Darkscythe Drake
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Assassin Among Heroes Ch 34
🕑 Added 2024-11-27 15:31:05 +0000 UTCThe bar was quiet, as it was most days. To most people it would be seen as a sign of bad business; no customers means no pay, and no pay means no bar. Not for Kurogiri. The walking fog candle was content with the serenity that absent customers brought. The patrons who did frequent the bar were not known for their cleanliness or politeness. Every time more than five people came, toes and egos would be bruised and property damage would be incurred. He wasn’t the target of their little drunken brawls - one of the unspoken rules of the underground was never to piss off the guy who poured your drinks, lest you find a little surprise in your mug. Fortunately, Kurogiri was skilled enough with his Quirk to give any rowdy customers the boot. That usually spooked the rest and they tended to leave in a hurry after that, so it wasn’t a surprise that the bar developed a reputation, and that reputation kept away potential customers. Kurogiri didn’t care; his master funded the place, and fewer customers meant fewer chances for others to eavesdrop on private business.
Kurogiri finished polishing another glass when the TV screen in the corner of the room lit up with static. He gave it his immediate attention as his master’s voice blasted through the speakers.
“Kurogiri, I trust everything is ready for this evening’s gathering?”
“Yes, master,” he replied. “I’ve received word from Giran. He’s picked them up and is now en route. They should be here shortly.”
“Excellent. I admit, it proved more difficult to convince them than I previously thought, but no matter. These prospective additions will fill the League’s holes nicely.” He paused for a moment. “How is young Tomura doing? These past few days have been tumultuous and I was forced to intervene in matters personally.”
Kurogiri’s wispy eyes drifted to the faded door tucked in the corner of the bar, where faint light flashed from the gap underneath. “He has…not taken it in stride. I told him of the positive outcomes of the field test but he has holed himself up. The only time he shows himself is to use the bathroom.”
“After trashing whatever poor piece of furniture is in his vicinity, I take it?” All for One asked knowingly. At Kurogiri’s nod, he sighed with vague fondness. “I had hoped Tomura would outgrow this childish phase in time, but it seems I must impress it on him further. Fetch him for me, I need you both present.”
Kurogiri walked around the counter and to the door. He rapped at it with his knuckles and called out: “Tomura Shigaraki, would you come out? The master requires your presence.”
As expected, he received no reply. He knocked harder and asked again, only to be answered with the faint sound of whirring fans. Kurogiri turned the handle and opened the door. Inside was the hunched form of the young Villain, in front of a computer screen and rapidly clicking on a mouse. His headphones were thrown to the side of the room next to scraps of wrapping paper.
The misty-headed man saw Shigaraki wince from behind his chair. “Kurogiri,” he hissed. “Yasuo is about to own these bots to hell with Sweeping Blade and I am this close to clearing the lane from these fucking turrets, so this had better be good.”
Was he so absorbed in the game that he tuned him out? No matter. “The master requests your presence. He wishes to talk about our recent field test.”
Shigaraki paused his game and slowly turned around, a red eye glaring through the fingers of the severed hand on his face, right into Kurogiri’s yellow ones. He held the stare for a moment before grumbling and rising from his chair. Kurogiri allowed the younger man to pass him and saw him wince at the light of the bar. Returning to the bar, he reached under the counter as Shigaraki took a seat on one of the stools.
“Ah, young Tomura. Glad to see you could join us,” said All for One’s voice. “I have some news you will enjoy hearing.”
Shigaraki looked up at the static screen and tilted his head. His posture was still slouched, but he stopped his scratching. Inwardly, Kurogiri was thankful for the three-fingered gamer gloves Shigaraki wore. He would forever be devoted to Tomura, as per his master’s wishes, but a bar counter was difficult to replace.
The fog-man handed Shigaraki a thin paper file and All for One resumed talking. “This file lists some individuals I’ve rallied to our cause. You remember our broker Giran, correct? He’ll be bringing them here shortly.”
Lifting the hand from his face, Shigaraki leafed through the file - a mere double-sided page - and the corners of his eyes wrinkled. “Sensei, are those the only party members you could find?”
“I would prefer to hold off on using my personal contacts until more people have heard our message. This gives a chance for a new crop of villains to strike against the heroes.” All for One paused momentarily. “Considering the aftermath of the Nomu attack, it is best you build up actual manpower and talent.”
A tense silence settled over the bar. Shigaraki gripped the file so tight he threatened to pierce it with his fingers. His teeth were grinding as the words, half-enraged and half-pleading, trickled between their gaps. “I did everything like you said, Sensei. They followed my orders but the heroes wiped the floor with the Nomus like they were fucking NPCs with screwed-up AIs.”
“The Nomus’ performance was less than satisfactory but they did yield results. While you did follow my instructions, you didn’t display much tactical thought in using them beyond their initial deployment. For all the strategies you’ve claimed to accumulate from your games, I have yet to see an example of you applying them in real life.”
The chastisement made the teen wince and shrivel into himself. One hand reached for his neck and began to scratch fiercely, dried flakes falling from the skin. His chapped lips twitched as he muttered some silent excuse. He looked through the file again and shook it. “Where’s Stain? You told me he was a top ranker for the guild.”
“Unfortunately, I have been unable to contact him. Since his failed attack on Ingenium, he has gone further underground than I expected. He resurfaced once to kill the pro hero Native and vanished again. The reason for his second disappearance however, is intriguing.” He paused and let the two villains give him his undivided attention. “Apparently our notorious Hero Killer had a run-in with an unknown individual. I had thought it to be one of ours, but all our Nomus are accounted for. Their battle nearly destroyed an apartment building and Stain was spared only by that individual’s graces. I imagine he is currently recuperating from whatever injuries he sustained.”
The scratching paused and the disheveled Villain’s eyes nearly popped out of their skull. His isolation wasn’t kind to them, turning them into throbbing orbs crowned with pinkish veins.
“The Hero Killer got wrecked?” Shigaraki asked, his lips cracking into a grin. “Fucking hell. You say this guy wrecked a building? Sounds like a tank!”
“I have yet to identify this man, but I will have all my informants keep sharp eyes out.” All for One replied with amusement. “Such power would benefit the League greatly, and if not us, we must ensure the heroes never claim it.”
Shigaraki nodded eagerly. “Yeah, they don’t deserve a tank like that.”
The conversation was interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. While Tomura immediately focused on the door with narrow eyes, Kurogiri regarded it with measured calm.
“Ah, those must be our guests. Kurogiri, if you will?”
Kurogiri nodded and went to the door as Shigaraki placed his severed hand back on his face. With a twist of the knob, he opened it and was greeted with a gap-toothed grin.
“Kurogiri, my friend! Good to see you this evenin’!” exclaimed Giran. “I’ve got the new recruits right here, so why don’t you let us in? I’m sure you’re excited to meet ‘em in person.”
At Kurogiri’s nod, the man strolled into the bar, and behind him followed three costumed men. Giran’s eyes, adorned with yellow sunglasses, roamed across the bar. “You gave the walls a clean-up? Nice touch with the plywood, by the way. Gives it that old-timey rustic feel, you know?”
“Thank you for the compliment,” replied Kurogiri. “We had spare materials on hand.”
“A handyman too! A wisp of many talents!” Giran chuckled. “But enough chit-chat. I’d like to introduce you to these fine gentlemen.” He swept his hand and gestured at the people behind him. The first one wore an orange-collared shirt underneath a dark vest, fastened by a green brooch around his neck, along with dark pants and high white boots that were capped black and reached up to his knee. Atop his head was a brown top hat capped with a feather tucked under a white ribbon, and his face was hidden behind a white mask with black markings resembling a grinning face.
“This showman here is a master thief with years of experience stealing from hero agencies and politicians. His Quirk is one of the most useful I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of Quirks in the trade. He’s eager to challenge the status quo and reveal the corruption behind Heroism.”
The man bowed dramatically. “A pleasure to meet you, Kurogiri-san. You may call me Mr. Compress. Your benefactor was very persuasive, and I would greatly appreciate joining your group. The system of heroes must be exposed, even if it means tearing off the curtain of complacency from the public’s eyes.”
Shigaraki looked at the man up and down, idly tapping the counter, while Giran moved to the next person.
“This is your setup? Great location, I wouldn’t have thought to look here, but isn’t it a little simple?”
Kurogiri ignored the young man’s comment as he looked him over. He had wavy brown hair and wore a black school uniform, and a red-eyed gas mask covered his face. Compared to Mr. Compress, he appeared far younger - not that it was a problem.
“This is Mustard. He’s got a bone to pick against society and made his first mark by gassing his school and killing his teachers. He was on the run from the authorities for a year before I picked him up.”
Shigaraki turned to Mustard with what Kurogiri knew to be an appraising eye. “A hideout doesn’t need to be messy. If you can stash your gear and recover your stats, then it works.”
“What’s with the gamer talk? Spend too much time on the PC?” asked Mustard with a hint of snark. Shigaraki growled and rose from the stool, fingers rapidly twitching.
“Gentlemen, please,” said Compress, waving his hands. “We all have our eccentricities; let’s not allow them to blind us to our common goal.”
The stare-off between the two villains lasted a few more seconds before Mustard sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “Sure.”
Shigaraki grumbled again but sat himself back down. Giran, uncaring or ignorant of the tension, nodded with his hands on his hips.
“Now, our last guest!” he exclaimed, but his grin faded as he stared at the aforementioned man. He scratched the back of his head and flashed a (possibly) embarrassed smile. “Gotta be honest, he overheard me talking to those two and said he was interested. He doesn’t smell like a narc, so I let him come. Hope that’s alright.”
The assembled turned as one to stare at Giran’s final guest. Unlike the others who stood out in some manner, he wore a dark red overcoat that obscured his chest and leg areas, save for a small opening near the top where a tie knot stuck out. His hands were tucked into the coat’s pockets, and the burgundy hood was pulled over his head so tight it completely shadowed his face. Despite the recline of his head, he made no efforts to hide his tall stature, about half a head above Mr. Compress.
“Y’know, I don’t think I got your name, or whatever it is you call yourself…” Giran trailed off expectantly.
The hooded man slowly turned his head, and Kurogiri narrowed his yellow eyes, trying to make out any visible features from the man. But the only thing that pierced through the darkness was what looked like the edge of a mouthpiece, reflecting copper from the dusty lightbulb above.
“Irrelevant,” he said. His deep voice didn’t sound synthetic, but there was something resonant about it. Yet Kurogiri recognized authority - and this was a man who was used to commanding it. “If I find this worth my time, I’ll tell you. Until then, regard me as an observer.”
He shifted his head and stared right at Kurogiri. “Barkeep. I’d like a beer.”
The mist-man stared at the hooded Villain in surprise. This was…not unexpected, they were in a bar, but the rudeness of it took him off-guard.
“Kurogiri,” said All for One from the television. “A beer for our guest. Nothing too strong, I prefer we stay coherent.”
He needed no more instruction, so he pulled a glass mug from under the counter and poured beer from the tap. The hooded Villain walked toward him without a word of complaint, his polished shoes clacking throughout the room, and grabbed the mug while placing a 1000-yen bill on the counter. He swiftly turned his back to them and began sipping from the mug.
“So, I presume you will not show yourself, oh mysterious benefactor?” asked Compress.
“Not at this time. Trust must be established. Just know that I provide the funding and other resources for young Tomura’s venture,” replied All for One.
Shigaraki took the moment and spoke, straightening himself.
“A mage, an alchemist, and whatever the fuck he is. Okay, I can work with that.”
He turned fully to them, and none of them flinched at the sight of the severed hand.
“You’re all here because one way or another, you were screwed over by heroes. Maybe it was a personal attack from one or by the system they hold up, I don’t care because it doesn’t matter. If you dig deep enough, it all boils down to one thing.” He paused and took a deep, raspy breath. “heroes are the source of it all. They prop themselves above everyone else, telling them they’ll save the day and beat the villains into the dirt. But who is a Villain? Is it their acts, or their Quirk? If people think someone’s Quirk is villainous, they reject them. A mutant with too many teeth, a Quirk out of a slasher flick, or anything that looks evil, and everyone spits at you like garbage. When rejected, they lash out, and people call them ‘villains’. And guess who comes to save the day from the big bad villains?” He spat to the side and gave his chin a rapid scratch. “Fuck that. heroes don’t give a shit about us, about anyone other than themselves, and the whole world only gives a shit about heroes.”
Shigaraki slammed a palm on the counter and raked his nails along it, his breath growing labored as his body twitched. “I wanna destroy it all. The heroes, the system, all of it. I wanna see the smug looks on their stupid faces as we tear through their bodies and show everyone how fake they are. Let them be scared for a change! And when they do…”
Even behind his hand, everyone heard the grin. “The League of Villains will be the ones to end them once and for all.”
Everyone was left speechless, though from what, no one could say. Mr. Compress was the first to break the silence.
“How do you intend to achieve your goal?”
“We take down the top heroes and work our way down from there,” said Shigaraki. “We start with All Might. When the Symbol of Peace dies, the rest will crumble.”
“Again, how do you plan on doing that?” asked Mustard. “All Might is the Number One for a reason. Not to mention Endeavor, Hawks, and the rest.”
Shigaraki crossed his arms. “We’ve got superweapons against the heroes, full type advantage for each of them. Once they finish growing, we’ll be able to strike at the heroes wherever they are.”
“What kind of superweapons?”
Shigaraki couldn’t help but snicker. “Oi, that’s top secret. If you’re in, then you’ll get to know.”
Compress leaned on the counter and stroked his masked chin. “You seem to be rather confident in your methods. Have you tested these weapons yet?”
The pale teen’s fingers twitched. “Oh yeah, several times. They’ve shown their work. And they'll get better with every fight until they can take down the Number One himself.”
“Then I must admit, my curiosity has been piqued,” said Compress. He took another cursory look at the bar. “Though I must say, for the confidence you exude and how much thought you seem to put into this plan, I would think you have more members. A rallying cry like that would galvanize any oppressed who would hear it. Unless secrecy was your goal for now, and in that case, my apologies for the assumption.”
The counter wood peeled under the sharp scratching. “Yeah…” Shigaraki replied with restraint. “We’ve been on the down low for now. But we’ve got the server up and running, so we’ll -”
“Please, spare us the excuses. You brought us here because you are desperate.”
The whole room once more turned to the hooded man, who held his mug with mild disinterest, ignoring Shigarki’s hidden glare.
“You have made your grievances against modern heroism quite clear. In some ways, I agree with you. The heroes have spoiled modern society, twisting the natural order to fit their worldview. Yet for all your attempted charisma, I see no one but you, the bartender, and the mysterious financier speaking from the television. One could attribute it to your man-child mannerisms, but compared to some of the brutes I have met, you are downright quaint.”
He waved his mug at Mustard and Compress. “Would any of you care to guess why our host has yet to amass greater numbers? Why, despite his promises, not a single unfortunate has yet to follow him?”
The two looked at each other and back at him, while a low growl could be heard from Shigaraki’s direction. Kurogiri and All for One remained silent, ignoring the teen’s growing agitation.
“They’re scared. Screw that, they’re terrified,” said Mustard, crossing his arms.
Compress nodded. “I was coming to the same conclusion myself, but why? It can’t be All Might; a champion against darkness he may be, but he doesn’t instill this kind of terror,” he hummed and looked at the ceiling. “What could have the underworld so petrified they would resist a chance to eliminate the source of their suffering?”
Heavy breathing steamed from Shigaraki’s nostrils as his arms shook in place. Kurogiri watched on in silence, not moving from his spot save the waving of his misty form.
Eventually, it was Mustard who broke the silence.
“Who do you think? Shinigami.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the silence became deafening. Even Shigaraki’s manic twitching had halted. Compress stood still like a statue and Giran, the only man in the room without a mask, paused picking his teeth, and his eyes darted to the shadowy corners of the bar.
“Giran,” he addressed the broker. “Did you recruit other people before you came to us?”
Giran bit his lip, glancing at Kurogiri and the static-filled TV and fiddling with the collar of his purple jacket.
“You may tell them,” replied All for One. “Consider it a reward for coming here, gentlemen.”
The broker sighed and nodded. “I tried. We managed to hire some muscle, but they…chickened out,” he said. Kurogiri nodded internally, glad he was omitting sensitive information. “Every time I went on another pitch, people gave me the boot. Hell, even when Mr. Benefactor outright offered them cash, they told us to get lost. When I asked them why, they told me more or less the same thing: we don’t want our corpses to end up bleeding out in some dark alley.”
Ignoring the growing gritting of Shigaraki’s teeth, Giran fished a box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and pulled one out. “When villains hear All Might is in the area, they hide in whatever shadows they can find and quake in their boots until he leaves. Anything they have planned gets foiled just from his presence and they earn a trip to prison, but the ones still standing run away, hide and plan for another day. It sucks, but that’s life. You learn from people’s mistakes and think you can do better, so you gripe and plot in your hole. But Shinigami?”
Giran took out a lighter and lit the cigarette. He drew in a breath and exhaled a stream of grey smoke.
“He doesn’t even give you that chance. He finds your hole and kills you.”
He then shrugged, though Kurogiri didn’t miss the tightness of the gesture. “That’s what the word on the street says, at least.”
Mr. Compress hummed. “A troublesome adversary. I have seen whispers of a certain incident potentially involving him not long ago. Dare we wager that the one responsible is now in a shallow grave?”
“Shut up…”
“This business is not for the faint of heart, redundant as it might seem to say,” said All for One.
Mustard rolled his masked head. “Duh, we’re villains, nothing we do is for cowards,” he looked directly at the TV and Shigaraki. “But there’s getting beat up and going to prison and there’s getting stabbed in your sleep. heroes don’t do the latter, but guess who does?”
“Shut up…”
“Shinigami is playing by his own rules, and it has lodged fear unlike anything else in the underworld.” Compress took out a coin and flipped it. “When the stakes are raised so high, who is left willing to gamble?”
“Not many,” replied Mustard before addressing the TV again. “What we’re all asking is…”
A cracking of wood. A low growl. A sure warning.
Yet it was ignored.
“How are you gonna deal with him?”
“SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Shigaraki tore off his gloves and slashed the counter. At once the surface began to crumble and decay. He slammed his uncovered hands on it again and the whole section of the bar collapsed in a pile of splinters and dust as he screamed and hacked.
“I’VE FUCKING HAD IT! SHINIGAMI THIS, SHINIGAMI THAT! EVERYBODY’S GONE CHICKEN SHIT ‘CAUSE SOME CHEAT GODMODE ROGUE CHARACTER THINKS HE’S THE MC! THE CHATS, THE FORUMS, HE’S EVERYWHERE! WELL, TOO FUCKING BAD! HE’S NOT EVEN A HERO! HE’S HACKING THE GAME, AND I’M GONNA TEAR HIM APART, PIECE BY PIECE! I’M GONNA BREAK HIS STUPID-ASS MASK WITH MY BARE HANDS! THAT’S HOW I’LL DEAL WITH SHINIGAMI!”
He slowly looked up and the severed hand’s fingers parted, letting his bloodshot eyes shine through the gaps, gleaming red. “He’s a fucking obstacle, and he’ll die just like the heroes. That answer your question, Gasmask?”
Kurogiri called upon his Quirk to be used at a moment’s notice should Shigaraki attack. He was certainly poised to do so, with a hunched back and rabidly-shaking hands. Mustard had taken a step back and splayed out his hands, no doubt gearing to use his Quirk as well. Giran also stepped back and Compress remained where he was and played with his coin, but Kurogiri had no doubt he would move to attack at a moment’s notice. The sounds of heavy breathing and static filled the air, and Kurogiri lamented how the situation had gone south. Giran spoke the truth; it was more of a lucky break, and their relatively hardened personalities, that Mustard and Compress agreed to meet Shigaraki. The exact details of the USJ attack were not broadcast to the public, and one of the omitted details was the League’s name, and by extension, their involvement. Despite that, it wasn’t hard for people to connect the unwritten dots.
But their failure at the USJ was minor compared to the villains’ fear of the shadows of their own homes.
The misty villain saw Shigaraki bend his knees and at once activated his Quirk -
“How pathetic.”
The proverbial fuse, only a moment close to the powder barrel, was snuffed. For the third time, the room slowly turned to the speaker, sipping the last drops of his beer.
“Is this what the League of Villains amounts to in the end? A teleporting bartender, a mysterious voice, and a manchild of a leader with temper tantrums?”
Shigaraki cracked his knuckles and his visible eye threatened to pop out of its socket. He was still coiled up and looked one second away from tearing the stranger apart. “You wanna run that by me again?”
“I will not repeat myself to a child,” he chided, twirling the mug around and holding it up to the light. Whatever he was divining there, it caught his attention far more than the homicidal teen not far from him. “Do you know why you are failing? Your conviction is weak, just like your ego.”
The strangled sound Shigaraki emitted didn’t stop the man. “You go on about destroying All Might and his ilk one by one, how the system is false and you are willing to take it down, but the moment something goes wrong, you whine and moan about how it's unfair.”
The hooded man put his empty mug down and turned to look directly at Shigaraki. At that moment, a strange heat passed through Kurogiri’s body, which was impossible; heat and cold didn’t affect him. Shigaraki’s quivering slowly relaxed, replaced with a tenseness that reflected in his voice.
“What are you getting at?”
The hooded man raised his hand and pointed at the teen.
“You are brimming with rage at the wrongs done to you by heroes. That is good, very good. Anger is the best motivator. It is pure, unbridled emotion, forged from life and ready to be drawn when your spirit is willing to fight to the bitter end.” The man’s voice had gained a tinge of energy and passion. His cloaked form straightened in his chair and seemed at equal height to all of them.
“But it can blind you from reaching your potential, all lost to senseless carnage. The only thing you are missing is a clear path to stab that sword, not to swing it around wildly. Once you liberate yourself from the shackles of your mind,” he jabbed hard the air with such suddenness that everyone almost stepped back. “Strike hard where it hurts and twist the blade to make the pain last.”
Shigaraki leaned forward ever so slightly, and Kurogiri found himself nodding internally. He knew something was missing from his young master’s goals, a purpose beyond lashing out at the world. He had tried to drill this into the boy’s head, but Shigaraki was so focused on destruction - combined with his somewhat middling attention span - that he would disregard his words. Even when All for One tried to -
Wait.
While the record scratched in Kurogiri’s mind, the hooded man lowered his hand and got up from the stool. The man turned to Kurogiri and gave a light bow. “My compliments on the beer. You have fine taste, for a wisp. Unfortunately, I will not be joining you at this time. Maybe once you hone your blade, we will meet again.”
“Leaving so soon? After such an oration? Come now, surely a few words about yourself wouldn’t hurt.”
The hooded man stared at the static-filled TV and tucked his hands into his pockets. His bearing remained unfazed and firm, even before All for One’s distorted voice. In fact, by how he tilted his head, the man seemed almost…amused.
“As I said, my name has no consequence. I was merely curious, and what I saw was lacking. Your investment may grow in time, oh mysterious voice, but I prefer to err on the side of caution. I have my personal affairs, and I would rather not see them thrown at the first sight of opportunity.”
“And should you recant your statement in the future? I’d hate to lose a promising contact.”
He gestured to the bar with a flourish. “Why, I’ll come here and order another drink.”
After a moment’s silence, All for One sighed with regret, but even through the static filter, everyone knew it was faked. “Very well, if you insist. I do hope we meet again, you seem to be an intriguing fellow.”
“Likewise. I do enjoy a good mystery,” He moved to the exit, while Shigaraki kept looking at his retreating form. Opening the door, he took one step outside before stopping. “Oh, one last parting piece of advice, as thanks for the drink.”
He slightly turned his head and said with a voice that seemed to reverberate throughout the room and against every crack, as though they were in a long-forgotten cave:
“As you are, Shinigami is beyond you. Attack him now, and you will end like the rest of the rabble: lying on the cold, hard earth, with only the rats to feast on your bleeding corpses.”
He paused and then his tone softened, a whispering that seemed to ring even louder in their heads, if such a thing was possible. But by no means did it sound gentler. “It is better you leave him in more…capable hands.”
With those words, he slammed the door behind him, leaving the rest to stare. For what seemed like an eternity, that’s what they did. The emotions of the rest were unknown to Kurogiri, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
This is not possible.
Shigaraki turned to Mustard and Compress, his form no longer shaking. He looked around, sweeping over each of them, and spoke with a calmness - despite being tinged with familiar vitriol - which was alien to the teen.
“What’s it gonna be? Are you in, or out?”
Without waiting to hear their replies, Kurogiri warped out of the bar and into a dark chamber filled with flickering screens. On a chair strangled with pipes, resembling a throne, sat the suited visage of his master, the lights washing over his mouth with a ghostly bloom. His fingers were steepled as he stared at a screen showing the very same bar.
Kurogiri remained silent, refusing to disturb his master’s ruminations. The audio from the camera had been muted, so only labored breathing was heard.
“Quite a nuisance, wouldn’t you say, Kurogiri?” asked All for One measuredly. “Shinigami has cast quite a large shadow.”
Our recruitment efforts were harder than you predicted,” replied the misty villain. “Most of the special targets you instructed Giran to find were unavailable or outright refused.” He hesitated for a moment before asking something which popped into his mind. “Master, surely with your years of influence you have more contacts Tomura Shigaraki can draw from at this stage. Spreading the word of our cause won’t mean anything if we lack the forces to do so.”
All for One nodded. “Astute observation. I could easily coerce enough villains to join the League and threaten to butcher them the moment they flee. It would work for a series of mass assaults, but Tomura must gather warriors who fervently believe in his cause just as he does, for it’s only then they will offer their full potential to the League. Blackmail and bribery can only go so far. Such methods are suited for more expendable assets, and Tomura’s vanguard must not feel themselves expendable.”
He shifted in his throne and rubbed his burnt chin. “Nevertheless, I should instruct the good doctor to hasten his advancement of the Nomus. We will have a greater need for them than expected. Perhaps fresh samples from the mice who refused us will galvanize him.”
“And what of Shinigami?”
The thick air seemed to multiply in weight as All for One steepled his fingers again, pressing them hard against his knuckles. His thoughtful grin flattened into a narrow line, though a Kurogiri could see glints of white against the screens’ illumination.
“A far more dangerous variable than I had anticipated. I did not truly believe Araya would bring him down, but to kill him within his own stronghold and with the gifts I gave him?” The rumbling from his mouth was borderline bestial. “A pity I could only plant some wires in that house and no cameras. The little I have heard only provided fragments of clues.”
He shifted his empty gaze to Kurogiri. “He is no longer a mere pawn. He still has his uses in distracting the heroes, but the instant he drops his guard, I will remove him from the board. I will have agents ferret out every detail they can find while the doctor dissects the recordings. His presence is causing too much chaos, and I will not let my years of planning be foiled by some vigilante who believes he is a Symbol of Fear.”
The teeth were fully bare, clean, and pearly in contrast to the ruined face they formed. “A Demon Lord suffers no competition.”
Kurogiri remained still at his master’s words. Those were his wishes, and they would be done, one way or another. “I will send word to the necessary agents.” He turned to the screen again. “Master, one more thing -”
“I know.” All for One curtly cut him off. His mouth twisted as he focused on the screen again. Giran and the two villains were sitting at the bar and idly chatting, ignoring the pile of ash and rubble behind them. Shigaraki was on one of the chairs across the room, his head bowed low and rapidly tapping on a table. His severed hand was still glued to his face and his back was to the TV where the camera was planted. “Have Tomura brought to the doctor after they leave and tell him to do a full brain scan.” He looked at another screen which showed an empty alley. With a tap on a keyboard, they flickered to show the man leaving the alley and vanishing from sight. “Our uninterested guest has gone with the wind. I would have insisted further if it weren’t for the other two, so make sure to track him down. I’d like to address his knowledge and…rudeness personally.”
Kurogiri warped away without another word. As the world around him blended in a haze of purple, the thought which both he and undoubtedly his master rang in his mind.
‘Tomura Shigaraki barely listens to me. He takes Master’s words with a spoonful of petulance and blind hate. He has closed himself off to all other views, as Master nurtured him to do.
What could cause him to be so focused on the words of a stranger?’
Comments
ChidoriM4st3r
Nice chapter. I was getting Alucard vibes at first with the red coat but that’s obviously not it. Haven’t fully read strange fake or watched the new episode but I’m curious to see who it is since you said he’s derived from it
Jh
So either false assassin or false berserker but I am more inclined to believed it is false berserker
Omer Rudnick
He is similar to Ritsu in terms of his state of existence, and he's derived from a Servant in Strange/Fake
Jh
Honestly I have no idea who is the hooded man, I know it is on the fate side but I don't know who specifically. Any hints?
