Author's Note: I'm aware it's been quite some time since the last update. This story isn't dead! I've simply been immensely busy with my studies and other writing projects that I haven't had a minute to get around to this. There may be similar delays in the future, but hopefully, you find the wait will be worth it.

Without further ado, here's Chapter 8.

Enjoy!

Well, that was that.

Neon-pink blood dripped down the walls. Corpses lay scattered across the entire floor of the building, littering the hallways, with most of the bodies located in a single room. A room that was the very definition of 'bloodbath'. Having been filled with panicked, screaming participants only a moment before, all of them fighting each other for survival, it was now eerily silent. A lone man, exceptionally long hair covering most of his face, had been the one to finish off the final survivor, and he looked positively… bored by the scene.

"Congratulations, Mister Kamukura," came the voice of a recent convert (and personal establisher) of the wondrous ideology of Despair, twisted and filled with delight, currently playing through the PA system. "What a perfect show! I expected nothing less."

Izuru Kamukura didn't seem to care.

"You're free to leave," the voice continued, before adding, "I hereby declare this meeting of the Hope's Peak Student Council as adjourned!" The happiest of laughs escaped the sound system before, with a tiny little crackle, the microphone was switched off. Izuru did as expected. Wearing a face of complete and utter boredom, he left the bloody scene. And, oh, what a scene it was!

Leaning back from the monitors displaying the perfectly macabre scene, Kiyotaka Ishimaru let out a laugh. A grin had been carved into his face by the glorious knife of despair – a smile so bright and optimistic that one could almost mistake it for one of hope.

It had been a busy few months of the Ultimate Moral Compass (although, in reality, his proverbial compass had long since broken). He had come to accept the disorder and chaos being happily spread by his classmates, as well as those from other classes (particularly the class above his – Class 77-B, who were a whole new level of reckless). Not once did he think to intervene when he caught others running in the hallways. Not once did he even bat an eyelid as the Ultimates from the other classes inflicted chaos – not even when the foolish 'Ultimate Team Manager' managed to tear a bathroom apart to its very foundations.

Allowing disorder had been the first step of his plan. It was funny how quickly the others had noticed.

Hell, even Leon had expressed genuine concern.

"Dude, are you okay?" he had asked. "I'm running in the halls here, aren't you gonna… do something?" He made a point of sprinting past him repeatedly, desperate to get a reaction.

Ishimaru did not do a thing. It was better to let the insects tear themselves apart with their own lack of regulation. In a way, it was enjoyable seeing rule after pathetic rule shatter into dust. Watching the self-destruction of those who had ever once cared about him. All it took for disorder to reign was his absence.

The Hall Monitor's curiosity had been piqued ever since seeing that file on the headmaster's desk, and he had, naturally, set out on his own investigation. He had expected to find nothing, but oh what a secret he found! Inhumane experiments being run on a student in the school, all with the headmaster's knowledge, using funding from the reserve course students! The goal was, it seemed, to create a student that could be deemed the 'Ultimate Hope': a student filled with the talents of every single student on the main course. The entire plot was genius, Kiyotaka had thought, even if he despised the work of geniuses.

Still, it was something he could use to his advantage, and use the abomination he had! The subject's previous identity had come as a surprise to him – he was certain he had noticed him around campus here and there on one or two occasions. A quiet boy. Polite. Typically associating with the 'Ultimate Gamer' from Class 77-B. The transformation the boy had undertaken was disgusting. Twisted. Beyond cruel. An awful fate undeserving of a poor Reserve Course student – the people for whom Kiyotaka held such incredible admiration. The monstrosities they had carried out upon him were brutal. As inhumane as they were inhuman.

For a project designed to cultivate hope, the project had certainly made perfect use of a proverbial fuck-ton of despair. If the long-haired husk wasn't the very definition of 'talent' – if he was still the untalented hard-worker that he had once been – Kiyotaka might have actually felt some pity for him. Sadly, it seemed, all traces of Kamukura's former personality were no more than a memory, and for what? The continued existence of a rotten old school? A school so obsessed with talent that it disregarded anything it didn't consider to be so?

What better way to enlighten the poor, unknowing students of the school of this insanity, and to take down the corrupt establishment that ran the place, than by letting them see just what their payments were funding? What better way to let them see it than by allowing the final product of the Izuru Kamukura project to slaughter the entire Student Council? It had taken months of hard work and endless preparation but, at long, long last, and after a plethora of research from his many, many books, Kiyotaka had lined the dominoes perfectly, and oh, had they fallen!

There was only one course of action to take now. The final touch to the start of the master plan he had developed. It began with the touch of a button labelled "END RECORD". Footage of the entire glorious event had just been saved – in full HD, no less! Directly next to that same button was another. "SEND", it read, in bold white text.

An entire message had already been typed, planned for hours in meticulous detail for the maximum impact, waiting to be sent along with that file. Begging him to hit that button. Pleading with him. But, alas, now was not the time. Patience was a virtue, after all!

Kiyotaka rose from his seat, stretching his back as he stood. Sitting around all day wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. Exhausting was the best word for it.

With an almost literal skip to his step, and the humming of a merry little tune, the prefect headed towards the door of his dorm room, and went about his daily duties as the Ultimate Moral Compass. His room was a mess of cables and wires, of screens and pieces of metal, of stacks of books and a flurry of notes. Did the untidiness of it all irk him? Oh, absolutely. Alas, he reminded himself it was all for a good cause.

He couldn't resist an amused chuckle as he headed off down the hallway. The fact that not a single person had noticed his unusually piqued interest on programming and electronics, or, better yet, the transportation of monitors into his room, was too good to be true. The school remained in perfect calmness for now, unaware of the slaughter that had just taken place, and the filth and corruption that had led to it. Everything was going so perfectly to plan that the prefect could hardly believe his luck.

This was too easy!

Kiyotaka hadn't been surprised at the total lack of awareness of the tragedy that had taken place, even now, three weeks after it had occurred. It was as if the Student Council were still alive and well, continuing the pointless, talented existence they had once led. Not a single student had taken note of anything strange. Not a single media outlet had knowledge of the blood-soaked walls and rotting flesh that now decorated an entire classroom. That did not, of course, mean that the school's establishment didn't know.

Of course they knew.

Of course they feared.

And play on that fear, Ishimaru did.

A certain headmaster had, for the past twenty days, been receiving letters in his office, sent and addressed to him directly. Said letters contained the most delicious and poisonous threats, penned in handwriting deliberately changed to disguise the author's identity. "Reveal the truth", one said, "or suffer the consequences," and said nothing more. "I know what you did," read another. One simply read "IZURU KAMUKURA".

Wasn't it funny, Kiyotaka thought, how quickly the moods of the entire administration had changed, and continued to change, with every letter sent? Jin Kirigiri seemed awfully irritable – a despairing shadow of his usual self. Rarely could he be found in his office. Rarely was he seen in the school's corridors. Even his daughter seemed concerned, telling Makoto that her father's psychological state was worrying her, totally unaware that Kiyotaka was listening in. The fact that the esteemed Ultimate Detective had taken note of her father's change, and yet couldn't figure out what was troubling the poor man? It sent a rush of delighted euphoria down the straightened spine of the eavesdropping prefect.

The seeds of despair had been sown, perfectly cultivated for three weeks now. Kiyotaka could have sent out the video so much sooner, but what would have been the point? Would the impact truly have been as great? Not at all.

Today, however, was the day that changed. Even he only had so much patience and, quite frankly, watching the headmaster dance around like a demented puppet on a tormented string was getting rather boring. Boredom terrified him, and so he decided to eradicate it.

Such was the reason why he found himself in front of that ominous button once more. Shining black plastic, with bold white text that stared up at him longingly. SEND.

SEND, it whined.

SEND, it begged.

SEND, it demanded.

Kiyotaka was used to doing as he was told. He had made a lifestyle out of it, after all! Who was he to change that now? He happily accepted the order the keyboard gave him, and hit the tempting button.

SEND.

Uploading... 32%

Uploading... 55%

Uploading... 78%

Uploading… 99%

Uploaded.

Every student in the school would be receiving a video and accompanying message right about now. A delightful (and anonymous) gift from the terribly generous prefect. A wondrous exposé of the dirtiest secret of Hope's Peak Academy, and of the blood the institution had on its hands. Better yet, the fact that every Reserve Course student, having funded the disastrous project, were quite literally accomplices to murder. They were just as complicit as the headmaster himself had been.

Perfectly innocent students, paying for a world-class education with the money of their honest, hard-working parents, now culpable of one of the worst crimes known to man. It was unfair. It was awful. It was against everything the prefect believed in. It was outrageous. It was unforgivable!

It was positively drenched in despair!

"Man, are you… seeing this?"

Yes, Kiyotaka was indeed 'seeing this'. 'This' being the spectacle visible from the sparkling glass windows of the ultra-modern Main Course building. Beyond the gates was a mob quite like the prefect had never seen. Hundreds upon hundreds of outraged students had gathered to protest the content they had been subjected to. To cause an outcry at their money being used for murder.

Kiyotaka couldn't blame them. It was despicable that the faculty had preyed on their hopes. They received an awful education. They were forced to study in the outdated old building (which, really, was only good for its pool). They were subjected to immense pressure and judgement for not being there by their own merit. They were the hardest workers of the entire school, too, and yet they had been ruthlessly exploited. Used. It was no surprise they were angry. Especially when one of their own had been turned into a monster.

"They've been out there for hours," uttered Chihiro, hands clasped in front of her, staring out the windows with the same concern as the rest of the class. "They look really mad."

"Can you blame them?" Mukuro spoke. "We all saw the video… we all read the message."

"I wish I hadn't..." The Ultimate Programmer sighed softly, her voice dripping with heavy sadness and slight revulsion.

All eyes watched as two men clambered up the school gates, about to throw themselves over, only to have the head of the school's security shove them back. Another man caught him off guard and managed to climb over. He was punched to the ground and knocked unconscious the second he landed, however. The act was as brutal as it was swift. Juzo Sakakura was not the type to be trifled with.

"Jeez, that's soooo not cool," Junko commented in that drawn-out, almost nasal tone of hers. "Did you see that? He got, like, totally knocked out."

"It's getting worse," said Asahina quietly. Her voice trembled.

"I heard Class 77's taking it hard," said Mondo. "Some chick in there was friends with the monster dude before he snapped. They're all shaken up by it."

There was a moment of silence. There had been plenty of moments of silence throughout the morning. The rain had continued to fall the entire time, just as the crowd continued to grow in scale.

"Are you okay, Kiyotaka?" Asked Chihiro, to which the prefect looked down at her with confusion.

"As... okay as I can be," he replied, trying to maintain his act of shock and horror at the sight before him. Deep down, he was rejoicing, but he had to blend in. He had to keep wearing the mask of his former self. "...Why?"

The girl parted her lips to respond, but was quickly cut off with a sound of disgust from Byakuya behind them, who apparently showed no care for the ongoing conversation.

"Ugh," he declared loudly, "I've seen enough of this. I'm heading to my room. I advise you all to do the same. There's little joy in watching Reserve Course simpletons throw mud at each other." With that, he stormed out of the room. A certain meek authoress shuffled after him not too long after.

Soon Sayaka made her excuses and left, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Leon followed her.

Next it was Asahina's turn to leave, with Sakura right beside her.

Without a word, Kiyotaka decided it was best to follow suit. In truth, he could have stood and watched the gathering storm outside and the steadily building chaos that threatened to tear everything down, but there was only so long he could last without letting the mask slip. Without letting the talented others realise that he was the one who had orchestrated the entire thing. That he was the one responsible for the campus' ongoing insanities.

No suspicions had fallen on him yet, and that was precisely how he wished to keep things.

Soon, he was back in his room, door closed, monitors flickering with various news coverage of the event outside. "ACADEMY PROTEST," read one newsflash. "SCANDAL AT HOPE'S PEAK," declared another. Reports of violence across campus. Pictures of the gathering crowds. Such disorder, all perfectly blending together into a delightful symphony of despair.

Alas, the prefect had a more important matter to attend to. He was hardly going to sit around and watch television all day. The very idea of something so mundane was terrifying.

No.

He opened his wardrobe doors and reached behind the collection of white uniforms to a little hidden panel at the back. A panel which he pulled down, and retrieved his prize from within, which he set down on the floor and observed with pride.

He wasn't exactly naturally gifted in programming and design, but the books lent to him by Chihiro not too long ago had proven invaluable in getting the basics down. Soon the basics had faded into the more complex operations, which had quickly transitioned into expert-level craftsmanship. The item he had just retrieved from the depths of the armoire was the pinnacle of his abilities, even if it was a simple crude prototype. Even if it wasn't yet fully complete.

An eager finger flicked a little switch at the back of the contraption; a surprisingly well-made exoskeleton covered in black and white fur. A previously dormant eye lit up a crimson red, the same as Kiyotaka's own.

What better day to get to work on his metal child than today, when the foundations of the world were already starting to bend and creak and the entire school had been turned upside down? Today, when disorder and chaos reigned and the air was filled with a sickening feeling of disaster and looming sense of unavoidable despair?

"What is your name?" The prefect asked his creation. He had initially considered personally piloting the thing, but with some advanced research and a lot of patience, he had found a way to program in an autopilot mode. An artificial intelligence that rivalled the works of Chihiro herself.

"Upupupupu..."

Kiyotaka's creation shook as it laughed. There was something awfully creepy about the way its shoulders jerked mid-chuckle.

Suddenly, it sprang to its feet, almost taking the prefect by surprise, and little paws were placed on rounded hips.

"I AM MONOKUMA!" It cheerfully declared.

"AND I WILL BE THE HEADMASTER OF THIS SCHOOL!"