In a world filled with devils and those who hunt them just for them to return after death in hell. At a mass gravesite, a woman in her twenties, of very slight build, and marginally above average height.
(Manga spoilers for Chainsaw Man, FYI, this is chapter 96 of the manga.)
That has long, light red/pale auburn hair, in a loose braid with bangs reaching just past her eyebrows and two longer side bangs that frame her face.
Her eyes are yellow with multiple red rings within them, making them the only visible sign of her inhuman nature. She is dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt, a black tie, black pants, and brown shoes.
She is seen walking through the graveyard, stepping through the various bodies of deceased Public Safety members, but she seems unbothered by them, as she reaches down and picks up a pack of cigarettes from the inside of one's suit jacket.
She takes one out of the pack and lights it, sitting back against one of the grave markers and inhaling the cigarette, causing her to cough several times.
Several feet behind her and unknown to her, within that pile of bodies, a young man with yellow hair and sharp teeth, wielding a chainsaw, walks over to the woman, and as she notices him, he takes out a chainsaw and slices her down the chest.
The woman gasps, in both shock and confusion, as blood spews from her torso, falling to her knees as the yellow-haired young man stands above her.
Began to say, "Finally, you let your guard down, Makima, now I'll be taking back Pochita." After he said as he leaned down to pick up A small, orange baby dog-like thing covered in mucous or something of the sort that was called pochita.
"Ho, how are you alive, Denji?" The woman, now known to be named Makima, sputters with blood coming from her mouth, but still wants to know how she lost.
"You weren't fighting me, you were fight en Pochita the entire time, and that he had a vague memory of being able to fight like Pochita just had," Denji responded to Makima, giving her this last courtesy.
As Makima continues to bleed out, the young man tells her that the chainsaw he had cut her with was made out of the blood he got from Power, and he was making it "run amok" inside her. Makima says 'This is hardly enough to...', to which Denji says that he didn't believe he could truly kill her with such a cheap trick.
A van pulls up behind Denji, leading him to happily exclaim that Kishibe was there to pick them up. He tells Makima he's sorry before putting the chainsaw next to her and leaving with Kishibe.
And unknown to Denji, Kishibe, or even Makima, a deathly pale hand appeared from a swirling black portal, grabbed the soul of Makima, and left with it, "number one down." A chilling voice spoke out.
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In another world, one mainly of heroes, villains, mutants, aliens, gods, and so much more, we are taken to a place called Genosha, with a slight difference.
Selene Gallio, the Black Queen, stood upon the ruins, the power of a nascent godhood shimmering around her like an unholy halo. A million souls, all mutant, all waiting, a sacrifice to launch her ascension. The moment was near, but one final piece was missing.
"Go, my faithful," she commanded, her voice a seductive rasp that vibrated into the chests of her devoted. "Bring me the blade. The mystical knife for the ritual, bring it, and let the Harvest begin."
Her Inner Circle, Eli Bard, Mortis, Senyaka, and Wither, all dropped to one knee in devotion.
"It will be done, my Queen," growled Mortis, her eyes burning with eagerness.
They vanished, their destination: Utopia, the island haven of the remaining X-Men.
The attack was swift, silent, and brutal. The night on Utopia became one of horror. The Inner Circle moved through the tents and compounds in a flash, bringing death in the wake of their search.
A sickening crunch echoed as Senyaka's electrified coils snapped around the neck of Onyxx. The large, rock-skinned mutant who barely had time to scream before his life was crushed out of him.
Diamond Lil, a woman whose skin could deflect any blow, faced Mortis. Lil fought with fierce desperation. "Get off our island, you monsters!" she spat, throwing a punch that bounced harmlessly off Mortis's armor.
"Such defiance," Mortis hissed, her energy blades slicing through the air. A cry of pain was followed by the wet sound of rending flesh. Diamond Lil fell, her impenetrable defenses useless; it was a mystical attack.
In the chaos, they found their prize: the ritual knife, guarded within an ancient chest. And another, an unexpected bonus. Warpath, James Proudstar, a tower of muscle and fury, attempted to block their escape, wielding his twin vibranium knives.
"You won't take that!" Warpath roared, meeting Eli Bard in a vicious clash of blades.
But Eli Bard, infused with the techno-organic virus, had an unholy strength. He dodged a wild swing, and a spray of paralyzing ichor hit Warpath's face. The big mutant staggered, his vision blurring as the world spun. Before he could recover, Wither's chilling grasp secured him.
Back on Genosha, the ground trembled beneath the weight of a million reanimated dead people. Selene received her spoils with a triumphant smile.
"The knife," she purred, taking the wicked, curved blade from Eli Bard. The knife pulsed with dark energy. "And a bonus, I see." She gestured toward the bound and struggling form of Warpath. "Such powerful life force, a fitting warm-up sacrifice, perhaps."
She turned to her Circle. "Prepare the rite! The time is at hand!"
But a new presence tore through the night sky. A black-clad shadow with glowing red eyes led the charge. X-Force had arrived.
"Selené!" came the psychic shout of Cable, amplified by his own telepathy, cutting through the din of the undead army. "Stop this now!"
Wolverine unsheathed his claws, the snikt a promise of bloodshed. "Looks like we're late for the party, bub., so let's crash it."
They threw themselves into the mêlée, a blur of violence and blood against the undead hordes. But it was too late.
Selene raised the ritual knife high above her head. "My people! My Harvest! I accept you!" With a swift motion, she plunged the blade into the earth. A blinding, violet light erupted from the ground, soaring into Selene.
Selene threw back her head in ecstasy, her form growing taller and more ethereal, crowned with a crackling aura. She was no longer just the Black Queen; she was a true goddess.
"Witness true power, petty mortals!" her voice boomed, echoing across the island. "I am Selene! The goddess of life, of death, and everything in between!"
X-Force, horrified, pressed the attack, driving through the reanimated bodies toward the Inner Circle, who were too busy basking in their mistress's ascension to defend effectively.
Senyaka found himself facing the fury of Archangel, who dove from the sky like a silver missile. "For Onyxx!" Warren cried, his metallic wings slicing the air. Senyaka tried to defend himself, but Archangel's razor-sharp feathers found their mark, ending the villain's dark life.
Wither, still cradling Warpath, was ambushed by the shadowy form of Wolfsbane. Rahne, her instincts a feral guide, tore into the vulnerable necro-mutant. A final, terrified scream left Wither's lips before he, too, fell, his power spent and his life extinguished.
Only Mortis and Eli Bard remained standing near their ascending queen.
"Mortis! Protect me!" Selene commanded, her voice distant, lost in her own transcendence.
But before Mortis could fully engage, the ground beneath her split open. A vortex of telekinetic energy created by Psylocke dragged her down into the earth, silencing her screams.
Eli Bard, realizing the fighting X-Force was useless, so they tried to retreat, but the goddess did not need broken pawns. The ambient power surging around Selene lashed out, a whip of violet flame that consumed Eli Bard in a final, agonizing immolation.
And then, Selene was alone. A magnificent, terrifying silhouette against the Genoshan twilight, surrounded by the corpses of her failed devotees. X-Force, bloodied but unbowed, stood ready.
"You truly believe you can stop me?" Selene scoffed, a sneer of divine pity on her perfect face. "I am a million souls strong! You are nothing but flies!"
She waved a hand, sending a blast of pure energy toward the heroes. They scattered, dodging the devastating attack.
It was Warpath who saw his chance. He had been thrown aside when Wither died, the paralysis fading in the shock of Wither's demise. His eyes locked onto the glowing ritual knife, now planted in the ground, the very conduit of her power.
With a roar born of vengeance for his fallen comrades, Warpath lunged, and his body moved in a flash. He grabbed the handle of the cursed blade.
"This is for my friends!" he screamed, his voice filled with grief and rage.
Selene turned, her eyes widening in momentary surprise. "Foolish mortal! You cannot touch."
But Warpath didn't hesitate. With a desperate thrust, he drove the ritual knife, the mystical conductor of the million souls, deep into the shimmering heart of Selene Gallio.
A sound similar to breaking glass echoed across Genosha. The blinding violet energy intensified, consuming the goddess from within.
"NOOOOO!" Selene shrieked, a final, desperate cry, but it was useless.
The explosion was spectacular and apocalyptic. The blinding light consumed everything in a localized, non-destructive flash, leaving behind only dust, silence, and the smell of ozone.
When the light faded, the reanimated bodies of the million mutants collapsed into inert corpses, returning to the dust from whence they came.
Selene Gallio, the would-be goddess, was gone. Nothing remained but a scorch mark and the bloodied, panting forms of X-Force. Warpath stood over the spot, the ritual knife dropped beside him.
Wolverine staggered up, looking around the desolate landscape.
"Did... did we do it?" asked Psylocke, her voice barely a whisper.
Wolverine simply stared at the space where the goddess had been. He picked up the knife, all of its dark energy extinguished.
"Yeah, Bets," he rasped, wiping blood from his chin, "She's dead."
But just like Makima, unknown to the X-Force, a deathly pale hand from a portal grabbed the soul of Selene Gallio, then "Number two down" sounded out.
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In a slightly different world where there are only mutants with a slight difference
The roof of the pyramid shook, a grating sound like rock against rock. Wanda Maximoff stood, with her costume torn, and crimson energy flaring around her hands. Opposite her, the towering armored figure of Apocalypse moved with grace.
"You failed, child," Apocalypse intoned, his voice a gravelly echo in the enclosed space. "You and your pathetic little mutants. Now, witness the dawn of a new world."
Wanda gritted her teeth, her focus not waning even for a second. "I may not be as strong as you think," she spat, "but I'll stop you from remaking the world."
She launched a devastating wave of chaotic energy. It struck Apocalypse head-on. The ground shook, and the air cracked.
He staggered, 'a minor inconvenience,' he thought.
A menacing laugh escaped his helmet. "Impressive, but futile."
He lifted his massive hand, and power coalesced around it, and that power was overwhelming.
"Enough games," he declared.
Wanda knew this was it. She pushed every bit of will, every ounce of power, into a final, desperate shield.
A blinding column of energy shot from Apocalypse's palm. It hit Wanda's shield. The crimson light flared violently, pushing back for a fraction of a second, then the shield shattered like glass.
The force struck her chest. It was a blinding pain.
Her eyes widened, just for a moment, the vibrant emerald fading within them.
A single word escaped her lips, a whisper intended for a brother who wasn't there.
"Pietro..."
She crumpled, the black soot of the ancient ceiling drifting down onto her still form. The red energy around her hands dissipated, leaving only them as cold as stone.
Apocalypse surveyed the dead body, meaning his victory. "Only the fittest survive." He turned, stepping over her, and moved to activate his world-altering machine. The Scarlet Witch was gone.
Then the same hand grabbed her soul and left, saying, "Number three down."
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Back to the complete form of the same world with a slight difference.
The transition from the inferno of damnation back to his own flesh was less a relief and more a tide of vengeful fury. Logan clutched the edges of the dank alleyway's wall, his senses screaming with the memories of Hellfire.
The reason for his ordeal sharpened his focus into a lethal point: Mystique.
He knew she had played her part in sending his soul to the Pit. His rage was a physical thing, a growling beast he could barely contain. He found her in a dilapidated safe house.
He stepped through the broken door. She spun, already shifting, in a flash of blue and white. Her eyes, however, held a weary sorrow, not surprise like he had thought.
"Logan," she said, her voice a low plea. "I told you. I tried to warn you. The Red Right Hand, they're setting you up for a bigger fall, this is what they wanted."
He took a step closer, claws sliding out with a snikt. The sound was the only answer he was willing to give.
"Please," she whispered, her hands raised in a gesture of surrender that felt profoundly unnatural coming from the deceptive shape-shifter. "I helped bring you back. Doesn't that count for anything?"
The memory of searing pain, of endless torture, burned away the last vestiges of mercy.
"It counts for this," he grated, his voice a rumble. "You put me there."
He lunged.
There was a wet, agonizing sound that was quickly muffled. Mystique slumped to the floor, her form solidifying one last time into the familiar cobalt skin.
Logan stood over the body, breathing hard, the mission accomplished, the debt partially paid. He hadn't changed a single word of his decision, and the relief was immediate.
Later, the consequences of his vengeful justice unfolded with efficiency. The body of the mutant known as Mystique, the one who had condemned and then redeemed him, was anonymously sold at a macabre auction, the winning bid coming from the sinister organization known only as The Hand.
But their got a failed product because the soul of this earth's Raven Darkholm was taken, "Number four down."
[A/N: There will be a lot of death chapters. I want to do 4-5 people per death chapter, then I will do some per plot state, and also some world building with tons of POV's from the companions to give them some character, other traits, then being companions/harem members for MC ok, if you have any thoughts, tell me ok leave a comment, support me on Patreon, and if you're reading from here, thank you for the support. Have a great and blessed day(just great if you're not religious), and check out my other account where I publish Og novels. It's called FictionDragon, and it has one novel posted: Rise of the Heir to the Abyss.]