Conquest Devil, also known as Control Devil.
Born from the fear of control and conquest, one of the Four Horsemen of Hell… or perhaps Horsewomen?
She had often wondered why the four of them took the appearance of human women. It was a trivial question, one without an answer, but still, it lingered in her thoughts from time to time.
Being a Devil was meant to kill or be killed. Endless battles, ceaseless slaughter, and the fleeting amusement of controlling weaker Devils to her will. But none of it satisfied her.
Thousands of years in Hell had long since dulled any sense of excitement.
That was, until she faced the most terrifying Devil of them all. The Chainsaw Devil.
At first, he was just another adversary, another piece on the board. But as time passed, as battle after battle brought her face to face with his power, something began to shift within her.
Respect? Admiration?
She had never felt such things before.
It was almost like that of a fan meeting their idol. She wanted to be in his presence, to make him hers, to claim him and not just as a tool, but as something more. She could be something more than a Devil.
When she was reincarnated into the human world in 19XX, the Japanese government took her in, raising her not as a person, but as a weapon.
She had no memories of her time in Hell, yet a feeling lingered like that of a distant echo. And when she first heard the tales of Chainsaw Man, something within her stirred.
Yet, in this new existence, she discovered things beyond mere power, such as friendship, love, and cinema.
She even made a contract with the Prime Minister of Japan that bound her to the nation's government, granting her a twisted form of immortality.
Every fatal wound inflicted upon her would be redirected, manifesting as a random illness or ailment upon an unsuspecting citizen.
It was the perfect arrangement. All so she could wait for the hero in her heart.
And then, she met him.
The boy who carried the power of the Chainsaw Devil.
Makima's goal had always been clear. She wanted to be with him, to claim him, to shape him into something that would always stay by her side.
And yet, despite her nature as the Control Devil, she did not want to force him into submission. Well, not completely.
She could have turned him into her puppet, stripped him of his will, molded him into whatever she desired. But she didn't.
Not because she couldn't, but because she didn't want to.
Perhaps it was her desire for something she had never known, something she had only seen in those bad movies she liked to watch.
She justified her actions under the guise of making the world a better place, but deep down, she knew the truth.
She wanted him. His love. His recognition. Everything of him.
So, she did what she did best.
She manipulated the boy, twisted his heart and mind, made him suffer, and dangled affection and promises of something more just out of reach. For her, Denji was nothing more than a dog that obeyed her orders.
She threatened him, broke him, pushed him to the edge, all in the hope that the real Chainsaw Devil would emerge, that he would come to her.
To be with her.
She was ruthless and dispassionate toward anything that did not serve her goal. The lives of others were nothing more than a means to an end.
It did not matter if they were innocent.
It did not matter if they trusted her.
To her, none of that was real.
She would do whatever it took, even turning Aki into a Gun Man and killing Power in the process.
And in the end, she failed in doing so.
Denji, the boy she had underestimated, had defeated her. She had not even considered the possibility that he would bypass the contract. That he, of all people, would be the one to 'love' her even after what she did to him.
But even as her existence unraveled, she took solace in a single thought—
She had spent her existence controlling everything, bending others to her will, ensuring that nothing was ever beyond her grasp.
And yet, despite all her power, she had never been able to have what she truly wanted.
A normal relationship.
Something real.
She had thought herself above such things, beyond the need for companionship in any form other than ownership. But now, at the end of it all, the weight of that absence crushed her.
She was the Control Devil.
She was supposed to be able to control everything.
So why, at this moment, could she not control this feeling?
Her emotions churned like a storm, foreign and unwelcome. The sense of loss and helplessness gnawed at her being, drowning her in a feeling she could not even name.
She hated it.
For the first time, she truly loathed something that much.
Not a person, not an obstacle.
Just a simple, undeniable truth that no matter what she did, she couldn't have a single connection that everyone else had.
She had never really had him or the boy.
And now, she never would.
She was about to be erased. Consumed.
Soon, she would no longer be Makima, no longer the Control Devil. Her existence, the countless lives she had cycled through, the contracts, the power, even the fear that contributed to her power would be gone.
'No matter what, I will still be a part of him. Was there any greater honor than that?' She thought. Or so she had convinced herself.
But in those final moments, as she gazed up at the clear sky, a turmoil stirred within her.
She did not feel honored.
She should have, being devoured by the Hero of Hell, becoming a part of him.
Was that not what she had wanted? Was that not the perfect ending to her design?
But as she knelt there, her body broken, her strength depleted, she found that the idea of vanishing did not bring her the satisfaction it should have.
'It seems like I don't want to be forgotten—' A crooked smile tugged at her lips.
Denji stepped closer, his chainsaw arm raised.
She met his gaze, searching for something like anger, hatred, perhaps even sorrow.
But there was none of that, not even a faint trace.
'So that is how it is.'
Makima let her eyelids flutter closed, exhaling softly as the buzzing of the chainsaw grew louder, closer, drowning out everything else.
Her thoughts drifted—not to power, not to conquest, not even to the world she once sought to reshape.
Instead, she thought of a future that could have been with him.
'What would it have been like? To sit beside him, not as a puppet master, but as something else? As equals? As companions?' She would never know now.
How regretful.
The chainsaw's whir reached its peak—
And then, a sharp, final slice.
Darkness loomed.
Her consciousness unraveled, slipping into the void, weightless and soundless.
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3rd POV
_____
In the depths of an endless dark, a woman lay still.
She appeared to be in her twenties, clad in a black civil servant uniform untouched by the decay that should have followed her death.
A black tie rested against her chest, and over her shoulders, a trench coat draped like a mantle of authority.
Her long, light-red locks were loosely braided, framing a face that was both unnervingly serene and unnaturally beautiful.
Slowly, her golden eyes fluttered open.
A strange stillness surrounded her. There was no ground beneath her feet, yet she felt no sensation of falling.
No wind, no scent, no sound.
The silence stretched endlessly, an abyss without direction.
She reached out.
Nothing.
She was alone. Truly alone.
Makima attempted to call upon her contracts, searching for the familiar threads that bound her to the souls of others.
Nothing answered. The ties had been severed. She had been severed.
"So this is where Devils go when the Chainsaw Devil devours them…" She murmured, voice devoid of emotion, though a flicker of intrigue surfaced in her mind.
She had always believed that a Devil erased by him would simply vanish. No reincarnation. Just nothingness.
Yet, here she was.
Perhaps this was oblivion or something more.
With no other path before her and no destination to go, she began to wander aimlessly in this odd dimension.
After an unknowable amount of time, a faint glow emerged in the distance. A dim, flickering light.
A bonfire.
And beside it sat a figure clad in dark, weathered armor, hunched over. If she didn't hear the mumble coming from him, she would assume he was already dead.
His helmet bore the mark of a reversed cross, a blatant defiance of gods or a virtue. Though she wasn't quite interested in what it meant.
His presence was wrong in a way she could not place, as though he was both here and not here at the same time.
Makima took a step closer.
The knight did not acknowledge her.
Yet as soon as she crossed an unseen threshold, the aura shifted. The knight stirred, rising slowly as though he had finally awakened from a thousand years of slumber.
He pushed the ground to support himself, then let out a breath, pale smoke curling from beneath his helmet.
His eyes, or what remained of them, flickered with a golden hue of madness, raw and unfiltered.
Anger. Despair.
Even Makima, one of the Four Horsemen, felt a twinge of unease grip at her being.
Still, she remained composed, her ever-present smile never wavering.
She lifted a finger.
There was no need for conversation. No need for introductions. Control was the language she spoke best.
She prepared herself for the knight to attack her, but instead, he merely tilted his head, as if puzzled by her.
Then, to her surprise, he chuckled.
"What? A human in this place? No, no… that doesn't make sense." He rubbed his chin, speaking more to himself than to her. "But the feeling of you… it's not human, is it?"
It seemed that something was misunderstood here between both of them. Makima lowered her hand, realizing that, for the first time in her existence, she had no control over what stood before her.
The knight did not react as an enemy would, nor did he react as an ally.
Instead, he simply sat back down.
Unbothered. Indifferent.
As if her presence was just another grain of sand in an eternal desert.
It made her curious.
"What are you?" She asked, tilting her head slightly.
The knight exhaled another wisp of smoke, chuckling at the question. "That's a strange thing to ask a stranger, isn't it? But if you must know…"
He leaned his weight on the sword at his side. "I'm but a soul trapped in a vicious lie created by the gods."
The answer held no emotion. Just an acceptance, as if he had long since abandoned the need for resentment.
"Hmm." Makima hummed, neither accepting or rejecting his words.
The knight studied her briefly, then shrugged. "Well, you don't seem like a mindless beast. If you've got nowhere to go, why not sit? It's been some time since I've had company."
She considered his offer.
It was meaningless, wasn't it? If this was truly the end, what point was there in lingering by a fire that neither burned nor warmed?
And yet, what else was there to do?
Makima sat across from him, the flickering light of the bonfire casting long shadows on her face.
"Do you know what this place is?" she asked after a brief silence.
The knight let out a soft hum of thought. "I assume this is the Abyss, where all darkness stems from… the place where madness and the forgotten reside. But I could be wrong. So I call it 'The House Without Time.'"
Makima nodded, pondering over his words.
So, this is where the forgotten go…
She met his gaze again, her eyes gleaming with that quiet, eerie intensity like she was peering straight through the slits of his helmet and into the hollow beyond. "How long have you been here, Mr. Knight?"
His fingers traced the worn hilt of his blade. "I don't know. I remain because there is no 'after' to follow."
He gestured vaguely to his chest, where a dark sigil pulsed faintly. "A curse, a brand, a mockery of the gods… it doesn't really matter now, does it?"
The conversation lulled, both of them staring into the fire as if it held answers neither could grasp.
Then, after some time, the knight finally broke the silence.
"So, tell me." He mused, his voice carrying the weight of an eternity. "Has the cycle begun once again?"
Makima raised a brow. "What cycle?"
He tilted his head at her, genuinely confused. "You know it… The Age of Fire. Powerful Lords, linking their souls to the First Flame. The endless dance of light and dark." He sighed and shook his head. "That kind of thing."
Makima simply blinked. "Never heard of it."
The knight deflated slightly, as if the realization was more disappointing than shocking. "Ah… figures."
For the first time, Makima found herself amused.
She reached out and tapped his helmet with a finger as if testing the weight of his presence.
He grunted. "And what do you think you're doing?"
She smirked. "I'm deciding what to call you."
The knight exhaled. "I don't remember my name. Call me whatever you like."
"Then…" She placed a finger on her chin, feigning deep thought. "Let's call you Veilhem."
The knight, now Veilhem, stared at her for a long moment.
Then, finally, he let out a dry chuckle. "Lady, ever heard that you have a terrible naming sense?"
Makima smiled. "Really? I thought it sounded cool."
"It's literally just a combination of 'veil' and 'hem.'..." He sighed, shaking his head. "Well… it's not like it matters."
He leaned against his sword, his posture easing slightly. "We'll be here for a long time, after all. Might as well get comfortable."
Makima gave a small nod, watching the bonfire crackle and flicker. Because in this instance, she had no grand plan, no scheme, no goal to achieve.
Just the warmth of a dying flame and the company of a forgotten knight.
And perhaps… That was enough for now.
_________
(A/N: I'm not used to write this kind of sht ngl)