IMPORTANT: THIS TIME THERE WILL BE NO FIGHTS. YOU WILL SIMPLY VOTE FOR YOUR TOP 6 CHOICES HERE. PLEASE TRY TO USE UP ALL 6 VOTES. THANKS.
THE BRACKET
Makima - Chainsaw Man
VS
Kaiki Deishuu – Monogatari
VS
The Wretched Egg – Deadman Wonderland
VS
Silco – Arcane
VS
Regulus Corneas – Re:ZERO
VS
Gilgamesh – Fate Franchise
VS
Undertaker – Black Butler
VS
Tetta Kisaki – Tokyo Revengers
VS
Glen Baskerville – Pandora Hearts
VS
Tyki Mikk – D.Gray‑Man
VS
Rau Le Creuset – Gundam SEED
VS
Pride – Fullmetal Alchemist
THE BRACKET
Makima - Chainsaw Man
Makima’s brilliance lies in her icy, controlled demeanor masked by casual politeness. She radiates authority—her every action calculated to maintain dominance. Whether issuing calm instructions or delivering ruthless directives to Denji and the Public Safety Devil Hunters, her composed exterior conceals a threat far more chilling than any brute force villain.
But it’s her manipulation and psychological insight that elevate her to truly great villainy. Makima brilliantly exploits people's desires—Denji’s need for affection, the Junior Devil Hunters’ inferiority, the elite's ambition—twisting all toward her own ends. Her mastery over pain, sacrifice, and promise of power makes her a puppetmaster who never needs to raise her voice to bend others to her will.
Her reveal as the Control Devil and the weight of her monstrous ambition pushes the series' themes to their darkest extremes. She challenges moral boundaries, forcing protagonists to question the very meaning of loyalty, freedom, and humanity. And when she finally falls, it’s not just a defeat—it’s a release from a suffocating nightmare, leaving readers stunned by how deeply her cruelty and charisma shaped the entire story.
But it’s her manipulation and psychological insight that elevate her to truly great villainy. Makima brilliantly exploits people's desires—Denji’s need for affection, the Junior Devil Hunters’ inferiority, the elite's ambition—twisting all toward her own ends. Her mastery over pain, sacrifice, and promise of power makes her a puppetmaster who never needs to raise her voice to bend others to her will.
Her reveal as the Control Devil and the weight of her monstrous ambition pushes the series' themes to their darkest extremes. She challenges moral boundaries, forcing protagonists to question the very meaning of loyalty, freedom, and humanity. And when she finally falls, it’s not just a defeat—it’s a release from a suffocating nightmare, leaving readers stunned by how deeply her cruelty and charisma shaped the entire story.
VS
Kaiki Deishuu – Monogatari
Kaiki stands apart in the Monogatari world as the cynical con man who respects logic more than superstition. He’s not malevolent for its own sake—his scams against apparitions are almost altruistic, fundraising for shrine upkeep or exposing fraud. Yet he works with cold calculation, always thinking two steps ahead of his opponents and never letting sentiment cloud his judgment.
What cements him as exceptional is his purity of perspective: Kaiki sees illusions for what they are and refuses to unsee them. He's the yin to Araragi’s idealist yang. Their ideological clash—faith versus pragmatism—is at the heart of several story arcs, and Kaiki’s moral ambiguity creates literary richness and unpredictability in the narrative.
In stories like Nekomonogatari: White and Owarimonogatari, Kaiki evolves from a reluctant guardian to a true antihero. He makes terrifyingly rational decisions—sometimes cold-blooded—but he does so with motives grounded in honesty and self-preservation, not some grandiose moralizing or melodrama. That unpredictability and unshakable self-interest make him Morally interesting, if not likable.
What cements him as exceptional is his purity of perspective: Kaiki sees illusions for what they are and refuses to unsee them. He's the yin to Araragi’s idealist yang. Their ideological clash—faith versus pragmatism—is at the heart of several story arcs, and Kaiki’s moral ambiguity creates literary richness and unpredictability in the narrative.
In stories like Nekomonogatari: White and Owarimonogatari, Kaiki evolves from a reluctant guardian to a true antihero. He makes terrifyingly rational decisions—sometimes cold-blooded—but he does so with motives grounded in honesty and self-preservation, not some grandiose moralizing or melodrama. That unpredictability and unshakable self-interest make him Morally interesting, if not likable.
VS
The Wretched Egg – Deadman Wonderland
The Wretched Egg is literally born from pain, betrayal, and twisted love. Her monstrous form, overflowing with rage and self-loathing, makes for an unnerving visual villain. In the chaos of Deadman Wonderland's carnage, she’s not just another enemy—she’s the embodiment of the system’s cruelty run amok.
Her villainy is deeply personal, too. As a distorted mirror to Ganta’s grief and drive, the Egg underscores the theme that even those around us best friends can transform into threats under the crushing weight of survival. Her transformation is a grotesque metaphor for trauma, showing how far someone can fall when they’ve been broken beyond repair.
Ultimately, the Wretched Egg is not defeated by strength alone but by addressing the emotional scars she represents. Her arc forces the protagonists—and the audience—to reckon with how despair breeds monstrosity. Her role in the story is less as a mere obstacle and more as a tragic warning of where hopelessness can lead.
Her villainy is deeply personal, too. As a distorted mirror to Ganta’s grief and drive, the Egg underscores the theme that even those around us best friends can transform into threats under the crushing weight of survival. Her transformation is a grotesque metaphor for trauma, showing how far someone can fall when they’ve been broken beyond repair.
Ultimately, the Wretched Egg is not defeated by strength alone but by addressing the emotional scars she represents. Her arc forces the protagonists—and the audience—to reckon with how despair breeds monstrosity. Her role in the story is less as a mere obstacle and more as a tragic warning of where hopelessness can lead.
VS
Silco – Arcane
Silco’s power isn’t in brute force—it’s in vision. He pursues Jinx and Zaun with not just gangster savvy but a revolutionary vision. His dream of Zaun’s independence from Piltover is compelling, and even if it reveals itself to be self-serving, it has an almost noble spark that makes him more than just a crime lord: he's a political ideologue in a bruiser’s body.
Emotionally, his bond with Jinx is what transforms him into something tragic. He’s the closest thing she has to real family, and his mentorship saves her just as much as it eventually warps her. His balance of father figure and ruthless boss reveals the depth of his ambitions—and tragic flaws—turning ideological devotion into obsession.
In the end, his death is a turning point for others. He becomes legend, martyr, villain depending on perspective. His vision for Zaun—unfinished, uncompromised—is the seed for everything that follows. That moral ambiguity and emotional investment makes Silco one of the most nuanced, unforgettable villains in recent animated storytelling.
Emotionally, his bond with Jinx is what transforms him into something tragic. He’s the closest thing she has to real family, and his mentorship saves her just as much as it eventually warps her. His balance of father figure and ruthless boss reveals the depth of his ambitions—and tragic flaws—turning ideological devotion into obsession.
In the end, his death is a turning point for others. He becomes legend, martyr, villain depending on perspective. His vision for Zaun—unfinished, uncompromised—is the seed for everything that follows. That moral ambiguity and emotional investment makes Silco one of the most nuanced, unforgettable villains in recent animated storytelling.
VS
Regulus Corneas – Re:ZERO
Regulus starts as an eerie curio—an unassuming Archbishop of Sin whose calm severity holds ominous weight. Underneath that composed exterior lurks horrifying power: his “Regulus’ execution” ability reduces living beings to slime and tears them apart through celestial magic. It’s delicate, surgical brutality like no other.
What sets Regulus apart is his detached cruelty. Unlike loud, expressive villains, he remains quiet—almost bored—as he dismantles lives entwined with Subaru’s struggle. He believes in predestination, treats human lives like experiments, and shows no empathy even when confronted with suffering. It’s that chilling sense of being completely unteachable—he’s not even angry, he's simply following cosmic decree.
His presence in the story is like a gagged stratagem: long-foreshadowed, ultimately unpredictable, and deeply unsettling. By the time the confrontation happens, Subaru has already been fundamentally changed. Regulus doesn’t just break people—he breaks belief and hope. That psychological victory makes him the purest antagonist in Re:ZERO.
What sets Regulus apart is his detached cruelty. Unlike loud, expressive villains, he remains quiet—almost bored—as he dismantles lives entwined with Subaru’s struggle. He believes in predestination, treats human lives like experiments, and shows no empathy even when confronted with suffering. It’s that chilling sense of being completely unteachable—he’s not even angry, he's simply following cosmic decree.
His presence in the story is like a gagged stratagem: long-foreshadowed, ultimately unpredictable, and deeply unsettling. By the time the confrontation happens, Subaru has already been fundamentally changed. Regulus doesn’t just break people—he breaks belief and hope. That psychological victory makes him the purest antagonist in Re:ZERO.
VS
Gilgamesh – Fate Franchise
Gilgamesh is everything that defines epic villainy: divine arrogance cloaked in golden charisma. He openly measures the world against his own worth and—as the King of Heroes—finds it lacking. His contempt drips from his words, his posture, and even his weapon drawings, making him both contemptuous and awe‑inspiring.
But Gilgamesh is more than ego: he embodies the fatal tension of Fate’s themes. His apocalyptic plan to reclaim humanity by burning all that’s questionable into his Perfect World Order resonates—and terrifies—because it’s so unapologetic. He's not insane; he's resolute. That clarity of purpose gives him a strange, magnetic allure.
Whether as a ruler, guide, or conqueror across timeline iterations, Gilgamesh consistently defines himself by his self‑awareness. He is who he is—refined, perfect, unstoppable—and that consistency across adaptations makes him feel mythic. Though he never changes, he forces others to change around him—or be crushed under the weight of perfection.
But Gilgamesh is more than ego: he embodies the fatal tension of Fate’s themes. His apocalyptic plan to reclaim humanity by burning all that’s questionable into his Perfect World Order resonates—and terrifies—because it’s so unapologetic. He's not insane; he's resolute. That clarity of purpose gives him a strange, magnetic allure.
Whether as a ruler, guide, or conqueror across timeline iterations, Gilgamesh consistently defines himself by his self‑awareness. He is who he is—refined, perfect, unstoppable—and that consistency across adaptations makes him feel mythic. Though he never changes, he forces others to change around him—or be crushed under the weight of perfection.
VS
Undertaker – Black Butler
The Undertaker is a gothic delight: cryptic, cinematic, and endlessly clever. His first impression as a morbid funeral director is both comedic and unsettling. His jokes about death—and the occasional delivery of bodies—hide centuries of dark knowledge and a fascination that borders on obsession.
As we dive into his backstory, Undertaker becomes a pivot in the plot: a former royal executioner with ties to the Clans of Grim Reapers, he balances secrets with sardonic humor. He is informant, manipulator, and agent provocateur. He’s never fully explainable—but always compelling, owning every scene in which he appears.
What makes him great is ambiguity. We never know if he’s friend or foe, but we trust him—or fear him—anyway. He blurs the line between villainy and class, between justice and cruelty. In his final confrontation, the Undertaker frames the narrative: he’s not the end, he’s the tone-setter. That ambiguity and dramatic presence make him unforgettable.
As we dive into his backstory, Undertaker becomes a pivot in the plot: a former royal executioner with ties to the Clans of Grim Reapers, he balances secrets with sardonic humor. He is informant, manipulator, and agent provocateur. He’s never fully explainable—but always compelling, owning every scene in which he appears.
What makes him great is ambiguity. We never know if he’s friend or foe, but we trust him—or fear him—anyway. He blurs the line between villainy and class, between justice and cruelty. In his final confrontation, the Undertaker frames the narrative: he’s not the end, he’s the tone-setter. That ambiguity and dramatic presence make him unforgettable.
VS
Tetta Kisaki – Tokyo Revengers
Kisaki is the shadow behind every gang war. Where others rely on muscle, he uses planning and manipulation. He enters as quiet, nondescript—only later do we realize he’s been pulling strings, steering key players toward violence and tragedy, always ahead of the curve.
He’s a master of erosion: breaking trust, creating divides, infecting timelines with despair. Unlike many anime villains, Kisaki doesn’t want dominance for its own sake—he craves revenge and worth. His motivations are human, relatable even as his actions become monstrous. He slowly sharpens into the arc’s real antagonist by knitting tragedy into the world.
By the time he’s fully unmasked, he’s survived multiple timelines, multiple takedowns. He’s the plot’s raison d’etre—a living proof that wars aren’t won by rage alone but by the strategy and patience to undermine hope. Kisaki’s brilliance is that defeat comes only when the protagonists rewrite their own hubris, not because the villain lost a fight.
He’s a master of erosion: breaking trust, creating divides, infecting timelines with despair. Unlike many anime villains, Kisaki doesn’t want dominance for its own sake—he craves revenge and worth. His motivations are human, relatable even as his actions become monstrous. He slowly sharpens into the arc’s real antagonist by knitting tragedy into the world.
By the time he’s fully unmasked, he’s survived multiple timelines, multiple takedowns. He’s the plot’s raison d’etre—a living proof that wars aren’t won by rage alone but by the strategy and patience to undermine hope. Kisaki’s brilliance is that defeat comes only when the protagonists rewrite their own hubris, not because the villain lost a fight.
VS
Glen Baskerville – Pandora Hearts
Glen's presence is felt long before he's properly revealed: a whispered legend whose seemingly self‑appointed executioner role haunts every character. His unnerving mask, and quiet interventions, mark him as a harbinger of doom—mysterious beyond the familiar villainous mold.
As the story unpacks, Glen morphs into the tragic architect of the Abyss’ curse. He’s not merely evil but anguished. His decisions—pact with chains, war on Ooz—stem from heartbreak as much as pride. He becomes a mirror for the protagonists’ own entanglements with fate, grief, and the often illogically brutal choices they believe are for 'the greater good.'
By the climax, Glen shifts from specter to martyr. He lends the finale its greatest emotional intensity. The Abyss unravels through his final gambit, and his sacrifice forces a reckoning: who lives, who dies, and what binds them—beyond mere power. That layered tragedy makes Glen a haunting presence long after the last page.
As the story unpacks, Glen morphs into the tragic architect of the Abyss’ curse. He’s not merely evil but anguished. His decisions—pact with chains, war on Ooz—stem from heartbreak as much as pride. He becomes a mirror for the protagonists’ own entanglements with fate, grief, and the often illogically brutal choices they believe are for 'the greater good.'
By the climax, Glen shifts from specter to martyr. He lends the finale its greatest emotional intensity. The Abyss unravels through his final gambit, and his sacrifice forces a reckoning: who lives, who dies, and what binds them—beyond mere power. That layered tragedy makes Glen a haunting presence long after the last page.
VS
Tyki Mikk – D.Gray‑Man
Tyki is a contradiction on legs: charming, carefree, almost bubbly in demeanor—but beneath lies a merciless Akuma. His split nature—loving family one moment, committing genocide the next—makes him unnerving. You can’t pigeonhole him; that instability is his threat.
What makes Tyki compelling is his self‑reflected guilt. He doesn’t deny what he does; he relishes it—yet seems ever torn. That ever‑shifting internal state keeps both the audience and Allen (his principal adversary) off-balance. Tyki is villainy as performance art.
His fight scenes—minimum words, maximum chaos—mirror his philosophy. He doesn't preach, he doesn't explain. He simply exists. Especially in the standoff with Allen, Tyki becomes a moral foil who forces the hero to ask how far empathy can—or should—extend toward the enemy. That gripping instability cements Tyki as a great villain.
What makes Tyki compelling is his self‑reflected guilt. He doesn’t deny what he does; he relishes it—yet seems ever torn. That ever‑shifting internal state keeps both the audience and Allen (his principal adversary) off-balance. Tyki is villainy as performance art.
His fight scenes—minimum words, maximum chaos—mirror his philosophy. He doesn't preach, he doesn't explain. He simply exists. Especially in the standoff with Allen, Tyki becomes a moral foil who forces the hero to ask how far empathy can—or should—extend toward the enemy. That gripping instability cements Tyki as a great villain.
VS
Rau Le Creuset – Gundam SEED
Rau is the epitome of calculated hatred. His genocidal drive against humanity Awakens out of personal trauma—but is channeled into military precision. He views war not just as a battlefield but a philosophical statement—designed to force civilization to evolve, or perish.
What sets Rau apart is his crusader conviction. He doesn’t see himself as evil, but as a tormenter shaping the world. In the climactic strike on Junius 7 or Alice's slaughter, he executes horrors like a surgeon: methodically, purposefully—never in rage, always reason.
His final battle—and last words—sum up his depth: firm respect for his enemy, acknowledgment of his own flaws, but no regret. He’s a tragic mirror to the heroes’ sanity. Rau’s clarity of purpose—and haunting compassion—make him more than a villain; he’s the soul of the conflict.
What sets Rau apart is his crusader conviction. He doesn’t see himself as evil, but as a tormenter shaping the world. In the climactic strike on Junius 7 or Alice's slaughter, he executes horrors like a surgeon: methodically, purposefully—never in rage, always reason.
His final battle—and last words—sum up his depth: firm respect for his enemy, acknowledgment of his own flaws, but no regret. He’s a tragic mirror to the heroes’ sanity. Rau’s clarity of purpose—and haunting compassion—make him more than a villain; he’s the soul of the conflict.
VS
Pride – Fullmetal Alchemist
Pride is horror in human form: outwardly polite, elegant, all detective wit—underneath lies remorseless monster. His ability to manipulate shadows, hail from beneath the floorboards, and twist people’s reflections of themselves is outright frightening.
His intellectual arrogance is the perfect foil to Edward and Alphonse Elric. He doesn’t waste time with emotional outbursts. He assesses reality, calculates, and destroys illusions—literal and psychological. Every fight with him becomes a puzzle and a moral trial.
As the last of the Homunculi to fall, Pride’s defeat is not just physical, it’s ideological. He forces the Elrics—and Roy Mustang—to look inward: at ambition, pride, resentment, fear. That thematic mirror fight is what cements him as not just a potent villain, but a moral crucible for the protagonists' growth.
His intellectual arrogance is the perfect foil to Edward and Alphonse Elric. He doesn’t waste time with emotional outbursts. He assesses reality, calculates, and destroys illusions—literal and psychological. Every fight with him becomes a puzzle and a moral trial.
As the last of the Homunculi to fall, Pride’s defeat is not just physical, it’s ideological. He forces the Elrics—and Roy Mustang—to look inward: at ambition, pride, resentment, fear. That thematic mirror fight is what cements him as not just a potent villain, but a moral crucible for the protagonists' growth.
