A/N: People on this site tend not to like it when I go far out of bounds of canon. Yet I still posted this. Am I foolish? Possibly. Please do not bombard me with comments about how I should keep this kind of worldbuilding to original works and stop posting 'shit that doesn't make sense' (it made perfect sense to my main audience on AO3, so it should be fine). This was a study to help me practice and build my skills and I figured I'd have a little fun with it.
There was Chaos in Kurogiri's being.
The Code had been broken, abused, pushed and wedged aside to block what once had been there. Izuku hadn't seen anything like it before. It was new. It was dangerous.
As Izuku stared down at the man who was nearly unconscious, huddled in the dark alleyway, he frowned. The alleyway branched off a street lined with large carts selling produce. A barrow of flowers was shielding the alleyway from view, casting dark shadows onto the pavement. The woman was shouting if anyone wanted a bouquet. Her sign fluttered, dragging along the ground.
Aizawa was still hot on tail. He had some time, but not a lot. Not enough as he'd like.
But he was here, in this reality, for a reason. The Train didn't bring him to realities without purpose. There was a reason he was here. There was a reason he was wanted.
For him, then?
A crash sounded behind him. Izuku crouched, pressing himself behind an overflowing garbage bin, and reached for the metal brace that he knew held the man's ghostly form. He paused when Kurogiri, with a pained gasp, leaned away from him. Glowing tracer lines ran up his arms and sparked with energy as he smiled awkwardly in the man's direction.
Please, he wanted to whisper. Please let me help you.
Kurogiri did not move. He was thrown away. Thrown away like the rest of the Nomu. He grazed his hesitant fingertips against the smooth, slick surface. Darkness slid over his vision. Ones and zeroes jumped out to him, and with ghostly arms he grasped the numbers, stringing them back together, fixing what had been lost, torn away, blocked.
There was a line of Code that caught his eye. As he stared at the numbers, they unraveled before him, and a name bloomed in his head, asked in a heartbroken, young voice:
Oboro?
Izuku reached for the numbers and pulled them into his arms. They were hard and cold, lifeless (they always were), but together, they built something aching, like the echoing sound of a hesitant violin after the rest of the orchestra fell silent. He gently pushed the numbers into a sea of overlapping code, and watched as it floated along and slid back into its rightful place. Back together. Memories of a past life that someone had taken away—that something Chaotic had blocked from Kurogiri—suddenly joined the rest of him. It clicked into place. It made him whole.
Reassured, Izuku's eyes fluttered open. The sea of glittering green numbers faded away. The man was still half-conscious.
Did it work?
Izuku chewed on his lower lip. If it did, maybe that was his cue that he could go home. Maybe this reality needed not Kurogiri, but Oboro Shirakumo. Maybe he didn't have to run all across the world to do other things.
Maybe…
He would never be sure. The invisible force that led him from reality to reality with a heavy hand had no name, no way to ask for mercy, for reassurance.
Clanging sounded behind him. Izuku swore under his breath and slid right back further into the alleyways, letting the shadows melt over him like ink. Aizawa just missed him as he rushed into the alleyway, ignoring the cry of the woman to "Watch it!" as he nearly toppled over some of her potted plants.
This always happened. It was always Aizawa. Always, always Aizawa.
Why couldn't he just let go?
Aizawa's gaze caught on Kurogiri's slumped form. His eyes widened, and he paused.
A moment of weakness. Were Kurogiri and Aizawa friends in another time? He stored the thought away for later and slipped away. Aizawa did not notice how the shadows shifted until Izuku was already out in the crowd, in a whirl storm of heads and body parts.
"Wait!" Aizawa's voice could barely be heard over the clamour of greetings, laughter, shouts of different advertisements, cries of "For sale! For sale!", the buzz of debates over prices.
Izuku picked up his pace. Aizawa had to deal with Kurogiri, now. He couldn't—wouldn't stop for him, would he?
Izuku slipped out of the crowd and dashed down the street, fully aware of the burn of eyes on his back. He glanced over his shoulder. Through the mass of shifting groups walking back and forth like conflicting currents of a sea, Izuku could see Aizawa's hand on his earpiece, lips moving frantically as he dashed into the crowd.
Calling for backup.
Served him right for trying to do the right thing.
Izuku's head throbbed. Large gatherings and him did not mix well. He could feel the pressure of acute amounts of Chaos in every inch and part of the world. Chaos—every action and being that diverged from the Code. Chaos—that which destroyed or manipulated the one thing that made the world function in coherency.
He was Chaos. Every inch of him.
People had Chaotic cores. Subtle, but a natural amount of divergence from the Code. Only enough to make them unique. Only enough to let them reject a set future for them.
He envied their ability to make a destiny for themselves. Why couldn't he, either?
But there were so many people—so, so many, and even if their cores were only slightly Chaotic, his skin crawled, felt alive with the amount of it, throat clenching as if he was breathing in smog.
He had to get away.
Izuku turned the corner and ran faster than he had ever before. These streets were clearer, easier to run through but harder to hide. His fingers started to burn and glitch, appearing in and out of focus.
Where? Where could he go?
He threw his arms out, (felt the Code burn and twist and he threw his hands into the magma to mold it and make it realign differently) watched as the lampposts on either side of the mouth of the street melted and fell to the ground. Sparks burst out of their lightbulbs as the glass cracked, shards glittering thrown across the concrete. A blazing green fire raised spontaneously across the street right in front of Aizawa's feet. Cries of shock and terror swept through the street.
Aizawa lurched back. When Izuku turned back to look at him again, his eyes softened. His lips downturned.
Sorry, he mouthed.
And then he pushed the Code, the Code pushed back. He felt the ground open up underneath him, the pavement melting away into an open slit. The blackened concrete hissed as it fell into the black void like sand through an hourglass.
Izuku fell through. Swallowing the scream, he clenched his eyes. When he opened them up again, the black sand pouring onto his back in an attempt to bury him, the street sign that greeted him was a relief.
He was on the other side of the city.
Little squirmed from under his jacket, squeaking softly. He looked at Izuku with his bright yellow eyes and licked his cheek.
"Sorry," Izuku whispered to him, even though he didn't know what he was saying sorry for.
Sorry.
Sorry.
The ever-looming presence of a gaze on him wasn't fading.
Ninety hours. There was too much time still left on the clock. There was something else he was supposed to be doing.
More of t̸̡͔͈̦̏́͒h̶̰̦̍e̵͖̩̥͛̒̚ ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝?
It was the only explanation. The world's Code was splintering apart. He could feel the holes here and there.
Order dominated most worlds, but it did not here. Chaos ruled, was spiralling out of control in front of his very eyes. It showed in the random things happening that couldn't be explained. A cat getting on its two feet and asking to ride on a bus. The sky flickering dark blue, flooded with clouds, then turning pink and purple and orange and then light blue again. People murmuring that they swore it was three in the afternoon two hours ago, and now it was morning again. Tokyo going missing for four hours—missing how? How could a city go missing?—but it disappeared off the face of the earth and only the frantic explanations of Villains and Quirks could explain it away.
Something had corrupted the fine line between Order and Chaos. Something had let the Chaos outgrow its boundaries.
Izuku stopped in another alleyway, head ducked. Heroes passed right by him. They were constantly patrolling the area. Some of them were looking for him.
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Why had he manipulated the Code in front of everyone? Now he was labelled as a danger.
Izuku's shoulders were still taught, strung like a wire. The eyes were still on him.
Where were they?
He glanced over his shoulder, a hand drifting to the metal brace around his wrist. When he knew the heroes had been gone long enough, he called out into the darkness:
"I know you're there."
Izuku's eyes stilled on the passing colors outside the alleyway. A few girls were out together laughing, a few shopping bags swinging and crinkling from their arms. Trembling notes of music from someone playing on the side of the road halted in the air. Water from a spout dripped languidly into the alleyway.
A knife lunged at him from behind, the sharp edge tearing across his cheek. Izuku stumbled back with a short gasp. The knife buried into the opposite wall with a large thunking sound. Izuku knew better than to stop and examine the figure behind him, so he yanked the weapon from the wall and dashed out into the street.
He heard a cry from a startled couple. The alarmed surprise caught the attention of two heroes who were on the other side of the street. Someone cried for him to halt, while the pounding footsteps from the figure behind him followed right on his heels.
Izuku threw himself into the road, ignoring the frantic honks of the cars that screeched to a halt. The pavement the code twisted and melded burst up from its level surface, propelling Izuku over the roof of a vehicle. He heard a curse from the figure behind him.
A person, then. Not one of t̸̡͔͈̦̏́͒h̶̰̦̍e̵͖̩̥͛̒̚ ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝.
Then he could look. Then he could see—
When he turned his gaze, his stomach dropped to his feet. All he could see was the curve of a sickly gray material. A skull. A leopard skull, long and slanted. Two ivory tusks of considerable length curved elegantly over its lower jaw. The eyes were dark and empty, and Izuku could not see who was wearing it.
A Howler. It was a Howler.
Avoiding the reach of the heroes he had just brought himself closer to, he entered a small coffee shop, hopped over the counter, ignored the yells of the people working there, and burst into the cramped and sweltering kitchen in the back. Like an eel, he ducked under knives and hot pans and simmering oil. Someone in a glistening white apron yelped upon seeing him, but before they could grab him by the neck of his collared shirt, he threw himself against a side door where an employee's bathroom sign hung.
The lock clicked into place behind him. Izuku's eyes trailed over the bathroom floor, and there—a drain.
Izuku stood over it. He felt his own Code twirl and tremble, and then his entire world shifted, blurred and tilted against one another in nauseating ways—the stripes on the ceiling was under his hands but also trailed down the right side of his vision, and the floor was squished against him, in front of him, all around him.
And then, curled into a small, fluttering, flattened version of himself, he was guzzled through the small openings of the drain.
Izuku let himself be carried far, far away, slipping and sliding until he burst through two little holes of a manhole cover and back onto another street. His body formed together again.
Disoriented, Izuku ducked into another store and hid from the startled shrieks at his appearance.
The Howler had lost him.
It was always the white uniform.
Izuku held his breath. It didn't take long to find them—the Howlers. They were hiding from the general public as much as he was. Their pristine snow-colored tunics, buttoned at the forearm and collarbone, gave them away. They were all sitting on a rooftop, while towering buildings on all sides of them sent it into darkness. Izuku was sitting in one of the abandoned rooms of a building directly to its left. The windows were blown open, and curtains lazily drifted inward with a small gust. Still, as he peeked out the window, he could see them just above him and hear their muffled chatter.
Eighty-eight hours. There was no time to lose. He'd already wasted enough of it with Kurogiri.
As he listened in on the dispersed group, Izuku turned the knife in his palm. Its polished sides glinted in the sun's rays, nearly blinding him.
He traced the pad of his thumb over the complex lines of symbols that were embellished into the sides of the blade. Any remaining doubt that the figure following him was a Howler was now gone—this was their knife.
Izuku had never had a group of Howlers aiming for him before, but he'd seen plenty in action. Howlers who chased down Chaos-users and destroyed them. Howlers who killed Chaos to uphold Order. They tended to kill t̸̡͔͈̦̏́͒h̶̰̦̍e̵͖̩̥͛̒̚ ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝ though, so why…?
The knife was perfectly maintained. The symbols were complex, barely recognizable. The large string of them was an instant sign that the ones following him weren't fooling around. They were serious Howlers, who tasted of success and could prove it. If Izuku was right, the markings could be activated through smears of blood blazing with ingested firedust.
Which meant they could use the knife in a ritual to travel between realities.
Izuku wrapped the knife in extra cloth and placed it gingerly into his small yellow shoulder bag, right next to the knitting needles there.
Firedust… If they had an ample amount of it… If that was the agent they were using to cross the physical barriers between realities, then Izuku wasn't going to be able to escape from them so easily.
Finally, the quiet chatter shifted.
"There's one of t̸̡͔͈̦̏́͒h̶̰̦̍e̵͖̩̥͛̒̚ ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝ here. Keeper calls her Caligo. She's two hundred miles south."
Izuku pressed himself against the wall and away from the window as one of the Howlers leaned over the edge of the building and gazed around.
"We'll meet up with the Keeper, then," a cool voice said. It was familiar. When Izuku looked, he saw that the man had his tunic tied around his middle. An enlarged crow's skull hid most of his face, and he wore gloves. The rest of the Howlers turned toward him, implicitly deferring to his voice. "However, the Dark One is not our main concern."
Izuku swallowed thickly.
"Sir?"
The crow-masked man's skull tilted in Izuku's direction. He stared there for a moment. Finally, he spoke: "Someone has been up to no good. They've restored a nomu's memories. Kurogiri is too dangerous to be indebted to Chaos-users."
Izuku twitched, his muscles too locked from fear. The sharp movement kicked an especially weak floorboard, which cracked at the slightest touch. A horribly long silence followed.
There was no vocal command, but Izuku could hear the sounds of someone climbing the side of his building. He ducked behind the translucent curtains and pulled and braided their code let the curtains become stiff around him, turning opaque to the eye of anyone who looked at it.
The man with the crow mask peered through, breath rattling against the curve of white bone. He turned to look right at Izuku through the curtains, who held a hand over his mouth to try and stifle any sounds. The setting sun haloed his dark, shadowed form.
Eventually, the man melted away, slipping back down to the roof. Izuku did not let out a sigh of relief.
He shouldn't have helped Kurogiri. Now he was found, and now that would cost him later.
Still, there was no time to regret. Izuku dashed out of the room, only one name ringing in his head:
Caligo.
The ride into the countryside was calming and long.
A head start. He rarely got those, these days. Little squirmed, hidden in his oversized jacket, and he gently ran his fingers through his feathers.
As Little tried to poke its snout from out of the top of his jacket, Izuku held a finger over his lips and pushed the creature's nose back. Attention was a no-go. They had to be subtle. They had to blend in. They had to be normal.
Izuku forgot what it was like to be normal.
When he arrived at the temple the Howlers spoke of, he stopped and stared. The forested area gave the temple a sense of seclusion and privacy. Cracked stone steps led up to the entrance, and little bursts of flowers grew in their cracks. Just beyond the temple was a small lake that reflected the setting sun. The chirping of birds followed his walk from the trails in the forest to the building which seemed to command attention, even despite its small size and vines that swept down its front in waves.
Izuku entered the temple, the entrance rising far above his head. There was no one else around. It felt haunting.
Little slid around his shoulders, having escaped the confines of his clothes to ride them during their walk from the station here. Their time spent traveling drained his time left in the reality to a mere seventy-four hours.
Not nearly enough time, and yet, still too much.
In the back of the temple was a row of low tables. A small silhouette was huddled just by the tables on his knees, head bowed.
After taking off his shoes and placing them in a rotting cubby by the entrance, right next to a pair of worn leather shoes, Izuku stepped forward and quietly cleared his throat. "Hello?" he whispered, voice hoarse.
The shape jolted, and slowly, it turned and rose to its feet.
"Oh," it whispered. It quietly made its way toward him, its gray robes trailing behind it.
The color matched its—his hair.
"Hello?" he asked softly. His voice was raspy too. "Can I help you?"
But Izuku couldn't speak. He felt his heart twist and churn in his chest. Tears sprung to his eyes.
The man's face was pale. Dark black locks trailed around his neck and curled around his forehead. His upper lip was cracked and split, but his face was calm and young. The light from the entrance of the temple fell across his cheeks, and there was warmth there.
Izuku knew him, too.
He'd seen him crawling in the streets time and time again, his hair white instead of a coal black, anything he touched dusting under his fingertips. Replaced with that was a man watching him carefully in silent contentment.
"I am Shimura," the man said, and he smiled, albeit awkwardly. He was Order. His arms shifted, and Izuku caught a glimpse of fabric sliding over a string of five symbols across the inside of his forearm. "And you?"
"Izuku." He swallowed away the ash on his tongue. "You're a- a Keeper, right?"
A Keeper. Someone born in that reality who kept a watch and record of t̸̡͔͈̦̏́͒h̶̰̦̍e̵͖̩̥͛̒̚ ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝ in it.
Shigaraki's eyes widened briefly—Izuku wondered if he'd ever been approached about reality issues since he became a Keeper, or if this was his first time. "Ah. Yes, I am." His gaze flitted to their surroundings warily. "I have been watching over the residing Dark One here for six years."
"Caligo?" Izuku asked breathily.
"Yes, Caligo." Shigaraki gently touched Izuku's arm with three fingers, leading him out of the temple. "You're here for her, then?"
"Yes," Izuku blurted, then stumbled into a puddle. "That— yes, I'm here for her."
Shigaraki glanced at the white creature that fluttered at Izuku's shoulder. "She's one of the most dangerous of t̸̡͔͈̦̏́͒h̶̰̦̍e̵͖̩̥͛̒̚ ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝ known to any of us." He idly scratched at his neck. "Are you sure—"
"Yes." Izuku did not let the warning register. He couldn't let it register. He had to remove t̸̡͔͈̦̏́͒h̶̰̦̍e̵͖̩̥͛̒̚ ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝ from this reality. That's what the Train—the thing controlling the train—wanted. That was why he was wanted in this reality.
But one of the most dangerous? Izuku swallowed thickly and ignored it. He had never seen high-ranking ̶̣̯̞̯́̈́̃D̴̗̃a̴̭̮̯̖͑r̵͙͚̓͒̾k̸̙̭̏ͅ ̶͍̺͎̹̌O̴͈̙̗̓ͅn̵̞̐e̴̹͛̔̎s̸̼̻͝, but he would make do.
It would have to do.
"Okay," Shigaraki said.
So, as Shigaraki led him around the lonely land, gray robes fluttering, he told him about Caligo. And before Izuku went on his way, Shigaraki called out to him and asked:
"Have we met before, young Izuku?"
And Izuku swallowed back the pain in his throat and said: "I have met many of you."
Shigaraki looked out at the glistening lake. "What am I like in those faraway places?"
Izuku watched him closely. "Lonely. Tormented."
"I see."
"I'm sorry," Izuku fumbled.
"Don't be." Shigaraki raised a hand, and Izuku blanched when he finally noticed that his pinky finger was missing.
What happened to you? Izuku's mind flashed to the broken and abandoned Kurogiri. What happened to all of you?
Shigaraki gave him a strained smile that Izuku had never seen on him. "Some things never change." His hand fell, and he said kindly in that same voice that had never sounded kind in Izuku's memory, "Good luck, Izuku. I hope you find your way home."
Home.
Izuku couldn't even remember if he had one.
Izuku was six when his mother brought him to the flower shop, a smile in her eyes.
"What flower do you want?" she asked him gently as they walked through the rows of potted plants. "You can pick any one, and I'll buy us some seeds so we can grow them in our garden."
"The little yellow ones!"
Inko's smile faltered. "You mean dandelions? Izuku, that's no flower, that's just a weed."
Izuku can't remember what he said. All he remembered was that her expression melted away into something horrified.
As he smiled up at her, little seed-like eyes broke across his skin.
And they multiplied, a̴̩̖͓̩͌͐̏̽ṉ̴̜̐̐̀̐d̷͖͖̹͆͠ ̸̝́͂̚̕t̶̛̥̩̦͖̕͘h̵̡͕͖́̕ë̴͓̈͛͜ÿ̸̯̭̙́̚ ̵͈̰͒̍̌m̶̪̜̆͜͜u̸̮͛͘ḻ̴̪̿͊̊ͅt̵̼̱͇̊́i̸͈͑͝p̸̙̬̘̓̌͘̚l̸͍̾i̶̧̟̩̬̔̈̍͘ẽ̷̟̖̏̐d̴͇̓͝͠,̷̖̖͓̚ ạ̶͕̪͖̠̩̣̲͚̖̝̝͎̲̜͔̜͐͛́̿̑̓̏͆̚͝n̸̛̜͈̻̘͂́̓̾͌͐̏̽͋̂̓͛̂̋̅̕͝ͅd̷̢̢̨̥̪̠̠͈̹̳͇̮̙̝̫́̊̑́̔͑̋̇̐̈͊͐̃̊̊͘͘̚͠͝ ̶̧̪͓̩͓̩̭͇͈̥̙̹̙̘̺̬́̅̐̒̔̊̑͆̃̏̾̐̋̍̈́͗͛͘̚͜͝͠t̶̨̢͔̘̣͈̱͚̙̜̙͉͍̟̘̝̘̻̣̋͆̂̇̽͐̿̔͌̒̒̎̐͒̏̅͝h̶̛̗̉́͌̏̇̑͝ę̶̘͔̻̰͗̍̆̊̅̚ͅͅỳ̵̡̝̌̾̿̌̍̒̕͘ͅ ̴̟̼͇͎͔̤̥̞̳̫̟̳̠͍̲̆̉̔͗͋͛͋͛̂͋̀̚͠m̸̡̧̛͍̰̖̣̪͂͗̕ͅu̵̢̨̻̜̲̩̺̝͔͕͎̥̘̠͈̠̤̣̟͓̽̋͋̀l̴̨̞̝̲̙̖͎̤̣̳̘̥͎̊ͅͅẗ̴̗̞̖̼͇́ĭ̶̛̛̺̲̻̖͉͉̹̝͎̮͔̩̎̏̚͜p̶̼͙͈̘̜̣͇̣̐͌l̷̢̛̙͓͖̝͙̦̹̰̘̀̅̓͌̏͊̒̃̆͗̉̈́̕̕͜͝͠ͅī̵̧͈̰̼͉̲̾̔̈́̅̎̑̌̌̆̓͗̇ē̶͖̪͈̮̑͌̀͜d̶̨̨̲̩͈̱̟̩̤͈̱͙̝̖̥̒̓̃̃̔͑̏̄̿̽͆͐̚.̷̱̜̳̩͓̣͙̼̼̲͕̳̼̝͕̝̑̈́̓ͅ
The silvery mist highlighted by the gaze of the moon streamed from the tops of either side of the valley and pooled at the bottom in a cloud. From at the top of one mountain, Izuku could see the little winding trail of the river as it was carried through the lush green hills, parts of it hidden entirely by the thick of the glittering steam. Drifts of the mist rose from the rest of the cloud and trailed off into the dark expanse of the night sky, carried by a frosty wind.
Steeling his nerves, Izuku took a deep breath and began to descend from the top of the mountain. His nose and ears were ruddied by the fierce cold. A bone-deep exhaustion slithered in his limbs. He had walked all across these rural parts, from one train station to the next, from there to the temple and now into the heart of the valley.
If only he could rest his feet.
But no, no, he couldn't. It had been nearly ten more hours. That gave him only sixty-something hours in this reality.
And he couldn't get caught far away from the Train, or Aizawa holding him by the arms, desperately asking what was wrong—or Inko grasping onto him, tears falling onto his shoulders—or burning splitting aching being torn apart—
He couldn't be caught outside the Train when his time was up.
The plants under his feet tied together in one long row down the mountainside into a makeshift slide, even without prompting by Izuku. Chaos-dominated world, clearly. Still, Izuku slid down it with his eyes closed, desperately gripping Little in his arms, until the icy burn of the wind tearing against his face finally stopped.
He was at the bottom of the valley.
Izuku finally sucked in a deep breath, choking as air finally reached his lungs.
That worked. That actually worked.
The burn of his backside and legs hurt, and he knew without prompting that there would be sores there. Out of his bag, he took out a loaf of bread he'd stolen from the little marketplace from before and handed a piece to Little.
Nibbling on the edge until his stomach stopped its constant gnawing, Izuku sighed, felt the craving for cotton candy again, and stared morosely at the constant rise of grassy hills in front of him.
He wished he could sleep.
He stood up, brushed away the thorns and plants caught on his rugged pants, and trudged onward into the rolling mist.
The first signs of daybreak reflected off the mist in a blinding show of light. Soft yellows painted over the rise of the mountains to his left, spilled out onto the valley, and sent slices of heat over his ears, his nose, the curve of his shoulders. The mist was soon chased away, and Izuku followed the river all the way through the valley. The slide of wet grass under his feet made way into crunching as everything dried out under the sun's heat.
Over hills he went, and over hills he continued, and over hills and over and over and over until he swore he couldn't walk anymore, his limbs burning too much from exertion. When he turned around, the mountain he slid down now seemed to be the size of his finger. Warm humid wind tugged at his clothes and the grass beneath him. The sound was soothing, and a pleasant floral smell hung in the air.
When the sun had reached the middle of the sky, Izuku finally made it to a patch of white flowers with carnet insides, panting. He felt the distinct sense that he was not alone again. This time, though, it was accompanied with the worst headache he had ever experienced in his life—even the time he was thrown into the middle of a city's Christmas celebration.
Izuku immediately bowed his head and waited.
And, sure enough, as a sea of fresh mist fell in huge swaths down into the valley, a large distinct figure flickered over the mountain he traveled from, easily casting it and everything around it in deep, dark shadows. Then the snake-like figure slid down the side of the mountain, easily covering the distance it took him most of the night and half the day to cover in seconds. Izuku gasped when Caligo finally came near, circling around him, towering so high above him that she almost blocked out the sun, her body never seeming to end, disappearing into the sweeping clouds of mist.
She was giant.
Suddenly, her skin, which looked unreal as if it was painted, which did not reflect a single bit of the sun's light on its scales, split open to reveal a yellow and orange orb. One black slit ran through the middle.
The glistening orb itself was so tall that Izuku had to crane his head to see where it ended. He would've had to clamber up the scales for at least an hour just to finally come face-to-face with the glassy yellow surface.
As the rumbling voice spoke out, Izuku fell on his back in fear when he realized that the orb was an eye.
"It isss you," Caligo said. "I have heard little whispersss about you, little Organic."
Organic. Izuku felt bile rise in his throat.
"Ca-Caligo," Izuku stuttered. "I…"
Caligo's snout rose from the side of the hill Izuku was laid on, appearing from the ground, which was untouched, as if she were a ghost and had phased right through it. Izuku's face turned white as a sheet when he saw the hundreds, no, thousands of teeth as the side of her mouth moved in some kind of perverse smirk. Each tooth, sharp and imperfect, curved upward like a large monolith, each larger than the temple he had just visited yesterday.
Izuku felt like he was going to puke. Chaos reeked off of every inch of her in suffocating waves, and his head burned like someone pressed a red-iron brand to it.
"Me," Caligo continued at his speechlessness. "Come to dessstroy me, have you? Not the firssst to try, but I did not expect a little Chaos-user to be behind this attempt."
Izuku floundered to find his voice. "I'm not here to destroy you."
"That isss what they all sssay," Caligo purred. "But when wordsss cannot convinccce me, they will go back on their word. You are no different."
The dismissal hurt, but the smoke-like orbs set in rows into the metal band at his arm might make her point more accurate than he'd like.
"What can I do to convince you then?" Izuku asked, voice warbling.
The eye narrowed gleefully down at him without a response.
"Right… Right, I should've expected that."
"I sssee you are trying to limit Chaos," Caligo said. "But you are a Chaosss-ussser yourssself."
"I don't have a choice," Izuku said pleadingly.
"Ssso you're playing guardian," Caligo hissed.
"N-no, that's— I don't know what you're talking about." Izuku's breath stuttered. "Look, I know you said you wouldn't be convinced, but… but you need to stop corrupting the Chaos here. It's spiralling out of control."
"Or what?" Caligo said smugly.
"Or this reality will split and fall apart," Izuku said. "The signs are already there, Caligo. It's not going to last much longer."
"And why ssshould I care?" The edges of Caligo's being smoked out in dark black streams. "One lesssss reality. One in millionsss, trillionsss, in one moment of eternity. You have only ssseen a few thousssand. You have yet to realizzze itsss futility."
Izuku thought about Shigaraki in his heavy gray robes, pinky fingers missing.
"Just because it's futile for you doesn't mean that they don't deserve to live."
Caligo's body rose from the ground, bringing with her large clouds of dust. Her head turned to face him, completely towering over the peaks of the valley, sending him and everything else into shadow, and Izuku gripped the flowers beneath his fingers. Was this where he died?
Dozens of eyes, some just as big as the first, some smaller, were revealed as the skin pulled away. Izuku gulped. "Your optimisssm is cute." Her mouth peeled back, the rows and rows and rows of building-sized teeth, an amused growl rumbling the air around him.
Oh god. She was going to kill him.
Just then, Little squirmed out of his bag, chirping. Caligo's rumbling stopped. The black canyons of her eyes widened until only slivers of yellow could be seen. Suddenly, as Caligo rushed forward, snout pressing against the hill, snorts gusting Izuku's hair out of his face, she suddenly looked… cute, almost.
"Kebesschet!" she cooed. "Oh, my little darling."
… Huh?
Little—or Kebechet, as Caligo called him—was none other than one of Caligo's creations.
"He hasss been missing for forever," she mourned, all her eyes concentrated on the tiny little white speck that was placed on the tip of her snout. "I am ssso glad that you sssaved him."
Little chirped, and ruffled his feathers until a few fell. They fluttered into her mouth and once again turned to sugar on her tongue. Caligo leapt up, eyes sparkling.
It was almost humorous.
"Oh, I have looked for you for ssso long," she said. "You poor little thing. Hasss thisss human treated you well?"
At Little's nodding, Caligo suddenly turned to Izuku.
"Alright then, what did you need, young guardian?"
Izuku blinked. Just like that? But he knew better than to ask that. It was always like this. The Dark Ones were… they were always strange, convinced at the whims of the smallest joys.
Izuku almost felt pity for Caligo.
"What do you mean, guardian?" Izuku asked slowly.
Caligo's many eyes blinked, each at slightly different times. "That is what you are, issn't it?" At Izuku's quizzical look, she continued. "My my my… ssso you truly are in a pitiful sssituation…" She hovered over Izuku, snorted lightly, and sent Little flying into Izuku's waiting arms. "Guardiansss had been around for asss long as I can remember… I remember one offering me flowersss and sssugar and company…" She squinted as she looked into the sun. "Sssome Chaosss, sssome Order. It did not matter to them—just that realitiesss were maintained and balanccced."
"I haven't seen any of them before," Izuku said quietly.
"Of courssse not," Caligo chided. "My kind have become too aggressssive for yoursss in recccent timesss. Guardiansss cannot travel between realitiesss. Your kind broke apart and died." Her voice hardened. "And in itsss place the Howlersss came. They kill for Order inssstead of balanccce. They kill my people."
Izuku's gaze turned downward. "I'm sorry."
Caligo didn't say anything for a moment, instead resting her head against the ground again. They sat in silence, and Izuku breathed in the smell of sugar and flowers.
"Ssso you are truly not a Guardian?"
"No. I- I didn't choose this."
"Take thessse Confervosss with you," Caligo said, looking down at the little patch of flowers he was sitting in. And she explained how they only grew in clusters of violently chaos-ridden areas, and from their pollen came none other than—
"Firedust?" Izuku asked. "That's where it comes from?"
"Of courssse."
Izuku paled, and looked out onto the hills covered in the little white flowers swaying in the wind.
If the Howlers were coming to this valley too…
"I'm never going to be able to escape them," he whispered, mostly to himself. Caligo's eyes trailed over to him.
"Firedussst hasss healing propertiesss asss well," she said. "Take them. You may not be able to hide from them, but you can fight, and you can run, and you can heal."
So Izuku cut some of the flowers and tied them neatly before placing them in his bag. And when he stood, Caligo did not push him back down.
"Why have your kind become so aggressive?" Izuku asked, brushing the dirt from his palms. He'd noticed that, too. Especially in recent years…
"My sssissster," Caligo said. She turned away from him. "Our Regina. Ssshe has pushed us into new realitiesss with fervor." She hesitated. "Find her. Bring her a messsage from me… I would like to sssee her again. I would like to ressspark our friendship."
Caligo sounded sad.
"Do ssso, and I will leave thisss reality, and all othersss alone."
Izuku swallowed thickly. "Okay. How… how do I see her?"
Caligo leaned toward him, and Izuku stumbled back. She pressed the side of her face right in front of him, and some of her skin peeled back again to reveal a tiny, milky-white eye, barely the size of Izuku's head.
"When my eyesss are damaged," Caligo rumbled, "they ssshrink and harden. Thisss isss what those Howlersss have done to me."
Izuku gaped at it. When he realized she wanted him to take it, he gulped and scampered forward. The pearl-like object, smooth and shining in the sun's rays, easily slipped out of Caligo's skin. Izuku nearly dropped it to the floor, it was so heavy. She huffed at his hesitance amusedly.
"I know you have quite the experiments, little Organic," Caligo said. "Make a compass from that, and you should be able to find her and the rest of my kind."
She rose up, her body slithering and snaking around Izuku, and just as fast as she came, she slid headfirst into the mist, her body going and going and going silently. And then, after several minutes passed, the end of her tail appeared and disappeared, and Caligo was gone.
From the fog, Izuku heard the whispered hiss:
Beware, Fatebreaker, of the end of the decade. Do not fall to the Virusss.
The sun warmed his cheeks. The gentle press of the mist was cool across his neck. Slowly, the clouds faded away, until Izuku was standing alone in the valley, the river rushing beside him, the green and white and yellow moving with the breeze underneath his feet.
Izuku looked to Little and let out a breathy laugh in relief. He held his hand over his eyes and tried not to cry.
"Come on," he finally said. "Let's find the train station."
Fifty-five hours left.
He had just over a day left when he finally arrived back in the city the Train brought him to.
The bustle of people, the flickering neon colors, the weight of the Chaos he could feel in the ache of his teeth—it was all too much, too much.
He was chewing hungrily away at some fruit he'd bought with the little money he'd gathered over the years. It was sweet on his tongue, and he had to force himself to relax, to slow down, to enjoy it.
Someone bumped into him, and his fingers numbed glitched, and Izuku nearly dropped his nansui. Mumbled apologies reached his ears, and Izuku startled when he realized that the voice was familiar. He turned to see a glimpse of dark green hair. His voice caught in his throat as he watched the woman walk down the street with ease, clearly in a hurry. From her arm was a basket of yellow and white flowers, a small light green handkerchief placed over them. Still, a breeze caught a few of the flowers and carried them, fluttering into the air, spilling out onto the concrete.
No. No way.
Izuku hesitantly reached down and picked up the flowers. He held them between trembling fingers, clasped them to his chest, and then looked up again.
She was now far out of reach.
He began to follow her down the sidewalk, faltering steps picking up speed, across the street, pushing against people moving in the opposite direction, trying to keep up with her as she started to fall out of view.
He knew this was a bad idea. He knew. He just suffered from the consequences of helping Kurogiri, but…
But this was his mom.
Despite the fact that he knew Aizawa was so so close, that he was probably hot on his trail right that moment, he followed Inko all the way to her home, watched her drag her feet on the doormat, grocery bags hanging from her wrist. She struggled with the key in the lock for a moment, and her eyes crinkled with relief when she finally got the door open, smile lines beautiful and stretched at her smile.
She closed and locked the door behind her. Izuku waited a minute, then two, and then tampered with the numbers to let the lock slide back opened the door. He closed it behind him and heard the warm laughter of his mom and a man. When Izuku looked into the kitchen, he saw Inko placing the basket onto the counter, and a man with curly white hair was leaning opposite her, smiling.
He'd never met the man in his own reality. Never had the chance, before he was six and he was torn and split and taken away from his body and the Train took him far, far away but time and time again, as he traveled from place to place, he had seen him over and over again.
"Oh, Hisashi," Inko began, the rest of her sentence fading away.
It was the father he never got to meet.
Izuku backed away from the warm chatter, even as he felt his chest grow cold. He backed into the hall, blinking away tears.
His mom. His mom was okay here. She was happy.
He turned his head to see picture frames lining the entry hall. One caught his eye. The silver frame glinted. The faces of Inko and Hisashi stood out, and sitting between them was a blurred face that he would never be able to see.
It was himself. This reality's Izuku. The Izuku that Inko and Hisashi loved.
Not him.
Izuku took the frame off the wall, running a finger over the place his self's face should have been clear. Then he looked at Inko, with her sprawling green locks, her dark eyes bright, and then at Hisashi, with his array of freckles, his smile honest and true.
"Oh, Izuku," Inko suddenly called, and Izuku could hear footsteps creaking down the stairs. She was not calling for him. "Are you ready to eat?"
Guiltily, he stashed the picture into his bag and quietly escaped out the front door.
They wouldn't miss it as much as he missed them.
Izuku should've known this was going to happen.
As he walked away from Inko's apartment, he suddenly heard someone dropping behind him. Izuku sighed, turned, and said:
"Really, Aizawa?"
"I'm not Aizawa."
Izuku yelped as he saw the owner of the cool voice—the Howler with the crow mask.
"If it isn't the filthy Organic Chaos-user," the crow-man said. "Messing with this reality more than you should, huh?"
Izuku stammered. "Look, buddy, I'm not— we're on the same side, you hear? I'm trying to get rid of Chaos too—"
"And you expect me to believe that?" The man stepped forward, and Izuku stepped back, only to bump into a towering figure behind him. He too was wearing a skull. They all were—all Howlers wore them.
Hands wrapped around Izuku's shoulders and arms. An arm wrapped around his throat, keeping him in place, and Izuku tried not to struggle.
Okay. Okay. Okay. This was fine. He could handle this. He just had to find a way to use the Code, somehow—
The man's crow skull tilted downward. He was a lot taller than Izuku remembered him being all of two days ago.
"All Chaos must be wiped out," the man said coolly. At those words, Izuku's chest went cold.
He suddenly knew who was behind the mask.
"Chisaki," Izuku said, voice warbling.
The man paused. His crow mask was unflinching, unchanging. "So you know me… or versions of me." Chisaki raised his hand out to touch Izuku's forehead, which was lined with nervous sweat. "All the more reason to get rid of your filth."
Izuku felt the pain only momentarily.
Next thing he knew, he was forcing open heavy lids to gaze blearily at his surroundings. He was tied to a chair in a dark, abandoned room.
Fuck.
"Where are the others?" the cold voice of Chisaki came.
"Uh…" Izuku blinked slowly. "Others?"
"The other chaos-users."
Izuku tried to speak, coughed at the dryness in his throat, and said, "I don't know. Haven't really struck up conversation with them, y'know? We're not really on good terms—"
"But you know where they are."
Izuku winced. "No? Look buddy, I don't really have control over this whole thing, I just… go and travel where I'm brought and, well, I've only really met the Dark Ones, other human Chaos-users aren't, like, a thing—"
Chisaki held out his hand, and one of the other Howlers placed Izuku's yellow bag in it. Izuku blanched when he realized it wasn't on him.
Curiously, Chisaki took out Caligo's eye-pearl-thing. Izuku panicked.
"Hey, wait, wait, don't touch that—"
"I thought you said you were on the same side." Chisaki's skull turned to look at him. "But you have a gift from one of their kind's greatest filth. Explain that to me, Organic."
Izuku cringed at the use of Organic. It was what they all called him, because he was a common type of Chaos-user, because he worked within the boundaries of the Code without destroying it completely—because he manipulated and bent it to his will, but allowed the Code to rebound back into place—back into Order—back into balance.
At least being an Organic was better than being a Ruinous—
"It is a shame the Keeper did not kill you when he had the chance," Chisaki continued. The Keepers, who were always allied with the Howlers, who were a part of the same effort to control and destroy the Dark Ones, to destroy Chaos.
The Keepers, who were Order.
The Howlers, who were Order.
But Shigaraki had been lonely and kind, and wished him luck in finding his home—
Chisaki handed the pearl to another one of the Howlers, though Izuku did not pay attention to whom. As he glanced around the room, he realized that someone was missing—
The Howler with the leopard skull. Where was he?
"The Keeper would have given you a much kinder death. Unless you change your mind, I—"
Chisaki reached back into Izuku's bag and let out a sharp yell, swinging his hand in the air. There was Little, biting into his hand, and he dropped Izuku's bag and swung the white creature around in an attempt to get it off him.
Well, it was now or never.
The Code warped and melted and burned Izuku's chains cracked and clattered to the ground. He grabbed one of the smoky stones embedded into his armband and threw it to the floor. Dark swathes of smoke blew outward, curling toward Order the Howlers and enveloping them. They cried. It was Chaos. It burned them.
It was the remnants of the Dark Ones Izuku had destroyed before.
Izuku dashed forward, stole Caligo's pearl from the Howler's unsuspecting hand, and slid across the floor to grab onto his yellow bag. As he flew out the door, ignoring the haunting screams of the Howlers, he whistled. Little looked up, tail wagging, and flew over to him to wrap around his shoulders.
"Get him!" Izuku heard.
You may not be able to hide from them, but you can fight, and you can run, and you can heal.
He did not look back once.
He must've been knocked unconscious for longer than he'd liked, because as he flew down the streets, both the Howlers and Aizawa hot on his trail, he only had an hour.
He led them in circles, into and out of restaurants, laughed when they ran into the middle of his traps—drenched by waiting water buckets or slammed in the face with steaming pies.
They were smart, but they were restricted to only Order. Only to what made sense. Only to what the Code's rigid structure allowed them to do.
They could not keep up.
Izuku rushed through the marketplace, through the streets, over and under, through, through, through, hands glitching and sparking and hurting and numb.
The Train. God, he just wanted the Train. He wanted to leave this Chaos-dominated world, where the buildings fell like mirrors against one another, where the streets twisted and turned upside-down and paved roads jumped off the ground and ran into the clouds hovering low in the sky, twisting and turning and completely ignoring gravity.
Even if Caligo, the most reasonable of her kind he'd ever met, left and brought all the Dark Ones with her, the Code was still broken and hampered and all over the place. It would take time to fix it. To return it to Order.
As he stumbled across the train platform, chest heaving, Izuku finally took a glimpse of the clock he'd seen when he first entered this reality.
Two minutes. He just had to wait two minutes.
The abandoned station was almost bare. The late afternoon sun beat down on his sweating neck. It was warm and stuffy. The grassy portions of the station in front of him was yellowed and dry. Humid air was sucked into Izuku's burning lungs from his chase.
Yes, the station was almost bare. But not completely.
As Izuku straightened from his hands leaning heavily on his knees, he squinted at the figure in front of him.
It was the Howler with the leopard mask.
They silently stood there. Their off-white tunic, ripped in some places and dirty in others, looked old and worn, unlike Chisaki's. A thick black cloak, carried by a breeze that barely did anything to stifle the hot air, slowly trailed by his military-style boots. The sun was setting behind him, casting him in a fiery orange glow.
A different Howler group, then?
Izuku's eyes narrowed. "You going to come get me?"
They said nothing. After a long moment, they tilted their head to the side.
The Train of Nonexistence suddenly moved silently between the two platforms, blocking the Howler from sight. Izuku tried to catch a glimpse of them between each passing carriage, but could not.
A shriek of "He's over here!" came from behind him, and Izuku pressed his palm against the cool side of the Train that felt more like condensed fog than a solid surface. The Train shuddered. The green tracer lines flickered down his forearms again and across the door. It slid open.
Izuku stepped in when the strap of his bag tightened around his throat, nearly choking him. Izuku whirled around to see that his yellow bag refused to move through the border between the Train and the reality, and it hovered there, the straps taught.
No.
Nothing that was not Chaos could enter the Train.
But Izuku swore he hadn't brought with him anything of Order. His bag was Chaos, he'd made it Chaos, he was sure of it; he'd used Little's horns and unraveled it into fabric to make it from scratch. The confervos flowers were an agent used to cross realities for people of Order—they were Chaos. The pearl came from one of the Dark Ones—it was Chaos. The leopard Howler's knife was used to cross realities, wasn't it Chaos, too?
Then what—?
Izuku scrambled through his bag. He didn't remember bringing anything else with him. What else could it—
Izuku's hands froze over the last object. He held it over the barrier, and just like that, his bag swung limply to his side.
"There!"
Izuku looked up at the entrance to the platform. A crow skull, among many others, stared back at him.
The clock ticked down and fell silent. 00:00:00, it read.
He was out of time. There was no way… no way to bring it with him.
Izuku looked down at the picture frame in his hands. Inko smiled back at him.
Tears building up in his eyes, he touched his mother's smiling face and cursed. His grip on the silver frame tightened.
And then he let it go.
The picture frame crashed to the floor. The glass cracked, dividing the blurred form of himself in half. It cut a sharp, gleaming line between Inko and Hisashi. Pieces of glass flew across the floor in glittering shards.
Izuku stepped fully back into the threshold hollowly. The Train door slid closed behind him, cutting off the Howlers' curses.
And then, just like that, they moved again, onward, far, far away from the furious crow and the leopard's silent chase. Onward to the next reality.
When would it finally end?