"Why are you here?"
Makoto's eyes burned with the Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan as he addressed the two surviving members of the Immortal Brothers.
Joey, the middle brother with the tangled mop of hair, spoke through bloodless lips. "Someone's offering two million US dollars... for the Chainsaw Devil's heart."
"The Chainsaw Devil?"
Every head swiveled toward the tiny, harmless-looking puppy crouched at Makoto's feet.
That little guy is worth two million?
Makoto's expression said he'd expected this. The moment he'd identified the three intruders, he'd guessed their goal.
In the original work, these three had taken part in the hunt for Chainsaw Man and the theft of his heart. They were also the only devil hunters in the source material with the ability to alter their own faces, which had made them memorable to him.
"I'm going to kill them!"
The confirmation that her father had died at the brothers' hands had stripped Eriri of every ounce of her usual tsundere pretense. Her eyes blazed red, her voice raw.
Makoto rested a hand on top of her head, steadying her, then turned back to Joey. "How many others know about the Chainsaw Devil?"
Joey's eyes were empty. "Word has spread through every devil hunter circle in New York."
"So. I was careless after all."
He'd been so fixated on guarding against Makima that he'd forgotten the devils and hunters overseas were just as hungry for Chainsaw Man's heart.
Still, guilt wasn't eating at him. This world was lethal by nature. He'd done what he could.
Makoto lifted his hand from Eriri's head, giving her the nod she was waiting for.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she drew a kunai and drove it into Joey's throat.
With the genjutsu lifted, Makoto stood by and watched as the blonde girl stabbed the middle brother to death, driving the blade in again and again.
The youngest brother, Aldo, the most cowardly of the three, had broken out in a cold sweat watching this. He fainted dead away.
Grief still hung heavy over the villa for Spencer and the others, but the sight of Aldo going limp drew a bewildered pause from Utaha and the rest.
He's actually a killer?
"It looks like we won't see each other for a while," Makoto said.
"Makoto?"
Erina, along with Alice and Leonora Nakiri still wrapped in each other's arms, looked up at him.
"Alice, you'll travel with Megumi's group from now on. Until we're back in the real world, we shouldn't meet. And this place isn't safe anymore. Find a new base."
He looked down at the little devil-dog at his feet. "Pochita. Let's go."
"Woof!"
Pochita fell in at his heel, obedient as ever.
"Makoto, what are you going to do?" Megumi Kato asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
"Don't worry. I'll be fine."
He turned back once and gave them a smile.
Somewhere beneath the streets of New York sat a basement bar, one of the gathering spots where local devil hunters picked up jobs.
A black devil hunter downed several swigs of trenbolone and roared, "What the hell is so special about this Chainsaw Devil? What's it worth so much damn money?"
"Some big shot put out two million in bounty for its heart. Word's been going around for days!"
Shock rippled through the room. Two million dollars. In the nineties. US currency. If it had been the Gun Devil or the Death Devil, something with a name that chilled the blood, maybe. But Chainsaw Devil? Nobody had even heard of it.
Beside him, a blonde hunter finished pressing a syringe full of something unidentifiable into his arm, pupils dilating into bliss. "Who cares? If some rich prick wants to burn cash, that's his problem. Get paid, and I can stay high for the rest of my life."
Bang.
The door exploded inward.
The steel panel ripped clean from its frame and slammed into the opposite wall, pulverizing a hunter who'd been unfortunate enough to be leaning there into a flat smear.
Every hunter and the bartender were on their feet in an instant. Some drew guns. Others flashed strange hand seals that looked like shinobi jutsu, clearly preparing to call on their devil powers.
"The fuck are you?!" the black hunter spat as an Asian face stepped through the wreckage.
"Pochita. Do it."
Makoto didn't so much as glance at any of them.
The little dog leapt from the floor onto his shoulder. The moment the hunters saw the chainsaw sticking out of the puppy's forehead, their eyes lit up.
Asian man. Dog with a chainsaw growing out of its skull. Exactly like the intel.
The puppy's limbs liquefied, absorbing swiftly into the Asian man's body. In less than three seconds, the fusion was complete.
Vrrrrmmm.
Flesh tore along Makoto's arms, and two howling chainsaws burst through the split skin in a spray of blood.
"Haha! It IS the Chainsaw Devil!"
The guarded expressions collapsed into glee. Two million dollars was about to fall into their laps.
Makoto smiled too. Wider than any of them.
He was behind the black hunter in a blink. The man's grin hadn't even finished forming when his head slid free of his neck.
Thud.
The head hit the floor.
Vrrrrmmm.
The chainsaws screamed louder.
Blood and viscera and coils of intestine painted the walls and ceiling.
A slaughter, choreographed in real time.
Two minutes later.
The bartender, the only soul still drawing breath, stumbled backward as Makoto's eyes landed on him.
His back hit the liquor shelf hard. He raised a trembling pistol and unloaded it. Bullets thumped into Makoto's chest and kept going through. He didn't break stride.
His right hand closed over the barrel. The chainsaws retracted into his arms. A gentle squeeze twisted the gun into a warped pretzel of metal.
"Go tell every other devil hunter in the States."
His smile widened.
"Tell them the Chainsaw Devil did this."
Two days later, one figure dominated every major news network on Earth.
A lean, tall man in a helmet that looked like a fusion of animal and machine, chainsaw teeth running up its crown. Blades extended from his arms, ripping their way out of his own flesh. Violence rolled off him like heat.
Around him stood men known throughout the American underworld. Hunters and gangsters both. Some wielding heavy weapons, others visibly more than human, channeling the borrowed power of devils.
Then black flames erupted along the chainsaw figure's arms, and he became a specter weaving through the crowd. Blades rose and fell. Blood, flesh, and organs arced through the air.
Chainsaws howling. Screams tearing. Bodies scattering.
A hellscape.
Even viewers in a world long accustomed to the carnage devils left behind felt their scalps prickle.
The caption running beneath the footage read, in every language:
Chainsaw Man.
News anchors around the globe delivered their scripts to camera: "According to the US Bureau of Devil Investigation, this individual is a devil contractor originating from Japan, contracted with the Chainsaw Devil. He is not a conventional devil hunter taking contracts for work, but rather a deranged killer who targets victims indiscriminately. Citizens of all nations are urged to exercise extreme caution. Any sighting should be reported immediately to the US Bureau of Devil Investigation..."
Most ordinary people learned of the Chainsaw Devil's existence for the first time that day. But the ones trembling hardest weren't the civilians. They were the devils hiding in the shadows.
"You think I'm the deranged one?"
Somewhere, watching the American authorities slap that label on him, Makoto started to laugh.
In his previous life, reading about the torture scenes in Berserk, he'd thought he'd glimpsed the ceiling of human cruelty. Then he'd seen what certain islands actually did, and realized how shallow his imagination had been.
Hell, even novels didn't dare write things that depraved.
He flickered out of sight.
Meanwhile, in Tokyo.
Makoto Itou stepped outside for the first time in nine years, and the first thing he saw was a news story about Makoto Nishikado.
"Bastard!"
He ground his teeth at the name on the screen. That son of a bitch had spent years telling everyone not to contract with devils, and now look at him. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"Ah~ So the rumors are true. The Chainsaw bastard is back."
A voice spoke inside his head.
"Is that devil really that strong?" Makoto Itou's brow creased.
"It's not a matter of strength. He's one of those rare..."
The voice trailed off, silent for a long moment before resuming.
"Just don't antagonize him. Whatever you do."
His frown deepened. Makoto Nishikado being stronger than him was one thing. Nine years of eating that had been bitter but swallowable. But now the devil Nishikado had contracted with was also stronger than his own?
The voice belonged to the devil Makoto Itou had signed with not long ago. The Horny Devil.
It didn't sound imposing. It sounded mildly ridiculous. But it had offered him terms he couldn't refuse.
Let it possess him, and he'd get his equipment back down there.
Technically, what he'd have would be the Horny Devil's. But sensations would be shared between them.
Which had been enough to put the gleam back in his eye.
Naturally, devil possession came with a significant boost to physical capabilities. Makoto Itou had tested it. His body was now every bit the equal of Yukino Yukinoshita's.
Well, the Yukino Yukinoshita from nine years ago in the real world. How strong she'd grown since then, he had no idea.
"Can we hurry up and find someone?"
He dragged his attention from the television. His junk had returned—well, not grown back exactly, but borrowed via the devil's possession.
And since the moment he'd regained the capability, he'd been desperate to test-drive it.
A man after my own heart.
The Horny Devil gave its host a silent thumbs-up.
The only reason Horny had sought out a human to possess was that news of the Chainsaw Devil's revival had scared it witless. If it had ended up possessing some ascetic with no desires, the arrangement would've been a disaster. Fortunately, this kid was a raging pervert too.
"Keep it low-key, kid. Low-key. I don't want devil hunters or Public Safety breathing down our necks. You don't either, right?"
Makoto Itou swallowed, his actual brain barely wrestling control back from his other head.
The two of them wandered the streets for a long while without finding a suitable target.
Without realizing it, he'd drifted to the entrance of Tokyo University Hospital.
A middle-aged man was pushing a wheelchair through the hospital doors. In the chair sat a young man around twenty-five.
A closer look revealed striking features, though the weight of something defeated in his bearing made him easy to miss.
"Mom's working again, Dad?"
Shinichi Kudo, fresh from his checkup, turned his head toward Yusaku Kudo.
Yusaku managed a pained smile and nodded. "Yeah. The household's running on Yukiko's shoulders right now. Don't hold it against her, Shinichi."
He'd been with Public Safety for a good while now, but he wasn't frontline personnel. His deductive skills didn't count for much in a world like this one, so his salary had always been modest. The financial weight had fallen on his wife for years.
"I won't, Dad. And the doctor said it himself, I don't need to take as much medication anymore. Mom doesn't have to keep doing that kind of work either."
Shinichi knew perfectly well that his mother had been using her disguise skills to steal, funding his medical bills with the proceeds.
Once upon a time, he would have despised anyone who behaved that way. But when the money was going toward keeping him alive, morality became remarkably flexible.
Yusaku smiled bitterly and nodded again.
In truth, he'd long suspected that what his wife did out there was something worse than petty theft. Years in Public Safety had given him enough glimpses of the underworld to recognize the signs.
He knew her real identity had been exposed in certain criminal circles, yet those circles had never come for her, and she kept bringing money home.
None of it added up.
But he hadn't confronted her. Partly because whoever earned the bread held the larger voice at the table. Partly because some quiet instinct warned him that laying it all bare would shatter the family beyond repair.
He pushed the wheelchair past a row of appliance storefronts. In one of the windows, a television was showing the news coverage of Chainsaw Man.
Ring. Ring.
His phone buzzed.
"Hello? What? Now?"
His expression shifted fast.
He hung up. Before he could speak, Shinichi was already asking, "Something for work, Dad?"
"Yeah."
Yusaku nodded, his face grave. He paused, weighing whether to repeat what his supervisor had just told him, and decided against it.
"Go on, then. I can get home on my own."
"You sure?"
Shinichi patted the armrest of his chair. "I hate admitting it, but I'm pretty used to this thing by now. And we're not far from home, are we?"
A few seconds of silence. Then Yusaku nodded and flagged down a taxi. "Call me the moment anything happens, Shinichi."
He climbed in and was gone.
Shinichi rolled himself alone toward the rental apartment a few blocks off.
The image of Makoto Nishikado cutting a swath through bodies on the news replayed in his head. His teeth clenched. I'm going to put you in handcuffs someday.
He had no idea that across the street, someone had already locked onto him.
"That one! Him! Take him!"
The Horny Devil was practically shrieking inside Makoto Itou's skull.
Makoto Itou blanked.
"Wait, are you serious? He's... he's a guy?"
He hadn't recognized the face across the street as Japan's once-celebrated detective savior. Nine years had changed both of them enough to render recognition nearly impossible.
"Huh? When did I say the target had to be a woman?" Horny shot back. "Male, female, lamppost, attack helicopter, Walmart plastic bag. They all work for me. Get moving, or I'm jumping ship to somebody else!"
Horny was, by nature, indiscriminate. Male, female, not-even-alive. All fair game.
Makoto Itou ground his teeth, his gaze settling on the figure in the wheelchair.
Maybe it was nine years of being unable to touch anyone, not even himself. Maybe it was the thrill of suddenly being able to again.
But something in him stirred.
Hmm. This Shinichi Kudo's still got it.
"Now. Move."
Horny's voice cracked like a whip.
Borrowing the devil's strength, Makoto Itou flashed across the street.
As the wheelchair passed the mouth of a narrow alley, he lunged, seizing Shinichi and dragging him into the shadows.
"Who are... ghk!"
Shinichi didn't get to finish. He hit the pavement hard, face down. He tried to turn, but a hand pressed into the back of his skull and held him there.
The grip wasn't human.
He gritted his teeth. "What do you want? How much money? I'll pay!"
No answer.
The sound of fabric tearing.
A rip, and his pants were gone, and the young detective felt cold air on skin that had no business being exposed.
Then a pain unlike anything he'd ever known tore up through his body from below.
"AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
The scream ripped through the alley and split the quiet evening in two.