'The second duty of the Royal Guard is to ensure the sanctity of a burial procession should a member of the Royal Household perish. Whilst the degree to which the rites are performed varies based on importance, everyone from the lowest secretary to the Emperor himself undergoes these rights. It is currently unknown what these burial rights entail but a form of 'purification' is granted during the cleansing process. It has been speculated that these rights are part of the indoctrination that creates the incredible loyalty of the Royal Guard as there have never been defectors. Given the power, knowledge, and talent available to the Royal Guard, I believe it is foolish to ascribe these actions as those of a paranoid occultist.'
—Excerpt from 'Examining the Japanese Imperial Family: An American's Perspective' by David Hayter.
Fumikage Tokoyami sits in a helicopter for the first time in his life. It's nothing like the ancient relics of 20th-century media that seem clunky, slow and obtrusive. This helicopter is a thing of beauty. Sleek and silent, it cuts through the sky without disturbance from the erratic wind.
He sits across the woman who calls herself only by her affiliation, a member of the Royal Guard and currently his supervisor for his internship. Unofficially, of course. Officially, he's being a diligent student under Hawks' tutelage. A part of him suspects this will come back to haunt him, be he must know. Power and knowledge are promised to him, and perhaps with them, he will be strong enough to stand beside Shouto and Izuku as an equal in more than just name.
It may mean following people he doesn't trust, but it's an acceptable compromise.
A laptop connected to another device is on her lap. She fiddles with it in silence, making whatever it is the large box with a dozen different buttons, outputs and multiple screens do its job.
"Got something to say?" she asks, not looking up.
Her hair is just a shade too dark to be natural, he notices. And her skin, which he thought pale, seems to shimmer with light beneath the surface. For a moment, he thinks he can make out patterns of light beneath that pale skin.
"What do you expect me to say? I have little choice in where we go. We've been heading south since morning and—"
"North-east, actually. Though that's not horrible for you."
"Explain."
She finally looks up from her device. "People like you don't have a sense of direction."
"Mutations don't affect geospatial abilities negatively," he says flatly. It wouldn't be the first time someone insults him for his mutation. It certainly won't be the last.
She adjusts the sleeve of her hoodie. She's dressed in casual clothes just as Fumikage is and nothing about her form her gentle blue eyes or round face give the impression that she's a cold-blooded killer.
"Your insecurities are showing. Not having control over them is a weakness that you can't afford working for me."
"I don't work for you."
She leans forward. "Really? You aided in the retrieval of Midoriya at my bidding. You dealt with Nagato. I paid you for completing those objectives. Now you're following me like a lost puppy instead of flying around with Hawks."
"If your only objective is to insult me, I will leave right now."
"Hm, that would be an interesting test of your survival capabilities."
He crosses his arms. "You know I have a dragon."
"I may have forgotten," she says lightly. Falsely. "And people connected to the abyss have no sense of direction. It's just a thing you all struggle with."
He says nothing to that as the helicopter sets down on a pad just outside of the city, no more than two floors high.
This city, Hakodate, is one of the larger population centres in Hokkaido at just shy of a million. The first thing he notes is the smell of shit and the cloying waft of a narcotics. As they walk down the stairs, he sees what may well be a prostitute in the distance—and Fumikage refuses to think of how young the male is.
In the distance, he can see abandoned buildings with rows of camps on the roofs. People sit around fires, walking between tents, and bartering goods. Further away he sees shacks built into the side alleys, a town nestled within the city. Those shacks are older looking than the rooftop tents, more stable and solid. There is a sense of hostility to them, as though living on the ground is dangerous and those on the rooftops have it easy.
"This is nothing like Mustafu," Fumikage says, mostly to himself.
"Let's not make our broker wait. And stay close."
He stiffens when she grabs his arm and entwines it with his own.
She leads him gently away, her arm entwined with his own. He looks away from the man passing a plastic with white powder to an elderly lady, hair white and teeth rotted.
He steps back as two people entangled in a fight tumble past him. They're both mutants and both look unhealthy, skin an odd sallow colour. They scream obscenities and fight with reckless abandon, tearing with claws and biting with fangs. More animal than human, they're the vision Nagato who hated quirks and acted on that fear to kill a child, and others like him, imagine when they see mutants. Wild and unchecked evolution that might one day run rampant and become a singularity that will see the world end.
The woman merely leads him towards
Someone bumps into his shoulder roughly. It happens too quick for him to notice. His companion flows and moves around Fumikage. She knees the woman who bumped into him and slams her into a wall. A flash of light and there's a blade at the woman's throat.
"Stop," Fumikage shouts, moving forward.
Wait, Dark Shadows murmurs, and Fumikage's muscles lock up.
"Return it."
The woman, no, the teenage girl who bumped into him spits in his companion's face. "No."
She headbutts the younger girl. The girl yelps in pain before she's slammed into the wall once more.
And Fumikage refuses to be part and party to this. With a thought, he shatters Dark Shadow's hold over his body and moves forward. He lays a firm hand her arm, the one holding the knife.
"I said stop."
"Check your right pocket."
Fumikage brushes his hand against his pocket. Nothing. His phone should be there. He shoves his hand in the pocket and finds it empty.
"Return it and I won't break your jaw," his companion says.
The girl snarls, "Fuck you." But she puts her hand between her breasts. She pulls out his phone.
His companion takes it and steps away from the girl. "Get the fuck out of here."
The girl nods and darts away, bare-feet slapping against the pavement slick with water and piss and whatever other fluids. They watch her flee before facing each other. She has his new phone in hand.
"This"—She shakes the device—"contains communication protocols of Imperial Household. It may be encrypted twenty ways to Sunday but the signal it gives off during the emergency pulse can be observed. Do not lose it. I entrusted you with it not so you could lose it in a few hours. I will be very disappointed if you make that mistake again."
He does not stand down. "The way you took it was unnecessary."
"It was. You need to learn about the world you've stepped into. Now, come. We can argue later. After we've visited the broker."
He takes the device back, but this time, he sets Dark Shadow to guard it, hidden beneath his clothes.
They continue down the alleyway and exit onto a rather clean street. There's no sign of the girl, no sign of the violence and cesspool they left an alley behind. It's like walking into another city. He wonders how divided this city really is, how many layers upon layers of misery and suffering can be unfolded in a single night.
As they walk, the roads widen and the façade of the shops changes from dilapidated to old but well-maintained. Mostly, though, he's paying attention to the mutants and how they're presence goes from ubiquitous to almost non-existent.
The doorway she stops at is unassuming.
The thugs lining the street and watching them are anything but. They don't impede them but the promise of retribution should they do anything is heavy in the air. The door opens with a creak. They walk up the narrow staircase.
There is one door on this floor and she opens it without fear. The room is large and clean. A shelf lines one wall and is covered in trophies and memorabilia from books to model cars and everything in between. The wall opposite is made entirely of glass as though the man in behind the desk fears no assassins.
"Giran," she says to the seedy looking man in the purple suit.
"Agonist. And… a UA student." The man claps his hands together.
"Don't call me that," she snaps, and he sees a flush of embarrassment on her features.
The man, Giran, chuckles, waving in surrender. "Oh, how bold of you. Nabbing someone who placed third in the tournament. Money pays well."
Fumikage doesn't trust this man.
He seems too indifferent to the suffering. Perhaps even the sort to profit from it. If how clean his area of the city is, then he's running something massive. He hasn't seen villain activity, but sometimes villains aren't the worst things in a city. It might be trafficking or weapons smuggling or things that would make anyone sick to hear. That he has the audacity to accuse FUmikage is more insulting than anything else.
"Do not accuse me of—"
The man waves away his indignation with contempt. "Selling out? Boy, everyone has a price. It doesn't have to be money. It might be an ideal. A promise of protection. Maybe even a mutual interest." He shifts. "You're not good at hiding your emotions. What did you want from me? You wouldn't have brought him here without cause."
The woman from the imperial household, Agonist as she's supposedly called, places her hand on Fumikage's shoulders. "All the information you got from him. Consider that free and open in about a month."
"Oh. How delightful. I'm still not giving out information for free."
Fumikage grits his teeth. They're treating him like a prize, a creature to be viewed at its owner's leisure. As if his thoughts and ideas are unimportant.
Stay calm, Sark Shadow whispers. Watch.
Agonist and the broker Giran speak quickly, both blunt as a hammer. There isn't as much double-speak as he expects. No, there level of honesty between them is surprising. He does notice, however, that no matter what, Agonist always keeps herself between Tokoyami and where he expects Giran to keep a weapon beneath his desk.
She is teaching you her ways. The ways of this shadowed world. Learn from this and become a better king.
"One day you'll give me a better discount." Agonist removes her other hand from her hoodie, holding a hard currency chit. She flicks it through the air.
It lands on Giran's desk with a dull thud. "You target can be found on Nakajima. Force composition anywhere between sixteen to thirty."
"An abandoned island. Lovely." She squeezes his shoulder. "Nakajima it is. Let's go."
They leave, unharmed by the thugs outside. Not a single one says anything lewd to his surprise, and she leads him to a small apartment complex on the other side of town, almost abandoned but not quite. She shows him to a room, and he's surprised to see his hero costume on the bed.
"We'll rest overnight. Get some sleep. You'll need to be fresh for what comes."
The door closes, leaving Fumikage to his thoughts.
-TDB-
Izuku lays in bed, staring at the plain ceiling of the room he's been given to use by Gran Torino. It's nothing special, plain in a way that makes him appreciate his own much more. There isn't an ounce of character to the walls.
Being an All Might fanboy isn't characterisation, Mikumo says. You'd be a rather one-dimensional character if that was all there was to you.
"Are you fucking talking to me in tropes?"
Isn't that how you understand the world, brother mine? Isn't that the reason you kicked Shouto off a cliff? You hoped his story wasn't over and gambled his life on that idea. You gambled the life of someone you loved on a possible deus ex machina.
Izuku sits up. "You know what, shut up."
He rolls out of bed and throws on some shorts, glad he doesn't have to deal with an awkward boner this late at night. Or ever, now that he gives it any thought. It's been a long time since he last took care of business, months, perhaps.
The air outside is cold, frigid enough that his eyes water when he sticks his head out the window. After everything he's been through, it doesn't really phase him enough to put on more than a long-sleeved shirt.
He walks downstairs in the pitch dark, able to see perfectly. There's more than enough light in the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums for him to use and being in the dark makes no real difference to his eyesight.
"Where do you think you're going?"
He looks over his shoulder and sees Gran Torino at the top of the stairs, dressed in sleeping clothes. The man looks grumpy and surly and thankfully not trying his absurd addled old man act.
"Taking a walk," Izuku says with a smile. "Can't sleep."
The old man scoffs. "Training still starts at dawn."
"I'll be up."
The town is quiet tonight which is exactly what he needs. He picks a direction and walks aimlessly, not putting much thought into. Hopefully, he can find his way back without being lost. He sends a few messages to his friends, the standard stuff that doesn't mean much but somehow means so much. It wasn't that long ago that the only friend he had was Shinsou. Now, it's almost dizzying how many people he knows and can call on at any time without worry of being turned away.
Fumikage's response worries him mildly because he can read between the lines that his friend is about to do something stupid.
"You'll tell me if you need help, right?" Izuku asks during their call.
His friend huffs. "Yes, but I believe this is important. There are things I need to learn. I'll keep your advice in mind."
"The good advice?"
"I suppose so. Go to sleep, Izuku. We'll speak again."
The call ends. Izuku sighs. He knows that tone of voice. It's the same tone he himself used when he first explored the abyss. Maybe something amazing can be found at the end of that journey, but he's walked it first-hand and know that it is sorrow's road.
Still, Fumikage knows a lot more and is better prepared than either Izuku or Shouto were at the beginning.
He finds himself in a park, brightly lit by street lights. He shrugs and finds a railing to walk on, balancing on the balls of his feet until he needs to jump to the next section, always landing on one foot. Could he sprint this easily? Yes, but this is also a training exercise. Sometimes doing things slowly with supreme grace and control is more valuable than speeding through it. Do you know the way your muscles twitch and betray your balance when you take a step that lasts a minute?
When he has reached the end, he tips forward and flips midway, landing easily. He's hardly got his bearings when he's forced to sidestep aside.
Izuku glances at what seems to be a man sliding on the floor.
"You should watch where you're going," he says calmly as the man slows and rolls forward, turning his forward momentum into a purely vertical jump. It's a simple way to stop, one that Izuku will try out later in his training session with Gran Torino.
"You could have hit someone," he continues, because not everyone is as agile as he is. "This city's filled with old people."
"Sorry about that," the man says, turning fully. "I'll make sure—"
"Is that the limited edition All Might hoodie from last year," Izuku says, cutting him off and closing the distance in an instant.
The man stumbles back, startled, and Izuku sees it's someone not much older than he is. Young twenties at most and rather plain looking.
"Um, yeah," the stranger says. "Not a lot of people know about it. A lucky catch, really."
Izuku isn't really paying attention to that. He's more interested in the scuff marks on the hoodie, more interested in how it looks to be falling apart at the seams. And, oh fuck, the colours are faded.
"What did you do to this?" he asks in horror, because this, this right here is a genuine abomination against humanity this likes of which he can't even imagine.
Are you being serious? Mikumo asks. You are. I can't believe you're—
"I mean, I like wearing it."
"To what? a fight?" The stranger tenses. "You do. You monster. What are you, a vigilante or something… oh, that explains a lot."
The man takes a few steps back. "Okay, look, I did not admit to anything, you hear."
Izuku shrugs. "I'm not gonna call the police on you. They've got more important things to deal with."
"Thanks. Don't need to deal with that right now." The man cocks his head. "Wait, you're the kid from the Sports Festival."
Izuku shrugs. "I guess. And you are?"
"Crawler."
"Izuku Midoriya," he says politely. "Nice to meet you."
"You seem like a good guy," Crawler says. "We'll be looking out for you."
"Thanks?" He blinks. "Who's we?"
"All of us."
And then the vigilante is gone.
-TDB-
Kurogiri, the right hand to the strongest man alive, is annoyed. Partly with his master but mostly with the maniac he is forced to work with. Stain is violent, ferocious, and uncontrollable, with no sense of authority or organisation. Exactly the sort of person Kurogiri loathes working with.
A large portion of that frustration is because he has no idea what Tomura is doing right now, or how likely he is to accidentally fuck up one of Kurogiri's plans.
"Three targets that fit your criteria," Kurogiri says to the newly christened hero-killer. "I'll warp you behind them. Eliminate them and we retreat."
Stain scoffs. "They aren't worth anything. These are sidekicks barely out of school. They don't control anything. Killing them doesn't attack the main players of the system."
I hate people who overestimate their strength, Kurogiri thinks, glad no one can read his emotions. Stain isn't powerful by any stretch, and Kurogiri knows it would take him all of three seconds to kill the fool.
"Would you prefer to do this alone?" Kurogiri asks calmly, tired of Stain's rabid ideology.
He opens a portal and gestures to it. Stain glares at him before walking through the portal.
Kurogiri follows, the version of him inside the warp gate protecting Stain from the influence of the monsters watching them indifferently. Stain doesn't notice the green bolt of lightning he grabs to shatter reality on the other side. He also never notices how the universe resolves the paradox of three Kurogiri's, collapsing two of them, and leaving the one who walks outside with Stain.
He's highly skilled in traditional combat, Kurogiri thinks, watching Stain kill two heroes easily, and hardly struggling with the third. The moment they are done, Kurogiri warps them outside the city and bids the hero killer farewell before he can go on another rant.
There are other things he must attend to this day, as he does most days. His time in the bar is usually the only time he can relax fully. And, ever since the Sports Festival, the League has been busier than ever. Tomura's acts had ramifications well beyond merely antagonising UA.
All debts must be paid.
It is why he once again dons a white uniform with a chrysanthemum in full view, hating every moment of this humiliation. It won't be the last time he's forced to work with them. All this because of Tomura's insistence that the explosives be more dangerous than they were before. And now, Kurogiri has sold his time and quirk to keep the peace.
He meets with the Royal Guardsman on a hill overlooking Hakodate. The man smokes a cigarette and leans against a tree, talking to someone on the phone.
"You're certain you don't need help with him?" the man asks, unaware, or perhaps indifferent, to Kurogiri. "Kid's new. Might as well… Eh, I guess teenagers think with their dicks more than their head. Just be gentle with him. He sounds fragile. And honest. I think he might appreciate that. Just tell him the truth all the time."
The man slips his phone away, looking up finally. He nods.
"Kurogiri," he greets, extinguishing his cigarette. He throws it away and brushes a leaf off his perfect white uniform.
Kurogiri inclines his head. "Guardsman Ryujin. Let's get this over with."
He opens a warp gate.
"Aren't you happy to work with us again? We all missed you."
Kurogiri stays silent.
Together, they warp to Djibouti. They land right in the middle of China's military base overlooking the Bab al-Mandab Strait, grown and expanded tremendously since its inception. Numbering over twenty thousand in personnel, it once served as China's major force projection against Warlords in that part of the world.
In the modern era, it has been used as a staging ground for China's force projection in the region and a point of contention after they took the JSDF base located in the country almost a century ago. A retaliation, of sorts, one that hasn't been paid back.
Until now. Today it will serve as a measure of the Emperor's displeasure. This isn't the first time an Emperor has sent his Guard as a show of force nor will it be the last.
The response time is admirable, all things considered. A base-wide alarm goes off within five seconds. Within the next few, there are bullets headed their way and soldiers with quirks approach.
Much too slow, Kurogiri thinks.
He feels the weight of power before he tastes ozone. The air seems to shimmer as Ryujin brings forth his power.
The bullets stop mid-air as the magnetic field forms. The Guardsman raises one arm, and Kurogiri shivers as the power in the air intensifies. Then, when his hand reaches the highest point, it happens.
It begins with a spark, a tiny flash in the air. That one spark births thousands more, arcing from bullet to bullet to metal pole to gun to metal buttons. He shivers as the air thickens and it becomes harder for the gases in his body to move.
And then, without preamble, the lightning comes. The world is suddenly drenched in bright flashes of lightning raining down from the sky, a sudden and violent elemental shower, raw power and annihilation at the whims of one man.
The lightning freezes, solid in a way that should be impossible.
The Guardsman reaches out, almost to grab the lightning with both hands. Then he spreads them wide. The frozen lightning bolts expand, rushing outward in a circular pattern as they consume anything and everyone. It is a wave of electric death orchestrated by one man, unyielding and uncaring of the death and destruction caused.
It takes a while for sound to return and for his vision to clear out. And when it does, he sees the crater surrounding them. They stand on a pillar of unblemished land where, for hundreds of metres, there is pure destruction.
"Do you think they'll finally get the message to leave Japan alone?" Ryujin asks, a cigarette in hand.
"I doubt it," Kurogiri admits. "They've always been stubborn and seen us as a tiny island of savages."
The Guardsman chuckles, lighting his cigarette with a spark of lightning. "True. They never seem to figure out Japan hasn't been invaded for a reason."
Kurogiri scans the horizon and can make out a few buildings still intact. The endless blue see calls out to him, peaceful and vibrant in the bright sun, and altogether indifferent of the carnage and devastation wrought this day. None of the people alive is foolish enough to continue this fight. No, calling it a fight implies there was a challenge in the first place.
"Death is the name of our trade and destruction our means of influence," Kurogiri says after a beat. "I wonder how many people realise the wars from the Second Dark Age never really stopped? They just became less overt."
"Not many. The idea of one person being able to do this is impossible for some people to conceptualise. What happened here will be called a catastrophic weapons malfunction. Even after All For One destroyed Tianjin with his quirk and ended the Third Sino-Japan War, they called it an act of unparalleled terrorism."
"The first of his Reprisal Wars." Kurogiri accepts the offered cigarette. "A warning, perhaps, not to antagonise the strongest man alive or his subordinates."
It has been a long time since he smoked last. There was a time after the death of his family, but before Tomura that he had taken on every bad habit he could. Not that he has lungs to destroy or receptors to feed the addiction. But the motion of it, of lighting a cigarette and smoking had been soothing in a way.
"Then maybe don't get our people killed, Kurogiri. You know our rules. Leave us and ours alone and we'll always extend the same courtesy. Attack us as you did, and we'll activate a kill order on Tomura." The man smiles. "Your family has always been your greatest weakness."
Kurogiri flicks the cigarette away in disgust. "I think we're done here."
"Are we? I don't think a person is ever really done with us. You wore our uniform and burnt your bridges. Now you're here, wearing the same uniform again and rebuilding those bridges."
It takes all his willpower not to open a warp gate and decapitate the man. Instead, he opens a portal and nods his towards it. Ryujin rolls his eyes and walks through.
They arrive in Japan in a single moment.
"A word of advice," the man says before Kurogiri can leave. "I know you hate the Yakuza, so I'll tell you there's no point in making contingency plans for their new leader. All Might is on their trail."
Kurogiri closes his eyes.
The idea that All Might is helping him sends a wave of revulsion down his spine. And yet, it means one of his enemies will die. It is, very easily, an evil he can swallow. In time, All Might will die. And, if in the process, he deals with Kurogiri's other enemies, then he can push down his anger.
On his way back, he finds a bin and throws the uniform in it. He sets it alight, watching it burn to ashes like his hopes for a family, and returns to his normal attire.
He returns to the cafe to check on Tomura. The boy is engrossed in a stack of paperwork and Kurogiri is surprised enough that he nearly stumbles.
"What?" his ward snaps, looking up from the desk. His eyes are bloodshot, but that's nothing new.
"What are you reading?"
"Threat reports and mission logs. I need to know how the League is run to inherit it. Not all of us can spend the day relaxing."
Kurogiri cocks his head, deeply amused. "It's good to see you taking a greater interest in things."
"I want an honest answer. Who are the villains loyal to?"
"You and Sensei," he says automatically.
"No, I think you're loyal to us. But who do they call when they have a problem? Who do they report to?"
He thinks of the informant in prison right after the Sports Festival, the man begging and pleading to be spared because he was loyal to Kurogiri. Not Sensei, and not Tomura.
"Me," he answers hesitantly.
Tomura chuckles. "Kurogiri, the perfect fucking guild master. Of course, my League is loyal to you. Get the fuck out."
Kurogiri doesn't sigh but it is a close thing. No matter how hard he tries, it always seems Tomura has another reason to be upset with him. He leaves without a word and appears before Sensei.
He nods in greeting to the Strongest Man Alive. His master is observing a screen with a string of text running across it. It makes no sense until Kurogiri uses the cypher. The message tells the story of a world ready to light on fire with one wrong move. Canada's Hero Association have been at an unprecedented level of alert, constantly skirmishing with the Vancouver Island Villain Association. There's something about Brazil and the Titanites that passes by too quick for him to read.
What does please him is the notification that the police really are looking at the Yakuza and that All Might is part of the job.
Sensei waves his hand and the screen dies. His master turns to look at him, nodding in acknowledgement.
"Of all my subordinates, you have never once knelt to me. Do you know that?"
"I knelt to the Emperor and begged his forgiveness, but I am not loyal to him."
"Is that bitterness I hear. I take it the job left you upset. Is there anything of note I should be aware of?"
"China may send a retaliation strike against Japan."
All For One waves his concern away. "Please, give me a tiny bit of credit. I deal with those every few years. They won't send any of their Great Ten just to die. It would leave them much too vulnerable against Russia or whoever else they've pissed off recently."
He startles at the crass language Sensei employs. He is respectful and polite to all his enemies. That he can't extend that same courtesy now is telling of his contempt.
"What do you think of Stain?" Sensei asks without preamble.
"Highly skilled given his limited physical abilities. His quirk gives him an incredible advantage against most close-range combatants, and he has built his fighting style around it."
"All true. Yet I asked what you thought of him, not for his threat assessment."
"I… see. He is a fanatic driven fever mad by his ideology. It is completely ridiculous, but it makes him predictable."
"People flock to those with strong ideals. I sincerely hope Tomura learns that lesson well from Stain. It is rare to find someone of such strong convictions."
Sensei extends his hand and the wind in the room suddenly picks up. Kurogiri watches as the plain wooden chair in the room floats, carried on currents of wind.
Sensei sits gingerly in the chair. He has a man of raw power and possesses an enormous presence simmering below the surface. And yet, sometimes, he seems like a normal old man of purely normal strength.
It makes Kurogiri wonder how much of it is honest, and how much that honesty is simply another manipulation.
"That wind quirk," he says instead. "I've never seen it before."
"Oh, you have. Aizawa's student you used, Nagisa, had a classmate with this power. Truly a shame that he let her powers go."
Kurogiri tilts his head. "That would make her a child. You hate recruiting children."
"I never tried to. I found the girl broken and overdosed on a drug her friend sold. I healed her and ensured her safety. And when she begged for me to take away the quirk that represented everything she lost, I did so."
"To use her."
"I would have wanted a psychological weapon against UA when she was well but Nagisa did the job just as well. He struck at the very foundation of Aizawa and Nezu's teaching philosophies."
"Her quirk was powerful if remember correctly."
"Very much so. Anyone with it could become… perhaps not as powerful as Stormwind, but perhaps something memorable as well."
"That seems wasteful. To use her like that when she could reign destruction."
"Perhaps. People are not pieces on a board. Powerful yes, but I would not take away her free will."
"You took her quirk," Kurogiri says in confusion. "You used her purely for the utility of her quirk."
"Because she was broken utterly and completely. Her mind will never heal. Better to use the quirk then let all her power fade away. I had at one point intended to give it to Tomura."
"What stopped you?"
"It would have forced him into a mould. He is never to battle on the frontlines. He needs to be a leader, a strategist. Someone who organises, not someone who punches the biggest enemy. Giving him that quirk would be to destroy him of all potential."
"So, you'll use it to battle All Might?"
"Perhaps. But I hope to find a successor worthy of this power. It is a power that would make Stormwind proud."
"You have other candidates?"
"Of course. At one point you were one, though you have little interest in that role. Gigantomachia who represents the strength of body. It would be wasted on him. He is too simple and brutal in many regards. Tomura whose strength of will shall be crushed if I force the oppressive weight of this quirk on him. All that remains is someone to teach Tomura strength of mind. Take a guess, won't you."
"Nezu perhaps."
"No. That wouldn't allow Tomura any room to grow. One does not simply scale Everest before climbing a hill."
"Hisashi?"
"Close. His son."
"You want Midoriya to teach him strength of mind? You realise he's a monster." Sensei merely nods, indifferent. "Why are you so certain he'll be adequate to the task? Or even that he'll move as you please?"
"I've told you before that people are not pieces on a board."
"You applied that to our allies. You said nothing of our enemies."
Sensei leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looks so incongruous in that simple chair, nothing menacing or powerful about him today. Well-dressed in a dark suit, but that's a given.
"I suppose I did not." He chuckles. "An oversight but one I will allow. Your willingness to call me out is far more important than blind obedience. I do not move young Midoriya. There is little point. He is Hisashi's son."
Sensei says it as if that is all the answer in the world. And in a way it is. But with Sensei, it is never that simple.
"Hisashi isn't a man of conviction," he spits in annoyance. "He has neither loyalty nor discipline."
"Your hate towards the man is always a joy to witness. And he is neither. But he is cunning and conniving. He scurries in the dark and rarely stands in the light. In anyone else, I would call it fear. But not in Hisashi. Why?"
"He is powerful, I suppose. Highly mobile. Connected."
"He is all those things, yes. He has learnt to leverage his abilities, to lessen his weaknesses and magnify his strengths. That is pure intelligence. It was he who brokered the current accord between me and the emperor. Hisashi manipulated both I and the Emperor during Shikoku. We danced to his tune out of necessity. Anyone else, I would have killed. But he furthered my interests and solidified the Emperor's foothold in the army. A man who uses you but gives you your treasure is not one to kill."
"You admire him?"
"I find his struggles admirable. He isn't a magnate or a titan, yet he holds in check a man who can split a country in half and the strongest man alive. And he does so by leveraging his greatest asset."
Sensei is waiting for him to ask. This is a performance as much as it is a time to learn.
"Which is?"
"His reputation. A man who could fight off the Royal Guard or decapitate the League of Villains is to be feared. The possibility of him working for either against the other ensures his security and authority. If his son has inherited even half of that intelligence, then he will be a formidable foe once he grows. Sometimes, your enemy is your greatest teacher."
-TDB-
Fumikage Tokoyami is ready for the day, invigorated by the trust his closest friend has in him. The morning sun is almost blinding, reflected over the calm waters.
His companion seems to not notice it. In fact, she seems calmer and more present in the bright light. The edges of her seem to waver in the bright light, and it makes him wonder exactly what her quirk is.
They stand overlooking the marina as the boat is prepped to take them to their destination. It gives him a good sight of the area surrounding the pier. It's a bit out of the way but has a place for the helicopter.
"Why is there so much suffering here?" Fumikage asks, watching a group of three smash the window of a car in the distance.
He wants to head over and stop them, but after seeing the murky underbelly of this city, he's become slightly indifferent to it. That, and he's hesitant to start a something when they're about to leave. The sun is setting, and strong emotions like that will give Dark Shadow an opening to influence him.
Agonist pulls her hoodie off. It pulls her shirt up and Fumikage looks away before he can see more than a glimpse of tightly corded muscle.
You prude, Dark Shadow admonishes, sounding disappointed. A sudden bout of desire grips him to turn. Fumikage inhales slowly, mastering Dark Shadow's influence.
You're no fun.
"Have you ever gone travelling?"
He doesn't turn back even though it sounds as though she has worn her clothes. To do so will give Dark Shadow an opening.
"I've visited Tokyo before."
"So, a no basically. Mustafu is the seat of UA. There are more hero agencies per square kilometre there than any other city. And all of them are UA alumni. What does that tell you?"
She walks into view, a white coat over her underclothes. It has the crest of the Chrysanthemum Dynasty on the breast pocket, but other than that it looks very normal.
"That people like to return home." He looks away from the plunge of her breasts and focuses on the window.
"There are… agreements made by the powerful, accords that define lines of authority and territory. Mustafu, in practice, belongs to UA, not the government or the crown. Look at every position of power and you'll find they graduated from UA's other courses."
He frowns. "I've never noticed that."
"Because you've never seen the real battles. Fighting against villains isn't important. Fight against the organisations importing drugs and weapons, support education and reform programs, and you clean up the streets better than arresting some petty crook. Mustafu has that support as do places like Tokyo. Nezu's quest for control has brought a lot of good to the capital region, and even much of Japan. His intelligence and ability to make complex plans make him a nightmare to deal with. It's why the accords limit the scope of his personnel. You'd have just been another piece in that machine. Another ignorant fool." She smiles, honest in her insult. "No one gives a shit about Hokkaido."
"They're our people."
She shrugs. "The Crown considers Hokkaido a security threat as it rightfully is. The government sees it as a drain on resources. They have no value."
He clenches his fists together, anger building. She says this so casually as though millions of people aren't suffering.
Think. Ask the smart question.
"Why? What conceivable reason is there to abandon our fellow countrymen?"
"The anti-quirk riots started here. They're the ones who made up most of the militia that attacked the palace. Tell me a few demographic facts about Hokkaido?"
He narrows his eyes, knowing the answer after a night or research.
"Highest percentage of mutant quirks. The highest incarceration rate in Japan. What else is there?"
"They may have the highest percentage of mutant quirks, but they also have the highest percentage of quirkless people. If quirks are a form of power, and wealth inevitably goes to the powerful, what would happen to a place like Hokkaido?"
"It would be abandoned," he says softly, disquieted.
She smiles and this one feels sincere. "The economy was based around tourism and agriculture. When the dark age rolled around, no one wanted to visit and their economy suffered. The villain Ashfall turned half their arable farmland to dry saltpans. There were only so many resources to go around, and the rebuilding efforts went to Kyushu. And once Hokkaido slipped too far, it was ignored. Those with powerful quirks were incentivised to go to other regions through marriage, scholarships, the military and positions in private organisations. It's a positive feedback cycle at its worst. People are arrested without trial here constantly. The prisons are giant labour camps. Law and order are kept by those with power."
Something twists in his gut and makes him feel ill with anger and sadness. "How does it benefit you to let these many people suffer? We're here fighting this secret war because you stood by and did nothing."
"Is that what you think?" She takes a step toward him. "You think this happens because of poverty and disenfranchisement?"
"Yes."
She takes another step. "Then you're a fool. Hokkaido has the lowest number of abyssal incidents. It is the wealthy and powerful, those who think they can experiment with forces beyond their knowledge that dabble in the abyss. It is them we have to worry about."
"That's still no excuse."
She bares her teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Come with me and see the war."
They take the boat to Nakajima when night falls.
The ride is slow and Fumikage gets the chance to watch the six people she's bringing along. One pilots the boat whilst the other five talk amongst themselves, laughing at a story one tells. He doesn't expect that kind of levity from people all in imperial white.
Agonist watches the group from a corner of the boat, smiling gently. No matter how close they get to the island, the warmth in her gaze never lessens.
The engine cuts off a few hundred metres from the island and they drift on the momentum they have built up. One of the group jumps out when there's about a hundred metres left, a thick rope coiled around his waist. Fumikage watches him swim toward the shore, pulling the boat along.
Once on the ground, he plants his feet in the earth and starts pulling. Fumikage simply stares as the boat is dragged by the force of one man. And absolutely no one looks at it oddly. It does, however, have the advantage of letting them moor in silence.
Nakajima is an abandoned island. He knows that intellectually. Seeing the undisturbed forest still throws him just slightly. There is nature in Mustafu, but it's the sort that has been intentionally preserved. It isn't this untangled mess that plainly looks ugly in how the trees aren't exactly placed to give the illusion of wilderness.
He loves it.
"The location is west," Agonist says to him and the six people with them. "Standard formation."
They split off into groups of two. He heads to what he thinks is west and gets about ten metres before Agonist pulls him back.
"I said west," she says and pulls him like a child in that direction.
The move quietly, the two of them further back than the rest. She splits off soon after, urging him forward silently. After a few minutes, he starts wondering if maybe they're all being paranoid.
He crests a hill and comes face to face with a man in dark garb. There is a moment where the two of them stare at each other in shock.
Then, Dark Shadow, he commands.
The demon leaps forward and wraps around the man before he can raise his long knife. Dark Shadow continues forward and slams the man into a tree. Then, it brings the man up and slams him down. Then again.
"Decent reflexes for a student."
He looks right and ahead. Agonist leans against a tree, another body at her feet. The person is dressed in the same dark robes as the one Dark Shadow defeated.
Dark Shadow returns with an object in hand. It's the knife the man had. And the more he looks the more he is certain that it is from the abyss. There are red stains on it. Human blood, he realises and feels a wave of revulsion.
The revulsion vanishes very suddenly. Close your heart to the pain.
She plucks the blade from his hand gently and tucks it beneath her coat. "Don't ask focus on it. Ask questions later and mourn when they're safe. Understood?"
With a nod, he sets off again.
This time, she stays near him as they walk through the island. It is no problem seeing the path in the darkness as it may as well be daytime to him. The thick roots are easy to avoid and the tree branches simple to duck beneath.
What he notices most is the absolute dearth of animal life no matter how far they go. Not a single bird or squirrel. It seems like even the insects have fled the deeper they go.
She pulls him back before he can walk past the tree cover towards the large tarp. She points over his shoulder and he sees two of her allies approaching silently from another direction. He can barely make out the second group and assumes the third is nearby.
"It'll be too chaotic for you to follow," she whispers in his ear, her breath sending a shudder through his body.
The three teams move inside and he waits anxiously, grounded only by the too warm hand on his shoulder.
It takes a long few seconds before he notices any signs of activity. He sees flashes of muzzle fire and hears screams and shouts. It lasts maybe half a minute. Then, silence falls.
He follows behind Agonist as they enter the tent.
The blood is the first thing he sees. Deep lines and streaks of red cover the floor. He follows it past the cultists—unconscious by the rise and fall of their chests—and towards the body on a table.
It is a child, perhaps eight years old with short hair. There are chains binding the child's arm to the concrete slab and they are dry with blood. In the child's chest is a knife, pulsating darkly.
Breathe, Dark Shadow commands and the all-consuming emotions disappear. His lungs restart and he inhales the coppery air.
Just in time for the world to shatter.
The wave of force is sudden and sends him flying back. The force is strong enough that he goes through the tarp and would land hard on the ground if not for Dark Shadow catching him.
He rises to his fist just in time to see the column of crystal where the stone slab should have been. It has the same maddening sheen as when Midoriya died. And just like then, it breaks apart to reveal something beyond human.
The creature is not a human child any longer. It drips darkness and has eyes of crystal. Every jerky motion of its too long tipped in claws that casually rip time make him ill. The creature screams, and it is at once the shrill sound of a child in agony and a dirge of endless suffering propagated constantly throughout the universe, an act of hate and malevolence so insidious that the air around the creature rots.
Long tendrils of black fluid fall down the sky like oil on glass, glistening with infection and madness. The fluid flows back to the child and he watches its body contort, shifting through a dozen realities as something from the depths of the abyss wears the child's skin like a fine coat, supple and ready to be corrupted.
There are splotches and bumps on its skin, and he knows that should they burst, they will unleash a disease that will spread through the island, infecting it with unreal logic. That disease will spread endlessly until the oceans run red and the final humans are hunted down by creatures that defy all logic.
The creature shifts its crystalline eyes away from Fumikage and to the side where one of Agonist's allies is only now just getting to his feet.
In the blink of an eye, the creature has crossed the distance, leaving a trail of broken time in its wake dangling like shards of glass floating in the air.
In another blink, it stands above a dismembered corpse given no chance to react.
In a third blink, blood from the corpse has risen and surrounded the creature. The blood shines bright with abyssal power as it hardens, solidifying to a second skin.
It turns its attention to Fumikage. He feels terror grip him, the same terror when he saw the monstrosities of the abyss.
He has no chance to react before it is upon him. Time seems to slow as the blood around what counts as its arms extend, becoming claws to rend demigods.
Dark Shadow, though, is not possessed of mortal reactions.
The demon surrounds Fumikage in its form just as the claws hit. Instead of slicing him in half, the claws rebound off the diamond-hard second skin he now possesses.
He watches the creature warily. Then realises that it is neither near him nor the corpse. No, it is in its original place above the slab, looking to not have moved once.
How? He wonders, not understanding.
The cultists that Agonist's teams neutralised are on the floor, unconscious. The creature hasn't looked to them or made any motions to attack the defenceless people.
And yet, at the same time, the cultists are dead. That's a fact if the suddenly ripped limbs and blood splatters are anything to go by.
But it looks like it hasn't moved. Looks like it has barely processed his presence. The people are on the ground, alive, yet dead.
It turns its attention to Fumikage once more. For some reason, he has a sudden sense of déjà vu, as though they're replaying events that must forever happen in a casual loop.
And then it attacks him exactly as it did moments ago. This time he can see the claws and how they're no longer red but a rainbow with colours far outside visual range. It makes a sound like a thousand angry crickets and a howling child bleeding out alone and terrified.
It strikes him exactly as it did before. Its claws hit the same spot and rebound with the exact same sound.
Then it is back in its original spot.
And yet, if he looks hard enough, he can see the… afterimages of the creature as it kills two more of Agonist's people. There are more mirror images standing atop dead corpses, blood being used to create a second skin.
That is a shadow of its future intent. But for a creature like this, future and present are relative.
Those mirror images, those representations of its future, suddenly solidify. He's looking not at one creature, but at eight. He knows in his bones that these are its offspring, all as dangerous as the first and that they will continue propagating forever.
Eight pairs of crystal eyes shift and stare at him. They burn with unholy fire, an effervescent light that perverts the concept of light itself. These creatures, father and children, are so far removed from godflame that he can feel the world itself scream in revulsion at their presence.
They move in unison, and he sees it, sees the vision of the universe they wish to create. One where everything is the same, where this creature and a trillion trillion clones rule over life and light and destroy as they please, spreading their infection everywhere.
He forces himself ready as Dark Shadow awakens fully, leaning protectively over Fumikage. In the depths of his soul, he feels his dragon awaken at the threat.
A blast of bright light incinerates one of the creatures. Agonist steps into the open, her fists bright as floodlights from the power of her quirk. The light banishes the darkness and Dark Shadow shrinks, weakened by the blinding light.
She smiles at Fumikage despite the deaths around her. There is no fear, no interest in these creatures all suddenly converging on her.
"Let me show you my power."
Her form seems to break, and she becomes light itself, bright and blinding and beautiful. The light is pure white and radiant. She takes a step forward and her form makes a sound like wind chimes, so gentle and incongruous in this place of death and endless mutation.
She is humanity perfected, a bright light to walk towards. So long as he stands within her light, no harm can come to him. Her light is a promise to banish the dark, to wage war against it endlessly until only light remains.
In another moment there are beams of light attacking the creatures, dozens of beams until they fill the clearing. Some miss and they tear apart the ground and the trees and any stones in the way. The beams leave scorched trenches in their wake.
He watches them burn in the light of her quirk as it tears through the second skin of diamond blood as though it may as well be paper. A trail of light is all he sees as she fights the creatures in both the present and their relative future.
He can't track her movements, can't tell the difference between a beam of hardlight and her simply weaving through the clearing. All he knows is that she battles ferociously. The creatures send waves of something like frozen time but light annihilates them. They summon forth a mist of impenetrable darkness that decays the trees and soil, blackening them.
She simply fills the clearing with so much light that Fumikage's eyes feel like they're burning, an incandescent halo of benevolence and fury, marked only by the sound of wind chimes. He doesn't know what's happening, only that he is helpless.
The light vanishes, and she stands beside him very suddenly, not a hair out of place. The creatures are… dead, perhaps, is the best word for they no longer exist. The ground where they were is scorched black with heat and there are pools of burning hardlight.
Only two of Agonist's original teammates remain untainted. Both are dead, scarlet flowing through their shredded torsos. He can see bone and organs and smells piss and shit in the air.
Fumikage turns to the side, sick. His stomach churns and his chest heaves as he expels the contents of his stomach.
"Hey, you'll get used to this."
He's seen monsters in the abyss and cruelty first hand. But he's never seen death quite like this. Yes, he saw corpses at the Sports Festival. But he hadn't seen them die first hand by a monster.
"I don't want to become that person" he whispers, clenching his eyes shut.
She kneels beside him.
"No one does. But only a few have the strength to fight this war. Do you think it's an excuse now? Do you think we left Hokkaido out of cruelty or out of pragmatism?"
What did MIdoriya say to you? Sometimes the void contaminates the real world and you must burn away the infection.
"You've made your point. Just. Stop."
"Okay. I know it's hard. But weakness means death here." She places her hand on his shoulder. It is a warm anchor, a reminder of life itself.
It grounds him enough to stand once more. His hands shake just like they did at the Sports Festival. And that sends him spiralling back to being trapped under rubble, scared and terrified of being crushed under rubble and his lungs stop working once more and—
Calm yourself, Dark Shadow orders and the feeling disappear. You must not feel for those lost. You must protect those who still live.
He inhales, fists clenched so hard his knuckles hurt. But the pain in his heart vanishes and he can stare at the destruction dispassionately.
"Can you function?"
Agonist is watching him. Her gaze holds neither judgement nor sympathy. It is simply a query for information.
That is infinitely better than pity. "Yes."
"That fear you feel is a reminder that you are alive. Understand?" She waits until Fumikage nods. "Good."
You burnt them in your light, Dark Shadow says aloud, materialising in the real world. How?
"An application of natural laws," she says, walking towards the altar. "Moving faster than light is, in practice, a form of time travel."
She picks up the knife that had once resided in a child's chest. The creature it had become is gone, not a single trace of its infinitely propagating nature remaining.
The knife has rainbow blood. In a flash of light, it is cleansed of all influence from the realm of shadows and nightmares.
"I move at the speed of light naturally because of my quirk," she says carelessly, as though the fact is unimportant. "The influence of the abyss lets me move just a bit faster. Enough that I could face it both now in the present, and in the near-future which it tried to escape to."
"Not even All Might could battle that," he whispers.
Her grin is sharp. "You have more confidence in the outcome of that fight than I do. Now you must make a choice. Will you continue to hide in ignorance? Or will you choose to battle the shadows?"
He looks at the corpses and knows the answer.
He looks at the knife, cleansed of its abyssal influence and knows the answer.
He looks at the slab a child was sacrificed on, screaming to be saved and finding no salvation in the cruel world, and knows the answer.
"You knew I would be unable to stay away if I saw," he says bitterly.
"Yes. I manipulated you." She extends her hand, the one without the knife. "I am Izanami of the Royal Guard. It is my mandate to battle the abyss and burn the darkness in my light till my dying breath."
"Why did he call you Agonist if that is your name?"
Her left eye twitches and she continues as if she never heard him say that, "But my true name is Maya Yotsuba. Only those of the imperial household can call me that."
Fumikage hates every fibre of his being as he takes it.
"Welcome to the household. You've made a great choice" She pulls him away from the blood and death. "Come, let's get you home. I must perform burial rites for them. And it is not your time to witness them."
She stays close to him all the way back to the shore, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. It makes it easier to ignore what he has seen with her nearby. Her very presence is a reminder of life and its beauty for she is a testament to it.
They stop at the boat.
"I don't know how to pilot a boat."
He stares at her. "Neither do I."
"Well, I guess we can just wait until our helicopter pilot comes to look for us."
"How long will that take."
She looks at her watch. "About another two hours."
Fumikage doesn't want to be anywhere near here for another minute more.
"This is ridiculous. How can you not operate a boat?"
"Same way I can't drive. Look, I move close to light speed. I only use these things for you people."
"That's… a salient point." He can't argue with that, not when lightspeed is magnitudes faster than anything man-made.
He closes his eyes and reaches for the chains that make up his soul. One is attached to Dark Shadow. It is the older and larger of the two. The second one, though, is known to him just as well if not the creature on the other side.
Wake up.
The dragon rises from its slumber in the depths of his soul. It rises at his command. At the barrier between soul and real, it hesitates until he tugs on the chain binding it to his will. In the real world, a pit of darkness swirls in his chest.
The creature emerges head-first, long snout and smouldering purple eyes, the same colour as its new fire. Its neck is scaly and thick with muscle just like the shoulders from which the wings spread out. It scratches clean through the stone with its hind legs as it emerges. Finally comes the tail that wraps around Fumikage's body loosely, a possessive action is ever he's seen it.
Fumikage rests his hand on its side, feeling the scales hard as diamond. The dragon rumbles deeply in pleasure. It curls its neck around to look at him, snake-like tongue tasting the air. It observed him just as he does it.
"Magnificent," Agonist, Maya, Izanami, or whatever her name truly is, says in awe.
The dragon—and he will name it but saying 'my dragon' sounds infinitely cooler to Fumikage—gives off a wave of displeasure at the interruption through the bond they share. It shifts so that more of its body is between Fumikage and Agonist.
"It was smaller at the hospital," she says. "Can you control its size?"
Her voice makes the dragon rumble, a sound so low a normal human wouldn't hear. But Fumikage can feel it through the scales, the warning, the threat of violence. He tugs on the bond and forces it to calm down.
"Yes." He pulls at the bond to draw its attention. "We need a ride across the lake."
It looks at Fumikage. Then Agonist who is indifferent. Then to Fumikage again.
"Don't worry about me," Agonist says before he must compel its obedience. "I just needed to get you across."
"Right."
The dragon lowers its head in what may be a bow of supplication. He grabs a bone spur and uses it to hoist himself over. The scales aren't as uncomfortable as he expects though he wouldn't want to try this for a long period of time.
It raises its head. Fumikage grabs the bone spurs on both sides for support, settling in comfortably.
"Go straight to the helicopter. It'll take you home."
Fumikage nods and raises his hand in a wave. He wishes he had a sword, preferably one shining or burning with fire, as the dragon beats its wings.
In the real, it is forced to obey the laws of gravity and aerodynamics to an extent. It can't simply reach max speed in a single beat as it could in the abyss, and he very much doubts it can exceed more than the speed of sound. So, it is forced to beat its wings a few times to rise through the air. The gusts of wind generated uproot loose earth and dust.
With one final beat, it ascends. It flies as a leisurely pace. For a moment, Fumikage is tempted to take a picture. Then he remembers just why he needs to ride a dragon and his mood sours.
Be glad I hold back your emotions, Dark Shadow says.
The dragon beneath him rumbles in warning. He feels Dark Shadow metaphorically roll its eyes at the threat but the demon retreats further into his soul.
He inhales the cold air as the dragon flies lazily. Both scale and hide of the dragon are a deep black, darker even than his light-absorbing jacket. It circles the island, skimming close to the water. It ascends suddenly, corkscrewing, before closing its wings.
His stomach plunges as they fall. Only his grip on the bone spurs stop him from falling off, and he hangs on tightly, dangling in the air. It opens its wings, arresting its momentum.
The sudden stop slams Fumikage back in place. It hurts mildly. Mostly, though, he laughs freely.
They fly past the pier and the dragon sets down out of sight. He dismounts the dragon and brushes his hand against its long jaw.
It nudges him forward gently, a sign of its affection, purple eyes bright.
/Let my wings feel the currents of this world, my king/
He chuckles, its kindness a reassurance after what he has seen. And infinitely surprising when he thinks of the cold and violent beast barely restrained by his power that it used to be. Back before Shouto became a king and changed the nature of godflame.
"Watatsumi," he says. "That will be your name."
It stares at him and he feels a bundle of emotions he can't really identify. There's joy mixed with something purely alien and something like nostalgia.
/Thank you, my king. This name I will bear with pride/
The sound it makes is less an ominous rumble and more a loud purr. He stares at it in amusement and pulls on the bond connecting it. It nudges him once more before it returns to his soul, dissipating in wisps of darkness.
The pilot is waiting for him, still staring where Watatsumi was moments ago. The man is older than him by a good five decades, hair mostly white and deep age lines marking his face. Under no circumstance would Fumikage be rude to an elder.
So, for the man to bow forces him still.
"Sir," he says, voice layered with decades of experience. "Where are we to go?"
Fumikage blinks. "Home," he ventures.
The man rises from his bow. "As you say, Sir."
The disconnect between fighting abyssal creatures and dealing with his mother screeching at him for being out so late is jarring. His father, thankfully, is silent in a supportive way. Or at least he refuses to get involved in the argument. Apparently, a package has come for him, handed over by a man who spoke no words.
The package is beside the prop sword in his room. He holds the handle of the blade, wondering one day if he'll ever have a real one. Fumikage lets go of the handle, finding the idea foolish. He doesn't know how to use a weapon. It would take too long to learn.
And he doesn't even want to explain to his mother why he has an actual sword when he can barely get away with being gone for a day or two.
He unwraps the to find a list of protocol and identification codes Maya expect him to read and memorise. Finally, there is a note to check his bank account.
He has yet to see that much money in his life.
There should be elation. Instead, a wave of grief and revulsion and anger hits him like a freight train. It is crushing, a wave of emotions that drowns him in despair and grief. He's on his knees in an instant, still and silent and crying all at once, his throat choked with emotions.
Your emotions, with interest, Dark Shadow whispers cruelly.
"You traitor," he whispers on his knees. He holds his chest as the emotions feel like they're about to break him in half.
All he can think about is that boy on the slab calling out to be saved.
The boy he failed to save.
A/N:
Life is busy. I'll upload as I get time to edit these chapters.
If you enjoyed this, let me know with a review. But if you can't, know that your readership is more than enough for me. Cheers and take care.