Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, began the story of a boy who would bleed into black and set the world alight with the tips of his fingers. The image of a scarred visage that would mar an otherwise handsome man; a darkness that lingered at the edges of torn smirks and blood lust. He wanted to burn all traces of his former self from this world so that when they spoke of him, it wasn't that he was a failure that writhed in agony at the feet of his father. They would, instead, speak of him as the very height of villainy – the complete and utter opposite of a father revered by those who did not know him.
But before they could begin his legacy in singed flesh and rivers of blood, they would know him as he knew himself: Toya Todoroki, who was never quite the masterpiece his father wished him to be.
In fact, as far as he had ever been concerned, he had never been anything at all. The virgin white that colored his siblings had never even touched his visage – he was the spitting image of the man whom they barely knew. There was hatred when he was brought squalling into the world and it only evolved into complete and utter disdain. He could not utilize a power that his mother had been born with and his flames, though hot, were not enough to give him a fathers love. What would Enji Todoroki do with a son who was in his image? What could Enji Todoroki do with a boy who had tried as hard as he could to debut ice powers that were never his to begin with?
Nothing.
That word became something that he was all too familiar with when he grew up – when his younger siblings began to populate the house, one the spitting image of a their mother and the other with barely enough red in her hair to make a difference, he heard his father rage. They were all nothings to him, failed experiments with a wife who had only been able to produce one or the other.
It wasn't until Shoto that the air in the house began to turn – his master piece had finally shown himself and now he had no reason to even look at them now. They were separated, berated by loud words thrown at the teetering toddler that they could hear through tatami walls. Their father had abandoned them and their mother had the world crumbling and slipping past her desperate fingers like sand, trying her best to shield the young man from his father's harsh treatments as the thud of his little body hit the floor relentlessly. They could not even look in his direction without tempting Enji's temper and so they learned to separate themselves and pretend as if they could not hear nor see.
A blind eye, so that he can forget that they even exist. A blind eye, so that Shoto does not become tainted by their bad blood. A blind eye, so that the world's perception of their family is power and grace. A blind eye, so that they can begin to dissipate from the spotlight that is rightfully his brothers – the master piece he had abused and abandoned the world for.
They learn to be content with it because at least it isn't them who are on the receiving end of fists that are thrown at their younger brother – yet there is a single and utter difference between Toya and his siblings. Despite the divide between all of them…he does not receive an ounce of his mother's love.
Natuso , Fuyumi, and even Shoto have enough ice in their veins that their mother can still extend her arms and bring them to her chest whenever the world becomes too harsh. Toya, however, is the spitting image of a man whom all of them earn a varying degree of fear. She can't look him in the face, preferring instead to focus on her feet whenever he directs any of his words to her. He knows it is because she is disgusted with the first born child who does not have a single ounce of her features – icy orbs and flaming hair paints him in the light of Enji Todoroki and he knows that it is fear that makes her voice shake in his presence.
He grows to be disgusted with what he represents – a knock off of the original flame hero, a damned duplicate who cannot control either his power or the violate temper that begins to rear its ugly head as he ages. His anger is not unlike Enji's and he knows it but every single breath he takes in their presence leaves the bitter taste of defeat lingering on the tip of his tongue. He is not yet scarred but he is full rage and every look at their shame of a family is tinged in red – he wears blue flames sparking at the tips of his fingers the longer he stays in their presence and eventually he begins to leave for longer periods of time.
His stay outside the walls brings only more clarity to the rouge son – they fawn over him in hopes of gaining a place at the number two hero's side. He is handsome, as the oldest son he is surely set to inherit a kingdom because he is the very spitting image of him in his youth. They notice him and for a moment the recognition soothes and a heart that is only looking for attention – yet their words char and turn to ash in his mouth and he greets them more with a twisted grimace than a professional smile. He meets their admiration with silky threats and psychotic promises as hot fingertips threaten to singe their skin.
He is not a proud prodigy. He is merely a symptom of a quest for power that has torn him down in weariness and irritation and he lets them know that their false image of an idol is ignorance. His family is simply a sham, a cover to fool the eyes of sheep who think that pro heroes are like gods in times of villains and evil. He wants their foundation to shake and crumble into nothingness – their bodies smoking and tinged black at his feet as he shows the world what false idols do to those who are unfortunate to not meet up to expectations.
It emboldens him, their polite shock that is swallowed down behind painted smiles. It won't take long to get back to his Father and he waits the slamming of doors as his father stalks forward to him. Large hands curl into soft and thin fabric, pulling a slender form to him with purpose as his fire burns heavy against his face. "How dare you." The phrase pulls hollow laughter from his lips as he grabs the wrist of the taller man and singes the fabric there that only results in him being thrown to the floor.
He remembers the way it feels, a shock of pain traveling up his spine as he looks at the man who had only made him – that pure and unbridled rage is one that is reflected in similar eyes as he pulls himself to his feet and taunts Enji. His carefully crafted lie, hidden behind quiet and obedient children is becoming more fragile as time goes on. Everything he worked for being unraveled by simple words from a cold hearted son who wants nothing more to topple his empire – how easy this world must be to overturn all of his accomplishments because of the actions of a son whom he had barely acknowledged in all of his time alive on this earth.
This is a fight he had been craving for years as she stands in front of the man who had made him suffer so – yet the suffering he has endured so far is nothing compares to the overwhelming pain that engulfs him at the hands of Enji Todoroki. His fire is swallowed by more practiced hands and his skin turns to deep purple as his screams echo the house, fingers wrapped around his throat as a deep voice resounds in his mind letting him know that to kill him would be easy, flames licking at his skin in degrees that are uncountable.
He had thought himself someone powerful with the memories of others fear and yet in a single moment he is begging for his pain to stop. He wants him to kill him, put him out of his misery but there is no one who is standing up for Toya now. His family is huddled in a corner in another room, listening to the boom of threats and anger that passes through them because they know what it means to stand up to him.
Rather it is him than them.
That phrase reverberates through his mind as he lays their at the feet of the patriarch who has done nothing but torment the very family he has – at the scuttle of feet once he slams away from the room where his son is slowly dying. It fuels him when blurry eyes catch the look in his mother's face when she looks at him there, that look of relief at the idea of the one son she never quite loved might finally be out of her life. It fuels him when they pump him full of medicines and try their very best to heal a son as unloved as he, whispers passing through their lips at the fabricated excuse from their household that they hold as gospel.
It reminds him of who he is when he looks in the mirror for the first time after they say he is healed – he is nothing to anyone. His name may be Toya Todoroki but he is merely a placeholder to true desires that lay beyond his natural abilities. No matter how strong he becomes, no matter how tall he grows so long as he is still Toya there is nothing that can be done for him and he knows it.
Red bleeds into black once he signs himself out of the hospital for the final time. Toya drops off and Dabi begins – the blue flamed villain who holds so much hate for pro heroes that he wants every single person who dreams of a false reality to simply disappear. Perhaps that is why he sees himself reflected in the Hero Killers eyes, the idea that they can kill and rid the world of those who claim to save the world and ruin the very foundation of those who are closes to them. They can eclipse the world and ruin the very society that holds men like Enji Todoroki in esteem without ever truly knowing how vile they really are.
He will destroy this world and he will relish in seeing all that they have worked for crumble to dust. There will not be a single person who is safe from him in this world any longer – the smell of burning and the symphony of screams become his new favorite songs; these children whose eyes are clouded by All Might and what he represents will lay slaughtered as his laughter resounds off a barren city.
The time of villains is upon them and he will make sure that those memories that hold him down will be shoved down the throats of those he hates the most. He will take his pleasure in the way their eyes darken in their own mediocrity but most of all; he will make sure that Enji will have everything taken from him when Shoto's body is lifeless and scarred, the light in heterochromatic eyes dimmed into nothingness because of the very son who would be the most like him.
"Shoto Todoroki…..how sad…"
He has no idea what will befall him but Dabi does…..and with his newfound patience he will make sure the very place that is cultivating him, the very people he finds himself close to, will fall like dominos.
One by one until there is nothing left.