A man in pure black clothing, black gloves and a grey fedora was walking across the streets, one hand in his pocket, while the other hand, which was pink and puffy, was resting on his side.
He clung to the darker parts of the city, following a series of alleyways until he arrived at an old house marked for demolition; then he paused and glanced both ways before entering and shutting the door beside him.
Contrary to how it looked outside, the room was neat, not even a speck of dust in sight.
There were a few pieces of furniture arranged around the room, as well as a wall filled with various assortments of guns, from assault rifles to shotguns and tank-buster rifles, down to even an RPG.
The man gave the wall a lazy glance as he began taking off his clothes. His left hand was still aching because of the brat he had failed to kill, so he tenderly moved it as he undressed.
First, the long dark coat crumpled to the floor, then the gloves, followed by his shirt, leaving him in a black tank top.
Then he walked to his mirror and stared at his reflection in it.
He was wearing a dark mask fashioned in the design of an Oni (demon). There were long protruding fangs that interlocked, swirly red eyes and jagged lines scattered across it.
He took a deep breath before taking it off.
His face was scarred; there were multiple slash marks on every single part of his face, telling a horrific story layered in blood, and part of his cheek had been slashed open as well.
After staring at himself for some time, he looked away from the mirror, his fists clenched tightly.
Crash!
He punched the mirror, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces, and yet even the fragments reflected the bloody macabre that was his face.
Like a thousand silent observers, watching him, mocking him…
The world turned a shade of crimson as past memories flowed into his mind.
A man bound in chains, the stench of blood and rot, the sound of grating iron… then pain.
Sharp, ruthless and precise cuts.
And then that face, the one he would remember for the rest of his life.
Ring!
The sound of his telephone snapped him from his morbid thoughts. He shook his head as though he could shake off the memories and went to pick up the phone.
When he got to the table, he grabbed it and placed it against his ear.
"…"
"You've failed, Toriyama." The voice was cold, detached from any human emotion… almost robotic.
It had been barely two hours since his hit mission on the girl, how was it possible that he already knew the results?
'He is watching me.'
Toriyama's face hardened and he leaned on his wall. "I don't appreciate you following me around."
There was a raspy chuckle at the other end, followed by a cold silence.
"That is where you are wrong, Toriyama, I did not follow you… I merely see all things."
The way he said it, the certainty in his voice made a chill run down his spine.
Toriyama paused and glanced around his room, searching for any hidden cameras or something of the sort, but there was nothing.
"Trying to find if you're bugged? Surely you don't think that little of me?" This time the voice was colder and strangely reserved.
His hand on the phone tightened. "What do you want from me?"
"What do I want from you?? What do I want from—DON'T ASK ME STUPID QUESTIONS YOU LESSER BEING!"
His voice had been calm at the start, only to suddenly grow more violent, his tone becoming feral.
Toriyama immediately dropped the phone as the sound cut into his ears.
"What the hell?"
With the phone dangling just a few inches above the floor, the voice came out once again.
The man cleared his throat.
"Ahh… s…orry for m-y lit-tle… OUTBURST."
His voice came out fragmented, he was like a broken speaker, his voice caught between various stages of emotion.
The sound of it made Toriyama's skin crawl, he wanted nothing but to hang up the phone and detoxify his eardrums.
But a second later, the voice was back to its normal, inhuman smoothness.
"Let's say I was getting… impatient."
Toriyama picked up the phone and screamed into it: "Get to the point!"
A dark chuckle followed. "Look who is losing his patience now, must be contagious I guess."
He paused before he continued.
"Finish your mission, kill Himeko Toga and expose her connection with the league to the heroes… the more gruesome, the better."
"…don't fail me this time, Tori-chan."
The line went dead.
Toriyama slammed the phone back into its holder and angrily stormed towards the side of the room where an antique record player was sitting.
He placed the stylus atop the disk and it slowly started spinning, a soft tune reaching his ears a second after.
Toriyama let out a tired breath.
For as long as he could remember, he had been chasing after the shadow of that man. His life was over, his face scarred beyond repair.
There was nothing else he could dedicate his life to but vengeance, be it against the man who did this, and the heroes who failed in their duty.
All they ever did was make wild promises…
'We will protect you all…'
'You are safe because I am here…'
'I am the symbol of peace…'
He walked towards his assortment of guns, his eyes taking them in.
What peace?
As far as he was concerned, this world was hell.
And so Toriyama did not care what he had to do to get revenge… it didn't matter how many people he had to kill or lives he had to end.
He was going to hell, that much was sure.
But…
"I'd rather live in a hell created by God than one fashioned by humans."
He grabbed the assault rifle, picked up a white rag and began cleaning it while whistling along to the tune, his feet tapping rhythmically on the floor.
"I'm sorry Himiko, but in order to fulfil my life's dream."
"You have to die."
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A/N
Powerstone bonus chapter! Want more? Keep the PowerStones flowing and you'll have me tied to my desk typing away at my phone ;)
100 Powerstones => 1 Bonus Chapter
200 Powerstones => 2 Bonus Chapters
400 Powerstones => 3 Bonus Chapters