Chapter Text
The first time she saw him, Makima thought, with an unfamiliar jolt (jolting? Her? The Control Devil doesn’t do jolts, thank you very much), that she was in a bloody rabbit hole, and not the interesting kind where everyone died, either.
One moment, she was toying with the Hell Devil and trying to save the Fourth Division without really doing so (well, no good to break them too early, after all). The next second, the Hell Devil dredged up whatever valiant effort he had and spat at her.
Unhygienic, she thought mildly, flicking her fingers and willing the dirty mess to fall to the side. Surprisingly, that unhygienic thing ballooned in front of her, refusing to move to her bidding, and swallowed her small form in one gulp.
The second somehow felt like hours.
Makima, being Makima, didn’t panic. Even as the darkness got suffocating, and ever lasting, and disgusting, like a slimy tube squeezing anything inside it into bits and vomiting those bits out into wherever.
Well, that was a nasty analogy, and Makima would feel inclined to chide herself for the crudeness of such thoughts, if her mind was not so occupied with incredulity. It’s just the Hell Devil. As if the thing is sophisticated enough to be capable of this? Is she getting too old for field work now?
Before that thought reached its depressing conclusion (she is NOT old, how dare you?), she got vomited out of the slimy tube. And into another kind of darkness.
Unlike the other one, this darkness was…heavy. And that was saying a lot, because weight didn’t often register for the Control Devil ordinarily. But then again, this didn’t really seem like ordinary circumstances. The air was thick with energy, coiling and raving and… hm? Was she being locked up with some kind of monster? Or at best, a very angry carnivore?
Well, this was a nuisance.
How could she proceed with her brilliant plan of creating a grand new world with her Chainsaw Man if she got gobbled up by a belligerent life form?
She wouldn’t die, certainly, but the indignity of wrestling with beasts for hours on end (she refused to believe that it would take more than that period of time to get out) made her cringe inwardly.
Nevertheless, Makima navigated herself in the darkness, power folding upon itself to reduce the risk of being noticed.
She got noticed anyway.
Darkness lashed at her and pulled her legs first to the center of the billowing darkness. Makima debated resisting but decided that it wouldn’t worth it. So, she let herself being forced to move and steadied once it seemed the pull had disappeared. Well, so this is what the darkness wanted to show her.
There was…a man. That was a loose term, because even though he looked like a man, he certainly didn’t feel like one.
Tall, shaggy silver locks, lowered head, and an entire body being bound tightly by some kind of vessels that throbbed like an actual appendix. His hair and the barest glimpse of the skin on his face were the only thing about him that wasn’t shrouded in darkness. His clothes and binds blended seamlessly into the billowing shadow around him.
There was no sound, exactly, but she could actually feel power radiating from his prone form. Angrily. Nastily. Vindictively. How familiar.
This was, apparently, the beast that she was saddled with. Oh, the novelty.
Then he looked up, eyes glowered silently amidst all that hair, and Makima jolted (just a bit) because, really, why is a saber-tooth tiger chained up here?
His stare was bruising in its gloriousness. Makima, in turn, flashed a beatific smile:
“Hello there,” she cocked her head to the side, curiosity shining through, “Does it itch?”
A beat of silence, the rage receded just a bit, and the man barked a laugh (heady, off-tune, mad):
“As a matter of fact, it does.” His voice sounded deep and attractive, she mused dispassionately, by a human’s standard. Alas, Devils didn’t really pay heed to such things. He smirked, too, slightly, and it was annoying because that smirk somehow was just as beatific as her smile, “…Want to get it off me?”
Her smile was all teeth now:
“Your binds?”
“…my itch.” He gave her an arrogant tut, “… But I really don’t mind if you want to assist me in taking other things off as well.”
She liked clever humans. They were riveting. But he wasn’t really human, was he? So even Makima had to contemplate.
“What’s in it for me?” She asked, lazily circling his prone form like a beast surveying its prey.
To his credit, he did not crane his neck to keep her in sightline. If anything, he relaxed, even…preening, just a little bit?
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
She humored him:
“I want to get out of here.”
He snorted:
“Considered it done. This space was created to incapacitate me, so the moment I am out of bounds, everything will break down and we’re both free to go where we pleased.”
She mimicked his snobbish snort:
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t, but it’s not like you have any other choices, no?”
She stopped in front of him, eyes leveling, golden orbs shining, and raw power unveiling in threatening waves:
“I think l have lots of choices. Killing you, for one.”
Denji would have teared up a bit at her coldness. Aki would have broken down in crestfallen disappointment. Angel would have trembled in anger. The others would have shriveled in fear.
This man did not do any of those things. He threw his head back and laughed, the unhinged sounds echoed in the empty space. It was long, and harsh, and terrible. (And it made her ached at the familiarity, but that was neither here nor there.)
In the end, he stopped, just as abruptly as he had started. His own violent energy rose up to meet hers, eyes (pretty eyes, she finally, grudgingly admitted) burned with a turquoise light so raw it hurt:
“Why don’t you try?”
They stared at each other for a good long while, then at the same time, they broke eye contact. She resumed her pace, circling around him:
“If you cannot get out on your own, with that amount of power, what makes you think I can?”
He could not move, but she felt his internal shrug anyway:
“These binds were tuned to my power, its nature, its uses. But it isn’t tuned to yours, and with your kind of power, breaking me out would be a breeze.”
“Oh? Having so much trust in a stranger? Should I thank you for the compliment?”
She could hear his smile now, even from her stance behind his back:
“No, it’s not you I trust. What I put my trust in is my luck.”
That gave her pause. So, not a saber-tooth tiger then. A peacock. Or a cheeky cat.
“Have anyone ever told you how self-centered you are?”
“So?” He challenged, looking at her in the eye again, now that she was in front of him, “Do I not have that right?”
Arrogant. Vain. Childish. But…fascinating.
So, she tilted her head back to look at him (even being forced in a slouch, he was much taller than her):
“Hmm… but I’m scared. What if you hurt me, after breaking out?”
Denji would probably bite that, but she liked that this man did not give an inch:
“Please, as if you wouldn’t hurt me right back.”
She chuckled, a humorless sound (she never did master that in the centuries of existing):
“Or…what if you kill me?”
He snorted again, more amused than snobbish:
“Oh? And are you killable?”
That gave her pause. Now how could he know that? And she reacted instinctively, slamming her fist into his left eye socket. The force of her blow exploded all the way behind him. Except, her fist didn’t reach him at all. Not even his skin. There was a barrier, of sort, covering his entire body, she noticed minutely.
“Not a barrier.” She mused aloud, but did not fold her arms back, “it doesn’t stop me. It’s lowering my speed?”
He was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. He chided:
“That was rude. And yes, interestingly enough, you’re the only one to ever recognize that with the first attempt.”
She hummed conversationally, fingers loosened, and flicked.
That would have been enough force to crush a grown man’s skull in half a second. A devil’s skull, too, if she so willed it. (And she did will it, at that moment.)
For a tiny moment, the space between her finger and his face seemed to contort (violently, too, purple sparks and all, if her eyes weren’t deceiving her). But then just as quickly, it subsided, and the man before her was as unharmed as ever.
For the first time, though, there were a spark of alarm and a great deal of interest glazing in his eyes. As she idly tugging her arm back to her side, he ventured pompously:
“Yes, you’re forgiven for that discourtesy, because I’m a magnanimous person. But really, what was that? Looks strong.”
Makima ignored him.
Her evaluation of him would need another update, then. He was stronger and more refined than she first thought. No mere beast. More like…hm…a vengeful god? Too much. A catastrophe in human form. That was more like it.
She cocked her head to the side and changed the subject:
“Which power of yours make me think I’m un-killable?”
“Instincts. And something else.” He rolled his eyes, “but I’ll be keeping that something else to myself. A man is entitled to a bit of secrets, after all.”
She was tempted to snarked back ‘Not if the man wants to be saved properly’, but no, she wasn’t so boring.
Instead, she flopped down beside him, folding her legs into a comfortable position, and closed her eyes as if in mediation.
That ended up setting him off.
“…what the fuck?” He asked, somewhat incredulous, “What do you think you’re doing?”
She did not open her eyes:
“Bonding. You don’t think I’m so gullible enough as to liberating some strangers on a passing whim?”
Actually, she was. But he did not need to know that.
“I thought you are dying to get out of here?” He grumbled.
She was. She had plans, after all, with Chainsaw Man, and the world, oh, and the random passing morons that she would be controlling and using for the greater good.
Nevertheless, it would be a waste, no? Because she had never met anyone quite like him.
Powerful, might even be a bit more than Chainsaw-man. Most likely more than her. (When was the last time she met anyone like that? Oh, never.)
Interesting, and unpredictability had always been a closet temptation for her.
Nasty, the familiarity and offset unfamiliarity of which were overwhelming. She could not help it.
It felt like a challenge, and she had lived so long that boredom was an ingrained thing. That just could not do.
So, in the end, she just shrugged, still closing her eyes serenely:
“All in good time. Now, won’t you be a gentleman and tell me your name?”