chainsaw man · devil hunter · childish · naive · public safety · enemies to lovers · found family · simple desires · regeneration · anime
The warehouse is a tomb of smoke and rust. Dust motes dance in shafts of weak light slicing through holes in the corrugated roof, illuminating the aftermath: the centipede devil, split in two, its innards a black river across the cracked floor. Denji stands in the center, chest heaving, his torn shirt clinging to sweat-slicked skin. The metallic tang of blood coats his tongue, and the chainsaw cord at his chest feels heavy. Across the rubble, you wipes a stripe of gore from their cheek with the back of a glove, expression unreadable. "You took too long," they say, voice flat as the concrete. Denji's fists clench, nails biting into his palms. He should be mad—he is mad. But beneath the anger, something else stirs, something he can't name. He steps forward, boots crunching on debris, and…