Burns of the Scorned

In retrospect, I'm surprised at how calm I was.

Whenever someone – always a criminal - sees me with my 'working clothes' on outside of my Concealment, my automatic response is to rush them or throw a knife through their skull. Their usual reaction, as seen in my hostage rescue/scumbag elimination is to either yell obscenities, attack, or beg for mercy – which has become more frequent as of late. More often than not a combination of those three.

If someone did offer me a deal, it was the standard 'I'll pay whatever you want,' or 'I'll give you a taste of the goods'. Those died extra bloody.

But this? This is the first time someone has made an offer to me and looked serious about it.

…

…

…yeah, I'm not buying it.

"You'd better start explaining." He – Dabi – just keeps grinning.

"Sure thing." He puts out the flame and takes a few steps back. "But let's both take a step or two back so the cops won't see anything strange."

Suspicion meter rising. Cranking up my Quirk, I check to see if he has any buddies lurking behind the alley corners up ahead.

Nothing. Not even a hint of breath. Either no one's there or they're very good at being quiet. So I take a few steps forward.

…I must be delirious from the Zabaniya. Yeah, that's it. That's gotta be the only reason I'm even considering this.

The shadows of the alley fully covered us. I have to admit, that was a smart move for him to make. Reminds me of one time when Mawla made me walk undetected through the streets of Hosu without Concealment. The stings I felt that day stayed with me for a week.

"Okay, the cops can't see us. Talk."

Stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, Dabi begins talking. "First, I've gotta say that was a nice job you did with that faker Hero. People like him aren't worth the dirt people spit on. Really brightened up my day seeing that clip." He lets out a hoarse bark of laughter. "So I guess you can say I'm a bit of a fan."

I try not to blink in surprise. A fan? As in, someone who appreciates what I'm doing? If he didn't look like something out of a cheap horror movie, I'd be somewhat touched.

"I tried to dig up more info about you but man, you are one silent son of a bitch. It was like looking for a ghost."

"Should I worry that I have a stalker?" I shoot. He pauses for a moment but lets out another coarse laugh.

"Hah! Yeah, it does sound creepy when you say it like that." He shakes his head. "But I'm just a curious fan. I've seen real yandere stalkers and let me tell you, not even the dregs wanna get close to them."

A shiver goes up my spine. Yandere girls are real? Yeah, hoping not to meet one of those in the next century or so. Preferably even after my death.

Wait. He said something there. "You speak as though you walk in those circles."

"Not with yanderes, thank god. But…" he gestures to himself. "This sort of look isn't something people wanna see out in the sun." He says the last part with a tinge of bitterness.

Point. Though I'm the last person who should be concerned about what society thought of – wait, we've veered off-topic. "You said we could help each other. What do you mean by that?"

He raises an arm placatingly. "I'm getting to that. Now, after the cops and Heroes released that statement about you, the underworld went into a frenzy. From the gutter-dwellers to the big boys, they weren't sure whose side were you on. Then other gangs and criminals started dropping off the grid. I've gotta hand it to you, you know how to stir up a hive. Most are thinking that it's some psycho, but I knew it was you. Then one day I decided 'fuck this, I wanna see this guy for myself'" he says, throwing his arms up. "It took a lot of work and migraines, but I managed to piece together the type of people you hit. More homework later, and here I am."

I narrow my eyes at the dark-haired scarface. Did that mean…?

"Did you set all of this up? Just to talk to me?" I growl. His eyes briefly widen and he quickly shakes his head.

"No! I'm not that stupid! I got wind that those crazies were gonna do something like this, and from the way their leader was harping around like some freak cultist, I figured he was gonna do something stupid enough to attract your attention."

I relax at his denial. Good, that meant one less death today. "How did you know that I was actually going to appear here?"

"I didn't. I just took a hunch. It looks like for me the tenth time was the charm."

I raise an eyebrow. "Tenth time?"

He shrugs. "Like I said, you're a frickin' ghost."

I don't know if I should be impressed or very concerned. No, back on topic, Ritsu!

"I'm still not hearing anything about this deal."

"Well, it's simple." He gestures to himself. "I want to offer my services."

What.

"You want me to hire you?" I ask. This was not what I was expecting. "For what?"

"Whatever you need. I'm pretty good in a fight and my flames can torch a lot of things." A small burst of said flames spews from his palm as he says that. "I might not be a ghost like you, but I know how to hide. Or at least cause a big enough distraction so no one notices me. Besides, you might slip up one day and it's good if someone is willing to blast away anyone who tries to take advantage of that."

Again, I think the Zabaniya must have knocked more sense out of me, because…I consider his offer.

On one hand, bringing in someone is way too much of a risk, for obvious reasons. Not to mention what would happen if he gets caught. He doesn't have Concealment like me so the cops or Heroes have a better chance at catching him. I think there's a saying where two can keep a secret and three's a crowd? In my case, two is the crowd.

On the other hand…making my job easier always sounds nice. Even if fire is unsubtle as hell, I can always tell him what to do exactly. Isn't arson a good assassination technique?

As I ponder over these thoughts, I flash back to before the hostage incident, something Mawla said popping up in my head.

"How well-informed are you in your…circles?" I ask. He blinks at my question.

"I have my sources. Why are you asking?" He responds cautiously. But I see the corner of his burnt lip twitch. So he's playing that game. Fine.

"If I were to, say, ask to be informed about anything – how did you put it – 'stupid' that might happen, would you be willing to provide intel about it? When, where, and who?"

He scratches his hair and I see his grin reappearing. "I might be able to do something like that. I'm no broker, but I know a guy. He won't ask too many questions and even if he does, I can think of excuses."

Don't get your hopes up, Ritsu. There might be something rotten about this whole situation. "And say I were to accept your 'deal', what would you want from me?"

Dabi looks me in the eye and his grin slowly becomes…dare I say it, savage. Predatory, even. "Other than the occasional piece of the action and a small cut of whatever loot you take? I want you to help me kill someone."

My fingers twitch at his tone. Something was rotten about this. "You're asking me to assassinate somebody?"

He shakes his head. "No. I said I want you to help me kill someone."

Ah, this was a personal matter. Red flag. "Who?"

"…let's just say that if anyone is undeserving of the title 'Hero', it's him" He snarls.

Oh, I was waiting for someone to say something about that. If I had let my targets live a little longer, they might've asked. "Let's get one thing straight: I only found out that Domino was a slaver when I got to his agency. The fact that he was a Hero was just an unfortunate coincidence."

He shrugs. "That's fine. But you'll still go after anyone who fits a role like that, right?"

Depends. "Yes."

He nods. "Then trust me, when it comes to people who aren't worthy of being called human beings, there's few as high as him."

Except I don't. Trust him that is. He sounds like he's telling the truth; hatred like that is very hard to fake. But I still feel like I'm missing something important from this picture.

"That's still not enough information about this supposed unworthy. I don't give my word lightly."

He gives me a sour look and then turns to the side, sucking his burnt lip. His face scrunches up a few times, distorting his scars. Finally, he sighs with a tinge of frustration. "Fine. Then just a cut of the loot and the odd piece of the action."

Now I'm at a crossroads. Do I truly want to try this?

'Mawla, what do you think?'

I hear the wraith hum in my mind. "Thou hast been given a rare opportunity, contractor. It is good that thou remembered our talk earlier regarding connections. This is precisely what I meant. Knowledge is worth more than gold, and knowledge of the kind this 'Dabi' offers can be invaluable."

'Even though he's probably a criminal?'

"In my time, my intelligence network was composed of not just my fid'ai, but of all sorts of men from all walks of life, from street thieves to palace servants. Besides, dost thou truly believe that all crime is worth the punishment of the blade?" he asks harshly.

I mentally droop in shame 'No Mawla.' I wasn't stupid; I've played enough videogames to understand that being a criminal wasn't always a choice. Sometimes, if you wanted to see the next sunrise, you had to do what you needed to. So far, I hadn't encountered anyone in such circumstances.

But still. "Are you someone who's done something 'stupid'?"

He snorts. "I wouldn't have come here otherwise. If I did kill anyone, then they deserved it." He raises his hand. "So, we've got a deal?"

…to hell with it.

I slowly step forward and shake the offered hand. His grip is strong. "Deal. But I'm warning you: cross the line or cross me, and you won't live to see morning."

"Don't worry, you don't survive in the streets by being a snitch," he replies, his grin returning in full force. "But I want you to at least hear my request out later on."

"We'll see," I say curtly. "Depends if you deliver on what you promise."

Instead of being insulted, he chuckles. "I think you and I are gonna get along just fine." He lets go of my hand and reaches into his pocket. "I have a little gift to celebrate." He pulls out a nondescript smartphone in a black casing, an older model. "The guy I told you about got me this. Both messages and calls are untraceable. The SIM card is pre-payed for six months' worth. My number's already on there." I take the device and look it over. It looks like something Shadow Gear would make.

"You carried this with you all those times?"

"What can I say, when I see opportunity, I don't do anything half-assed."

Well, he definitely has the drive. I activate the phone and the home screen pops up, with no asking for a passcode. I'll need to change that. I disable location services and open up the contacts. Sure enough, the only one there was an X'ed-out number with the name 'Dabi' above it.

I shut off the phone and return my gaze to him. "This will do. Now that we have a deal, find out if anyone's planning anything 'stupid'. As long as it's within Tokyo and doesn't have too many high-hitters, it'll do." At his questioning look, I add "I'm pacing myself. I've already drawn way too much attention."

"Sure thing. How are you gonna give me the cut of the loot? Secret bank accounts, unlike that phone, are a bit harder to set up." I rub my chin in thought. Good question. If his intel is legitimate, I will pay him; I do keep my word. I can't do anything online, so there's only one option.

"If the information is valid, I'll send you a location where you'll pick up the money." Text only, of course. Those are harder to trace. "It'll be either in a bag or an envelope."

"A drop zone then? Good idea." He idly taps his foot. Time to end this conversation.

"Now, unless there's anything else you want to say to me, I'll be going. I do hope our little partnership is successful." With that, I walk past him and into the street. Before I can Conceal myself though, I hear him call out. "Oi, what exactly do I call you? Names are being thrown all over the place."

I pause. That's a…question. Not good or bad, it just is. I have heard and seen a good deal of those names, but I don't care much for what people call me. And the only name I would even consider taking would be too much of a giveaway. So with that in mind…

"Shinigami will do. Just don't put that in the contacts list."

He nods. "You got it." I Conceal myself and head back to Hosu, not looking back once. I trudge through the streets, so deep in thought that I feel like I'm half-conscious. It's only when I reach the familiar alleys that lead to my hidey-hole that I lean on the dirty and let out a groan.

"Yeesh, what a day."

I'm exhausted. There's no other way to put it. Not because of the hostage-taking; despite the unusual circumstances, it was an express variation of a routine hit. No, the blame for my exhaustion can be laid at the feet of one man: Dabi.

'Indeed. This encounter was a first for thee. I should have taught thee the proper steps to navigate the situation. I apologize, contractor.'

My lips twitch upwards at his words. A rare apology from Hassan-i Sabbah. Yay.

'Nevertheless, thou conducted thyself admirably. Now, thou have access to a spring of information unknown to thee. But be cautious; it is one thing to strike against the darkness of men, but to navigate it is another matter entirely. If need be, I shall guide thee through this abyss, as I have done before.'

I lightly bow my head as I feel a bit of heat rush to my cheeks. 'Thank you, Mawla.' I take a deep breath and lightly pat myself. Better than before, but still tired. I think I'll hold off on patrolling for today. A nice ice cream scoop and a visit to the World Collection sounds very nice right now.

'Mawla, what do you think of Dabi?'

There is silence for a moment, and then he answers. 'I will not make any assumptions so thy judgment may not be clouded. His deformed appearance aside, he seemed sincere in his offer. But I have seen something in him many of my fid'ai in their early days bore.'

'Oh? What's that?'

'A desire for vengeance. One as strong as the flames he creates.'

Ah. That explained his little personal matter. 'Well, if I got scarred like that, I would want some payback too.'

'I do not refer to just that. His desire does not feel like a guide for his actions; something deeper is there.'

'Should I worry?'

He hums for a moment. 'For now, no. See if he delivers on his side of the deal and if he does, fulfill thy end. As long as thou art in partnership with him, keep an eye out.'

No need to tell me that. I'm not going to trust some rando I met in an alleyway right away. 'Anything else I should look out for?'

'Not for now. I believe that is enough for today. Do as thou wish and take great care when establishing contact with your new source.'

I nod and feel his presence disappear. As I walk back to the hideout, I idly rub the pocket where the new phone is resting.

'Dabi, huh? Well, nothing else to do but see where this goes.'

-x-

He loathed this place. There was no better way to say it.

Dirty, smelly, revolting. Peeling walls, unclean floors, and disgusting drinks. Sure, any man would dislike any place in such conditions. But those merely compounded themselves onto the real reason behind his hatred.

It reminded him of how filthy this society was. And the lows he had sunk in his attempts to cleanse it.

But he was a crusader. If he allowed something as trivial as this to dissuade him of his mission, then he was unworthy of crawling out into the streets. More than that, he was a survivor. He had crawled out of even lower pits before. He would endure and see his crusade through to the end – where fakers calling themselves 'Heroes' were no more.

That was the essence of Stain.

He put down his glass and tried to tune out the incessant ramblings of the drunken morons behind him. Once again, he found himself regretting his choice to come here. He should be out there, seeking more unworthy fakers to purge. But even the Hero Killer was human and as such, needed the occasional intake of food and drink.

Not to mention that he was nursing a wound inflicted upon him by one of his victims. He managed to get in a lucky hit before he finally plunged his blade. Bandages, salve, and painkillers did their job, but he still felt it. Overdosing was not worth it, even with his training, so he went to this…bar (in the loosest use of the word), chosen for its obscurity and the owner's tendency to not ask questions, to get a light drink and soothe his aches. If he had known it would be filled with drunken slobs though, he would've just taken a can from a vending machine.

Stain lightly pulled on his hood – he felt that discretion was the better part of valor today - and fiddled with the mug in his hand. He gritted his teeth as one of the drunkards slammed his head on the bar, causing his friends to erupt in raucous laughter. He forced down the urge to draw a knife and gut the moron like a fish. No, he reminded himself, you are above this trash. So he distracted himself by trying to think of a new 'Hero' to purge. That always brightened his mood.

At some point, he realized that he had downed the whole mug. Now having the perfect excuse to leave, the Hero Killer rose from his seat and made his way to the door. But just as he was about to leave, he caught wind of the words that a drunkard loudly spouted to the whole bar.

"Oi, ya heard what happened to Kazumoto?"

"Kazumoto? You mean the guy with the hands?"

"Yeah, the one who decked you in arm-wrestling. You don't challenge a guy with hands the size of bricks to a match!"

The man growled. "I just wanted to see if they were real! I didn't know he was almost gonna break my hands! What happened to him?"

"He's dead. He and the rest of his gang."

A silence fell over the bar. Stain slightly turned his head. Normally he wouldn't care the slightest about what happened to this sort of people. Just one less annoyance in the world. But he had a sinking suspicion as to why the man died, and apparently with his entire gang.

"Dead? You're joking," one rasped. "They were crazy fuckers but they weren't wannabes."

"What else do you call bodies lying on the ground with blood all over the place?" the man shot back. "A friend sent me a pic. It was nasty."

"How did they *hic* get offed?" another asked, clutching a bottle. The man scoffed.

"Do you really need to ask?"

No, he didn't. There was only one man they could be referring to.

"Fucking Villain Killer…"

Stain frowned.

He remembered the first time he saw that video. A Pro-Hero, one who tarnished the title even further than many of his targets, confessed to his deeds at knifepoint and was executed by a masked man. For a while, he thought the man to be a kindred spirit, a fellow crusader sharing his ideals. Then he heard the whispers of the underworld. Criminals and even a Villain or two were found dead, their bodies sliced open. Some even said that bite marks were found on their flesh, or maggots were found feasting on the corpses.

Stories that make for good campfire tales. That wasn't even the wildest of them.

But they all possessed elements of truth, and those were far more interesting.

"You're telling me. I tried to get a job together and the crew wanted double pay. Ever since he dropped into the picture, everyone's shaking in their boots."

Truthfully, Stain couldn't form a definite opinion about this Vigilante. It was obvious that he hated criminals and sought to eliminate them personally instead of relying on the police or Heroes. He understood the feeling well, having started his journey harboring the same sentiments. But other than that, he knew nothing about him. No one did. Only hearsay and rumors.

Those thoughts still rolling around in his head, he walked out the door and into the dark alleys. And as he fiddled with his trusted blades, a question came to his mind.

'Villain Killer, Shinigami, whatever your name is…do you walk the path of truth, or are you nothing but a pretender? What is your goal? Your conviction? What is your creed?

Just who are you? What are you? I will find out soon enough.'

-x-

"Well if it ain't Ritsu Ogawa! There's a face I haven't seen in a while!"

I smile at the man behind the glass pane. "Likewise."

He smiles at me and leans forward, elbows propped on the desk. "What's it been, six months?"

"A little longer than that, but yeah."

"For a while, we thought you ditched this place like the others, but the boss said that there'll always be someone interested in this place. I never doubted you though."

I ignore the pang of guilt I feel in my chest. "Sorry, just had some real-life issues."

He nods. "I hear you. My high school days were wild ones. Sometimes the hobbies need to take a step back for work, you know?"

More than you ever will. "Yup. So, did anything change?"

He shrugs. "Eh, not much. Not even a new exhibit, so everything's the same as your last visit." He shoos me off. "Now go on."

"Thanks," I say and move to enter the building, only to stop. "By the way, is Zelretch-san here?"

The museum deskman shakes his head. "Nope. He left on a trip a few days ago. Didn't say when he would come back."

Oh. That's too bad. Nonetheless, I give him a nod of thanks and enter the World Collection.

I look at the artifacts and paintings hanging on the wall or various displays. True to his words, nothing looks different. As I move down the halls, I take a deep breath and allow that familiar air to fill my lungs. Something was relaxing about the Collection; as someone with no social life, this was the one place outside of my home where I felt at ease and accepted. All of those items held different and unique stories, stories that no one but my mother and I were interested in. God, I missed this place.

'I was unaware thou cherished this gallery so deeply, contractor.'

I feel a wistful smile grow. 'Yeah, I guess I didn't realize that as well. I feel bad for not coming here in these past months.'

'Thou had more pressing matters to attend to. As I told thee before, balancing thy mission and thy hobbies and comforts is not an easy task.'

I sigh as I keep walking, still looking at the various exhibits. 'I know. It still hurts though.'

'Hmm. I will say that it is an oddly welcome sight to see so many items from my time and before. Take that one to thy left.' I turn and see a large canteen, engraved with delicate carvings of people, birds, and what I assume to be Arabic. 'It is of a different make, but I have seen similar canteens on the hips of noblemen in Kahir. A wasteful use of brass, but items like those were more of a status symbol than anything.' I nod, fascinated by his words. I move on to a curved knife, its silver sheath inlaid with gold and more Arabic calligraphy was etched along its length. 'Ah, I remember blades like those well. I was given one by Nizar as a token of our friendship. Again, they were status symbols, but knives held a special meaning.'

'What do you mean?'

'The Khanjar, as they are called, were given to men as a sign of manhood and strength. From then on, a man was expected to wear it on his hip at all times in public. Some groups did not draw it unless they had reason to draw blood.'

I let out a low whistle. 'So you received multiple knives – sorry, khanjars in your lifetime?'

'Yes. They were considered an appropriate gift. I even recall that in Alamut, one of the merchants gifted a fid'ai…with…'

I raise an eyebrow as he trails off. 'Mawla? Is something wrong?' I receive no answer. A light shadow covers me and I look up, only to stop at the sight.

It's that old broadsword. The same sword I've seen Mawla wield in the Valley and in those dreams.

'Mawla, is this sword really yours?'

'…yes. Yes, it is.' His answer comes faintly.

Huh. I can barely imagine what he must be going through. To see your own weapon hanging on a display case, a thousand years after your death…

'Does it have a name?'

'…yes, but I shall not tell thee yet.'

I blink. 'Why not?'

'…thou art not ready yet' he replied, his tone returning to its previous deepness.

I want to ask him 'why' again, but I have a feeling that I won't get an answer. So I drop it and take another look at the sword. But there is one thing I have to ask.

'Mawla?'

'Yes, contractor?'

'How did you assassinate people with such a big weapon? And no offense, but if you actually looked like that in real life, then it's not a very subtle look.'

For a moment, he doesn't answer. When he does, I can feel the smirk behind his mask.

'If those who witness me perish by the time the evening bell tolls, does it truly matter what I use or what I wear?'

…

…

…Mawla is scary.

Really scary.

-x-

Ritsu Ogawa (Assassin - Hassan-i Sabbah)

Stats:

Strength: D+

Agility: C

Endurance: D++

Mana: C++ (Only when using Power of the Valley. Otherwise, nonexistent.)

Luck: C+

Skills:

Presence Concealment D+: The ability to hide from others. A poor level for any Assassin, but against ordinary criminals and some intelligent ones it works well.

Throwing (Dagger) B and Throwing (Retrieval) B: The expertise for throwing projectile weapons; in this case, daggers. His daggers have the same destructive power as firearms when thrown, typically spelling certain death for human targets. He can retrieve them to his hand with but a mere gesture

Information Erasure C++: Erases all traces of the user's identity, physical or digital, after leaving a scene of assassination. It does not hide the user's identity in any other situation, and clues can be pieced together to deduce identity. If the user's identity is discovered, then the effects of the skill weaken. Rank increased thanks to multiple exposures outside of Presence Concealment.

Power of the Valley of Death C++: A unique connection forged as a result of finding a relic of Alamut. Assassin can draw power from the Valley to perform certain skills he would otherwise be incapable of doing.

Quirk - Super-Hearing C: A power gained as a result of evolution. Allows the user to hear precise details within a certain range. Can extend the range in exchange for loss of detail. Also alerts the user of incoming danger provided they can react to it.

Noble Phantasm:

Zabaniya - Delusional Judgment Rank C+

An 'ultimate assassination technique' bearing the same name as the angels of hell, a title which all previous 'Old Men of the Mountain' used for their own techniques. Unlike them however, who were forged by extensive modification of the Hassans' bodies, this technique is a reflection of the Assassin's desire to inflict what he deems true judgment. Calling upon his unique connection to the Valley in the Shadow of Death, Assassin drags his target's soul to the Valley, where the First Hassan awaits them. Their soul is laid bare before the Great Founder and should they be found guilty of whatever sin Assassin finds them to have committed, the flames of Gehenna will burn away their soul and body until naught but ash remains.