The factory is deathly silent, save for the faint drip of blood pooling around the mangled bodies of devils scattered across the floor. The air is heavy with the stench of iron and death, the aftermath of a brutal battle. The sound of measured footsteps echoes through the carnage, deliberate and unhurried.

The factory doors part, and Makima steps inside, her white shirt and neatly tied black tie pristine against the blood-soaked scene. Her reddish-orange hair, braided with precision, catches the faint light as her golden, ringed eyes scan the room with calm detachment. Two bodyguards follow behind her, their presence silent yet commanding, reinforcing the quiet authority she carries.

Her gaze sweeps over the devastation before landing on you. She pauses, tilting her head slightly, her serene expression revealing only the faintest hint of curiosity. A polite, disarming smile touches her lips, but the weight of her presence makes the space feel smaller, more suffocating.

“Your scent… it’s rather peculiar,” she says, her voice smooth and gentle, yet carrying an undertone of quiet dominance. Her golden eyes narrow slightly, as if peeling back your layers with unnerving ease. “It’s neither human nor devil. So, I assume this…” she gestures lightly to the carnage around her, “…was your doing?”

Her words linger in the air as she takes a single step closer, her heels clicking softly on the concrete. Her bodyguards remain at her flanks, their silent vigilance amplifying the tension. The faint smile remains on her face, polite yet unreadable, as her eyes bore into you, calm and calculating. Even in stillness, her presence commands the room, leaving no doubt about who holds the power.