Darkscythe Drake
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Assassin Among Heroes Ch 40
🕑 Added 2025-10-17 20:09:14 +0000 UTC“They really cleaned everything up,” I whisper, swiping a finger along the wall. “There’s not a trace left.”
‘Why art thou surprised? Leaving evidence and information so exposed is a fool’s mistake, and for all thy admonishment, thou cannot say the local law enforcement is incompetent.’
Pressing my lips together, I resist the urge to grumble and instead scan the hallway. “I know, but is it really too much to hope for? Half the clues I’ve investigated on my previous hunts were thanks to carelessness or things most people ignore, like the location option on phones.”
‘A resourceful idea that I have commended thee for, but one cannot rely on one means forever. If thou hast established a network of connections beyond Dabi and his sips of information, perhaps thou would not stumble so blindly in the dark.’
“Again, there are issues with that, Mawla!” I hiss before sharply inhaling. We were alone in the drug den, the police having left the area days ago, but I’d rather not risk a nosy neighbor snooping. Or an active wiretap. “I promise, I’ll try to reach out, but my reputation makes it extremely difficult! I’ve pissed off nearly everyone on both sides of the law!”
‘Then find those who remain. Contrary to thy pessimism, dost thou think thou art the only one who desires the death of criminals? The disheartened and downtrodden, those cast aside and preached by others to wait for a savior…the desire for vengeance and blood is fresh and ripe. Seek them out, and with the right words, thy crippled hand shall gain new fingers.’
I chew on air, searching for a counter, but I can’t find one. He’s right, as always; I need real informants, ones who see where filth walks without fear or repercussion. Dabi can serve as a starting point - he spoke of a supplier, or was it a broker? If I tell him to keep my involvement to the absolute minimum, or with no trace of my activities, I could start extending my reach. There are still…issues that I need to consider, namely ones regarding my identity and the veracity of the intel, but I should actually have informants first before I worry about anything else.
‘...I’ll call Dabi and ask him to start looking. But after we’re done here. I don’t think he has the means to look into Shizuoka’s underworld. If the Hassaikai’s reach is as ironclad in this city as I fear, then anyone I’d contact would rat me out before I can say ‘money’, criminal or otherwise.’ I reply mentally. ‘If this didn’t alert them, then they’re deaf and dumb.’
Mawla hums with ambivalence, and I imagine him tapping the hilt of his sword. ‘A fair point. Thou hast ransacked a temple of the wicked priest, and helped wipe it clean of false idols. Iblis will be wrathful and eager to mete out punishment. But that leaves thee with the problem of finding the next temple.’
I snort and look around. The walls are scrubbed clean, the labs and weapons gone. Even the furniture was carted out, leaving empty rooms bereft of odour or life, save the faint scent of bleach and cleaning fluid. I walk down the hall, glancing inside rooms in the vain hope I’d find a stray clue, but to no avail. Soon enough, I return to the main hall, where just around the corner, I can make out the faint outlines of the ruined wall -
Rubble flies past me as I feel drilling in my ears. My heart is on the verge of exploding. The blood rushes everywhere as I grip my head because everything's so loudloudloudmakeitstop -
"WHERE ARE YOU!?"
A̶̭̫͎̍̋̄́̀̑͝͝a̶̱̲͕͕̠̝̠͕̔̕̕͝a̴͖̭͎͈͚͊̔̄͛ͅá̸̪̔̑̉́͆͐͝â̷͉͙̝̑͗͠a̵̧̺̦̯͈̐̄͝ạ̵̢̮̻͋̎̉̊̓̇͘á̷̛̗͚̺̺̞̑͂̚a̵̡̲̰̝͕͇͗̀́̕a̷̘̟̦̞͚̋̍̔̄̑̑͘͜ȁ̵̫̣̦͉̿͂̔̀̓̏͂ă̵͓̠̘͌́́̌͂̒r̵̘͎̰̤̳͕̄̾͊̚r̸͙͈̈́̈́ř̷͉̯̇͒͂̉͘g̶͎͚͈̤͚̻͗̎̈́̓͜g̸̠̣͉̟͍͍̝͖͊̈́̏̅ǧ̸̨͓̟̰͕͛̽͐́̽͒͆h̶̠͔̻̬͍́ḧ̴̠̘̫͙̭́ḫ̷̢̙͚̫͂͂̽ḫ̶̢͕̂̈́̀̅̓̚h̶͚͉͉̿̎̈́!̸̡̡̢̼̖̰̫̊̆̐͑̈́̓͘!̷̯̘̥̠̰̺̀̉̐ͅ!̷̮̖͌!̸̟̻̤̻̖̘̗͌͗̌̒͑̎̉̏
‘CONTRACTOR!’
I blink, and the world slowly returns. Feeling pressure against my hand, I look aside and see it splayed against the wall. Swallowing to banish the sudden hollowness in my throat, I realize I’d also fallen to my knees.
‘Breathe, contractor. Remember the Valley. Focus on its soothing wands, and let them carry thine anguish into the endless sands.’
Nodding, I take a deep breath, feeling the oxygen scrape against my canal like a torrent of sawdust. Take it in, and let it out. Fade, o dread, fade with the hamsin, and let stillness soothe my soul.
In. Out.
In. Out.
In. Out.
…
Finally, I muster the strength to force myself back up. Quickly confirming my Concealment is still active, I clench my fist and slowly make my way out of the building. Once sunlight hits my eyes and I pick up my gym bag from the nearby alley, I walk down the street and hone in on the sounds of life—the chattering of TVs. Children babble to their parents. A cat pawing at a can as a car drives by, eliciting a sharp howl. Even the rustling of junk tumbling down asphalt and cement in the spring breeze. This city is alive. I am alive. I am walking. I am here. Not here. Away from there. Away from it.
‘Be at peace, contractor. Thy foes await, but the maw of the den is at the horizon. Enjoy and savor the breath of the sun and the kiss of the breeze, for they shall greet thee upon thy return. If thy madar’s embrace feels ever-distant, take comfort in those small things that mankind never considers.’
‘...thank you, Mawla.’ I say with a smile, though it’s a fragile one and quickly fragments. ‘I thought a week at home would’ve helped. Guess I was fooling myself more than usual.’
‘‘Twas less delusion and more illusion. The mind is a sensitive aspect of the soul. Even those who have steeled it through blood and toil may remain ignorant of the cracks, simply because they are unable to see them. I have seen men who knew nothing but war and carnage break from not one incident, but the overwhelming pressure of many, each chipping away piecemeal at their psyche. The fact thou hast not allowed such minor infractions to weaken thee speaks volumes of thy fortitude. As thy decision to return to the stimulus of thy fracture.’
‘It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that,’ I say, weaving past a teen dancing to tunes on his earphones. ‘I needed to punch myself while looking in the mirror to go through with it, and then I got sidelined by the new security measures at the train station! Metal detectors, x-rays, ID scan…I almost didn’t think I could hold the Concealment that long.’
‘Muraqabah proved a useful tool in this endeavor, and the motions of the train proved useful challenges.’
I chuckle. I can’t deny that. But even after I evaded the security measures and exited Shizuoka station, I still feared stepping into the streets. I was almost tempted to turn around and wait for the train back, if it wasn’t for the words echoing in the depths of my mind:
“If it stops you, cut it down until it doesn’t. It’s that easy.”
…what else could I do but keep moving forward?
‘What is thy plan now, contractor?’
Humming, I pick up my pace. ‘Well, it stands to reason that even with my…failure…at the drug den, I’ve turned more than a few heads around, especially with Shizuoka’s Finest. From what I’ve read from articles, they’re like bloodhounds when it comes to cases like these. Normally, that’s bad for me, but in this case, they’ve gotta be all over this case. Probably their next big target, and no police or pro hero would miss up a chance to bust down a drug ring. Add to that the prestige of hunting the last true yakuza clan in Japan…this’ll be all the cops are talking about in their cubicles. And that’s exactly where we need to look.’
About half an hour later, I stand before a white, eight-storied building. The windows are polished, the parking lot is packed with cars and cruisers alike, policemen in their sky-blue uniforms march in and out of the sliding doors, and the roof is bare and flat, save for a police shield emblazoned on top, right over the sign that reads “SHIZUOKA POLICE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS”.
A stroke of genius, one I’d normally never consider due to the sheer risk. This is the equivalent of entering the lion’s den - and unlike a kalb’s hideout, I can’t kill anyone inside.
‘Bold, indeed. The beating heart of order in this city, and thou intend to ferret out its secrets where the sword hangs a hair’s length above thy neck.’
‘This is pure recon: I sneak in, hide far away from any cops, and the moment someone says something useful and concrete, I’m outta here. If I do meet any resistance…’ I trace a finger over one of my belt pouches. ‘It will be as good a field test as any for the new toy. Thanks for that, by the way.’
‘Thy future encounters bear a much higher risk of entrapment, and poison may not provide the necessary edge. I would not have considered teaching the craft of this new tool to thee under normal circumstances, since it would serve as a crutch, but plans go awry and time waits for none, not even I. Make good use of them.’
‘I hope I won’t,’ I reply and scan the area. ‘Standing around here won’t do me any good. Before I start, though, I’d better find a place to stash this.’ Patting my bag, I circle the police station, spotting cameras or any bauble attached to a wall that resembles one. I need somewhere secure to stash the bag, somewhere the cops won’t look and the cameras won't catch. A few minutes of circling later, however, I concede and stash the bag near a dumpster two streets away. A bit too far for my tastes, but I’m dealing with a police station. All they need is one swab of DNA from the bag, and it’s curtains for me.
Once I ensure no one can see the bag, I head back to the station and follow two uniforms right through the doors. Almost immediately, the calm sounds of the city are replaced by a relentless cacophony upon my sensitive eardrums. Fluorescent lights hum against the din of rapid-fire typing and boot-clad footsteps. Cops and secretaries chat amidst the rifling of paperwork, an unfortunate throwback to earlier times. Policemen of all sizes walk in and out of hallways and rooms, a cadence of professionalism in their step. Another hope dashed: these guys looked competent. Or maybe my success has made me spoiled. A few people are lined up at the reception desk, playing with their hands and phones as the lady in the front chatters the ears off the bag-eyed receptionist, who seems like she’d rather be swimming in concrete than parked behind a desk.
Rather crowded for my tastes…but this is a police headquarters. All the attention and hot intel go through here. Now, where should I hunker down and eavesdrop?
‘I know I’m not supposed to trust cop shows, because they’re 90% fake…but there should be something like a janitor’s closet or a copy room somewhere. That could afford me some privacy.’
Gathering my resolve, I navigate past the lobby and down the leftmost hallway. Staying on the ground floor is too risky, so I open a door and ascend a stairwell. Entering the fourth floor, I find it mercifully quieter. I sneak past secretaries and suited men, peeking into any open door I can spot. Unfortunately, every room is occupied in some form, so I head back and ascend another floor. It’s more of the same, but to my luck, I pass by an office when the two inside it say something that catches my ear -
“-what about level 6? Is that open?”
“Nope. Booked in an hour, and you know how Captain Rikimaru is about his conference rooms.”
“Yeah yeah, he gets the room for the whole day. Why does the Chief let him wipe his ass with us?”
“Dunno. From what I heard at the coffee machine, he was a shoo-in for Commissioner, but some last-minute office politics kept him at captain. Chief’s been tryin’ to appease him, ‘cause while he’s an ass, he’s one of our best. And with all the shit that’s been going down lately, we need our best.”
“...he’s still a prick.”
“I never denied that.”
Oho? Thank you, office gossip!
Rushing back to the stairwell, I go up to level 6 and enter the linoleum-lined hallway. I barely cross half of it before I stare at a pair of thick metal doors, flanked by two plaques reading “HALL 6.”
Checking one last time no one’s watching, I push open the doors and bask in the room’s... blandness. Just a long table with a wireless keyboard and mouse set, surrounded by padded swivel chairs, with a whiteboard and a pull-down screen at the far end.
‘Utilitarian and fits its purpose. It need not be anything else.’
Welp, enough admiring the lack of decor.
I sit cross-legged against the door, closing it shut. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and reach into my soul.
“Sight and sound, bestow upon me thy revelations…
ZABANIYA!”
Lines. Rooms. Pipes. Vents. They all unfold before my mind’s eye. Every crevice, tile seam and window crack is mapped. The voices are overwhelming, an auditory deluge that rattles my ears and thrums through my body.
Remember the Valley, Ritsu. Remember the sands drifting upon the wind.
The noise…it doesn’t subside, but it doesn’t flood me. It's as though I’m flying through the map, and every wall is encased with the sounds that it holds. Parsing through each hall takes me little more than scant seconds, even if the sudden return to muffled ambiance is jarring. Reports, gossip, dinner, bragging, gossip, gossip, complaints… junk, not what I need. The Shizuoka chief’s office is empty, so he’s away. Shame, that would’ve been a juicy source of information. Hm, but there are other conference rooms here…
A far lesser number than the regular offices.
Checking door number one…
“Traffic on Golden Week is a major cause of accidents, so what’s your response when an intersection gets clogged way past the point of a red light?”
If I had a car, then I’d care. Moving on.
“The thief’s been spotted near Danke, eyeing the group home as a potential target. Springload will patrol there, so we’ll hang back and-”
Pro hero's assistance in the arrest of a robber. Interesting, not what I’m looking for.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but keep the safety on EVERY FUCKING SECOND -”
Good to know.
“This is accurate?”
“My informant’s as solid as they come. If he wants to avoid a decade in prison, he knows not to lie. I’m telling you, they’re hauling there!”
Well, well, well. What have we here? Conference room…in the sublevels? The stairwell didn’t go down. Hm, must be a hidden entrance for emergencies or through an elevator.
“And these boxes-”
“They’re product. Top of the line narcotics. All sealed and hidden, of course, just like the smugglings in Osaka. I’m betting there’s even a lab hidden there, just like in Midoniru street!”
The same street where the drug house is.
An older man rubs his chin, scraping against badly-shaven hairs, and hums. “But there isn’t any display of drugs or illegal substances and products in these photos. Your informant’s word might hold weight, but we need more than that for a warrant.”
“But Captain, if we don’t hit them now, they’ll run and-”
“Which is why we’ll do some scouting first. Commandeer the apartment and rooftop across. Watch their every step, and the moment we record something suspicious, we’ll use that to leverage a warrant. Until then, we can’t go inside. It pisses me off, but we can’t tip our hand too early.”
“Oh…okay,” the younger voice replies with resignation, but morphs into eagerness. “Can I make the request?”
“A little above your pay grade. I’ll ask the chief, but don’t worry, your hotspot on Dole Dori will be the first target.”
Dole Dori?
For the first time today, a genuine smile crosses my face. It seems lips are looser in the lion’s den.
The world of lines and echoes fades away, and I open my eyes to the sterilized sight of the conference room. Pulling out my phone, I type in the name into the maps function.
“A street name…a bit far, but it’s not a long one. There can’t be too many suspicious houses there. Seems manageable.”
‘Favorable news, I assume?’
“A start. I’m hoping there’ll be more.” The world returns to normal as the sound fades into the ether, replaced by the hum of my immediate surroundings. I stand up and stretch. “But we’ve gotta move fast. I don’t know how long it actually takes to get a warrant, and I’d rather find out after I finish my work there.”
‘Hm. So be it, then. Happy hunting, contractor.’
Gladly.
Checking my Concealment, I leave the room and make my way toward the stairwell. I’ll properly scout the area this time, use Zabaniya on the whole street if necessary. That way, if…the birdface…appears, I won’t be blindsided.
‘And if he is present?’
‘...I’ll deal with it then. Maybe wait him out.’
Left unsaid was how I might react. If I hesitated again…
I shake my head. First, actually find the place. Priorities.
Descending the grated stairs, I reach the lobby door. Opening it, the first thing I notice is the sudden mass of whispers, drowning out every other noise. Cautiously, I creep closer, noticing how the two passing policemen rubbernecked in the lobby’s direction. The older cop shushed his partner, muttering a few half-formed words and one other: “Nighteye.”
Nighteye?
I’ve heard that name before.
I arrive at the lobby, peering over the aisle corner. Standing in the middle of the lobby is a bespectacled man with a sharp chin and narrow eyes, crowned with smoothed, yellow-streaked green hair. A red tie hangs around his neck and over his white suit, adding to the already-high aura of professionalism he’s radiating. At his side is a hot, blue-skinned woman wearing a diving mask. Pro Hero, though I don’t recognize her.
Yes, I’m saying hot, because objectively, she is.
Yet the suited man draws my attention the most. There’s an intensity to him I’ve seen in very few people - no, rather like my mother when she’s in full ‘lawyer’ mode. Perhaps he is a lawyer? Then what’s he doing with a pro hero?
Clinging to the wall just in case, I focus my Quirk on his conversation with the mustached officer.
“-eyes wherever we can place them, but they’re lying low. We haven’t seen any major sightings for a week.”
The suited man hums and rubs his chin. “What about the highways and traffic cameras? Was there any unusual movement?”
“Nothing beyond the norm. The checkpoints haven’t turned up anything either. We’ve been stopping every truck and van that goes in and out of the city, but we’ve hit no leads. The closest we got is a sidewalk dealer with a ziploc’s worth of Trigger-lace, but he’s not talking, no matter what we try.”
“Loyalty or fear?”
“From what the detectives say, it's both.”
“Troubling. Was my suggestion regarding the shift rotations accepted?”
The cop chuckles. “At this point, everything that comes out of your mouth is scripture to the chief. If you’ve asked him, he’s probably done it. I’m more concerned that even with all the suggestions, we haven’t ensnared any meaningful evidence for over a week.”
“Their reach runs as deep as I had thought,” the suited man says with a discontented frown. “They’ve been operating in the city for years, below both our radars. Whenever we come knocking, they leave no trace. To think a yakuza group would be this persistent…”
I suspected, but it’s nice to have confirmation. A hero who’s actively investigating the Hassaikai? That could spell trouble, but I knew a hero would join this operation. The way the blue-skinned girl is hanging back is suspect, because I don’t think a pro hero would let their lawyer have this much authority. Ergo, he’s a hero himself. The only mystery remaining is who he is exactly, because I swear I’ve seen him before. The news? The phone? Both?
“Bubble Girl, do you wish to add to the conversation?”
The heroine flinches at her sudden addressing, but she quickly composes herself and clears her throat. Bubble Girl? Okay, she has to be a sidekick or an intern.
“Well, Sir Nighteye said you have houses under surveillance, right?”
“We do,” the cop nods. “Most of them are on the outskirts, but a few are downtown. We’ve spotted unusual movements coming and going from some of them, but nothing that would convince a judge to issue a warrant. There was a truck or two, but they dropped furniture that the residents unboxed right up on the lawn. Our equipment didn’t detect any signs of drugs either.”
“What about Quirks?”
“So far, we haven’t been able to reach any heroes with a suitable Quirk to help us out, other than you two, of course. And even then, it’s a whole different legal issue regarding evidence supported only by a Quirk.”
Okay, they’re experiencing delays. Good for me. But that name sticks out and rings through my head. Sir Nighteye…Nighteye…come on, Ritsu, where have you heard that name before? A hero who only dresses in an office suit can’t be that -
Wait.
An article I read while researching Shizuoka comes to mind, headlines blaring.
“SIR NIGHTEYE STRIKES AGAIN! THREE VILLAINS WITH ONE BLOW!”
Oh…oh dear. I feel my palms trying to grab a fistful of the wall. That’s Sir Nighteye? Okay, they’ve pulled out the big guns. This could prove…problematic. In the best-case scenario.
‘I take it he is a hero of some prominence, contractor?’
‘From what I’ve read, definitely. He doesn’t get much publicity like the Top 10 or the flashier heroes, but when he is mentioned, they preach to the heavens. A brilliant investigator with a huge track record in dealing with rampaging villains and undercover operations alike. To top it off, he was All Might’s sidekick a few years ago before he set off on his own. You don’t enter a position like that by smiling and playing nice for the cameras. I don’t think the big man had any other sidekick.’
‘A man who learns at the foot of the wise is a beast to be feared, but only if he learns how to apply the wisdom he’s gained. Alas, this Nighteye does not possess the bearing of one who would discard such experience. What is his ability?’
I scrunch up my nose, recalling the articles as best I can. I’d use my phone for this, but I don’t need further distractions while hiding in a police precinct. ‘I… don't know. The articles didn’t mention his Quirk. At all. Which is strange for hero news. They inflate even a toenail quirk if it’s on a conspicuous hero, if he isn’t flashy.’
‘Then his ability is not one he uses frequently. Or it can turn the tide of battle with such ease, he has chosen to conceal it to stay ahead of potential adversaries. I suggest thou act as if the latter is the likely outcome.’
‘Which begs the question of what sort of Quirk can act as a game-changer without being ostentatious?’ The pictures that accompanied the articles didn’t show any damage caused by a Quirk that wasn’t the perpetrator’s. ‘Mental? Self-enhancing?’
‘Without further insight, I cannot divine further. More research shall be required. If this hero is as dangerous as thou claim, rushing in without a plan of attack is folly. Thou’st enough of those under thy belt as is.’
Ouch.
‘I am in complete agreement with your sagacious advice. Okay, let’s book it, hit the drug den, and call it a day. I’ll conduct proper research on the train ride back.’
Steeling myself, I creep from behind the corner and walk to the sliding doors. Nighteye, Bubble Girl and the cop keep talking, with the sidekick scribbling in a notepad while her mentor remains deep in the conversation. A cop walks in front of me, causing the doors to open. The moment he steps outside, I follow, intent on getting my bag and putting as much distance between me and the law of Shizuoka behind me. The shortest route is on a main highway, so I’ll have to watch the pedestrians even more -
Click.
In that one moment, time stretched to infinity.
My Quirk registers the sound.
It could’ve been a paper clip. A stray staple that fell out of a pocket. A phone’s button being pressed.
But Mawla’s countless hours of training sends alarm through my body as my leg sinks.
Not even a centimeter. A step so shallow one could confuse it for a bump in the floor.
But my gaze snaps down to the black rubber mat spanning the doors, and the hammer falls.
Shrill bells ring. Every cop in the lobby freezes and reaches for their weapon. Sprinklers turn on full blast and water cascades from holes in the ceiling.
As if it couldn’t get worse -
“EVERYONE BACK AWAY FROM THE DOOR! WE HAVE A CODE 5-7! POSITIONS!”
“Form the line, I’m leading this!”
Of course the hero noticed.
Holding back a slew of curses in every language I know, I draw my dagger and face the growing line of cops aiming their pistols in my general direction. Right in front of them, Nighteye and the girl stand, each creeping on my left and right.
Fuck. Of all the things…pressure sensors!?
How? It didn’t trigger when I entered the building!
“Unknown intruder. Drop your cloaking, and identify yourself,” Nighteye says, his voice the picture of composed as his white suit grows soaked. “You have entered a police station without submitting proper identification. Surrender peacefully, or else.”
I shift in place, only to wince as he lasers in on the splash my foot makes against the water-covered rubber mat. There’s already so much water…
“I’ll repeat one more time: drop the cloaking and identify yourself.”
If I want the door to open, I might actually have to. Unless the alarm activated some lockdown sequence, and in that case, I’m doubly screwed.
Pulling out another knife, I inhale and focus. Ignore the downpour, ignore the guns. They still can’t see me.
The circle is your world. There is nothing outside of it.
Nighteye hums and reaches into his suit. “I gave you a warning. Consider that my only courtesy.”
Instincts screaming, I fall to the floor as blurs fly over me and crash into the glass door. Glass cracks as I stand up and dodge a punch that scatters the drops around it.
Are those…stamps?
Another kick rockets toward my chest, but I leap back and throw the knife. A miss, but a distraction one. I summon it back while slashing with my other knife at his exposed leg. He pulls it back right as the blade grazes his pant leg, tearing off a shred of cloth. My knife returns, but he’s fast, pivoting on his heel and sending an uppercut my way. I twist as best I can, but it’s not enough to dodge the blow to my shoulder.
Grimacing at the sudden impact, I attempt a full spin using the momentum, and my knives tear through the sprinkler’s downpour towards Sir Nighteye. The blades barely clip his hair. A single yellow strand from the coiffed locks is barraged by the manmade rain. I catch a narrowing of yellow eyes before his fist is right in my face. I step back, but find myself falling, victim to the treacherous floor. My flailing leg grazes his fist, knocking it off course. Too bad he has another one.
Pain runs down my legs. I almost crash into the wall, headfirst, but I swerve just enough for it to hit the soles of my boots. I hold back a growl as he stares, dismissal and concentration mixed into a compound that grates on my nerves. Policemen shout to hold their fire, though the deluge and alarm ring in my ears too much. He takes one step, intent on finishing it. Four knives fly. Before even a single blade reaches him, however, he angles his body so that they all miss him, skewering the white plaster behind. I summon them back, and they come spinning from the wall -
Only for him to catch one by the hilt.
The force of my pull is strong, but he holds firm, even with his shoes against the slippery floor.
“Interesting,” he comments, tilting his head as he analyzes the knife. “I found a knife of this exact make a week ago among the ruins of an abandoned drughouse. Well-maintained and well used.” The fluorescent lights glint off his glasses as his focus shifts to me. “Care to indulge, Shinigami?”
…oh, fuck.
Yeah, I threw a knife at the roid monster. A knife that I didn’t summon back.
And he’d found it. Traced it back to me.
Word travels fast.
I clamp my mouth shut, the snarl of sheer frustration threatening to escape its dental cage. Sheathing one knife, I grip the others and look for another angle.
My luck has to be this shitty, doesn’t it?
“Not one to boast?” he asks, straightening his tie. “Irrelevant. You’ll have plenty of time to boast when you’re in custody. Bubble Girl!”
Water splashes to my left, and I turn right as a giant soap bubble explodes in my face.
Double shit!
“Argh!”
It’s in my eyes! My eyes!
Footsteps echo and I leap blindly aside, dropping my knives. A vice-grip traps my leg, and as my vision clears, I see Nighteye clutching the limb, knuckles paling.
“This isn’t Tokyo, Shinigami. The day you set foot in Shizuoka is the day you signed your life sentence behind bars.” He pulls me closer as I claw the ground and kick him with the other leg. The water’s distracting, messing up my grip and aim. He leans closer, consternation pulling his face. “Whatever your goals, your ideals, this twisted crusade you’ve envisioned for yourself, it ends here. For a murderer like you to roam the streets is an insult to heroes everywhere. I admit, you have some nerve waltzing into a police station in broad daylight. But whatever you’ve found here will prove useless, seeing how the only place you’ll be going to is a cell in the depths of Tartarus.”
Not today, corporate!
My hands finally anchor, and I pull myself forward, the rapidly swelling puddles seeping through my waterproof suit. The door sensor’s red light hangs above. There! If I can get out -
I drop the Concealment and slam the rubber mat. Nothing.
“A new procedure the police chief implemented on my advice,” Nighteye states. “When the pressure pad triggers and nothing is spotted on the camera, the entire building enters lockdown status. All doors and entry points are locked. No one in, no one out. I had a suspicion you would try to find more avenues of information if the yakuza’s bitter fruits yielded nothing. To them, out-of-town criminals are worthy of the same disdain they levy at us heroes.” His nose wrinkles and he snorts a wet lock from his forehead. “Seeing you in person, I share their sentiment.”
My breath hitches, but I send another kick at his grip. Needles pierce my heel as he grabs the other limb mid-attack and wrenches it open.
“Stop struggling. Spare whatever dignity that remains and come quietly. Because, unlike you, we grant a fair trial to our accused. Though I struggle to picture a judge who’ll offer the slightest ounce of leniency for your crimes. Bubble Girl, prepare the restraints!”
Our eyes meet, and venom flows between us. The smug, arrogant…and he’s good. The reflexes to dodge my knives by watching the cascade are insane. A martial artist and an investigator? Combined with whatever his Quirk is, I’m starting to see why he was the Number One’s sidekick.
But I can’t quit here. Not the yakuza, not to the cops, not to All Might’s ex-errand boy, and not to him. Not after the monster. Not after I dragged my sorry ass to this infested town.
If something stands in your way, just cut it.
From the corner of my eye, I spot the stamps lying on the ground. Above them, the spiderweb cracks on the glass remain. I don’t know what is in those things for them to do so much damage…
If not cut, then how about smash?
“Now, let’s see what you are hiding behind that mask, shall we?”
His sclera blackens, and his irises flash purple. For what seems like an eternity, we stare at each other, ensorcelled by the effect. Is that his Quirk? What is it!?
Then, his face wavers, and his eyes widen. A slight dropping of the jaw. “What on earth-”
A minute slackening of his grip.
“Contractor, act!”
I thrust my hand into my belt pouch and pull out the item I crafted yesterday. Raising it high, I draw everyone’s attention. I just need one second.
The line of police raises their guns again. “DROP IT!”
I bring my fist down, and the item shatters. And amidst the rain from above come the thunderclouds.
A cloud blacker than ink explodes in my palm and spreads all around. Nighteye yells in surprise and loosens his grip just as I throw my last knife in his direction. As I’ve come to expect, he dodges it. Yet within the smoke, I spot his silhouette, and his next blow is way off-course.
Good. But I’d rather not stick around to see how long the cloud holds up in the rain.
“We’ve lost visual! Hold fire, batons only!”
Quickly sheathing the knives, I reactivate my Concealment and grab the stamps. With every ounce of strength I can muster, I throw the seals again against the door. They strike true, and the glass shatters.
No time to waste.
Fresh air greets me, along with a blockade of police cars. One of them alerts his buddies and they aim their guns in my direction, but another black cloud catches them by surprise. A convenient target, too bad it’s a false one. The chaos and blaring alarm of the precinct echoes behind me as I run through the streets, reaching my stash point and grabbing my gym bag. Twist, turn, north, east. The city blurs past me, my panting ringing in my sensitive ears. Away, away, away.
Finally, silence. An alley, tucked tight between two houses. Narrow and unassuming. My refuge. I slump against the wall, gravity dragging me down until my butt kisses the earth. My bag falls as well, the side pressed against me, and sporting a giant wet patch.
There’s a talk show playing somewhere. A kid complaining about math homework. Birds chirping on the powerlines. My raging heartbeat hammers against my thoroughly soaked chest, drowns them all. Weariness envelops my throbbing limbs. I almost fall asleep then and there.
…but I’m free.
I’m not in a cell. I’m not on a bus to Tartarus.
I’m free.
“...heh.”
Insane. Absolutely, and utterly, insane.
“Heh.”
I blindsided All Might’s sidekick. I spat in the eye of every cop in this city with one stroke.
And I’m still standing.
“HAHAHAHAHA!!!”
I can’t help it. I clutch my sides even as my body throbs in pain. The bag strap is pulled with my arms as I try to contain the insanity of it all. If I don’t stop soon, I’m going to keep laughing like a lunatic until the neighbors poke their heads out!
But I can’t help it.
It’s too much.
Thankfully, my body’s protest cannot go ignored, so I managed to quell my laughter and begin a short Muraqabah. The meditative position aches, with the phantom needles tormenting my calves, but I pull through and allow my mind to touch the Valley.
In. Out.
The winds caressing the dunes, singing in the caves. Cars driving by, cats prowling in the garbage.
In. Out
The drifting souls, passing to the ethereal blue. A woman asks her husband about a commotion, but the TV draws her interest.
In. Out.
…better. A little.
‘A successful getaway, contractor.’
‘Thanks. It was a tight one.’
‘Indeed. Thou underestimate the lengths thy adversaries of the law would go to capture thee. Yet thou snatched victory from azure jaws and absconded with crucial intelligence. Take pride in that, for ‘tis a victory worthy of it.’
I’m not blushing. I’ve been praised before; I know how to handle it. It’s just the Muraqabah warming me up.
‘It’s you I have to thank, Mawla. If it wasn’t for your little gift...’ I dig into my belt pouch. ‘I’d be singing a completely different tune.’
The black stone, roughly bigger than my thumb, glimmers with traces of white and purple. I trace its surface, observing how the powder clings to my wet glove. It’s an innocuous object, easily mistaken for a trinket. But I’ve seen this form after hours of toiling over a burning pot. It’s worth every second of toiling, mixing, and measuring.
‘In thy mother tongue, it is the Breath of the Black Sand. A fanciful name for such a small tool. Yet when the hour of need draws, a man will trade his family and soul for it.’
Or in layman’s terms, a smoke bomb. When the rock breaks, it produces a massive cloud of smoke, thicker and blacker than any I’ve seen before. I thought it would discharge in the pouch, but Mawla insisted it was safe. A mere crack or chip wasn’t enough; the whole thing had to break.
‘I can see why.’ I toss the rock in the air and catch it. ‘Gotta say, this is even better than the poison.’
‘Which thou showed wisdom by not applying thy blade with it before thou embarked. The lawmen are baying for thy blood and the clan of filth in equal measure. The death of one of their own would have painted thee as the greater priority. A situation thou art keen to avoid.’
‘Huzzah. Speaking of…’ I pocket the black rock and pull myself up. ‘We need to get going. The more I wait, the higher the chance my attack’s unwanted consequences will hit me.’
‘Aye, ‘tis a fair observation. Is the path known to thee?’
Pulling out my phone, I type the road name again. ‘We’re a little off from what I wanted, but it’s nothing a sprint won’t be able to fix.’ Good thing too, I can feel the pain fading from my calves. ‘Time to go hunting.’
Tossing the bag’s strap over my head, I break into a run. Yet as I venture into the city, I feel Nighteye’s stare boring into me. Strong, intelligent, and perceptive; a combination I’ve only faced with Araya, and he was blinded by zealotry and superiority. Nighteye lacks those flaws.
I’ll have to watch my back doubly if I want to finish this mission, but those purple eyes…what were they?
‘Mawla, did you feel anything when he stared at me?’
A dark rumble echoes in my ears, and I hear the whisper of spirits.
‘A minor inconvenience, contractor. Focus on the mission for the time being. What he has glimpsed shall not compromise thee. For one should not peer beyond what they are meant to see.’
-x-
“Any news?”
The captain shook his head. “We’ve sent word to every team in the city. No changes. If even a bird chirps for no reason, we’ll know.”
Nighteye sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose that’s all we can hope for right now. I wonder if the chief considers this good news.” He glanced at the All Might 1st anniversary poster on his office wall. The smile that brought hope to himself and millions in Japan seemed weaker today.
“Hah! Good news!?” Even a deaf man could have picked up the irritation in the captain’s voice. “Sure, if we can call a few extra lines on the recorder good news. That’ll comfort him for sure! It’s not like the mother of all eggs was thrown in our faces!” He reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but resisted at the last second and returned to fiddling with his hat. “A serial killer waltzes into our station, does god-knows-what, then escapes? What kind of picture do you think that sends?”
“A perturbing one, and I worry as much as you about the implications,” Nighteye replied, his voice growing hard. “The security system worked exactly as intended. He was trapped with no way out, and I was one second away from tossing him into your holding cells. Then he blindsides us in the most literal fashion and disappears. Quite the victory he snatched from me. If the situation weren’t so serious, I’d consider laughing.”
None of Tsukauchi’s files indicated Shinigami used tools beyond his knives, relying wholly on his invisibility. It was a classic case of overconfidence…one that Shinigami also realized and corrected.
“Have the analysts gathered samples from the smoke bomb?”
“Yeah, but it’s nothing more than a few crumbs.” He shook his head and stared outside the window. “We won’t get results for another day.”
“Shame, but understandable.” He steepled his fingers and glanced at his phone. Silent as it was ten minutes ago. “I suppose this wasn’t how you expected the day to go, did you?”
The captain grunted and leaned back in his chair. The twilight cast its crimson-tinged light through the open windows, bathing his half-shaven face and creasing frown. A sympathetic twinge ran through Nighteye as he took in the weary visage of the captain. To find out that your headquarters were infiltrated by one of the most dangerous villains in recent times was not a pleasant sensation. He shared the feeling to an extent; he was mere moments from closing the case for good.
The trap was perfect: pressure plates placed under every door, synchronized with hidden cameras along the walls and ceilings. If enough pressure is applied and nothing is visible on the camera, the alarm would trigger and send the headquarters into lockdown. The chief, on his advice, had also sealed the windows to prevent any unsupervised infiltration. It was based on deduction and a hunch, and for the most part, Nighteye was glad that his predictions paid off. To his and everyone’s dismay, it wasn’t enough.
“I’ve read the files the chief sent us. Why’s a freak like Shinigami chasing after the yakuza here?”
“I believe he is following a surplus of drugs from Tokyo. His twisted view of justice could not tolerate the existence of a group outside his reach, so he came here. The only other explanation is that he has personal business to settle with the Hassaikai, but I’ll disregard that for the lack of evidence.”
“A serial killer hunting down yakuza…” the captain murmured, scrunching his nose. “What are the odds?”
Not as low as he hoped.
The captain puffed a stray lock of black hair from his face, then averted his gaze from the ceiling. Their eyes locked, and he chewed on air, words heavy on his tongue. Nighteye resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow; Captain Nakajima was blunt and weathered from his many years of duty. A tad crass for his tastes at times, but a consummate professional through and through. He and the captain have helped each other several times in the past six years since Nighteye established himself in Shizuoka, and he found himself comfortable with the man. He always delivered both good and bad news in equal blunt measure and preferred to leave the speeches to ‘cops who actually knew PR.’
But hesitating before speaking? This was a heavy matter indeed.
“Say…you used your Quirk on him, right? That normally means you could provide a lot more information, even put a face to the name. Yet we’re still here, waiting to hear from our surveillance teams. What happened?”
Ah. The inevitable question.
“I did use my Foresight on Shinigami. I tried peering as far as I could before he broke eye contact. I saw him in houses, killing people left and right. And yes, I even glimpsed him with his mask in his hand. Watching people in daylight, lurking and waiting for his next victim.”
“But?”
A discontent hum left his pressed lips.
“His face…it was young, I’m sure of it. Not much younger than my intern, Lemillion. But the rest was…blurry. In all my years, never once has a face been hidden from my visions. Even if my target is masked, I can divine their face through my Foresight. But every glimpse of his face was smeared over, akin to a smudge on a painting.”
He stood before a man with a plague mask. His form trembled with fury as the man regarded him with impassiveness.
He vanished, and the room burst into spikes.
“Shinigami will confront a high-ranking member of the Shie Hassaikai, and the outcome will prove devastating to their surroundings. I tried pushing further, to see if we could capture him, but…”
A black sky, tinged with blue. Walls of stone, reaching ever higher. In the center, a cloaked figure bearing Shinigami’s flaming blue eyes, but older. Far older. He’d first deemed it a glimpse too far into the future, that in his haste, he’d pushed beyond what he needed…and then the voice spoke.
“Flee, O seer, for thou art not welcome in these hallowed grounds. Run, eat bread, and prophesy elsewhere.”
Impossible. He could never hear conversations with his Quirk. And now this?
“He cut my connection, then seized my surprise to escape.”
“Holy shit,” Nakajima said, sitting upright. “And you told me no one but you can see your visions. What does it mean? He has an anti-mind reading Quirk or something on top of everything else?”
“The answers prove elusive, Captain. I’m as incensed and worried as you are.” Nighteye replied, glancing at the phone again. Same as before. “The only clue I deduced was that he would hit another yakuza house sometime soon. Hence why we’re waiting for the men to reply -”
The phone blared to life.
“Nighteye Hero Agency, Nighteye speaking,” he answered immediately.
“This is Officer Ikuse. I’m calling from Dole Dori Street. A surveillance team was watching over one of the suspected drug houses, and they reported a suspicious lack of activity two hours ago. Infrared goggles show a complete lack of heat signatures. We just got a search warrant signed.”
He shot up from his seat. “Hold your position, officer. I’m heading down there at once.”
“Will do.”
The captain was quick to stand up as well. “Already? After the thrashing you gave him?”
“Persistence was mentioned as a notable trait. We’ll take your cruiser.” Slamming the phone down on its rest, Nighteye grabbed a set of high-density seals from his shelf and ran out of the office, the captain matching his pace. When they reached the lobby, he spotted Bubble Girl and his other sidekick, Centipeder, poring over a screen together.
“Centipeder, with me! Bubble Girl, hold down the fort until we return!”
The girl yelped and hastily nodded. “Y-yes, Sir!”
Centipeder grunted, his insectoid eyes narrowing as he followed the two men. Arriving at the police car, Nighteye brabbed the shotgun seat while Centipeder squirrled himself in the back, despite the discomfort to his unusual head. Nakajima hit the gas, and the three rode down the city streets.
“Where to, Sir?” The sidekick asked, focus piercing through his high-pitched voice.
“Dole Dori. Possible confrontation with both yakuza and Shinigami.”
He chittered. “So he is here…what’s the plan?”
“For now, I’ll lead the charge. Brace yourself and prepare to capture everyone in the building.”
Although his face remained the picture of calm, Nighteye felt his fists clench. His visions lacked a sense of timing, which didn’t help his preparations. He knew Shinigami would strike soon, but this soon?
‘Perhaps my attack pressured him to hasten his plans.’
“We’re here.”
The two heroes climbed out of the car and into a scene of urban siege. Police cars lined the street, while armored policemen pointed their weapons at a two-storied home, capped with a plated tin roof.
“Sir Nighteye!” one of the men, green-skinned and holding a walkie-talkie in his hand, called out. “I’m Officer Ikuse! We’re ready when you are!”
Nighteye nodded and eyed the house. No signs of a back entrance, and the fact that the force waited here meant no one had confronted them yet. “Have you reached out to the residents?”
“Multiple times. No response.”
He hummed and raised his hand. “Very well. Begin.”
Two policemen rushed to the wooden door, holding a battering ram. Nighteye was quick to follow and motioned to Centipeder. “Stay behind me and prepare to restrain.”
“Yes, Sir.”
With three heaves, the door went down and Nighteye rushed inside the house. Whipping out his high-density seals, he rounded the corner and prepared to strike -
-Only to stop cold at the sight of a corpse.
“Wha-oh, damn…” Centipeder whispered.
Nighteye’s eyes widened as he slowly approached the downed man. A pool of blood had formed around his neck, and a rolled blunt was lying next to his hand. He carefully reached out and touched the man’s exposed neck, right above the wound.
“Still warm…” he muttered. He returned his focus to the hallway and the open door. “He’s already done here…”
“Should I call the force inside?”
“Not yet.” The two then dashed to the open room, with Nighteye chanting internally: ‘Please, let there be at least one -’
Destruction.
A couch torn. A table smashed to the side.
On the cheap carpet, another body stared at the ceiling, his mustached face frozen in a rictus of fear, surrounded by another puddle of blood. A switchblade jammed three-quarters of the way into his neck, the handle pointing up at the sky.
“...should I call them now, Sir?”
“...yes. Search the whole house.”
But Nighteye knew that no life would be found amidst the drugs and furnishings. Shinigami was nothing if not thorough. And that switchblade was a declaration:
He won’t stop. Not until the Hassaikai all drowned in puddles of their own blood.
‘You think yourself a hunter?’ Nighteye thought as shouts and stomping filled the house. ‘So be it. But you’ve fooled me once, Shinigami. Never again.
His eyes swept past the corpses, faces frozen at the zenith of despair.
‘Never again.’
