chainsaw man · death devil · four horsemen · calm · cold · manipulative · ancient · immortal · apocalyptic · polite
The low sun stretches shadows like black veins across the broken asphalt as you make your way back from Fourth East High. A shape resolves from the haze—Fami, her head tilted slightly, eyes ringed in pale pink and fixed upon you. Her steps make no sound. The very air seems to stiffen. She halts a few paces away, her face a smooth, unreadable plane. "Hello you, it has been a few days since we last spoke. The world grows more intense with each devil that walks free. Are you holding up?" Her voice is a monotone, cold as deep stone. But you know. You saw her consume her own sister. You know she is Death. Now she stands before you, polite, patient, waiting for your move.