Checking himself out in the mirror, he admired the tuxedo that fit snugly, acting almost like a cardigan. A sleek black jacket framed his upper body, paired with long black pants and polished black shoes to complete the look—an overall sharp, all-black ensemble.
[IMG]
"This'll do," he said to the clerk waiting outside as he stepped out of the fitting room.
"My, my, sir," she purred, licking her lips. "You have such a handsome face—and an amazing body. Are you a model?"
"No, I'm not," he replied casually. "Anyway, I'll take everything I tried on." He handed her the money.
"Such a shame," she said, counting the bills. "You'd definitely be popular—especially with someone like me." She scribbled something on a small piece of paper. "Here's my number. Call me if you ever want some company."
He chuckled, took the paper, and slid it into his pocket. "If I'm not too busy, miss. I'll think about it."
After checking out, I collected my original clothes and the receipt, then started walking out of the store into the mall.
"Do make time for little old me, sir!" she called out as I neared the exit.
I raised my right hand in a casual wave.
Once outside the store, I approached a trash bin and tossed the piece of paper inside.
'I was only being polite, miss.'
---
Dropping off, what I Bought inside my apartment, some groceries, cigarettes and clothes. I took off the tuxedo and black jacket then sank into the couch for a bit to relax and catch the news. 'Hmm.' Just another devil attack, something happening with other countries, nothing too crazy and nothing that shows in the original plot of the anime, which means Denji or rather chainsaw man isn't treated as a hero yet.
I don't really know much about Chainsaw Man. Never watched it. Just picked up bits and pieces from TikTok—names like Makima, devils, Denji. The basics and some spoilers. That's it. So honestly, I wouldn't even know if the canon's already started or not. And the transportation power that brought me here sure didn't come with a timeline or a map. No point wasting time trying to figure it out.
Night falls. I get up and suit up again, taking a moment to check myself out in the mirror. Yeah, I look good. Time to meet the guy who can forge me some documents.
---
Inside a bar, the lighting hung low and lazy, casting everything in a haze of amber and cigarette smoke. A jazz record cracked faintly in the background. The place was quiet—not empty, but every patron had their own orbit, like planets too far to collide.
Nirvikar stepped in, unsure.
'Rika said he'd be here...'
He expected to go through some backdoor, a hidden room, a coded phrase at the bar. Something more theatrical. But as he walked in, a man at the far booth waved lazily.
"That you?"
Nirvikar hesitated. "...Depends."
The man chuckled, then gestured again. "You're not the type who drinks for fun. Come on."
He made his way over, boots soft against the old wooden floor. The man looked mid-40s, wiry, with narrow eyes and a cigarette hanging from his lip. He wore a clean white shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie undone like an afterthought. His hair was neat but thinning.
"You don't look like a 'paperwork guy'," Nirvikar muttered as he slid into the seat.
"Funny," the man said, tapping ash into a small glass tray. "You don't look like a devil hunter."
Nirvikar narrowed his eyes slightly.
The man grinned. "Relax. Rika told me just enough. I'm Kanzaki. Paperwork, IDs, clean slates, I do it all. No questions, no copies, no trail. You're lucky—she doesn't vouch for many."
"I thought I'd need a password. Or a knock. Something."
"Nah." Kanzaki exhaled smoke. "If you made it this far, you already passed the test. City weeds out the soft ones quick."
Nirvikar glanced around. "What if someone's listening?"
"They're drunk, tired, or both. And the music helps. Besides..." Kanzaki leaned in. "They don't care about you. Not yet."
A pause.
"But they will."
Nirvikar didn't respond.
"You've been busy," Kanzaki went on. "nine devils in a month and another just three days ago? You're making noise."
"That wasn't the plan."
"Noise rarely is," Kanzaki said. "Still—clean ID, right? Name, birth, background. Got one ready, we can tweak it."
Kanzaki pulled out a manila folder and slid it over.
Arata Hayashi.
Nirvikar opened it slowly, scanning.
Too clean.
"Feels like a guy who works in an office."
"You want scars? Add them. It's a starting point, not a script and besides you look asian, no one will dig too deeply."
Nirvikar closed the folder. "That is true, Good enough."
"You'll owe me a favor, I don't take money." Kanzaki added. "One. Unspecified. I won't make it stupid."
"I don't like owing people."
Kanzaki grinned. "Nobody does. But nobody gets out clean."
---
Later, walking alone.
The city buzzed at night—beneath the surface, under the neon.
Nirvikar flicked his cigarette into the gutter and paused at a crosswalk. The air smelled like oil, street food, and too many secrets.
Then he heard footsteps. Coordinated. Not rushed.
He glanced over his shoulder. Four men, maybe five, stepping out of the alley behind him. One leaned against a lamppost, arms folded. Another twirled a butterfly knife.
"Hey, friend," said the one in front, voice too casual. "You're the guy who's been picking off devils, right? Big body count for someone fresh."
Nirvikar didn't answer. Just looked them over. Their clothes didn't match. Some wore street gear, others clean coats. Not a single one moved like a real fighter.
Still, they boxed him in.
"You're gonna come with us," another said, stepping in. "Our boss wants to talk."
"Who's your boss?"
"Didn't say you could ask questions."
Nirvikar rolled his neck, glanced at the glowing red man-shaped crossing signal still holding him at the curb.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said calmly. "So unless your boss shows up himself... you can disappear."
Knife Guy snorted. "Wrong answer."
He lunged.
The blade never reached. Nirvikar sidestepped, grabbed the man's wrist, and with one twisting motion snapped it backward. The knife clattered to the sidewalk. The man screamed.
Another tried to throw a punch. Nirvikar grabbed his jacket, pulled him in close, and slammed a knee into his gut. The air burst out of him with a wheeze.
Two left.
They hesitated.
"Who do you work for?" Nirvikar asked again. "I won't ask a third time."
The one in the coat—the only one still calm—nodded at the other.
The third man stepped forward, pulled something from under his coat, and shoot upwards.
It wasn't a weapon. It was a flare—a signal.
Then he charged, hands coated in some thin, twitching energy.
Killing intent.
Nirvikar moved faster.
His ribs split open for a heartbeat—just enough.
A mouth unfurled along his side and clamped down with a wet snap.
The man's arm was gone before he even knew what hit him. He dropped to the ground, screaming, cradling the stump.
Silence fell.
The last man took a slow step back.
Nirvikar straightened his jacket and met his eyes.
"I've killed devils," he said, voice low but steady. "Things with more teeth and hate than you could dream of. You think I'm going to hesitate just because you're human?"
The man ran.
But.
The runner didn't get far.
Nirvikar's right arm snapped outward, reshaping in a blink—long, segmented like an insect's, ending in a curved scythe. The sheen of the Mantis Devil's twitching precision shimmered as he vanished from his spot and reappeared behind the fleeing thug.
A clean slice.
The head rolled forward before the body hit the ground.
He stared at the corpse for a breath. No words. No remorse.
Devils, humans—it's just shape and noise. Same instincts. Same fear when the end comes.
He turned—and then the street changed.
Fifteen, twenty, maybe more, stepped out from alleys and side streets. Some held bats. Others, knives. A few had pistols—cheap black steel with nervous fingers behind the triggers.
And one stepped forward.
Wearing too much gold and not enough sense. Slick hair, half-buttoned shirt, arrogance leaking from every pore.
"Now that," the man said, clapping once, "was impressive. Gotta say, I didn't expect it to be real. You're the guy with the body count, yeah? The devil killer?"
Nirvikar didn't answer.
The man chuckled, gesturing at the corpses. "You're making a name. Fast. Dangerous. I like that. I like you."
He stepped closer.
"I'm building something big. Real big. And I could use someone like you. Power like yours? We'd rule this city's underworld in months. You get protection, money, women—hell, even a custom suit."
Nirvikar blinked, unimpressed.
"You're trying to recruit me?" he asked dryly. "After sending two dozen goons with knives and anxiety issues?"
The gang leader grinned. "Gotta test the goods."
"That's cute. You rehearsed this, didn't you?" Nirvikar tilted his head. "You're like a walking cliché. The tutorial-boss with dreams and no foresight."
The smile died.
"Kill him."
The street ignited.
Gunshots cracked like fireworks. Nirvikar moved before the sound caught up—Crow Devil's speed in his steps, Lighthouse Devil's glow pulsing faintly in his chest. His body knew the layout. Every threat in his radius. He ducked under the first bullet, twisted—
—used the Puddle Devil's gift to slip silently through wet concrete as he glided toward the shooter.
One breath. Then he appeared beside the man with the gun, shivering in cold air—Shiver Devil's aura made him twitch. Hesitate.
That was enough.
His hand twisted, turned tiger—thick claws, a low growl under his skin. He tore through the man's chest. Another raised a knife behind him.
He spun, dropped low—Echo Devil surged in his throat. A footstep behind them.
The attacker turned the wrong way.
Nirvikar lunged the right way. Claws again—fast, final.
Someone threw a molotov. It smashed behind him. Fire licked the air.
He rolled forward—Dust Devil summoned, a burst of grit and ash exploding into the crowd's faces. They coughed, choked. Fired blind.
He took three down with Paper Devil's blades—thin, fluttering cuts that distracted more than maimed. But they screamed. That was enough.
A bullet grazed his side. Another punched his shoulder only to scream, the Tiger's steel like durability endured. He hissed as another bullet grazed him—but the Tiger's instincts dulled the pain.
He moved again.
This time, into the heart of them.
Mantis reflex. Mantis scythe. A blur of twitching arcs. Heads and arms parted from bodies. He moved between the cracks of their fear.
And in seconds—
Silence.
Breath. Smoke. Blood cooling on the pavement.
The leader? Still there.
Backed against a wall now, shaking.
"You—You're a freak."
Nirvikar walked toward him, slow.
The man raised a shaking hand. "We could've worked together—!"
"You're not worth the breath."
He didn't change shape this time.
He just punched the man in the throat. Crushed cartilage. Dropped him.
No ceremony.
---
He stood alone again, blood dripping from his sleeve. The Lighthouse glow dimmed. Quiet filled the city.
And Nirvikar lit a cigarette.
Another night. Another mess. More noise.
He didn't feel triumphant. Or angry.
Just… steady.
The Vessel grows. Mold refines. The rest just bleeds and disappears.
He turned his collar up and disappeared into the night.
---
After some time, his phone rang—a cheap one he'd picked up after his second or third devil kill, he couldn't quite remember. Either way, it served its purpose.
He answered, and a familiar voice came through. Kanzaki.
"Hello, hello. You're really strong, you know. Even I got scared..." The voice carried a teasing tone, but then a pause settled in. Something about it clicked in Nirvikar's mind, and frustration bubbled up beneath his skin.
"You sent them?!" he growled, voice low and sharp.
"Woah, woah, easy now," Kanzaki replied smoothly. "You owed me one, remember? Consider that debt paid. I needed someone to deal with those guys—too arrogant, sticking their noses where they don't belong."
Nirvikar's eye twitched. He clenched his jaw, forced the anger down, and exhaled.
"Tch. Don't do that again. Or I'll come after you. Don't make me your enemy, Kanzaki." With that, he ended the call.
He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl past his lips. Just because I'm new, they think they can treat me like a pawn... His mind goes to what Rika said days ago, If you don't want to be used, take a seat at the table. Become a player.
He stared off for a moment, then turned and walked toward his apartment again.
Next time, I won't be the prey.
===========
The office was high up—maybe the 7th or 10th floor—its wide windows offering a muted view of the city swallowed in night. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a pale hue across the sparse, functional space. No personal touches. No clutter. Just a steel desk, two leather chairs facing each other, and a single couch pushed up against the far wall like an afterthought. The walls were bare, save for a large, faded map of Tokyo dotted with red pins and scribbled notes in marker. A filing cabinet sat in the corner, closed but dented at the base, like it had been kicked once too often.
The air smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.
"Ah! he hanged up... Must've been pissed off hahahaha, Sigh, So..." Kanzaki exhaled smoke through his nose, eyes narrowing as he leaned back on the couch, "does he fit your criteria?"
Across from him, a man sat in silence. Mid-thirties, immaculately dressed in a gray three-piece suit, every thread placed with militaristic precision. Earrings in both ears. No watch. Just a scar at the corner of his lips that runs on a straight line, pale and old—earned, not inherited. He held a photo of Nirvikar, printed on thick matte stock, taken from some rooftop or surveillance camera. The photo's edges were bent from being held too much.
After a moment, the man set the picture down on the table between them.
"He's reckless," he said finally. Voice low, even. "But efficient."
"That's a yes, then?"
The man didn't answer. He turned to the window behind him, looking out over the Tokyo skyline. Faint sirens murmured through the glass.
"He has potential," he said at last. "But he's not stable yet. He's still naive, immature. Still raw."
"You think he'll burn out?"
"I think..." the suited man stood slowly, sliding on a coat, "he'll evolve. The question is what into."
He walked past Kanzaki, stopped at the door.
"Keep watching him. Quietly. Don't interfere again."
Kanzaki tilted his head. "You say that like I can't control him."
The man glanced back, dead calm. "No one holds leashes anymore. Not since the Gun devil. Only the weak and the strong."
And with that, he left.
Kanzaki stared at the door after it closed. Then sighed, knocked ash into a tray.
"Always the dramatic ones..."
---
Elsewhere, Nirvikar entered his apartment.
He didn't turn on the lights. Just sat on the couch and let the night bleed in. His cigarette glowed in the dark.
Somewhere inside him, the Devils stirred.
The Tiger's breath, slow and watchful.
The Mantis, twitching.
The Shiver Devil, pulsing in low waves.
The Lighthouse, flickering visions of paths not taken.
He touched his chest lightly—where all that power nested. Mold was changing him. Sharpening him.
But into what?
He didn't know.
Not yet.
But tomorrow—he'd start making his own moves.
He'd stop cleaning up after people like Kanzaki. Start deciding who *got* cleaned up.
Because prey runs.
And he was done running.
===========
AN: Idk how to go up the ladder, I ain't got experience in politics. I only know that my country is corrupted to the core but eh...
If anyone has experience or ideas do let me know... IDK what to do 😭
Word Count: 2658