'I have seen what comes of heroes when they are anything less than perfect. Entire cities lay dead because of preventable mistakes made by heroes. They are giants and we hide in their shadows praying for protection. But their very stature invites challenge. Warlords rose first and with them came the first age of heroes. Hawkmoon and Graviton Lance slew Titan in his last base in Sao Luis. Millions died during this era and we must be thankful that only so few fell. Titan's Fall, the grand corpse of the colossus, is a reminder of the violence that was suffered. I visited it often as a child and wondered what would drive one man to become a Great Tyrant and wreak untold violence."
—Excerpt from the international translation of 'Reaching Perfection' by Dylan Salvatore.
Shouta Aizawa watches Recovery Girl heal Bakugou's wrecked arm through the observation window. There is a doctor nearby watching it happen, muttering something foul under his breath. The boy will make a full recovery in a few days, as will many of the other students.
He can't say the same for the parents or the civilians caught in the attack.
Ever since waking, Shouta has been working to deal with the situation. He shouldn't be up, not with the bruises and fractures, but he's in a better state than Hizashi who undergoes conventional surgery to fix the damage to his throat from smoke inhalation. The doctor hasn't made any promises of his recovery, and that worries Shouta more than anything. A thread of worry runs through him that Hizashi may never speak again.
Regardless of his anger, he is still a teacher with responsibilities. Locating and having his students moved to the same hospital in the immediate aftermath has been a nightmare, the police and even other heroes battling him at every step. The fact that All Might had to speak up and agree with him pisses him off to no end, but he is willing to set aside his dislike of the man until the situation is resolved.
He has spent most of his time dealing with security measures after that incident. Nothing seems adequate, not when he has to spend time explaining to Kamui Woods why he needs to guard a hospital on the opposite side of the prefecture without Mt. Lady or getting Best Jeanist to stay the hell out of the way because the man is many things but not a good guard—Shouta will go into any battle with him and have no worries, but the man's fixation with his appearance and inability to focus on something mundane for more than an hour are a mix not suited to guard shifts.
It irks him to order All Might to deal with whatever petty crime might be happening near the hospital. It might not be much, but it will deter any other villains from thinking this a good time to launch another attack.
He does not react when Nezu jumps on his shoulder without warning, only shifting his weight to better accommodate the principal.
"Diagnosis?"
"Favourable," Shouta says automatically. "He may not have full feeling and mobility in that arm, but he'll retain most of his functionality. He's better off than a lot."
"But worse off than many. I'm sorry you have to experience this."
He frowns. "I've seen worse."
"Yes. You've seen this as a hero fighting for civilians you've never met and in the monstrous actions some villains turn to in the dark. But these are your students. You still have scars from defending them against the League."
He stays silent. Any response he may have is already known to Nezu. The rodent is so much smarter than him that he has long since given up attempting to know Nezu's schemes or predict his actions. The only saving grace is that Nezu is irrevocably tied to UA and UA ultimately benefits the world.
He may not like All Might, may not know Endeavour, but those two are proof of the good Nezu does.
"You've read the missing person list." It isn't a question but a statement of fact. "I don't want you speaking to their parents."
"I'm their teacher."
"I will handle explaining the situation regarding Izuku and Shouto to their parents," Nezu commands, leaving no room to negotiate. "Please, if you see Inko Midoriya, turn the opposite direction and don't start a PR nightmare we're not ready to deal with."
He grits his teeth. He may not like the woman and may have put UA in a legally dubious regarding her, but he can put aside that dislike for a student he genuinely cares for; a student who has time and again surprised Aizawa with the depth of his kindness and breadth of his knowledge, a student he knows one day will make a fine hero.
"I wouldn't."
"Really? As far as I can tell, the only reasons she has any inclination to fight us is because of your attitude towards her. And right now, that's a liability I'm not willing to risk. Not when the Imperial family is questioning our security measures."
"Fine," he snaps. "Who'll handle the press conference?"
"All Might and I along with the police." Nezu watches him with eyes filled with cold knowledge, exposing his thoughts and secrets with a glance. "Right now, we need the image of strength and no matter your feelings towards him, he is a pillar of this society. I know you are upset with what happened, and that Hizashi and your students are injured, but right now I need your rationality."
"What do you need of me?"
"You will ensure the safety of our students and their parents. Liaise with the police. There are over thirty students with critical injuries that will be vulnerable whilst they recover. I will leave it in your hands to decide whether to keep them dispersed amongst multiple hospitals or cluster them under one hospital."
"There's no good answer to that."
"No, there isn't. Not when our attackers have us on the backfoot and our side has so many different groups with differing agendas. I can trust you, Midnight and All Might to do what you think is best for the students. But we must be decisive now more than ever. I hear the instigator's been apprehended. We'll use whatever information we can to launch a reprisal strike against the villains who organised this."
"What will you do?"
Nezu's smile is cold. "I'll have Snipe deal with our enemies. For now, I must ensure the Imperial family doesn't attempt to take over my school. Get to work, Shouta. We don't have much time."
Shouta accepts his role in this easily and performs the task the principal has set forth.
Whilst he would like to keep the students under one roof as that would be more secure, the fact remains that moving those in critical conditions might affect their condition negatively. He does, however, have a constant guard detail worked out for Recovery Girl so she can be ferried between institutions as needed.
He wishes even that simple request is easy.
"We have the equipment and expertise needed to heal them," a man from the Japanese Medical Association says. "Waiting for her threatens their conditions. This isn't a situation for a nurse only authorised to give emergency first aid."
"Her quirk—"
"Is a non-factor in this. It takes up a patient's stamina and those children are in critical condition. You're risking total organ failure at worst."
Aizawa glares at the man. "I have multiple fractures, two broken ribs, so many bruises I have more purple skin than normal. And I'm here trying to organise security for students and civilians that were just targeted, investigate who was behind this and organise the efficient medical treatment for said students. I frankly, do not care for your issues against her."
"Maybe you should be checked for a concussion."
"I know the symptoms well enough. Now, here's what's going to happen. One way or the other, Recovery Girl is going to see those students. All that matters is how long you throw a fuss about it."
The man does throw a fuss. By the end of it, Shouta has a headache and needs to sit for a moment. All he needs is one moment to regain his bearings.
He gets half a moment at best.
"Aizawa."
He looks to the side and sees the principal who has his tie undone. And that worries him. Nezu is never anything short of impeccable.
"Reporters out for blood?"
"A bloody execution more like. But we'll survive another few days. Thankfully, the government is shouldering much of the blame since the stadium belongs to them and we were leasing it. They were the ones who assigned the heroes working security and they insisted we use the security company that was infiltrated."
"Technicalities working in our favour? Surprising."
"Yes," the principal murmurs, looking away.
"You're going to say something I don't like."
"They're taking responsibility for all that because we will have to take responsibility for the villain."
"What's wrong?"
Nezu hesitates, something Aizawa has never seen in all his years.
"I feel I should keep this from you and spare you the pain. But you will find out no matter what I do."
And that, more than anything, terrifies Shouta. What could be worse than two missing students? A student who very literally came back from the dead? A student in a catatonic state? Two others withdrawn from school whilst they recovered in a mental institution?
This year has so far been one of failures and the Sports Festival is the latest one in the long list.
"Tell me."
"I think it might be best if I show you."
Nezu shows him the recording. There is a prisoner interrogated over his involvement in the bombing of the stadium. The prisoner explains his actions without hesitance, his voice cold and factual.
Shouta wants to scream himself hoarse the longer he watches the recording. The boy—no, he is a man after the crimes he has committed—shows no remorse, no interest in those dead or crippled or injured.
"I want to speak to him." There isn't a hint of emotion in Shouta's voice.
"I won't stop you. But are you certain you can handle what will come of it?"
"He was my student. I need to hear it from him directly. I need to know why."
"Very well then. They have a time slot available now."
The villain is kept in the basement of the hospital, the area generally utilised for healing high-risk individuals in a secure environment. A constant guard detail ushers Shouta through the basement level, performing a dozen different identity checks despite knowing who he is. Still, under the circumstances, Shouta would rather have paranoia than lax protocols.
The room is frigid and bare of anything but a table and two chairs, both bolted to the concrete floor. There is a one-way mirror and he knows Nezu is in the other room, observing and cataloguing things Shouta isn't smart enough to notice.
Shouta sits across from his former student.
The boy has pale hair and red eyes and is so thin it hurts Shouta to look at him. There are bruises and needle tracks along his arm, a brilliant flush of red from a violent rash on his right hand.
"Hello, sensei."
He knows that smile, the gentle tilt at the corner of the boy's lips. He remembers the boy smiling just like that at his crush across the classroom. It brings back too many memories from two years ago, some bitter, but most happy.
"Nagisa." Shouta glances only once at the shock collar on the boy's neck and completely avoids the bright burn wound on his exposed shoulder—the shirt he wears hangs loosely on his bony frame. "Why?"
Nagisa smirks, forever playful. "Why what, sensei?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
The boy frowns.
His heart clenches because he remembers that expression, remembers seeing it when a concept flew over the boy's head. Most of all, he remembers it the day he expelled the boy because there was just so much confusion, as though Nagisa was wondering why the sky was falling and the earth-shattering.
"I told you already. Explosives along the gas lines. A fake face and a forged ID badge. A rock in my shoe to change my gait. Extensive vocal training. It was easy enough. No one pays attention to security."
"No. Not that. I want to know why you turned to villainy."
The boy has the audacity to laugh.
"Because of you. You expelled us, sensei."
"No, you had the choice to become a villain."
Nagisa slams his fist on the table, the chains rattling. "What choice did you leave us?" he shouts and there are tears in the corner of his eyes. "Do you know the stigma of being expelled by the great Eraserhead? I'm one of the Twenty Washouts. Fuck censorship and privacy because no one gives a shit. I can't send a job application without it being flagged. No school would accept me."
"No heroics—"
"I'm talking about the fucking community college in my hometown. You ruined us, sensei. All twenty of us have no future because of what you did. You thought it was a kindness, a mercy, but you took whatever future we might have had. Why did I do it? Because I didn't want to starve on the street. Only five of us are still alive. Rei's still catatonic after an overdose because she couldn't handle being arrested after she used her quirk to fly. Ryoji sold her the damned drugs. Toji's only alive because someone found him before he bled out after he slit his own wrists. And Kensuke? Last I heard he's whoring himself out in some Yakuza drug den.
"I want you to look me in the eye when you tell me I made this choice because I wanted to. I want you to tell me that getting three meals a day at a maximum-security prison is worse than passing information to the Yakuza so they can traffic people so I can get a fucking piece of bread. It's easy for you to sit there and condemn me when you have no idea what you've put us through. You took our future away and you thought you were doing the right thing. We were children, sensei. You didn't even give us a chance before you cut us loose."
It would be easy to dismiss his words if Nagisa wasn't crying, tears dripping down his face even as he snarls. Because beneath that surface layer is the grief of someone who has lost everything and knows there is no future.
"We were your children and you were supposed to raise us. Teach us."
Nagisa isn't old. No, he is the same age as Mirio, was once in 1-A where Mirio was in 1-B two years ago. Sometimes, in the dead of night when no one can see, he wonders if Nagisa and the rest would continue growing strong if he had just given them a chance. Maybe all it would have taken would be another month.
Another term, even.
Because already, Nagisa has shown the potential Shouta once saw in him, except now it is twisted. Reconnaissance, spying, and sabotage. All things he knew the boy's quirk would excel at. All things used against UA to cause destruction.
But he can let none of that show. Eraserhead must always be an implacable bastion of cold logic and that mask has no time for the crushing grief. No, he simply must move on from this the same way he moved on from seeing Rei's unresponsiveness.
Shouta stands and leans forward. Nagisa flinches back, terror in his eyes. It is cruel to do this, but it must be done.
"You'll have to live with the consequences of your actions."
"Fuck you," Nagisa shouts, then he deflates. "You're the closest thing to a father most of us had. You still are."
He leaves before he can break, before every emotion he has bursts through and leaves him on the ground. He doesn't speak to Nezu, doesn't pay attention to where he is going. All he knows is that he needs to be as far away from a child so lost and broken that he can call Shouta his father.
Because how cruel can the world truly be that he is the closest Nagisa has to a father? He paces the hallways, trying to work off some of his anger and grief and nervousness, trying to push away the memories of the student's he's failed—twenty-three now, not just three.
"Hey, Shout a." He stops and looks to Midnight hurrying towards him. "We got a problem."
You don't know what a problem fucking look like.
He doesn't say that. Not to her. Never to her.
"One to ten? Because I just went through a nine."
She pauses for a moment. "Six right now. Could be a ten later."
"Can you deal with it?"
"If you promise to tell me what happened." She takes his hands in her own and squeezes tight. "Doesn't matter what it is, I'm always gonna be your friend."
"Always."
-TDB-
Fumikage Tokoyami holds his mother's hand and wonders if it has always been so small. He remembers it being large enough to hold both of his. Now, it looks so tiny.
She looks so small whilst unconscious, none of the overwhelming force of her presence able to exist whilst she is plugged into the life support machines. The hiss of the rebreather and the beep of the monitoring equipment grates against his ears, reminders of his mother's mortality.
The hours since they evacuated the stadium have been filled with tension. They gave him a quick look over by what he assumes is a volunteer with some emergency response training to busy to do more than hand over painkillers to deal with the bruises, and an order to return if any pains worsen. He isn't sure if the way his joints ache and creak counts, but now is not the time to worry about such issue.
Not when his mother suffers so.
He brushes an errant feather away from his mother's hawkish features. The brown feathers are no longer lustrous or perked up and it saddens him greatly.
Across the room, his father stands at the window, hands clasped behind his back as he watches the outside world. He looks more a Spartan standing at attention than a husband attending a sick wife. There is no sense of grief to him, no sense of interest outside familial obligation.
He has never cared, Dark Shadow prods. He never will. Trapped in a marriage with a woman he does not love and a son who embarrasses him.
Though he knows Dark Shadow is manipulating him, it is only voicing the thoughts that have plagued him for the last few hours. And it makes his vision turn a bloody red.
"Do you even care?" Fumikage snaps once his father's silence pushes him past whatever patience he has. "She's lying here, and you say nothing. You won't even look at her."
"Boy," his father rumbles in warning.
"Say something for once. She might die. Do you have nothing to say to your wife? For my mother?"
"Stay your tongue."
Once, that tone of voice would have felt like skin being flayed away. But he has seen eternity's end and fought a dragon. It is terrifying to see his father turn around for it reminds him of a statue being animated. And there is always the silent threat that something hides behind his father's silence, something truly terrifying and drenched in blood.
"No. Not now." He looks at his mother. "If she passes and this is how it must be done, in your cold indifference, then I will never forgive you. For once in your life, show me that you care for your wife."
The air seems to shake with his rage, perhaps his father's as well. The promise of violence, or perhaps even patricide, fills the air. He hears chains rattling in his soul and in the real world, feels his dragon tense its talons in preparation.
We will win this fight, Dark Shadow whispers confidently.
"Do not mistake my silence for a lack of grief, young crow. You. Do not. Know my ways."
Fumikage flinches away from his father and that overbearing presence. Knows in the deepest part of his soul that Dark Shadow is right and fears what may come.
Can he truly strike down his father?
He refuses to consider that question.
There is a fear of his father that he has never mastered, one old and very likely only a figment of his imagination. Yet, he cannot help his fear of this tall and imposing man. A man built purely of muscle and who walks with the control of a master swordsman.
"How could you?" His father sighs.
The tension in the air deflates. The promise of a war between gods fades away, leaving only a father and his boy.
Fumikage blinks and inhales sharply, now able to breathe easily. "What?"
"Sit, boy, and I will tell you."
He obeys the command without a thought even as his father leans against the window, facing the outside world, a posture that makes him shorter and slightly less intimidating. He is tense, uncertain for the first time Fumikage can remember.
"I was not always so… stoic. I was angry and brash and very much a fool who believed the power of my quirk would get me through life."
He blinks at his father's wide back. "You have a quirk?"
"Yes."
His father extends his arm and lifts the sleeve. There are scars there, old and painful looking.
The chains form slowly, each link coming together in a burst of fire until they encircle his arms fully. At the end of the chain a blade forms, wide and wickedly curved and drenched in chaos. Blood drips from the blades, evaporating in the air; the red mist swirls around them, a vestige of unbridled entropy. He does not know what material they are wrought from, but he knows they are sharper than anything technology will ever produce.
They are weapons made to kill without mercy. So long as his rage burns hot enough, nothing will survive.
"Rage and anger followed me from childhood," his father says. "I lost no battle, and when my quirk appeared, I killed my first person."
Fumikage swallows. The admission is one he could never hope to have predicted. Nor is it one he wants to know.
"Who?" he asks, voice cracking.
"My father. My own flesh and blood. He was not a good man, not kind, and very often violent. But patricide is not a stain you should wish to bear. I fled to a faraway land in my youth. There are still places in this world where a quirk like mine and no morals are valued. There are things that I did which should not be forgiven. And one day, a man in white made me a deal: one act of violence in exchange for my return to Japan, all debts to that world paid. I killed many that day, purged an infection through death, and I regret every life taken.
"I put aside my blades when I returned free, my sins hidden away by those who are powerful. I met your mother shortly afterwards. Your mother loved me anyway despite my flaws. I could not remain the same man I was. Not when she forgave my sins.
"I was chained to these blades, a slave to my rage. She showed me how to be free. Taught me to love and care. When you hurt that child, I knew I could no longer stand back. You needed an example to look towards. Someone not held by emotions. Always in control. A stoic in thought and action. I think, perhaps, those of my blood will always be tortured by strong feelings.
"People like us, people with powers that in ages past would be called gods of war, must be better. We cannot fail. We cannot believe in the reach of our godhood."
Fumikage feels a lump form in his throat, unable to say anything in response. There are many things he thought hiding behind his father's harsh silence. He never once thought that unlocking that door would expose a legacy of corpses and blood, the mark of being the son of a patricide.
His father walks to his mother and lays his hand on her forehead tenderly. "She is not always kind to you, but only for she sees me in you, sees what you could become if you ever failed."
What can he say to this confession from a man who has never spoken more than a dozen words to him at any given time? This is his father laid bare and it is disturbing in how sincere he is. His father is hard lines and cold edges, a promise of violence and the spectre of death.
"I can't forgive what you've done now that I know," Fumikage says quietly. "To forgive you would be to betray the pillars of morality I believe in."
"I already have all the forgiveness I need." His father shakes his head. "Necessity is the death of morals. Remember that."
The next hour passes in an uncomfortable silence.
He wishes he has his phone to contact his friends, but it is broken from the explosion. He can only hope that they are surrounded by family, and in the case of Uraraka he can only wait until her location is known to him to visit. She may be vicious, especially towards him, but she is still a kind friend, and her happiness is something to take solace in for it will never disappear.
He pays little attention to his father answering the door. He does, however, perk up when his father says, "No," as a sharp warning to the person on the other side.
"Sir, we have a right to question him on his actions."
The width of his father's shoulders means Fumikage can't see the man. But he can imagine him from his nasal voice, probably reed thin and short, sweating, perhaps in the large shadow his father casts.
"Father, it's fine."
His sire sends him a withering glare and any other words Fumikage may have die on his tongue.
"He is a child at a heroics institution with all of the rights and privileges accorded to him. To question him you must inform UA administration."
"Sir, he may very well be involved in subversive activities against the state."
"And if you wish to question him then do so lawfully. Now, leave and allow us to be with her in peace."
"Sir, I can move you aside if you refuse to cooperate."
His father's stance shifts and the threat of violence fills the air. Fumikage sees the promise of blades swinging through the air, tearing through flesh with ease, and a man standing atop a hill of bodies.
"Will you now?" his father questions, the chains appearing in a flash of fire around his arms. "Can you back that claim?"
Apparently, the man cannot. His father's stance relaxes slightly, the chains vanishing.
"They will come for me regardless."
His father looks back to him. "Yes. Because of those… flames."
Fumikage looks away. "I didn't tell you because I never thought anything would come from it. And because you never showed any interest."
"Another of my many failings." His father exhales. "The flames of Shikoku. There were too many innocents I killed that day. I had hoped you might tell me yourself."
"No. I just…"
"Did not trust me."
"Yes." It hurts to admit that truth.
"I gave you no reason to. You are not… like me, despite my wishes. I wished you to mirror me, but I never changed for your sake."
"I learnt much from you," he argues, because yes, he may never approve of who his father once was, but that does not change the fact that much of who he is today comes from the silent man.
His father grunts. "And more in a few weeks from Midoriya."
They come for him hours later.
Fumikage has already taken painkillers to deal with the patchwork of bruises beneath his clothes, red and yellows and purples. They hurt, but nowhere close to seeing his mother where she is.
It is Midnight who enters the room.
"Hey kiddo," she says, not a hair out of place. "You know why I'm here, right?"
"The fear of weak men," his father says.
"I'll be fine, father. Mother will need someone if she wakes." His father nods once. "Let us do what must be done."
"This is just a preliminary information gathering session," she explains as they walk through the hospital. "None of what you say is admissible in court. The only people who can access those transcripts will be those of us in the room."
Fumikage scoffs. "We both know that is a lie."
"It's the legality of it that matters, baby boy. You can say whatever you want and if they try and use it against you later, well, it won't end well if they haven't followed procedure."
The same procedures that protected the children?
His steps falter. That is true. Those eight children he looks after regularly should have been saved and protected in the village hidden in the leaves. Instead, their parents died, the village burnt to ash, and the oldest amongst them dead.
He forces that line of thought away.
"I would think they would send my homeroom teacher," he says instead.
"Shouta's a bit… busy organising things. So are Principal Nezu and All Might. Don't worry, I've got your best interests in mind."
"I was not trying to cast aspersion on your intent. It was a simple matter of curiosity."
The room the meeting is held in is small and cramped.
Four people sharing it only makes it seem smaller; Midnight beside him, a man in government black—and he had been right that man would be reed thin—and a woman in imperial white across the divide of the plain table. It still has crumbs from the last meeting and the room smells of stale coffee.
It is not, in any way, an auspicious meeting room.
"Fumikage Tokoyami. Age 14. Attending UA. Quirk: Dark Shadow. No known affiliations." The government man looks to him. "Have I gotten anything wrong?"
"No."
"Because I think the last two are very wrong. I mean, how often do quirks suddenly mutate and very loudly scream 'I'm affiliated with terrorists' as his does?"
"Okay, cool it," Midnight says.
The man scoffs.
"Let's give you a bit of history lesson, Fumikage. Some twenty odd years ago, villains decided Shikoku was a perfectly good place to start a war. Cities and towns lit up as villains fought the police, the army, and civilians." He glances at the woman in imperial white for a moment. "And the only unifying factor was black flames. The same black flames that degrade material in the same manner as the ones you used. This is after your quirk showed a sudden aberration with no cause."
"Quirks can change and drift over time."
"Not to the extent yours has shown. Look, you tell us the truth and you might not be charged for treason."
"Stop threatening a minor," Midnight warns.
"Fine. You may face possible charges up to and including treason should it be discovered you were involved with the subversive act colloquially known as the Purge of Shikkoku. Do you feel better now, Midnight?"
Fumikage closes his eyes and decides against lying. He has never been proficient at them. That is Midoriya's speciality.
"My quirk isn't necessarily Dark Shadow. It's… chaining dreams and nightmares of the void to reality." There, a truth of sorts. "I chained Dark Shadow as a child and thought that was the full breadth of my power."
The man snorts. "That sounds like a very poor lie."
"And if I told a believable truth you would find a way to twist and disprove it."
"I believe I understand the situation," the lady in Imperial white says finally, drawing their attention. "Midnight. Whatever your name is. Both of you get out so I can talk to Fumikage alone."
"I'm not letting you do that," Midnight says.
"I didn't want you here, to begin with. You are not removing me."
The woman reaches into her pocket and removes a small slate that she places on the table. A holographic image of an Imperial Mandate appears, the white Chrysanthemum encircled by gold on a white field.
"As far as you're concerned," she says to the silence, "I'm the highest official in the city and I'm almost certain the Minister of Defence is here. So, don't be difficult and leave before I have you both thrown in a prison for obstructing a long-standing investigation with so many layers of clearance above you that you will never so much as hear of them."
The government man stares at the mandate for a long moment. "You bitch." He stands stiffly, anger in every stilted movement as he walks out of the room.
"He's a minor and none of this is admissible," Midnight says, one hand on her whip and the other on Fumikage's shoulder.
"I very much doubt he's a threat to the state. And I wouldn't care either way. Now, go."
With the sign of the imperial family staring her down, even Midnight is forced to leave.
He knows All Might and Endeavour likely have ways around it, but Midnight is not as important. She doesn't hold society on her shoulders.
For most people, defying a group capable of sinking an island is a daunting undertaking.
"Now that we have the distractions out of the way," she says once the room is empty but for the two of them, "we can have a real conversation."
Her blue eyes are sharp as her jawline which looks ready to cut steel. Admittedly, she's much younger than he expects. Maybe her late twenties at most.
"What do you want from me?" he asks, wary.
Without a measure of the woman, he can't gauge her possible responses.
Is she a threat? Undoubtedly.
But is she a threat to Fumikage? That question he can't answer.
She wears the same white uniform the last prince wore when he sunk an island and killed millions of people, the same white uniform that answers to no one. And the same white uniform that the darkest reaches of the web theorise aided the villains of Shikoku.
"You don't trust me and that's fine." She waves her hand dismissively. "You're thinking of Taiwan and whatever else you've read. Fair. The only reason I did this is because of how you phrased things. I'm going to ask you a simple question and your immediate reaction will be all the answer I need. What is your connection to the abyss?"
Tokoyami freezes before he can master himself. She smiles in satisfaction, too sharp to be benevolent.
"Good, so you aren't simply using similar phrasing."
His fists clench tight. "How do you know that?"
"Because you aren't the first person to touch it."
His world shatters.
Fumikage knows he personally grasped the void, did so a decade ago as a child, and went so far as to chain the creatures within it to his will. He knows of Midoriya whom Dark Shadow calls a king and whom the monsters there both revere and curse as anathema.
The very idea that others touch it, and have done so for decades, if not centuries, terrifies him.
I told you that the eternal dark has touched bloodlines and quirks, Dark Shadow whispers through their bond. You are starting to see the truths hiding in plain view. Be strong, my prince of crows.
"We've had experts of varying degrees over the years, even someone who travelled through it," she says past his shock. "The imperial household is very much aware of it. I know this must surprise you, but did you really think you were special?"
"Then why haven't you said anything?"
"You want us to tell the populace that the reason things went insane in Shikoku is because of an eldritch plain of existence that will drive you mad. We'd have another wave of anti-quirk riots if we did that." She shakes her head. "If you are unable to tell the truth, and you know there is a threat, what would you do?"
"Battle it," he whispers, "in the shadows."
"As we do. You might be unaware, but in doing so you do our work as well. What I really want is your input on a matter of possibly great importance to us."
She slides a tablet towards him. "Watch this and give me your honest opinion."
He presses the play button. The image is relatively grainy, high definition instead of the 4K he expects from standard security footage. It shows a hospital or maybe a nurse's office. He sees Midoriya and Todoroki, the former talking to a pale-haired man.
The man throws something and the rest happens too fast for him to track before the image turns to static.
He frowns and rewinds, slowing the speed down to a quarter. This time he can see the cylinder and how Midoriya jumps towards Todoroki, summoning shadows all the while. The shockwave destroys the camera before he can see what becomes of them.
"What does this have to do with me?" he asks slowly, dread coiling around his spine.
The woman tilts her head. "Your two classmates are missing. Endeavour's child and the other one."
"Izuku," he snaps, cold fear permeating every feather on his head. "Izuku Midoriya is his name. Have the decency to call him by that."
She hums thoughtfully. "Izuku Midoriya, son of Inko Midoriya and Hisashi Atakani? That Izuku?"
"I am not aware of a Hisashi but yes."
She closes her eyes. "I am sick and tired of their bullshit."
"What?"
"You don't have the clearance. Actually, if you repeat anything from the last thirty seconds, I'll have you shot in a dark alley." She lets the weight of that threat hang in the air for a long minute. "Now, what I really want to know is if they're stuck in the abyss. If they are, we can localise an asset to retrieve them. If they're not, well, we'll retrieve them either way."
"You seem very invested in this."
She smiles. "I'm giving you obvious tells in the hope that you're paying attention. Think of it as… additional training. But yes, Endeavour is important to us and by extension so is his son. And we would have prioritised Midoriya's retrieval if someone had done a good job gathering intelligence."
"Is that not your job?"
"Don't get sassy, boy. In your honest opinion, with that footage and your own knowledge, are Izuku Midoriya and Shouto Todoroki trapped in the abyss."
You know the truth.
"Yes."
"I see." She takes her phone and types something on it before pocketing it once again. "Thank you. We can begin localizing an asset to retriever your classmates thanks to your aid. Besides that, how would you like a job?"
He blinks. "You just threatened to shoot me."
"Only if you reveal classified information. We need other experts on the abyss."
"I think I'll pass," he says weakly.
She shrugs and removes another tablet. "If you ever change your mind, or if you have any information to pass on about the abyss in the slightest, then use this. It'll clear you past every layer of bureaucracy. Don't abuse it."
"I thought you would threaten me more."
"You don't threaten an asset. That's just bad practice."
"Is that all I am to you?"
"Would you rather be a liability? We're not in the habit of threatening children for having odd quirks. Not even the ones you watch every few days. Yes, we know all about them. We know how to do research. You haven't committed a crime. I'll get you cleared and have this incident sealed so no one bothers you about it again."
"This sounds like an abuse of power."
"One that works to your advantage. Listen, the government guy wants to have you arrested for a promotion or a favour or something just as inane. We don't work like that. We're fighting a war against the real threat, people who've touched the abyss and want to generate chaos. We don't have time to waste politicking. We're brutal because we're efficient. You can trust us for that reason alone. If you're unimportant, we'll never bother you. If you're an asset, we'll protect you. And if you're a threat…"
He swallows. "You'll eliminate me."
The open callousness is surprising. He has never met anyone who values him as an asset instead of a person.
"Got it in one." She stands. "Have a good day, Fumikage Tokoyami. Remember, you're on our radar now. Try and stay out of too much trouble."
"Wait. Shikoku. Taiwan. How were those related to the abyss? I need to know. And why do you know the Midoriya family?"
Her smile is equal parts bitter and cruel. "The first two are classified to you. I'll tell you about the last for two reasons. Firstly, because you know the consequence of betraying this trust." She taps her temple. "And secondly, because you're a valuable ally we plan on using. We know of the Midoriya family because Hisashi was once an ally of ours. And even if he is a fucking socially inept idiot, we look after our own. And that means we're going to do everything in our power to bring your friend back."
She strides past him, patting him once on the shoulder.
Your terror runs deep. I will enjoy it.
"What did she want from you?"
He looks back and sees Midnight. Her features are set in worry. Fumikage takes a breath.
"She's going to sweep this under the rug," he says because that's the only answer he thinks he can say and not receive a bullet to the head.
She kneels and places her hand on his shoulders, meeting his eyes with her steady gaze. "I don't know what she said, but you shouldn't trust the imperial family."
"Trust me when I say I am aware of what they have done and what they are hiding better than most. Sensei, why didn't you tell us Midoriya and Todorki were missing?"
Her smile is tight. "Why was she asking you about that?" He merely stares at her until she relents. "Because we're trying to find them. We've barely had time to get security coordinated and get everyone medical treatment. We're looking for them, but the explosion destroyed all of the evidence."
"All of it?"
"Not a single trace. Even the video recordings were destroyed."
They move quickly.
"I see." He nods. "Thank you for your aid, sensei. But I would like to go be with my mother."
He doesn't go there immediately.
He is smart enough to know the lady and her allies erased the tape of Midoriya and Todoroki and likely for good reason. At least this way the story is that they were kidnapped by villains.
The rooftop is silent and those surrounding it just as empty. He hopes that there is true privacy here, but the entire world has already seen the reach of his power. The inky dark portal that bridges the gap between the material world and his soul opens.
The head of a dragon emerges slowly, sharp obsidian scales absorbing the light and those eyes promising rage and retribution. It has taken him a long time to realise that the chains binding the dragon are visible only to his eyes.
"I have a task for you," he says to the beast. "Find my allies. Find Midoriya and keep him safe. Bring him home."
The dragon opens its maw, the darkness within eternal and damning. It could breathe the godflame and incinerate Fumikage.
/I obey, King of Slaves/
Fumikage closes his eyes and feels the dragon turn to shadowy mist. It seeps through his shadow to the void hiding just beneath sight. He shudders when only a single thin chain remains to bind the dragon to his will.
He clutches his heart. Something feels empty there, a gaping hole that was once filled. The emptiness tears at him, leaves him cold and in pain.
"Why?" he groans weakly.
Because your soul is emptier now. A king is only as powerful as his subjects and you have just lost half of yours.
-TDB-
Enji Todoroki is a man of determination.
It is why he has never failed a case before. It is why he has the highest number of completed cases. So long as it needs to be done, Enji has done it for the sake of his ambitions. Sleep is a tertiary concern at best and eating is something he only does to maintain his physique.
He is a man of extreme willpower.
Happiness and temporary pleasures are nothing more than distractions to achieving his goals. He cares little for other people. His sidekicks are there to deal with menial tasks he has no interest in. His children are fixtures in his life like furniture. They are allocated resources to survive, no more and no less. In return, he asks that they do not disturb him, and they are granted freedom to do as they please. After all, only Shouto has any real value.
His son is the culmination of two great quirk lineages.
He is Enji's greatest pride even if he will never know it. The boy thinks him cruel and Enji acknowledges he has every right to do so. But Shouto is in many ways blind. He has never cared that the boy is not top of his class, never cared that his close combat skills are serviceable at best. Nor does he care much that he lost to the Midoriya boy. How can he care about such trivial matters when Shouto has learnt the greatest lesson?
Fear the flames for it will burn you.
He thinks of his wife, beautiful and strong and ferocious. A woman of such grace that it changed him. Passion is a mixture of love and hate. Until her, Enji never had much in the way of love. But she made his flames burn gently, a comforting hearth and not a wildfire. And every baby gave him the strength to set aside endlessly chasing All Might. For a time, they were happy. Even when they argued, Enji loved her more and more for no one else had the same sheer tenacity. Her brilliance let him forget the demons hiding in his fire.
Hellfire.
The name is the only word he possesses to describe the true nature of his power. He thinks of the first day his quirk manifested. It was March and the world showered pink in petals. The day had been pleasant, the weather mild. And when his quirk manifested, he set his house on fire. An accident, common amongst children, and only notable for the intensity of his quirk.
A raging inferno that incinerated three buildings.
They did not understand the origin of his terror, not the flames themselves but the revelation that came from them. There are things lurking in his fire, monsters and legions that he can see only when the world burns. He never told anyone, not wanting to be institutionalised. Instead, he learnt to power through the visions of nightmares walking in worlds where the laws of physics were humorous jokes.
A plane of true fark and dread legions.
As a child, he witnessed the cold and cruel power of the abyss and the unreal logics that reigned supreme. As a child, he beheld the first flame of creation in its prison. It is his will and determination that keep him from ever seeking the first flame. He knows it is the fire of gods despite that it burns black. It has called him every day of his life except once.
The heart of the godflame.
The day his son manifested his quirk is blurry: the scent of baking cookies and a hint of cinnamon, the feel of a too humid home from Fuyumi using her quirk; the stinging in his finger from the sharp knife edge that cut him. Above all, he remembers the fear of the godflame ignoring him. That day Shouto burnt down half the house and scarred his brother. That day, Enji saw Shouto reaching into flame, and past the bounds of the world, to grasp the godflame.
To burn the world in his image.
He does not want to imagine what would have become of the world if Shouto had been allowed to touch the flames fully. And he can never risk that reality from coming true. And so, he taught Shout to fear the flame, to hate Enji whom the boy would always associate with fire. It is the only method he has to protect his world from the unknown monsters and a world where hellfire is reunited with the godflame.
An endless wave of fire consuming every layer of the abyss all at once.
And in part, he has succeeded. Even when Shouto summons his flames—he remembers staring in awe at his foolish son bathe the world in fire—to defeat Midoriya, the godflame did not look to him.
But now he fears none of it will matter.
The godflame pays Enji no heed anymore. The black flame that burns away time and space peers past the copse of ancient trees that guard it, past the endless array of seals formed from true dark and disparity that hold it in place. It observes with its infinite power despite being trapped by the fundamental forces of the void.
Naraka shall be mine, the godflame intones across realities.
He knows it calls to his son, somehow trapped in the nightmare world that always plagues Enji's waking world. Sometimes he glimpses his Shouto, sometimes running with Midoriya strapped to his back and sometimes fighting creatures that would give Enji pause. Each time he sees Shouto, the boy is closer to the godflame.
The vessel shall bring my heart of hellfire.
Enji wants to scream for what can he do now? Everything he sacrificed to keep his family and the world safe crumbles to ashes and he watches it happen. Because he knows Shouto will reach the godflame. It is as inevitable as death and the passage of time.
As a toddler, his son's flames slowly drove his mother insane. He knows that she would never have harmed one of their children unless she had glimpsed the monsters hiding in those fires. He knows because she would have killed herself first before hurting her children.
It is why he loves her still and never forbade Shouto from visiting her even the boy never took the opportunity.
He lets flames pool in his hand and burns through the barrier between the real and the nightmare below. His son shoots ice and flame with impunity against creatures that resemble spiders, protecting the boy on his back. He disappears soon after, ascending higher and higher through the abyss.
Bring him, corpse of the shadowking. Fulfil the oath you made that day.
Enji sighs. In this room, the solarium his wife spent many hours reading in, Enji can let the iron will and cruel determination fade, and the man his wife loved, strong and determined and caring, can have a moment to exist once more. When the tears fall, fire burns them away. No one will ever see, and no one can ever know this singular moment of weakness.
"Forgive me, Rei. It was all for nothing."
He can only hope that his lesson has been learnt.
"Fear the flame, Shouto. Fear it."
-TDB-
Izuku wakes slowly, treading through the oppressive weight of sleep. He feels warm and safe, far from any possible danger. It takes him a long time to work past the haze and open his crusty eyes. He blinks away the blurriness until he can see.
He's sitting on a soft material, grey and very likely the hide of the colossus they're hitching a ride on. The hide has streaks of gold and emits bright ultraviolet light, perhaps a mating call or perhaps a signal to its compatriots following behind, a herd of millions as far as the eye can see taking part in a pilgrimage.
"Sleep well?" Todoroki asks, his voice too close for comfort.
Izuku looks around and finds himself leaning against Todoroki's side, their bodies flush. It explains why one side of him is drenched in sweat and the other is freezing.
Todoroki's face is covered in grime and light scars, the leather clothes from a few layers back torn and exposing a vivid rash in an even more vivid shade of blue. Along the curve of his neck are metallic scales from some parasite. There is a price to everything and the cost to this ride is illness.
Todoroki looks tired. Despondent. Broken.
"What happened?"
Todoroki shifts Izuku so that his arm wraps around Izuku's shoulder. His hand, about a foot away from Izuku's face, lights on fire. The heat is calming, and he feels sleep beckon sweetly. The flicker of those flames is soothing.
And none of this makes sense.
Todoroki hasn't spoken to Izuku in weeks since he sacrificed his sister on an altar of despair and choked the life out of his mother. Having been the one to push him toward it, Izuku fully understands the frigid silence and burning hate from Todoorki. And for weeks, they had been one wrong word from a violent fight.
He tries to bury the memory of Todoroki choking him in his rage, those pale fingers wrapped tight around his neck and those mixed eyes full of burning anger. There are other memories of the time Todoroki abandoned him completely for a week, left a cripple to fend for himself in the dark recesses of a cruel throne world.
So, this is a terrifying surprise and if he still dreamed, he might think this a nightmare.
"You crashed."
Immediately, he feels guilt washing over him. "I'm—"
"Stop it. I'm tired of you apologising."
He genuinely sounds just as tired. His voice is hoarse from disuse, croaky from a persistent throat infection that his ice fails to heal.
"It's all I can do."
"Maybe."
Todoroki makes a cat's cradle out of his fire before moving on to making spheres that orbit his hand at different speeds and angles. He does this casually, as though years without using his flames mean nothing. Then again, they've spent nearly three months fighting and surviving in this place. If Todoroki was anything other than proficient, they would have died long ago.
And Izuku isn't sure he can come back from death in this state. Not when he's been called a corpse already by many of the denizens of this cruel place.
"I really did think All Might was your dad," Todoroki says suddenly, the tiny suns orbiting faster around his hand. "I was trying to be cruel when I called you out."
"You don't have to apologise and wow, that sounds hypocritical coming out my mouth." Todoroki twitches. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really, no."
"Okay."
"You sound so pathetic." The flames die away and the cold returns just a bit, but Todoroki runs hot as a furnace naturally and Izuku is flush against him. "I think my mother loved me. Even though she did what she did. There was never any reason for her to do it. At least, not one I could find. She was always kind and generous. Always protected me from father. Was your father a good man?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen him since I was five. I guess that means he's not a good dad."
He only knows what the man looks like from pictures: dark-haired and freckled, and he imagines the man must have wrinkles now.
"I think I'd rather not know my father than deal with what he is."
He glances at Todoroki, but his companion stares at something far away as though trying to see something known only to him. It can't be the palaces in the sky or their previous waypoint or even the naked singularities consuming the slowest of the pilgrimage horde.
"How bad was he?" Izuku asks because things will resolve themselves one way or another.
"You were wondering how I could go so long without food. I think we went for survival training when I was six. Took me to a forest in the middle of nowhere and forced me to hike all day with no food or water. We did it every day until he was satisfied with my pace."
"I'm—"
"If you say sorry one more time, I'm throwing you over." Todoroki shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from that impossible spot in the horizon. "He taught me to fear the flames. Wouldn't shut up about it. He's thrown me in burning building, made me meditate on a bed of nails whilst trapped in a cage of flame, and threw me in a forest fire once."
Izuku feels sick. Todoroki speaks as though the world must be like that and nothing will change it. That nothing can change it. That powerful men are inherently spiteful and the weak will always be trampled beneath their boot.
Todoroki sounds so exhausted and resigned to a cruel world.
"All of that just because he couldn't beat All Might."
"I sometimes think he gave up on his ambition to be number one because of me. I think if I wasn't around, he'd be there by now." Todoroki smiles bitterly. "And I wouldn't have to suffer through him if I wasn't born."
"If I see him, I promise I'll punch him for you."
The formless mist around them shifts, solidifying with the promise. Todoroki reaches out and touches a promise made manifest. Izuku shivers, feeling a chill in his very soul. Todoroki holds the promise for a moment, twisting the shimmering cube of air tinted a mild shade of green.
Todoroki lets it go and the promise floats away to be consumed by a massive bird.
"Thank you," Todoroki says sincerely, his voice soft.
"It's the least I could do."
"He uses his position to avoid repercussions. I know people have tried reporting things, but he's so powerful that nothing will come from it. Censorship and privacy laws only protect the powerful, no one else. When I saw you and All Might, I just wanted to scream because it meant there were no good people in the world."
"He's a good man."
Todoroki stares at him for a long time, assessing the conviction in his words. These are the eyes of someone who has felled gods and faced nightmares. They have no time for bullshit.
"One who failed you at least once," Todoroki says finally. "If he knew anything about your quirk and didn't investigate, he dropped the ball completely."
"I never said he was perfect. But he loves me in his own way. I know he's not perfect and if I'm being honest, he's a terrible teacher. He's trying, though."
Todoroki leans back fully which means Izuku must do the same if he wishes to remain warm. Or stable. The movements of the colossus jostle him, and with his legs useless he can't really keep upright alone.
"That's better than Endeavour."
"That's not a high bar to set." He shakes his head. "All Might gave me his quirk."
"That shouldn't be—"
"Possible? Todoroki, we're riding a colossus as it completes a pilgrimage to eat living lightning. Nothing about this is possible. In the face of a quirk that involves a nightmare realm and changes other quirks, can you really say passing on a quirk is impossible?"
"Is that why Tokoyami is different?"
"He's weird. Connected to this place like me but in a different way. I don't know all the details. I suppose I would if I wasn't so scared of the truth." Izuku shakes his head. "I think we're all connected to it in different ways. Even you."
"The way you say that makes me think you know more than you're telling me."
"This isn't my journey. This isn't my character arc. It's all about you, Shouto Todoroki. And I'm not going to spoil it. Not when we're so close."
He grins at Todoroki, all sharp teeth and crystal nightmares. It is, however, sincere.
"Sometimes I wish you were being malicious. It would make things so much easier."
"You could ditch me, I suppose. Everything we're going through is a story. My journey into the abyss was a descent into my own madness but also a discovery of my power. I don't think your journey is about madness. No, I think it's an exploration of your suffering in the past. I am your guide, your burden, your foil, a cog in the inexorable machine of your story. I must be dramatic because this is all a metaphor for something. Everything you are will change once you reach the end."
"You're a puppet dancing on strings. You can't do anything other than dance to the tune set." He makes a pair of scissors out of his flames. "I wish I could cut them."
Izuku chuckles deeply, his voice echoing across the misty world of the helpless dead. "One day you'll have the power. But by then it will be too late."
He looks up to the palaces hiding in the mist, home to beings of infinite angles ruling over worlds of circular fractals of gravity.
"But for now, let's just enjoy the ride. It'll take a few weeks to the next waypoint."
Izuku burrows deeper into the nook they share. Soon, Todoroki follows his example and leans back, making a fire to keep them warm as the colossus continues its pilgrimage.
The time passes in a peaceful haze. The only moment of interest occurs when the colossus passes through a river of helium, crushing the village built on the banks of this strange river. The sounds of terror and desperation wake Todoroki and long after they have passed, his classmate shivers often, thinking of the dead.
"Why are you talking to me?" Izuku asks much later.
Todoroki wakes from his light doze. "Because there's no point in hating you. I can't kill you no matter how much I hate you. And I'm just so fucking tired of it all. I'd rather be numb than feel anything."
That is answer enough for now.
The waypoint, as it turns out, involves the colossus they are riding on throwing them through a green lightning bolt. A dead one, true, but the experience is still disconcerting. Izuku lands away from Todoroki on a glass-like substance.
He only sighs and waits for Todoroki to find him and pick him up. The light the glass reflects would blind anyone not attuned to this place, and he makes sure the shadowed veil is tight around Todoroki. But the light is hauntingly familiar. He once strode towards it, watching the birth of a universe. It isn't the same light, diminished as it is by time.
It is still as beautiful as seeing the event unfold for the uninitiated.
"Why is there a train here?"
Izuku twists around awkwardly using only his arms. He sees the train past Todoroki, a deep purple that stands out potently even through the scorch marks. Beside the train is a bird still burning from the godflame.
"I never thought it was true."
Todoroki walks over and lifts Iuzku onto his back. "What?"
"We travelled through the darkest abyss aboard a train to infinity," Izuku murmurs. "This is Master Railroad's train. I thought it was a metaphor, not literal truth."
"You said metaphors are truths."
"I suppose I did."
Shouto's stance loosens and assumes the position Izuku associates with him doing something new. "Want to see if it works?"
Izuku laughs. "Why not?"
Todoroki walks across the plain of glass reflecting the first act of creation, Izuku observing silently on his back. Despite how visible the train is, that isn't to say it is close. No, it takes them four days of travelling to reach the behemoth of a thing. Todoroki clambers up the ladder to the engine room. The door opens easily, not a single speck of rust to be seen.
Which is odd. Despite the scorch marks, the train looks pristine despite being centuries old. The engine room is spotless and with a quick wipe down would gleam.
Izuku points to the huge engine. "Interesting thing about having a minor obsession with heroes—"
"Only minor?"
By the way, one shoulder is hitched higher than the other, Todoroki is expressing some emotion. "Did you just make a joke?"
His expression closes off, the frigid blankness overtaking the momentary expression of warmth.
"Maybe." It is said curtly, a rebuke against any further attempts to make light of his words.
"That's good because one thing that was always interesting to note about Master Railroad's train is that it appeared to be powered by steam. Ridiculous because it never actually needed an engine to run."
"This is another metaphor."
Izuku pats Todoroki on the chest. "You're learning. You see, it's powered by steam. What do ice and fire make?"
"Convenient."
The strings Izuku must dance on return. His mouth moves without his authority. "This is a relic from the past, an artefact from a great hero. Of course, it's convenient. This is a story, not a real journey. If we have this train, then we'll need to use it later when the real threat emerges."
"Where to, then?"
"Wherever the universe takes us. The train knows where we need to go."
"If you knew it would take us somewhere traumatic and horrifying, would you tell me?"
Izuku grins. "I think we both know the answer to that."
Todoroki looks away. "I wish I hated you more. Maybe then I could kill you."
A/N:
That's all from me for now. Thank you for reading this. f ya'll have questions, comments, or general feedback, let me know. Otherwise, knowing you're here is more than enough for me.
See ya next week.