AMV_WEAKLY
patreon
[36] Villain's Villain
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 16:50:18 +0000 UTC************
A/N: This chapter is not for the faint if heart, or people who read to be happy (I got a lot of negative reviews about that at the start). I'm completely serious. You won't really miss anything if you skip this chapter, except the first POV. Maybe just read Kata's POV.
This one shows how powerful and ruthless Kata can be to those he thinks deserve it.
Next chapter will explain a lot of stuff and give actual insight into what was going on here. You have been warned. (No, I'm not a psycho.)
************
(Kata POV – Shie Hassaikai HQ, Late Evening)
I crouch atop a building overlooking the compound, bending photons around me to stay invisible. This ensures no one can see me and link me to what's about to unfold.
‘Even if by some miracle Night-Eye looked into the future, he wouldn’t see me.’ Not that I think they’re investigating Overhaul yet, but it never hurts to be careful.
An hour passes and no more members enter or leave. The sun is long gone and they’re likely all inside.
‘It's convenient they all live here. Makes things easier.’ I exhale softly. ‘Now I just need to decide how to handle this.’
Saving Eri is obvious. No doubt about that. But…
'Who, and how many, should I kill?'
The thought makes my pulse rise slightly.
I’ve never killed before, but that won’t stop me. Still, not everyone in that base deserves to die.
‘The simplest, most efficient option would be to wipe them all out. Leaving no witnesses and no loose ends.’
So why am I hesitating?
Overhaul, Chronostasis, Mimic, the Eight Bullets—they’re all dead. No question. 'They’ll get what they deserve.'
And anyone directly involved in Eri’s suffering will suffer the same fate. 'But how do I draw that line?'
Some of them are just grunts—hired hands who have no idea what’s really going on. If killing them were unavoidable, I wouldn’t hesitate.
'But it is avoidable.' The voice of reason echoes in my head.
I exhale. 'Maybe I've mellowed out.'
Just weeks ago, someone trying to use me to further their agendas was enough to cripple them.
More importantly, the grunts haven’t done anything I consider vile. 'I don’t care what happens to them, but killing them for nothing...'
It’d leave a bad taste in my mouth.
'A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon this world.' There are lots of beasts out there.
If I kill just because it’s easier, I’d be no better than my parents.
The thought almost makes me laugh, before I descend into quiet contemplation. 'Since when did I care about ethics?'
Peace returns to me. 'The ends justify the means.'
'I’m not saving Eri because it’s the right thing to do. I'm doing it because I know her pain.'
I know the quiet hope that someone—anyone—will save you, even when you stop believing it’ll ever happen.
'And I know what it’s like when no one does.'
She’ll escape and stumble into Izuku and Mirio, her heart bursting with hope... only for it to be crushed all over again.
No one saved me.
'But I will save her.'
I rise to my feet, stepping to the ledge and letting gravity claim me.
'I'll happily be the villain in someone's story if it means being the hero in hers.'
(Shin Nemoto POV – Shie Hassaikai Compound)
'Why do I have to be stuck here with this lazy brute?'
I glance toward Rikiya, who sits slouched against the wall, half-asleep.
I sigh. 'If Overhaul orders me to stand guard, I'll do it, but I should be by his side. This kind of work is for grunts.'
'Who would even dare attack us? It's just another quiet night... Too quiet.'
My brow furrows. I scan the area—nothing seems out of place. But something gnaws at me. A creeping unease.
'Where’s the chatter?' Normally, I’d hear the sound of patrols, murmurs from the hallways, even the occasional distant noise from outside the compound.
Now, there’s nothing.
My pulse quickens.
'Something's wrong.'
"Rikiya, get up," I say, eyes darting around.
No response.
"Rikiya, get up now!" I bark.
Still nothing.
I turn to him—and my breath catches in my throat.
His skin is darkened, his muscles withered, his entire form shriveled like a corpse left to rot for centuries. If not for the slow, faint rise and fall of his chest, I’d think he was already dead.
'Since when—?!'
"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."
The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere at once. It's cold and detached, seemingly echoing against the air itself.
"Intru—!" My scream dies in my throat as I try to draw my gun.
'I can’t move.'
Adrenaline floods my body. I try to force my limbs to respond, but they remain frozen.
"Don’t bother."
The voice is emotionless. Unshaken.
"No one can hear you scream."
'Is that why it's been so quiet?! Does his quirk block sound? Then who else is here?!' Thoughts flood my mind as it struggles to find answers.
"Besides, I’ve already dealt with the rest of them."
'What does that mean?!'
The world around me distorts, as the veil is lofted.
The once-lively patrols vanish, replaced by an eerie silence. The courtyard is littered with scattered bodies, completely motionless.
Most appear untouched, as if they simply collapsed. But others—
A few are missing limbs. Some, one. Others, two.
My blood turns to ice as a violent shiver runs through me.
"Who are you?!" I demand, my voice cracking with terror.
Silence. Then, the voice murmurs, almost contemplative:
"So it really doesn’t work on me."
My stomach drops. My quirk—it's not working.
"You… you’re not confessing," I whisper, horror seizing my throat.
"You’ve outlived your usefulness."
'No. No! I can’t die like this!'
A sharp, unnatural tug rips through my mouth.
Agony explodes in my skull as my tongue is yanked free.
Hot blood fills my mouth and I try to scream, but only a garbled, wet gurgle escapes. My vision swims, red staining my teeth as my throat is raw with pain.
I clutch at my mouth, my limbs freed at some point, as fingers attempt to stop the blood from overflowing. Then, my hands drift lower, to my throat...where my vocal cords tore throught my skin as they were pulled from my body at some point.
'I can’t scream. I can’t speak. I—'
My legs give out. I collapse onto my knees, choking on my own blood. Tears blur my vision. My lungs burn, drowning in the crimson tide.
"It's too soon for you to die. And you won't."
The voice is closer now, yet it feels just as unfeeling and absolute.
"Consider this retribution."
I hear a thud and my head tilts against my will.
My arms.
My arms are lying on the ground.
My legs, too.
I should be dead. I should be dying.
And yet—
I’m not.
My lungs keep filling, more blood than air occupying them. My heart keeps beating. My body, severed and ruined, refuses to die.
'Why… why am I not dying?!'
The voice offers a cruel answer.
"You'll live for a day like this. I've made sure of it. Or until someone finds you."
Then—nothing.
I am alone. Trapped in my own ruined body. Bleeding and drowning, but never dying.
My lips tremble, desperate for one final plea.
'Kill… me…'
I manage a helpless, choked gurgle.
But there's no response.
And the pain does not end.
(Deidoro Sakaki POV – Inside Shie Hassaikai Compound, Above Ground)
"The boss really did it. We'll be taking over the underworld soon."
Toya chuckled, lounging on the couch, arms spread like he already owned the world.
"Whatever. Long as I get to drink, I don't care." I mutter, tilting back another bottle. The liquid burns down my throat, but somehow… it’s not enough.
"If we sell those quirk-erasing bullets, we'll be rich enough to buy more alcohol than you can ever drink." Toya smirked.
I scoff. “That does sound nice.” I tip the bottle back again.
But the itch doesn’t go away.
'Something’s off.' I’ve had enough to knock out an elephant, but I don’t feel it. The usual warmth, the haze, the blissful buzz—it’s just… missing.
"Slow down, man. I feel like I'm getting drunk just watching you," Toya frowns.
"Fuck.. Hic… You," I slur, grabbing another bottle. I don’t know why, but I need it.
I down it, then another. The burn barely registers. The itch gets worse. So I do what any sensible guy would do...
I drink more and finish the 3rd.
I still need more and down the 10nth.
Somehow, it's not enough! So I have MORE and I'm somewhere past 30.
Toya shifts uneasily. "Hey... maybe you should... stop..." His voice is sluggish.
I blink at him. His face is red—flushed deeper than usual. His movements are sluggish, unfocused. He tries to stand but collapses like a ragdoll, his forehead smacking against the floor.
Normally, I'd laugh at his sorry ass. But I can't.
'Because... I still need more.'
My hands tremble as I reach for another bottle. Except they don't move right. They're numb, and feel weak as shit.
My stomach clenches. A sick heat burns through me, but I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or my need for it.
Then—
"Compared to the others, at least you guys will die doing something enjoyable."
The voice slithers through the room, cold and distant.
A chill crawls up my spine. Who the fuck—
I try to shout, but my lips barely move. My jaw hangs slack and my tongue lays lifelessly in my mouth.
The itch to drink more starts to physically burn. It’s like my veins are dry, screaming, desperate for another drop—but my stomach lurches at the thought. My body knows it’s had too much.
And my mind doesn’t care. The contradiction tears at me, my brain clawing for more, while my body shudders at the thought.
'I'm on the brink of collapse.' Mentally and physically.
Toya groans, rolling onto his side, face twisted in pain. His breathing is ragged. He looks just as bad as I do.
"It's alcohol poisoning, for both of you. I made sure you won't die for now, but you'll feel withdrawal symptoms worse than anything you can imagine." The voice is utterly devoid of sympathy.
My gut twists. My throat burns. I gag, dry heaving, but nothing comes up.
I try to move and my fingers curl weakly around the nearest bottle, but when I bring it to my lips—I vomit.
The nausea is violent, tearing through me in painful spasms. But the thirst—the fucking thirst—it won’t go away.
Tears burn in my eyes. My chest tightens. My breath stutters.
'I'm gonna die like this.'
No... worse.
I can’t drink. I can’t move. I can’t even fucking scream.
All I can do is suffer. And I don't know which I hate more. The feeling of my body dying... or the craving I feel for more.
(3rd Person POV – Shie Hassaikai Compound, Underground)
Bodies—if they can still be called that—litter the underground passages.
Piles of raw, shredded flesh that are completely unrecognizable. Blood clings to the floors and walls in thick streaks, pooling in dark rivers.
Torn skin lies scattered like discarded paper, strips of it curling at the edges where it was ripped away. And second only to the blood—are the tears.
They had once been proud members of the Shie Hassaikai, their authority unquestioned. Now, they are nothing.
No one screams. No one runs. There isn't time once you realise something's wrong as, a moment later, your fate is sealed.
There are two groups.
The first: scientists, researchers, guards—men who thought themselves untouchable. Now, their skin is peeled away in strips, their bodies trembling with silent screams. No sound escapes them. Their eyes blinded. Their eardrums burst. Their tongues and vocal cords ripped from their throats.
Piece by piece, they are dismantled. Fingers first, then hands, then arms. Legs follow, from the feet up. They thrash. They convulse. Their nerves scream in agony long after their limbs are gone.
But they are not dead.
Hearts still pump, forcing blood from open wounds in endless streams. Muscles shiver from the cold, from the pain. But no one moves. No one cries out. They can't.
The second group: the medium-level members, granted the privilege of being underground. Their deaths are merciful, if such a word still applies. Their skin is torn away, their bodies dismantled much the same as the first. But they are allowed to die.
Some bleed out. The tougher ones succumb to the cold, their bodies trembling uncontrollably until they go still. A few die from the sheer agony before the mutilation can be completed. Not a single one makes it to the final stage.
And then, there are the high-level members.
They should have stood a chance. They should have fought back. But in less than an hour, the Shie Hassaikai had been reduced to nothing.
No alarms were raised. No cries for help rang through the halls. And almost no one saw the culprit.
