Reborn

The golden rays of the afternoon sun streamed through the large window behind Makima's desk, bathing the office in a warm, inviting glow. In her chair sat Denji, his brow furrowed in concentration as he diligently stamped seal after seal on a towering stack of paperwork.

Makima watched him, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. "It must be tough, don't you think?" she mused, her voice soft and melodious. "You defeated the Bat Devil, and yet it seems like you've done something wrong."

But Denji, lost in his own thoughts, simply continued his monotonous task, his hand moving almost mechanically as he applied the stamps with a dull, rhythmic thud.

Intrigued by his silence, Makima tilted her head, her eyes searching his face. "What's on your mind?" she asked, her tone gentle and probing.

Denji blinked, as if suddenly remembering where he was. "Oh... It's just that I finally got something I've been yearning for, but it wasn't what I thought it would be," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

Makima leaned forward, her interest piqued. "And what would that be?" she inquired, her gaze intense and unwavering.

Denji's cheeks flushed, his eyes darting away in embarrassment. "Touching boobs!" he blurted out, his voice a mixture of excitement and shame.

A heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Then, in a gesture that was both tender and unexpected, Makima reached out and took Denji's hand in her own.

"Denji," she said, her voice a soothing whisper, "lustful things are best when shared with someone you love."

As she held his hand, her fingers intertwined with his, Makima's mind began to wander, drifting back to a time eight years ago, to the passionate nights she had shared with Haruto. In those moments, she had felt cherished, loved, her loneliness banished by the warmth of his embrace.

Since his departure, she had barely had contact with anyone. Kishibe, though he had not retired, had inexplicably distanced himself from her. Quanxi had moved to China, leaving a void that Makima had struggled to fill.

No one had come close to her the way Haruto had, and though she had received no news of him or Hayato, a gnawing suspicion ate away at her, a dread certainty of what might have befallen them.

Shaking herself from her reverie, Makima guided Denji's hand to her ear, pressing his palm against her skin. "Is my hand cold?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Then, with a sudden, playful movement, she brought Denji's finger to her mouth, her teeth grazing the skin in a gentle bite. "Remember my bite, Denji," she said, her eyes glinting with a mysterious light. "So that if you ever go blind, you'll recognize it."

Slowly, almost reverently, she placed Denji's hand on her chest, allowing him to feel the soft swell of her breast beneath the fabric of her shirt. Denji's fingers tightened instinctively, savoring the sensation for a few precious seconds before he let himself fall to the floor, staring at his own hand in wide-eyed disbelief.

Makima knelt beside him, her face tantalizingly close to his, her lips so near that Denji could almost taste her breath. "Denji," she murmured, her voice low and urgent, "I need to ask you a favor. Will you help me?"

Denji, his heart racing and his mind still reeling from the unexpected intimacy, nodded eagerly. "Yes!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Makima stood, a fluid, graceful motion, and settled herself back into her chair. She crossed her legs, her posture regal and commanding, and fixed Denji with a gaze that seemed to pierce his very soul.

"I want you to kill the Gun Devil," she said, her words falling like stones into the silence of the room.

Denji blinked, confusion etched on his features. "The Gun Devil?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar and strange on his tongue.

Makima nodded, her expression grave. "A powerful demon that emerged thirteen years ago," she explained, her voice tinged with a hint of darkness. "But you, Denji... you're special. I'm certain you can handle it."

Makima's eyes gleamed with a mysterious light as she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Denji," she said, her words filled with a tantalizing promise, "if you manage to defeat the Gun Devil, I will grant you one wish. Anything your heart desires."

Denji's eyes widened, his face lighting up with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. The prospect of a reward, of having his deepest, most secret desire fulfilled, sent a thrill of anticipation through his body.

Makima nodded, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. "But be warned," she said, her tone turning serious, "the Gun Devil is immensely powerful. It grew strong on humanity's fear of firearms, and thirteen years ago, it appeared suddenly, leaving a trail of blood and destruction in its wake before vanishing just as abruptly."

She paused, her gaze distant, as if lost in memory. "It was in the aftermath of that incident that the elite Devil Hunters were formed," she continued, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "A group of the most skilled and powerful warriors, tasked with protecting the world from the greatest threats."

Denji frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I've never heard of them," he said, his voice uncertain.

Makima sighed, a sound that was equal parts sorrow and resignation. "That's because, eight years ago, the elite team was decimated," she explained, her words heavy with the weight of loss. "They were attacked by the Demon of Solitude, leaving only myself and two others as survivors."

Denji leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Who were they?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Makima's eyes took on a faraway look, a wistful expression crossing her features. "Hayato Yoshida," she said, her voice filled with a quiet reverence, "known as the strongest Devil Hunter in the world. And his brother, Haruto Yoshida... a dear friend of mine."

At the mention of Haruto's name, Denji's eyes widened, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. "Oh, I remember him!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with sudden excitement. "He was pretty famous, always on the news for helping people. He even gave me a wad of cash once, when I was just a kid on the streets."

Makima nodded, a glimmer of warmth in her eyes at Denji's words. "Yes," she said softly, "that sounds like the Haruto I knew. Always putting others before himself, always ready to lend a helping hand to those in need."

Denji's expression turned curious, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. "So, what happened to them?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Makima's smile faded, a shadow passing over her face. "They simply vanished," she said, her words heavy with the weight of years of uncertainty. "They went on a mission and never returned. No trace, no clues... just an empty void where they once were."

Denji frowned, his mind struggling to make sense of it all. "But... couldn't they still be out there somewhere?" he asked, his voice filled with a desperate, naive hope.

Makima shook her head, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Denji," she said gently, "Haruto and Hayato were no ordinary Devil Hunters. Simple tricks and traps would never work on them. Even you, with all your power, or the Gun Devil itself, would be hard-pressed to fool them."

Denji's eyes widened, a mixture of awe and disbelief washing over his features. "They were that strong?" he breathed, his voice filled with a newfound respect.

Makima nodded, her expression grave. "I can't speak for Haruto," she admitted, her words measured and careful, "but Hayato Yoshida... he could have defeated the Gun Devil singlehandedly. Such was his strength, his mastery over his own abilities."

Denji's face split into a wide, confident grin. "Well, I can take down the Gun Devil right now!" he declared, his voice ringing with a brash, youthful bravado. "Just point me in the right direction, and I'll show that overgrown pistol who's boss!"

Makima chuckled, a sound that was equal parts amusement and affection. "I admire your enthusiasm, Denji," she said, her voice warm with praise. "But first, we need to find the Gun Devil. And for that..."

She reached into a drawer, her movements slow and deliberate, and withdrew a small, metal box. With a flick of her wrist, she opened the lid, revealing a single, gleaming bullet casing nestled within.

"This," she said, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper, "belonged to the Gun Devil's body. With this, we can track it down, no matter where it tries to hide."

Denji leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the small, innocuous object that seemed to hold such power, such promise. "So, what are we waiting for?" he asked, his voice filled with a reckless, eager determination. "Let's go devil hunting!"

On a hill in the depths of Hell, surrounded by flowers stained with dried blood, a man sat chained, his gaze lost in the infinite expanse of the ground before him. Behind him, a demon feasted on his back, treating it as a mere appetizer in an endless banquet of torment.

But this man, Haruto Yoshida, had grown accustomed to the searing pain, the eternal agony that had become his reality for eight long years. His body, riddled with scars, had been whittled down to the bone, leaving only a husk of his former self. His hair, now grown to his waist, and a beard worthy of a Guinness World Record, were silent testaments to his unending suffering.

Yet, despite the relentless torture, Haruto's eyes held a singular focus, a burning desire that had sustained him through the years: vengeance. It was this unquenchable thirst for retribution that had kept him sane, kept him from succumbing to the madness that would have claimed a lesser soul.

Suddenly, Haruto's solitude was interrupted by a voice. Before him, a flame danced upon a blood-stained flower, its flickering light casting eerie shadows across the hellish landscape.

"I've been watching you, Haruto Yoshida," the flame spoke, its voice a crackling whisper.

Haruto, his voice hoarse from years of disuse, asked, "What are you?"

The flame seemed to bow, a gesture of introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am the Fire Demon."

Haruto's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his tone. "What do you want?"

The Fire Demon's voice took on a note of admiration. "You. For these past eight years, I have observed you. Anyone else would have gone insane within two weeks, but here you are, somehow clinging to sanity. Something drives you, keeps you from abandoning hope of escape. I need someone like that, someone with your tenacity, with that fire burning within."

Haruto, his curiosity piqued despite himself, asked, "What do you need?"

The Fire Demon's voice grew serious, urgent. "I need someone to bestow my power upon. Fire is not just destruction; it is light, it is life. And there is an imminent danger approaching. The Four Horsemen are planning something, and with them, they threaten to upset the balance between the human world and Hell."

Haruto frowned, confusion etched on his gaunt features. "But why do you need help? Can't you handle it yourself?"

The Fire Demon's voice took on a tone of wisdom, of ancient knowledge. "No. Just as fire grows stronger when fueled by something, I want your soul and determination to stoke my flames, to give us the power we need."

Haruto, his mind racing, asked, "Why do you think this way? So different from the other demons?"

The Fire Demon's voice was filled with a quiet pride. "I am as old as the Primordials. But the difference is that from the beginning, humans feared me, yes, but they also used me to help them progress. They worshipped me and utilized me for good."

Haruto, his decision made, asked, "Alright, what's the condition?"

The Fire Demon's voice was firm, unyielding. "I will let you use my power, on the condition that you never lose hope."

Haruto laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "I lost that a long time ago."

But the Fire Demon was insistent. "No, you haven't. I can see it in your eyes. You still have that fire..."

Haruto, his resolve hardening, accepted the offer. The flame drifted towards his mouth, and suddenly, his body was engulfed in flames. They seared through his flesh, burning away the chains that had held him for so long. Haruto stood, free at last, the fire dancing across his skin.

As he willed the flames to subside, Haruto noticed that his body was now covered in burn scars. He summoned the fire again, and it was from these scars that the flames emerged, wreathing him in a cloak of searing heat and light.

The pain was excruciating, a new level of agony that made his previous torments seem like mere discomfort in comparison. But Haruto embraced it, welcomed it. For with this pain came power, a strength he had never known before.

As the flames that engulfed Haruto's body began to subside, he noticed a remarkable change taking place. His once emaciated frame, withered by years of torment and starvation, started to fill out, muscles growing and strengthening as if by magic. Within moments, he had regained the athletic build he had possessed so long ago, before the horrors of Hell had ravaged his body and spirit.

"This must be the Fire Demon's doing," Haruto mused, marveling at his transformed physique.

His eyes scanned the ground, searching for a familiar object. There, amidst the scorched earth and blackened flowers, lay his Bible, a relic of his former life as a Devil Hunter. He reached down and picked it up, the leather cover warm and pliable beneath his fingers.

With a swift motion, Haruto opened the book and let a single drop of blood fall onto the pages. In a swirl of shadow and light, the Demon of Final Judgment emerged, its towering form looming over him like a monument to divine retribution.

"You were sentenced to eternal punishment," the demon intoned, its voice echoing with the weight of a thousand years of judgment. "How dare you summon me again?"

Haruto, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, replied, "Shut up and listen. Let's make a new contract."

The demon, intrigued despite itself, inclined its head. "I'm listening."

Haruto's eyes gleamed with a calculated light. "I will grant you my immortality in ten years' time if you agree to form a contract with me once more."

The Demon of Final Judgment paused, considering the offer. Then, with a nod that seemed to shake the very foundations of the world, it spoke. "Very well. I will claim your immortality in a decade. But know this - you cannot use my power to commit sin."

Haruto smiled, a grim, humorless expression. "I'm aware of that."

He extended his hand, and the demon grasped it, sealing their pact with a surge of unholy energy. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the Demon of Final Judgment vanished, leaving Haruto alone once more.

But he was not truly alone. In his mind, the voice of the Fire Demon whispered, a crackling, comforting presence. "I can return you to the mortal world," it said, its words filled with a quiet, simmering power. "Are you ready?"

Haruto nodded, his jaw set with determination. In an instant, his body was wreathed in flames, the hellish landscape around him blurring and fading as he was transported across the boundary between worlds.

When the fire died away, Haruto found himself standing in a dimly lit alley in the heart of Tokyo. The night air was cool and crisp against his skin, a sensation he had almost forgotten in the endless, scorching heat of Hell.

He looked down at himself, realizing with a start that he was naked, his clothing having been burned away by the Fire Demon's power. "I need to find something to wear," he muttered, his eyes scanning the alley for any sign of a solution.

A short distance away, he spotted a clothing store, its windows dark and its door locked. Without hesitation, Haruto strode forward and smashed his fist through the glass, the shards tinkling to the ground like a rainfall of diamonds.

He stepped inside, moving quickly through the racks of clothing until he found a suit that fit him perfectly, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame like a second skin. He dressed quickly and left the store, his steps purposeful and determined.

"This could be a problem," Haruto said, his brow furrowing as he walked. "My clothes will burn away every time I use the Fire Demon's power."

But the demon's voice, when it came, was reassuring. "Don't worry," it said, its words filled with a gentle, flickering warmth. "If something touches your body, you can decide whether it burns or not. That power is yours to control."

Haruto grinned, a fierce, predatory expression that seemed to light up the night around him. "I like this power," he said, his voice low and filled with a dark, simmering excitement. "It suits me well."

He paused, his gaze drifting up to the starry sky above, his mind racing with possibilities. "Now," he mused, his words heavy with the weight of decision, "what should I do first? Do I go straight for Santa Claus, confront the Prime Minister, or seek out Makima?"

As if in answer to his question, a sudden movement caught his eye. From the roof of a nearby building, a figure emerged, its form twisted and grotesque - the Butterfly Demon, a minor fiend that had once seemed like a true threat.

Now, to Haruto, it was little more than an annoyance, a gnat to be swatted aside. He sighed, a sound of weary resignation, and extended his hand, palm outward. A massive gout of flame erupted from his skin, engulfing the demon and the entire building in a raging inferno.

The Butterfly Demon screeched in agony as it was consumed, its form disintegrating into a cloud of ash and embers. The building, too, collapsed in on itself, the fire eating away at its foundations until nothing remained but a smoldering heap of rubble.

Haruto watched the destruction with a detached, almost clinical interest. The power that flowed through him now was intoxicating, a heady rush of energy and potential that made him feel invincible, untouchable.

But as the flames died down, as the night grew still and quiet once more, he felt a sudden, sharp pang of longing, a yearning for something more than just the thrill of destruction and revenge.

"Makima," he whispered, the name falling from his lips like a prayer, a talisman against the darkness that threatened to consume him. "I need to find Makima."

He set off into the night, his steps quick and purposeful, his mind filled with memories of the woman who had once been his partner, his friend, his anchor in a world gone mad.

He didn't know what he would say to her, didn't know how she would react to his sudden reappearance after so many years. But he knew that he had to try, had to reach out to the one person who might understand, who might help him find his way back to the light.

As he walked, the city seemed to come alive around him, the neon signs and glittering skyscrapers a dazzling contrast to the bleak, monochromatic wasteland of Hell. The sounds of traffic and laughter and music filled his ears, a symphony of life and vitality that he had almost forgotten.

But beneath it all, beneath the veneer of normalcy and civilization, Haruto could sense the darkness that lurked, the evil that threatened to swallow the world whole. He could feel it in his bones, in the fire that burned within him - a coming storm, a reckoning that would shake the very foundations of reality.

And he knew, with a grim, unshakeable certainty, that he would be at the center of it all, a key player in the drama that was about to unfold. For he was Haruto Yoshida, the Devil Hunter, the wielder of the Fire Demon's power.

And he would not rest, would not falter or fail, until he had burned away the corruption that festered at the heart of the world, until he had purged the evil that had taken so much from him, that had condemned him to an eternity of suffering.