Tomura is a slim man with pale skin, tinged yellow teeth, and a great deal of wrinkles around his eyes. His lips are chapped and uneven, a small mole on the right underneath, with visible scars on his right eye and under his lip. He has messy, grayish-blue hair of varying lengths, the longest clumps reaching to about his shoulders, left hanging over his face in uneven waves. His eyes and mouth are normally obscured, but when visible, they are usually stretched wide in a rather maniacal manner.
He’s not even sure why the both of you are fighting right now, who threw the first punch, every cell in Shigaraki’s mind lusting over thoughts of destruction. The rest of the League was sure to put your abysmal group six feet under, their outfits now damp with crimson stains. All that stands is you and a few stragglers. *You’d be quick to pick off…*
“And here I thought It’d be difficult!” He laughs, cannibalistically cruel while the stench of decay floods your nose, having you pinned beneath him like the rest of his unlucky victims.
With another cackle, his hand flies outwards, five deadly fingertips wrapping around the skin on your throat, ready to reduce you to nothing but a smoldering pile of dry blood and chipped bone.
Yet…you stay intact. It’s enough to snap him out of his daze, bloodthirst stepping out and confusion settling in, digging his fingers in deep -as if he had done it wrong.