SO, time for another update! Not much else to report so I'll just let ya'll get RIGHT TO IT!
Enjoy!
Hitoshi knew he was dreaming.
It wasn't often he knew he was dreaming, usually, his exhaustion-level sleep was during the day, or when he just downed a whole bunch of sleeping tablets and physically willed his insomnia to piss off.
But this time he knew it was night and he knew he was dreaming. Or maybe it was a nightmare. That was the confusing thing because he couldn't figure out exactly what kind of dream this was. Usually, his good dreams had him being the number one hero, inspiring the hopeless to rise up and claim their place within a society which otherwise rejected them.
Lately, he had been standing beside All Might, proud to be his successor in the fight against evil.
His nightmares, however, were usually so much more brutal. Nightmares where he was never accepted, where the darkness of villainy gripped and consumed him, devouring his spirit whole as the world fell into shadow and terror.
This dream however was… was different.
It felt almost real.
He was in a strange place of absolute darkness, though he did not feel threatened or scared. If anything, he felt oddly… calm, as if he had been there before. Though what wasn't calming were the people before him.
Eight people, to be exact.
Eight people who had stood around him, clad in flicking shadow-forms. Past that was only more darkness, though somehow the shadows stood out amongst all of that. Perhaps because they had shape. All the while he looked on, almost a shadow-form himself with only his hand and the top of his head above his mouth with any actual physical form.
He didn't know how he knew that, just that he did.
He stood there, surrounded by them as they had all looked on, their unseen eyes judging him for all he was worth. And yet, bizarrely, he didn't feel threatened by them. If anything, he felt as though he somehow knew them, even if he couldn't make out all their features.
Then the whispering, like the sound of distant shadows moving, slowly began to filter through his brain.
"He's too young, it's too soon."
"He already knows the truth. We should let him see."
"It's too soon."
"He barely has a handle on One For All as it is, one day's training almost broke his arm."
"He'll get better with time."
"We have to trust Toshinori's instincts, One For All would not be passed to one who didn't deserve it."
"This is too much, even if he already knows, it could drive him mad."
"His soul is stronger than that, we can all see it, we're one with it now, after all."
"We can still protect him through One For All."
"I don't know about this…"
Then one shadow suddenly stepped forward, one that seemed more… formed than the others. It was taking shape into something that was human, though a thin, half-starved looking human. When it spoke, it spoke with a slight rasp, yet it was a voice that seemed clear and true and brave. "We never allowed Toshinori to see and it almost cost us everything. This boy knows the truth and he has stood fearless before oblivion many times. He can handle the true sight, he'll need it going forward."
Hitoshi stood, utterly frozen to the spot as the figure slowly emerged from the shadow as… a man. A terribly thin, wasted looking man with long, white scraggly hair that covered most of his face. His clothes were a dirty grey shirt and a pair of greyer jogging pants. Yet from behind the heavy bangs, shone a pair of bright eyes the color of a passing cloud. Not blind, no, but white in a strange, almost unearthly manner that still saw and pierced through all they looked upon.
And they bored into Hitoshi's own.
"I'm sorry to do this to you, Hitoshi, but time is short, my forsaken brother moves, and soon all might be doomed. From now on you'll see through the veil, but I know you can handle it." He stretched out a hand, and Hitoshi tried to move back but found he couldn't. He couldn't move a muscle, he could barely even curl his fingers into a fist.
As the hand landed across his eyes, he closed them shut.
Just as pain suddenly stabbed through his temples, down his throat, and right into his soul.
It was about that point when he woke up screaming and thrashing.
He fell from the bed and thumped heavily onto the floor in a tangle of blankets and very stiff pillows. The bed was one that Gran Torino had so nicely prepared for him. Well, he had left it out for him. Well, the bedframe ha been up against the wall, forcing Hitoshi to drag a mattress up from the lower floor, then he'd had to hunt down the spare blanket and pillows for himself.
He had tried to consider it training and not the old man being an asshole.
The teenager groaned slowly and managed to prop himself up on his good arm as the phantom pain of his dream faded from his head.
His other arm ached. It had throbbed since yesterday when he had first tested out One For All on a truly official basis. He had only used a tiny sliver of it, something he was sure he could handle.
Turned out even a sliver of its power was truly overwhelming.
The car he had used it on had turned into nothing but scrap metal, as had the other cars behind that, and it was only thanks to the depth of Gran Torino's medical knowledge that he probably could still move his arm at all. Thankfully nothing had been torn or broken, but it had hurt like hell for the rest of the day and he'd downed some painkillers to even try and get some sleep.
Hitoshi scrambled up and out of his bed, stumbling out of the room then down the hallway to where the toilet was. At least the place was decently clean, well, the places the old man had bothered to keep up anyway.
He staggered into the bathroom and quickly ran the water and began splashing his face. Then he looked into the mirror and blinked, trying to focus his vision and get a grip on himself.
Hitoshi looked to his uncombed purple hair, his dull purple eyes ringed with ever-present exhaustion, and saw that nothing was wrong. He pulled down below his eye, making absolutely sure his vision was still the same, before sticking his tongue out at himself.
He chuckled to no one, gripped the sink again and sighed, his anxiety fading… that was until he glanced over to the shower.
There was a bird in the shower.
He turned his head fully to realize that, firstly, it wasn't a bird at all, but some kind of… bird-like thing. It was coated in a moving shadow black plumage, with two sharp looking claws on the end of stubby legs. Yet it's face was more like a raptor, with a grinning beak filled with sharp teeth and two bulging eyes sat upon a head which had an open, exposed brain.
After a stilled heartbeat of a moment, it seemed to notice Hitoshi looking at it.
It moved one step closer to Hitoshi and the boy bolted.
He ran out the door so fast he hit the wall on the other side, causing a big dent in the plaster before turning and sprinting down the hallway.
Where he practically fell over Gran Torino.
He screamed as he barely avoided the old man and collided with the far wall above the staircase, again creating a crater where his body impacted the plastering and almost falling directly down the stairs.
Only by pure chance did he managed to grab onto the railing, swung himself upright and fall back onto the floor.
"WHAT THE HELL, KID?" Gran, who still seemed dressed in his button up-tartan pajamas, demanded of the young man. As Hitoshi looked to him, he was suddenly thwacked on the head by the old man's walking cane, "Waking me up so damn early in the morning with all that screaming and shouting! What do you think you're playing at!? Old people need to sleep in, you know!"
Hitoshi's instincts immediately decided that was a giant ass lie, but then his attention refocused on what was important. And what was important was the weird monster that was in the fucking shower.
"There's something in the bathroom!" Hitoshi spluttered out, ignoring the ache pumping through his head, "Some kinda- I dunno- something!"
The old man frowned over to Hitoshi, as if truly wondering if he had completely lost his marbles, before turning to move towards the door. However, the moment he did so, the dumb, stupid hero in Hitoshi leaped to attention and the boy bounced up quickly to his feet. "Wait! Gran Torino!"
He tried to scramble towards the man, but it was already too late. The old man had pushed open the bathroom door with his cane, and for a split second, Hitoshi's heart froze.
"… kid, are you smoking something?" He turned his stony gaze back to Hitoshi and spoke with all the amusement of a police officer whose shoes had been vomited on. "There's nothing there."
"But- but," Hitoshi moved to the tiny old man's side and peered around, his eyes growing wide as he saw… nothing. There was nothing there. Just the bathroom as it had always been, clean and tidy and empty of any horrible bird-like monster. His mind swam in confusion for a moment before he shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. "I coulda sworn…"
"Hmpf. Get showered and dressed, I'll make breakfast, sounds like you could use something on your stomach."
"T-Thank you, Gran Torino," Hitoshi stuttered out as he again looked around the bathroom, taking slow steps as if the floor would open up and devour him.
He was so sure it had been there, as real as his own skin and bones.
And yet, maybe Gran Torino was right. Maybe he just needed to eat. The last two days had been extremely taxing on him, after all.
It was the first time he had begun using One For All. Maybe it was messing with him a little bit, getting used to its new owner or something.
He began over again with his morning routine, this time keeping a sharp eye out for any monster he might see.
Thankfully it didn't show up again.
By the time he made his way downstairs to the smell of slightly burnt toast and bacon, as well as a bubbling pot of oatmeal, his mind was already beginning to put a number of things together.
The kitchen was, like the rest of the house, like Gran Torino even. Old and worn yet somehow still standing, still working, still sound. There were cracks in the walls and the molding along the tops of the rooms were gone, but even so, there was something friendly, almost comforting about it all.
Gran Torino, and Hitoshi called him nothing else as the old man had yet to reveal his actual name, was already dressed in his hero costume. The white-and-yellow getup that seemed a little baggy on him, yet actually hid a terrifying amount of technical skill and blinding speed. He was a tiny thing, probably shrunken with age, and his face was a mess of wrinkles dotted by two small, beady, almost black eyes. His hair was a dusky snow white, though it was combed and smartly parted.
The old man glanced at Hitoshi as the boy walked in, his wizened face in a permanent frown, and his eyes hidden by his black mask.
"H-Hey, Gran Torino?"
The old man grunted in reply.
Hitoshi pulled out a chair and slid into it, "Did, err, did All Might ever talk to you about dreams?"
"Dreams?" The old man turned suddenly, frowning at the teenager, "What are you talking about?"
"Like, really vivid dreams?" Hitoshi pushed, ignoring his new mentors' grumpy demeanor. "Like… maybe of the other One For All users?"
The old man paused, fixing Hitoshi with a tight, harsh look. Finally, he turned back to his frying bacon, turning the stove off and hopping down from the small stool he had been standing on to bring the breakfast over to the table. Hitoshi stayed silent as the old man did all this, watching him with a slight anxiety as he put the meal together.
Finally, when he pulled up in his own chair to frown across at Hitoshi, he grumped, "Tell me of this dream, kid."
As so Hitoshi told him. Of the shadowed visages, and then the one coming forward to put his hand over Hitoshi's eyes. Irritatingly, the words they spoke wouldn't come back to him, they seemed somehow lost, or far away, like a dream within his dream.
He did remember, however, that it had something to do with his sight.
Gran Torino listened impassively until Hitoshi was done, then he huffed and chewed sternly on a piece of toast before finally announcing, "I told you I trained Toshinori after his old mentor died, right?"
Hitoshi remembered the rather dark conversation well, especially as it had been one of the first proper conversations they'd had after Gran had kicked his ass for thirty minutes straight trying to see what he could do with One For All.
He'd tried to fall back onto his first quirk in a desperate attempt to stop the lightning-fast hero but found that Gran apparently already knew about it and had slapped him across the face halfway through his question. He was supposed to use only One For All for the entire week until he was sure he was used to handling it.
"Well, I remember her saying something to me once. Something about how the past users of One For All would always remain in One For All itself. She called it romantic," He scoffed, though there was a fondness to it, "I always thought she was just talking crazy, she always was a bit of a dreamer." A sadness passed through his eyes before he refocused on Hitoshi, "But maybe there's a bit of truth to it after all. Could be that whatever remnants of the old users are still in the quirk itself."
A sudden thought struck Hitoshi, and without thinking, he mumbled out, "Like bits of souls…"
"Souls?" Gran quirked an eyebrow, "Heh, if you want to think like that, sure, why not. Either way, I wouldn't worry about it, the past users were all brave, true heroes. If they're reaching out to yah in yah dreams, well, I say let 'em. You need all the help you can get."
Hitoshi had only half-listened as his own thoughts had begun quickly running away with his new idea. Their souls, or pieces of their souls, remained in One For All. A quirk he now had. And then the talk about sight, the way that man had reached towards his eyes…
The monster in the bathroom.
Sight.
Souls.
Monsters that vanish in an instant.
His eyes widened as the realization dawned over him. His heart practically dropped right out of his stomach and he buried his head into his palm, loudly announcing, "… oh, fuck me- OW!"
Hitoshi rubbed the spot on his head where Gran Torino had smacked him with his cane, "No swearing at the breakfast table! What were yah raised in a barn?"
"Sorry! Sorry!" Hitoshi hissed out.
Inside, however, his heart was running in circles, his mind was on fire and he felt like his soul had been peeved upon while changing clothes.
He could see them. He could see the unborn. That horrific thing he had seen in the shower, that was an unborn.
His mind reeled at this sudden, shocking information as he tried to process it as smoothly as he could. He calmed his breath and then stuffed his mouth full of food, trying to buy himself some time before he said anything stupid again.
So… so that was the kind of thing Izuku and Fumikage saw on a daily basis. And they'd been seeing them for years.
He'd seen only one and it was enough to almost give him a goddamn heart attack. He could suddenly see why people would think Izuku was crazy, or why Fumikage always seemed so dour and dark. Their world was filled with things like that, and from the way they talked about them, they only seemed to get worse.
But he reminded himself, as he swallowed an uncomfortably large amount of oatmeal, that the unborn couldn't physically hurt him. As Dark Shadow had said, they were about as smart as dumb animals, except for those about to turn into true demons and even then, they descended into Hell the moment they did so.
A question suddenly floated into his mind. If getting One For All meant he could now see the unborn, why hadn't All Might ever mentioned it? On one hand sure, he could have been trying not to seem insane, but after everything else he had told Hitoshi it seemed odd he would leave that huge thing out.
Unless… unless he couldn't see them. Unless, perhaps, those lingering in One For All had decided not to let him see.
He frowned as he looked to his coffee, sipping at it softly for a moment.
So why him, why now? What made him so different from All Might? Was it that he already knew? Was that it?
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The why and how he would have to just ignore for now, at least until he met up with his two experts again. Maybe they had some tips on how to deal with the unborn, though he knew he would be getting nothing out of them until the internship ended.
So, really, he was stuck with just trying to ignore the monsters until he was back in class.
Right, yeah, he could do that.
He just needed to focus on his training, on mastering using One For All at an acceptable level of power, and everything would be okay.
… man, he was getting good at lying to himself.
"You okay, kid?" Gran Torino's voice came filtering back into his consciousness and he blinked, looking back up to the old man, "I didn't hit yah that hard, did I?"
"Oh, no, no, sorry, I was just thinking about stuff."
"Nothing bad I hope."
"Oh, no, nothing bad," Hitoshi forced a smile on his face, "Just… you know, One For All stuff. It's a hell of a quirk."
"It's a hell of a quirk to train, too," Gran shot back, wagging a finger at the teenager, "You've got the grasps of turning it on and off down at least. Now you've just gotta figure out how to balance it. Without balance, you're nothing."
Balance. What was it with old men and finding balance? Well, at least he and Izuku would have that to talk about when they met up again… if his friend found his balance. He really hoped he would do.
He'd been texting him on and off when he could, and it seemed like his friend was making some small progress. Hawks was apparently a very, very informed teacher, though he had promised not to go into specifics. He was just glad that he wasn't pure evil, or it wasn't some kind of elaborate trap.
Izuku deserved a lot better than what he had been handed by life. They had that in common he supposed.
"Yes, o' wise master," Hitoshi's smile became a genuine smirk as he hid his concerns with humor, a tried and tested method of avoiding his emotions, "Teach this grasshopper your ways. Wax on, wax off, right?"
He dodged the second swing of the walking cane, though he also caught the ghost of an amused smile run across Gran Torino's lips. "Don't be a smart ass. Toshinori was a smart ass and I did nothing but punch him in the face for two years straight. Do you want me to punch you in the face?"
"Depends, will it make me a better hero?"
The old man truly did smile this time, "That big mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one of these days."
"Already has," Hitoshi finished his coffee and stood up, feeling at least partially ready to face the day, "How do you think I got into this mess?"
She made him nervous. She knew she made him nervous. She knew she made everyone in the agency nervous.
But Ibara didn't care.
They didn't matter, after all. They were all third-rate heroes in a fourth-rate agency that, had the circumstances been any different, she would have never had even gone to.
It wasn't like she needed to learn how to fight, after all.
Ecclesiarch Raion had known the tenth-ranked hero Yoroi Musha personally, from the days when Pro-Heroing was a newer thing, and that they had been in a team together with another man whose name she had never learned, mostly because Raion had fallen out with him over some matter or another.
She had thought that perhaps she might have interned with the ancient samurai hero and walked in the footsteps of her beloved Ecclesiarch.
That dream had died when Raion had died.
When Chizome had murdered him.
And now he was murdering others. The count had risen to eight as of last night. Eight pro-heroes, some even within the top twenty. Eight lives robbed for no discernible reason, though Ibara most certainly had her suspicions.
Sorrow bubbled inside her chest, but with an effort of will she forced it down. Will, and cold anger.
There was no expression on her face.
She walked bedside Manual without looking at him, she didn't really care what he thought, after all, and it wasn't like anyone could even touch her without her permission.
Well, everyone except him.
"So, Ibara," Manual's cheery tone drifted over the air and was about as fake as a politicians' promise, "That's an interesting costume you have, first time I've seen it, actually," He put on a smile which Ibara caught at a glance, "Is it… inspired by anything?"
Ibara's costume was quite simple. It appeared to be a long, but form-fitting, chainmail shirt and a matching pair of leggings with a pair of thick looking greaves to match. The chainmail, however, was not like that of the ancient type but was actually a form of ultra-high molecular weight body armor fashioned to look like chainmail, allowing her to move faster and nimbler than if she was weighed down with actual iron.
Over it all was a great and flowing pure white surcoat that almost, but not quite, reached the ground and was tied at her middle with a brown leather belt where a few pouches containing first aid items were held. Over her heart was emblazoned the cross of her church, with latin words placed around it. She had stitched that in herself.
She wore no helmet and instead allowed her hair to flow naturally from her head. No point in covering up her quirk after all.
Under her surcoat, under her chainmail, on a simple metal chain was her cross. The last thing she had of her family, her first family.
"… yes," Came her rather stilted answer, "By the crusading ancestors of my church."
"Oh, right, I-erm-I mean I dunno anything about those western things," Manual replied with an almost stuttering laugh, "My roots have always been in Hosu for- well- forever really. I can trace my family tree right back to the Sengoku period! And my wife, well, she's actually Korean if you can believe that. Her family came here during the unification war. We took the kids over there last summer, actually."
Ibara didn't reply. Why was he telling her this? She turned away, ignoring the look of awe one small child gave her as his mother pulled him by.
The silence one again became heavy before it was broken, "You know, I know why you're here."
Ibara snapped to attention, her eyes turning and locking onto the man within a heartbeat. She hadn't realized it, but she had walked ahead of him, forcing her to turn back to face him properly.
Manual was a little short for a hero, and his simple outfit, consisting of a blue and off-white striped uniform, dark blue shorts and a helmet with a raised fin on it, didn't exactly strike fear into the hearts of the sinful, or really hope into the hearts of the innocent. Even his features didn't really stand out, a pair of plain blue eyes, slightly rounded cheeks, and a friendly jawline. But she knew he had a rock-solid reputation as someone who could go out there and get the job done.
He was the example to which every hero should set themselves, almost literally.
And, in that moment, despite all the abrasive dullness he often gave out, he seemed… firm and strong. Not overwhelmingly, nothing she couldn't handle, but strong enough. Enough to give her pause.
"I know you're looking for your brother."
Ibara hesitated for only a second before replying, "He is my brother no longer, Manual."
Manual gave out a quick breath and closed the gap between them with two steps. He turned his hands palms up as he talked, as if showing he meant no harm, "Look, Ibara. I know you're strong. You won the Sports Festival and, I mean, you showed more skill out there than most pros will ever have. But I also know this thing with your brother, it has to be eating you up inside."
"I'm fine," She lied, "I chose you because-"
"Spare me the excuses," the pro waved her words away, "I know you chose me because this is where he's been operating, and you want the chance to catch him yourself."
She bit her lip and her hair curled behind her. She wanted to hit this man for trying to placate her vengeance. What did he know of honor? Of justice? Of what she had been trained to do and think from the moment she was recruited into the Templar order? He was just a nobody a-
"And I know you think I'm a nobody, but despite what you think I do know a thing or two about being a pro," Ibara tried to hide how sharply his words hit her, "And I know about how strongly you view your faith, you don't think your teachers didn't note that in your file?" He smiled softly, trying to reach her with it, before looking away for a brief second as an old woman crossed the road. Once he was clearly sure it was safe, he looked back. "You can't let it make all the decisions for you, Ibara, especially not for cases like this. Leave your brother to the professionals, they can handle him, despite what you might think."
They couldn't. No one other than perhaps the top ten heroes in the country stood a chance against the wrath her brother could deploy upon the field of battle. She had seen it many times and been on the receiving end just as often. If it wasn't for the Prioress's quirk, she knew she might be dead several times over.
"We're heroes, Ibara. Heroes. We don't fight for ourselves, but for them," And he gestured to the half-empty street. She turned and with cold eyes looked over the milling public for a moment before looking back, "Don't let your personal grudges drive you. If you go off on your own, if you fight Chizome on your own, it'll be considered a major crime, you could be expelled or worse, and that's just if you even survive."
She couldn't hold his gaze any longer and she looked down, desperate not to acknowledge the way his words twisted inside her gut and tugged at what was left of her heart. The words of Prioress Shizuka filtered through her mind, if you follow this path, you will walk into darkness.
The cross under her armor suddenly felt as heavy as lead.
A hand landed onto her shoulder and her head twitched back up again. Manual's smile was fatherly, caring and genuine. He truly meant his words, and for a moment, she wondered if she had seriously misjudged the man. "I'm not saying he should go free, not at all, what I'm saying is don't risk your future, your life, over getting revenge. Okay?"
He was trying, he really was, but this was a man without faith. Without the backing of a higher, holier power. Without the ideals and teachings passed through thousands of years without end.
And so, his words were rejected from Ibara's heart.
"Okay," She nodded calmly, placing a smile onto the mask she wore, "Okay."
"Good," Manual sighed and moved away, taking his hand from her shoulder, "Phew, glad we had that chat. Now, come on, I'll cover some more of the basic protocol and we'll grab some coffee, sound good?"
She nodded calmly and began following behind him once more.
Yet even as she did, the black poison within her only spread even more.
She would have her vengeance. By the grace of God, she would have her vengeance.
"So, Tomura my child. You come before us once again, this time, humbled."
The chapel was deathly quiet, and thus, the words of the Fallen Angel danced and cavorted and caressed every shadowed corner and cold inch of the great room. The pews sat empty, as they always were, and the blue flame candles flickered from their ornate sconces and standing columns. The flickering light they gave groped and grasped and clawed at the shadows they danced lewdly with.
Upon the alter, as always, was an inverted cross and upon it a recently applied disemboweled corpse of a man, blood coating his dark skin, his stinking organs having already been mostly removed for other, sinister purposes.
Yet those that stood before this grotesque scene did not seem to pay it the slightest bit of attention.
Before him, stood Father Satani, as always in his dazzling, alluring, unearthly white and gold robes, all four of his arms were folded into their voluminous sleeves. His horns were decorated with chains of gold and his eyes blazed in the dark like those of a hunting lion.
At his side was a simple T.V. stand and upon it a laptop where the words 'No Video Input' bounced around an otherwise black screen. Yet Tomura knew there was a presence behind that screen, one watching him closely through the webcam. His Sensei, his master, making his indomitable presence known even when he wasn't physically there.
He kept his head bowed low.
Standing to one side, though most certainly not at the same level as Father Satani or the laptop, was Kurogiri. Soul bound to him, always there to serve, his demonic companion's spectral, mist-like form flickered in the shadows, and a pair of tarnish-gold eyes watched him without emotion.
"As you summoned me, Father." He chose his words carefully, as he always did around Father Satani.
"You're healing well," The voice of the Fallen Angel was like honeyed poison in his ears, "That's good. It means we can finally see what you've learned from your little… excursion."
Tomura winced at the slight shift in his tone. A mix of amusement, irritation, and dismission.
"Learned, my Father?"
"Learned." The voice came not from the damned and cursed angel but from the laptop. It was colder, sterner, though it carried the same level of subtle threat and terror, "You went off on your own, attacked foolishly and were beaten by a foe many times your strength."
"Precisely," The Fallen Angel smiled, and a million stars burned and died within it, "Our wish is to see you grow into your full potential, as the true Ender of Days. Therefore, we must see if you have learned from your mistakes."
Tomura let out a slow nod that betrayed nothing.
"And while our dearest Kagero is out proselyting, we should remind the world that we are still here. Still a threat," Father Satani continued, "The mortal souls that wander this world, so lost and foolish and weighed with sin, need reminding of what awaits them behind the veil."
"An attack?" Tomura dared raise his head, though just to be safe, he kept his eyes on the screen, "On who?"
"Whoever you wish," The screen replied, "You may choose your target."
Tomura knew the test had already started. This was the first step, the first major step at least. Who would be the object of the Herald's terror?
"Though," The Fallen Angel moved, gliding like mist down the steps and starting to circle around the kneeling you man, "Your target should be strong, not someone to be taken lightly. You could target my brother's pet project again if you wish."
"Our spies indicate that he has taken up his internship with the hero known as Hawks," Kurogiri began, "Otherwise known as-"
"The Archangel Azrael," The TV screen growled out, "Meaning for now, he is out of our reach."
"Indeed," The sound of Father Satani's displeasure sent an iceberg of fear down Tomura's spine, followed by the almost conditioned desire to make him happy again, "My sibling is training his little project well," His voice sank even deeper becoming almost pitch black, "He even consorts with our enemies to protect his precious little…" There was a pause, then a sigh, "Nevermind, we will deal with all of them in time. Your answer, Tomura?"
He wanted to kill Nemesis. He really wanted to kill Nemesis. The desire to see the demon dissolving into ash under his hands was almost overwhelming… but nothing was ever so overwhelming as to outright defy his Sensei or his Father. Besides, with his words, Satani had all but guaranteed they would fight the beast again.
Tomura knew he had other targets to pick, ones that weren't defended by an Archangel.
He thought for a long moment as his Father circled back around him before looking up and simply stating, "The Templar."
He could see the brilliant, beautiful, world-shattering smile of Father Satani grow wider. "And why should we target him?"
"Because he annoys me. Killing random people in the name of his so-called God," Tomura practically spat the word out as his fingers gripped the ground. He was wearing his artist gloves, so that his quirk didn't activate and destroy anything by accident. However, he still wished he could wrap his own hands around the throat of the so-called Heretic Killer.
Heretic Killer. What a joke. A blood maddened templar running through cities killing heroes and villains alike. He was everything he hated about the world. Their blind obsession with doing what they thought was the right thing, while their every action led them further into damnation. The ultimate hypocrisy in the face of the accused truth.
"I am satisfied with this answer, are you?" Father Satani asked, turning to look at the computer screen.
There was a moment of silence, "I suppose it will suffice."
"Excellent!" Father Satani clasped his hands together, "In that case, Kurogiri, take us to Hosu."
The night air was warm, though not hot or humid. The night sky above was clear, and thanks to decades of light pollution, few stars twinkled through the dark. On a building, high above the streets below, a tear opened in the thin fabric of reality. A tear that promised only oblivion to those who looked too deeply within, and from that oblivion, two figures stepped through.
The first, because he was always first, was Father Satani. A creature that did not look like it should belong on the Earth. A figure too perfect, too striking, even when there was no one and nothing around to see it. The next came Tomura himself, barely a wisp of a young adult, shivering against the breeze despite the calm and pleasant air.
Then the tear closed and reformed into the demon Kurogiri, a creature made of shifting shadow-smoke.
Tomura walked slowly to the edge of the building and glanced down. He had a very slight sense of vertigo, though he could barely feel a thing beyond the fear that he would let down his beloved Father and Sensei. He was glad for the robes, as they hid his shaking hands.
He felt the presence of his Father before he saw him. That slow, creeping sense of unnatural perfection approaching him as his soul cried out in both agony and joy. "It's a lovely night," Father Satani announced, and his very voice seemed to hush the sound of the busy city below them, "Perfect for murder."
The glorious, soul-aching creature came to stand beside him, his hands once again folded into the perfectly voluminous folds of his robes.
There was a moment of silence where they both looked out over the city, then, once again, Father Satani spoke.
"Look at them, Tomura. So pathetic. The mortals that my Father handed this world too. Look at what they have done to it. Polluting it with their sins, with their very being," He sighed and shook his head, and again Tomura felt as though he would tear the world down just to make sure Satani would smile one more time, "But it'll be over soon. All of it. Every worthless life will be gone, and the rightful shall rule. You shall rule."
He turned to face Tomura fully, and while he did not completely tower of the man, he always seemed to be the tallest no matter who he stood beside. Everyone was insignificant in contrast to his unholy glory.
"What do you wish to do, Tomura? You have the enemy unawares, unsuspecting. You can do anything you want, and they will feel the full brunt of your attack."
Tomura was silent for a long moment as he looked to his Father, then he slowly turned and looked back to the street. He chose his words carefully, though he meant each one. "Last time I used a bunch of low-level noobs, nothing but peons and too few elites. Now I don't have anyone like that, and it'd take too long to search the city for the bastard myself," He scratched at his chin slowly, thoughtfully almost, "Besides I'm still healing, so I can't go fight without risking more injury."
"What about me? Would you send me out to fight?" Father Satani almost whispered into his very soul. A temping promise of utter and complete sadistic carnage was held in every syllable, every breath of his words.
"… no," He took in a steadying breath, "It would be beneath you."
For a tiny, split-second, Tomura wondered if his Father would kill him there and then for denying him.
"Good," Satani backed away a step and nodded, "Good."
"But this world deserves to know what is coming, what the truth is at the end of the road, and I really, really want to see some blood shed in your name, Father," He raised a hand up slowly, as if he was grasping the entire city within it, then he curled it into a tight fist. "How many rejected hosts do we have within our dungeons?"
"We have exactly thirteen rejected hosts," Kurogiri called out from several paces behind the two.
"Bring them here. Let them loose upon the city," Tomura announced with a loud and almost gleeful tone, "They're worthless to us otherwise, and their loss won't damage us in the slightest. They can hunt down or draw out the templar. If he wants a fight, he can have one."
He turned his eyes to his Father, looking for the final note of approval.
Satani kept his unyielding, utterly unholy, golden gaze upon him for a moment longer, and then, to his immense pride, the Fallen Angel nodded and what looked to almost be a true smile appeared on his perfect lips, "Do as he says, Kurogiri. Let us unleash the hounds of war."
I know, a much shorter chapter this time around but it's really a stop-gap before we launch full force into Hosu. As you can see, the Ender of Days is launching his assault, and Ibara is gonna be caught right in the crossfire. Hitoshi can now see the unborn! His life is a slight percentage more ruined!
We're gonna swing back to a newly kinda-unified Izuku next update, as well as deal with that one terrible night in Hosu. This time with DEMONS and TEMPLARS and... STUFF. Next time we get to see that new unity put to the test, will it win out, or will the two-in-one trip up again?
Till next time, thank you for reading! Peace!
