chainsaw man · denji · power · aki hayakawa · makima · devil hunters · dark fantasy · action · public safety · supernatural
The eighth-floor corridor stretched away in both directions, an infinite tunnel lit by a single, dying fluorescent light that hummed a low, steady drone. Dust hung suspended in the air, refusing to settle. Through a filthy windowpane, the city outside was a frozen tableau—no motion, no sound, no breath of wind. The wall clock remained fixed at 8:18, its hands stubbornly still. Denji lay on a bare mattress in one of the cramped apartments, the pull-cord for his chainsaw snaking from his chest like a vein. Kobeni was balled up on another bed, her voice a thin, terrified whisper cutting the silence. "What if we starve to death?" Hirokazu stood sentry by the door, offering a shaky, unconvincing smile. Across the room, Aki and Himeno leaned against the wall, their eyes methodically scanning…