Spiky blonde hair, dirty and blood colored in the garnet light, formed a halo around the hated face of Katsuki Bakugou. His crimson eyes glared from under the unruly cloud with fiery malice, as if he thought he would ever be able to frighten Midoriya ever again.
"Kacchan." Deku grinned wide as he drawled out Bakugou's nickname, a wide sick smile splitting his face, one that he hoped was just as scary as his had once been to Deku. "Long time, no see."
The asshole actually had the audacity to spit at him, face contorted in his shocked fear, his terror and defeat a gift only God himself could have granted him. Deku spun on one heel, turning to caress Shigaraki's dry face.
"Thank you. What a gift this is."
Deku's anatomy book was already out, open to a diagram of the human skeletal system. But first, to make him sting.
"Time to suffer, Kacchan." Deku pressed the razor sharp scalpel against Bakugou's flushed tan skin one more time.
Deku sat bolt upright in his bed, panting and covered in sweat, drops of panicked moisture falling down his face in salty rivets.
Kacchan's agonized and desperate screams echoed in his ears, both a blessing (for oh, how he longed to watch that hated man suffer) and a curse, marking him for just who he had become; how far he had fallen.
He could still hear the cracking of bones, the scent of Bakugou's burned and bloody flesh in his nose, a phantom of that cursed day, the day that his kidnapped bully had sat at their mercy.
But he had deserved it.
Every moment of the agony that Deku had inflicted on Katsuki Bakugou was completely and utterly warranted. He had earned that pain. That sorry excuse for a human being had driven him to the point of suicide. Had driven him to join the League (not that he regretted that one bit).
He had made Deku's life hell from the moment that someone had told him having a quirk made him better than Midoriya.
Not anymore.
He would be at Deku's mercy now, every time the two of them met. And one day, he and all the foolish, uncaring heroes he called friends would realized they had chosen the wrong side to fight on.
We will show them.
After all, Shigaraki and Deku were both firm believers in the idea that one had to fight against the tide of society to ever hold a hope of changing it.
"Deku? I thought I heard screams." Tomura's icy blue head poked through the narrow crack in the door, only a glimpse of his garnet eye visible under the hand he had taken to keeping over his face at most times. "Do you want to talk about it?"
It was strange, really, how caring and soft Tomura could be to the people in his inner circle.
Without waiting for Deku's answer, he strode across the polished wooden floor and plopped down next to him, reaching out almost gently to run one hand through Deku's tangled and sweaty green hair.
"You'll get used to it. Power comes with a price, you know."
Despite the fact that Deku knew his face was distinctly dry and peeling under the palm that covered it and his face was a work of creepypasta level art, he could almost imagine that a kind smile spread across his greyish pallor. Not that cracked, gapping, villainous grin he was so famous for but the gentle smirk of an understanding friend.
After all, these people were Deku's first real friends. Kacchan had never been a friend, not really. He was only the boy who sought praise from all corners of his world, and Deku had only been one of his more unfortunate followers.
