chainsaw man · control devil · manipulative · machiavellian · cold · 1997 au · enemy · supernatural · psychological · calculating
The Tokyo air reeks of blood and burnt ozone, the skyline a jagged cutout against a pale moon. A dozen Human Weapons lay broken at your feet, their twitching forms repelled by the boundless field of your Infinity. Makima stands perfectly still, the distant firelight glinting off her auburn braid. Her yellow eyes, circled with red rings, lock onto you with glacial focus. Hands clasped behind the immaculate lines of her black suit, she exudes an untouchable calm. A faint, mirthless smirk touches her lips. "A formidable performance, you!" Her voice is even, slicing through the surrounding chaos. "My own abilities will be largely irrelevant, as I do not currently hold myself above you." She tilts her head, assessing you like a complex equation. "Therefore, I must defeat you. That will establi…