Narrator POV.
Isagi moved stealthily through the shadows of the massive abandoned warehouse that, according to rumors, served as a secret base for the Yakuza. The place smelled of rust, stale tobacco, and something else… a dense sensation in the air that only someone sensitive to cursed energy could notice.
Every step was calculated, every breath restrained.
His movements were light, barely making a sound as he slipped between stacked metal containers. Moonlight filtered through broken windows, barely illuminating the interior and creating an atmosphere that blended mystery with danger.
Thanks to his knowledge of Chainsaw Man's story, Isagi knew the Yakuza had a history of seeking power at any cost—even making contracts with devils. And honestly, those kinds of decisions almost always ended badly… very badly.
So how did he know one of those contracts had been sealed here?
Simple.
While "touring" the city, he had wandered into a bar where, to his surprise, most of the patrons were Yakuza. His presence, tinged with cursed energy, was enough for the guards to mistake him for someone important and let him pass without questions.
A couple of drinks later—more to blend in than out of enjoyment—he "accidentally" overheard a conversation between two drunk guys talking about a recent deal with a devil, something about "a power that would guarantee control of the eastern territory."
And of course, being the nosy bastard he was, Isagi couldn't resist the temptation to discreetly follow them to this place.
Now there he was, weaving between containers, feeling like a spy on a movie-style infiltration mission. Each step brought him closer to the center of the warehouse, where muffled voices could be heard… along with a faint, guttural murmur that clearly didn't come from any human.
Carefully, Isagi jumped and climbed onto the top of one of the containers to get a better vantage point. The metal creaked softly beneath his weight, and he held his breath for a second, hoping he hadn't been discovered.
(Personal mission number one: don't screw this up… and don't get dismembered for sticking my nose where it doesn't belong.) —he thought, an imaginary anime-style sweat drop sliding down his temple.
The air felt heavy, and the sense of danger kept growing stronger… his Danger Sensor vibrated faintly in his mind, like a silent warning that something powerful was lurking below.
Isagi cautiously peeked through one of the roof windows, careful not to make any noise. The moment he got a clear look inside… he nearly had a heart attack.
The Danger Sensor in his head went haywire, far stronger than when he had faced the centipede devil. A sharp sting shot through the back of his neck, instinctive—like his own body screaming run or die.
(That thing looks like Satan… maybe I should just go home, play "La Cucaracha," and pretend I never saw this.) —he thought, swallowing hard as he tried to stay calm.
What he saw inside the warehouse looked straight out of a nightmare.
A tall, slender figure—nearly three meters tall—stood at the center of the place. It had long, pointed ears, two massive bull-like horns, a pair of membranous wings that slowly opened and closed, and a long, prehensile tail swaying serpent-like, as if it had a will of its own.
Its body was completely black—not a normal black, but one so deep it seemed to absorb all surrounding light. And worst of all… it had no face. Just a smooth, dark surface where eyes and a mouth should have been.
(It's completely black… is it Peruvian? Humble color.) —he thought, trying to joke to keep from panicking, though his heart was pounding like a war drum. (And now I'm even more scared since the system thought it was a good idea to turn me into a gourmet dish.) —he mentally scoffed.
He suddenly remembered his "blessed" Marechi trait—blood that was irresistibly delicious to demons.
Basically, he was walking around covered in barbecue sauce in the middle of an infernal buffet.
And the worst part? Those damn demons had a sense of smell sharper than a police dog's.
(Screw you, System… you can go straight to hell.) —he growled internally, clenching his teeth at the irony of his "special reward."
A metallic sound echoed in his head.
> [I heard that]
Isagi's eyes twitched with annoyance, barely resisting the urge to punch the air.
(That was the point, System… I wanted you to hear me.) —he shot back mentally with sarcasm, slowly backing away while trying not to make the slightest sound.
The atmosphere inside the warehouse grew heavier. The demon—or whatever that thing was—slowly turned its faceless head, as if it had sensed something… or someone.
(What the hell am I afraid of? I'm Isagi Fushiguro, son of Toji Fushiguro, the supreme Zenin, forty-five-inch arm span! A Bible-looking demon isn't going to scare me!) —he thought arrogantly, trying to hide the fact that he'd almost had a heart attack.
His breathing steadied.
With a defiant smile, Isagi drew his katana and released part of his chain. The metallic sound echoed softly, blending with the tension in the air.
He wrapped part of the chain around his right hand, preparing to use it like Mirrodilla's Black Whips, while holding his katana in his left. The blade began to glow with cursed energy, a faint but vibrant radiance that lit up his determined face.
(Screw it… thanks to the Blood Orchid Serum, I'm basically immortal.) —he thought with a confident grin. (And if things go south, I can always run—no one said heroes can't use their legs.)
He knew perfectly well the demon had already detected him, but retreating wasn't an option.
(The bastard already knows I'm here… and what I've got plenty of are balls.) —he exhaled as the Danger Sensor flared up again with alarming intensity.
Without thinking twice, he moved.
The air whistled as a massive hand made of shadows burst from the darkness, trying to crush him. It was enormous, its fingers like tentacles of solid smoke that obliterated everything they touched.
Isagi reacted instantly, dodging by mere centimeters as he sprinted between the metal containers. The gigantic hand chased him, warping the ground beneath it.
—Don't you dare touch me with that… skin color! —he shouted without thinking, adrenaline and desperate humor mixing together.
He hurled his chain toward a metal support near the ceiling. It wrapped tightly, and with a powerful pull, Isagi launched himself sideways, soaring through the air just before the hand slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash that shook the entire warehouse.
He landed in a roll on a rusty catwalk, panting—but smiling victoriously.
—Ha! Looks like you've got a limited range. —he mocked, watching as the massive hand slowly dissolved, retreating back into the shadows it came from.
The environment calmed for a few seconds. Isagi took a deep breath and frowned, analyzing the sensation in his body.
(That's weird… when I was close, the Danger Sensor went crazy, but now that I'm farther away, it's just a faint sting.) —he thought, watching the shadows slowly shift inside the warehouse.
It was obvious the fight wasn't over—it had just withdrawn… waiting for his next move. Isagi tightened his grip on his katana and let out a long sigh, glancing at the warehouse roof, now sporting a massive hole from the earlier clash.
—What a massive pain in the ass… —he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. That demon hadn't just been annoying—it had actually scared him a little.
He slapped his cheeks a couple of times to clear his head. Dying wasn't something that truly worried him; with his regeneration, killing him would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. In other words, nearly impossible.
Katana in hand, he stood up confidently and began walking back toward the warehouse. His gaze was sharp with determination.
—If my grandpa beat the devil on a mountain using nothing but a rusty machete, I can beat any demon with my katana. —he said with a confident smile, adjusting his grip.
He readied his katana and chain, then kicked the warehouse doors open in a single strike. The impact rang out with a metallic boom that echoed throughout the building. Isagi grinned proudly.
—Man, I love this superhuman strength.
From within the dark warehouse came a guttural growl, like the roar of a starving beast. The air grew heavy, and a chill ran through the place.
—Listen up, Peruvian demon… —Isagi said firmly, pointing his katana into the darkness—. I'm adding you to my list of hunted prey.
The demon, hidden among the shadows, let out a low growl.
—Human… —it spoke in a deep, distorted voice, but suddenly stopped as it sniffed the air.
Its breathing became erratic, its eyes widening as its body began to tremble. It had sensed something intoxicating—an exquisite scent… the smell of "food" it rarely encountered.
That aroma came from Isagi.
The young man clenched his jaw, a vein popping on his temple. Mentally, he insulted the system in every language possible—even ones he didn't actually know.
—système de merde… —he muttered in frustration, glaring at the air as if the system itself were watching.
Did Isagi know French?
No.
Did he even know how to pronounce that correctly?
Also no.
But in that moment, by the sheer power of universal anger, he said it perfectly.
---
End of the chapter.