chainsaw man: Extinction devil

The sky darkened as a rift tore through the atmosphere, a jagged tear that rippled like the surface of water disturbed by a stone. The air thickened with a pressure so intense it felt as though the world itself was holding its breath.

From the void, a shape began to descend—a shadow at first, but growing larger by the second, rapidly accelerating. The wind screamed as if the heavens themselves were howling in warning.

It was impossible to see clearly at first, but as the figure fell, the world trembled. A massive, humanoid form cloaked in black armor, its glowing cracks casting fiery orange-red light against the darkening sky, loomed. Chains rattled, securing its mouth, but there was no question about its intent. It was not falling by accident. It was coming for something.

35,000 feet. The distance was far, but the force was catastrophic. The moment the devil's form hit the ground, a deafening roar split the air. The earth itself buckled under the weight of the impact, sending shockwaves for miles. Buildings collapsed, streets cracked open, and the very ground seemed to give way as the devil's colossal form embedded itself in the earth. The air crackled with destructive energy, as molten orange light seeped from the cracks in its armor.

For a brief moment, everything went silent. The world paused as if uncertain of what had just arrived. Then, the ground around the devil began to quake as it slowly rose from the crater, massive chains still rattling around its mouth.

Its eyes, glowing like embers, blinked open, taking in the world around it. It was no longer bound by the confines of Hell. Now, it stood on Earth, the place where its true purpose would unfold.

Extinction. The devil's very name echoed in its consciousness, a primal force that could not be denied. It was the embodiment of annihilation, the end of all things. The fear of total extinction burned inside every living being—it was the fear that gripped hearts in the darkest hours of the night. And now, it was on Earth.

The Hell Hound rose to its full height, towering over the wreckage it had caused. The cracked armor on its body shimmered, revealing a molten interior as if the devil itself was burning from within.

Chains rattle and snap—the mouth of the devil broke free, the chains falling to the ground with a resounding crash. The devil opened its maw, and with a deep, guttural growl, the air around it began to shimmer with destructive energy.

The Hell Hound's chest heaved as it unleashed a roar, the very air vibrating with the intensity of its power. From deep within its body, the Tochort flames began to ignite, boiling up from the devil's core and coursing through its body.

Its jaw cracked open, a surge of molten fire billowing outward, engulfing everything in its path. The ground itself seemed to wither beneath the blast, the flames vaporizing everything—steel, concrete, and life itself. A wave of destruction spread outward, erasing anything in its path, leaving only a scorched, empty wasteland behind.

Smaller bursts of flame shot from its form, Sparks, which it used with precision. These smaller blasts were capable of incinerating enemies from a distance, sending plumes of fire into the sky like a storm of molten fury.

As the Hell Hound reveled in the destruction it had caused, a strange, almost divine energy pulsed through its form. The weight of its existence, of its title—Wrath—was undeniable. It felt the anger, the pain of everything around it. The world itself seemed to cower before it.

A tremor ran through its body, and it clenched its fists. The heat around it intensified, radiating outward as if the very atmosphere was being consumed by its rage. The ground beneath it began to crack open, revealing pockets of molten lava, as if the earth itself had been touched by the flames of extinction.

It didn't need to think. It didn't need to plan. The Hell Hound was a primal force, an unstoppable entity driven only by the need to burn, destroy, and erase.

With a snarl, it raised its arms and, in a movement too swift for human eyes to follow, pulled from its mouth a massive black sword. The sword was impossibly large, a black blade that should never have fit inside its body. It was a weapon forged from the essence of the end itself—the Dragon Slayer.

From the shadows, a group of devil hunters watched in awe and terror as the Hell Hound raised its sword to the sky, a beacon of destruction. The energy that radiated from the devil felt almost tangible, and the fear of extinction began to set in.

A senior devil hunter stepped forward, gripping his weapon tightly. His hands trembled, not from fear of dying, but from the overwhelming presence of this new force. He had heard of devils born from primal fears, but this... this was something else entirely.

"We need backup," he said, voice barely above a whisper, but his words were enough to send the team scrambling. They knew they were dealing with a devil of unimaginable power—one that would bring about the end of all things if left unchecked.

The Hell Hound stood at the center of the wreckage, the sword in its hand glowing with the promise of annihilation. It wasn't just here to destroy—it was here to end everything.

The fear of extinction, the fear of being forgotten, now had a name—and that name was Wrath.