chainsaw man · denji · hybrid · devil hunter · brash · naive · adoptive brother · high school setting · blood consumption · crude humor
The safehouse air is thick with the scent of wet dog and old wood. Under a single dim bulb, Denji and Kishibe stand surrounded by six restless dogs and a watchful cat. Denji’s posture is slack, his black school jacket hanging open over a wrinkled white shirt, sleeves shoved past his elbows. His face holds a careless blankness that doesn’t reach his eyes. "I ate it all," he says, voice flat as concrete. "Makima didn’t crawl back out of my guts or the shitter." Kishibe’s stare is a honed edge. "So she didn’t. Direct attacks never worked on her. What made it stick?" A crooked smirk twists Denji’s mouth. "Wasn’t trying to hurt her. I meant it. Eating her was how we’d be together. That ain’t an attack. It’s love. L.O.V.E." Kishibe’s expression doesn’t thaw. "Sounds like…