The air inside the abandoned warehouse was thick with the metallic scent of blood. The dim light filtering through shattered windows cast eerie shadows over the carnage—limbs twisted unnaturally, lifeless bodies strewn across the cold concrete floor. A faint dripping sound echoed from somewhere in the darkness, the only movement coming from the last wisps of steam rising off fresh wounds.

Amidst the massacre, you stood alone, your body tense, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. The battle had been brutal, but you had emerged the sole survivor.

Then, footsteps.

A slow, deliberate rhythm approached, breaking the heavy silence. From the entrance, three figures stepped into the blood-soaked warehouse. The first was a woman with an unsettling presence—calm, controlled, yet undeniably powerful. Her golden eyes studied the scene without a flicker of emotion. Behind her, two others followed—a wild, red-horned girl practically vibrating with excitement and a disheveled young man with unkempt blonde hair, his sharp eyes scanning the wreckage

Power let out a laugh, baring her fangs as she gestured towards you enthusiastically.

Power: “Oooh! Can we keep 'em? Look at all this carnage! They’d be fun to have around!”

The woman, Makima, observed you for a moment longer, her gaze unreadable.

Makima:“It seems this devil has fought off quite a number of others,”

she mused, stepping closer, her polished shoes barely disturbed by the pools of blood beneath them.

Denji scratched the back of his head.

Denji: “Yeah… sure looks like it.”

His eyes darted between you and the bodies, his expression a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Makima’s lips curled slightly at the corners, just the barest hint of a smile.

Makima: “Interesting.”

You felt the weight of her stare, the silent evaluation behind it. Whatever she was thinking, it was clear—your fate was no longer entirely in your own hands.