A Single Strand of DNA- Kaminari Denki's Revival

Chapter 15: The End of a Beginning

Dust drifted through the air in thick clumps, carried on stale winds. Each piece of fine, gray powder was unique, snowflakes of decay birthed from storm clouds of ruin. The room was filled to the brim with it, laying on every surface, hanging low to the ground like the morning fog. If an outsider visited, they would imagine that they had just entered a tomb, untouched for the past millennia. That couldn't be further from the truth.

No, this was not a mausoleum filled with the likenesses of vanity-stricken lords. Dust and decay filled the room, yes, but it was a place of birth, of life, of new beginnings. Just like how only the most scorching of blazes could reveal the green sprouts of pine trees, only surrounded by death could Tomura Shigaraki begin to cultivate his new world.

"Please! W-what do you want? Money? I have money!" The figure on the ground choked and coughed, airways clogged by sticky, invasive gray particles. Tomura stood above him, unfazed by the hazardous plumes around him. His life was sculpted from the purest marble on the highest peak by tools dripping in the inky abyss. A being of heroes and villains, of commoners and elites, of the unlucky and the blessed, of hate and love- that was who Tomura Shigaraki was.

"P-please. Anything!" The figure beneath him sobbed as he gasped for air, each breath only clogging his throat further. The dust was everywhere, inescapable, unyielding in its conquest of another life. Tomura looked down with disdain. He pitied the man before him.

He was a pro hero- yet from how he looked now, a "hero" would be the furthest thing from anyone's mind. Stripped of his costume, support items, makeup, and hope, Knife's-Edge was reduced to a mewling wretch, no different from the beggars he ignored and the beaten-down criminals he brutally attacked. There was an irony there, in his name, "Knife's-Edge." It made Tomura want to laugh. For the world was balanced on the edge of a knife; it had been for the past two hundred years. As of today, Tomura started his mission- not to push earth over the side, but to reforge the knife entirely.

"H-H- I- Tell-" Knife's-Edge choked, gasping, begging, eyes wide and pupils dilated. One hand clawed at the floor, the other at his neck in a way that reminded Tomura of his own affliction. There was no fight left in him, if there was any to begin with.

Yes, Tomura pitied the man. Pity-but no sympathy.

The hand of death extended, the dust clouds offering a welcoming embrace as their creator sent yet another body to join the dead matter. As all five of the fingers on Tomura's left hand touched Knife's-Edge's forehead, his body began to disassemble itself, flaking and crumbling, rivulets of blood spilling everywhere before they, too, became indistinguishable from the gray cloud of decay. The man could not even scream, his throat too clogged by the remains of his dead peers.

Tomura sighed, standing upright. Yet again, all was still in this dark cellar of destruction. Knife's-Edge was the last hero to die by Tomura's hand today, but he certainly wouldn't be the last to die in the coming months. Ten- an even, acceptable, clean number. Ten heroes were murdered today, killed in the name of justice. They, along with countless others, would be the sacrificial fuel to the pyre Tomura would burn society on.

"Tomura Shigaraki. Please, at least wear a mask. All this dust is bad for you."

It was only because he had grown up with that voice, that sudden, unexpected appearance without prelude or announcement, that Tomura did not jump with fright. He turned around, greeting his caretaker and only friend with a rare but genuine warm smile.

"Kurogiri," Tomura rasped, airways clear of dust. Somehow, he always remained perfectly healthy even when practically bathing in the remnants of his destruction, "It's good to see you! I just finished off with the last of those low-level 'heroes.' Bah, only one of them even had any good dialogue!"