Rael still stood silently among the endless rows of graves, his long black hair cascading like a shadow over his back. The morning sun cast a faint, golden light over the simple wooden crosses, each one bearing the weight of a name and the grief left behind. His tears, thick and black, rolled silently down his cheeks, unbidden, a reflection of something deeper than sorrow.
Further down the hill, Kishibe's familiar silhouette emerged, the smoke from his cigarette curling into the crisp air. His gaze lingered on one particular grave, as if drawn there by something more than memory. With slow, deliberate steps, he made his way up the slope, his eyes eventually locking onto the angelic figure.
"You don't look like you belong here," Kishibe said, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness.
Rael turned his head, his closed eyes and impassive expression betraying no emotion. "Neither do you," he replied softly.
Kishibe's instincts bristled. This was no ordinary encounter; Rael exuded a presence that didn't belong, not to this graveyard nor to the world Kishibe knew. He approached cautiously, his hand brushing the concealed knife at his side. "What's your business here?"
"I'm listening to the silence," Rael replied, his tone distant. "And yours?"
"Remembering the dead," Kishibe muttered, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "You don't look like the type to mourn."
Rael tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "I mourn things you cannot see."
The words hung in the air, heavy with an unsettling truth Kishibe couldn't decipher. He finally exhaled, letting the tension in his shoulders ease. "You're a strange one. Just don't cause trouble."
Rael didn't answer. He turned back toward the graves, leaving Kishibe to walk away, his mind buzzing with questions.
going to the Headquarter Kishibe went to the meeting room carried a weight that Kishibe couldn't quite place. He leaned against a chair, cigarette still in hand, as a devil hunter turned on the monitor. Makima stood across from him, her posture as poised and inscrutable as always.
The monitor displayed a live broadcast, a newscaster's crisp English accent underscored by the dramatic headline: "Monster or Savior? Chainsaw Man Sighted in Japan."
The footage shifted to a devastated city block. Amid the wreckage, Chainsaw Man stood, his blood-drenched figure surrounded by mangled devil remains. Civilians screamed and fled as his chainsaws roared, the sound blending with the chaos.
The newscaster continued, her tone grim. "While Chainsaw Man's actions have saved lives, the destruction left in his wake has sparked global outrage. Critics argue that this so-called savior is no less monstrous than the devils he slays."
Makima's expression remained unreadable as the broadcast shifted to a heated debate among international commentators. Words like "unstable" and "threat to humanity" punctuated the air.
Kishibe glanced at Makima, his frown deepening. "So, the world's scared of Denji now. What's your play?"
Makima's lips curled into a faint smile. "Fear is power. The more they fear Chainsaw Man, the stronger he becomes. This... misunderstanding works in our favor."
Kishibe's eyes narrowed. "You're playing with fire. And what about Rael? He's no devil, but he sure as hell isn't human."
Makima's gaze sharpened. "Rael is... unprecedented. For now, his interests align with ours. But if that changes..." She trailed off, the unspoken threat clear.
Kishibe exhaled smoke through his nose, his expression grim. "You've got too many wild cards on the table. Denji, Rael... Hell, even you." He crushed the cigarette into an ashtray and stood. "Let's hope you know what you're doing."
Makima said nothing, her enigmatic smile the only response as the room fell into uneasy silence.