'To speak of the New Heroes, our venerated forbearers Master Railroad, Hawkmoon and Graviton Lance, is to speak of their Tyrant peers, Stormwind and Titan. Their histories are intertwined and it is a history involving tyranny and the blood of millions. It is to speak of their successor Hero who took up their mantle upon the dissolution of the New Heroes, Hero who uplifted her homeland Zimbabwe and led a resurgent Southern African economic bloc and ushered in the Golden Age. Hero who was an exemplar of moral heroics and first amongst her peers: Legion, an army unto herself; Skybreaker, the great peacemaker, Trafalgar Law, the Surgical hero, Siren the brave, and the gallant Champion amongst others.'
-Excerpt from 'The Effect of Heroics' by Saruhiko Ando.
Fumikage Tokoyami lives a life of control under a strict schedule. He meditates often, a necessary rite when one has a demon whispering violent nothings or a natural predisposition to anger.
At the moment, he's very nearly about to jump across the table and punch his father. Which is nothing new. Perhaps the context is different as his father's words are what drive him to anger and not the man's silence.
"I don't care what you think of the matter," Fumikage snaps, "but I am going back to school."
"That school nearly killed you. Nearly killed your mother."
"You two will use any excuse you can find. I don't care. I made it there of my own merit."
"This is my household, boy. You will listen to me."
Fumikage rolls his eyes. "Remind me again how many people you've killed. And you expect me to think your words are valid."
A sudden weight fills the air, his father's bloody presence attempting to crush any resistance.
"My past is not yours to brandish as a weapon."
Fumikage has felt worse. After all, he's seen the horrors hiding in the dark and battled a dragon. It may trip some instinctual fear he has of his father, but he can quash it.
"And my future is not yours to decide. I'll leave if I must but I will not have you squander my scholarship out of
"And go where, boy?"
"Anywhere away from you."
"Then leave if you dare. But if you are too cowardly to do so, then you will silence yourself."
Fumikgae stays silent. Not out of fear but because his heart suddenly skips a beat. And then another.
It is the shock of another entity filling his soul, taking a place beside Dark Shadow. It freezes him in places, locks down his muscles. He almost tips over.
/I have returned, master/ the dragon says in his soul.
"Good, boy. Stay silent."
Fumikage petulantly waves away his father as he stands, doing his best not to show any weakness. It's like his soul has suddenly been stitched over without any way to numb the pain, like his skin has been scraped raw and covered in salt.
He stumbles into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
His breaths come in short and fast. With shaky fingers, he unwraps the red band, fumbling with the knot. The fabric falls away, letting him breathe easier but also revealing the flesh underneath—a jagged mess of ropy flesh, tiny quills and thick scar tissue.
The only people who have ever seen this are his parents and he has no intention of letting anyone else know.
Once his breathing is under control and the pain has subsided, he summons the dragon. A dark portal appears over his torso. The dragon emerges from it, a thin chain binding it to Fumikage.
Right now, it is relatively tiny, only the same height as Fumikage though its wings brush against both walls. Those bright yellow eyes observe Fumikage and for a moment, he imagines he sees emotion to them. Not alien emotion, but something startlingly human. Almost like compassion. Almost.
He shakes his head. It isn't anything close to human but rather a beast he must always keep leashed or risk death. He can feel the reservoir of power it holds, once more his to control. Its size is due to the tiny trickle he permits it to have access to.
"Were you successful?" he asks.
/The shadowking has returned to his full power and the one-eyed king has ascended to his throne/
Fumikage blinks. Somewhere, deep in his soul, he understands what that means.
Dark Shadow materialises suddenly, taking up what little space is left. It is disconcerting to have two separate entities looming over him, both easily capable of ripping him apart.
The godflame found its heart? Dark Shadow asks, surprise colouring his companion's voice
/Yes, Elder Tree/
Did my people survive?
/Their funeral pyre served as the coronation ceremony for the new king. They have been burnt away by the new king's power/
Dark Shadow is silent for a long minute and Fumikage is unsure how to broach it. What can he say to his oldest friend after this revelation?
"I am sorry," he manages.
Sorry? For what? The complete genocide of my people? Their hope that my knowledge would carry on? Knowledge that has been broken and shattered by you stealing me?
"I did not—"
Of course, you didn't. And I'm not angry at you. This plan has been in motion longer than you've been alive. We chose to guard the godflame even though it would lead to our deaths. One day, I'll remember why.
Fumikage doesn't believe Dark Shadow's indifference. After all, he can feel the soul-crushing grief deep within his soul.
He calls them both back and they return to him. And when they do, something shifts. He feels whole again.
He also feels hungry.
-TDB-
Hisashi Midoriya has three very simple objectives for the day. Well, technically those objectives are prerequisites to his true goal.
Getting his wife to forgive him.
Step one involves getting a new suit. When you're on the far side of fifty, a good suit is a bare minimum for a task this important.
It is why he's currently enjoying a pastry and a cup of decent coffee in the streets of Italy. The day is sunny and might be called beautiful if he isn't plagued by other matters. Such as the new set of orders from his contact in the Imperial household. He hasn't looked at them, and very likely won't until later in the day, regardless of them being flagged urgent. He's lost a decade with his wife and son because of similar orders. They owe him one fucking afternoon at the very least.
He waves the waiter away when he tries to refill his cup. He's had enough alcohol this early in the day. He leaves a hard currency chit on the table, tipping triple the price of the meal. It's a simple sign for the waiter to take his cutlery and anything that might have his genetic material, and decontaminate them completely. He trusts the waiter will do it. It just happens to be that sort of place.
The tailor is a block away. He walks through the crowd, making sure to give off the air of a wealthy foreigner—which he is even if he never acts it—visiting the country. He certainly can't understand what they're saying because of exposure to dead languages in the abyss. No, he certainly can't.
He passes by a statue of Stormwind and sees a short line of people with bouquets of flowers. More than he expects this far away from the anniversary of her surrender or her death. But in western Europe, there are always signs of her presence. He shrugs and puts it out of his mind.
The suit fits well. Maroon with thick stripes, cut in the new fashion without pesky lapels. He wears a grey turtleneck instead of the recommended silk shirts. Not because they look bad on him, if anything his choice of turtleneck marks him out as eccentric, but because it takes a few hours longer to appropriately fit and conceal layers of composite armour on using the silk shirt than the turtleneck.
He thanks the tailor once he's gotten used to the location of the armour plates in the suit. He is many things, but durable is not one of them. He specialises in evasion and getting the hell out of a fight before it starts. It is partly why he ran form his wife. There is no way he could have taken another punch without spending a few weeks in the hospital.
Age, after all, is the great equaliser in life.
There is a special backroom exit with attached blackout taxi service which he takes. It returns him to his hotel. He nods once to the bearded man limping out with a bulldog following behind and makes sure to not antagonise a man who had taken on New York's finest group of assassins and won.
He informs the concierge that he'll be checking out and leaving through 'alternative means' and not to worry about him an hour from now. The man simply nods in understanding, asks no questions, and compliments Hisashi on the new suit. Once Hisashi has his luggage consisting of a knapsack, he is ready to leave.
He burps, wisps of fire escaping his mouth. He frowns. The flames are an incandescent green, reminiscent of his fire when his quirk first manifested, and not the fire he acquired later in life.
"What the hell is going on?"
He decides to experiment when he isn't in a hotel with a fire suppression system. Opening the doorway is easy. In practice, it just involves heating up a rectangular cut-out from the abyss where it touches his location most closely. In theory, it involves multiple degrees in higher dimensional physics, quirk metaphysics, abyssal realmatic theory, and after a while it just got too smart for Hisashi to care. It works and that's all he needs to know.
Denmark is his next destination. There's a chocolate store that has been rated the best in the world for the past five years. It may have something to do with them growing their own cocoa beans and the grower's quirk that ensured each plant to be perfect—and he means perfect down to a quantum level. He purchases a large box of assorted chocolates.
Finally, he travels to Jamaica. Wrangling a container of their Blue Mountain coffee is an effort of a few hours because he doesn't have the authorisation to make the purchase of the limited product. Money, however, speaks volumes and he pays enough for a full shipment of the stuff just to get a small container's worth.
It doesn't make a dent in his bank account.
Once that's done, he finds a decently hidden spot in Yakushima to practice with. He is smart enough to send a callsign ping to the fortress there. That way, the many imperial guards won't bother attacking him.
Hisashi stands before a tree and inhales. He feels the fire spark to life in his belly and exhales. A green fire that brings back memories of younger days comes to life. It sets the tree alight, burning it in two ways: the first, the standard, that of combustion; and the second that happens in the unseen realms, that which burns away the concept of the tree, and burns the essence of the tree in the image of the World Walker as a sacrifice, an effigy to his presence.
It is nothing like the godflame which simply burns away the very concept of the thing's future.
"Well, that's different."
He opens a doorway a few layers from where the godflame resides. A sun of infernal fire greets him instead of the forest of floating trees he expects. The aftermath of a great battle greets him, areas of reverse timeflow and psychomutable engines of ruin. Whatever battled occurred there, Hisashi is glad he was nowhere near it.
"I guess you found your heart," he says to the emptiness. "Was it worth it?"
He steps back to the real and finds a man waiting for him. The man wears a white uniform in the formal battle dress of Royal Guard.
"Itinerant," Hisashi says politely. "Aren't you supposed to be with the Emperor?"
The man, the Emperor's resident warper, sighs. It makes him look older than he is, maybe old enough to be Hisashi's age.
"Can you please look at the comm package your handler sent?" the Guardsman asks. "Please. We need your help."
Hisashi shrugs. "I'll think about it. After I've talked to my wife."
"Wait, you—"
He opens a doorway and lands in Japan. Mustafu, to be specific. The signs of Inko's rage are still present. The street is still torn to shreds but there is construction tape around the damage. There won't be any questions from the authorities on whose quirk caused the damage. Such trifling concerns as the law don't really apply to him or his family. They haven't for a long time.
He knocks, fearful of the response. Inko is many things. Unfortunately, dangerously violent is one. When the door opens, he thrusts the chocolates forward before she can process his presence.
"Danish chocolate. Best in the world. Please don't break me."
Inko glares at him, eyes red. But she takes the chocolate. "Thirty seconds.
"Okay." He takes a breath in preparation. "The reason I went missing was that my quirk evolved to include letting me travel a really weird dimension which you've had contact with going by the fact that you can destroy city blocks if my senses are right. I can also very literally travel to other realities. Well, more like other iterations of this one and please don't snap me in half and—"
"Times up."
He reveals the canister of coffee. "Jamaican Blue coffee. Best in the world."
She takes the coffee. "One minute."
"Extra?" She says nothing. "So, you see how it looks like my face is clawed out. Well, that's because it kinda was on that trip when I left. And then I got really lost in a lot of different dimensions and I've spent the last decade trying to get back. And the moment I did I came straight back. I didn't mean to leave, I promise."
He wonders if her expression has always been so blank or if it's a new development. It scares him because he's always been able to read Inko Midoriya and all the variations of her. But he can't read this one.
"You're many things," she says without a hint of emotion, "but you've never lied to me before. Get in."
She steps aside.
Hisashi enters his home, his real home—not the many cheap apartments in very many realities—for the first time in a decade. It is clean, whatever influence in decoration he might have had gone. Not a single picture with him in sight, none of the books he owned on the library shelf. It's as if he never existed.
And that hurts more than he can imagine.
He takes the coffee back and makes her a cup. The silence as the water boils and he strains the dark liquid is stressful. Because the Inko he remembers is many things but quiet is not one of them. He's usually the quiet one.
"You travelled the abyss?" she asks once she has her cup of overpriced coffee that probably tastes like vile sludge.
He's not biased in the slightest about coffee. He just thinks it tastes like shit.
"Yes. I breathe fire, yes, but that's only a tiny portion of my quirk. I use the godflame, that black—"
"I know what it is."
He swallows nervously. That was blunter than he expected.
"…Right. I can connect with that heat across dimensions and use it to burn doorways between our reality, the abyss, and other realities."
"How many other realities did you visit before coming back?"
There is a threat there, one he isn't too foolish to notice. "You want to know if I ever tried settling down, don't you?"
She nods, the slightest thrum of power in the air and the chittering of a thousand spiders filling his ears.
"In the first one, yes. I'd just had my face mauled and was a bit too traumatised to do much for a few months. But once I could get back up, I started looking. Usually, I leave a marker for worlds I've been to and are safe. They help me find my way back if I go too deep. I couldn't for this one, my reality, because things happened too fast. I was too busy trying not to die.
"I kept on going from world to world. Some were different, really different. But a lot were like this one. There was usually an Izuku of some sort. He might have All Might's quirk or my fire quirk or turn into a leviathan or see ghosts. And you were there—sometimes you were a hero, sometimes you were a nurse, but no matter what, you always loved Izuku. I think your love is the only real constant in the universe."
The hard lines of her granite face soften a little.
"Stop trying to flatter me," she says sharply.
It makes him flinch back. This is his wife and she's supposed to be strong, tough, and determined, not sharp as glass and hard as diamond. It makes his bad arm tremble which he tries to hide.
She raises one eyebrow imperiously. "Still trying to hide things from me?"
"Sorry. I didn't mean to.
"Like everything you kept from me. Continue."
"It was never the right world. I usually stayed around a few days, sometimes weeks, to make sure you two were safe. Even from me—you would not believe how often I'm a villain. And between each world, I had to travel the roads of the abyss and deal with all those living nightmares. I did it for ten straight years. Looking for my wife. Looking for my son. Not someone who looked like you. But I'll always care for you and I couldn't just go without trying to make things better. The hardest to leave were the ones where Mikumo was alive."
Inko takes a breath, a mantle of grief falling over her shoulders. He knows that grief and feels it every day of his life. And he knows it will never fade. His son is dead and gone. Black hair darker than night and eyes shining brightly. He knew, the very first time he held his boy, that Mikumo inherited his fire quirk—those clouds of plasma his fondest memory. A spark of creation itself held in the breaths of a little boy.
"He'll never stop haunting me."
Hisashi smiles sadly. "He was our son. He might have my hair, but everything good in him would have come from you. Just like Izuku."
"How did you not go crazy?"
The smile dies away. "I did, in a way."
He takes a breath and lets the World Walker take over. The coldness, the callous indifference to life and willingness to murder, smother the very human Hisashi.
The World Walker looks at the wife of the operator and does a threat assessment: mutated quirk as a result of the abyss; tier three, maybe four, threat; upper limit unknown; god currently being invoked unknown; eliminate with a pre-emptive strike—three godlings of acceptable power that can be summoned on short notice. The World Walker follows the strands of the power she invokes, deciding on spots in the abyss she will be vulnerable and helpless.
That threat assessment dealt with, the World Walker prepares the rites to eliminate the woman if necessary—it will take a few years of the Operator's lifespan to invoke any of the godlings. That price can be paid easily enough.
The woman gasps, dropping the cup of coffee. The shards are possible weapons the World Walker accounts for. Armour plates will protect vital organs. Face and neck exposed.
"You're not even the same person," the possible threat says.
Hisashi takes control once more, the World Walker fading to the back of his mind. It doesn't protest, per se, but it does implore Hisashi to focus on those ceramic shards.
"I think it's a form of dissociative identity disorder. It's a form of protection against everything I've seen. I can't… I'd never be able to function without it."
He smiles and runs a hand through his dark hair streaked white with age. "You know I love you more than anything else in this world."
She stares at him in mute horror. "He really is your son."
"Izuku? I'd hope he'd take after you a lot more. Where is he, anyway?"
He is very glad the World Walker marked those shards as a threat because they'd have stabbed through his arm if not for the doorway he opens instinctively. What makes it worse is the absolute lack of anger on her face, as though potentially hospitalising him is a pretty normal suggestion.
"Okay, I said something wrong there and I'm not sure—"
"Shut up," she snaps. "Your son, the son you left me to raise alone for a decade, is missing."
"What?"
"There was a fucking attack on the stadium and we can't find him. No one can fucking find him."
He raises a hand to stop her. "Inko, you can punch me later," he says in the same tone of voice that always gets her to keep quiet. "I need to check something."
He removes his phones and checks the priority message that's been trying to get his attention for the last twenty-six hours of real-world time. It's a retrieval mission for priority targets in the abyss. One of the targets is Endeavour's kid. The other is his son.
"Fuck," is all he says.
He slides the phone over to his wife. She raises her brow. "So, you do work for the imperial household."
"That's not even vaguely important."
She reads in silence. The further she gets, the more the quality of the air changes. There is a threat of violence that goes merely from the threat of a quick hospital visit to a long and drawn out death. Inko sets the phone down and stares at him for a long minute.
"You knew he was missing."
Hisashi gulps. "Technically, I didn't until just now. And technically, I haven't been on this earth for more than twelve hours."
"And you could have retrieved him at any time?"
He starts considering exit options and whether he's fast enough to avoid Inko pinching his blood vessels—he's seen that before in one world—or ripping out his testicles—they are certainly small enough.
"Possibly. It would involve me going to a place that's driven me a bit insane. I wasn't keen on answering that message because of that." He sighs, deflating, knowing it is a terrible excuse. "Look. I'd go there for my son. But after being chased away from my home I wasn't interested in talking to people who see me only as an asset."
She invokes the god attached to her. It comes back to life just a little bit feeding off her rage. I really need to find out what's causing that.
"Don't you dare blame me."
He hears something aside crash to the ground. A tree snapping in half, maybe, or a wall breaking. The power level is the same, regardless.
A bead of sweat runs down his neck. "I'm not blaming you. I guess I just had this fantasy that I'd come back and everything would be fine. And I wasn't ready to deal with you not… accepting me."
"Are you going to get him?" she asks, indifferent to his feelings.
"Please don't crush me before I finish." She nods. "I'm not going to retrieve him and please stop squeezing my heart. Thank you. I'm not because he's with Endeavour's son and I've just realised how much context is missing to this conversation. Okay, you saw how my fire was black the other day."
"Hard to miss."
"When did you get so sassy?" He gulps at the intensity of her glare. "Never mind. So, the godflame, the actual… I guess concentrated mass of intent that governs its reach, has always been looking for its heart, the final fire to unite all fire. And since there's a giant black sun where it was before, and because my flames are green, then Todoroki is the heart. And if that's the case, then you'll probably get a call that he's been found in a few hours."
"If I don't, I'm going to kill you."
She isn't joking. It is a gamble, but he's almost certain he'll manage to survive. He knows how time works in the abyss, and he knows for a fact that he would feel Izuku's death in his very soul. Anyone even vaguely connected to the abyss would feel the reverberations of that happening.
"So, how's work?" he broaches.
"Hisashi, shut up."
"Yes, ma'am."
Exactly three hours of tense silence later, Inko receives a call. He knows it can only mean one thing by her tears, and the deep breaths she takes to stay calm.
"Can I come?" he asks when she is composed.
"You stay right the fuck there."
"Yes, ma'am."
There are consequences to marrying people because they're strong and willful. He isn't anywhere near foolish enough to question her, or even to disobey her order. Instead, he cleans up the mess from the spilt coffee and makes a call.
"Hello, Kurogiri. I have some questions for you. You see, I hear there was a stadium attack and my son was involved."
"That's is technically true," Kurogiri says.
"Don't say a thing. I just want you to listen." His voice doesn't change from his usual light tone. "You see, you went after my kid. You went after my son. And that makes me very angry. Shh, what did I say about speaking? Here's what's going to happen. You're gonna go to your boss and tell him I'm done. Every favour I owed you, consider them paid in full. I don't work with you ever again. And you people never come after me and mine.
"And if you don't follow those simple rules, I'll go after Tomura. I won't kill him, I'll just expose him to every horror in the abyss. And when he's nothing more than a lifeless husk, I'll return him to you. The only reason I'm not doing that right now is that your boss is a vindictive bastard. You're probably wondering if you can run off with him. Sure, maybe for a few weeks or even a few months. But I will find you. I spent ten years looking for my family. I saw things that would drive you mad and I never stopped. Right now, you're wondering if All For One could stop me? Oh, he certainly could. He is the Strongest Man Alive and fully deserving of that title."
Hisashi chuckles. He's witnessed All For One bring to bear his power and it is nothing short of awe-inspiring. But for his son, he'd face the entire world.
"He might very well be the strongest All For One to ever live," Hisashi says respectfully. "And trust me, I've seen a lot. So maybe he can kill me. But before he does, I'll see to it that Tomura suffers. I'll take away everything you love. Just like what happened to your wife and daughter two decades ago. It will be slow. It will be painful. And maybe I'll record his screams just for you."
"If you hurt him, I'll go after Inko."
"I know you will. You leave me and mine alone and I'll do the same to you. The threat of mutually assured destruction. Do you understand, Kurogiri? Stay the fuck away from my family."
He ends the call and makes a cup of tea. He settles down and contacts his handler from the imperial household.
There's no way in hell the police or heroes will want to let Izuku walk free so soon. So, he'll work the system a bit.
-TDB-
Izuku slumps tiredly in the elevator. It's been a day since he returned, a day filled with interrogations by Aizawa and Nemu and medical staff and, oddly enough, a lady from the imperial household. Most surprising is the lack of police.
Regardless of how tired he is, this reprieve exists only because his mother can be a force of nature. She had said, quite simply, that this could continue at another time. And no one had so much as spoken against her, not even Aizawa. He's still not certain why they don't like each other, but so long as they're not fighting, he can care less.
When she ruffles his hair for the umpteenth time in the last hour, he suffers through it gracefully. Her worry is evident in the tenseness of her shoulders, the tired lines on her face, and the dark bags under her eyes.
"You were gone a long time. You've gotten taller."
The elevator door opens onto a surprisingly empty lobby, only two orderlies scurrying through, heads ducked in conversation. There's an exit to one side, probably a private one to avoid the picket line of press.
The orderlies aren't the only people in the area. He sees Shouto first and smiles. The smile dies as he sees him following behind Endeavour.
"Hey," Izuku says loudly, striding forward. The anger he feels leaves his hands shaking.
"Izuku," his mother shouts. He ignores it.
Endeavour glances down at him, contemptuous as ever. "Midoriya."
The hero has maybe a good foot of height on Izuku, and maybe twice his bodyweight in pure muscle. In any other circumstance, Endeavour could probably break him like a twig.
But, as he's proven once, One For All is far superior.
The energy of his mentor's quirk fills him in the space between thoughts, so fast that neither Endeavour nor Shouto has a moment to react. In a moment, he's in the air. In another, his fist meets Endeavour's face.
The man stumbles back at the force of the punch, enough to hurt but not enough to hurt much. Izuku isn't stupid enough to pump that kind of power that will level a building or even shatter a wall. Not in a hospital, at least.
"Izuku!"
He looks over his shoulder to his mother sprinting forward, shock and disappointment in her gaze. Izuku shrugs, nods to Shouto who looks mildly entertained. And then to Endeavour who has recovered, showing no hints of pain outside of the bruised skin, and glares down at Izuku.
"That counts as an assault against a hero," Endeavour says coldly.
Izuku smiles, the same smile Kirishima calls terrifying. "And you're a piece of shit father. I don't care who you think you are"—he steps forward and points at Shouto—"but if you ever touch him again, if you ever do anything I consider wrong, I will make it my life's goal to break you. Your money. Your power. Your reputation. None of that will so much as slow me down."
Endeavour chuckles, his dripping voice cruel. "You're arrogant. Go back to your mother before you do something you'll regret."
Izuku smiles.
He lets the madness infuse his smile, lets the dark malevolence of the abyss fill his eyes, and forces the shadows to vibrate with his rage. The room darkens, the warmth of life and hope and joy fleeing as he lets the gods dreaming in his infernal engine dream in the real world once more.
It isn't much of his power, really. He has created worlds of shadow and battled gods of desolation. This is nothing but the promise of the threat, the harbinger of destruction and the spectre of annihilation.
He's never used this much of the crystal madness in his soul, never felt the need to possibly let dread creatures consume reality. But the sight of Endeavour's cold eyes drives him to new depths of anger. Because Shouto is his friend, a person he cares for dearly. And he will not let him be hurt by anyone.
"I assure you," he says, one part real and one part the slightest whisper of the songthatwillendalllife, "that I mean every word I say."
The tension is so thick as to be physical. He has no idea what he looks like. Maybe a scared and scrawny boy threatening a man so much larger. Maybe he looks like a king with a crown of nightmares. Maybe, he just looks like a fool making a stupid decision.
In truth, he doesn't care.
"Izuku," Shouto says, tearing through the tension. "Calm down."
The command is simple and from someone he trusts. He takes a breath and smiles, the malice leaving. And just like that, the room is normal: soft and vibrant and warm. It may have something to do with the invisible influence of the godflame he can sense, a warning to stop intruding on Shouto's domain with his darkness.
He spares a glance for Shouto. Shut the fuck up, he thinks, before returning to Endeavour.
Endeavour simply watches him, indifferent to the threat he's just levelled. The man huffs.
"Boy, I fear no shadow. Come, Shouto."
Izuku waits until Shouto nods, a silent promise passing between them. He glares at Endeavour's retreating back.
His mother grips his arm roughly. "What was that?" she asks sternly.
He smiles gently. "I don't like Endeavour."
"You don't punch people you don't like."
"Well…"
"No, you, my son, you don't punch people you don't like. What did he do to you?"
"He's an abusive piece of shit."
She cocks her head. "You got irrationally angry that a parent is abusive?" He nods. "You have no idea how hypocritical that is. The only reason I can't stand your homeroom teacher is that he makes the same accusation."
"To whom?"
"About me to you."
Izuku blinks. Pulls away from his mother. Says, "Excuse me for a moment."
He stalks forward to the last place he saw Aizawa, one of those hastily converted interrogation rooms. His glare is enough that no one tries to stop him or even question him. The only person brave enough flees in terror when he levels the full force of his anger.
The door is a standard hospital door, nothing particularly special about it. Which is perhaps why the doorknob crumbles when he tries opening it. No matter. He kicks it at the hinge which blows outward.
He steps through the wonky door. Aizawa is still there as is the principal.
"Midoriya, what do you think—"
"You're going to shut up right now," Izuku says, voice hoarse with all the anger he feels. "Who the hell do you think you are? How the hell can you say that about my mother?"
"What—"
"I said to keep quiet. You don't get to call my mother that. She was the one who kept me sane. She was, not you. She was the one who saved me from me. Not you."
The anger bubbles over. He slams his fist in the wall. His every breath is sharp and shuddering. His body trembles and it takes everything he has not to summon One For All. The living lightning is so close, begging to be used.
He doesn't care how this looks to his homeroom teacher—angry, disappointed as a father watching a misbehaving child—and his principal—observing, always observing with those eyes that know too much. Doesn't care if anyone can hear his angry shouts. Right now, the best he can manage is to not destroy the entire floor.
"My mother's never been anything but kind and generous to me," he whispers. "She's the only reason I'm as fucking sane as I am. She's the furthest thing from abusive so don't you ever. Say that. About her."
Aizawa waits the long minute it takes for him to calm down. And even then, when he speaks, he uses a tone best served to calm down a possibly dangerous animal. "You've never shown the best judgement when it comes to your personal health."
Izuku smiles, a broken and dead thing. "You left me bleeding and dying on the ground the first day you met me." Aizawa grimaces at the reminder. "You hurt more in a single day than she has in fourteen years. So kindly fuck off, sir."
"Midoriya, you need—"
"Aizawa," the principal says softly, and yet his voice seems loud as a ringing gong. "I believe young Midoriya has made his point."
Aizawa glares at the rodent thing. "But—"
"Arguing further will simply embarrass you and make young Midoriya disapprove more." Izuku nods. "Clearly, this is a misunderstanding that has gone on too long."
Izuku lets his anger bleed off a bit until his sight isn't clouded in rage. "I'm willing to forgive it and to forget."
"And I don't doubt that you mean that sincerely. I assure you that the matter will be dropped."
He takes a deep breath. "Okay." The all-consuming rage abates. "Thank you."
"Get some rest. You're still operating on a combat response."
He grits his teeth. "Fine."
His mother is leaning against the wall, waiting patiently for him. She has a slight smile on her face. "Well, you set him straight. Took you long enough."
"Let's just go home."
The drive home is quiet. His body is tired and wants to fall asleep. It should be easy. The car is warm and the seat more comfortable than a pile of bones. And yet, he's too wound up so much as doze off. The closest he comes is daydreaming, and even then, he wakes often with a shadow blade in hand.
"Izuku, there's someone here to see you," his mother says once they're home. "You're angry right now, and you'll only get angrier. I'm just warning you now. He's upstairs."
He nods uncertainly.
There are cracks on the road, scorch marks as well, and a wall nearby is shattered. It looks like a fight broke out. And, more importantly, he can feel in his bones the presence of something from the abyss. Its presence is muted by the bright sun but he will never mistake it for anything else.
He steps through the door, unsure of why his mother would permit someone in their home. She's always been fiercely protective of the space, the only place they can be 'mother and son', and not 'widower and prodigal son'.
The smell of the place hits him first. It's the grain in the wood that he's never noticed before and the brand of lemongrass detergent his mother uses, the smell of too strong coffee—though this one is foreign—and chocolate in the air. It smells like home and brings a tear to his eyes.
His fingertips brush against the wallpaper, each divot and dent familiar to him. The floor is cold to his feet and each creak of old wood is intimate. The railing still bears the same scars he carved out in his youth.
In his reverie, he doesn't notice the stranger until he speaks.
"Hey, Izuku," the stranger says in a voice rough and weathered with age, but all too familiar.
The man is old, maybe just shy of sixty by the wrinkles and all the white hair. His hair is dark, and he is heavily freckled. Scars, the kind the comes from being mauled, grace one side of the man's face—the same side Izuku's burn scars reside.
It's like staring at a mirror image of himself, one that's a few decades older, sure, but a mirror none the less. Bile burns his throat.
"Who are you?" he asks, already knowing the answer but not wanting to acknowledge it.
Are you being serious right now? Mikumo asks. You know what, I'm done with you.
The man frowns. The action tugs his scars in a way Izuku is intimately familiar with. The resemblance sends chills down his spine. Not least because they are close to the same height and their posture mirrors each other.
"I guess I look a lot different than you remember," the man Izuku refuses to acknowledge says, shaking his head as though trying to deny something. "It's me, Hisashi. Your dad."
He doesn't know why he's standing on the other side of the room, his body trembling.
He isn't sure why his fist is bloody or why the man lay on the ground, groaning in pain and bleeding from a broken nose.
He doesn't know why his knuckles hurt the same way they do after a bad punch.
Actually, he knows exactly why. He's just too angry to process it rationally. Most of him is too busy trying not to commit murder. That doesn't leave much space for rational thought.
"You left," Izuku whispers. "For ten years."
"There's—"
"Shut the fuck up. I can't believe—why the hell do you think you can just walk back into our lives right now?"
The man, his father, snorts out blood and rises to a sitting position. He groans, his bones audibly creaking. It makes Izuku realise he's just punched an essentially defenceless old man. He wonders how All Might would think and immediately feels shame.
He takes a breath. Lets the anger fade away. Extends a hand for his father to take.
Izuku helps him to his feet. The man who claims to be his father hardly weighs anything. A strong breeze might knock him down. Izuku swallows. Had he used One For All in the slightest, he may very well have killed his own father.
"You really are your mother's son," his father—no, he's being called Hisashi and oh fuck I'm not ready for this—says.
"She raised me," he mutters angrily. "What the hell did you think was going to happen? You never even sent a message."
"There's a really good reason for that."
Mikumo snorts in his mind, dubious. I doubt it.
His father recoils very suddenly. Hisashi stares to a spot just beside Izuku as though staring at a person.
"Mikumo?" he asks tentatively as if he's seen a ghost.
Izuku blinks. He hears Mikumo choke on his own spit—and no, he's not going to think about how that's possible.
I'm sorry, am I going crazy?
"Well, I think I'm the one going crazy since I'm talking to my dead son," Hisashi says, tilting his head. "I'd recognise my own child anywhere."
I am so confused.
"You're telling me," Izuku says slowly, dangerously, "that you can somehow see and communicate to a manifestation of my psychosis. Mkikumo isn't real. I went crazy and started hallucinating him."
His father blinks. It takes Izuku a moment to notice the man is blinking away tears. Then he nods as if this all makes sense.
"You should know there's no real difference between metaphor and literal truth in the void. I named my son Mikumo Atakani. Taking his name is the same as him being alive."
Oh? MIkumo asks, then, Oh… fuck.
Izuku shoves his rising panic aside and locks it somewhere deep in his mind. He can deal with it later. Right now, he needs to deal with this bullshit.
"You breathe fire. That's your quirk. Mum told me that was your quirk. And I swear if you give me a bullshit answer I'm punching you again."
"You really are your mother's son. I'll show you proof instead." His father gestures to the side.
Izuku feels it the moment it happens. Heat, perhaps hotter than the sun, and a few degrees out of sync with reality cuts a path between the void to the real world. A doorway of shimmering green appears in the air. It leads to one of the lightest layers of the abyss. He doesn't need to look to know. He may get lost in the real world, but he'll never get lost in the nightmare realm.
It is the man who created it that holds his attention. Because that's not his father anymore. It wears his form, yes, but it isn't natural. The white in his hair looks like molten silver, the rest threads of true dark. His freckles look like pinpricks of the first light of dawn. And the scar reflects the image of the god that gave them, dead now and feasted on by crows.
It is the eyes that are worst of all. They hold the burning knowledge of the unwritten rules of the abyss, molten orbs of a demi-god of fire and doorways.
The infernal engine, for it can no longer be called a man, takes a step forward. "Shadowking," it says in a voice of ash and a thousand worlds. "This one named World Walker honours you. This one's hunt has ended."
And then it's gone, his father returning. Hisashi takes a breath. "Sorry about that," he says, voice so plainly human it is disconcerting after the sight of the infernal engine.
What are you?
"Your father. It's going to take a while getting used to both of you here," Hisashi says. "Sit. Let me tell you how I learnt to walk worlds."
-TDB-
Shouto Todoroki stares at his father. The man is imposing. Implacable. Indomitable. A testament to the strength of Japan's heroics industry. This is a man that could stare an army down and not flinch. Intimidating is but one of the many adjectives that could apply to him. Overwhelming. Towering. Perhaps even dignified.
He also has a black eye courtesy of Izuku.
And that, more than anything, ruins his image. Well, it's not the only thing.
The sickly cold hate he once had for the man is gone with his hellfire, a part of his deal to take control of the godflame. He is angry with the man, but it burns out quickly. It isn't the eternal sea of loathing. No, it's a bushfire that burns out quickly. Even his fear, rooted as an old tree, is gone, burnt away like an infection.
They are in the training room. It should hold bad memories for him, and they are there but divorced of all emotional context. That corner Endeavour had dragged him kicking and screaming from doesn't make him sad any longer. The door panel, replaced after Endeavour kicked his through it, doesn't spark an ounce of anger. The memories are like looking at an old film reel. You can make out the details, but there's no meaning associated with them.
"Show me your fire," Endeavour commands.
Shouto takes a breath.
Wisps of black flames rise from his left side. They yearn to burn brighter and consume everything. But that yearning is subordinate to Shouto's desires, to his intent. The power of something fundamental to existence belongs to one boy. At his fingertips is the power of God, the right to burn the universe in an endless fire if he so pleases.
It may very well be the greatest gambit ever executed. Because, despite his power, he has no interest in doing anything with it.
"I taught you to fear the flame."
He lets the flames visibly fade. They never truly vanish as they're a part of him as integral as his skin or brain.
"I did."
"Then why did you listen to its siren call?" Endeavour asks in disgust. "Why did you forget every lesson I taught you?"
Usually, a question like this would elicit fear in him. Now, there's nothing but indifference. How can he fear a mortal when he's killed gods?
"You tried using fear to teach me. I saw things more terrifying than you can ever hope to be."
"What price did you pay?"
Shouto smirks. "I gave up my hatred of you. I gave up your quirk."
I moved beyond you, he doesn't say.
"That's not all," Endeavour roars. "I am no fool. What did you give up?"
"My memories of mother."
Endeavour takes a step back in shock. And then Endeavour's body ignites. His rage runs hotter than Shouto has ever seen.
"It's always wanted hellfire. I taught you to fear the flame and instead you gave in completely. And what did it cost? Your mother." There is steam around Endeavour's eyes. "Your weakness sickens me."
That sets him off. After all the horrors he's been through, every battle barely won and every scar on his body, to be called weak strikes him to the very core. Black flame sparks to life with his rage, engulfing his left side. The infernal flame seems to sing in time with every beat of his anger, flickering in the spaces between scalding hot anger and frigid hate.
He's fought long enough that he doesn't need gestures to command his flame. A deluge of dark spears shoots forward, time and space and gravity burning away in the wake of their indomitable power. It's the sort of attack meant to kill and leave behind only ash.
It is but a fraction, a percentage with so many zeroes before the one that it may as well not exist, of the power he used against the elder thing that sought to consume his power. To bring to bear that level of power would incinerate the solar system and the aftershocks would shatter a good two-thirds of this galaxy at a minimum. The tremors afterwards would destroy the other third.
And yet, his godflame fails against the wall of fire Endeavour summons. The spears of fire are consumed by his father's quirk. He looks at it with his right eye, the one the godflame changed, and sees past mortal boundaries.
And he understands.
He once had his father's quirk, hellfire, and everything he killed was sent to a place that could be called hell. Naraka, a realm for the damned where gods and aliens and nightmares were made equal by the consecrating power of his hellfire.
That wall of fire his father makes is a portal to a pocket world filled with fire and the eternally damned. All he is doing is adding to the fire of that world, granting Endeavour greater control and dominion over his own realm of the damned.
The godflame dies away at his command. The hellfire dies in concert. Endeavour glares, disgusted.
"I've known about the godflame long before you were even an idea. I know its power and secrets. I had the will to reject its every call."
It isn't that Shouto can't incinerate his father, that is never in doubt. But he has no reason to do so. His hate and loathing for the man are gone. Killing him is as necessary as killing a stranger on the street. Which is never necessary.
"You have no idea what I went through."
"I know very well."
Endeavour raises his arm and makes another wall of fire. The quality of the fire changes and it seems like reality burns away. And then he can see the void. He can see the sun he created in the void, surprised that it remains.
A crown for my heart, the godflame says in his soul.
"I taught you to fear the flame because I knew what it could do. And now you've brought it into this world and united it. You gave up your mother for power."
He's never heard that level of disappointment in Endeavour.
"You're the one who never let me see her," he says petulantly. He might not remember her specifically, but he can remember details like that.
Endeavour's flames burst to life once more, anger made manifest. He roars, "When did you ask?"
Shouto takes a step back. "What?"
"When did you ever ask to visit your Rei?" The flames surrounding his father die. "You sacrificed less than you think. Let me tell you the truth. You were the one who drove her mad."
He takes another step back. "You're lying."
"You were the one who never asked to visit her. You were the one who hated her for burning you and you chose to never once speak of her. It's easy to blame others, use them as an excuse to justify your actions. I am many things, but I loved Rei. I loved her too much to give up her memory for power. I loved her too much to let you drive her further into madness."
It takes Shouto a moment to understand that the steam around his father's eyes is from tears. And he knows his father's anger and disappointment and hate. But he's never seen a hint of grief from the man. Not until now.
"You're lying," he whispers, trembling.
Endeavour sneers. "Everything I did, I did to protect this family and this world. And you just spat on every sacrifice I made."
Those are the last words Endeavour says before burning the screen to the garden down. He stalks through, his fires rising and ebbing with each step.
Shouto collapses to the ground, his body shaking. He doesn't know how long he stays there, alone and cold and trembling with what feels like soul-crushing grief or maybe heart wrenching sorrow. Because as long as he's known Endeavour, the man has never lied. He's rude and irreverent and a shit father, but he doesn't lie.
And if that's the case, then maybe Endeavour is telling the truth.
"Shouto," Fuyumi calls.
He looks and sees her running towards him. There are tears in her eyes. "I just found out you… What did he do?"
Shouto lets out a bitter chuckle. "Nothing. I did this to me."
Fuyumi grips his shoulders tight. "Hey, look at me. I said look at me." He does and meets her warm grey eyes. "It's going to be alright."
He refuses to cry. She's seen him at his worst, tired and bleeding and emotionally raw. And yet, he never wants her to think him weak.
"Tell me about mother," he says fiercely. "I need to know. Please."
She smiles and brings her forehead close until they meet. "I'll tell you all about her."
A/N:
Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and all that jazz. I hope you've enjoyed yourselves because I've spent about a week not sober and it has been beautiful. Until yesterday when I realised this was supposed to release. If I didn't get round to responding to you, IRL issues happened.
When I have been sober, I've been working on a Destiny fic which is up on my profile to anyone with an interest in the fandom. It was a fun and much needed diversion from this story.
If you've enjoyed this, let me know. If not, let me know as well. But as always, your readership is more than enough for me. Cheers and take care.