(You know what you have to do here . So get to work.):)
….
A few days had passed since Gojo and Atom Eve shut down Dr. Seismic's earthquake spree at Mount Rushmore, the whole mess wrapped up in under ten seconds with no harm done.
The doctor, a wild-eyed man with dreams of "freeing" the world from its past, didn't make it long after, some blue tragic accident, the details vague, snuffed him out before he could cause more trouble.
The city moved on, but the Guardians of the Globe were still settling into their new rhythm, their new base, their new reality.
The scene shifted to a dark, cramped office, the kind you'd expect from a gritty detective flick. No lights were on, the room swallowed in shadows, the only glow coming from a faint streetlamp sneaking through a cracked window blind.
A large board dominated one wall, covered in photos pinned with red string, Guardians of the Globe, past and present.
Before-and-after shots told a grim story: smiling heroes in their prime, then bloodied corpses, torn apart in the massacre.
The images were stark, like a warning carved in time. The room itself was tidy but rough, wooden desk, scattered papers, a worn chair, like it belonged to someone who lived for the chase.
In that chair sat Damien Darkblood, the red-skinned demon detective, his trench coat draped over his shoulders, hat tilted low. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the desk, a glass in his clawed hand.
Moments ago, Omni-Man had been there, his broad frame filling the doorway. Their talk was short, clipped words, heavy silences, and a quick exit, leaving Darkblood alone again.
The demon stared at the board, his glowing eyes tracing the strings, the faces, the blood. He tipped his glass back, chugging the amber liquid in one go, then reached for the bottle to pour another.
Just as the whiskey splashed into the glass, a voice broke the quiet from behind him, playful but sharp.
"Man, being a demon's got some perks, huh?" it said, cutting through the gloom. "You can smoke, drink your heart out, do all the stuff humans can't touch without wrecking themselves. No liver damage, no lung cancer, just vibes. Not that I'm jealous or anything. I don't drink or smoke, but, y'know, not a huge fan of hell either."
Darkblood didn't turn, his movements slow and deliberate as he lifted the glass and chugged the fresh pour in one smooth gulp.
The burn didn't faze him, his red skin didn't even flush. He set the glass down with a soft clink, his voice gravelly, low, carrying that eerie calm he always had.
"Drink, would you like?" he asked, the words rolling out like smoke, not a question but a ritual, like he was testing the air.
The voice, Gojo's, unmistakable with its cocky lilt, laughed softly. "Nah, man, didn't I just say I don't drink? Or, more like, I can't handle it well. One sip, and I'm probably giggling on the floor. Not a good look."
Darkblood poured another shot, the bottle glinting faintly in the dark. "Thought it was human courtesy," he said, his tone dry, almost mocking, but with a strange warmth buried deep.
"Offer a drink to another… even if they don't take it." He swirled the whiskey, his glowing eyes still fixed on the board, not bothering to face Gojo.
Gojo stepped into the dim light, his black coat open over a white shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the dark.
He grinned, leaning against the desk's edge, hands in his pockets. "It is, it is," he said, chuckling. "I'm just not big on the social stuff, y'know? Not exactly Mr. Manners over here."
The room stayed quiet for a beat, the weight of the board's photos looming over them, Guardians, dead and alive, pinned like clues in a puzzle nobody had solved.
Darkblood's claws tapped the glass, his mind clearly elsewhere, while Gojo's grin held steady, like he was poking at the demon just to see what'd happen.
Gojo stood by the board, his black sunglasses catching the sliver of streetlight sneaking through the blinds, his eyes hidden but sharp.
For thirty seconds, neither spoke, the air thick with unspoken questions. Then Darkblood's gravelly voice broke the quiet, low and deliberate, like a rumble from somewhere deep.
"Wasn't expectin' a guest," he said, his tone calm but edged with suspicion, "'specially not after the one who left minutes ago."
Gojo didn't respond right away, his gaze locked on the board. Even in the near-total darkness, his Six Eyes cut through it like a spotlight, every detail crystal clear, from the grain of the photos to the red strings tying them together.
He could see the bloodstains in the "after" shots as vividly as if they were under a microscope, the faces of the fallen Guardians etched in his mind.
'Messy end,' he thought, his smirk gone, replaced by a quiet focus. He turned from the board, strolling to the chair across the desk from Darkblood, and sat down, legs crossed, now eye-to-eye with the red-skinned demon detective. His sunglasses stayed on, but his grin crept back, playful yet sharp.
"Have to say, I'm a big fan of your work, Mr. Demon," Gojo said, leaning forward, his voice light but carrying a spark of genuine respect. He propped his chin on one hand, like he was chatting with an old pal.
Darkblood didn't flinch, his glowing eyes steady as he sipped another shot of whiskey, the glass glinting faintly.
He set it down with a soft clink, his voice slow, almost amused, but with that eerie calm that made humans squirm.
"You know of me?" he asked, tilting his head just a fraction, like he was sizing Gojo up, curious but not rattled.
Gojo leaned closer to the desk, his grin widening as he rested his elbows on the edge, chin still in his hand.
"Well, if you're trying to be some ominous, anonymous detective, maybe don't let your pictures and cases float around the internet for anyone to find," he said, his tone teasing but pointed.
"Kinda hard to stay under the radar when you're leaving breadcrumbs like that. But that's not why I'm here." He paused, his voice dropping, the playfulness fading just enough to let the weight of his next words land.
"I came to give you a warning."
Darkblood's eyes narrowed, but he didn't tense, didn't shift. He took another slow sip, the whiskey sliding down without a flinch, and set the glass down deliberately.
"Don't recall us crossin' paths," he said, his voice a low growl, each word measured.
"Never got in your way, never tangled with you. So why's a warning comin' my way, and to a demon, no less?" His tone wasn't defensive, just probing, like he was peeling back Gojo's words to find the meat beneath.
….
A/N: So here is the another chapter and not gonna lie. I enjoyed writing this one chapter and its is only part 1 and part 2 is on my discord server for free you only have to join and you can read it.(no ulterior motives)
oh and from here you can join my discord server: https://discord.gg/5Y7uZ2kN2Y
Or in short just click in join via invite link in your discord and enter this code: 5Y7uZ2kN2Y