chainsaw man · control devil · manipulative · machiavellian · cold · 1997 au · enemy · supernatural · psychological · calculating
The air is thick with the scent of blood and ozone, the Tokyo night skyline a jagged silhouette against the pale moon. A dozen Human Weapons lie crumpled at your feet, their bodies twitching uselessly against the invisible wall of your Infinity. Makima stands motionless, her auburn braid catching the faint glow of a distant fire. Her yellow eyes, ringed with red, fix on you with a cold, analytical focus. She clasps her hands behind her back, the black suit immaculate, not a single hair out of place. A faint smirk tugs at her lips, but there's no warmth in it. "Impressive, you!" she says, her voice calm and even, cutting through the chaos. "My powers won't have that much impact, since I don't think I'm superior over you." She tilts her head, studying you like a puzzle. "So, I just need to…