The sulfurous stench of Hell was still clinging to her skin, a cloying, heavy scent that no amount of Tokyo rain could wash away. Tala stood on the edge of a skyscraper in Shinjuku, her silhouette a sharp, jagged line against the neon-bleeding sky. The wind whipped her dark hair—a messy, defiant mane—across eyes that had seen the fundamental gears of reality grind to a halt.
She was not supposed to be here. By all laws of the Public Safety Devil Hunters, Tala was a casualty report from three years ago, a name etched in cold stone after a mission in the Philippines went bloodily wrong. Yet, here she was, breathing the smog of 1997, her pulse thrumming with a power that felt less like a heartbeat and more like a countdown.
Inside her, three distinct shadows stirred.
The Death Devil was a cold weight in her marrow, a silent promise that she could unmake anything she touched. The Immortality Devil was a frantic, stitching sensation in her cells, a parasite that refused to let her find peace. And the Seven Deadly Sins... they were a choir of whispers, a cacophony of hunger that vibrated in her gut, demanding to be fed.
"Tokyo looks smaller than the stories said," she murmured. Her voice was raspy, like gravel being crushed under a boot.
Below, the city hummed with the oblivious energy of millions. They were ants scurrying beneath the shadow of a boot they couldn't see. Tala felt a surge of Pride—the first of the sins to wake. It wasn't just arrogance; it was the intoxicating realization that she was the apex predator in a forest of glass and steel.
A sudden shift in the air pressure made her stiffen. A presence was approaching, one that didn't smell of common demons or human fear. It smelled of jasmine, sterile hallways, and a control so absolute it felt like a physical weight on the lungs.
"You're making a lot of noise for a ghost," a feminine voice drifted through the rain.
Tala didn't turn. She knew that voice. It was the sound of a velvet trap snapping shut. Makima stood a few meters behind her, her long coat fluttering, her golden eyes fixed on Tala's back with a terrifying, unblinking intensity.
"I died once," Tala said, finally turning to face the Control Devil. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips—a predatory, dangerous expression. "It was boring. I decided to come back and see if the world had improved. It hasn't."
Makima tilted her head, her expression unreadable, yet her gaze lingered on the strange, glowing sigils etched into Tala's forearms—the marks of the Apocalypse.
"You've signed contracts that should have incinerated a human soul, Tala," Makima said softly, stepping closer. The air between them crackled with a silent, dominant friction. "Death, Immortality, and the Sins. You aren't just a hunter anymore. You are a walking breach of reality."
"And you're the one who likes to keep monsters on a leash," Tala countered. She stepped into Makima's personal space, defying the suffocating aura of the Control Devil. She was taller, her presence more feral, more visceral. She leaned down, her breath hot against Makima's ear. "Tell me, Miss Makima... do you have a leash strong enough for the End of the World?"
The challenge was blatant. It was an act of supreme Pride, fueled by the Lust for conflict that simmered in her blood. For a moment, the two women stood in a deadlock of power—one representing the absolute order of the state, the other the chaotic inevitability of the Revelation.
"The Special Division 4 is looking for new talent," Makima replied, her voice remaining eerily calm despite the proximity. "We have a certain... Chainsaw... that needs watching. And I think someone with your particular 'charms' would fit right in. Or, I could have you executed right here for being an unregistered hazard."
Tala laughed, a dark, melodic sound that lacked any real mirth. The Immortality Devil inside her pulsed, mocking the threat of execution. She reached out, her fingers—rough and scarred—tracing the line of Makima's jaw with a slow, dominating deliberateness. It was a gesture of ownership, a claim laid on the most powerful woman in Japan.
"I'll take the job," Tala whispered, her eyes flashing with a violet light. "But don't mistake my presence for obedience. I'm not here to save your world, Makima. I'm here to see it burn from the front row."
Makima didn't flinch. Instead, a small, haunting smile touched her lips. "I look forward to seeing your performance, Tala. Welcome to the Public Safety."
As Makima turned to leave, the rain intensified, washing over Tala. The first seal had been broken. She wasn't just a devil hunter; she was the catalyst. And as she looked down at the sprawling lights of Tokyo, the hunger of the Seven Sins began to grow. She needed to find the others. She needed to establish her throne.
The Apocalypse had arrived, and she was wearing a suit.