Chapter 1: Prologue
Miss Harley's delicate heels made an echoing clatter against the smooth granite floor of the enormous chamber. She craned her bird-like neck around nervously as her mutant vulture beak quivered. There were no windows in this place, just artificial lights intermittently in the floor and on the decorative columns that the woman passed by, so it had a gloomy atmosphere that put her on edge.
On the far end of the chamber was a great chair. It was a building-sized construction of brutalist columns and blocks forming a grandiose seat fit for a greek god. In the chair sat a man, and the size of the man matched the chair. This was a man that Harley knew, he was her direct superior. The man's gigantism was well renowned. He was titanic, large enough that he could envelope ten men in the palm of his hand and strong enough to crush them into pulp. His marbled silken suit was perfectly tailored to his absurd size, with flair around his wide shoulders. It's glinting was the picture of decadence. His stout head was draped in a permanent shadow save for the shine in his eyes. Harley stood still beneath his feet. She could fit comfortably under the sole of his gargantuan oxfords.
"Congratulations on your recent electoral success, Prime Minister," Harley croaked. Her voice was miniscule and squeaky in his presence.
"It was… Inadequate," The Prime Minister murmured. His voice was low and he had a theatrical intonation to his manner of speech. Harley shivered at his malefic tone.
"Sir, it was a clear victory, we still hold the power in this country, is that not a cause for celebration?" Harley asked.
"The victory was… Marginal. In fact, our victories have been becoming more and more marginal as the years go by. This was the closest one yet. It seems to me that the proles are becoming upset with our good sense leadership, they are increasingly wanting a spry young idiot to come in and uproot our perfectly functional system." The Prime Minister's voice was a low roar as he shifted to a more comfortable position on his billboard-sized gold woven cushion. "They fancy giving us a run for our money next election, don't they?"
"T-they may well sir," Harley added.
"Yes, without some big changes for the better, the peasantry will become disillusioned with us. That is exactly why I've formulated a plan," The Prime Minister leant down in his chair, getting his head uncomfortably close to all of Harley. His voice was so booming that it put a tangible weight on her shoulders when he talked down at her. He grinned with teeth the size of Harley's head as he spoke.
"This great country… it languishes in only one area…" He began, putting his car-sized hand to his messy beard. "Consider Japan, dear… or the colonies even… They have something we don't, something that I want,"
"S-sir… I don't think I understand what you are getting at…" Harley's feathers stood on end. The Prime Minister leant back, making a rumbling sound as he did so.
"Our law enforcement is languishing. The police are a punchline in this day and age. They are petty, weak bureaucrats in stupid vests. Everyday villains become stronger and stronger, they rapidly approach the singularity of strength against which the world will be helpless, and they are unafraid and unhindered by our piddly coppers armed with taser guns and parking tickets. I retch when I think of it," said the Prime Minister, gagging heartily between each word.
"I hardly see the suggestion of a solution in what you are saying, Prime Minister. What do you suggest we do? And we have heroes for the villains of which you speak," Harley countered, failing to project the appropriate confidence. The Prime Minister began to laugh. He threw his head back and let loose riotous howling. It filled the room and penetrated Harley's bones, forcing under duress from her a fearful shiver.
"Don't get me started on our shit show of a hero industry, Harley. We have one, maybe two good heroes on our island and neither of them reach that level," said the Prime Minister.
"What level is that, sir?" asked Harley. The gigant leered down at her again.
"All Might. Say the name. Let it roll off of your tongue. How does that feel? Does it inspire something inside of you? Admiration? Pride? A sense of assured tranquillity? For god's sake, he lives on the other side of the globe and he can make me quiver in my boots. He is the symbol of peace. What do we have that can hold a candle to that? That can make the villains piss themselves in their sleep? Jack shit. I can't help but think to myself, we owned them, our fine country puts theirs to shame, so where's our symbol of peace?-"
"Are you sure you aren't thinking of China, sir?" Harley interjected into her superior's rant.
"What?"
"We owned China. Err… In a figurative sense that is. I don't recall it ever being wholly our colony, but we did have our hands on Hong Kong for a time. Besides, I don't believe that Japan has ever been owned by the British, we've always had a rather friendly relationship with them. Did you know that one of the first foreign samurai was Kentish? He was preceded by Yasuke of course-"
"Watch your tongue, girl. It's the orient, isn't it? That's all the same to me," the Prime Minister interrupted dismissively. He took out a cigar that was as tall as she was, and lit it with the friction from a powerful swipe of his gargantuan finger. It crackled like a bonfire, filling the air with dense smoke.
"Well, sir… we could always inject some funds into the hero industry, maybe a new tax scheme will encourage business owners to-" Harley was interrupted.
"Yes, I'm sure they would like it an awful lot for us to bail them out, wouldn't they?" He jested. Harley gave a polite submissive giggle to his casual humour. "Well fuck them. They've already failed. They can pound sand. We're going to rear a new generation of homegrown superheroes, proper ubermenschen!" The Prime Minister raised his fist as the declaration came to a crescendo. Harley was nodding along at this point.
"But, how?" She asked, not out of scepticism but curiosity.
"A school, one to put their UA to shame. Grander, more regal, we shall pull talent from all over our great empire, and snatch promising talent from the edges of the earth to forge our fine British symbol," The Prime Minister beamed at his own inspirational words. "These boys and girls will build themselves up from nothing, how it should be, and become an inspiration to all..."
"A school sir? More public spending and a reliance on foreign assets isn't exactly our party platform…" Harley questioned. She shielded her face with her clipboard from the Prime Minister, a man she was afraid to talk back to.
"No, no public money. Not enough for anyone to notice it's gone anyway… The majority of the funds is coming from a cabal of private billionaire investors, myself included, of course," Boasted the Prime Minister.
"Well, that's one issue sorted, but I still can't help but think this isn't very thought through... "
"Yes, that's how peons tend to think. Leave the thinking through to us Randian supermen, deary," Boasted the Prime Minister. He produced a packet from his breast pocket, which looked comically small in his hands but was ordinary once it was transferred to Harley's. "Here is everything we have, impressive, no? Heh, of course, it is."
Harley flicked through the document, then flicked through it some more. She consumed the entire thing on the spot, skim reading at the speed of light with her eyes widening on each page. When she reached the end, she fell to her knees. Scale like this was… unprecedented… technology that scraped the boundaries of modern science and facilities to put the world to shame. Harley had the sudden realisation that the Prime Minister was being totally serious.
"H-How long… u-until it opens that is…" Harley stammered. She could only keep skimming through the absurd document, completely flabbergasted.
"My best people say… eh… five years at the longest," Replied the Prime Minister boastfully. Harley nodded slowly, then dropped the packet to the floor.
-FIVE YEARS LATER-
Ginger Claymore was a light sleeper. Despite working hard all last night on perfecting herself for her upcoming trials, she was still awoken suddenly by a light bleep from her phone, which was nestled under a blanket by her thigh. Still, though, today was a big day, and she was chipper through the grogginess of the morning. She ripped the blanket off and enthusiastically leapt onto the notification. It was a message from her mother. She merely needed to tap the notification itself and her phone forwent a lock screen, skipping straight to booting up THEATR. THEATR was the hot new thing in social networking, or so she had heard when an old friend of hers from secondary school demanded that she make an account. It was highly customizable and fully featured even if it seemed archaic at first, and these advantages had led to its meteoric rise in popularity. That and the strange machinations of the wonderful thing we call the internet. Ginger opened the message, being strange in that she was overjoyed to be talking to a parent.
USER "Atom_Heart_Mother" STARTED MESSAGING USER "UnicornHorseGirl3"
Atom_Heart_Mother: Hello my sweetest, favourite daughter !
UnicornHorseGirl3: Hi mum! (*・ω・)ﾉ
UnicornHorseGirl3: You only have one daughter… (*´-ω-`)
Atom_Heart_Mother: Haha !
Atom_Heart_Mother: I just wanted to check in with my girl before her big day !
Atom_Heart_Mother: How are you feeling ?
UnicornHorseGirl3: Uh not bad I guess! I got butterflies in my tummy but I'm managing I suppose (*´• ω •`)
UnicornHorseGirl3: I wish you didn't get me up before my alarm though… My sleep cycle is very delicate! (*・`ω´・)
Atom_Heart_Mother: Sweetheart what time do you set your alarm for again?
UnicornHorseGirl3: Uhh 4:00 am but I go to sleep at 8:00 so I get plenty of rest. Why? (´• ω •`)
Atom_Heart_Mother: My dear it is 5:45 am
Of all the fucking days to sleep in, right? The shuttle came at six.
UnicornHorseGirl3: I have to go! ε=ε=┌( ・`ω´・)┘
She hadn't the time to mess around, her schedule just got pushed up immensely. She tactical-rolled out of bed like she was a soldier dodging a grenade. Throwing herself to her feet she allowed herself only a moment to survey her room through her groggy sleep-eye
Ginger Claymore was a girl with hobbies, and her room reflected that. She liked horses, first and foremost. She admired their physicality and their free spirit. When she was five years old, she wanted to be a horse when she grew up. Now that she is a bit more grown, however, she wants to be a hero! She viewed this as a logical progression of ideals. On the physicality side of things, however, she had more hope of emulating her revered equine friends. Ginger's other hobby was bodybuilding. She had always been a tall girl, and one day she decided she wanted to be just as broad so now she can crush a watermelon between her thighs and lift the average male over her head with but one arm.
She usually did her weightlifting at this time of the morning, as it's always better to do muscle-building exercises early in the day and leave cardio for the evening, but having slept in until the back of five in the morning she didn't have as much time as she would have liked. She did her reps in between bites of rubbery over seasoned scrambled eggs and big gulps of milky strawberry flavoured protein. She had to call it just as she was starting to build up a sweat, as putting real clothes on began to become a more pressing priority as six o clock encroached nearer.
She had an outfit picked out for today already, thankfully, as it usually took her way too long to get dressed on a typical morning. She put the items on in order of how they were laid out on her 'clothes chair'. First, a nice pair of heavy steel-toed boots, with good traction on the heel. Essential for the type of physical activity she would be filling her day with. Next was one of her favourites, a pink tartan skirt of moderate modesty with various candy coloured highlights. She usually thought tartan was stuffy, only wearing it because it made her parents happy, but what she got really enthused about was the combination of traditional garb with more contemporary bright colours and patterns. She was fanciful towards taking the wisdom of the past and applying modern sensibilities, to create a composition that was worth more than the sum of its parts. It was a philosophy that she took into her daily life with her as well, but thinking about philosophy all the time is boring. Her tank top had a horse on it, which made it, like, at least as cool. She finished off with her favourite 'step off' accessories. A big metal belt buckle, the kind that made you feel powerful wearing it. The buckle was so grand and empowering it wouldn't be out of place dangling above a gaggle of steel ladder and folding chair wielding pro wrestlers on the hypest pay-per-view event of the decade. Next on were her studded leather bracelets and matching choker. The pink and the spikes made a striking juxtaposition, she thought. And finally, the crown jewel. Her hairpin, a gift from her parents when she moved to the south of the country and left them behind. It had a thistle on it, and she made sure to represent it in all of her kaomoji so that her parents knew she was wearing it always. Truly, it more often than not got lost in the tangle of her auburn haystack fuck-up bed-head hair, but its the thought that counts.
She took her equipment bag, full of essential tools for the day ahead, and she made sure that she had remembered to pack her sledgehammer in it. She kicked the door open and shut behind her and fiddled with her phone while making her way down the balcony in front of her flat to the stairs. There was a figure blocking the doorway, and Ginger bumped into them absent-mindedly as she was about to slip her headphones in. She tensed up for a moment, almost taking a fighting stance, but then she took a second look at who she bumped into.
Oh, it was just Byzantine. Byzantine was a fancy name for someone as scraggly as he was, but all the same, he liked to let people know how smart and cultured it sounded. Ginger wasn't convinced. She was pretty sure he was just named after the actually cultured pop singer/pro hero Byzantine Daniels from a generation passed, and his fans were a lot less learned than he was. Everyone just called him 'Biz' anyway, because Byzantine was honestly a mouthful.
Biz ran cold, and that was why you couldn't tell how skinny and limber he was underneath his several layers of puffy warm clothing. Even with his hood pulled up, the morning light hit at the perfect angle to illuminate his face. His hooded eyes and half-cocked smile made him look impossibly smug about nothing in particular, and he had a pearly, smooth complexion just like a baby's. It was so soft and supple that you'd have a hard time pinning him down as the tough type he seemed to fancy himself. He had an unlit cigarette hanging from his lip that Ginger plucked away and tossed over the balcony. A running gag they had going.
"You're up early, princess," He said sarcastically.
"So are you, dummy!" Ginger spat back reflexively.
"Au contraire madame, I never went to sleep last night in the fucking first place," He gibed. Ginger's face scrunched up, why was she friends with this insufferable clown? Because she was friends with everyone, probably. But Biz was at least a little special because out of all of her friends, or really everyone she knew, Biz was the only one who shared her dream of becoming a hero. She hadn't figured him the heroic sort, but when he came to her asking for help to make the entrance exam for Regency Academy she was too kind to turn him down. He really took to it, as it turned out, and over the past few months, they had grown closer, from acquaintances to 'decent mates' as Biz would put it. Ginger honestly didn't mind him, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he just wanted something out of her. Maybe it was the shifty glint in his eye when he looked at her?
"You're going to royally donk this hero stuff up if you don't take better care of yourself," Ginger cautioned motherly. Biz tried to mask the rolling of his eyes with an impassioned nod.
"Our carriage awaits, milady," Biz snickered sleazily. He began to make his way down the stairs, beckoning for Ginger as he did so. She could hear their shuttle pulling in on the road out front. It was there to take them to their exam. The physical portion, that was. With Ginger's incredible cramming ability and Biz's efficient cheating strategies between them they had both aced the written. Now they just had to prove they had the bollock to do hero work for real. Ginger got butterflies at the prospect of an intense physical trial. Adrenaline filled her as she theorised what kind of challenges they would face. She worried for Biz, who was always better at getting out of tough situations than ending them, but his quirk was workable and he was agile, so if he stuck to her side he should be alright. She realised she was staring right at him in the brief moment he was on her mind, and he shot her an overly friendly glare that made her pout indignantly and look away.
The interior of the shuttle was striking to the pair as Ginger bent over to fit through the short door and Biz followed behind her all gentleman-like. It was far richer than either of their blood. Black chrome and electric blue lights. It was like a Tron film. Ginger's mouth was partially agape as she settled into a plush leather seat and pulled the hem of her skirt down to her thigh. Biz found his seat next to her and immediately began rubbing his thumb over the embossed coat of arms on the metallic armrest for tactile stimulation.
A robotic torso greeted them in a chipper synthesized tone.
"Congratulations on passing your written examination, GINGER CLAYMORE and BYZANTINE CEASER, we at the Regency Academy celebrate your participation in the physical examination, and hope you are having a wonderful morning!" It beeped.
"Thank you!" Ginger said. It was not in the torso's programming to respond further. It slipped into the other mechanisms of the futuristic vehicle and left the other inhabitants alone. Said inhabitants consisted only of Ginger and Biz alongside a driver barely visible through the dark tinted glass. He was dark-skinned and heavyset, with an intense, unfriendly and determined set of eyes that were focused on the road ahead. His meaty hands clasped at the convoluted controls in a way that seemed as natural as breathing to him, and the shuttle began to rumble to life and glide along the road sleekly.
"Oi mate, what buttons the champagne on ice?" Biz asked the driver between his bouts of satisfied nodding and ogling the chique interior. Ginger saw him roll his eyes in the rearview mirror.
"It's that big red one, the one that says 'EJECTOR SEATS' on it," He replied after a short pause.
"If this is the calibre of conversation were in for, might as well stick the radio on mate," Biz snapped back. The driver chuckled and turned a dial in front of him. Whatever station it was, it was just someone reading out news stories at the moment.
"-Prime Minister Hendrickson Bastardsword's ambitious new Regency Academy is set to open for students in just a week's time. With the general election looming, does his continued position in government ride on the success of this school? And is the Bastardsword government doing enough to assuage fears of the increasingly organised and destructive villain organization, this so-called 'Union of Dissent'?-" The radio went on with some more generic news subjects like sport, traffic and weather and then faded out into some peppy pop tune that had been all over as of late. This was like, literally Ginger's favourite song, but she was too nervous to really get into it. She stuck her head out of the window and watched buildings go past and disappear into the countryside. She got to thinking, and when she thought a lot it all came back to one subject sooner or later.
"Dad… where the hell are you?"
Ginger snapped back into consciousness. It could have been an hour or two. Biz nudged her on the shoulder quite heavily and she then realised the view from outside was no longer scrolling. The car had stopped.
"What're you waiting for, girl?" Said the driver, slightly impatient.
"S-sorry! I zoned out…" She bowed apologetically and clumsily manoeuvred her bulky frame out of the sleek vehicle. In her haste, she scrambled right over Biz' lap. He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, holding in a gross comment no doubt.
"Thanks mate!" He called to the driver as he slammed the door shut. The door slowed its closing to a crawl as a countermeasure against people not knowing their own strength (in a world of superpowers, one can never be too careful). It closed to just a slit, and the driver's cool voice escaped out.
"Good luck," He chuckled.
Ginger and Biz were on a gravel paved road. To either side there were pine trees, their refreshing scent helped with Ginger's nerves. To the front of them was the school, or was it just the exam grounds? It seemed more like a monarch's holiday mansion than either if they were being honest.
The building was as grand as a cathedral, but made of red brick, redwood and gilded with gold. It glimmered in the low hanging sun at the pair's back. The doors were huge and already agape. The rambling of people could be heard inside. Biz hopped up the short steps with pep and invited Ginger to follow him.
The auditorium part of the grounds was as grand as a London west end theatre. Ginger and Biz had trouble finding their seat numbers among the crowd of filled seats. Exam hopefuls surrounded them. Nobody spoke, but there was a low hum of ambient noise which was natural from having so many people gathered in one place. The place smelled kinda like roses, but with a powerful hit of nervous sweat. Ginger shoved her way through some standing teens, and Biz followed in the gap between the crowds left in her wake. They went past little poles topped with flags. Regional indicators, probably. In front of them was the union jack, right in the middle of the theatre as you might expect from the UK centric school governing body.
Exactly two empty seats, perhaps the only ones left. Ginger planted herself with a heavy sign in the far one, apologizing to the meditating snake mutant in the chair next to her. Biz sat in the near chair, his smaller frame sinking into the red luxury fabric.
Lights came up on the mahogany wooden stage. Ginger and Biz's view was shallower than they would have liked, but they doubt anything important could be obscured by the little bit of stage that they couldn't get their eyes over. There was one man on the stage, standing behind a little podium with a remote in his hand. The man clearly was in possession of a mutant quirk. His body had a green appearance like leafery, and his limbs, wherever they were visible under his smart suit, seemed to be encased in bark.
"My name is Feldon," Said the man. His voice was low and slow. Sleep-inducing you might say. Now she understood why he looked like a plant, listening to him was like watching a tree grow. "You are all here to attend the physical portion of the entrance exam into Regency Academy. I would like to congratulate you all on making it this far, it was truly impressive that you managed to complete preliminary screenings as well as the written portion, but I regret to inform you that less than one in ten of you will make it through this phase of the test. I am going to detail you in the rules of this exam, please listen carefully as I am not prone to repeating myself…"
Feldon droned on and on, he was a man unfit for public speaking. Ginger could tell because they were discussing being a superhero and fighting deadly robots and she still wanted to fall asleep. She listened on though.
"As you can see by the diagram on-screen currently, there are several varieties of robots which we have placed intermittently into the test environment. Each of the robots has a score associated with it, and by destroying it you will be awarded that many points…"
Ginger picked up on something that caught her attention in the myopic sludge that was this man's voice. This exam…
"This is the same exam they have in Japan…" She grumbled. "Like, exactly the same… What the hell?"
Biz nodded, it appears he realised the same thing not long ago.
"These guys are old-money bougie tossers, they aren't known for innovation, are they?" Whispered Byzantine in a fashion that was a mote too obvious. The eyes of the man on stage darted up to him and burned a hole into his skull. Biz backed right up, straining himself against his seat.
"Some of you may have noted that our exam is quite similar to the one that they use in Japan," Feldon continued, his timing quite perfect. Ginger was nodding along, this subject piqued her interest. "Well I must, at least in part, object to that sentiment, there is, in fact, one major difference between our two exams." Feldon pressed a button on his little remote and the giant slideshow behind him advanced a frame. Now filling the screen was a complex schematic diagram in silhouette. The robotic figure was sleek and skinny, with anthropomorphic limbs and a sharp, dangerous slant to its components. The viewers were confused until their eyes wandered to the big red block numbers emblazoned on its chest. One hundred. "Whereas in Japan, there is a zero-point robot which acts as an obstacle to the students, in our exam, this is replaced by the one hundred point robot, the schematics of which can be seen behind me," Feldon explained. Audible gasps from all around. "The one hundred point robot is the pride of our exam, as well as the pride of the field of English engineering. It has earned nicknames among the faculty such as: the T-1000, The Golden Snitch, and Sawtooth… Needless to say, it is formidable, even having taken down several pro heroes in one-on-one sparring matches. Any student capable of taking it down will be rewarded with an automatic pass. The prestige is such that a pass is necessitated even for a student who failed the written portion…" Feldon droned on. Biz's ears perked up when he heard the words 'automatic pass', as did plenty of the other hopefuls among the audience. Their excitable murmurs came from all around Ginger. She wasn't particularly bothered, to her it sounded like a trap, and to be honest she didn't want a free ride. Although, if the opportunity arose, she would be remiss not to at least make an attempt, would she not? The prospect of fighting this thing excited her.
"Well," Feldon said, pushing his mic away from his face. He could still barely be heard. "I see no reason to procrastinate any longer." He pressed the biggest button on his little remote and a mechanical roar filled the auditorium. The examinees looked left and right, searching for the source until they found it with a clatter and collapse coming from the front.
The stage behind Feldon began to fold and break apart. Blasts of hot wind blew into the auditorium blowing Ginger's hair back. The bright white sunlight was blinding. It took a while for her eyes to adjust, but when they did she saw an enormous steel door was wrenching itself open slowly and loudly, and through it were chrome towers and alabaster stone roads. Machines that were thirsty for violence crowned the horizon. A klaxon blared, and everyone shot out of their seats, forming a charging crowd towards the opening aperture from either an innate knowledge of what must be done or from confusion and a desire to follow after others.
To Ginger it was clear. The exam had begun.
TO BE CONTINUED
A/N:
I have returned! Here's the first chapter of my new SYOC story, I hope you all liked it. Please tell me what you think in the reviews, or in a PM if that's more your style. And as always thank you for reading :)
Here is the character form for if you want to submit your own character to the story, but first some rules for doing so!:
-Submit characters via PM only, and title the PM with your character's name and "Regency Academy" for organisational purposes. If you fail this step, I may not even open your submission!
-No characters related to canon characters, characters with OFA or AFO, or characters with quirks identical to canon characters (even if the character is not a main character!). I would like this story to be as unique as possible!
-Please do not submit a character that has been used in another SYOC story, for similar reasons to the above. If you submitted and were accepted, but the author never got to your character and the story is now discontinued, please feel free! I just want things that have not been seen before.
-The deadline for student submissions is the end of April. There is no deadline for teacher, pro hero or villain submissions. I will need a few!
-You may submit only one student character, one teacher, one villain and one pro hero character. I don't want the story to be inundated with OCs from a single submitter!
With that out of the way, here is the form! I will paste it to my profile for ease of reference and copying.
Name: (Your character's full name and any epithets that they go by. For Japanese characters or character's from countries with similar naming conventions please put their surname before their given name.)
Gender/Orientation: (Which gender your character identifies with if any, and which of those they are attracted to if any.)
Age: (Age in years. For students, this should be 16-18. For members of faculty, anything above 18 is fine, and for villains anything above 13 is fine.)
Nationality/Ethnicity: (Your character's country of origin and optionally which ethnic group they are a member of. Note that race and ethnicity are separate, and if you want to let me know your character is black or something then you do that in appearance.)
THEATR Handle: (This is the social media platform the characters use to chat over the internet in-universe. They will be doing a lot of that if the story goes how I plan, so if you want your character in on the action they'll need a username!)
Appearance: (What your character looks like. Include details like height, build, skin colour, hair colour, eye colour, notable scars, blemishes or markings, and any mutant features.)
Clothes: (What your character wears and how they wear clothes like their uniform. Minimally you should include casual wear and sleepwear, but any amount of outfits is fine.)
Personality: (A description of how your character is as a person. How do they act generally, how do they treat and speak to others, and what are their beliefs, strengths and flaws as a person. Remember that nobody is flawless and everyone has insecurities.)
Likes/Dislikes: (Some things that your character is particularly fond of, at least 3, and somethings that they dislike notable, at least 3.)
Fears: (What is your character's greatest fear?)
Backstory: (What are the notable and formative events in your character's life leading up to their involvement and role in the story. What made them who they are today?)
Hero Name: (The name that your character goes by as a hero. A full title in the style of the source material eg. 'the [something] hero, [something]'! Replace with their villain name if your character is a villain.)
Hero Costume: (The details and appearance of your character's hero costume. Include any assist items that are included in the costume. Replace with villain costume if your character is a villain)
Quirk Type: (Is your character's quirk an emitter, transformation or mutant type quirk?)
Quirk Name: (What is your character's quirk called? Be utilitarian if you feel like, but clever names get extra points)
Quirk Description: (What does your character's quirk do? What are its base applications and what are the methods behind its function? What are its strengths and weaknesses? Try to be more creative than derivative.)
Techniques: (Your character's special moves, advanced technical manoeuvres and creative applications of their quirk to produce unexpected or devastating effects.)
Stats: (Allocate the following statistics on a scale from A to E, with A being the best and E being the worst. S is a theoretical score above A but should be reserved for ability on or around All Might level so is not wholly realistic for student submissions.)
Strength: (A straightforward measure of your character's physical stopping power. How hard can they punch? how much weight can they lift? Assume no quirk use is involved in this measurement unless it is a mutant type quirk)
Endurance: (A straightforward measure of your character's physical endurance. How much punishment can they take before giving in? How long can they keep up a physical activity like running or fighting?)
Quirk: (How powerful is your character's quirk in an objective sense? or how good are they at using it? A weak quirk used exceptionally well is just as worthy of an A and a powerful quirk used moderately well.)
Intelligence: (How smart your character is. How good are they at academics or formulating battle strategies? Can they make deductions about their opponents? Are they a top scorer in class?)
Technique: (What is your character's level of technical proficiency with their abilities? Are they a martial arts master? Have they spent years of their life studying and applying their quirk to the limit? Or are they a flailing drunken idiot?)
Teamwork: (How well can your character operate in a unit with other people? Do they take orders well? Can they lead a team to victory? Do they know how best to synergise their abilities with others? Are they a gruff, antisocial lone wolf?)
Plot Ideas: (What are some events you would like to occur to your character over the course of the story? How do you want them to develop by the end? Filling this area out is optional, but more detail increases the likelihood of your character receiving a lot of focus!)
Quotes: (Some examples of how your character speaks, some things that they might say and common turns of phrase that they would use.)
Music Themes: (What songs or pieces of music do you think represent your character? Since this is a written work, think songs that more represent their personality than songs that would be good to set to their actions, or include both if you will!)
Additional: (What information do you want me to know about your character that wasn't covered in the above criteria?)