Apocalypse Of The Devilman ((hot)) Official

The Devilman looks down at his hands. They are red to the wrist. He has killed demons. He has killed saints. He has killed the part of himself that prayed. And somewhere, in the ruin of his ribcage, a tiny ember of the man he was still whispers: no.

The dead rise—not as souls, not as zombies, but as memories given teeth. Every person he ever failed claws up through the asphalt. They don't attack. They just look at him. That is worse. apocalypse of the devilman

"Return what you stole," it says.

And he charges the angel not with a sword, not with a prayer, but with the only weapon left to the truly damned: The Devilman looks down at his hands