"Who is this kid? Where did he come from?"
"Maybe he's got some kind of invisibility Originium Art. Or maybe he's an ambush from the Wildcat Gang."
"He's not a Feline, though. No obvious traits... maybe an Aegir?"
"Who cares who he is? If he's in the way, gut him!"
The thugs from both sides were momentarily stunned, but the side with the upper hand wasn't about to lose their momentum. Several blades lunged toward Denji simultaneously.
Still disoriented from the jump, Denji didn't react in time. Blood sprayed as the steel bit into his flesh.
"Gwah...!"
Denji was now a fusion of two similar souls. He possessed the original Denji's memories, combat instincts, and an absurdly high pain tolerance. Meanwhile, the transmigrator's memories of a nine-year compulsory education provided the knowledge base and logical framework the original had lacked.
The original Denji hadn't been stupid—just uneducated. He had always been capable of flashes of brilliant, unorthodox combat pragmatism.
In the memories belonging to the original Denji, he had been wounded many times. Most were from Devils; some were from humans. But the blades cutting into him now carried a weight and power far beyond that of an ordinary human. They felt like they were meant to cleave through bone.
Devils... these guys are all Devils!
Denji made an instantaneous judgment. In his mind, only Devils could possess such terrifying physical strength. A look of grim resolve flashed in his eyes. Without a second thought, he reached for the pull-cord on his chest and yanked it downward.
Vroom—!
To the sound of a revving engine, Denji's head split open, revealing a roaring, rotating chainsaw. Blades erupted from his forearms, and his face transformed into a metallic, mechanical nightmare.
"Wh-What is that thing?!"
The members of the Iron Anchor Gang froze. They had seen many Originium Arts in their time, but they had never seen a monster like this.
In his Chainsaw Man form, Denji didn't give them a chance to process. He lunged at the nearest Iron Anchor member. The spinning teeth of the saw sliced through the man's waist like paper, splattering blood and organs across the pavement.
The sight of someone slaughtered by a chainsaw was inherently gruesome. Even for seasoned gangsters, the sheer carnage sent a primal chill down their spines.
A Devil's power came from the fear people felt toward the concept they represented. The Chainsaw Devil was an anomaly—while chainsaws are staples of horror, they usually aren't high enough on the list of human fears to explain Pochita's god-like strength. In reality, the Chainsaw Devil's fame was forged in the fires of Hell; his power came from the fear other Devils felt for him.
Normally, transmigrating to a world without many Devils should have weakened him.
However, by a stroke of luck, chainsaws were common melee weapons on the continent of Terra. Whether it was the "Centurion" operators of Rhodes Island or heavy-hitters like Big Bob, many chose the chainsaw as their standard armament. Terra was a world of endless conflict; many had died by the saw, and even more feared it.
That fear acted as high-octane fuel for the Chainsaw Man.
Denji could feel it clearly. The terror radiating from the gangsters surged into his body like nutrients, making his movements lighter and more fluid.
"Kill! Kill him!"
The gang leader, caught between terror and rage, shrieked orders for his men to swarm Denji. But against the Chainsaw Man, these supposedly hardened thugs were no more substantial than cardboard.
Denji swung his blades in wide arcs. Every rotation claimed a life. Severed limbs and fountains of blood painted the alleyway as screams echoed off the walls. To Denji, these people didn't look human anyway, and since they had attacked him first, he saw no reason to hold back.
He tore through the crowd like a whirlwind. New wounds appeared on his body, but he didn't care. As long as he swallowed the blood splashing into his mouth, his wounds healed at a visible rate. Muscle reconnected, and torn skin knitted back together.
This display—slaughtering while consuming the blood of his enemies—drove the Iron Anchor members to the brink of insanity.
Fear overrode everything. One young member broke, turning to run, only to have a chain lash out from Denji's arm and snap his neck.
"Don't... don't kill me!"
The remaining thugs were trembling, backing away into the shadows. One of them screamed at Denji:
"Do you have any idea who you're messing with? The Iron Anchor Gang has over three hundred men! You kill us, and our boss will never let you live!"
A gang?
Denji licked the blood from the corner of his mouth. He was starting to realize these people were strange. They didn't seem to be controlled by Devils; they were just thugs with animalistic features. If these were the actual natives of this world, was he looking at a world of trouble for this killing spree?
"I'm with Public Safety! What's it to me if I put down a few punks?"
Denji barked the lie to test the waters and bolster his own momentum.
However, "Public Safety" wasn't a term used in Lungmen. The thugs only knew of the L.G.D. (Lungmen Guard Department).
At that moment, a young man with horns stepped out from the remaining crowd.
"Are you with the authorities? My name is A-Fa. I'm a mole for the L.G.D. We might be on the same side!"
The other thugs gasped.
"A-Fa! You're a rat for the cops?"
"You idiot, he's the only one who can save us now!"
The other gangsters immediately forced smiles and began sucking up to Denji.
"Actually, we're all moles! We're all on the same team!"
Denji looked at the self-proclaimed mole and asked politely, "Do you need me to silence them for you?"
A-Fa nodded calmly. "None of them are good people."
As a mole, A-Fa had spent his time embedded in criminal organizations to gather evidence. But if a power appeared that was capable of bypassing the need for evidence and simply annihilating the problem, the mole's mission could be considered complete.
The remaining thugs, including the members of the Wildcat Gang who thought they were being saved, were horrified. They had already threatened Denji with retaliation and now knew A-Fa's true identity. There was no way Denji was letting them walk.
Normally, hacking people apart with a blade is exhausting work. Bone is hard, and metal dulls quickly. But Denji and his saws never tired. The chains caught every man who tried to flee.
Seems I... killed the wrong people. They weren't Devils. Oh well, no one's left to report it.
A minute later, only two people were left standing in the alley.
Denji and A-Fa worked together to scavenge valuables from the remains. Then, Denji dipped a saw blade into the blood and painted the shape of a chainsaw on the wall.
Judging by how viciously these thugs had fought, life in this world was cheap. Denji decided to make use of the waste. He would use their corpses to spread fear of the "Chainsaw" throughout this world to increase his power. Perhaps he could even turn it into an urban legend—a signal to let his lost companions know he was here.
While sorting through the loot, Denji noticed something odd.
"Why were there so many women in that gang?"
"Is something wrong?" A-Fa asked, confused by the question. It seemed Denji was the one lacking common sense.
"I mean... in a turf war like this, don't women usually have less physical strength?"
Denji knew plenty of powerful women, but they were either Devils or had undergone specialized training. The ratio of female combatants in Terra seemed impossible to him.
"I haven't really noticed. Isn't it about the same? If anything, the difference between races is much bigger. My two superiors are both female inspectors, and they're incredibly tough," A-Fa shrugged.
In Terra, the physical gap between genders was minimal, and some races, like the Vouivre, often saw females possessing even greater strength. Denji, who hadn't played many gacha games in his previous life, realized he needed to adapt to local customs.
He swallowed his next question: Why do the female thugs in this world have such good skin and great figures?
Even the "pieces" of the female thugs before him looked remarkably pretty. But as a decent human being, he averted his eyes. Denji didn't know about "artistic enhancement" or that this world was essentially a "waifu game." In Terra, any character with a name—and even many without—tended to have high beauty standards and a good sense of fashion.
Furthermore, people in this world tended to be more stoic. Even the illiterate or the villains usually had clear goals and could spout a bit of philosophy at the drop of a hat.
"I think I took a hit to the head earlier; things are a bit blurry. This 'Lungmen Guard Department' you mentioned... what kind of organization is it?" Denji faked amnesia to milk A-Fa for information.
A-Fa didn't doubt him. He explained that the L.G.D. was Lungmen's law enforcement and then offered a guess regarding Denji's condition.
"It might be Oripathy affecting your brain. But your Originium Art is incredible."
Denji gestured for him to continue, prompting an explanation of Oripathy and Originium Arts.
"I see. So it's an incurable disease that slowly turns you into stone, but it also allows the Infected to use powerful abilities—Originium Arts—without a focus," Denji summarized.
It sounded remarkably like making a contract with a Devil.
A-Fa showed Denji the Originium crystals on his own skin, a look of shared misery in his eyes. "I'm Infected too. I was kicked out of normal society the moment I was diagnosed. Lungmen takes in outsiders, but they've always been harsh on the Infected. We're forced to scrap for a living in the slums. Madam Ch'en of the L.G.D. is one of the few who gives us a chance. She let me be a mole so I could gather intel on the gangs in exchange for a steady meal."
"You're friends with two high-ranking officials and you're still living like this?" Denji asked, raising an eyebrow.
In his experience, even a Fiend like him wouldn't have to hide in an alleyway like a stray dog if he had "big shots" backing him.
A-Fa gave a bitter laugh, his eyes dimming. "You must have really lost your memory to forget what it's like for the Infected on this continent. In Lungmen, even if you have the best connections, once you've got the sickness, society spits you out. Superintendent Ch'en protecting me is already more than I could ask for. She can't exactly give me a 'respectable' job or identity."
As Denji listened to A-Fa's resentful account of the Infected's plight, a terrifying thought crossed his mind.
If this world is so afraid of Oripathy, is there a massive 'Oripathy Devil' lurking somewhere?
Denji shook his head. I've transmigrated. Devils shouldn't be following me here.
But he instinctively touched the pull-cord on his chest. If he could still transform and still grow stronger through fear, did that mean the logic of the Chainsaw Man world had traveled with him?
Did this world really have no Devils and no Hell?
"Anyway, with your skills, you'll definitely get noticed by the big players. You could work for Madam Ch'en or Hoshiguma like I do. They're good people who tolerate the Infected." A-Fa realized he was being too depressing and changed the subject to avoid upsetting the "god of death" standing next to him.
Denji went quiet for a moment.
The original Denji's dream was to be an ordinary person, or someone beloved. But a Devil's power came from fear, not adoration. Makima had once tried to weaken him by turning him into a public hero.
In a world this dangerous, if he wanted to find and protect his lost friends, Denji knew exactly what he had to do.
He looked at A-Fa and flashed a slightly crazed grin.
"You're an L.G.D. mole and an outcast Infected. This city is huge. There must be villains that the law and the L.G.D. can't touch—people you want to vent your rage on, right?"
Denji could hear the resentment and fury A-Fa held toward the dark side of the city.
A-Fa shivered. Images flashed through his mind: factory owners who obsessed over Originium mining but ignored the sick workers; gangs who committed atrocities because they were in bed with the elite; the upper class who turned a blind eye to the suffering in the slums. These were the people Ch'en and Hoshiguma wanted to bring to justice but couldn't because of the "rules."
In the original timeline, A-Fa would die for Lungmen, yet his dying wish was the realization that Lungmen didn't like him, and he didn't like Lungmen. He had a love-hate relationship with the city, but the hate usually won.
"Madam Ch'en and Hoshiguma... they're good people. They follow the rules."
"And because of that, there are some bad guys they can't handle," A-Fa muttered to himself.
"I've never been one for rules," Denji said, finishing his gruesome blood-mural on the wall. "And my power—my 'Originium Art,' as you call it—gets stronger through fear. I'm not meant to be a hero living in the sunlight. I need power to find my friends. Help me find them, and I'll give you a hand with those villains."
A-Fa nodded with a look of absolute finality. He didn't have much time left anyway; his greatest wish was to take down as many bastards as he could before he went.
"Now, tell me how to find people in Lungmen. Is there a reliable information agency?"
"Let me think... Penguin Logistics. Or, I know a certain detective agency."
After finishing their scavenge, Denji and A-Fa left the alley.
But in the blood-soaked corner they left behind, a dark shadow was beginning to gestate. It was born from the most common fears in Lungmen, and it fixed its gaze on the chainsaw mural.
"So weak..."
"But it's fine. This city is full of suitable prey. Once I regain my strength, I can devour that equally weakened Chainsaw Devil! How wonderful..."
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