Chapter 9. It Isn't Over.
The soft clinking of crystal against glass echoed through the lavish underground room, each sound reverberating off pristine marble walls. The unit, hidden beneath the grand splendor of a sprawling mansion above, was a stark contrast to the typical image of a villain's lair. There were no dark, musty corridors or crude, makeshift furnishings here. Instead, opulent chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, their delicate light casting elegant patterns across the polished floors. Every surface gleamed with an almost unnatural sheen as if the very air itself was suffused with wealth and luxury.
But it was the grand, white leather sofa that drew the most attention—the throne of a mad king.
Kuriji Shuri sat upon it, his legs elegantly crossed as he swirled a glass of deep crimson wine in one hand. The liquid caught the light, swirling and shimmering like blood under the glow of the chandelier above. His dark hair slicked back in perfect disarray, framed a face that was both captivating and unnerving. Sharp green eyes glinted with an edge of mania, and a thin smile stretched across his pale lips, teetering on the brink of sanity.
Shuri, or as he preferred to be called—Hope—tilted his head back, chuckling softly as he surveyed the room. His men stood before him, a ragtag collection of rogues and criminals, each bearing the weight of their own sins and scars. They were remnants of chaos—a mixture of stray villains and members of the disbanded Paranormal Liberation Front, once united under Shigaraki's twisted ideals. Now they stood before him, waiting for direction, for a spark to light the flames of the revolution that had been snuffed out far too soon.
"And to think," Shuri murmured, his voice soft and dangerously smooth, "heroes everywhere are celebrating, believing that this war is over. Trying so hard to rebuild society's faith in them."
He raised his glass, his smile widening as he met the eyes of each of his subordinates.
"But we know the truth, don't we?" he continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "We know that the true vision is yet to be realized. We know that all those sacrifices, all that bloodshed, cannot be in vain."
The room buzzed with a low murmur of agreement. Shuri's smile stretched impossibly wide, his eyes glimmering with a fervor that bordered on madness.
"We are the Finishers," he declared, his tone rising with manic glee. "The bearers of a torch that was dropped too soon. The ones who will complete what All For One and Shigaraki started. A world..."
He paused, savoring the moment, his gaze faraway and dreamy.
"A world where heroes are nothing."
A ripple of excitement swept through the room, his followers straightening, their eyes alight with a shared purpose. Shuri took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine, his gaze sharp as a blade as he studied the men before him. They weren't much—shadows of their former selves, fragmented remnants of a broken army—but they were loyal. And loyalty, in Shuri's eyes, was a commodity worth more than power.
One of his lieutenants stepped forward—a broad-shouldered man with a face marred by scars and eyes that burned with hatred. His presence was menacing, a wall of muscle and malice that radiated raw strength.
"Hope," the man growled, his voice a low rumble. "What's our next move? We can't keep waiting. The heroes are gaining ground."
Shuri's smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper.
"Ah, yes. Impatience, my dear Brutus," he purred, his voice a lilting mockery. "Always so quick to act, so eager to break and destroy... But you're right. We can't afford to be idle."
YOU ARE READING
Flamebound: Embrace the Heat ||BNHA||
Fanfiction|| "I understand what it means to be a hero. I know what my drive should be. I've tried and tried to rewire myself. I just can't feel it. I am a selfish hero." || Kaye Ruse is a top-hero student at Florida Rise High School, who is known for her fier...
