ORACLE [BNHA fantasy au]

Chapter 5 - Prince

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The Prince of Darkness could not believe such bullshit.

His hands clenched into leather-gloved fists at his sides in a sorry attempt to work out his frustrations and tension. It didn't help. He hissed, "Which one of you goddamn idiots did this?"

By "this", he meant the front page news of the Rising Reader, the premier newspaper (and notorious gossip rag) in the Land of the Rising Sun, which read: Ranger-Rogue Battle Near Fargone Destroys Night Market!

The subhead: Dark Rogue to Blame!

The Prince pried the paper from his desk and brandished it as he stood, wrath simmering in his veins as he stared down his band of wayward fuckheads. "Whoever fought the King's ranger and survived to tell the tale had better come forward and explain themselves... before I murder you myself," he said, "Because there's a reason we call ourselves the League of Darkness... We stay in the damn darkness!" He slammed his fist down onto his desktop, scattering his papers and upending a jar of quills. 

Some of the crew jumped, but...

None of his motley motherfuckers had the guts to pipe up.

"Oh, now you shut up?" The Prince scoffed, pacing the length of his office and eyeing his lackeys. A laugh churned in his chest, bubbling up and out and boiling into a villainous roar. "Now you decide to listen? When death is on the line? How fucking poetic of you!" He threw a quill like a dart at the tilted photograph of King All Might hanging on the dartboard on the stone wall, spearing him right in between the eyes.

After all of his years of hard work he put into creating the League of Darkness, The Prince couldn't believe that one of his own henchmen had done something so incredibly stupid. Something this grandiose and inane could cost them their reputation. Their name.

His entire life's work.

Silently seething, The Prince ran trembling hands through his shaggy hair and tried to calm himself down. He planned something special for himself that night, and he couldn't busy himself with murder, anyway. Before or after, sure, but not during his... meeting. "You know what? Fine. Don't tell me who did this. I'll ask Kurogiri. You're all dismissed," the prince said, voice evening out and spine straightening.

The crew cautiously stood, glancing at one another and shuffling into the depths of the dilapidated castle as Kurogiri lingered behind. Only once the rumble of murmuring henchmen died down did The Prince say anything. "So?" he said, eyeing the purple-haired man before him, "Who was sent on the Ranger mission?"

The second in command of the League of Darkness cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, stalling for time as he briefly considered lying. He saw Toga's face during the meeting, saw the terror flood her eyes just as quickly as she'd blinked it away. Kurogiri wondered what the right thing to do was...

Did he dare lie to his boss to spare the girl he nearly considered a daughter?

Or did he throw the girl to the wolves, and earn himself a few more lungfuls of guilt-filled air, courtesy of the head wolf himself...

Tomura Shigaraki, Prince of Darkness?

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That night, after most of the crew fell asleep, and the first watch began their rounds of the crumbling castle, Prince Tomura met Kurogiri in the garden.

"The usual place, my liege?" Kurogiri asked, voice gravelly and low in the night.

Tomura nodded as he frowned up at the shimmering midnight sky, ribboned through with the spring's last aurora borealis. "The usual."

Kurogiri's hands glowed white in the dark, and he traced a symbol in the air between the two of them as he chanted something beneath his breath. An influx of air swept through the garden, rustling the budding leaves on the trees and ruffling the sleepy bulbs in the flower beds lining the cemetery plots, all winds converging on the iridescent sigil.

"After you!" Kurogiri shouted over the roar of the wind, gesturing for Tomura to go first.

Without waiting to be told twice, the prince stepped into the shining emblem...

And stepped out in front of a familiar, ivy-covered cottage.

The windows were dark and the ground was muddy as Tomura neared the front walk, straightening his clothes and checking his breath. 

Kurogiri followed behind, closing their transport sigil behind him. 

Just one of the many perks of having a space alignment in the League, Tomura supposed absently, distracting himself from his daunting task. He forced himself toward the front door of the house, heart pounding and palms sweating as he approached, the eyeless, soulless windows and dark, mouth-like double doors at the front of the house suddenly looking like the gaping maw of a monster.

And in some ways, he really was marching into the belly of the beast... Into the dark, dangerous unknowns of the future and what it could hold.

Magic still humming in his veins, Kurogiri lingered near the front gate and watched as his boss tried, once more, to make contact with his betrothed. He could only hope that this time---maybe this time---Tomura would find the courage to knock. To toss a rock at her window. To do... something.

But this time, like every other monthly visit before, Tomura failed.

This time, like every other time, Tomura left without saying hello.

As always, he left a single white tulip as a declaration of his love...

To say: I am worthy of you. Forgive me for taking so long.

No note. No signature. 

Just the flower. 

He could only hope that she still waited. 

And that she understood his message.