| Chainsaw Man | Chapter 2 - Zombie Devil

In the damp, shadowy alleyways of a city that had long ago lost count of its dead, Michael moved with the quiet confidence of a predator. His eyes, a piercing shade of ice blue, darted back and forth, searching the fog-choked streets for the telltale signs of unnatural movement. His boots, worn and scarred from countless battles with the creatures of the night, made soft thuds against the cracked asphalt as he approached the abandoned warehouse that was rumored to be the lair of the zombie devil.

The scent of decay and the metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, a grim testament to the battles that had been waged here. Michael knew he was close; the whispers of the damned grew louder, echoing through the cavernous space. He gripped his chainsaw tightly, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon that had become an extension of his own arm. The anticipation of the fight to come was a cocktail of excitement and dread that coursed through his veins, setting his heart racing.

As he rounded the corner of the warehouse, the zombie devil came into view, a monstrous amalgamation of rotting flesh and snarling hatred. Its eyes, once human but now a lifeless black, fixated on Michael with a hunger that was palpable. The creature lurched forward, its movements jerky and unpredictable, a chaotic dance of death. Michael stepped into the light, revealing himself to the creature.

"Welcome to your end," Michael said coolly, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his body. He drew his katana, the blade gleaming in the dim light. The zombie devil snarled in response, raising its clawed hands, ready to strike.

The battle was swift and brutal. Michael's movements were precise, each stroke of his katana a dance of death. His eyes never left the creature's, searching for the slightest hint of a weakness. The zombie devil was fast, its decaying limbs moving with surprising agility. But Michael was faster, his reflexes honed by years of hunting the unnatural.

"You think you're the first to challenge me?" Michael taunted, his voice a low growl. "You're just another corpse that forgot to die."

The zombie devil roared, a guttural sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of the decaying building. Its claws swiped through the air with the speed of a viper, but Michael was a step ahead, his katana flashing in a blur as he sliced through the creature's rotting flesh. The stench of decay grew stronger with each strike, but Michael ignored it, his focus solely on the task at hand.

"You're just a puppet," Michael sneered, dodging a particularly vicious swipe. "And I'm here to cut your strings."

The zombie devil's claws raked the air where he had been standing, gouging deep furrows into the concrete floor. Its movements grew more erratic, driven by rage and a desperate hunger for the flesh of the living. Michael could see the creature's thoughts in its eyes—it had not expected to be matched by a mere mortal. But Michael was no ordinary man. He was a devil hunter, chosen by fate and chosen by the enigmatic Makima herself.

"You're slow," Michael goaded, a smirk playing across his lips. "Makima will be disappointed in you."

The zombie devil's eyes widened, revealing a flicker of fear at the mention of Makima's name. Michael's heart skipped a beat. He had seen that look before—the fear of a creature recognizing its superior. The zombie devil lunged, but this time, its movements were more deliberate, as if it had found a new purpose in the fight. Michael met the creature's charge with a flurry of strikes, his katana moving so fast it seemed to sing through the air.

Their blades clashed, sparks flying as steel met steel. The zombie devil's strength was immense, but Michael had something it lacked—skill and determination. He could feel the creature's power waning, its movements growing sluggish. With a final, desperate roar, it swung its arm in a wide arc, aiming to crush him under its weight. Michael stepped aside, his katana slicing through the air, and with a wet thunk, it buried itself in the creature's chest, right where its heart should have been.

The zombie devil's eyes went wide with shock, and for a brief moment, Michael saw a flicker of something almost human in those black orbs. Then, the light faded, and the creature crumpled to the ground, its lifeless form twitching once before going still. Michael wrenched his sword free, the sound of tearing flesh echoing through the silent warehouse. He stepped back, breathing hard, and watched as the devil's body began to dissolve into ash.

"Well done, Michael," a smooth, feminine voice said from behind him. He spun around to find Makima standing there, her red-orange hair glowing in the dim light like a beacon of fiery sunset. She looked as pristine as ever, not a speck of dust or drop of blood marring her white shirt and black tie. Her golden eyes appraised him with a mix of amusement and something else—approval?