Chapter 137: Fanfic #137 Bugs, Death, & Chainsaws by Haten(WormXChainsawMan)
This fanfic is a crossover between Worm and Chainsaw Man with Denji and a few other characters in the world of Worm. I really like this fic because it works really well at blending certain facets of the worlds into each. I also like that the fic does a good job of bringing Denji's unique energy into the story.
Synopsis: "Hell Devil." Hayakawa Aki chanted "I offer you all of me. In exchange, bring Denji to a place where he can be safe." Unfortunately for him, the Hell Devil didn't work like that, nor was his lifetime enough for the devil to work with. Well, It could send Denji into the middle point between hell and a "safe place", though admitedly Earth Bet is more hell than safe in any case.
Rated: T
words: 40k
https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13901524/1/
Here's the first chapter:
George didn't know what to do. On one side, he was now being escorted by one of the most dangerous parahumans of Brockton Bay and was about to win the support and trust of the Empire once and for all. On the other hand, his name was not George, but Jorge, and he was honestly panicking inside since he had no european family like he boasted about while drinking. Instead, he was a mexican guy that came to Brockton Bay to work imparting spanish lessons on a small institution one of his friends opened up years ago.
True, it had been easy to fool the gang members with his fair skin and chestnut brown hair, but if they met his grandma -god bless her soul- they would immediately spot the lie without fail. An old lady full of wrinkles, more like a prune than anything, and tanned skin gained from working under the sun for years on end. She and her husband had been rather poor, but raised their family and got them a better future by sheer force of will and no small amount of manual labor.
And yet there he was, pretending to be a bigot just so he wouldn't get killed on the spot by a band of lunatics that thought their lighter skin somehow made them better than… Everyone else, honestly. If Jorge realized something in this little misadventure of his, was that these people were more narcissistic than anything else.
Well, narcissism was fine. He knew people like that, but they didn't go around beating people to death because their skin was darker. So what gives? It made no sense at all.
"This is your big night, buddy. Don't chicken out on us now!" A man in one of those white t-shirts got his arm on George's shoulders with breath that reeked of alcohol.
It was honestly disgusting, and the man's arm hairs made George's neck itch, but he couldn't just shrug the bigger man off. He couldn't even look annoyed in fear of tipping him off and getting the gang to brutalize him there and there.
It happened before, otherwise George wouldn't have gone through this idiotic plan to get the Empire off his neck. He wasn't that stupid.
"Yeah, yeah." Jorge exhaled, letting the anxiety out. The other men teased him immediately, calling him names and stuff but he was too nervous to pay them any heed.
He peered at Hookwolf to his left and slightly behind him. Striding confidently and if he knew where his next victim was. Though targeting someone in specific sounded just within the range of horrible things he could do, so it was likely the case. Which made things worse because if Jorge somehow escaped… Well, to begin with he wouldn't be able to outrun that thing. Even if Hookwolf knew where he lived it was unlikely Jorge would be able to get far enough to think about getting home.
Somehow… Somehow that thought was a bit refreshing?
"We're here." The masked man stated, making his entourage stop in their tracks and stare at the seemingly abandoned storage room in a random corner of Brockton Bay's worse side.
The man walked to the big-ass shutter door thing while bristling with his trademark blades from shoulders to fingers. He made a point of slowly releasing the sharp metal and forming clawed arms that were easily twice the size his normal arms were.
George didn't have to know the man to realize what he was planning to do. Breaking the metal would probably be easy enough if those clusters of blades were as sturdy as they looked, and then the men would march in and gang on whoever was using the place as makeshift residence.
If he was lucky, the people inside would be shitty enough for him to avert his eyes. But he seriously doubted it.
What would he be faced with? Black people? Some dudes making out? Some girls making out? Asians? Jews? Honestly he had never been so keenly aware of just how many minority groups there were until he moved into Brockton Bay. It was kind of scary, in a way. That it seemed so important when before someone's skin color or religion were just random pieces of trivia about them.
Hookwolf opened his arms, as if to open a giant pincer and snap the shutter with it in one swift motion.
Jorge closed his eyes. Sweat running down his scalp, back and forehead. While keenly aware that he was about to either get into something really fucked up or shredded to death by a Cape.
Operative words being 'about to'.
Seconds went by yet the screech of metal cutting metal never came. Instead, an awful silence fell onto the empty street like a spell that took all the racists into a different, more macabre world.
And as if to emphasize, the slow creaking of a door from somewhere it shouldn't be cut through the silence and made even the Empire Cape turn around to see what was going on.
The night sky wasn't very well lit. After all, this part of town was where the poor and the wicked lived. Making maintenance and distribution of usual commodities like working street lights more unusual than they should be. However, the men could still see it clearly.
About three stories above the floor and being held by nothing at all. An old oak door with its frame and all was facing downwards and slowly opening up to reveal the darkness within. It was so dark even the night sky looked lit up in comparison, and safe to boot. Because even when no room should be on the other side, that place gave everyone present goosebumps. As if it oozed malice or they could feel somethingstalking them from the other side.
Said something unraveled itself as a giant hand came through the door. A giant thing of a limb that could have easily been Jorge's size or even bigger. Pale like the dead and bonny like that of a starving man. It was closed, but soon enough straightened its cadaveric fingers to release a boy out of its grasp and let him face-plant the stone cold street with a sickening whack.
The hand retreated. As painfully slowly as it appeared, and the door creaked closed without hurry as well. The click of the door being locked kind of broke the spell to the horrified people witnessing that thing appearing, but it wasn't until it vanished an illusion of mist that they finally started breathing again.
What. The. Fuck?!
¿¡Qué pinches putas madres fue eso!?
"Hey…" Someone started, but closed his mouth once the teen groaned and came to his feet.
He was wearing pants and a t-shirt, probably his pajamas, and was barefoot. He was asian if his features were anything to go by, and he had spiky blond hair turned a mess on his head.
He looked around, dizzy, confused, and in a bit of pain. But stared straight at them neo nazis once he spotted them, bringing his right hand within the t-shirt as he did.
Then he spoke in gibberish.
Well, not really. He spoke in a language Jorge didn't understand, so whatever that teen was yelling went right over his head and probably over everyone else's as well.
What didn't, however, was the stance that told everyone he was ready to throw hands. Even if a man with giant blade arms was just behind them and they were about twenty grown-ass men and he was one scrawny asian teenager.
He was still the thing that the ghastly hand brought from behind the door, but a scrawny teen as well. Jorge wasn't sure how that measured up but… Well, they all had their pride to cover. So maybe it'd make a difference? Which made the man even more aware that he wanted nothing to do with the teen.
Fucking Empire with their fucking racism and fucking iniciation rituals or whatever. These idiots couldn't possibly be thinking about fighting whatever that teenager actually was. He was probably another Cape, in which case only Hookwolf would stand a chance.
"S-Sir?" Jorge called out, remembering he still hadn't been found out, so he was still on the Empire Cape's good side "That guy might be a cape. What should we do?"
"Without a mask?" Hookwolf rumbled, his voice even fiercer than Jorge thought it would be "If that's the case, then this is clearly an idiot. There should be no problems here."
The parahuman walked towards the teen. Bulking up with more spikes, blades and hooks and turning to a four-legged gait when he finished transforming into his trademark wolf-made-out-of-blades form.
The teen opened his eyes really wide. Had he just realized who the man was? Or was he not expecting his obvious sign of defiance to be taken seriously?
None of the above, it seemed. Because when Hookwolf positioned to lunge at him, the boy grinned and, using the arm that was within his clothes, pulled on something Jorge couldn't quite make out in the bad lighting of the night.
Hookwolf launched himself in the air. Claws spread to shred this random kid to shreds.
In the distance, the sound of a chainsaw being started pierced the night.
The next instant, a horrible screech silenced any other sound. The grind of metal against metal let sparks fly and made the Empire goons cover their ears while screaming themselves as the beastly form of Hookwolf was illuminated before touching the ground, and a smaller silhouette appeared to leap off the ground.
Hookwolf landed heavily on the ground. His makeshift claws digging into the pavement as a cry closer to a howl than any kind of human noise followed the noise of the chainsaw.
What chainsaw?
The chainsaw that the kid had sprouted out of his face, of course.
He was severely punctured all over his body. Clothes ragged and blood gushed where Hookwolf touched his body, but the boy stood after landing opposite to the Empire cape. His face had been replaced by a honest-to-god chainsaw, handles and all, with jagged teeth for mouth and an elongated tongue in full display as he mocked the fallen Empire member.
"GYAHAHAHAHA!" The boy cackled like a madman. Heedless of his many injuries while the metal wolf thing slowly came back to its feet.
Jorge actually drew a blank. He did say the boy was probably a cape. But he had never seen a cape fight before, and had never seen two honest-to-god parahumans clashing in real time. So he didn't know how to react, even as the goons fled for cover and he saw Hookwolf's ripped left limb reform back into a human arm while the cape regrew a limb made of hooks and blades.
Jorge blinked. Was he dreaming? Was all just a horrible nightmare that played on his less than stellar decision making skills?
Not, it couldn't be. The smell of blood was fresh in the air. He knew of it, had smelled it on himself after a fistfight while he grew from a drunken teenager to a respectable adult. He knew of the smell, and realization dawned on him slowly, painfully so to the point he knew he had to move out of the way before his legs listened to him.
On their part, the two parahumans went back to trying to kill each other.
The racist metal wolf-man lunged lower this time, trying to get the chainsaw freak by the legs with both maw and taloned digits.
The more human-like cape charged head on, chainsaw blades forming a cross in front of his chest while they spun so fast Jorge could only see a line instead of the serrated points.
They charged into each other, and this time only the chainsaw freak bled.
The two rammed into the shutter behind, shredding it in the process and going straight inside while the chainsaw freak swung his one arm to make Hookwolf release him.
His other arm was lying in a pool of the boy's blood, but Jorge's attention was on the people inside.
More Empire goons, no minorities.
That didn't make sense, unless they somehow were expecting for a fight to break out. Did they know about the door in the sky? Was this chainsaw freak expected to arrive? How come he heard nothing about it beforehand?
…
Or were they waiting for him?
Not the chainsaw, but Jorge. Had they known? Did they figure him out? Was he brought so far into the side of the city to be disposed of in relative peace?
That would explain why he got away with pretending for so long without doing anything remotely gang-y. He… He…
The roar of the chainsaw interrupted him yet again. The freak landed just a few steps away from Jorge, no arms to speak of, while a new chainsaw came through his left leg and dung into the concrete as the young cape landed.
Jorge fell to his butt.
The holes and tears the chainsaw freak had allowed the panicked man to see Hookwolf behind. Back on the floor and slowly recreating his form in a more compact size. Slowly, almost like a painful process, but undoubtedly still capable of fighting.
Run.
Jorge needed to run.
He had to sprint out of there, get back to safety and leave this blasted city once and for all.
He forsake his dignity and bent over, the contents of his stomach rushing out as if to get him to be as light as possible. Not like it would make a difference against these monsters.
The chainsaw freak screamed again. And again no one around him understood a word of it.
Hookwolf rushed him. The talons in his limbs became larger while his tail turned more scorpion-like and lashed at the chainsaw with haste.
It was fast. Too fast for the material it was made of and its size.
The chainsaw freak kicked up. Splitting the tail of blades with little effort.
He used his other foot to throw himself back into the air, making Hookwolf reconfigure into some sort of vortex of grinding metal and hooks.
"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" The chainsaw freak let out a guttural scream as he landed in the center of that tornado of hooks and blades. Metal grinding metal the only sound that came from that gruesome encounter for a moment.
Then, the roar of the chainsaw interrupted even that as the freak split Hookwolf in half with his other leg sprouting a chainsaw to scizor the Empire cape in half.
It was a simple solution. Except that lunatic chose to cut from the inside out instead of the normal way, in the opposite direction.
...Not like there was anything natural about chainsaw legs cutting a man-tornado of metal to begin with.
If there was better lighting, Jorge might have seen Hookwolf's blood seeping through the concrete and running towards him as the remaining metal blades began retracting to the place they had come from.
But as things stood, he just saw the shadow of Hookwolf's remains start shrinking back as the chainsaw freak face-planted the floor again to begin licking it with his elongated tongue.
Well, Jorge realized what he was doing. Fortunately enough, his stomach was already empty or he would have evacuated it then.
Jorge screamed. The spell broke as his legs bolted into action and ran as fast as humanly possible.
He didn't stop even when the roar of the chainsaw's engine started again and ignored the police and PRT officers trying to catch his attention while he ran.
He was almost run over more than twice, but even then he didn't stop. He ran for what felt like hours. He ran until his breath fell short and his legs were in fire from the agony of the effort.
He fell face-first to the sidewalk. Dizzy, confused, and scared shitless to the point he could just break out into crying then and there.
"Guh…" And he did.
Jorge braced his legs close to his chest as a stream of tears and saliva ran free from his labored laments. He was in plain sight, and he didn't know who could be seeing or recording him, but he didn't care. He escaped death, more than once, and all he had won was the image of two monsters tearing themselves apart and the people around them as they fought.
Fuck that city.
He was packing his stuff and going back to his family. If nothing else, papa Noel would welcome him with open arms. The rest, Jorge could figure out after he put this chapter of his life behind a thick lock.
But first, he just needed to let everything out. He could wait a few minutes or hours until his tears dried.
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