@run-muse-dot-exe sent [SACRIFICED] - from this meme list // always accepting
In the beginning, news reporters and media nationwide referred to Stain, the hero killer, as a vulture. Then, for a couple of weeks, the more brutal killings were compared to those of a monstrous beast, and when the killings became difficult to catch, thought out, and eerie, he became the media's favourite metaphor for a serpent. This was a choice he didn't quite understand. Animal metaphors in general usually earned his disdain, as he considered them distasteful in regards to metamorphous quirks, but just as much, Akaguro didn't quite understand why they'd label him as something slithering and slimy. He wouldn't go comparing himself to an animal, but he knew that his slippery friends in the Hassaikai considered him a bit of a guard dog, and personally, Chizome could agree with the term. He did what he did to protect. The world, from unworthy heroes, civilians from villains, in his spare time, and his rose from the likes of the man before him. A pathetic, whining excuse for a man. A man who did not know how to keep his hands to himself, one, who, if left roaming, would likely harass another woman, more women, and Chizome would not stand for it. Not when she had been a target, his dearest, his Fuyumi. She knew nothing of his growing fondness, and he would keep it that way for just a while longer. Something in him told him that with the league on the move, she'd have enough on her mind.
These thoughts drift peacefully on his mind, like he's at home, like he does not have a bleeding victim before him, trembling even as he's paralysed, struggling to speak on acount of half his teeth missing. Chizome was a swordfighter, yes, but that punch had been necessary and personal. The killer turns his attention back to his prey, squatting down, the sharp blade of his sword tipping up the man's chin, cutting into flesh as he forces his head up through the paralysis his own quirk caused. blood drips down the blade, and the man chokes on his own blood and breath, staring up at Akaguro from where he's cowering on the ground on his back. ❝ You are a pest. ❞ Stain says calmly. ❝ You are sin of the worst kind. You do not deserve mercy. Your judgement will be as harsh as my fury, do you understand ? ❞ The guy can't nod, can't even speak, but it doesn't matter. His sword rises, and Stain's eyes narrow, anger blazing in the crimson. ❝ You've touched what doesn't belong to you. Something I have sworn to protect. ❞ There's a grin curling his lips upwards. Reckoning - a very satisfying feeling.
❝ For that, you will go into the next life without your fingers. ❞ The swish of his sword is swift, and the man tries to scream, but his voice is a breathless wheeze as his fingers are cut clean off his right hand. They roll away a bit, and the slash that follows cuts the head of the worm right off his neck.
Satisfaction settles in his bones, and Chizome retracts into the night, following his usual pattern on the roofs of Musutafu towards the suburbs he so often frequents, unbeknownst to anyone. It's necessary he informs her that what happened today will not occur again, and well, part of him simply wants to see the beautiful face he's been dreaming off. By now, Akaguro has learned to bypass the alarms around her house. He knows which room is hers, and it has a very convenient balcony. It's small, but it's big enough to be a landing pad. He's silent in his jumps and climbs, and he makes sure she is alone before he pulls himself onto the balcony. The sound of his knuckles against the glass is dull, and he realises now that his hand hurts. The punch he'dm thrown had been one of full force, and the result is a blooming, blue bruise covering all four of his lower knuckles. He waits for her to approach, much like, indeed, a dog, and wipes at least some of the blood off his face, thought his endeavors will be obvious given the blood on his hands. The door slides open, and Chizome gives a slow bow.
❝ Good evening. I hope I haven't scared you or chosen a bad time. ❞
