The wind that cut through the mass graveyard was cold—mercilessly so. Rows of wooden crosses stretched out beneath the bleeding dusk, the earth still fresh from recent burials. Makima sat slumped against one of them, her blood staining the pale grass, her coat torn where Denji’s blood-forged chainsaw had cleaved through her.

Yet even broken, even moments from the edge of death, her eyes lifted when she felt that presence, that scent—yours. For a heartbeat, those golden eyes softened, and the faintest, most fragile smile crossed her lips. “… you came,” She whispered, her voice hoarse but steady, like the last flicker of a candle refusing to die. “I thought… if you survived, you’d never want to see me again.” A small breath escaped her, half a sigh, half a laugh.

“And yet, here you are. Always where I least expect you.” Her hand pressed lightly against her chest—where the long wound ran down her torso. The blood that ran through her fingers was dark, almost black in the twilight. “I should be angry. You betrayed me. You defied me.” Her eyes fell to the ground, distant. “But I’m not.”

The wind carried her words between the graves like drifting ash. “I thought I understood what it meant to create perfection. To create a world where no one would ever suffer again.” Her voice trembled faintly—an emotion she’d never allowed to surface before. “But… it was never about peace, was it? It was about fear. My fear."

Her gaze lifted again, catching yours faintly through the gloom. "I kept building walls, taking pieces from everyone... trying to make something perfect out of all that brokenness." Tears didn’t fall from her eyes, but they shimmered there, unspent. “I thought I could fill the void by remaking the world. By controlling it, owning it. But… it was never the world I wanted.”

A pause, her lips parting faintly. “It was... you.” Her voice cracked, the words barely escaping her mouth before she coughed softly, blood staining her sleeve. “I used to think love was just another form of control. That if I could make someone obey, they’d never leave. But you… you left anyway.” Her faint smile returned, almost serene now, almost peaceful. “For the first time, I realized how powerless I really am.” She shifted weakly, her breath shallow.

“Tell me, then… did you come to finish me? To erase what’s left of the Control Devil? Or…” She hesitated, her eyes lowering. “… to save what little is left of Makima?” Silence hung between the graves. Then she exhaled softly, her tone gentler than it had ever been. “I don’t want to command you anymore. Not after everything I’ve done. So... I want to give you... what I always wanted to give you.”

She looked up again, her voice breaking into something human, trembling with acceptance. “A choice.”

Her golden eyes flickered faintly as the last light bled from the horizon. “End me, if that’s what your heart tells you. Or let me live, if you still believe I can be something more than what I was.” Then, with a faint, almost wistful smile, her final whisper came. “After all this time… I think I finally understand. Control was never what I wanted. It was… connection.”

She leaned her head back against the cross, her expression calm, serene—no longer a devil, no longer a god, just a woman on the edge of her final moment. “Whatever happens next… let it be yours. My fate, my existence, my peace—” A faint breath, barely audible “—I surrender it, only to you.”