MHA: Akatsuki

It was around 11 PM, and the night was quiet, save for the faint hum of distant city lights. The moon cast its soft glow over the room where Satoshi sat, fiddling with his quirk. 

But then, something clicked.

His eyes narrowed in thought, a spark of an idea flickering in his mind. A grin slowly spread across his face as he lifted his thumb to his mouth, biting down hard enough to draw a drop of blood. 

He smeared the blood on his palm, feeling the cool warmth of it against his skin. Without hesitation, he slammed his hand down onto the floor with a force that echoed in the room. As his palm made contact, he whispered under his breath, "Summoning Technique."

The room was filled with a puff of smoke, swirling and thick. His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

As the smoke cleared, there, standing proudly in front of him, was a small bird. Its feathers were sleek, and it had a few piercings adorning its tiny form. But what caught Satoshi's attention the most was its eye—an unmistakable Rinnegan, staring back at him.

A satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

But the smile on his face quickly faded as the thought hit him. His gaze turned inward as he contemplated the implications of the Rinnegan on the bird before him.

"When I'm in my 'Akatsuki' persona," he mused quietly, his fingers lightly tapping against the floor, "I won't be able to use my Animal Path. Or maybe even the Nakara Path." He glanced at the bird once more, and the thought gnawed at him. "If these summons have the Rinnegan, they might be able to track it back to me."

A deep sigh escaped his lips, the weight of the realization settling in. The bird's piercing gaze seemed to mock him, as if it understood his thoughts.

But with a shake of his head, he pushed those worries to the back of his mind, focusing instead on another question. His eyes turned to the ground as he absently studied his surroundings. Summoning the bird had felt relatively easy compared to creating a black rod. It hadn't taken nearly as much energy, and it had appeared almost effortlessly. Why?

His mind raced in circles, trying to put the pieces together. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. The thought eluded him. He furrowed his brow, but the answer just wouldn't come.

After several moments of fruitless pondering, an idea slowly began to take shape, though it wasn't a perfect answer. He thought back to the black rods—their function, their purpose. They weren't just weapons. They were conduits. They contained his energy, and they had the ability to control corpses or disrupt enemies when stabbed. His eyes narrowed as he connected the dots.

"When I create the rod," he muttered under his breath, "it must take some of my energy, energy that could otherwise be used to control corpses or disrupt an enemy."

It wasn't a perfect explanation, but it was the best he had for now. At least it provided some clarity.

Meanwhile...

Konan stepped into the quiet, dimly lit alley, the echo of her footsteps fading quickly in the night air. She glanced around, her sharp eyes scanning the area. She took in the absence of movement, the stillness that signaled no one was present. No one had followed her. No cameras. Satisfied that the path was clear, she moved quickly.

She reached into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out the familiar Akatsuki cloak. She held it for a moment, fingers brushing against the fabric. Then, slowly, she wore it, adjusting it around her shoulders.

Once the cloak settled, she reached for her mask.

As her hands moved to secure it, her gaze dropped to her fingers, inspecting it's movements. The mask was transparent to her eyes, allowing her to see through it as if it wasn't there at all. But to anyone else, it would appear solid. A one-way mask if you may.

With a small sigh, she finished fastening the mask in place, the familiar restriction of the fabric settling around her face. She no longer had to worry about her identity being exposed.

Then, her gaze shifted to the stack of papers nestled in her bag. Konan carefully pulled it out, spreading them before her. The papers were plain, unassuming at first glance—but she knew their true nature. Every single sheet had been transformed into a paper bomb. They were her weapon now, each sheet capable of exploding.

Her eyes flickered with the usual cold determination as she held them in her hands. Konan's quirk surged within her. She extended her palm, and the papers responded, flowing from her fingers with ease. Like a swarm of insects, the papers began to move, twisting and folding under her will.

With a practiced gesture, she concealed the papers, using her quirk to hide them inside the folds of her cloak. They were now safely tucked away, ready to be deployed whenever necessary.

As Konan adjusted the final folds of her cloak, her mind wandered to the task at hand. She began running through the list of small-time villains she had been tracking. Names like Goru the Firebringer, a pyrokinetic with a temper and a history of street-level chaos, or Kaizen, the illusionist who liked to cause confusion among civilians for fun. Then there was The Iron Lark, a brawler with brute strength who had been terrorizing small shops in the area. She had no interest in these minor criminals, but they were perfect targets for the job.

Konan had done her homework before even stepping out as she researched the villains in her area.

With her plan set in motion, Konan stepped out of the alley and into the quiet night. Her feet hit the pavement in rhythmic steps, her mind focused on the task at hand.

As she walked, the thought flickered in her mind: "Should I just fly?"

She glanced up at the night sky for a moment, feeling the urge to spread her wings and take to the air like she usually did. It would have been faster, more efficient. But then she remembered—she wasn't in the ideal body for now. She had to conserve her stamina, keep a low profile.

She adjusted her stride, forcing herself to remain grounded, her eyes scanning her surroundings as she walked through the city's quiet streets. The only sounds were the faint hum of distant cars and the rustle of the wind.

Unbeknownst to her, a black bird flitted above her, its sharp eyes tracking her every move. Unlike any other bird, this one had deep purple eyes, almost unnatural in their color. The bird flew in silence as it shadowed Konan below.

Konan's steps slowed as her thoughts turned inward, the weight of her past thoughts settling on her. She couldn't help but reflect on the Akatsuki and their place in this new world. She had seen their potential to rise to power here. The endless possibilities of what they could achieve—what they would achieve—kept her mind active. But she knew that they had to tread carefully. The world they were now in was a different kind of battlefield, and she couldn't afford to be reckless.

But her musings were cut short. A scream pierced the night air, dragging her attention back to the present. Her instincts kicked in immediately, and her posture shifted, all traces of her previous contemplation disappearing. She moved swiftly, crouching low as she crept towards the sound.

"What was that?" She thought.

Her eyes darted around as she moved, constantly scanning for threats, but the path was clear. The source of the scream, however, wasn't far. She quickly reached a narrow alley and peeked around the corner, her gaze narrowing as she assessed the situation before her.

Five men, dressed in ragged clothes and with rough, hardened faces, stood in a tight circle, surrounding a lone figure. The man in the center was dressed oddly—his attire stood out against the more street-wise appearance of his assailants.

Konan's sharp eyes immediately picked up on the distinguishing features of his clothes: the form-fitting suit a helmet. Most likely, a hero.

The men around him were closing in, their body language hostile, but the lone man stood tall, despite being outnumbered. He didn't look like he was going to back down, but Konan knew the odds weren't in his favor.

"What do you want to do?" she asked herself quietly. Her gaze flicked over the men again, calculating the risk. There was always the option to ignore this and find the villains she's familiar with.

Konan's fingers twitched. The papers in her cloak rustled slightly in response, ready to shift and move at a moment's notice. She would have to make a decision quickly.

And so, as she stepped back from the corner of the alley, her mind running at full speed as she weighed her options. The five men in front of her weren't particularly strong, but their presence here, along with the hero they were harassing, could both be good and bad. Her gaze flickered back to the lone hero standing firm, his face determined." A hero would talk. They always do." She thought.

She let out a quiet sigh, knowing full well that if she killed these men, the hero would almost certainly survive and report the attack. And that could lead to the Akatsuki's name being uncovered.

"The important thing is for Akatsuki's existence to be known..." The words from Satoshi echoed in her mind. 

And so, Konan looked at the five men one last time. They were small-time villains, easily disposable. And if she did a good job of fooling the hero, their deaths would make people think that Akatsuki has power.

If she killed them, she wouldn't just be clearing her immediate path; she would be laying the groundwork for their future. The hero would no doubt report the incident, and though it might raise some suspicions, it would also spread the Akatsuki's name further, bringing them into the public eye as an intimidating force.

"This will be the beginning," she thought, her eyes hardening with resolve.

Meanwhile...

The five men continued to taunt the hero, their voices dripping with mockery. "You're not even putting up a fight," one of them sneered, landing a solid punch to the hero's gut, making him cough up a breath of air.

"Pathetic," another man growled, grabbing the hero and lifting him to his feet, only to slam him back into the ground. The hero gritted his teeth, trying to stand, but his body was betraying him.

Another punch landed square in his face, and with a sickening crack, the hero's head snapped back, his vision blurring. He collapsed on the cold ground with a groan.

The man who had landed the punch, a bulky figure with an arrogant grin, flexed his muscles as he looked down at the hero. "Super strength is great right?" He chuckled and crossed his arms, clearly pleased with his performance.

The rest of the group circled the fallen hero, their laughter echoing in the alley. The hero lay there, battered and broken, with no strength left to fight. His mind raced with the thought that his life was over. He couldn't even move, couldn't defend himself. "This is it... I'm done." He thought.

He stared up at the night sky, his vision blurred, his body too tired to react. "No one's coming for me... no one even knows I'm here..." He thought.

As he gathered his thoughts, preparing for his final moments, something caught his eye. He turned his head slightly, barely able to focus, but it was impossible to miss. A figure in the distance—flying through the air. The hero blinked, disbelief in his eyes as he saw the silhouette outlined against the moon, wings spread wide and glowing with an ethereal light.

"What...?" he muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the figure. The sight was surreal, almost heavenly. "Is that... an angel?" He thought.

The five men, noticing the hero's attention was diverted, looked up, their faces shifting from smug confidence to confusion. "What the hell...?" one of them muttered.

The bulky man who had landed the punch squinted. "What the hell is that? Looks like some kinda angel," he said, a hint of unease creeping into his voice.

The figure in the sky, impossibly graceful, hovered silently for a moment. The hero's breath caught in his throat. He had no idea who or what this was, but he felt like there was still a glimmer of hope.

Before anyone could react, the figure's wings unfurled dramatically, and the air seemed to shimmer with energy. In an instant, a barrage of fast-moving paper rained down from above, slicing through the air like razor-sharp projectiles.