'The destruction caused by quirk warfare is unprecedented. We live in an era of evolution where children and senile old men can destroy cities with their quirks. A single geokinetic quirk can destroy a mountain range and a photon-emission quirk can blind a city. Whilst my contemporaries ignore the power of supplemental quirks such as enhanced senses, understand that they increase the lethality of a soldier exponentially. Ignore the flashy quirks and focus on those that are more subtle. A hardening quirk renders an enemy rifleman unit useless. Enhanced senses can recognise ambushes long before they occur. Precognitive quirks can completely change the nature of an engagement. Despite the length of time quirks have existed, a definitive guide to quirk combat is difficult to generate due to the diversity of quirks. I believe, fully, that the next World War will be won by the group most able to effectively utilise their quirks.'
—Excerpt from 'An Itinerant's Guide to Quirk Warfare' by Alexander Petros.
Neito Monoma has felt grief before. Losing Testuetsu had been a blow he never really recovered from. And though Ibara is alive, he hasn't heard from her since the Sports Festival. That was all he thought his heart could take without breaking.
Right now, he has more people he'll never speak to again. People he knows and loves whom he will never speak to again.
Setsuna Tokage, a bullet-riddled corpse behind him. A comrade and friend, someone Neito could trust. Someone he could trust to take care of the class if he or their class rep weren't around. He wonders how long it will take people to notice just how much she did in the background to make sure things went smoothly.
Manga Fukidashi, his speech bubble now a permanent exclamation mark in death. There won't be any children smiling at his antics now. No one will ever laugh because of him.
The hardest though, the one that leaves his throat tight, is Itsuka. He understands in a distant sort of way how she died. Of course, she would put herself between danger and her classmates. Of course, she would do her best to keep her allies safe.
Of fucking course, she would leave him behind.
That, right there, is the ultimate betrayal. It was meant to be the two of them till the very end, cranky old adults mocking a new generation of children. Seeing her in death, it's easy to admit he loves her. He doesn't want to marry her or anything like that, but he does want to be with her forever regardless.
That foolish dream is dead. And now, in this new and cold reality, he must get revenge.
He stalks the gas cloud without a mask. The quirk he's copied has the benefit of immunity to whatever gas is in the air.
It makes it trivial to find the villain in the centre. This quirk is new and alien to him, but he's played with quirks that have similar detection abilities.
As though he were born with this quirk, he uses the gas to mask his movements. Even if he weren't so careful, no one ever expects their quirk to be copied. It makes them blind to their own weaknesses.
He finds the villain in a clearing checking his phone. Shorter than he expects for a cold-blooded killer, but then, appearances are deceiving. Neito would know. Everything he does is an act of some sort.
As silent as a ghost, he walks up to the villain.
In one smooth motion, he clamps his hand around the villain's wrist, tugging him to the side. His foot slides forward, tripping the villain up. Then, with his free hand, he elbows the villain in the armpit, shocking the villain enough that his grip on the gun loosens.
Neito pulls the gun away and kicks the villain away.
The villain stumbles forward, yelping. He trips and lands gracelessly. He twists on the ground, scrambling back.
Neito raises the gun and shoots him in the leg, not hesitating for a moment.
The villain screams.
Neito stalks forward, indifferent to the villain's pain. Why should he care? This villain chose his path a long time ago. No one forced him to attack a camp filled with students. Certainly, no one encouraged him to pick up a gun and shoot students.
Getting shot back is only fair game in Neito's mind. It is the absolute bare minimum this villain deserves. Every punishment his mind concocts requires more equipment than he can reasonably acquire.
He steps on the knee, savouring the villain's screams. They are high pitched, a grating screech that makes Neito smile.
Eventually, however, he gets bored with that sound and removes his foot. The villain groans, curling up into a ball.
"Pathetic," Neito says as the villain tries to crawl away on just his arms.
"Nothing will bring them back," the villain whimpers.
"Maybe," Neito agrees, following casually. "But revenge sounds just as good."
"Wait, heroes-they don't—"
Neito kicks the villain in the side, forcing him onto his back. "I'm not a hero." Neito straddles his waist, knee shoved roughly in the villain's abdomen.
He rips the helmet off the villain. It reveals a child, barely a teenager, with pale hair and pale eyes, forehead slick with sweat. There's nothing special about him other than his age.
Too young to watch a movie alone. Too young to be making any choices. Too young to even have a girlfriend.
Apparently not too young to be a villain. Apparently not too young to pick up a gun. Apparently not too young to be a murderer.
"Don't," the boy whimpers, terrified.
"Why not?" he asks, willing to hear the kid out. Maybe there's one shred of decency in this kid.
Then the kid grins. "Cause they'll die anyway."
Neito punches him. Then a second time. Then a third.
He observes the boy, wondering why it has come to this. What fucked up world justifies beating a little kid?
Then he realises it's the kind of world this piece of shit killed for. Every moment of pain to come is something this rat bastard deserves.
So, he punches the kid again. He doesn't stop, not till his hand is slicked red with blood and the boy's face is a pulpy mess.
When his knuckles have broken and he's exhausted himself, Neito grabs the gun. He places the gun at the boy's temple.
"She said she'd stop me," he says calmly. "She fucking said she'd stop me. And she's gone. Because of you."
The boy wheezes something. Neito leans forward, ear against the boy's mouth.
"You don't know—"
The kid bites down, tearing through his ear. Neito grits his teeth before slamming the gun against the boy's head.
His vicious grip relaxes and Neito pulls back, cradling his bloody ear with one hand. It hurts, perhaps the worst physical pain he's ever felt. He can still see half his ear in the kid's mouth.
Then again, it feels like someone ripped his heart out with a rusty spoon. A bit of disfigurement never fucked anyone up as badly as watching your friends die.
"Just die with dignity."
He thinks of Itsuka and all the great moments they shared. He thinks of Setsuna and Manga and every moment between them. He thinks of how they will never speak again because of this pathetic example of humanity.
When he considers that, his choice is very easy.
Neito pulls the trigger. The bullet rips through flesh and bone and brain matter easily. The kid dies, pants drenched in piss.
In the end, Neito's actions will cause more deaths, not prevent them as he thought.
In the end, his quest for revenge will end in more deaths of those he wishes to protect.
He does not know it but there is a dead man's switch linked to the briefcase on the ridge overlooking the camp. It is tied to Mustard's vitals, a final gambit built out of hope and spite. When Mustard's heart stops beating, a pulse is sent that opens the case. A dark block of steel rises and tilts to reveal a row of high-yield explosives.
By killing him, Neito does not know the devastation he will bring forth. The explosive payloads launch, targeted at the main building.
Neito sees the flash of light before he feels the shockwave. The rush of hot air slams into him, searing his throat and lungs.
"No," he whispers, looking at the bright conflagration, right where the camp building is.
He looks down and hears the beeping. Rips the villain's shirt open and sees the biometric sensor. The flat line of a still heart seems to taunt him with all his failures.
He is many things but stupid is not one of them. He knows what a dead man's switch is.
Neito swallows. "I'm sorry, Itsuka. Wait for me. I hope you forgive me."
He raises the gun. Takes aim. Pulls the trigger.
-TDB-
Kurogiri warps the last of his operatives out of the city. The group was battling heroes in a city near the camp. Now, however, it is time to return to the camp. The heroes and police will be arriving there soon, but the distraction paid off.
It may have cost a third of his agents assigned to this mission now in custody, but he can free them later once the Vanguard is safe.
He generates a warp gate. One becomes three as the universe shifts. One Kurogiri who exists as the entry point. Another who walks an endless road made of green lightning. And the last who steps out onto the ridge overlooking the forest.
The destruction is immense.
To the west, he can see the fires around the lodge building. To the east, the forest still burns in blue flames, a blue that continues spreading even as he watches. Half of a cliff has been destroyed, leaving behind a tower of rubble. In the far distance, the forest is simply gone, replaced by scorched ground.
This is the power villains wield without checks and balances. Once, during the Second Dark Age, this level of destruction would have been a daily occurrence in the middle of a city. I'm an era with Warlords and villains without rules, survival had been a constant struggle for the weak.
You foolish boy, Kurogiri thinks. What did you do?
He walks towards the other members of the Vanguard Action Squad. Magne who is battered and bruised but sports a triumphant grin. Dabi observing the fires with a smile. Compress who bows theatrically in greeting. Twice muttering to himself, picking at his costume as if he's trying to escape from his skin.
"Objectives accomplished," Dabi says without turning. "Two Pussycats have been acquired. We missed out on Todoroki, but we got Yaoyorozu and some kid. I'd say this is a resounding success."
He looks amongst them. Muscular and Moonfish aren't here, not that either will be missed. Given their natures, Kurogiri is glad. Two uncontrollable killers are the last people he wants on his team. More honestly, he doesn't want them anywhere near Tomura.
"What of Mustard?" he asks, keeping his voice level to hide his worry.
From Dabi's raised eyebrow, he fails at that. "Dead man's switch went off. Sorry about that."
Kurogiri blinks once. He hasn't known Mustard for a long time so the pain shouldn't be as prominent as it is. But, Kurogiri was the one who stayed silent and let him take part in this operation and gave him access to weaponry no boy should ever have.
That one death weighs on him now.
He opens his eyes, accepting that Mustard died as he lived. If nothing else, he will respect that tenacity and hope he died bravely.
"Where's Spinner?"
"Still fighting Tiger is what he said. You mind getting him, Kurogiri?"
He nods once, generating a warp gate.
"Head back," Kurogiri orders. "I'll pick up the stragglers."
"Has anyone seen Toga?" Compress asks. "She got two of our targets. I would prefer we find her before she wanders off for more fun."
"Bloody girl hasn't been responding."
The members of the Vanguard head through the warp gate. He ignores Twice's inane comments and Compress's theatrics. He doesn't have any interest in that right now.
No, now he must retrieve the last members of the Vanguard because if he doesn't, Tomura will be upset. Kurogiri doesn't have the willpower to deal with that right now.
Finding Spinner isn't very difficult. He just warps to five locations until he hears the sounds of combat and homes in on the position.
The reptile is battling one of the Pussycats. They're both evenly matched. Most importantly, they both have a hostage in hand.
The man is large, not as large as Muscular by any stretch, but still respectably built. He's Tiger and the main frontline fighter of the Pussycats. Usually, he would be dominating a fight. Two things stop that: firstly, he needs to worry about Spinner's hostage, Pixiebob. Secondly, Tiger needs to deal with the fact that Spinner is surprisingly competent.
Also, Tiger has Toga in his firm grip, one arm ready to crush her.
Convenient, he thinks as he steps into view.
Instantly, both Spinner and Tiger tense. The former relaxes, leaping towards Kurogiri. The latter tightens his grip on Toga's throat.
"Give them back," the hero roars.
Kurogiri looks to Spinner who has Pixiebob on his shoulder, held securely with one arm. His other arm has his shorter blade, the impractical monstrosity nowhere to be seen.
"Or what?" he asks amicably. "Will you kill the girl? She's the same age as these students."
"She's a fucking murderer and doesn't deserve to live."
"Disgusting," Spinner mutters, tense. "Heroes are only heroic when it's convenient."
"Give. Her. Back."
Kurogiri shrugs. They're out of time and need to leave now before they're swarmed by police and other heroes.
There's no chance of rescuing any other allies. He has a responsibility to those who live and are waiting for him. He has a responsibility to Sensei and Tomura. He knows what they would order him to do.
Instantly a warp gate forms around the hero's neck.
"You should have left the child alone," he says calmly.
Tiger doesn't respond. Heads tend not to talk when they're removed at the neck.
"You didn't even hesitate," Spinner says in shock.
"You've never killed anyone, have you?" he asks.
Spinner doesn't answer. He simply grabs Toga and hoists her over his shoulder.
"What happened to your weapon?" he asks.
"Some kid broke it," he answers belligerently.
"The same kid who broke your snout?"
"Fuck off."
Kurogiri opens one final warp gate.
"Let's go. We've won today."
-TDB-
Ejirou Kirishima hates camp. This is a new and undisputable fact. Camp sucks and he is never going to one again. That is, if he makes it out alive.
He shoves Honenuki back and crosses his arms. The Nomu's blow shakes him badly, but he holds his ground even as his bones creak.
"Go!" Eijirou roars.
There's a group of them behind him. Juzo Honenuki and Yui Kodai, Aoyama and Sato. That latter two are unconscious with Aoyama bleeding heavily from a wound. The former two are, quite frankly, not the best counters to this Nomu, not when they're already injured.
This Nomu makes his throat constrict in grief.
He dodges a barrage of purple balls and all he can think of is Mineta. The guilt crashes over him in waves even as he fights. They may not have been the closest of friends. Really, he spoke to Mineta a dozen times at most. But that doesn't mean he can't feel sadness. That doesn't mean he can't feel guilty for forgetting all about him and moving on.
Disliking someone doesn't mean you should want them to die. Eijirou may not have liked Mineral much, but that doesn't mean he ever wanted him erased or forgotten. Doing so would be cruel and spiteful, and Eijirou is neither of those.
"But—"
"Move before you get us all killed!"
He blocks another blow. It sends him skidding back, two deep gouges in the ground from where his feet remained firmly planted on the ground.
It leaves only a metre between him and the group. Strewn across the ground are purple spheres impeding their movement. It makes it impossible to retreat quickly or to launch an attack.
"Please," he begs, forcing his quirk to activate once more.
His skin hurts from overexerting his abilities and withstanding the Nomu's blows. There are long rips along the length of his arms from improperly activating his quirk. It hurts, burns like a fire, in fact, but he can't give up.
So long as he draws breath, Eijirou will fight the good fight. He'll fight to protect those who cannot protect themselves until the end. It's why he chose his hero name, partly in honour of his idol, but partly as something to work towards—a riot in red ennobling people to be better.
With a roar, he runs forward and meets the Nomu's gigantic punch with one of his own. And though he feels his fingers break, he doesn't let it push him back.
"Run!"
Intentionally, he stops fighting the blow.
The Nomu overextends, unbalanced, and Eijirou sidesteps. He capitalises by punching it in the side with his other arm, driving hard with all his power.
There isn't much left. It feels like he's been fighting for years, not the few hours he's spent ferrying injured students around and dealing with a clone of the reptile villain.
The Nomu doesn't react to his blow.
At the very least, he can see the two 1-B students helping Aoyama and Sato retreat.
He steps around another sweeping blow, careful not to get stuck on any of the purple balls on the floor. It's a nightmare trying to navigate the ground and it's the main reason he hasn't attacked back.
One wrong move and he'll be trapped, open to a beating he knows will crush his defences. As it is, he can only keep his quirk active for a second at most.
The Nomu lifts its knee suddenly. At the last moment, Kirishima hardens his chest before the blow makes his chest rattle.
He grits his teeth through the pain and punches the Nomu. It blocks the blow with one arm.
Eijirou pulls back. Then he is tugged forward.
He stares at his fist, currently stuck to a purple ball. A purple ball linked to five more that are attached to the Nomu's arm like a chain.
He knows exactly what's going to happen.
"Fuck."
The Nomu lifts him up with that arm. Kirishima hardens his body in anticipation. Then the Nomu brings its arm down.
The impact rattles his teeth and sends flares of pain through his existing injuries. It does so once, then twice, then a third time.
Lying on the ground, he can appreciate the surroundings a bit more. Even with the blue fire in the distance, the stars are beautiful. A view like this isn't one you get in a city.
Might as well enjoy one last view, Kirishima thinks, too tired to get up and fight. It was a good run.
The Nomu's purple skin is so familiar it hurts. It opens its mouth revealing rows of long, serrated teeth, glistening with drool.
It forces Eijirou up with the chain connecting them together.
He throws a weak punch, unable to activate his quirk. It hardly notices the blow as it brings him closer and closer to death.
"God, this is so unmanly."
A bolt of green lightning crashes down.
Crack.
The shockwave snaps Eijirou's head back and he goes tumbling aside. A cloud of dust blooms outward, obscuring his vision.
He tries rolling aside but is tugged back. He glances down and sees his torso trapped by two purple balls holding him to the ground.
When the dust settles, he sees Izuku dodging between the Nomu's blows as if this is a game. He has no concern even though one of his arms look badly hurt.
Why should Izuku be worried?
Izuku circles around the Nomu faster than it can react, not so much as hindered by the purple balls in the area. He moves with a dancer's grace, the agility Kirishima has always noticed finally being used. Each motion is perfect and beautiful, never once coming close to the balls.
The Nomu punches and Izuku blocks the blow with an open palm, not budging in the slightest. He looks disappointed almost.
Slowly, he closes his hand around the Nomu's fist. Then he crushes that fist, taking all the time in the world.
Eijirou sees the sparks of green lightning before he hears the sickening pop. Izuku continues, crushing that fist beneath his monstrous strength, indifferent to the pain he's causing.
The Nomu shrieks, a sound that no normal creature should ever make. It is a sound of animal pain and raw fear.
Izuku cocks his head, confused, as though he's inspecting a particularly interesting bug.
The Nomu punches him. Izuku doesn't react, an immovable monument in the face of a blow that would shatter Kirishima. He merely squeezes harder in response.
And though the Nomu may shriek in agony and thrash in a futile attempt to flee, Izuku doesn't budge. He simply keeps on applying pressure until the Nomu's fist is a ruined and pulpy mess.
Eijirou's dry heaves in disgust.
That snaps Izuku out of his trance. He puts on a fake smile a moment before he lets go of the Nomu. It scrambles back.
Then, for some reason, it leaps forward, swinging wide.
Izuku twists around the blow, flipping up and into the air. He twists and slams his knee into the Nomu's head.
Kirishima hears a sickening crunch just before the Nomu rockets into the tree. It twitches erratically before falling still.
For a long moment, one heavy with expectation, he hopes the Nomu disintegrates just like the other clones.
It doesn't. The corpse remains, partially lodged into a tree trunk.
"It's dead," he whispers, horrified. "You killed Min—him, you killed him."
"I thought it was a clone."
He looks up and meets Izuku's gaze. There isn't a hint of terror or remorse in those eyes. His eyes are frigid pits of jade, bright with mad knowledge, but so impossibly dark that they suck up all light in an all-consuming void, an unending hunger that can consume everything.
He's known Izuku a long time, not as long as Ojiro and Shinsou, but he still knows Izuku better than most. Yet, he still has the distance to separate his affection from Izuku's faults unlike everyone else. When he battled the hero-killer, it had deeply disquieted Ejiriou. When he had brushed aside Iida's feelings, it had left Eijirou uneasy. Seeing him violently attack Shouto—someone he so clearly loves as the sun loves the earth—had left him sick and fearful.
He knows how Izuku talks when he lies, the way his eyes meet you head on as he attempts to hide a lie. It's a show of strength and confidence, but Izuku has only ever been honest at his most vulnerable, scared and terrified and grieving for someone he hardly knows. Izuku is honest in his tears, not his brilliant grin.
Right now, he sounds afraid but his eyes tell another story. He meets Kirishima's gaze instead of fleeing, the cadence of his voice just a touch too flat to be honest and lacking the tremor whenever he's honestly confused.
Ejirou takes an unconscious step back because he can't recognise the person before him.
It may not have been Izuku who killed Mineta and turned him into a Nomu, but he still killed it without hesitation. The monstrosity that he became, that creature of unreal laws and too many eyes and mouths that ate universes, that creature rendered Mineta a gibbering mess.
What if, a traitorous part of his mind whispers, he spared me because we're friends?
"No, you didn't."
Izuku takes a step back, his face a mix of revulsion and shame. But that expression is only on the surface. Nothing in his green eyes mirrors those emotions.
"Don't say that," Izuku says, wringing his hands together in fake nervousness. "Come on, we need to go. Look, you're hurt."
Izuku is a great liar. His facial expressions and gestures are perfect, his pitch and tone those of someone distressed. But Kirishima knows him and has seen the deepest truth of his being. He's seen the monster hiding beneath a thin veneer of humanity. He's seen Izuku wield powers that shat on the laws of physics and rewrote them in a bolt of green lightning. Maybe that's why he can see through the lie of humanity.
You killed it and felt nothing, he wants to say. That thought makes him examine Izuku closer.
One arm is purple and mangled though it doesn't seem to bother Izuku. His other, though, is smeared with red. It isn't fresh blood nor can it belong to Izuku as he has no open wounds.
He opens his mouth to question him.
Then he's on the ground, Izuku on top of him. There's something wild and frenetic in his gaze.
"NO!"
Bang.
The shockwave slams into them before Eijirou understands what's going on. It feels like being hit by a sledgehammer everywhere at once, a rattling deep in his bones.
The heat comes next, a sudden spike in temperature that leaves him stunned. The air dries and the single breath he takes sears his lungs.
And then, just like that, things normalise.
"What was that?" Eijirou asks
Izuku doesn't respond, eyes transfixed on the horizon.
He pushes Izuku off and sits upright. There, in the direction of the hall, is an inferno. He feels his heart shatter.
"Why?" he whispers, horrified.
"I don't know what to do," Izuku says, his voice tiny and broken and finally honest. "This isn't-we can't… I can't."
"We need to keep moving," Eijirou says tiredly, close to breaking. "Aoyama might be—fuck."
He forces himself up, wobbling dangerously. Izuku grabs him by the elbow. Then, in one motion, Izuku carries him over the shoulder.
There is so much ash and fire and death that he can't think straight. Izuku navigates their way carefully, unbothered by the weight or the darkness.
All Eijirou can do is run through a list of names, of all the people he knows and hopes are safe.
They find the group on the ground, battered and bruised.
Izuku sets him down and rushes to Aoyama, the one most injured. The other three are hopefully breathing.
Izuku checks Aoyama's pulse. For a gut-wrenching moment, Eijirou fears the worst and worries that this will be a name he has to strike from his list. Then Izuku nods, setting his hand and applying pressure to the wound.
Eijirou forces himself up and checks the other students.
Burn wounds mark them all, Honenuki having taken the brunt of them. His shirt is fused to his back, and it makes Eijirou sick to see. He doesn't know what to do or how to even alleviate his pain. The only good thing is that him taking the brunt of the injuries means that Sado and Kodai aren't as injured.
Even then, they have patches of skin burnt black. Some areas are merely blistered and raw.
Tonight, Eijirou finally understands hate. The kind of thick and vile sludge that makes you sick to the core. Or maybe that's horror. He can't really tell the difference anymore.
Knowing he can't help, he instinctively looks to the most powerful person in the area.
Izuku is relaxed as he stems Aoyoma's bleeding, comfortable with blood and a fatal wound. It's the sort of calm he has when he's shuffling cards or talking about some ancient hero no one cares about.
"There's blood on your arm," Eijirou says, deliberately calm.
They both know he's talking about the long dried blood in his right arm. Yes, his hand might be red with fresh blood, but the rest is old and flaky.
"Yeah," Izuku replies, voice as light as a feather.
It's the tone he takes when he wants to avoid a confrontation, to avoid facing a truth. Eijirou has heard it too often from Izuku and come to accept it as just another quirk of his friend. Izuku may be kind and generous and warm, but he's also a consummate liar and hypocrite. They're flaws Eijirou had been willing to forgive before.
Now, he's beginning to see how much of a mistake that was. Power shouldn't be held by those who aren't the very best examples of humanity.
He's not even human, Eijirou thinks, disgusted with himself for thinking it, even if he knows it to be true.
"What happened?" he asks, voice hard as steel because he refuses to let Izuku hide the truth. Not anymore. Never again.
"He was going to kill Kouta," Izuku says eventually as though that's reason enough. "I couldn't let that happen."
Eijirou freezes. No, no, no.
"What did you do?" Izuku stays silent. "What did you do?" he asks forcefully.
He turns. Izuku is gone. Vanished as though he never existed.
Dread grips him, long tendrils running down his spine. He scrambles to the side, frantically applying pressure to Aoyama's wound.
In the trees above, a masked man in a yellow coat watches him. He tips his hat to Eijirou.
"You should take care of your possessions better if you don't want to lose them," the villain says, holding his hand out.
He sees a glint of something reflective. Eijirou is no fool. He knows what it means even if he doesn't know all the detail.
He wants to charge, to fight with all his strength. But he very literally holds Aoyama's life in his hands.
"Give him back!" Eijirou roars.
"I hope you enjoyed the performance for the night. I've set the stage for the greatest play of this era. Count yourself lucky you saw the start of it all."
And then the villain is gone.
He wants to chase after him. But if he does so, he might as well kill Aoyama quickly instead of this cruelty. That doesn't even touch on Honenuki whose ragged breathing has fallen silent.
He roars his anguish, screams against the heavens because this isn't fair. This isn't right. The villains aren't ever supposed to win in a fair world.
That's the story, isn't it? Heroes winning against overwhelming odds time and time again. Who wants to live in a world where the villains win? Doesn't that mean it's a hopeless world with no meaning?
He lets the world hear his hopes for a kind and just world die. He screams his fleeting dreams for the trees to ignore.
Eventually, he falls silent, out of breath and energy and the will to rage against the world. He just wants to sleep and be done with everything.
But Aoyama's dying beneath his hands.
His classmate is hardly breathing, his complexion too pale to be healthy. There's too much blood everywhere, some of it from his damaged arms that hurt so fucking much but mostly it's from Aoyama.
"Please, Please, please. If there's a god out there, please, just fucking help already."
The world shifts, suddenly too hot and heavy. For a moment, he thinks he sees a blaze of endless black flames consuming all creation, flames older than the concept of time blazing a path to an uncertain future. He sees an endless hellscape of shambling abominations and undying gods trapped in an endless hellscape.
Impossible.
But then, hasn't he already seen the impossible?
Todoroki approaches wreathed in black flames that distort reality. He looks the part of a dark god, one ready to burn the world he finds lacking.
He catches sight of Eijirou and assesses the situation dispassionately, the fires vanishing as though they were merely an illusion.
Todoroki kneels beside Eijirou. He lays a hand on Aoyama's wound. Instantly, ice and frost creep up it.
"This will help," Todoroki explains, as though that makes any sense.
"How?"
"The dead are beyond me. But the living, even the very recently deceased, can be brought back."
"You're not making any sense," he says automatically.
"Where is he?" Todoroki asks instead. "He was here just now. I can still see his lightning."
Eijirou looks around but sees no sparks or streaks of green lightning.
Hardly paying any attention to him, Todoroki runs a finger along Eijirou's forearm. Frost creeps up the wounds he has.
He yelps, tumbling back. He's ready to shout at Todoroki, to curse him out. And then he realises that there is no pain.
The injuries he's taken are gone. He looks at Aoyama and finds that he isn't bleeding, his breathing stabilised. His complexion is still pale and he's sweating in his restless unconsciousness, but he doesn't look like he's about to die.
The others, as well, are healed. Their burns and wounds have vanished, leaving unblemished skin. Honenuki is breathing and, to Eijirou's stunned disbelief, the expanse of his back is clear skin. His clothes might be burnt, but they aren't fused to his skin.
For the first time in his life, Eijirou understands what a miracle looks like. He knows the awesome nature of God's grace; vast, chilling, and magnificent. It is a sweeping tale of glory, the power to change the world on a whim, and truly rise above the pettiness of humanity.
And it absolutely terrifies him. Every time Todoroki opens his mouth, Eijirou comes to the conclusion that he's a little shit and Eijirou has no idea what Izuku sees in him. There's nothing compassionate or kind about him.
What are you? He wonders, staring at Todoroki who waits patiently for his answer.
Apparently, he takes a moment too long. Todoroki's expression shifts to something ominous for a single second, so quick that Eijirou doubts his eyesight.
"They took him," he immediately answers, unable to stop himself, before looking away from Todoroki.
It had been like every choice to stay silent had disappeared. Every possibility of keeping quiet had been burnt away the moment Todoroki's mood shifted.
Flares light up the night sky.
He knows the signal well enough, one of the many codes UA students are required to memorise: 'situation critical, temporary safety, rally point,' the flares read out.
It means that he has a job to do. It falls to him to be strong and competent and anything other than a boy about to have a nervous break.
He sets Sato over his shoulder's in a fireman's carry and picks up Aoyama. The weight doesn't bother him, not when so much else weighs heavily on him. The other two are unconscious but they'll be safe here. Hopefully. It's a gamble reliant on the villains being gone, but Eijirou can't carry them all.
Todoroki stares at the sky, eyes vacant and distant.
"Hey, don't break down," Eijirou growls, shoving Todoroki as best he can whilst carrying two other people.
He's forced to lead Todoroki back to camp, pulling him like a toddler. He sets him near Shouji who seems solid if utterly silent.
Alone, he makes the trek back to collect the 1-B students. He doesn't expect any help, not under these circumstances. As he expects, no one is available or capable of helping.
Though he wishes to pass out for the next five years, he forces himself to pick up the students and carry them back to safety. Or what amounts to safety now.
The only consolation is that the explosion was held back by Vlad King's quirk, a gargantuan shield of solid blood now shattered. He tracks the long shards of blood, glad that they held back most of the force of the explosion.
The trees around the building are scorched or flattened, a testament to the destructive force the villains brought this evening.
Still, the barrier hadn't been able to completely contain the explosion. He can see the bodies covered by sheets and wonders how many he knows.
He helps where he can but there's not much he can do. He isn't Iida who has somehow kept his composure and delegates tasks effectively despite his grief. He isn't Suneater, last of the Big Three, who knows first aid and helps the medics.
Eventually, he finds himself herding the students incapacitated by grief or shock. Here is Kaminari struck by grief over Sero's corpse, holding the lifeless hand tightly. There is Ashido fighting off anyone trying to pull her away from Asui, and Eijirou takes an elbow to the face before he subdues her, dragging her away. There is Yui Kodai, awake now, staring at Vlad King's scorched body.
This is almost worse. He doesn't know how to help people with their grief, not when he's choked by grief and filled with so much shame.
"I couldn't save him," he explains to Aizawa, eyes squeezed shut. "Aoyama was bleeding and I couldn't-I was too..."
Aizawa is grim-faced, expression blank.
"What did he say?" Aizawa asks insistently, his voice hoarse from the smoke.
Eijirou swallows and tries speaking. But nothing comes out. All he can see is that masked villain, taunting him with Izuku.
A part of him, a part that he dislikes and wishes never existed, is glad that Izuku is gone.
It makes him sick but a part of him can't ignore that hungry gaze, that ceaseless need to kill and consume and conquer. It reminds him too much of that monstrosity that broke the laws of gravity and spacetime merely by existing. The same monstrosity that rendered Mineta and Hagakure's and Kouda to nothing more than thrashing husks, all sanity gone from their young minds.
Back then, he couldn't imagine Izuku willingly doing anything like that. Back then he'd been willing to absolve Izuku immediately just because he went through the motions of confusion and grief. That's all they were, Eijirou realises, motions to follow without any genuine emotion backing them.
Right now, though, it's so easy to see that madness and dark knowledge and the complete indifference of a cruel God in those jade eyes.
How many has Izuku killed? Two Nomu at least, one at USJ and one only hours ago—Mineta, he decides, refusing to let him be forgotten a moment longer. One villain whose identity Kirishima doesn't know.
"Kirishima," Aizawa says, insistent but gentle. "I know it's hard, but you saw them last."
"He said it was a fucking performance," he forces out. "This was just a game."
Aizawa doesn't push him any further. Eijirou is grateful. Another question and he might have just picked a direction and walked, never looking back.
He's resting tiredly against a tree when Todoroki sits next to him.
His classmate says nothing, offers no comment as the fires die out and the bodies are moved. Todoroki doesn't offer to share his thoughts when they see Aizawa punch a tree, shouting in rage. He says nothing when a group of students from 1-B hold vigil over the corpses of their fallen classmates: Monoma and Kendo together as always, fallen alongside Fukidashi and Tokage; Awase and Kamikari dead in the explosion; Tetsuetsu long gone and Ibara lucky to be in the hospital instead of dealing with this.
What words can he offer when Iida finally just sits down, exhausted and battered down and unable to help anyone? Should they congratulate Shouji for picking up responsibility or admonish those who aren't injured but haven't helped?
Is it even fair to place any expectation on his classmates in a situation like this just because he is angry and bitter and so, so sick with grief?
Together, they watch the authorities try to bring some semblance of order. Somehow, the police and rescue workers completely ignore him. But, he's coming to suspect they're unconsciously ignoring Todoroki.
It says a lot that he only feels empty when Tiger's body is carted past them. Maybe grief can run dry? Then again, compared to seeing Asui and Sero, this is nothing.
"Kirishima, do you think you're a good person?" Todoroki asks suddenly.
"What?"
"I think you are," Todoroki continues vacantly. "A good person. It's going to be hard being a good person. I'm so sorry."
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing important but maybe the most important thing in the universe. Who knows? It's hard to see things when he's involved. When the three of us are involved. You see, we exist outside fate. We make our own destiny."
Eijirou isn't ready to deal with someone else breaking, not when he's being crushed by the weight of it all.
Kirishima swallows, tugging at Todoroki's arm. "That's good and all, but we need—"
"It could go any direction, really," Todoroki says over him. "It's a river with a thousand different streams. Sometimes, you can see it all. But he's like a fucking dam being dropped on that river. And now you can't really see that other side. You can make guesses and hope for the best, but you can't ever be certain. The maths breaks down completely. I'm fucking terrified of not knowing and I hate that feeling. I hate having the future blurred—I couldn't fucking see Vlad King just because Izuku was nearby. Just cause he fucking said no, the future I saw disappeared. I hate losing control of what's to come because he's fucking having a fight. I hate not being able to see him because he never stays still. He's always fucking running ahead of me and then he's going to blame me when he stumbles and chooses a different road."
"You're not making any sense. I know you love him but you need to stay focused."
Todoroki seems not to hear his words.
"You're a good person, a good friend. Maybe even a good hero. I'm so sorry." Todoroki smiles but there is nothing warm to it. "Just be you and everything will fall into place. Just keep on being a good person."
I am a good person, he thinks. That's why I'm here.
"I could have stopped this," Todoroki says to fill the silence. "It would have been easy with fire and ice."
"You're not responsible for what they did."
"No, but I am responsible for what I do. I could heal everyone here but I won't, because they don't matter to me. I didn't have to make a game out of killing that villain." He chuckles mirthlessly. "The futures are converging and I can't see them all. Buckle up, Kirishima."
His horror is deep and wide. He darts a quick look and finds Todoroki observing him lazily.
Todoroki's black eye watching him intently is disquieting. It seems to know everything that Eijirou is and what he can never be. It freezes him in place even when all he would like to do is shake Todoroki until he explains exactly what he means by killing a villain. He wants to know how Todoroki can be indifferent to the pain when he can alleviate some of it.
"This is just the start."
"What do you mean?" he whispers, revolted and afraid to know the truth.
"The future is always in flux," Todoroki says. "Not for you. Mortals can't outmanoeuvre fate. You're just bystanders swept up in the wake of those with power. Chance and coincidence are nothing more than the confluence of our decisions. The butterfly effect is a lie because it ascribes too much power to the powerless. All that matters are the decisions of Gods. We change the future with our every whim. Everyone you see right now should be dead. That was the future I saw, but it changed because another god said no at the right time. Do you understand, Eijirou?"
That, more than anything else, chills him to the bone. Never has Todoroki called him by his first name. In fact, no one ever calls him that, not even his parents.
"No, I don't think so," Todoroki continues. "You've never really seen the secrets of creation. I can see the shadow of Izuku's anathema song on you like a dark mark. And yet, you learnt nothing from looking upon the face of God, not even the simplest words to invoke a godling. You and Asui survived seeing it with your minds intact. I wonder if the shadows knew you were under the protection of their king. Do you think he would spare you from that fate now?"
Todoroki offers a mirthless smile.
"Friendship won't spare you from his ambitions and it certainly won't get him to accept peace on your terms. Oh, sorry, wrong time and place. That possibility died moments ago just like a thousand iterations of you. It gets hard keeping track of you most of all. You just… disappear so often."
He leans away from Todoroki. "Stop it."
"None of what's to come is your fault. You're a good person and you'll always fight the good fight. Do you understand? You have no control and no choice. Everything is all part of a plan and you're just an actor reciting your lines, a stilted character in a badly written book. You're nothing more than a plot device to tell a satisfying story. The three of us, we're the audience, the narrator and author of this grand tale. Do you think everything you're seeing is for your benefit? No, this view is just for my benefit so I can better see the river. This is all by design. Do you want to peek behind the curtain?"
Eijirou swallows, uncertain of what is being offered but knowing that he must know. Just as the first fish had the audacity to walk the shores of the world, driven by an insatiable curiosity, so too must Eijirou know.
"Yes."
"Are you certain? Once you know then it can never be unseen."
"Show me," he says resolutely, but unprepared for what is to come.
For a moment, one precious and unforgettable moment, he sees a reflection of what Shouto sees.
It is a kaleidoscope of light, an endless tapestry of stars in the skies, some clear and bright, but most dying in awe-inspiring implosions. He realises, with a wave of glorious revelation, that each star is a possible future. He watches an infinite number of possible futures die, a sight beyond human comprehension, and knows this is nothing but a pale echo of what Todoroki truly sees.
He understands now that the river and dam were poor metaphors for him to possibly understand. Even now, the idea that Shouto maps out every atom and every bond in these infinite suns is madness. And then Eijirou sees himself, a thousand-million iterations, collectively meaning nothing in the face of dying suns. Every single one is a possibility, one potential person he could have become had circumstances been different or new choices made. And then he sees the broad splotches of eternal darkness obscuring sections of those futures. In others still, those futures are blocked by endless chains.
And then the vision is gone, collapsed like another timeline.
Eijirou blinks away the memory of the suns in all their glory, singing a song of the future that is the past that is the present, a choir vast and beyond understanding directed by Todoroki's will.
"I shouldn't be telling you any of this," Todoroki says, staring at the smoke-filled sky. "But maybe I'm in shock and mourning. Maybe I want absolution for what's to come and you're the only one who can give it, but you won't and you never will. Maybe I regret not being better tonight and all the people who'll die because of my actions. You can't change the future. Not when we're around. We're like black holes sucking away all choice and meaning. It's futile, really. Tell me, Eijirou—you don't mind that I call you that, do you? I feel I know you better than everyone else—do you want to live a long and happy life?"
What can he say to that? Of course, he wants to be happy and prosperous like every other human. But somehow, he feels that saying so is the wrong answer. Every answer feels wrong, preordained by a power he can't truly comprehend. Even though his mind can't hold the memory fully, he knows there were a million possibilities where he is happy or sad or fighting an endless war or mired by villainy.
Fundamentally, none of them matter.
Todoroki leans back, closing his eyes. His features relax and for a moment, Eijirou thinks he's fallen asleep.
"You don't have to answer because it doesn't matter. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Eijirou. Find happiness where you can. But don't pray to god again. We might be listening and we may not always be very nice."