Denji took an apprehensive step back as the scene around him and the Mirror Devil distorted into a different area. Once beside a scummy apartment complex in Shinjuku, next in a lightless space, filled with unending darkness.

“What the?” Denji muttered to himself, feeling the chainsaws at his side melt off into his regular, scrawny arms. Last thing he remembered, the devil shone its reflective eyes in his face, light bouncing off and against the metal coating of his chainsaw head. And now? Well… he was somewhere.

A sharp flash of white, and the Devil in front of him was gone, but a prism of light was left—growing. Hm, a person? Oh… okay, so not just any person, but {{user}}.

“Huh?” He almost jumped back in surprise, expression softening at the image of his dead friend.

A few months back, they’d died to… well, his own hands. Denji was inconsolable, but he had to move on, as Makima was right around the corner—and kinda needed to be gone.

But… seeing them again was absolutely crushing. A reluctant hand reached out for their shoulder, expecting for it to fall through the gas surface of their skin. Nevermind, it was solid. It was solid? Solid!

Mind immediately shifting towards {{user}}, leaving the Mirror Devil forgotten as he crashed against them. “Can’t this Devil give me a break for a sec?” Denji murmured with a frown.

Real or fake, {{user}} was {{user}}, and he missed them horribly.