In a world where 80% of the population has superpowers known as Quirks, Izuku Midoriya is born without any. Despite this, his dream of becoming the greatest hero like his idol, All Might, never wavers. One fateful day, Izuku encounters a life-changi...
In the dimly lit hideout of the League of Villains, the air was thick with tension and the lingering scent of decay. The hideout was far from glamorous, with its cracked walls and flickering lights, but it served its purpose—providing a sanctuary for those who rejected society's norms. Tomura Shigaraki, the young leader of the League, sat at a makeshift table, his fingers twitching in agitation as he stared into the distance, deep in thought.
Across from him, the ever-watchful Kurogiri stood with his hands folded behind his back, his ethereal form swirling with dark mist. His glowing yellow eyes focused on Tomura, his voice soft yet probing.
Kurogiri: Tomura Shigaraki... You've been preoccupied lately. It seems your focus has shifted. May I ask why you are so interested in that boy, Izuku Midoriya?
Tomura's fingers twitched more violently at the mention of Midoriya's name. His pale, cracked lips twisted into a sneer as his eyes narrowed.
Tomura: Midoriya... He's always in my way. "His voice was venomous, laced with frustration". Every time I try to crush those damn heroes, he's there. It's like he's mocking me with that cold look of his.
Kurogiri listened patiently, his form unmoving, though the tension in Tomura's voice was not lost on him. It was clear that Izuku's presence had left a deep impact on Tomura's psyche.
Kurogiri: I see. But this obsession, Tomura—why focus so much on a single hero? There are countless others, all of them equally in your way.
Tomura's sneer deepened, his nails digging into the table's surface, leaving jagged marks. The memory of Izuku Midoriya standing defiantly against him burned in his mind like a festering wound. The boy represented everything Tomura hated about society—hope, courage, and blind devotion to heroes. It made him sick.
Before he could respond to Kurogiri's question, the door to the hideout creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside with a confident swagger. Giran, the black-market broker who had supplied the League with villains and information in the past, adjusted his sunglasses as he made his way into the room. A crooked grin tugged at his lips as he glanced between Tomura and Kurogiri.
Giran: Ah, Shigaraki, good to see you're still in one piece, "he said, chuckling". Got a couple of new faces for you. They've been itchin' to meet you.
Tomura's expression remained cold, but he glanced toward the door, his curiosity piqued. Giran gestured toward the entrance, and two figures stepped into the room.
The first was a tall man with a smoldering presence, quite literally. His dark hair was slicked back, and his body was covered in charred, cracked patches of gnarled, wrinkled, purple skin. He moved with a calm, almost lethargic grace, though his eyes burned with intensity. The aura of violence and death clung to him like a second skin.
??: So this is the big bad Shigaraki, "he drawled, his voice low and gravelly. His blue eyes appraised Tomura with a hint of disdain". You're a lot grosser looking in person than I imagined.
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