V

A/N: I don't have a title for this and my arm hurts like hell so we'll go with that for now. This was a thing I started months ago and never got around to. It was originally intended to be for Gforce1000's Rule34 Economy CYOA. Don't know I'll ever go through with that, but this could work well enough as a one-shot.

-(-)-

A run-down bar. Nondescript save for being dilapidated and otherwise sharing the appearance of every other bar in Tokyo that attempted respectability. The only thing that would stand out to any visitor would be the appearance of the bartender. His suit standard among bartenders, but his head and hands were wreathed in a dark purple mist, his sinister glowing eyes the only visible facial feature. He stood behind the bar washing a glass, acting the part of bartender despite the clear lack of customers. They had a guest recently, a broker there to finalise arrangements for the operation that was to commence soon. Thus the bartender was doing the minimal amount of work required to clean up. Empty and clean the ashtray, wash the glass, re-seal the bottle of scotch. Simple drudgery that the bartender didn’t mind at all.

His charge had been making a great deal of racket upstairs over the past hour. The bartender left him to it. The young man was prone to bouts of... Distress, getting rather excitable as he enjoyed his videogames. It wasn’t a concern.

Until the noise went quiet, and his charge threw open the door tto the stairwell. “Kurogiri! I did it!”

“Have you completed your game, Tomura Shigaraki?” the now-named bartender asked. “It is good that your mind will be clear of distractions for the operation.”

“What?” the young man asked, his body covered by detached hands, as well as one palming his face. “No. I mean yes, I beat it but that’s not what I did!” he spoke with a demented giggle. “I need a class change! I’m a summoner now!”

“A... Summoner?” Kurogiri asked.

From the stairs, he could hear a series of slow, deliberate footsteps.

-(-)-

One hour earlier

“Hrr, come on!” Tomura grumbled under his breath, his fingers hammering the buttons on the controller in his hands. “You won’t beat me! All Might won’t beat me so you stand no chance you garbage demon lord!” His eyes flicked to the health bar of the final boss, knew it was a mistake but he couldn’t help it. He always got hasty right when the boss was about to die, rushed to finish it. But with what felt like luck as much as skill he dodged the boss’ attack and got in the last hit required to secure victory. “YES!” The demon lord fell in a screen-filling rush of dark red.

He only half paid attention to the closing cutscenes. If this were the standard trash about heroes triumphing over evil he would have skipped them but this game’s story was more to his tastes. He slew the demon lord but the main character was also a demon lord. Much more appropriate to Shigaraki’s tastes and world view. Everyone was evil. The bad guys were trash and the good guys were hypocrite trash which was even worse. And tomorrow he would prove it, not in a game but in the real world.

But that was tomorrow. And it was still today. And he had already finished his game. All of a sudden he realised the next eighteen hours were going to be boring.

But something caught his eye. As the credits rolled, images were shown of development assets. The research put into making the game, including what the ritual to summon the main character consisted of. The original, not the one they changed for the final release.

Curious, he skipped the credits, the shot of the research already gone. He hoped there would be a concept art thing in the menu now and sure enough there it was again. Big enough he could look at it in detail.

...

Why not? He had nothing better to do right now. Candles were easy, chalk, salt, red paint to draw the symbol– Oh. That wasn’t paint. He frowned at the instructions. His head turned to examine the other occupant of the room. A young woman in a suit and blindfold tied to a chair. The reporter he had used to infiltrate UA. They held her to make sure no one would be able to ask any questions, got her to tell her boss that she was being held by police and couldn’t come in. All the response she got was a request for all of the footage and audio they got. Shigaraki was happy to send it over, meaning no one would be missing this woman until tomorrow either. And by tomorrow, the disappearance of one worthless reporter would be the least of the crimes laid at the feet of the League of Villains.

Forty-five minutes of work later, the work was finished. He was meticulous with his preparations, made sure every element was perfect. Salt lines arranged in an overlapping pattern atop the bloody lines. It was only with hindsight did he realise he should probably have put down some cloth or something rather than painting the hardwood floor. Well, whatever, he could just have Kurogiri clean it later.

And now the chant. The words were difficult for a native Japanese speaker. They were written in a tongue that not only did he not understand, but also in one that Shigaraki was fairly sure wasn’t a real language. But whatever. It was just for fun. Only once the chant was complete did he speak in his native tongue. Now was the important part. He’d seen in enough games and anime that summoning a demon with controlling it would lead to bad things. That was the reason for the salt, but he also needed a command, an overarching goal that would compel the demon into obedience until it was completed.

There was only one thing he would ever ask for.

"By my command! By this binding! I summon you to do my bidding! To overturn this hypocritical society and kill the Symbol of Peace!"

The air itself flashed, more reaction than Shigaraki had ever imagined he’d get. The suddenness of it making him stumble back from the circle. Another. Another. Sparks of blue lightning striking out from thin air, one frying his television and game console. Faster and faster the sparks ignited, then began to coalesce into a shape. Vaguely human. Shigaraki stood motionless, his hands at his sides but ready to strike as he watched the lightning solidify into a real person.

One final flash, and there he was.

“Interesting.” His voice was deep, somewhat regal in tone, but also with a strangely nasal quality to it. “To think even a being like me could be summoned like any ordinary demon.” The stranger’s eyes roamed the room, paying more attention to the corpse than the living human in front of him. “Hm.” Finally, his eyes landed on the strange man covered in hands. His own hand landed on and wrapped around the hilt of the blade at his hip as he crouched low.

Then... Did nothing.

“What have you done to me?” the man demanded dangerously.

“Ha... Hahahaha!” the strange man cackled, a laugh of not only joy at his unexpected success but also relief. He knew that pose from so many samurai characters. He was about to be cut down in one slice, but nothing! Not only the summoning worked, the binding worked! “I summoned you!” he boasted. “I summoned a real demon! And now you’re going to do exactly what I tell you!”

“Are you so certain of that?” the demon asked, the sword coming loose from its sheath with a flick of his thumb.

“Drop your sword.”

“Never.”

Shigaraki frowned, a little of the fear coming back. Did the binding not work? But  he remembered, the binding only worked for the sake of the overarching goal or for orders that weren’t abhorrent to the one summoned. “Re-sheathe your sword.” With a click, and a clenched fist, the demon did just that. His fingers loosed again, wrapped around the hilt again and pulled– “Keep it sheathed,” –and slammed it back down with a metallic clang.

“I see,” the demon spoke, audibly displeased by this turn of events. “And am I to assume you had some purpose for drawing me here?”

“Of course!” Shigaraki crowed. “You and I are going to sow chaos in this world! Together we will overturn this wretched and complacent society by destroying the one man holding it up! The world’s number one hero, All Might, the symbol of peace!”

Of all reactions the hand-covered villain thought he would receive, confusion was not one of them. “Who is All Might? A human?”

“Guh!” Shigaraki grunted in confusion. “You’ve never heard of–? Agh, hang on!” He pulled out his phone, “I would show you on the TV but you destroyed that you jerk, here!” he held the phone outward at the hellspawn. “This is All Might!”

On the screen video footage played, one of All Might’s most brazen acts of strength in recent years. A single upward punch so powerful that it created a shockwave straight upward all the way up to the cloud layer. As the clouds rearranged from the sheer force of it, it caused a sudden downpour of rain. Impressive power, as well as such perfect control that nothing but the one he was fighting, some sort of slime creature, was even touched by it.

The demon frowned. “And he is the strongest? In this entire world?”

“No one even compares,” answered Shigaraki. “So long as he’s around, the world will always be this boring. All Might always wins and everyone else is expected to grovel at his feet!”

“So you’re telling me,” the demon spoke, relaxing from his ready position to a much more calm and confident posture, “That the reason you summoned me here, shackled me to your will, was so I can slay the strongest fighter of your world in a duel to the death? Well,” he smiled ever so slightly, tucked his white hair up and back, “Now you have me a little motivated!"

-(-)-

The white-haired man sat with seeming patience as a battle raged before him. Seeming patience, only for his ability to control his reactions to the world around him. Calm and precision were defining tenets of his life. With careful yet bold steps, he believed, one could ascend to the greater heights. Rather than to advance rashly and carelessly as his younger brother would.

He was bored, though. Frustrated, even. He had been promised a great deal for taking part in this excursion. A battle to the death with the most powerful combatant in the world. The feats of strength he had been shown had shown promise. Enough that the man, the demon, had found himself excited. It was always a pleasure to put his power to the test. With careful yet bold steps. Steps such as testing and divesting one’s self of weaknesses. Something a battle with this ‘All Might’ could achieve.

And yet, here he had sat ever since stepping through that strange bartender’s dark portal. The edge of a broken fountain his throne as he beheld the brawl before him. The hand-clad one had brought an army with him. An army of rabble, easily dismantled by one man with only cloth as his weapon. It was an amusing display. The disparity between a warrior of some passable amount of skill and experience, versus an army of untrained thugs. The disparity proved just how important dedication was to success. Not that he needed to witness further prove of that. For some reason the ragged man would occasionally glance his way. Strange behaviour, or perhaps he was staying aware at those his instinct told him were the greatest threats.

His quiet sigh was completely at odds with his ‘master’, the hand-clad Shigaraki whooping with amusement even as his own soldiers were being demolished. At least someone was enjoying themselves. It was the only thing of any worth in the trip so far. This All Might wasn’t present. His time had been wasted.

His head raised slightly as suddenly Shigaraki moved. Exchanged words with the ragged man. Got into a brief scuffle that ended with the man, this ‘Eraserhead’, with a severely damaged elbow. Weakened, Eraserhead was then taken down by Shigaraki’s other secret weapon. It hadn’t been explained in detail for the demon what this ‘Nomu’ actually was. The best he could surmise was it was some sort of attempt to recreate the strength of a pure-blooded demon. Based on the demonstration it was providing using the ragged man’s face as a pickaxe, it was an apt comparison. All brute force and no skill. Just the kind of weapon he would expect from a mewling manchild.

The shadowy bartender returned. Apologising for failing to stop a student escaping. Reinforcements would be arriving soon. Shigaraki looked... Mildly disappointed. For all of his big talk and manic passion his reaction to losing the chance he supposedly worked so hard for was oddly and irritatingly mild. Like completing his objective didn’t matter to him at all.

“Well if we can’t kill All Might, let’s do the next best thing!” The unhinged man suggested with glee. “Let’s wreck his pride! Demon! Slaughter the children!”

He had a name. Shigaraki knew it. Thankfully he was not prevented from showing his disdain. “I refuse.”

“Wha–! You can’t refuse!”

“We’ve demonstrated I can,” the white-haired demon answered flatly. “I would rather die than relinquish my blade, and now I would rather die than follow another of your childish whims. Present your Symbol of Peace and I shall slay him. Our arrangement begins and ends there.” His eyes flicked to one of the children hiding in the water. The boy was incapable of hiding his horrified reaction. Curious.

“Fine! I’ll do it myself!”

The demon looked away. He had no interest in witnessing a fool’s temper tantrum. Screams of fear, a dull thud that shook the air. He looked back to see the boy from before with his fist buried in the Nomu’s midsection, Shigaraki’s hand on the girl’s head. To no effect. “Hm!” the demon chuckled, seeing the reason. The ragged man really was quite impressive for a human.

But he was just a sideshow. While with a bang that echoed through the enormous space from wall to wall, the main event had seen fit to arrive after all. No brightly coloured costume as he had seen in the many pictures and video but instead a yellow suit that strained to contain his impressive musculature. And also unlike his beaming grin in the videos, he instead wore a furious grimace.

With a satisfied breath, the demon stood and took a step toward the stairs. Only for in the time it took for that single step, the great hero vanished, reappeared near the demon to take the fallen Eraserhead, then again moved to the students in the water, then to a safe distance away from any of the villains. “Well. He isn’t a disappointment,” the demon grinned.

Words were exchanged between the hero and his students. The boy from before frantically telling him everything and anything he could in a single breath. The strength and durability of the Nomu, the swordsman’s confidence in killing him. Only to be silenced with hurried instructions and an... Odd pose.

And then, the hero’s attention is on them. Too many of them. His attention immediately going to the Nomu first. That wouldn’t do. With an irritated scowl, the demon returned to his slow gait moving toward the hero. With the slightest movement, he released his blade from its sheathe ever so slightly. Concentrated.

As the symbol of peace launched himself at the Nomu, his arms crossed over his chest, he was surprised to see his attack miss entirely. Not from the agility of the beast but instead due to it dropping like a puppet with its strings cut. As it fell backward, chunks of its exposed brain fell out of its head in a display of oddly tidy gore. The cuts of the chunks absurdly, supernaturally clean.

The demon stopped, his blade re-sheathed, several paces behind All Might. “You seemed distracted, All Might,” he said. “I thought it best to remove obstacles to our battle.”

“MY NOMU!” the manchild shrieked. “That was our perfect weapon against All Might!”

“Hm. Perhaps it was,” the demon granted, “But I am not so limited as to be the perfect weapon against only a single opponent.” His eyes moved briefly to the villain by the water and his shadowy companion. “I warn you. If anyone interferes I will cut them down without hesitation.”

“Damn guest party members stealing the spotlight! Fine, die then!”

“I’m sensing some disunity between you three,” All Might spoke in a booming voice. “How about you leave peacefully to talk it out? It’s your safest option.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” the swordsman rebuffed him. “I was summoned for a single purpose, to slay the symbol of peace. Now that you’re before me, I’ll gladly see it done.”

“Summoned?” the hero asked, his eyes narrowing. “I see. You look surprisingly human.”

“So do you for someone called the strongest in the world.” Another flick of his finger against the guard of his sword, the glint of bared steel peeking out.

“I see. Then if you won’t go quietly,” the hero began before suddenly vanishing from his position right as the Judgement Cut would have struck true. “I’ll need to send you back where you belong the hard way!”

Vergil didn’t even turn to see the hero behind him. A simple and predictable opening. Barely better than a greeting. The demon too, moved before the attack could land. A swinging fist finding only empty air, its owner leaping away again lest he get skewered from above. The scrape of the sword not against but through the stonework was as good a warning as any the absurd sharpness of that blade.

With a flourish, the curved Japanese blade was extracted, leaving a gouge in the solid floor. Ready to meet a charge from the brawny hero. Another big swinging fist, this one met not by air but by the blade. However, All Might was not keen to allow it to taste his blood. With a minor adjustment his fist parried the slash. The demon smirked. Another slash. Another parry. Another, and another, faster and faster until blades and hands were merely blurs to anyone watching. And yet each attack ended in more or less a stalemate, though the response of the combatants couldn’t be more different to such an outcome. Vergil’s face was one of satisfaction, of quiet enjoyment. While All Might appeared frustrated and impatient. The minor cuts on his hands might have been taken as the cause from a casual observer, but they were surface wounds only. Not a concern for a man of his calibre.

“Well, if that’s how you prefer to fight,” the demon smiled coldly, his sword re-sheathed once again as his fists and feet began to glow a flickering white, “Let me indulge you for a moment.”

“DIE!”

The demon saw the hero’s eyes widen, knowing what was about to happen. “Young Bakugo, don’t!”

“RAHHHHH!”

It was with more than a little resignation that he allowed the glow of his gauntlets and greaves fade as he put his hand back on the hilt of his sheathed blade. “I gave warning.”

With an upward sweep of his blade the demon rose and twisted in the air, ready to meet the ash-blond boy’s incoming attack. His arm was outstretched. That would be a fitting lesson not to intrude on others’ affairs. Too late to abort, the boy had no choice but to follow through with his attempt. Impressive resolve. Foolish for a human. Yamato slashed out twice in a cross, so fast one might have confused it for two blades moving in unison. And yet even that speed wasn’t enough. The arm, the body, it all vanished. An instant later his view was further obscured by a wall of ice. His sword lashed out again to prevent its attempt to ensnare him too.

These children were intent on being inconveniences. He sighed, looked to the sky as if asking for the patience to deal with these interruptions, then lowered into a crouch with his hand on his katana. “Haah...”

A full second of concentration. A lifetime in active combat, an eternity for him. All for an instant of proving a point. The blade moved invisibly, impossible to track by even those with absurd reaction times. The art of a technique practiced thousands of times to be executed in the exact same way.

In the same instant the sword emerged from the scabbard, it returned to it. And in that same instant, everything within a thirty foot radius was covered in cuts. The ice hissed, immediately melting along the cut marks from the heat of friction. Then, as if the reality of physics decided to suddenly reassert itself, Vergil’s surroundings fell to pieces. The ice wall fell, revealing the four behind it. 

The boy with grenades on his arms looked shell-shocked, staring up at All Might in horror. Or more accurately, the enormous gouge carved down his back. Two other boys were trying to drag the third away, while All Might returned all of his attention to his opponent. As it should have been from the start. “Quite the injury,” Vergil observed. “I see regeneration is not in your list of abilities.”

“Never need it!” the symbol of peace answered with what might have been false bravado. It was difficult to tell. “No matter what happens, a hero always comes through in the end!”

“I see,” the demon nodded. “As a measure of fairness, allow me to correct the imbalance.” With a flick, the katana emerged once again, this time turned inward to slice open his own stomach. The grievous wound bled... For a brief moment. Before healing over completely. “You see, against most foes, I also do not need regeneration to achieve victory. But it certainly is nice to have.”

The hero clenched his fists. He didn’t waste time on more words. He rushed the demon once again. However, the All Might coming at him this time was an entirely different beast. Gone were the parrying punches from before. Even as the Yamato swung out to counter them he took more than one slash to his fists, letting the air pressure deaden the swings as he put far more power into each blow. An upward slash meant to bisect him wasn’t blocked at all. Instead the muscular hero leapt up to outpace the movement of the blade, then reared back a fist to fire down a wave of air pressure, driving the demon into the ground. Vergil bounced, on hitting the ground, effectively immobile as he tried to recover. All the while All Might was forcing himself back down with another air pressure punch. His landing was faster. He met the airborne body of the demon with yet another flurry of punches meant to damage, disable and debilitate for long enough he could wind up and enormous right hook. “Texaaaaaas... SMASH!”

No chance to recover, no chance to regain his feet. All Vergil could do was ride the incredible force sending him through the air and out of the building, giving it a new skylight in the process. The hero watched him go, frowning as blood dripped from his hands. Even as the other villains approached, he only kept a wary eye on them, leaving most of his attention on that hole in the roof. Even as the demon had sailed through the air...

He never let go of his sword.

The hole in the roof was not what he should have been watching. Though there was no way for him to know where to look. Far lower, the glass of the domed roof broke in an entirely different place. And through it appeared an entirely different figure. There was no time for studying that figure. No chance to react meaningfully. Only to take the airborne charge.

Monster. That was what it looked like. A creature half monster half samurai, horned, coloured blue, its body coursing with raw power. The impact as it collided with All Might was overwhelming, the symbol of peace barely stayed conscious. He tried to lash out against the flying demon driving him back into a wall. The mighty punches that had been so devastating without defense before, now were simply ignored, the creature barely flinching from the impact as he slammed the hero with all his might into a cliff, the rocky edifice shaking and collapsing in other places as the impact travelled.

“ALL MIGHT!” Screams of horror were carried down, quietened by the distance, giving them a haunting, ethereal sound.

The dust cleared, the symbol of peace half buried in the wall. Broken. Bleeding. The form of the demon reverted to its human shape, as though the monster had never been there at all. “Understand. I do not know if I would end you were it my choice. But the fact remains it is not my choice.”

“Not even of your own free will, huh?” the hero choked. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t give you much sympathy.”

“Were I in your place, I doubt I would give you any,” Vergil admitted. “My name is Vergil, son of Sparda. I would have the name of the one who will return to me my freedom.”

“His name... Is All Might,” the hero smiled grimly. “Saving someone even in death, a legacy that doesn’t die with me.”

“I see. I suppose I can understand the sentiment.” One last time, he grabbed the hilt of Yamato. “Then go in peace.”

The blade came loose, moved in a single spin that caught two bullets, then thrust straight into the heart of All Might.

And then without warning or pause, Vergil was swallowed by a dark portal.

“We... We... We-hee-hee-hee– We did it!” the manchild broke down into cackles as Vergil found himself once again in the bar they had used as a base of operations. The mist form of the bartender was once again behind the bar. “The... The Symbol of Peace! He’s DEAD! Congratulation! We are winner! Hahahaha!”

The white-haired demon felt a wave of disgust wash over him for doing the fool’s dirty work. “Yes.”

“Hahaha, I don’t like my party getting carried by an NPC but I’ll accept it this time! This is too good! Master, are you proud of me?!”

“Your methods were a bit unorthodox but I can’t argue with results,” a voice sounded through speakers. “And now we can–”

“Shigaraki...” Vergil spoke slowly, interrupting the other voice much to the irritation of the hand-clad man he was addressing. “Remind me. What were the terms of my summoning?”

Perhaps it was some sixth sense Vergil didn’t know about. Perhaps an ability to sense malicious intent. Perhaps Vergil was simply angry enough that he gave it away. Regardless, the bartender’s mist form extended from the bar, passing over– “Tomura Shigaraki!” Two quick slashes. And the mist, impossibly, was carved into three pieces. “Ghk!”

Dully, the demon stared at the neck armour that had been cut in half. “Perhaps I never made you aware. With enough skill, the Yamato is a sword capable of cutting through nearly anything. Even dimensions.” His attention turned to the hand-clad man who had held his leash. It had only been a day.

A day was more than enough.

“Wait, wait wait, I command you! Stop!” the manchild begged more than commanded as he backed away toward the door.

“I ask you again. What were the terms of my summoning? What task did you summon me to complete. Kill the symbol of peace, wasn’t it? And now he is dead by my hand. And so,” the Yamato twirled meancingly, “Now I am free to do as I choose.”

“Muh– Master, help! Mast-blrble!” Water spewed from the mouth of the manchild. Vergil had no idea what that was about.

He also didn’t care. Sheathe. Draw. Sheathe. Draw. Sheathe. Draw.

Whatever the purpose of the water, it came to nothing as the body of Tomura Shigaraki fell into a dozen pieces.

A beat of silence passed. And then the voice on the speaker returned. “May I ask who survived?”

“The one who deserved to,” Vergil answered.

“We could debate. The death of those two puts an abrupt end to plans many years in the making. Though with the death of All Might they would have been mostly wasted regardless.” The voice paused. “Well, it would be a shame to waste an opportunity, for both our sakes. I have use for a man of your skills, while you would do well to find some manner of protection. You’re likely the most wanted man in Japan right now.”

“Then that will be my difficulty to overcome. I have no more patience for being a servant to the unworthy.”

“Even as strong as you are, even you would falter before long with the forces arrayed against you. Don’t think of it as being a servant. I would consider it more of a partnership. Together, we could accomplish incredible things.”

The demon’s eyes closed. With his left hand he swept his hair back into place. “No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.” In two quick cuts, a cross-shaped rift in space opened within the bar that widened into a human-sized portal, the son of Sparda stepping through.

The portal closed, leaving the bar in silence. “Hrm. Unfortunate. Well. Back to the drawing board,” said the voice on the speaker.