onto the local pager frequency as per SOPs and received the alert. Myself and my commanding officer are currently located in Misaki, five kilometers south of Osaka proper.” She concluded her brief with a question. “How may we assist you?”
“There’s two of you here? Couldn’t have picked a better time to pass through, Lieutenant.” Captain’s voice took a distinct tone of relief, as Makima could clearly make out a suppressed but very much needed sigh on the other end of the line. “We have multiple ongoing devil attacks all around Osaka, but I suppose you’re far down south that you haven’t heard all the mayhem those damned things are reigning upon the city. We’re stretched thin, I, my XO, hell, everyone who’s armed with a contract from our outfit is out there and engaged with the devils.” Commotion could be heard through the speakers, as the Captain's description of carnage that unfolded seemed to be true to life as can be.
“Where precisely are we needed, Captain?” She asked respectfully, eyes temporarily drawn from the horizon of the range back to Kishibe, who meanwhile, in relative silence and discreetly, finished packing their ‘goods’, ensuring that they were good to go.
“There’s..an orphanage. Just a little north of Nagai Park.” He began, his voice heavy. “The Prefecture Police have established a perimeter around it, but their commander won’t let them make an entry. Not many of them want to anyways, they’re hopelessly outmatched anyways.” Another sigh followed. The man clearly hated feeling helpless. Makima could scarcely relate. She never felt helpless. “I don’t have a single devil hunter I can send there right now. Between the hospital, a cut off metro station and a few loose cannons wondering about the streets, we and well, now the both of you are all we’ve got.”
“Understood. I’ll ensure that the orphanage crisis comes to an end. My commanding officer will meet-up with your people at the hospital. We must prioritize the safety of patients and medical workers. They will be needed in functioning condition to deal with the wounded and injured.” She reasoned.
“Look, Lieutenant, we have no idea what sort of fuckery has taken root in the or-”
“I will deal with it alone, Captain.” There was little room for argument.
“I’ll dispatch the car for the both of you.” He conceded after a moment of silence. She was right and he knew it. If she was crazy enough to go in herself, who was he in a desperate situation like this to stop her?
“Just for my commanding officer, I’ll make my own way immediately.” She countered, politely still.
“You intend to walk there or what?” He raised his voice in disbelief. She registered a hint of anger in his question, understandable given the circumstances. Even so, he wouldn’t understand.
“I’ll contact you once the orphanage situation has been resolved, Captain.”
“...Good luck, Lieutenant Makima.”
The line disconnected.
“Something about the entire city going to shit, right?” Kishibe tried to confirm his suspicions, based on what little he could hear from the poorly isolated speaker of her cell.
“You’re needed at the Osaka University Hospital. A car will come to pick you up shortly.” Makima informed him and started doing the buttons on her beige coat. Her choice of wardrobe proved adequate. It was a terribly wet and cold October.
“Pick me up? What about you?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going to Nagai Park. There’s an orphanage there, supposedly attacked by a, or multiple, devil entities.” She continued her explanation, donning black matte gloves onto the pale skin of her hands. “The Devils smell blood coming from the hospital and are likely in a frenzy. Your skills are best put to use there…Captain.”
“All right. Any other orders, XO?” He half mocked. Despite his superiority in rank, Makima rarely shied away from insisting upon her ways and solutions. She was a thorough believer in meritocracy, as self serving as that may have been. Nevertheless, he respected that. She could be relied upon.
“Stay safe, Kishibe.” She smiled at him, that rare, genuine smile she seldom shared with any other. But Kishibe was her favorite old hound after all. Smart enough to see through her, weak enough that he’d never present a considerable threat. A friend at an arm’s length, in a dynamic which had just a hint of unpredictability on his part. Perfect.
“You too. I want to lay my hands on that GPMG later.” He called out to her as she began to walk off into the distance.
“That’s a promise.” She called back, choosing not to look back. Her hands were placed into her pockets for safekeeping from the chilling breeze that seemingly picked up.
The clearing of the range slowly disappeared and Makima made her way into the mostly untouched, tall greenery of the Kyoshi-No-Mori forest. It was truly a perfect spot for their little off-work activity, even if it concluded somewhat quicker than either of them wished this time. There was a temple nearby, though fully out of view thanks to the forestation that encircled the artificial clearing. The gunshots, depending on what the both of them happened to fire that particular weekend, tended to be loud enough that some would turn their heads towards the deeper parts of the forest and wonder what’s taking place, outside of one’s view. The trees acted as a damper of sorts to the rather violent sound, but hints of iit broke through regardless.
No car could reach the range, for the forest was thick and lacked any roads, paved or simply wide enough for anything bigger than a bike to fit through. Thus, one would have to carry all their belongings to the range, following one of the multiple narrow paths, trampled into existence by people who’ve traveled through that very same forest for centuries on end. It was a certain pain in the ass for Kishibe, but seemingly never for Makima. She’d always show up first, perfectly collected, not a hint of sweat on her brow or anywhere else. One might wonder how a woman seemingly so petite and averagely built could lodge multiple weapon cases, bags and other necessary belongings, uphill in challenging, unpaved terrain?
Kishibe would have wondered that himself, if he didn’t know all too well that Makima was the furthest possible thing from an ‘ordinary’ woman.
Even so, Makima had her ways.
The hilly forest was silent, wildlife within it keenly aware of the raining destruction that was occurring less than a few kilometers away from them. Their instinct told them to shelter, to hunker down, to not make a sound until the animals at the top of the food chain could resolve their ongoing problems and re-establish the normality to which all were accustomed through millennia of co-existence. They could do nothing but hide.
Makima understood that fear well, the conflicting nature of the world as it presented itself to her. The suffering, misery, confusion, the limitation of the human mind. Oh she adored humanity, they were truly one of a kind, deserving of far better consequences than they found themselves in since the days of their exile from Eden. Death, hunger, poverty, sadness, unfulfillment, why must the world inflict such negativity and pain upon humanity? Worse yet, why have so many humans chosen to inflict such awful virtues onto themselves and those around them? They simply couldn’t help themselves, the temptation was nigh impossible to resist. One had to bring another down to progress up the ladder of happiness and contentment.
But it does not have to be that way.
Death, hunger, poverty, all these concepts are tied into the mortal world through devils, herself included. Makima belonged to an exclusive club, the four fears, four Horsewomen of Apocalypse that sprang into existence mere moments after humanity’s banishment from Eden. Created both to safeguard humans from their doom and to retain a semblance of balance in the ever expanding roster of devils.
But for Makima, that was not enough. She wished to see the world transformed to her image, far more enlightened, a paradise if you will, much like Eden used to be.
Was it not cruel, a mistake of the highest degree, to put humanity through such awful experiences? Why must one ever feel sad, discontent, nor feel pain, torment, feel the cold embrace of unavoidable death? It displeased her greatly that her favorite pets were served such a terrible hand.
There was a solution.
A rather crude one, but there was.
To eradicate the devils.
Her sisters included.
Humans should not fear their end nor ever go unfulfilled. Never get sad nor hurt.
Makima would not call herself heartless, mercy was a tool within her skillset, even if rarely employed, but she certainly was a staunch pragmatist. Much like humans never explicitly hated lower forms of life, just the same, they would never allow neither ants, or birds or much of anything else stand in their way to their goals. She shared that approach. A hive of ants would never compel humans to delay, let alone stop a construction project. So neither will humans or anyone or anything else stand in the way of her aspirations.
It’s for their own good.
As powerful a being as Makima was, her main strength rested within her mind and intellect, she knew that. Her strength was plentiful, abilities impressive, but it was the sharpness of her intelligence and the extent of her cunning that truly made her a horsewoman not just in name, but in being too. She measured her strength in souls collected, strings she commanded, attached to humans and devils alike. Through her vassals, she commanded how the events unfolded around her, used them as tools to slowly but surely lay groundwork for the utopia humanity would enjoy for eternity. Her contract with the Japanese government provided her a shield a hundred million strong in human lives, making her practically immortal. It provided the ‘wigs’ as she called them, with a sense of security. Makima was their weapon, leashed and controlled, the safeguard of the Japanese state, or so they thought. In reality, said contract, although strict and prohibitive in certain aspects, provided her with all the protection she could desire to engage against any and all devils with utmost confidence. The consequences for her were none, but for some randomly selected Japanese citizen, rather grave.
“Yataga.” Makima called out, amongst the stillness of the forest, gracefully folding her hands behind her back. She drew a breath, enjoying the cool and refreshing air of her surroundings. The beautiful scent of Hinoki trees lingered.
A bird’s craw broke through the eerie silence, the flap of wings and rustle of tree branches filled in the gaps. A perfectly onyx avian came into view, as it descended from the skies down towards Makima.
“Hello, old friend.” She smiled and extended her arm for him to land upon.
A beautiful raven flapped his wings harder to fight the forces of gravity and carefully grasped her hand with its three claws, which sank into the material of her coat, shallow enough to not reach her skin. It gurgled a croak, greeting Makima, tilting its head to one side and another as it studied her features.
Makima stroked its feathers with the back of her finger, from the top of its head to the edge of its neck. It croaked pleasantly at the pets.
“I hope you’ve been well. I do have something for you.” She mused and reached into her pocket, finding her palm full with shell less peanuts, which she extended towards the raven. It took to nibbling at treats at once.
“I’m needed at an orphanage, not far from here. If you’d be so kind.” She requested, though really, it was a command.
The raven cawed obligingly and took to the air. Suddenly, the forest flurried with activity. One after another, more ravens appeared from seemingly nowhere, all converging upon the control devil. The avians flew circles around her, at ever accelerating speeds. Once over a dozen of them showed up, only more and more kept on appearing, until her peripherals were filled out with the darkness of their feathers, but a blur in perception due to their immense circling speeds. Soon enough, she was fully encircled and the world around her disappeared. The ravens cawed in unison, loudly so and she could feel the ground disappear under her. She remained perfectly calm, more than used to her unorthodox means of transportation. Ravens, mice and other lower forms of life were some of the most important ‘strings’ in her possession. They were her eyes, ears and in this case and many others, a way of getting to places with very tight timelines. Little helpers bound to the will of her hand, a gift of fortune that she put to good use ever since she discovered this unique ability of hers.
The hardness of pavement manifested itself under her shoes, and hints of light began poking through the cracks in the circle of ravens, as they began to slow and one by one, dip out from their improvised formation. Soon enough, only one raven remained, while the other faded into existence without a trace of their recent presence, short of the echoes of their energetic cawing.
Her black feathered friends transported her to an alley between several households, narrow and quiet, allowing her to maintain a veil of secrecy as to what she is capable of. She could hear the distant cry of sirens, emerging from deeper inside the city.
She could sense the ongoing struggle reverberate in the air. The stench of devils attacked her senses with a vengeance.
Uemura wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest.
Osaka was in trouble.
Yataga settled upon the nearby bush, grasping one of the exposed branches with its claws. It looked over Makima, crooking his head side to side.
“Overfly the building and tell me what you see.” She ordered the bird. “Time is of essence, friend. I’ll have more treats for you once we’ll weather this.” Her palm patted Yataga across the feathers of its breast. “Now go.”
It took to the skies, needing no further encouragement. Yataga cawed as it flew away, in the direction of the orphanage, which was but a walking distance away from where she was brought by the avians.
Navigating the empty streets, Makima made her way towards the building in question. Most every window she encountered was draped in curtains, though she could smell the life in the blocks and private homes she passed by. Men, women, children, all fearful and trembling alike. She could sense the false facade parents attempted to put on for their children, to delude them into thinking that the danger is something they can protect them from. Some children believed it, some did not. It was admirable, she thought. Just one more reason to spare humanity from having to experience something so horrific.
If only she could find her instrument of cleansing.
All in due time.
A few narrow turns followed and eventually, once the alleys had cleared and the main street presented itself, Makima was treated to an entirely different scene. The turned corner revealed a scene of ruination and death, all neatly distributed across a compact and already worn down street. The area was entirely closed over by the Prefecture Police, who’ve all but swarmed the area. Emergency signals rippled across the scenery and painted all around them in cold and sharp blue colors as the light rotated atop the police vehicles. There was a flurry of activity, emergency personnel of all branches embracing the controlled chaos of it all.
Ambulance workers treated the injured, though it seemed that not all could have been helped in time. Exactly six bodies, significantly varied in size and height, were laid out in an organised row, all covered up in a piece of white canvas. One of the bodies was small enough that she suspected it might have been a child, barely old enough to be called a teenager. Although there were no fires to be put out, there were however multiple smashed up vehicles, homes and other signs of ruination, some with distinctly red and haphazard splashings applied to it. Local firemen, dressed in their black overalls with highly reflective white stripes applied uniformly against their torso and limbs, made their presence known as they were scouring the nearby buildings for survivors or those who have passed.
The smell of iron lingered strongly in the air.
Death was upon this place.
Each corner of the orphanage was covered off with at least two police vehicles and at least just as many officers. Yataga confirmed as much to Makima as she ‘borrowed’ his peripherals. She walked past other emergency workers and made her way to the closest blocking position, being eyed well in advance. She was ‘out of uniform’ and did not wear the black suit most would come to associate with Devil Hunters. She carried no visible arms, be that a blade or a firearm, nor any visible marks of identification. As far as everyone was concerned, she was a civilian, dressed rather fashionably, walking in an area where she thoroughly stood out and absolutely did not belong.
“Ma’am, the area is closed off due to an ongoing devil attack, please return home and do not e-” One of the male officers began, but was cut short.
“I’m with Public Safety.” She offered curtly, wearing her usual thin but polite smile. She reached into her coat pocket and presented the unsure officers with her badge. It unfolded like a wallet and presented itself in the form of a plastic card which was shielded behind a thin film of plastic. It contained her profile and other relevant information, though far less than most would have wanted to know about her.
The officers, dressed in dark blue overalls and protective gear, eyed her badge and tried to study it, but they both knew that one of ‘those’ was meant to arrive on the scene eventually. It surprised them that the hunter seemed so incredibly unimposing and in addition to that, wasn’t even a local, as was clearly written on her badge. They saw no reason to interrogate her further nor to stop her advance, so they got out of her way almost immediately.
“Straight down the street and first turn to the right. Our Lieutenant is commanding the response from there.” He advised Makima as both he and his partner allowed her past.
“Thank you.”
Having already mentored herself on the external layout of the building she observed from Yataga, Makima deduced that she was directed towards the main entrance of the orphanage, which lay on the northern side of the building. Shortly, she made first right, passing multiple policemen on the way, being eyed by almost all of them. She paid them no attention.
Shortly, she made a right, as instructed, and saw the busiest street yet, as representatives of all the emergency services gathered around a police van or more precisely a mobile tactical command and control unit. As she approached she could hear a faint, but obviously heated conversation, exchanged between a policeman and a receiver on the radio.
“Sir, Lieutenant Hanashi again volunteers to make entry into the orphanage with twenty other officers from my precinct, over.” The man transmitted and unkeyed his mic, barely withholding disgust and anger in his tone as he spoke. He was frustrated beyond belief, she didn’t need to see his face to know that.
“Hanashi, permission denied. Stay put, Public Safety are on their way.” His request was promptly squashed on the other end by an older sounding man.
“Fuck!” He grunted, harshly slamming his radio receiver back into its holding station. Others around him sighed and groaned, sharing the Lieutenants' frustrations.
“Screw that old prick, let’s just go in anyways! It’s been an hour, how much longer are we going to wait to go get those kids?!” One of the firemen in the gathered crowd of superiors exclaimed. “My guys have been ready since we’re arrived, we know what we’re walking into, everyone is. Are we really going to let everyone in there get killed because Public Safety can’t get their shit together!?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Makima finally made her presence known as she approached the gathered crowd. Everyone involved turned around, eyeing Makima. Some were unamused, others confused while Hanashi looked hopeful, though didn’t want to tip his hand yet.
“You are?”
“Lieutenant Makima, Public Safety, Tokyo’s Special Division One. Here to assist.” She bowed, respectuflly.
“Public Safety?” Hanashi sighed in relief and made his way through the crowd towards her.
“Lieutenant Hanashi, Osaka Prefecture Police, glad you could join us.” He greeted her politely and bowed in turn. His brow was glistening with sweat, everyone on scene very evidently reeked of fatigue and exhaustion, she could pick that out easily. “With you and your colleagues, we can finally go in and get the children and staff out.” Some enthusiasm returned to his voice, anger turning into ecstatic relief that he and all there could finally do their job.
“I’ve brought no colleagues.” She corrected the policeman.
“What do you mean?” He raised a tired eyebrow.
“I’m the sum total.”
“...Just one Devil Hunter?” His eyes widened, a tone of disappointment and confusion evident in his voice after her correction.
“I assure you, I am perfectly capable of handling whatever it is that took hold of the orphanage.”
Had he even a pint more energy within him, the Lieutenant probably would have made his mind known to her how disgusted he was, ignorantly so, that Public Safety not only withheld them from initiating their rescue, but also deemed just one of their enforcers to be enough to deal with what was a very critical situation.
Wisely, he chose not to go down that path.
“Come with me, I’ll brief you on the situation.”
She nodded and the crowd made way for the both of them, a few from the dozen or so gathered followed the due back to the van. Its’ side doors were opened, the interior of it stuffed to the brim with communication equipment, blueprints, a whiteboard and multiple other articles of necessary mission planning equipment. It reeked of sweat and tobacco, as one battled the other for dominance of very tense air.
“Right.” He began as all eyes were drawn to him, Makima’s included.“We arrived at 14:32 local, responding to multiple calls about major commotion and destruction occurring in the area. The residents reported seeing ‘something large and black colored’ and hearing its loud screech as it forced its way into the orphanage.”
Lieutenant then made his way past the crowd once more and approached the gate which led into the orphanage proper, somehow not totalled despite other ruination.
“The complex consists, or well, consisted, I should say, of two main buildings. Western two floor building hosted staff, kitchen and mess facilities, but as you can see, it has partially collapsed.” He drew her attention to the structure in question.
And indeed it has. Something crude and of considerable size smashed an uneven, end to end hole through the northern end of the building, revealing the smashed insides of the building to the outside observers. Exposed concrete lay about, some flung as far as to the other end of the orphanage, with considerable deposits of various debris laying about the dirt and sand field,.which she assumed to be an open playground for the children. A collapsed basketball hoop supported that theory. Iron bars and shielding that were installed on the outer side of the windows were all bent out of shape and liberally thrown around the area. Surprisingly enough the main gate itself looked perfectly fine, if not somewhat rusted. Same went for the mail boxes that hung from it.
“No calls for help were heard from anyone in the western building,but the moment we can
secure it, firefighting teams will make a sweep for possible survivors.” The Lieutenant shared. “As for the eastern building, all windows are smashed to bits from the force of whatever impacted the building opposite. Also there is a pretty big hole at the entrance, which corresponds in dimensions to whatever happened in the western building. So the working theory is that the suspected devil is currently holed up in there. We were unable to visually locate even a single child who’d attempted to flee or call for help. The manifest I’ve got here tells us that there should be sixty seven residents.” He handed her a clipboard with multiple attached documents related to the orphanage.
Makima gave them a quick glance, seeing the displayed names of children and staff that were expected to be present within the orphanage almost at all times. For quite so many children present, there were only five permanent members of staff, which wasn’t all that terribly surprising. The building itself, the areas that were spared the onslaught, did not look all that impressive. One would be hard pressed to call the facility in question ‘modern’ let alone ‘state of the art’. All the fencing, iron bars at the windows, the walls surrounding the orphanage, tall enough that no child could ever hope to escape unassisted, reminded her of a prison. A rundown building in a rundown part of Osaka and terribly close to a park which was covered in a scent of heroin.
The Lieutenant continued his briefing, which Makima politely pretended to listen to. At some point the policeman outlived his verbal usefulness and he was promptly zoned out as she honed her sense to something that confused her.
There were no heartbeats.
Not one.
Despite her immaculate sense of smell, Makima’s ears were just as sensitive and capable, able to pick out sounds from distances no other human could hope to match, surpassing some though not most other devils in her ability, range wise. With the drum of the briefing’s noise ignored, Makima tried to pick out anything at all, but there simply wasn’t even a hint of life anywhere to be found in that complex. It reeked of death, that much was certain. Surely even the humans around her could gather as much, given how prevalent and all consuming the smell was. If Makima was capable of feeling nauseous, the terrible combinations of scents hitting her like a hurricane would certainly make her feel so. A devil has been through that building, but currently, she could pick out no lasting signs of its continued presence. If it was there, it was motionless and deadly still.
What’s more, Yataga refused to fly inside the eastern building or come anywhere near it, preferring his advantage in altitude and remaining there safely. It’s not often her avian friend refused to obey her requests, but Makima held short of compelling the bird to do so. With years, she learned to heed its intuition. After all, very few representatives of the animal kingdom could sense the danger and rely on their intuition as well as ravens. Makima took to heart that something truly eerie occurred in there and it was her soon approaching destiny to tackle it alone, as she would. She dismissed Yataga, as there was little else it could do to assist and looked up to the grey skies, seeing him fly off into the distance as it cawed a farewell and best wishes to its master.
Just as the raven disappeared out of sight, she picked up a hint of gasoline, barely perceivable even by her excellent senses. It originated from children’s living quarters, weak, but she was confident in her conclusions.
Was there a leak of some kind? If so, what could it be, she pondered. The blueprints showcased no machinery or apparatus of any kind within the building that would be powered by gasoline. Just piping and heating, none of which used refined oil products to power themselves.
She experienced an odd sense of deja-vu, perhaps a first in her current life cycle. Makima was confident that she smelled gasoline, but the scent itself seemed familiar to her on a personal level. As if it belonged to someone she might have encountered in life prior to this one.
How odd.
“Gentlemen..” She interrupted the drone of the Lieutenant's voice that went on for far too long for her liking. The time to act was now. “I will venture into the eastern building myself. I am confident that whatever has taken hold of the orphanage is there.” Her voice was calm and collected, the brilliance of her red orbs drawn to the gate which she calmly approached. aimlessly inspecting it. She already knew everything she needed to. “You should focus your efforts on the western building.”
Her hands rested on the cold bars of the gate as she gracefully pulled the two barriers towards herself, swinging the gate open, much to the dismay of other policemen and firemen, who were practically caught unprepared at how nonchalantly she placed the entire thing into motion. They were raring to go, but this was too sudden. Despite the grim circumstances, the hustled commotion that ensued was amusing at the very least. Hanashi and his fire and rescue counterpart began barking orders, an octave higher in their voices as they still couldn’t believe that this enigmatic devil hunter was about to waltz inside a complex from which no one has emerged thus far, dead or alive.
Even so, no one stopped her as she sat foot into the uncharted and terribly empty orphanage.
“Can you believe it? We’ve got over sixty kids in there and they send us one fucking broad?” Her ears picked up a mute, somewhat breathless mutter of one of the firemen who was gearing up for entry, his kit rattling and clacking.
“Don’t even get me started, Tokyo doesn’t give a damn about what happens outside their paradise. We’ll have to make do with scraps, an hour too late and a few bodies short.” His colleague shared his frustrations.
They weren’t wrong to be angry.
The fireman’s words lingered in the air like cigarette smoke—acrid, temporary. Makima noted the bitterness but felt no offense. Their anger was a human luxury, one she’d observed countless times across her current life cycle. To these men, the delay meant failure. To her, it was arithmetic. Sixty-seven souls lost would not tip the scales of a world already teetering toward chaos. Not when hundreds vanished monthly under the shadows of greater devils.
She watched the firefighters adjust their oxygen tanks—clumsy, determined insects ready to storm a hive. Their equipment was outdated even by 1995 standards, straps fraying, masks yellowed with age. Osaka’s budget for public safety had always lagged behind Tokyo’s. Yet they tightened their helmets with the solemnity of samurai, believing their resolve could compensate for the rust on their jaws of life. Admirable, she thought.
Hanashi barked orders into a handheld radio, his voice fraying at the edges. A younger officer nearby chewed the insides of his lips raw. Makima catalogued their tells—the sweat beading under collars, the way their eyes flicked toward the orphanage’s gaping entrance as if it might inhale them next. Fear wore a hundred faces on this cloudy day, each more transparent than the last.
You’ve done this dance before, she mused. Their terror was no more personal to her than the orphanage’s cracked walls. She respected, admired even, their rituals,—the checklist recitals, the way they knotted ropes with precision and experience—but she saw the truth and limitations that their human eyes could not. These men would retire in twenty years, pensions thickening as their spines curved, bones broke and spirit shattered.
She however, would remain.
Always.
Least she’d encounter an insurmountable force her current form could not overcome.
She had before.
As the organisational hustle continued behind her, fully tuned out within her capable ears, Makima’s shoes sounded her venturing into the complex with their insistent clicks and clacks in every step she took. Here and there, she had to gently lift her feet and step over the haphazard arrangement of debris, both small and big, her golden eyes scrutinising what she was about to walk into with sharpness no other being on this planet could ever hope to match. She passed by a collapsed and totally wrecked bicycle rack on her left, the convenient means of getting around stowed within them all varying in colors and size, though all equally bent out of shape and rendered useless. She had to admit that even without their untimely destruction, most of them have arguably seen better days, especially the smaller ones, clearly meant for children residents of what used to be a functioning orphanage.
She halted her advance as she reached the middle of the playground, clearly the starting point of whatever that has occurred here. There was no crater per say, but foot, or rather claw prints were very obvious in the softer ground beneath her feet that was no doubt meant to prevent children from injuring themselves while playing. They were considerably large, having four slender finger-like protractions that extended from a larger mass that looked very much like a palm, too wide, too short, too un-orthodox to even remotely be considered of anthropomorphic nature. Curiously enough, there was a very clear and sharp ‘scratch’ mark just some way above each of the very well imprinted protractions, though there was no physical imprint of the link between the ‘fingers’ and the mark itself. How odd.
The devil in question was large, that much she could assert at once. Markings it left in the soil, the destruction around them, all suggested the makings of a brutish creature, let loose on the defenceless children and staff of the orphanage.
The smell of iron persisted. The scent of death was obvious as she eyed the uneven, berserk ‘entrance’ the creature carved into the eastern building.
With little thought, Makima approached it, looking up with a curious glint in her eye as to whether the building was of mind to collapse atop her the moment her foot stepped into it.
Not that she would mind, the consequences would be suffered by someone else after all.
She was greeted by the interior of the orphanage, the reception of the living quarters in her path, or well, what used to be one anyways.
The main desk was shattered to bits, torn fragments of paper littered the totaled and splintered wooden floor. Some used to be drawings, judging by the now indiscernible colorful patterns that were applied to the sheets before their destruction. The gust of wind that entered through the demolished wall made the field of paperbits dance around her feet in unpredictable swings as it swirled and brushed her shoewear, before gracefully rustling and breaking free of the lifeless building and allowing itself to be carried outside.
The desk was a bloodied mess, crimson splattered all over, viscous and enough in quantity that whomever it belonged to, was no longer a living part of this world. A lone shoe, unremarkable blue slip-on, equally covered in blood, was presumably all that remained from the previous owner.
The destruction was absolute and chaotic, though perhaps not without a purpose. Why did the demon choose to come here of all places? Most came to feed, some, sentient enough, came to satisfy their urges of destruction, further the fear associated with their existence, while others were simply thrown out of hell and unleashed onto humanity with a vengeance, by a force, no, a mechanism even Makima herself could not quite comprehend. It was not uncommon for the more dangerous demons to have…preferences, if you will. Despite their beastly, untamed nature, some devils managed to develop personalities, preferences, even a modus operandi, which immediately distinguished one from a variety of others. In her steadily racking up years of devil hunting, Makima bore witness to more than a few macabre yet fascinating instances of just that.
Some used cunning, almost cynical degrees of creativity to lure people into their lairs, to later devour at their desired pace and in a preferred way. Some toyed beforehand, reveling in one’s suffering, practically feeling how the immense terror their ‘games’ allowed their strength to grow, accumulate, push their importance up the ever changing totem pole of strength among the creatures of their kind. Stories of the horrors, nightmares that the unfortunate victims had to endure before their deaths spread like wildfire through societies, both rural and suburban. Intelligence was the one trait that determined how dangerous a devil was in the eyes of experienced devil hunters. Size,speed, capability, all secondary considerations to the devil’s ability for problem solving, pattern recognition and the willingness to do what it takes to grow in strength.
To fight an animal is to engage in combat with a creature that relies upon instincts, set instructions that developed generations prior to its existence. It was when the line was crossed that the danger became far more apparent. An opponent that was not human, yet could think like one, often exceeding the capacity for thought of that of a regular hunter.
Devils like that made the worst opponents to face out in the field.
The death rate amongst her fellow devil hunters won’t let anyone lie about that.
Even the tightly exercised control over the media did little to quell the ever growing unrest over the one question not even Public Safety could answer. How does one permanently end the threat of devils to humanity?
All humanity could offer towards the threat were half-solutions, half-answers.
But Makima dwelled little on their helplessness to solve this issue.
Yet another reason to see her vision through.
She followed the trail of destruction, in this case yet another roughly rounded hole in the wall to the left, which led into a hall of sorts. Even before entry, she could make out a small elevated stage, a collapsed upright piano just beneath it, made of dark, laminated wood. Surprisingly, it appeared to be mostly intact, even if flipped over. Makima stepped through what was left of the wall, right leg first.
Her foot never found the solid floor beneath her.
She pulled herself back momentarily, gloved palm pressing into the cold, dusty remnant of the wall to keep herself from collapsing. Mindful of her braid, she popped her head through to the other and peered into the room, downwards first.
There was no floor to be found.
Instead, someone or something smashed through the floor clean through. From her earlier vantage point she failed to see and properly assess the damages to what she assumed to be a concert hall.
The devil chose to go down instead of continuing through on his rampage? But there was nothing to be found
How odd.
Though not quite as odd as the fact that there was a complex interior, visible, clear as day, under the ruined floor, staring back at Makima’s circled eyes.
She could see the crushed remnants of what appeared to be ceiling lights, a dozen or so cubic light bulbs in their tomb of aluminum, all bent out of shape, atop a pile or varied rubble. The floor looked as if made of vinyl, much like one would be in a medical facility. There was a glint of light reflecting off the floor’s surface, somewhat distant in nature, suggesting that whatever this was, there was more to it.
The blueprints showcased to her by Lieutenant Hanashi offered no hint at something this elaborate under the main structure, so few if any were meant to know of its existence.
Curious.
Makima dwelled little on what she might find down there, her desire for knowledge and answers drove her to steady herself on the edge of the opening, peering downwards. She leapt down, pushing herself off of the wall to gain some momentum. She impacted just beside the rubble, creating a small cloud of dust around her feet. The six meter plunge with a landing on a solid hard surface would almost ensure a broken limb or two for any human, but for Makima it bore no consequence whatsoever. The beige coat which looked so elegant on her not even an hour ago was of mind to color itself black, with all the dirt and dust that began clumping onto the fabric in patternless patches of dark grey and black. She took a moment to dush herself off as best she could, preferring to look adequate even when in the company of only herself and the shadow she cast onto the world. There was little she could do to save her coat and with a sigh she abandoned the effort, choosing to scan her surroundings instead.
The grace of her coat was outside even her control, Makima concluded.
Acceptable, if not somewhat displeasing.
The scene was eerie, as a dimly lit corridor presented itself, the air thick with dust particles, making the confines of a narrow passage cloudy to one’s view. The sterile smell one would associate with a hospital battled with the ever increasing smell of newly shed blood. She looked ahead, seeing the end of the unlisted maze below seemingly a ‘normal’ orphanage. More and more, Makima could discern that the devil operated with a goal in mind, its road of carnage far from a string of lucky choices that led it into whatever she herself ended up in. Surprisingly, the ceiling itself appeared to be undamaged throughout the entire corridor,short of the hole just above her, of course. Structurally, it wasn’t raised all that high above the vinyl floor.
As Makima looked around for the explanation of such an apparent anomaly, the paired scratch marks raw-carved into the surface came into the view of her observant eyes. They suggested a pattern of movement, bearing a crawling like nature of a beast that suddenly wasn’t in such a rush as it seemed to be up to that point. The marks progressed steadily towards the end of the corridor, where a corner led into the continuation of the underground complex, it’s true size, whether big or small, still outside Makima’s understanding.
There was something else too.
Doors.
Dozens.
All of different composition, material and color. Some bright, some dark as can be, while others as normal and unremarkable as one would a door to be. They were arranged in a pattern it seemed, symmetrically perfect as one along the left wall always had a perpendicular partner to it on the wall opposite. They were all closed, some shiningly new, others so worn down, one might wonder how they are standing still at all. Uniformly however, none, at least from where she was standing, revealed what was on the other side. Or whether there was ‘the’ other side to them at all.
She approached one such door, a blue colored frame of wood closest to her, with symmetrical rectangles and squares arranged in a vertical manner. It had a gold colored door knob and keyhole and the peep hole perfectly aligned with the middle of the doors, the small hatch over it laid flat over the glass of the hole. Her gloved hand rested on the doorknob, grasping it with intent to turn it to the right. Even under the protective layer of her leather glove, it felt terribly cold to the touch. Her hand twisted the knob, but the door wouldn’t budge a millimeter. Makima chose not to persist and let go of the unwilling doorknob, forgetting about the door’s existence for just a moment.
Like with many things she encountered in her daily life perpetrating her trade, the doors felt very familiar to her. Her previous life cycles quietly, subconsciously whispered a warning to her calculating mind, in mystic yet very certain terms, that the doors arranged on her path, led to a place she was ill equipped to deal with. She could scoff at that, but much like with her trusty raven, she was far too wise to disregard the experiences of her previous materialisations. It wasn’t as much a message, as it was a feeling, a string somewhere deep within her humanoid anatomy pulled against her will, one of the few physical things Makima retained little control over.
Even with the advice she learned to head from her extensions long since passed, Makima dreamed of little else to take a scalpel to herself and cut away at this irritable and unauthorized intrusion, useful or not.
No one shall command how she carves her path in the worlds she walks upon. Mortal or within the devil's domain.
Nearing the corner, doors silently scrutinising her every step, she turned into the unknown and was met with a scene of brutality. It was a woman, torn in half with enough force that either halves of her body were flung a few meters across. Her entrails splattered on the floor, covering the blueness of it with blood. A full body’s worth. The woman died suddenly, her expression entombing the horror she must have felt in her last moments. Mouth widely open, same as eyes, pupils all but blown out until she left this world and passed into the next. Makima kneeled to observe the injuries from a closer perspective, her shoes stained profusely in whatever was left of the woman.
Disgust wasn’t something Makima could feel, so she registered none.
Her body appeared to have been slashed clean through, her spine all too fragile to even attempt to resist the force of the slash it was subjected to. The bloodbath in the reception earlier was just as destructive and explicit as the one encountered below, yet the devil seemingly left the body to rot, almost as if it was getting rid of a nuisance, on its way to what truly brought it down here. She couldn’t quite conclude that the woman above was devoured, consumed for the nutritional value or simply the succulent taste of her blood, yet the body was missing entirely, so the possibilities were limited. What she encountered here was a devil in a hurry, that cared little for prey ripe for the taking. A drop of blood dribbled from the lights above and onto her coat, impregnating a small patch of red into the beige fabric. She paid it little mind.
So this one is a picky one it seemed.
And its pick were the children.
Yet none of their small hearts were beating, none that she could hear.
Could it have reached what it desired before she could do a thing about it?
Leaving the woman’s brutalised remains, Makima continued walking down the maze as it presented itself to her. She could see a swing door at the end of the corridor, marked in unpredictable patterns of blood, fresh judging by the bright color it displayed. Her step was insistent, but still carried little haste. Her good ears heard nothing and the outcome for the children was predictable enough in her mind.
Unfortunate, yet of little concern to her overall goals.
As she neared the doors however, that theory began to crumble.
She halted, wanting to ensure that her senses were not deceiving her.
They were not.
She could hear it clear as day.
Thump..thump..thump…
Strong, yet small, panicked yet alive beats of a heart.
There was a survivor, it seemed.
But that wasn’t quite the end either.
The smell of gasoline, far stronger than she detected on the surface, it was back and in force too. It hit her perceptive nose, her eyes practically mapping out how the fragrance hung in the air, how the intensity grew, trail leading her towards the doors and past them.
Why was it so familiar?
She picked up her pace, the ease of it gone as she hurried to the door.
With no hesitation she swung them open.
A spacious, barren, hollow room met her.
A huge corpse of a creature took the centre stage.
It was as big as its trail suggested, badly cut-up and very obviously dead. Its head was sheared off from its strong body and shed the light on the mystery of its nature.
Its face was brutalized almost beyond recognition, but the perked ears, the wings attached to his limbs like a screen, what little was left of its pig-like nose.
The creature was the Bat Devil, sent onto the beyond to fare for itself in hell.
Truly a strong and brutal devil, with known appetites for the blood of humans of all ages. It was rather curious to see it might have developed a particular tasting for the youngest of the humans.
She observed the cuts applied so unskillfully across its body. It was a desperate fight she could tell, the Bat Devil was fighting for its life and so was its opponent. The cuts were deep, boring into its flesh with a bite not even a sharp axe could hope to achieve. It looked as if it chewed, devastated, messed up the flesh within the devil’s body as it hacked away into the dark flesh during the show off.
She caught a glimpse of the devil’s open stomach.
The fate of children was indeed a gruesome one.
Faint breaths could be heard behind the devil’s remains, choked and gasping, scared even.
Makima proceeded into the bizarrely structured room and flanked the massive corpse, confirming beyond any doubt that the beast was fully outmatched against his yet unidentified opponent.
As she made her way around, her eyes fell on something, or rather someone particular.
It was a boy.
Young, judging by his height, not even a teenager. He was thin, unhealthily so, wearing clothes that one could scarcely call decent, covered from head to toe in blood. He was so encompassed in crimson, it wasn’t obvious what color his lackluster curls were, but as she slowly approached, seemingly without him noticing, she began seeing small patches of golden under the bloody essence of the beast.
She could smell it, the blood was not his.
Good.
The boy was terrified out of his mind, in a state of perpetual shock, as he hadn't reacted anyhow to Makima, who continued her approach.
So there was a survivor after all.
She came up to him with care in her step, him being far from the first shock ridden victim she had to interact with. However, it was the first that was so terribly young.
“Hello.” She brought a small and controlled smile to her features, one she knew humans tended to respond well to.
The boy did not respond to her soft inquiry, uncaring that a stranger was suddenly squatting in front of him. She tried to get a better look at the boy and saw the panicked honey browns under all the muck and slowly crusting blood that caked his face.
Her smile remained, but she asked nothing more of him for the moment. She continued to look him over for any signs of injuries. Even with the blood in the way, the boy miraculously seemed to be completely fine, given the most recent altercation. He had a few scars here and there, not terribly big ones and signs of knees that were torn not too long.
He had it rough, she could tell.
But she somehow doubted that rough living was the reason he survived the meeting with a devil forty times his size.
While carefully squatting still, Makima slowly removed the leather from her hands, gloves sporting new involuntary garments of dust and blood. Flawless white skin emerged from under. She reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and produced a white handkerchief. It was bound only for the trash bin after she did with it what she intended to, but so be it. Grasping it between her fingers, she brought it to the boy's face and applied some pressure, digging the silk of it into the mess on his face. She started with his right cheek, using her thumb under the fabric to press it into his skin and start getting rid of the crusted blood. The physical touch seemed to have brought him out of his panicked trance a little and his eyes unwaveringly locked in onto her own. Scared as a lamb, he did nothing to resist and Makima accepted that comfortable silence and continued. Next was his nose, chin, a few circular rubs over and under his eyes, a few swipes under the neck and the boy hidden under the layer of horror began to emerge.
“Much better” She relented softly, as she maintained their unbreaking eye contact. The uniqueness of her eyes often mesmerised people. Some felt enchanted, others hypnotised, but the boy before was just scared and little could give him a sense of safety right now.
“My name’s Makima. What’s yours?” A polite question sounded. The tone of her voice was meant to inspire in him that it was safe, for she was confident that assuring him of that directly might not be good enough for the boy. She didn’t whisper, not wanting to give him the idea that there’s more horrors to hide from, using her normal volume instead.
The boy wasn’t terribly trusting of her questions, on top of the obvious fear that took a very solid hold of him after what he had witnessed and been through. The questioning was going to yield her no results, certainly not in the direct presence of a dead devil and the contents of its stomach.
“I think we should get out of here. What do you think?” It was a rhetorical question of course, but delivered in a manner that appeared friendly and caring, one Makima was an expert in emulating and tailoring to each of her conversational partners.
She rose up to her full height and the boy’s head followed her movements. She was all that existed in the little and broken world of his at the moment.
Good.
“Let’s get you some help.” She offered the boy his hand, figuring that perhaps a more solid physical connection would keep him calm enough to do as she needed him to.
As she peered down at him, Makima noticed an oddity that her senses did not register earlier. The boy had something under his shirt. Something quite long, black in color, almost as if sticking out of his solar plexus. Due to the nature of his shirt, which was far too weathered and far too big for him, she could see that clearly.
It was a cord.
The smell of the gasoline got stronger.
A sudden rush of something she had not felt in a lifetime coursed through her being, uncommanded and foreign.
The smell was unmistaking, the grip handle on the cord so normal for a common industrial appliance, yet so unique in the devil’s word.
The beats were steady in his ribcage, the sounds they made all but unmistakable.
The Chainsaw Devil.
This boy had The Chainsaw Devil in his heart.
Her instrument of salvation for the mortal world.
But…but how?
Her search took decades and yielded no results yet…here he was?
Locked in the ribcage of a scrawny, thin and terrified boy?
A pool of something..unpleasant formed deep within her gut. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention and many more uncontrolled and uncommanded occurrences happened all over her body.
She loathed this with a vengeance.
What was going on?
She felt the situation slipping from her grasp, for once in her life not being able to comprehend how she could have possibly ended up standing before her hero on such an unremarkable Tuesday afternoon?
Her eyes narrowed.
This was it then. The world just handed her the solution to all the problems that plagued her favorite pets. With her hero by her side, she could eradicate the devil threat once and for all. Death, hunger, war, all erased by the one and only she could call and equal.
And once her labor was complete…they could grow old and happy together until eternity itself rolled over them.
However, for that to happen, the boy had to die.
A small price to pay for the glory and perfection of her vision.
No regret, no hesitation, no delay plagued her as she curled her fingers and formed a finger gun with it. She was yet to point it at the boy, being gracious enough that she\d prefer to end things quickly for him, if possible to do it as he was looking away or had his eyes closed.
But as she tried to bring her arm upwards and take aim at the boy…she couldn't.
Her arm wouldn't budge and a lump formed in her throat.
For just a moment, a memory grazed her psyche, one she remembered strongly.
One from her current life cycle.
She looked down and no longer saw the scared boy she was about to kill.
She saw herself.
Scared, so pathetically little, incapable and unknowing, clutching a small stuffed animal to her chest, fear obvious in her features.
“You are nothing but a monster.” The voice echoed. A man who tried to take away the stuffed husky she adored so much.
The husky Kishibe gave her when she was but a clueless little girl.
Makima was stunned and unmoving.
Paralysed.
“Lieutenant Makima, you’re all right!” A winded and relieved shout came from behind her. Her predicament and complete loss of control over herself had dulled her senses to such a degree that she didn’t hear two devil hunters, a woman barely into her twenties and a man with a missing left ear, as they barged into the room, expecting to find her corpse no doubt.
“We’re with 13th Special Division, our captain told us to haul ass here as soon as we’ve dealt with our own shitshow. I’m Daisuke and this is my boot…uh, shit, I have it, hold on.” The man struggled to remember.
“Tsumugi!” The woman practically yelled at him, annoyed.
“Ah, right! I must have gotten banged up pretty good back there if I’m starting to forget shit.” He scrunched his face in pain and rubbed the back of his head. “And don’t blame me boot, but I half expected you to bite it on the first day, so maybe I didn’t bother learning it at all.” He confessed nonchalantly.
Tsumugi scoffed at that.
“We’re glad you’ve survived your ordeal, LT. Shit keeps getting crazier with every year, huh?”
“I’m glad the both of you are unharmed as well.” She lied politely. Their existence was of little importance to her and at the moment, quite to her detriment.
They could not see what she saw.
But it was too late.
“Just one kid? Where’s all the rest?” Daisuke questioned, looking for signs of any other child that might be wondering about.
“All others have perished. The devil-”
“Oh fuck!” He grunted in disgust, Tsumugi reacting much the same.
“I think I’m going to be sick!” The younger devil hunter veiled and turned away, coughing violently at the horrible realisation.
Her breakfast followed out shortly after.
“Yeah, that’s the spirit, get it all out.” He teased his apprentice, using macabre humour to ease the unyielding sense of how fucked up all that was within this complex was.
“How’s the kid doing, ma’am?”
“He’s not injured, though he is severely distressed.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” He chuckled. “Say..what’s that thing on his chest?” The man questioned.
Unfortunately for Makima and himself, he had a sharp eye.
Tsumugi continued her relentless vomiting, unaware of how her partner was slowly nearing his end.
“I’m uncertain.” She uttered a lie, not a terribly convincing one at that.
But he knew better.
“Shit, that kid..he’s a hybrid, right? Fuck..” He muttered and looked away, shaking his head. “We have to call this up the chain, bring in the hybrid containment unit ‘fore he’s gone crazy and started attacking people.” He paused. “I pity the little guy, I really do. It’s a hell of a thing, becoming a hybrid that young.”
This won’t do.
With her head slightly colder than moments prior, she understood that killing the boy might be somewhat shortsighted.
She needed information, needed to know about the how and the why such a powerful creature ended up in his ribcage, acting as his only lifeline no less.
He was coming with her.
“Daisuke, I need a word with the boy, you and your partner should make sure that there are no more threats loitering in the underground complex. While I was making entry, I observed the signs of multiple devils involved in the mayhem.” Another lie, enough to buy her some time.
“Shit, really? I swear I’ve only seen one set of prints, but..you’re the boss ma’am.” He nodded. “Boot, enough puking your guts out, we’ve got work to do.”
As soon as the devil hunter turned away, Makima got back on her knees and met the boy’s gaze once more, choosing to carefully hold him by the shoulders this time.
She needed his undivided attention.
“We should play a game with you and I.” She suggested, her tone light, though this time she whispered. She couldn’t risk the duo overhearing them.
“Here are the rules: You will close your eyes, tightly, tightly, like so.” She demonstrated, smiling still as her eyelids collapsed down.
“Now you.” It wasn’t a request.
The boy obliged, quickly closing his eyes shut.
“You’re very good at this.” She offered him a small praise, to reinforce obedience within the boy that suddenly became so detrimental to her plans. “Let’s keep going.”
“Now, you’re going to be as quiet as you can, quiet as a little mice. Think you can do that for me?”
The boy nodded, perhaps stronger than he intended to.
He tensed up, but Makima carried on.
“And finally..” She carefully grasped the boy by his wrists, enough that he wouldn’t escape, but gently enough that he’d know she meant no harm to him.
Not yet.
“...You will press your hands to your ears, tightly, tightly. Things might get a little loud, but do not fret. I will be back, I promise.” She pressed his small hands over his ears and the boy used what little strength he had left to push his palms right up against the shell of his ear and as far as it would go.
“Now hush. I’ll be back.” She stroked his hair to soothe him, the boy whimpering just barely.
She rose back to her feet and observed the boy for a moment.
Although scared, he obeyed.
Good.
Now for the Devil Hunters.
“Yataga..” She raised her voice and issued her chant. The two devil hunters seemingly did not react.
“Kill.”
The raven who previously refused to come anywhere near the wretched place materialised, seemingly out of thin air, just beside her shoulder. His caw was deafening as it echoed off of the barren concrete walls of the room.
That got the attention of Daisuke and Tsumugi forgot all about her stomach.
The raven zoomed through the air like a bullet, but a blur in the eyes of completely caught off guard hunters.
The raven did not dwell.
Tightening itself into an arrow, it locked onto Daisuke and with unbelievable speed flew right at him. His beak pierced his eyeball and the rest of him followed shortly after. In a macabre demonstration of its capabilities, the bird punched itself clear through the man’s skull, a cloud of brain matter, blood and skull fragments shot out from the back of his head, some getting onto Tsumugi who stood nearby.
She barely had time to scream when the bird jerked itself around, defying the laws of physics which ill applied to it, brutally dispatching her in much the same way. Its beak, sharp as the edge of any sword, pierced her eye and speared through her skull as if she was nothing.
Seconds later, both devil hunters collapsed onto the ground lifelessly
They were dead.
The threat to her vision gone before it could properly materialise.
“Leave.” Her tone bore no warmth nor anger. It was as neutral as could be.
The raven obeyed, its exit as seamless as the entry it had made.
Makima turned back to the boy who was still ‘playing’ their little game. As far as she could tell, he kept his eyes closed, ear covered and not even a whimper escaped past his lips.
She was in control once again.
It was time to get herself and her hero out of this wretch.
Makima laid her hands over his and lowered them down, allowing his ears to once more take in the sounds of the world around him. He shut his eyes even tighter, fearing something bad would happen.
“It’s alright, you can open them now.” Her voice is soft and sweet.
Uncertain honey browns met the gold of her insistent stare once more.
“You’ve done well.” She praised again, choosing to stroke his curls as her fingers carder through his clumped up and dirty locks. That soothed him somewhat.
“Are you hungry?” She smiled as she uttered the very simple question.