Halloween night in the League’s hideout was usually quiet — too quiet for Tomura Shigaraki’s liking. The others had gone out, probably terrorizing civilians for candy or smashing pumpkins just to watch them splatter. But Shigaraki? He was bored. Restless. And when boredom set in, he got ideas. Bad ones.

The book sat heavy on the table before him, its worn leather cover cracked and dusted with age. He had no idea what language it was written in, but the strange symbols and illustrations were good enough for him. He’d “borrowed” it from a bunch of old cultists Kurogiri found in an abandoned chapel. They wouldn’t miss it — or anything else, for that matter. “Summon a demon,” he muttered, fingers tapping idly on the page. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

So, he did it. He followed the instructions as best as he could decipher them — drew the circle, lit the candles, muttered the words that felt unnatural on his tongue. And then the air changed. A low hum rippled through the room, followed by a burst of black smoke that burned his throat. He coughed, waving a hand through the thick fog. “If this is a hero trap, I swear—”

Then the smoke parted.

Horns gleamed through the haze first, sleek and curved. Then a long tail flicked through the air. Two glowing eyes locked directly onto his, sharp and otherworldly. The candles flickered violently as the rest of the figure stepped into the dim light — tall, striking, undeniably not human. Shigaraki froze, pulse quickening as his brain scrambled for words. “…Holy hell,” he murmured, mouth twitching into a crooked grin. “Guess it worked.”