"Sir, the Omega delivery has arrived," a voice said from behind him, the rustle of inexpensive pant legs accompanying their arrival. He'd liked this subordinate; they were usually so unobtrusive.
His chair swiveled around, revealing the new arrival to him. There, beneath his dirt brown cloak and stock mask, stood a nervous man. Rolling to the side, he revealed the window's view. They cringed, taking a step back. Omega was in clear view, their avian logo on full display as the delivery men unloaded crate after crate into their storage.
He'd placed his office at this vantage to avoid receiving this asinine report. No one had a better grasp on their resource management than him, and hearing a mere grunt explain it to him left a terrible taste in his mouth. A heat spread through his breast, his agitation growing. The thin surgical gloves that protected his hands warped and wavered, his power rising with his annoyance. The goon took another step back before bowing at the waist.
"Sorry, sir! I just thought that—"
"Cease."
They shut their mouth; or rather, Kai Chisaki assumed he shut his mouth. He couldn't quite see it through their plague mask. Calming the raging Overhaul in his hands, he drummed his fingers against the polished wood of his desk. It was worth more than the goon's salary, he remembered. The man held the bow, waiting for his boss's approval. Kai watched the curve of the man's spine begin to shake, exhaustion wracking his frame from holding such a hard bow.
Kai said nothing as the man's posture warped like decomposing squash, bending and melting. Two minutes passed in silence before it occurred to him that he should put the man at ease.
In the end, he didn't need to. The man collapsed where he was bowing, hard breaths beating against the filter of his mask. A note of disgust played through him, seeing the man laying on the filth-infested floor. Kai ran a finger across the groove between his own plague mask and his face, making sure the seal was still airtight. Suppressing a shudder, he stood. Turning away from the embarrassing welp on the floor, he took a second look at the unloading bay; and it struck him that something was wrong.
Only the ticking clock and the harsh, recovering breaths of the goon bothered his ears. Bar them, and the sound of his own breath, the room was dead silent. He was careful to keep his face impassive, fighting off his growing scowl with the strength of Atlas.
"Where is the Beta truck?"
"S-sir, that is what I came to tell you—we don't know. Omega and Beta are a pair, but—"
"Gods above. You think I don't know my own organization?"
"Sir—"
"Cease!" Kai said, turning around. That chime of digust had grown into a song, seeing the man still on the floor. "Right yourself, immediately. You're to disinfect the moment I dismiss you."
The man scrambled to his feet, almost falling back down in his haste. Kai could hear the soft clap of his hands meeting behind his back, could see the way his shoulders shook at his voice. The goon was making himself as tiny as possible in his presence, and for that, Kai didn't kill him.
"Now…" Kai began, pulling the edges of his surgical gloves tighter. "Where is Beta?"
It was like every word he spoke was a gong, the song reverberating through the man's skeleton. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, but maintained an element of composure that Kai found respectable. Like watching a child act brave in a lion's enclosure. The goon's saliva squeezed down his throat like a boulder tumbling down a mountain.
"I… we think it's another M.L.A. situation."
With that simple claim, Kai Chisaki's desk was a splintered mess, his fist bloody and glove ruined. Blood rushed through his head like rapids, his heart slamming against his ears as the words settled in his brain.
M.L.A. The initials searing into his brain like an iron brand, sizzling and rupturing his neurons. Thoughts became blurred, that song of disgust bursting into a symphony of wrath.
It was like he dunked his head in boiling oil, his face so red with sudden rage that he almost popped. A foul air floated throughout the room—piss, he noted absently. The subordinate pissed himself. Pissed himself.
He didn't throw up in his mask—but it was a near thing. A flush raced across his neck, an itch close behind. His collar was tight, his clothes hoarse and shoes constrictive. Filthy. Disgusting. Was his office a fucking pigstye?
Kai didn't coil into a spring, hoarding energy for one graceful leap. He didn't take the time to plan out the next moment. He didn't even hesitate. One moment, he was behind the wreck of his desk, the next, the revolting pissbaby was a red smear on his wall.
The goon had been fine at best, Kai told himself. Clapping his hands together, the damage to his hand healed over, the tears in his glove closing. He didn't bother fixing the desk. A simple button-press on his phone was all it took to summon Hari Kurono.
"Sir?" Chronostasis asked, appearing in the threshold. Taking a brief look around, he shrugged, stepping over the blood soaked carpet. Seeing the man brought a clarifying sense of ease onto Kai, reminding him that not every one of his officers were useless.
"Is the girl stable?" He asked. Chronostasis shook his head, his cloak fluttering around with it.
"No sir. She's still restless after the relocation."
"Good. We're changing facilities again. I will never step foot in this room again."
"Of course, sir. May I ask who is painted on the walls? I shall update his file."
"Not a clue, Hari. Just another quirked pig."
"Understood. The secretary? I shall have them replaced."
Chronostasis pulled out a tablet, his fingers firing away as he escorted Kai out of the room. Together, they made their way down to the loading dock, snaking their way around to the garage. They skipped the limo, heading straight for a blue collar van. Kai got in the driver's seat, just as his companion opened the rear passenger's.
"Come now, Hari. Don't be dense." Kai said, locking said door. Chronostasis sighed, slipping into the shotgun.
"One day, you'll have to stop treating me so familiarly, sir. The Assault Team doesn't appreciate the favoritism. If we intend to keep those monsters under our thumb, we will have to cater to them."
"Stay your hand. They wouldn't dare act out, not when we're so close."
Chronostasis paused, the rapid tapping upon his tablet slowing.
"Close to what, sir? The Quirk-Destroyers are still in Beta."
"Bah. In regards to revolution? We are closer than any other. In a cosmic sense, we are already done. No—what I refer to is a far more… annoying prospect."
The tablet-tappings slowed to a total stop.
"...M.L.A.? Are we speaking of Beta's theft?"
Kai was unforgiving on the transmission as he bumped it into third. A slow creaking noise grinded against their ears as the steering wheel bent under his strength.
"That fucking humunculous Destro has gone too far this time. It lines up perfectly. The only people capable of that level of thievery are those Meta bastards."
"That is a serious accusation, sir. Such would be like the old Soviet Union breaking M.A.D. It'd be war."
"We've been at war for years, Hari. This is nothing new."
"Sir… with all due respect, there is a difference between a cold war and a hot one. If the M.L.A. actually stole from us so brazenly, then that only means they're ready for a fight. They could be ready to change the world—and we're close, so, so close, but we're not there yet. Eri is still borderline untested—"
Kai slammed on the breaks, jerking Chronostasis to a stop. Overhead, a redlight was blinking.
"We've already conquered the underworld, Hari. The Boogeyman is dead. We have stolen his strength, his title, his resources—everything. There's no greater force in Japan. The Plague that has swept our world will not overtake us. Even if it takes a decade to perfect the Cure, we will persevere. They could bang on our doors for a century, and we would not crack."
A green light. They drove slow after that, their destination around the corner. The air conditioning was obnoxious and loud between their silence.
Kai could hear what went unsaid. Between Omega and Beta, Beta was the more valuable stock. It contained a sample; one of their precious few successes. The theft was a massive security breach; they might as well just email them their plans. The Meta Society was playing a dangerous, dangerous game, and they'd just taken a piece off Kai's board.
If any other organization had stolen the sample, he might've stayed calm. While he'd put all the small-time Yakuza and gangs under his belt, there were still other crime orgs that wanted All for One's old money. Of course, he'd beaten most of them into submission as well, but the Meta Society was an entire other beast. They were… zealous. They thrived on their putrid abilities, holding them as inalienable rights to be respected. It would be problematic, but manageable. He'd never found a wall he could not climb; and when he did, Overhaul could just break it down. Re-Destro would be no different.
He shifted into second as they neared the turn, gritting his teeth. Abandoning the old facility was just an insult to injury; but it was trivial, in the end. One day, there'd be no "Metas" or "Quirks" to oppose him. He was at an equilibrium of hardship; a thousand difficult decisions lay conquered behind him, a thousand more lay tall and strong ahead. Only by conquering them all, however, would they be free of quirks.
They crawled into the new facility's parking lot, cruising around on first gear. Kai pulled into the closest slot to the door; a disabled spot, and shut the car off. Without the low hum of the car, Kai felt the weight of the silence, and decided he disliked it.
"Well?"
"Is this… a new property? I don't remember this on our budget." Chronostasis said, checking his tablet.
"Patience, Hari."
Pulling out his phone, it only took a few swipes to find the property's listing on the underground market. He didn't even check the price.
One button press, and this was his new headquarters. At least for now.
"Have Eri settled in by this afternoon, Hari. Delivery operations will continue unimpeded." Kai said, walking around to the back. Popping open the doors revealed a vast swath of every cleaning material on the open market, tools and chemicals alike. Unloading the truck only took milliseconds with Overhaul, disassembling the resources inside the truck and reassembling them to the side. He motioned Chronostasis to get into the truck as he put on an apron and a hair net. "I'll prepare my new office in the meantime. Also, have Mimic organize an infiltration team."
"...Yes, sir." Chronostasis said, slipping into the driver's seat. "Where shall they be infiltrating?"
Kai Chisaki paused, looking up from where he was loading chemicals onto a cart.
"Detnerat, of course."
[x]
Rikiya Yotsubashi considered himself a humane man. His ancestor, Destro, had been one of the greatest freedom fighters in history, and Rikiya liked to think their will passed on to him. His family was one built on fighting, but it'd always been for the benefit of the marginalized.
Sometimes, though, he wished it was beneficial for everyone. Staring down at the broken neck of his secretary, he sighed. She'd been a lovely woman; straightforward, powerful, dedicated… but it'd been her downfall. He simply could not allow someone with such an unbendable, twisted view of the Meta Society to continue existing as a top official for his company. Crouching down, he brushed the hair out of her face, closing her eyes. She wasn't dead yet, but without any motor functions, she'd suffocate soon. Rikiya didn't want to see the expression in her final seconds of life.
Standing back up, he shuddered as Stress bloomed in his body, his quirk devouring and storing his negativity. Swallowing the saliva stuck in his throat, he walked back around to his desk, booting up his computer. It took a few minutes; he wasn't very good with computers, and a lot of mistreatment had given it a long wind-up time. It'd been his secretary's job to mitigate his carelessness, now that he thought of it.
Leaning forward in his seat, he could just manage to spot the awkward crook of her neck. He was going to miss her; Rikiya would make sure to hire a more moral person next time. Extensive screening would become standardized for hiring, he decided.
With his computer on, he began the difficult, complicated, long-winded process of covering this up. He sent out a mass-cancellation of his meetings today, and forwarded a few hundred thousand to his clean-up crew.
With that burdensome duty out of the way, he leaned into his chair, exhausted. Ending a life was never easy; but it was all for the sake of his people. A tear slipped down his cheek; he didn't bother to wipe it away. Rikiya stayed there for a long time, mourning.
A knock at the door had him alert instantly, a wild panic overtaking him for a brief second. To kill twice on the same day would surely steal away his precious sleep.
Stress slowed his racing heart, however, sucking away the crazed anxiety like a vacuum, calming him. Standing up straight, he walked over to the front door and opened it, prepared and at ease. Despite his sudden apathy, he cracked a grin. It was just Tomoyasu.
"I've got news, Commander." The tall brunette said, his eyes a mystery behind his bangs.
"Oh, now might not be a good time, Tomoyasu."
"Sorry, but this is far more important than your impromptu murder. I was successful in our raid."
Rikiya didn't gulp; he didn't flinch or turn away, either. While he was curious how the man knew, he'd grown used to it. Tomoyasu didn't let a fly escape his notice, let alone his commander wiping out his schedule and throwing dollar signs at specialist crews. He leaned into Stress, allowing it to absorb even more of his anxiety.
"Of course. You mean on the Shie Hassaikai?" Rikiya said, stepping forward and closing his office behind them. His secretary would be gone by the time he got back. Together, they made their way to the elevator, Tomoyasu talking all the while.
"Don't be dense, Commander. Know thy enemy. The Shie Hassaikai are no more; they've evolved past it." He said as they stepped into the elevator. Tomoyasu's finger trailed down from the top-floor office they were on down to their furthermost basement. Slapping the button, he stepped away, pulling out his laptop and sitting down. It would be a long way down to the basement.
"Of course. They're fascist animals who hate with every fiber of their being. At least when the old dogs had still reigned supreme, they'd operated on an honor code. Having that brat Chisaki tugging them by the balls is like handing your racist nephew a gun." Rikiya said, tugging on the cuffs of his suit. Stress thrived on this kind of irritation; even as he began to heat up, his quirk devoured the feeling, leaving him just as apathetic as before, but no happier. Tomoyasu nodded.
"Easily worse, which is why our raid is such a big deal. I can't believe those morons left their tracker unencoded."
A chime echoed between them, announcing their arrival at the delivery bay. Rikiya helped Tomoyasu to his feet as they left. Despite being the Detnerat Building, only Meta Society members worked on this floor.
"Re-Destro!" A worker called out, his tentacles waving in excitement at Rikiya's appearance. Rikiya gave the man his best smile; wide, full of pearly teeth, but all business. Any joy he felt at seeing his beloved employee felt shallow after his secretary. A few other workers paused to greet him as well, all friendly and courteous. He took their pleasantries all as stones to his burden, the weight in his gut unsalvageable even by Stress.
Tomoyasu guided him around all their employees, bringing him to a single truck. Three suited men stood to the side of the vehicle, mirroring a similar group of women on the opposite. He gave them all a single nod, stepping back to watch them work.
Each woman was a veteran bombsquad leader, and treated the task like a misplaced finger spelled all their deaths. Ever since the Yakuza had begun terrorizing the major cities, Detnerat had been mass producing anti-bomb equipment for heroes and paranoid civilians alike. Rikiya watched them work with a keen eye, wondering exactly what kind of modifications or improvements they could make in their product.
"We're unsure if it's tagged or not, but we know there isn't anything computerized inside. At best, we may find a USB." Tomoyasu said, whispering into his ear. He nodded, watching as the deft fingers of the bombsquad disassembled the back door, opening it in such a way that it wouldn't go off even if it was rigged. Rikiya tugged at the wealth of energy Stress stored, just in case. A light black shell encompassed his form as he took a step ahead of his lieutenant, a subtle arm poking out like a mother right before a car crash.
Seconds passed as they peeled away the door, revealing the interior. Rikiya himself wasn't much of a scientist, but even he could see genius when it lay bare before him. Half the load was just crates and desks. The other side was microscopes, beakers and a dozen or so other scientific utensils. It was like a mad scientist's lab, condensed and modified to fit in a truck.
The bombsquad did one more sweep over the truck before declaring it safe. From there, the three men stepped inside and began unloading, studying, and organizing their findings. They found all the tools to be sterile, the equipment unused or cleaned to perfection. They even waved a blacklight over everything, confirming no lingering material clung to the interior.
When they tried to pick up the crate, however, the three men struggled.
"Woah, this guy's a heavy one!" One of the men said, wiping sweat from his forehead. Tomoyasu and Rikiya glanced at each other.
"No problem, boys. Allow me." Rikiya said, the black shell on his left arm thickening and elongating with the words. Using Stress to amplify his strength tickled. It relaxed him, using his stockpiled stress; like letting go of a grudge. Without an ounce of effort, he lifted the three crates in one large hand, moving them so as to view them himself.
Not giving it a second thought, he popped the lid off the first crate. He blinked. Stress shrunk his arm back down to size, breaking off into fragments that melted back into his now pale skin. A horrible feeling was building up in his insides, his eyes unable to believe what they were seeing.
Oh god, he thought. A whirlwind of disgust was tearing through him, consuming his insides like a wildfire. It was—horrible, it was awful. Never in a million years had he expected this; he knew the Yakuza hated quirks, but…
He recovered the crate with the lid. Everyone present gave him a strange look as he walked away, facing a wall. Rikiya couldn't help himself; Stress ate his negativity, not his nausea. He threw up.
Behind, he heard his fellow Metas open the lid after him, their gasps piercing his ears like spears.
"Quirk… Destroyers? Trial… 48?" One of the suited men said, his voice flat and numb.
"Oh my god… what are they making?" A woman whispered.
Tomoyasu didn't speak; but the rapid firing of his laptop's keys spoke loud enough for him. In an hour's time, all the lieutenants would know.
Rikiya's lower lip trembled, his jaw spasming alongside his erratic heart. Blood was beating against his ears, his breaths ragged and torn. Quirk Destroying Serum?
It was like designing a poison to rot off all your limbs, a venom that killed your soul. Meta Abilities were a gift, the pride and joy of every individual's life. They were to be celebrated… not destroyed. It was mutilation of the highest order, a newfound fear that he'd never even imagined.
His fingernails punctured the skin of his palm, his fists bulging alongside his quirk. As his emotions blossomed, so too did Stress, devouring it like a starving god does worlds. This time, however, it couldn't quiet him, couldn't bring him to apathy. No, his sudden hatred for the Yakuza transcended the power of his quirk, rocketing out of the realm of reasonability into the atmosphere of madness.
"Fuck!" Rikiya screamed, his massive blackened fist slamming into the floor. All around them, the building shook. For a millisecond, he feared the building would fall, but he remembered he built it.
No one said a word. Not Tomoyasu, not his specialists, and especially not the more casual employees littered throughout the basement. The only sound in the vicinity was the song of his heart, and it was hateful.
"Men! Women! My friends, gather round!" Rikiya yelled, calling them to his side. They came to him without hesitation. Fear was in their eyes, but not of him, no, not even of his monstrous black form. Tomoyasu, his six specialists, and over two dozen additional employees gathered to his side, eager for his input.
It was these moments he lived for. His life was a difficult one, filled with thousands of hard decisions behind him and a thousand in front of him; but they'd be free, in the end. Before, he'd thought his sole purpose was to lift the veil of oppression, but these Yakuza had revealed a greater truth to him.
"My brothers, sisters; my nieces, nephews, and beloved cousins… Listen, listen. It is today that we acquire a great burden; a cross we shouldn't have had to bear. The Yakuza, Kai Chisaki's Crow, has created an ultimate evil. Within that box," Rikiya said, pointing to the Quirk Destroyer crate, "is the fledgling concoction of sin. An unholy half-child; something so inhumane I shudder to think of it. A Meta-Erasing serum."
Gasps rang through the unaware employees; his specialists could only stare in horror. None took their eyes off of him.
"Re-Destro? Are we… going to be okay?" One employee asked; a young man built like an ox. His sclera was blood red, but his irises were baby blue. His heart softened, looking at the man. Two hundred years ago, he would've been lynched alongside Rikiya's ancestor. Even now, had he been born in the countryside, he would've been battered and abused beyond belief.
"My boy, are you a Civilian or a Soldier?" Re-Destro asked, feeling his torso expand with the wild flow of his strength. The young man drew eyes, and he looked nervous, but that strength in his frame won out over the anxiety of his spirit.
"S-soldier, sir! I'm a soldier of the Meta Liberation Army!"
"Damn right you are! And what do soldiers do!?" He called out, this time to all his audience. Their response was unanimous.
"Protect our rights!"
Their call rang through the facility, almost as loud as Rikiya's blow to the floor. That crazed terror that overrided his quirk screamed with them, the tension releasing in his bones. Re-Destro shrank a bit, returning to his normal size. This time, he gave them a real smile.
"Good. Before we liberate ourselves, we must first eliminate our natural enemy. The Yakuza will be extinct by next Christmas."
[x]
Garaki's screwdriver clattered to his desk, his hand numb. He'd been working on this project for months, and to see it completed—it was unreal. A sleek black finish, polished to shine. A bit larger than the lord's skull, but form-fitting—elegant, but gothic. Across the room, relaxing under the bulky life support, All for One sat, patient as a statue. Garaki lifted the helmet, admiring it even as its visage sent fear striking through his heart. The lord had always had exquisite taste, he'd found.
It was too heavy to move with ease, so Garaki placed it on a cart. The shoddy plastic bent with the weight, but held. It was only going a few feet, after all.
All for One didn't move, even as Garaki sensed his attention. There were no eyes to track, no tilt of his head. Even despite the dissolution to his sensory nerves, the lord watched him with a careful eye. His attention came from all sides, all angles.
Stopping the cart at the foot of the lord's bed, he coughed into a fist.
"My lord, perhaps you would like to change into a more elegant top. This apparatus will not be coming off, once it is on. I wouldn't want you to be inconvenienced by the gown."
It was like the statue twitched; when the lord moved, he moved with the weight of granite. Garaki could almost hear the grinding of stone as the lord's head shifted in his direction.
"Of course, Doctor." All for One said, his voice butter and silk. The lord didn't snap his fingers, or clap, or chant an incantation. The only visible effort he made was the twitching of his temporalis muscle.
The hospital gown melted away, turning purple and gaining a mud-like consistency. The purple mud warped and bubbled for a few seconds as the lord debated; soon, however, it began to wrap around the lord like a second skin. Sleeves grew around his appendages, layers distinguished themselves, and the purple tint faded into charcoal black and pearl white. What lay before him was the perfect imitation of an Italian Kiton, even matching the embroideries on the inner cuffs.
"My word, lord. I scantily remember you having such taste. Lovely color." Garaki said, adjusting his glasses to get a better look at the suit-imitation. The lord did not smile, but that all-seeing presence grew loose, and that told him everything he needed.
"Thank you, Doctor. My favorite suit is ashes now, if I'm correct. I shall have Kurogiri fetch me an authentic suit when the moment is right."
"Of course, my lord. Shall we begin?"
"Yes, please. Thank you."
It took a few minutes; none of which were awkward, despite their closeness. To say the lord had friends would be… incorrect, but had he possessed such, Garaki liked to think he was at the top of such a list. The bulge of the doctor's gut did not bother his patient's shoulder, nor did the somewhat unkempt smell. Garaki had, after all, been working on this for months. Such an efficient time meant nonexistent breaks. Perhaps, should the lord prove independent, he would take a long shower.
Perhaps, for a normal man, this procedure should've classified as a surgery. Garaki plucked bone-deep artifacts from the lord's flesh, unplugged precious life-saving tubes and removed the oxygen mask that kept the lord living. Had the lord been lesser, Garaki would've had to put him under. Instead, All for One took his lumps in silence.
A scalpel cut openings into his neck, his shoulders, and his skull; all without any protest. These bloodless wounds stayed dry as Garaki began attaching his new creation to his lord. It might've looked like torture, to an outsider. The aparatice stuck to his rough skin like a brand, iron hooks slotting into the fresh wounds. A foul odor wafted through the air as the last piece of the helmet fused itself to All for One's skull.
Where the life support once kept his heart beating and lungs squeezing, there was now just the helmet. Where multiple tons of equipment had barely kept his blood flowing, now just the helmet lay. At last, Garaki pulled the final plug on the life support, All for One was free.
Each breath reverberated around the room like an engine, the purr of his life-force evident. The mechanism had no batteries, needed no charge. It pulled the nutrients from the surroundings, transmuting even the stalest air into the purest oxygen.
All for One swung his legs over the bed's edge as a lord, but when he stood, he was a king once more. Garaki looked up to the man; tall, imposing, beautiful, and couldn't help the tear that trickled down his cheek.
The king flexed his fingers, silent but for the hum of his life. Each knuckle popped, a thunderstorm amidst the roar of machinery. Gradually, the king popped every joint in his body, from his fingers to his toes. He stretched, exploring his new limits. Garaki just watched in silence, mesmerized.
At last, All for One slowed, stopping his warm-up.
"Doctor, what have I lost?" He asked, his voice echoing around the bunker with a metallic twang. Garaki shuddered.
"I would never presume to know your limits, my king."
"Thank you, Doctor, but this is serious. I can feel it, you know."
"Feel what?"
"The tension. It is as thick in the air as butter. Should I stick a finger out, it would come away covered in grease."
"My king?"
"The friction between the Warlords. The thief, Chisaki, and the descendant, Yotsubashi. They are to battle, no?"
It was the most All for One had spoken at once since he'd awoken. Pride filled Garaki's frame just as confusion tainted it.
"My king, I'm afraid… I don't follow."
All for One didn't sigh in disappointment, didn't treat Garaki like a lesser. It was one of the million things that drew them to partnership; geniuses in their own right, together against the world. The great king turned, looking to the north like he could see through the walls. In a sense, he could.
"The boy with my empire, and the man with his own. If we are to take advantage of our cute little generals, then I must know my own strength. To meddle while unaware of my limits would be the height of folly, no?"
Garaki simply stared, stunned. His king had stood up for the first time in half a decade, and already he intended to put plans into motion. A wave of nostalgia hit him. Before the princes, before One for All, before all that mess with All Might even started. Just the king, Garaki, and the world to conquer.
"I suppose it would. I'll draft you a report immediately."
"Thank you Doctor, but you're welcome to take the day off. You are my most loyal companion, and I wouldn't see you burn out even more. In any case, I have things to attend to that are more pressing than such a report. We can reconvene in that department next week."
Garaki paused, already half-way to his computer. His king was so understanding. It would be very nice to have a break after all this time. As always, however, it seemed his lord had bigger plans than he liked to say.
"Alright, I shall take some time off… but what is this urgent business of yours?" Garaki asked, slipping off his lab coat. All for One shifted, now facing more eastward than north.
"I must check on my child, of course. The prince may still rebel, but that doesn't erase a parent's concern."
[x]
AN: This chapter went by like butter; well, the editing part did at least. I'm currently in the middle of chapter 31, and I think it's going to be the longest chapter. This whole pantsing thing is really fun, when you don't need to think about the antagonist. Now that I'm dipping my toes into the villains a little more, however, this is requiring more and more brainpower. Still, chapter 30 and 31 are almost mindless fun, so you guys will have that to look forward to.
I'm thinking I'm gonna try cross-posting this story on AO3. If it does well over there, I might be inclined to try and expand my efforts on this story a little more. If it flops; then oh well.
Review! I love the energy on the weeklys; but its been a while since I got a critique or a lengthy appreciation thread. Looking forward to whatever y'all have to say about this chapter.