A pale figure gazes at themselves in the mirror as they are getting dressed for the day, flashing themselves a wicked grin. They take in their own features as they are covered in clothing, a tall and thin frame, sharp almost gaunt facial features, black hair long enough to fall to the small of their back that's currently in a low ponytail, and a pale ghostly green set of eyes. They smirk and run their tongue, which is unusually long, over their elongated and sharpened canines. As they finish dressing they take a moment to inspect what they're wearing, a simple cloak running down their body and shading their face with a hood, covering a simple white dress shirt accompanied by a black tie with skulls stitched on it in a green matching their eyes, black dress pants, and a comfortable pair of brown leather dress shoes.
The being nods to themselves as they tighten the cloak around them to hide their clothes underneath and exit their small bathroom into their apartment that could be described by the same adjective. It's lightly furnished and kept decently clean, but filled with odd and macabre decorations. Tables have (fake) skulls lying on them, there are ritualistic tools hanging in display cases, the windows are covered with pure black curtains leaving only black candles to light the room and throw shadows everywhere, and there are shelves lined with hundreds of books full of magical and ritualistic procedures.
The cloaked being moves to a table where they have left their tools for this day's outing, a wicked ritual dagger forged of a black metal and a leather bound tome with the Greek letter Omega emblazoned on the front cover. Retrieving the items and stowing them away on their person, the hooded figure ponders aloud of what they're going to set out to do, "What good could this do for me? I've been doing this over and over again for three years, but it's been the same every time." They shake their head as they remember the purpose of these outings, 'My own power has failed me, so now I pursue my goals using means that have been disproven countless times.'
They chuckle and shake their head once more, "No, I mustn't think like that, this is built on belief in the craft, negative thinking will only harm the process." The figure turns and exits the apartment, only giving the building a passing glance as they leave. Walking down the sidewalk the figure glances at the full moon in the sky, steeling their belief in what they're about to do.
(Nearby public park)
As they come into the park, the figure glides on silent feet over to the nearby trees, densely packed, creating the illusion of a forest. Moving through the large trunks, they don't even have to walk for a minute before they happen upon a clearing in the foliage, perfectly illuminated in the lunar radiance.
They stride into the center of the clearing and use a large stick pulled from a nearby tree to begin drawing out a circle in the dirt, being sure to copy every last detail from the tome they hold. As the circle is finished they toss aside the branch and step into the center, throwing back their hood before producing the dagger and book.
They roll up their sleeve, revealing numerous scars from all the previous rituals they're performed to no avail. They raise the knife to their skin and activate their quirk, causing ghostly green flames to burn in their eyes and a strange energy to permeate the air. Inhaling sharply, they begin to call out in Latin, reading the invocation from the tome they hold. Inwardly, they reflect on the irony of the situation, 'How humorous, a dead language to call the dead forth.' As they approach the end of their chant they quickly draw the blade across their arm, unflinching as they watch the crimson spill out onto the dirt.
The chant draws to a close and the figure holds their breath, waiting. Nothing happens. "God dammit!", the book and dagger are thrown down in anger and disgust. The figure raises their head to the heavens above with resentment in their eyes as their power fades away, "Is this fucking funny to you? Do you hate me that much asshole?" They continue hurling similar questions and profanities at the sky.
Their tirade is cut short as they hear a dark chuckling. They grab the dagger and whirl around to face whoever is behind them. Before them is a tall man in a black business suit, with short spiky white hair, and black eyes. The man is smiling, but it's flat and doesn't reach his eyes. He steps forward and speaks, his voice having no obvious tells, but being sinister all the same, "Well, that was a fine display, I haven't seen anyone attempt to perform a ritual like that in years."
The cloaked figure brandishes the knife, "Who are you? What do you want with me?" The man chuckles again, his smile morphing to a smirk, "My name in unimportant at the moment, but I'd like you to call me Sensei." The knife wielder gives the man an incredulous look, "And why should I do that? I just met you after all." The man gives a strangely knowing look, "Because I'm going to help you achieve your goals. I happen to have an understanding of Latin, so I know what you were attempting. What if I told you I could give you the power necessary to perform such a feat of necromancy?"
The figures eyes widened, "Is that even possible? No quirk I know of can possibly grant power." The man steps forward again, "You'd be surprised, my quirk is the ability to give and take quirks, and I have one that may help you. All I ask is a favor, to be decided at a later date." The figure take a minute to mull over this man's offer, on the one hand they've just met the man and everything he's saying is utterly preposterous, but on the other so is everything they've attempted over the last three years, and isn't life about taking chances anyway?
The figure looks the man in the eye and nods, "you have a deal, Sensei." The man nods, seeming to genuinely smile, "What's your name?"
"Seikyo Hayashi."
The man nods once again, considering the information he was just given, "A good name. I'm sure only good will come of our deal." He approaches, hand outstretched as if to shake, and Seikyo goes to meet him halfway. However, as soon as their hands meet, the cloaked one is pulled to their knees as Sensei's hand is placed over their face.
Pain, for what feels like an eternity all Seikyo can feel is a searing, white-hot pain. As their mind clears, Sensei helps them up and looks them over. Satisfied that Seikyo is seemingly alive and unharmed he steps back and gestured to the circle in the dirt, "Try again, and this time use the new power you've just gained." Seikyo nods and returns to the circle, beginning the ritual anew.
As they begin, it's immediately clear something is different. The energy in the air, it's more active, more present. More alive. The new ability is no trouble to use at all, working perfectly in sync with the old one. As the ritual begins to grow in intensity, the wind howls, the trees stir, and voices become audible all around, as if from nowhere.
When the climax is reached and blood spilled once more, for a split second the world goes quiet, and then explodes with sound. A shrieking unearthly wail pierces the air as amorphous forms similar in color to the flames in Seikyo's eyes tear from the earth into the sky.
As the unknown entities soar into the sky the ground rumbles and skeletal arms shoot out of the ground, the arms black as ink filled with neon green stars, and claw the rest of their similarly colored bodies out from the ground. When all bodies have risen, the soaring entities return from their journey to the sky and begin to flit around the clearing, moving in random and patterns and emitting a sinister, ghostly light. Both groups come to a standstill, seemingly at attention.
Seikyo looks around and takes a moment before realizing, 'They're… waiting for me.' They clear their throat and turn to address the gathered army of the dead, "Salute." The skeletal beings snap into a standard military salute while the amorphous ones resolve into vaguely humanoid shapes to mimic them.
Seikyo smiles wildly and turns to Sensei, unaware of the luminescent aquamarine liquid trailing from their eyes and mouth, overwhelmed with manic happiness, "You've brought me a step closer, thank you! I will remember this, and eagerly wait to repay you!"
(Present day)
Seikyo sits up in their bed, suddenly dragged from the dream world of memory. They chuckle at what transpired five years ago. They were only fifteen then, but they're matured and honed their secondary quirk since then, still waiting for Sensei's favor to come calling. Maybe they'll be able to repay him someday soon.
Seikyo Hayashi:
Original Quirk; Ghost World: Allows the user to manifest ghostly recreations of inanimate matter as well as energy based phenomena such as fire.
Secondary Quirk; Necromancy: Allows the user to create constructs similar to interpretations of the undead, it is theorized that this includes replication of those who have passed on from memory.
Overuse of either quirk causes the user to leak a substance the current user has decided to call ectoplasm, due to the nature of both quirks, which can cause substantial bodily harm both internally and externally.