Player 10,000 Year Later (Chainsaw Man / The Boys) Multiverse later

 In other parts of the ship

Kishibe kept running, his breath steady but his irritation rising as the Death Guard Champion closed in behind them. The thick, corrupted air of the ship made every step feel heavier, like wading through sludge.

Then Quanxi spoke. "Kishibe, would you die for me?"

"Yeah, no thanks," Kishibe muttered, not even slowing down. "Still got a few things I enjoy in life."

Suddenly, in front of them—another dozen plague zombies. The bloated, rotting husks of former warriors, their bodies oozing disease as they dragged themselves forward.

Quanxi exhaled sharply, coming to a stop. "Tch. No choice, then."

Without hesitation, she stood her ground, turning to face the Death Guard Champion while Kishibe kept moving, clearing a path through the undead with quick, precise slashes from his knives.

"This stuff's tougher than what I fought in Tokyo," he muttered as his blade barely carved through the rotting flesh. Even cut down, the bodies still twitched, attempting to rise again.

Quanxi scoffed, unsheathing her dual swords. "If you want to fight the hulking bastard in the power armor, be my guest."

Kishibe shot her a look. "I prefer my fights without guaranteed death, thanks."

Behind them, the Death Guard Champion let out a low, guttural laugh, the sound reverberating through its armor. It stepped forward with slow, deliberate movements, its rotting flesh fusing with the metal of its cursed warplate.

"Come, little flesh-things," it rumbled, its voice thick with decay. "Your bones will make fine hosts for Grandfather's gifts."

Quanxi tightened her grip on her swords, her stance lowering.

"Bring it, then."

Quanxi exhaled through her nose, gripping her swords tightly. With a burst of speed, she slashed at the chinks in the Death Guard Champion's armor—but the blades barely scratched it. The hulking warrior didn't even flinch.

The Champion chuckled, raising his bolter.

Quanxi immediately lifted a hand. "Wait, wait, can we introduce ourselves first? I mean, this is the first time in three years I've fought outside China."

The Death Guard Champion paused. "China? Which planet is that?"

Quanxi blinked. "Don't tell me you don't know what planet Earth is."

For a second, the corrupted warrior was silent. Then, a deep, guttural laugh rumbled from his decayed throat.

"Hwa hwa hwa hwaaa… hwaaa… A planet outside the Imperium? A tremendous gift for the Plaguefather himself!" His voice grew more manic, his bolter trembling slightly in his grasp. "If I offer such a discovery… I can finally ascend! I will become a true champion of Chaos!"

Quanxi's expression didn't change, but internally—Ahhhhh shittttt. Fuckkkk. I slipped up.

Behind her, Kishibe let out a slow sigh, rubbing his forehead. "Quanxi… when are you gonna retire before you kill us all?"

The Death Guard Champion raised his hand, another wave of plague zombies emerged from the walls. Kishibe instinctively tightened his grip on his knives, but instead of attacking, the creatures… knelt. That's worse.

The Death Guard Champion turned his decayed helmet toward Quanxi. "Your friend called you Quanxi, yes? The Plaguefather offers pleasure within decay and sickness. All you need to do is—"

Quanxi cut him off, her tone dry. "Yeah, no. Last thing I want is to become—"

"Shut up for a second, Quanxi," Kishibe muttered, his cigarette dangling from his lips. "Look around. We're surrounded. If he wanted us dead, he could drop a thousand zombies from the ceiling right now."

The Death Guard Champion chuckled, a thick, grotesque sound that bubbled with decay. "The male is much smarter." He tilted his bolter slightly, regarding Kishibe. "Do you wish to become a Death Guard? The Plaguefather welcomes all."

Kishibe exhaled a cloud of smoke. "What the fuck are you and these abominations?"

The towering warrior took a step forward, the weight of his bloated armor shaking the floor beneath them. "My name is Gremus Kalgaro," he said, his voice layered with corruption. "Once, I was an Astartes, a loyal servant of the Corpse Emperor who does nothing but sit upon his throne of lies. But now, I serve the true gods—the Chaos God of plague and rebirth. Nurgle, who bears many names… Plaguelord. Plague God. Plaguefather. Lord of Decay. Lord of Pestilence. Fly Lord. Great Corruptor. Grandfather Nurgle. Father Nurgle. Papa—"

"That's a lot of titles for a king of zombies," Quanxi interrupted dryly, adjusting her grip on her swords.

Before she could blink, the bolter in Gremus's hands fired.

A sickening boom echoed through the corridor as the round grazed her left arm, instantly searing through flesh.

"Ahh—!!" A scream tore from her throat as pain flooded her senses. It wasn't just the impact—it was something worse. The wound burned as if acid had been poured into her veins, and an unbearable rot crept through her body, clawing at her nerves.

She stumbled, barely catching herself, breathing heavily. Her left arm trembled, a sickly black-green rot spreading around the wound.

Gremus loomed over her, his voice cold and seething. "Do not insult the Plaguefather."

He lifted his bolter again, the barrel still steaming from the last shot. "And like I said," he rumbled, "his last title is Master of Plague and Pestilence."

Kishibe crouched down, tearing off part of his shirt and using the med kit he always carried. He pressed it against Quanxi's wound, his jaw clenched. The wound was festering faster than it should have.

Gremus let out a guttural chuckle. "It's no use. The Plaguefather's blessing is already in her veins. All you need to do is wait until she becomes one of us."

Kishibe's fingers tensed for a fraction of a second.

Quanxi, gripping her left arm, let out a slow breath, her expression unreadable. The weight of her fate was settling in.

Then, out of nowhere, a rat scurried out of the wall, stopping near Kishibe's boot. The sight itself wasn't unusual.

But the words etched into its fur were.

"You look like shit. Didn't I warn you all to stay at the hangar?"

Kishibe's eyelid twitched. Kang Woo, you bastard, making jokes at a time like this…

Slowly, he stood up, rolling his shoulders. "What did you say again, Gremus?"

The Death Guard Champion regarded him, tilting his decayed helmet slightly. "Accept the Plaguefather's gift, Kishibe. Become a Death Guard in service of the Chaos Gods."

Kishibe exhaled a long stream of smoke from his cigarette. "Such a foolish person."

Gremus's rot-covered lips curled into something resembling a smile. "Then I take it you accept?"

Kishibe's muscles coiled. Then, with a sharp breath, he suddenly struck a dramatic pose, pointing at the Death Guard.

"BUT I REFUSE."

Before Gremus could react—before Kishibe himself even processed what was happening—two hands shot out from the walls, gripping both him and Quanxi, yanking them into the darkness.

A moment later, they landed hard on cold steel. Kishibe's cigarette nearly slipped from his lips as he blinked, dazed.

A pair of yellow-ringed eyes stared down at him.

Makima.

She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. "What was that you said about me? That I might threaten humanity?" She leaned closer. "Because right now, I just saved your asses."

Kishibe groaned, rubbing his head. "Never thought my enemy would be the one to save me."

Makima's yellow-ringed eyes flickered as she glanced ahead—another batch of plague zombies shambled toward them. Without hesitation, she lifted her hand, summoning a blade forged from pure darkness manipulation. The edges of the sword crackled with black flames—the cursed embers of Hellblaze.

"You decide what you'll do with Quanxi," she murmured. "I'll take care of these."

Before Kishibe could reply, she moved.

Effortlessly, gracefully—like an artist painting strokes of death. Every slash of her sword cut through the infected with precision, their rotting bodies disintegrating into ash the moment the Hellblaze touched them. 

Kishibe watched for a second, then adjusted his grip on Quanxi's shoulder. "Can you walk?"

Quanxi nodded, though her breathing was still heavy. "Yeah."

"Good." He steadied her. "Then let's keep moving."

Meanwhile—on the other side of the ship, where Gremus Kalgaro had been left behind—the Death Guard Champion stood motionless, his decayed lungs heaving.

A slow, bubbling chuckle escaped from his throat.

Someone stronger is here. Excitement surged through his rotting flesh.

"Something more… something greater…" he rasped, his deep voice quivering with thrill.

His infected, bloated body trembled. "I must meet it."

And with that, Gremus ran.