'Many have asked if I regret my actions. Those who ask are the children born after I restored peace, those too young to remember the endless bloodshed of seven Warlords. If you are privileged enough to question the morality of my actions, then my acts, ultimately, were right. My actions allowed you to live long enough to question your history without fear of reprisal. My actions allowed you to learn and be safe. Why should I regret your prosperous life?'
—Excerpt from 'My Thoughts and My Failings' by Luciana Cisneros, the Stormwind.
Today is the day that dreams come true for Kohei of the Horikoshi Cult.
Kohei will never forget the sacrifices of his predecessors who set him on this path to ascension. They knew what was to come long before the Imperial Household even knew of the abyss and they sacrificed everything for this day. He will not forget his brethren who gave their lives to distract the false gods as he finalised the plan.
Today, it is complete. Every sacrifice and slaughter and abyssal incursion have all been part of a plan. One that will call forth the true gods, those who existed when darkness was in its infancy. The godling of Greece had been the last piece of the puzzle, a mass sacrifice the likes of which the world has never seen.
Now, he brings forth the two remaining instruments of his apotheosis. In one hand he holds a memetic nightmare captured in an infernal engine. In the other, he holds the subtle knife that the Emperor's crow has chased like a dog. The crow will be the one who brings forth Kohei's apotheosis.
Kohei gives both to the cultist beside him. He accepts them with a bow.
"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten, brother." Kohei lays his hands on his shoulders. "Remember, he must think you dead. His arrogance will be his downfall."
"I will not fail you."
Nothing more needs to be said. Soon, the true gods will return. Soon, they will sing.
Oh, how they will sing.
-TDB-
Katsuki Bakugou wants to give up on his anger. The world is changing too fast for his anger to keep up with. It ebbs and wanes, smoulders and erupts, but the world shifts at a tempo that human feelings cannot match.
Maybe because humans are fucking small fish in an ocean so large, they hadn't even known it existed.
"The fifty-kilometre quarantine around Thessaloniki is still being upheld by the European Army six weeks after the event. Remember to report all strange activity to your abyssal toll-free line. This includes any sightings of giant spiders."
News like that makes Katsuki wish he had been born two centuries ago. It might have sucked in the Dark Ages with villains and Warlords but Katsuki is badass enough to take them on. This shit is on a wholly different level, one that simple quirks can't deal with.
He hears her enter his room but says nothing, not even when a blanket is draped over his chest. Her weight makes the couch dip slightly. Then she leans against him, a line of warmth that makes it impossible to maintain his composure.
"You awake?" she asks softly, gently.
His only answer is to wrap an arm around Momo's shoulder and bring her closer. They aren't… actually, Katsuki doesn't have any idea what they are, let alone what they aren't. He knows they aren't fucking like Jirou and her many boyfriends. They also aren't doing the weird hate courtship that Intelli and Shindo are dancing around.
He doesn't truly know what he wants from whatever this is or isn't, and he gets the sense that Momo is in the same boat. They could be something more very easily. There's shared pain and experience and forgiveness to form a foundation for something new. Some days he thinks of taking the first step. Other days he sees Momo think the same things. They always hesitate because it means going into uncharted territory and possibly ruining their friendship.
"I'll take that as a yes. Your team's worried about you."
Katsuki grunts, too tired to curse. Those bastards can figure things out for a day or two. Between Shindo and Intelli, they can form one vaguely smart idea.
"You know they look up to you." He rumbles, amused. The bastards don't like him. "I'm being serious. You're a better friend and leader than even you realise."
"I can't lead worth shit."
"You're going to have to forgive yourself for—"
"Don't," he growls. "Don't say it."
She pulls back just enough to glare at him. "Denki."
And like that, he comes undone. Denki, his loyal friend who had answered Katsuki's call without hesitation, who had overcome his fear and fought the good fight with them. That Denki.
Denki Kaminari who is dead.
Katsuki can smell the noxious fumes and cloying smoke from three days ago. A simple mission, one he can barely remember assigning. Something simple and routine. Something Denki had done a dozen times.
This was the first time that involved giant spiders.
His last transmission haunts Katsuki. The fear and desperation chill Katsuki's blood because it means he failed as a leader. Katsuki had journeyed as fast as he could to follow Denki's tracker, had fought through a dozen giant spiders without thinking. He hadn't cared that the sight of them should have broken something in his mind. All he'd cared about was finding Denki.
He had found Denki in the end. A cocoon of silk and some unnatural fluid had hidden him from sight, hidden the twelve others as well. But Katsuki had known somehow which one had belonged to Denki.
It hadn't been a pretty sight. Only hours had passed but Denki had withered away, his skin pale and flaky, his muscles gaunt and his eyes hollow—literally hollow, replaced by something alien and fetid. The only thing that made him recognisable was his hair, nearly ashen but with the distinctive black marks, and his accessories.
There had been no pulse, no indication of life. Pulling him out of the cocoon had revealed a multitude of spider larvae that Katsuki had blasted away.
How long he'd stayed like that, just cradling his friend's body, is unknown to him. Long enough that Shindo and his friends had forcibly dragged Katsuki away. Long enough for the military to walk in and set everything on fire.
One day, maybe, he'll stop feeling as if his heart is being crushed constantly. One day, perhaps, he'll get over the crushing weight of his failure.
"Why? Why can't I grieve?"
It could have been worse, he knows. They could have burnt down a few city blocks instead of that one building. Maybe if the infection had been worse, they would have nuked the city the same way the Americans authorised tactical nukes in Dallas.
She touches his cheek and makes him face her fully. "Because you brought them together. You're the rock they need." She leans forward and her lips graze his forehead. "You know, I didn't like you when we first went to UA. Too loud and angry and rude. After the battle trial, I had written you off as hopeless."
Katsuki sighs. He'd done the same. He should be in prison right now, but no, Izuku fucking Midoriya had decided kindness was a thing.
"Then at USJ, you jumped right into the fray. You took every blow meant for me and Jirou. Didn't say anything. Didn't expect anything. You'd changed enough for me to want to try and give you a chance."
He scoffs. "It wasn't worth it."
"It's funny that Midoriya became confident and bold but you developed the crippling insecurities and inferiority complex."
"Fuck off."
She huffs, standing. Katsuki feels the loss of her warmth acutely.
"Will you get up and be a leader?"
He tilts his head. There is a hint of finality to her words as if this might be the last time they speak to each other for a long time. He sees the desperation in her eyes, the fear in her shoulders, and the uncertainty in the angle of her chin.
"You're leaving again." He stands up to match her. "Why?"
She shrugs with one shoulder, pulling further away. "I need to go visit Shouto and then deal with family stuff. I won't be back for a while."
That makes him angry. The constant rage in his heart blossoms into an inferno. He reaches forward and grabs her wrist. It is so easy to pull her close because she trusts him, no matter how angry he gets.
Kissing her is sudden and rough and nothing like what he expects. His body is moving on autopilot, his thoughts a mile behind. She isn't soft or slow on the uptake, and she pushes against him, kissing him with a ferocity that he never expects from her.
They stumble back, landing on the couch. Their foreheads bump painfully and their limbs get tangled up in the blankets. None of that matters. All he cares about is the heat that makes up Momo Yaoyorozu. Everything about her is glorious. Her eyes sparkle as he runs his hand up her body and she shoves him back when he tries to take control.
There is no rhythm but awkwardness, two separate tempos that they move to, trying and failing to meld them together. And yet, that difference, that individuality, is what makes Katsuki want to stay with her forever, makes him want this moment to extend eternally.
He immediately regrets it when he comes out of his haze, somehow on the floor with Momo tracing shapes on his neck.
"We—"
"If you say something stupid, I'll slap you." There isn't any heat in her words. "Do you really want to live life regretting what could have been? Because I don't."
"Oh."
"Yeah." She steals a kiss. "One more time."
He looks down, seeing her in all her perfection. The answer is simple.
"Yeah."
An hour later, Katsuki is showered and dressed. Momo is gone and it feels like a chunk of his soul is missing. He feels exhausted to the bone but invigorated.
His team is in the shared space of the warehouse's first floor. Thanks to Momo, it has everything they could ever possibly need. Equipment, training space, computers and furniture. They even have a coffee machine that Intelli loves more than any person alive. It hadn't surprised Katsuki the moment Shindo started complaining about it.
"Alright you fucks," he says boldly, voice carrying clearly, "get your asses ready. We've got missions to deal with."
Shindo throws a tennis ball katsuki's way. "About fucking time you got laid."
"Anyway, who won the bet?" Jirou asks. "It sure as hell wasn't me. I thought this bastard liked men."
He ignores their ribbing and forces them to focus as they deal with their next group. There's a smuggling group bringing in drugs through one of the ports. As far as they can tell, the port officials have all been bribed or threatened to silence.
Their group doesn't have the same issue. It takes them a few days to identify the smugglers and their leaders, takes a bit longer to find the military official they own. Once they have all the information they need, they strike.
By the time the night is over, they've left the smugglers tied to a pier and disappeared with bags of hard currency.
Katsuki doesn't want to celebrate. He wants to ignore the fact that Denki isn't here. But, as he sees their ragged expressions, maybe he's pushed them too hard. Maybe he's ignored their grief.
They hit downtown like it owes them money and get drunk till the early hours of the morning. Even Ibara joins them and this is when Katsuki learns that she holds her liquor like a champ. Just as they are about to leave, he sees a headline at the bottom of the screen and tells the bartender to change the channel.
Seeing Izuku Midoriya on-screen instantly sobers Katsuki and gives him the presence of mind not to let Jirou drag him to the dingy restroom for who knows what.
His childhood—and former—friend has wasted no time since Inko's funeral. Izuku works with the sort of fervour and grief that Katsuki understands all too well. Sometimes grief is restless and the only way to deal with it is to deal with other things. What Katsuki hadn't expected was the campaigning. Izuku is everywhere, speaking constantly and debating his opponents.
That he can do it after the world so irrevocably changed is commendable. Katsuki has nightmares of that monster in Greece taller than any skyscraper. His hands shake when he thinks of the sky ripping apart and a portal opening. Some days he panics at the thought of Musutafu burning to the ground just to defeat the creature.
Today, nearly two months into this new world where monsters are a fact, Izuku has apparently stopped playing nice. Katsuki isn't certain who started the fight but soon enough every news agency was playing footage of Izuku fighting off dozens calling themselves the Meta Liberation League. It had been green lightning and violent winds, endless darkness and unfathomable strength.
"This entire ward of the city was designated a safe zone," Izuku said with dozens on the floor, defeated. "The customary punishment for violating that was death. I'll let the authorities handle them."
That hadn't surprised Katsuki as much as the person Izuku was fighting with. A person with green scales, pink hair and wings. He had instantly recognised the villain, the same one who took part in the attack on their camp.
He hadn't been the only one to recognise the face. Soon enough, the villain's original bounty picture was everywhere and being used to compare the two.
Izuku Midoriya Working with Villains had been the headline that grabbed Katsuki's attention. It grabs everyone's attention for the simple fact that it isn't possibly the end of the world.
Honestly, Katsuki isn't particularly angry or upset. Izuku MIdoriya is a bleeding heart who forgives anyone. That he would forgive a villain and work beside him isn't surprising.
What is surprising is the fight that breaks out amongst the Lightning Bolts in Katsuki's area the next day. A fight that just happens to be in a safe zone. A fight that gets civilians killed.
Apparently, not everyone is happy with Izuku.
-TDB-
Izuku Midoriya has thrown himself headfirst into anything and everything to forget his pain. Losing his mother had nearly broken him but his promises have kept him moving forward. One day he means to stand unopposed at the pinnacle of the world. One day he'll be so powerful that no one will ever hurt his family again.
It means he spends less time with Kouta than he would like but at least the brat can spend time with Fumikage's brats. That Fumikage dotes on them as any parent would doesn't surprise Izuku. No, what surprises him is that they are technically his adopted children.
It makes them more similar than Izuku imagined. They're both absent in the lives of the children they are protecting.
Izuku puts all of that away because now he needs to run damage control. Fighting the Meta Liberation Army hadn't been on his list of objectives. All he'd been planning that evening was to speak at a rally. He had no idea Deika City was their stronghold and had honestly tried to talk their leader down from doing something stupid.
It hadn't worked.
By the end of the evening, Izuku had defeated their combatants and Shuichi's presence at his side had been revealed. Which is why he needs to deal with damage control.
In their current home is a room Izuku spent a lot of money and time ensuring that he can contact anyone across the world from the comfort of their new home. The communications network is robust and secured by the same protocols All For One used for his network.
He'd ignored all but Crawler's calls.
"They're not happy," Koichi says, running a hand through his hair. Even through a video call, Izuku can see the white hairs the former vigilante has developed in the last few months.
"When are they ever happy with what I do?"
"Most of the time they don't care. Either way, leadership's gonna be in your hometown tomorrow."
The call cuts. Izuku slumps back into his chair, sighing. "Fuck."
"I'm sorry."
Izuku glances at Shuichi. The man is standing in a corner, looming menacingly over nothing. It's probably not intentional and likely has everything to do with his wings. No matter what, Shuichi is a terrifying presence. Seeing those massive wings had frozen a few members of the Liberation Army in their tracks. Seeing Shuichi's startling proficiency with his lance had terrified them more.
"I knew this day would come the moment I accepted you. Now, we have to face the world."
Shuichi bows his head. "I know."
"What do you think of the Lightning Bolts?"
"They're loyal to your ideals. You just have to bind them to you fully." Shuchi's wings twitch.
"The cold calculus of revolution." He reaches out and reads a priority message from his contact in what became of the League. She isn't particularly enthused with him for working with a traitor.
"There's no such thing as a peaceful revolution."
"No, there isn't. You want me to use them."
Shuichi nods. "Every revolutionary needs loyal forces. They could be an army loyal to you."
Izuku knows that. Mikumo hasn't shut up about their potential.
It's true and you know it, brother. If they are willing to fight and die for you just as the Liberation Army was willing to die for their leader, then you will have a base going forward.
"I don't want to be a general," he snaps, slamming his hands on the table. "I don't want to have people loyal to me. I just want to be a hero. Is that so fucking wrong?"
Shuichi's wings twitch nervously. "Yes."
The glass window behind him shatters with Izuku's anger. Why can't he just be a hero? It's what he's always wanted. But everyone looks at him and expects something more.
"I am your disciple," Shuichi says, unafraid. He walks forward even though the shadows writhe and green lightning arcs across Izuku's body. "I broke my oaths for your sake. I broke them because I saw someone who wanted more. I saw someone Stain would be proud of."
Izuku closes his eyes, forcing his anger down.
"Forgive me," Izuku says. "It's getting harder to control my rage."
Ever since he lost his mother, his ironclad control has waned. He sees people and finds it harder to attach things like kindness and empathy. They're all mortals and mortals are fragile. They break so easily that sometimes he wonders why he treats them delicately.
Shuichi just nods and returns to his usual spot in the corner. With Kouta under multiple layers of Imperial security, Izuku can ignore him a bit more and make use of Shuichi's abilities. Out of everything he expected, Shuichi's knowledge of politics had surprised him. The man knows how petty and conniving people can be, his words always tempering Izuku's blind faith in humanity.
It's why Izuku listens to Shuichi's assessments of the Lightning Bolt leadership once more. They're loyal, all of them, as Shuichi had spent weeks verifying. They just also happen to not be loyal to the same things. Crawler is personally loyal to Izuku as is the former soldier. The others have their loyalty divided to the people trusting them or to parts of their manifesto.
When Shuichi had said bind them, he had meant bind them to him personally.
The meeting is being held in one of their bases near a pier. The entire area has been closed for nearly a mile in any direction. No one without high-level clearance is getting near this gathering.
Shuichi walks beside Izuku, glaring at anyone in their way. For a moment, Izuku wonders if he's gotten taller because he swears, he used to come up to Shuichi's chin. Now he only comes up to his shoulder.
There is a long table in the centre of the room, the seats already filled. He looks to these people wearing green lightning bolts and wonders why they believe in him. It doesn't matter. They will be useful in the future.
Izuku takes his seat on the far end, Shuichi hovering a metre behind him. Everyone already knows, there's no point in ruses.
"The last time we met was two months ago. It pleases me to see you all in good health."
They exchange meaningless pleasantries before they go into status updates. The military has been agitated and fights have broken out between military patrols and Lightning Bolts. No one has died just yet but it threatens that. They've expanded into shipping after having seized a few vessels used for illegal smuggling as a new means to earn money.
"And you're going to start arming them when?"
The woman in charge of the shipping group shrugs. "We'd prefer not to. They're not military vessels."
He is glad to hear that. Nowhere near as glad to hear that their recruitment has swelled. They've become integral to security in Hokkaido and Shikoku. They've reached a point where the police actively help them.
"I think we should address the elephant in the room," Koichi says, startling Izuku. He hadn't expected him to be the one to bring it up. "Or perhaps the villain in the room."
"I suppose you've earned the right to question me. Go ahead."
"Wasn't he one of the villains who started the Kamino Ward War?" one man questions.
"And what if he was?"
"We can't just be expected to trust a villain."
"Where do you think our money comes from exactly? I certainly don't have a few million dollars lying around."
The man flushes. "That's not the point. We're talking petty villains. That man started a war."
Izuku shrugs. "I was there as well. You might as well say I started the war."
Silence descends over the table. That's a bold accusation to make of a man capable of levelling a city.
"They're right," Shuichi says, making Izuku raise a brow in annoyance. "No, I claim to be your disciple but that was an oath made in the dark. No one saw it."
Izuku glances over his shoulder as Shuichi approaches. Shuichi kneels, his black lance extended.
"I am your Lance. If you will have me, then I will serve you loyally to my dying breath. Your enemies will be my enemies. And even should we face the world, I will cut down every challenger. If it is your wish, I will not fail you. I will be your wrath on the battlefield. I will stain my lance with red at your command. I will be your disciple if you accept me."
Izuku inhales, knowing this oath means more than the one they made in All For One's base. They have both been tainted by the abyss, Izuku by his divinity and Shuichi by a dragon's wings. A promise between them means so much more than between normal people.
An oath between them is as unshakeable as Creation itself.
"I accept your oath, Shuichi Iguchi." He turns to face those watching him. "I'm willing to forgive those who are worthy of it. And he is. I trust him with my life. Will you accept his oath as well?"
Crawler stands, smiling brightly. "I will."
The man from the military stands as well. "I've seen him on the battlefield. We need more like him."
One by one, whether through loyalty or shame or political canny, they all accept Shuichi. And when it is done, no one can ever argue his presence beside Izuku again. The six at the table may be his lieutenants, but Shuichi is the only one who stands beside him.
"We have a matter that needs to be dealt with," someone says. "We're not sure how to deal with it since… Well, you can see for yourself."
Five men are brought out, all of them in handcuffs. They don't have any bruises, which pleases Izuku. Only one of them is willing to look Izuku in the eye, the rest too shamed to look anywhere but the ground.
"What is this?" he asks, failing to grasp the issue. All five have lightning bolt tattoos on their necks so why would they be in chains?
Crawler clears his throat. "They broke the safe zones."
The rage comes quick and burning hot. It is blinding and overflowing. For a moment, he can't see, can't even do anything but stay stock still. If he so much as twitches with this little control then he'll bring the building down.
It takes him a minute to master his rage, to push it back enough that he can see again. He's standing in a small crater; one he doesn't remember making. Everyone looks to him in terror and only then does he realise that the shadows are writhing malevolently.
For a solid ten seconds, he works his jaw until he can speak.
"They what?" he asks, voice cold and gravelly. The winds are picking up, buffeting the building in his rage.
Outside, the ocean is choppy and violent.
Koichi is the only one brave enough to speak. "Broke the safe zones. Infighting with other Lightning Bolts. Eight civilians died. Fifteen in hospital."
He takes a half step forward, more than ready to strangle them. Shuichi holds his arm out, blocking Izuku. For a moment, Izuku is ready to rip Shuichi's arm off.
"I swore to be your wrath."
That stops him in his tracks. Izuku takes a breath. Forces himself to sit down.
"Yes. Show them my wrath."
He knows what he is doing by giving this order. Everyone does. There is resignation amongst the leaders. The prisoners, however, are visibly terrified.
Shuichi is methodical in his actions. One quick thrust through the chest with his lance. A minute later, there are five cooling bodies on the floor and Shuichi is back in his original spot.
Would a hero act like this? Mikumo asks.
He ignores his brother because it doesn't matter. Izuku is responsible for these people. Everyone who looks to him for guidance, everyone who wears a green lightning bolt, all those myriad people with varying morals and ethics and lives are his responsibility. Right now, he's holding them accountable.
"They were Lightning Bolts."
"That makes it worse," he says sharply. "You wear my symbol and I will hold you all to my standard."
"You didn't even give them a trial," Crawler says tiredly.
"Let's talk the truth. Things are changing in the world. We barely survived the last war, there's civil unrest everywhere, and I think you all know about the abyss. The abyss is nightmares and monsters and everything terrifying you can think of." He sweeps his head across the room. "We have to be ready for whatever's coming. And what's coming is a fight for our right to live. Keeping safe zones safe is part of that. Doesn't matter who you are. If you break the cardinal laws then you face the penalty."
He casts his gaze across the six heads of the Lightning Bolts, meeting their gaze one by one. It is a promise that even they are beholden to the same laws. With his most recent show of power, they know they lack any means to face him.
"There will be casualties," Izuku continues. "But every death will be worth it. Because we're fighting for a cause we believe in."
Titan ruled through strength and intimidation. You aren't him, brother mine. Don't let your grief cloud your heart.
Izuku ignores him and stands, not caring that he steps in a pool of blood. If lightning and blood and strength are the path to the future then so be it. He'll become strong enough that no one hurts him or Kouta again. He'll be strong enough that anyone who raises his banner will never fear.
"Shuichi will be with you. He's my first Disciple. Consider his words to be the same as my own."
He walks past his Disciple, the young dragon drenched in the blood of people Izuku sacrificed without hesitation.
As the days pass, he notices that there is an undercurrent of fear amongst the group. They obey, but it is less genuine loyalty and more fear. Izuku ignores it. They used his name and face and words, now they will reap the consequences.
Kouta pokes Izuku, trying to get his attention. Izuku gives his most benevolent smile.
"Yes?"
"You're not around as much."
"I promise I'll be around more. Do you want anything?"
Kouta hums. "There's a new game out."
That's an easy enough request, one his mother wouldn't have allowed. Izuku knows he spoils Kouta but it's all he knows how to do. He isn't a parent and fuck if he's letting Hisashi do that. The man can barely take care of himself.
That has nothing to do with your deep-seated abandonment issues and a lot of self-loathing?
Izuku rolls his eyes. "I'm better."
He isn't. They both know that's a lie. He's changed and grown but every morning he wakes and the world feels like it's closing in. When no one is looking, his hands tremble. In the shower, he cries almost daily.
If no one sees, it doesn't matter. It isn't a problem if no one realises it exists. It is a weakness, and Izuku can't afford any weaknesses. He remembers his time in prison when a military interrogator came to see him, remembers how the man tore into Izuku's mental health without mercy, dangling that weakness as a threat. He can't let anyone see.
Just like how no one can see his stomach lurch. It happens suddenly like a rock in his stomach suddenly being moved around.
Then he tips over to the side, his head swirling. He vomits suddenly, chest aching and muscles spasming.
"Hey, kid, you—"
Izuku ignores him, too busy staring at his sudden and violent nosebleed. Something is wrong with him. He can feel the crystals in his bones shifting and grating against his muscles, tearing them apart.
"—call an ambulance—"
His hands aren't human anymore. They are shifting in and out of this dimension, green energy made manifest. A miniature lightning storm swirls around them, threatening anyone who comes near.
"—quirk activation—"
Worst of all is the splitting headache he has. If he didn't know any better, he'd say someone just gouged out most of his head. No, someone definitely gouged out his eyes. There's blood running down his face and he can't see worth shit.
And then the world rights itself. He regains control of his body, his hands returning to their regular state. His stomach no longer hurts, his head calm. He wishes he didn't have that clarity.
"No, no, no, no, no."
Even from here he can feel its presence. It is dark and cloying and horrendous, an anathema presence in this world.
Izuku stands and turns northwest. There, in the distance, he can sense it. Even without eyes, he can see it. Something gargantuan. Something utterly inhuman. Something that should never have seen the light of day.
The worst part is that it calls to him. He can hear what they will one day do.
One day soon they will singthesongthatendslife.
-TDB-
Shouto Todoroki deals with being bullied gracefully. His siblings don't seem to care how much power he has. Nastuo and Touya he would understand since they're idiots with no idea what he can do, but even Fuyumi is involved. They tease him mercilessly and his brothers get physical all the time.
Touya, the skinniest amongst them, has Shouto in a headlock. A bad one that anyone could break. He can't even use his weight since he hasn't put much on since the war. Just enough that no one is worried about him breaking like a twig, but not enough to be healthy.
"Let go of me," he says calmly.
"No can do, little man."
Shouto finds that ridiculous. He's a head taller than Touya. Shouto is practically carrying his brother.
"Why?"
"This," Natsuo shouts.
Something wet and thick smacks him in the face. Touya yelps and scrambles off Shouto. His two siblings run by, hollering and laughing loudly.
Shouto stands there, dripping purple goop when Endeavour walks in. His father stares at him for a moment.
"Explain."
"Your other sons," Shouto says acridly, "are children."
Endeavour scoffs. "Learn to beat them at their own game."
That sounds nothing like his father. "Are you sick?"
"It's what your mother would say."
He genuinely wants to reply with something caustic. Unfortunately, everything goes horribly wrong at that moment.
Shouto Todoroki senses it the moment it cast its gaze on his domain. One moment, everything under the auspices of godflame is safe. In the next, nearly half of the abyss under light vanishes.
Universes upon universes of strange logics and stranger life are extinguished in an instance. Throne worlds hidden in pocket dimensions are forced into real space and shatter immediately. Higher-dimensional space folds into lower dimensions. Matter annihilates itself and gravity breaks down.
Across his domain, he hears a songthatwillsnuffouthisfire and knows that the end has come. It has come hard and fast with no preamble.
The Singers have awakened somehow. Against every ember of the godflame telling him that they should be locked up beneath the foundation of darkness, sealed eternally and unendingly, he can sense the Singers. The elder trees had told him they were sealed. Izuku had told him they were sealed.
Apparently, they were all wrong.
Shouto realises this in a split-second outside of time. By the time his brain has caught up with his body, he realises he is in the abyss facing down the Singer.
It is vast and terrifying. Shouto's body is locked by fear because these things should. Not. Be. They are darkness so primordial and ancient that they existed before the godflame.
Before he can fully comprehend them, a blazing pyre of godflame surrounds him. It is the only protection he has before the force of their presence hits him and erodes the barriers between his body and his soul. It takes so much power just to remain stable and whole, let alone to do anything.
Shouto is a god with a big G. The Singers make him doubt his divinity.
They are drawn to Earth by a beacon that only manifested a few seconds ago. But time is relative and these beings don't have a concept for it. They exist in the past, present, and future all at once, flowing above and below the forward arrow of time. They're so alien that Shouto with his powers over time can't tell when he's facing them or if he's facing an afterimage.
For the first time since acquiring his powers, Shouto feels genuine fear. It is fear of the unknown, fear of a predator, fear of something that can kill him.
They Sing a songthatendslife and Shouto feels the way it propagates throughout the abyss. It disintegrates life, fuses atoms together and turns it to degenerate matter. It is a song that annihilates the concepts of gravity and eats nuclear forces. It is a song that mocks the concept of light and kills it, indifferent to Shouto's power.
Shouto doesn't want to think of the destruction they have wrought in what amounts to a few seconds. It is a loss of life and Creation itself that he never thought possible. In a few casual seconds, they have caused the kind of damage it would take Shouto hours, days, years, eternities to do. They've done so casually and indifferently.
No, he realises, his heart forgetting to beat. Only one of them is singing. Oh, I've just been looking at one of them.
His looks to the left with his physical body but his metaphysical sight gazes at the entirety of the abyss all at once. It hurts and he feels his eyes explode from the sight of the Singers, feels his heart give up on beating, and his soul threaten to leave his body but, he. Must. Know.
As he gazes at five Singers, he acknowledges that he isn't the only God with a capital 'G'. No, he's been playing at the concept.
All he can do is cast a net of godflame across what remains of Creation. It is a net that extends through dozens of realms, a light-barrier of epic proportions. It is fuelled by the entirety of the godflame, by every iota of heat and love and everything he's got. It is the single greatest act of his divinity, so powerful that any other time he would be struck in awe. Right now, he doesn't even have eyes to see the net that defies reason and logic.
But nets have holes.
Something always slips through.
-TDB-
Fumikage Tokoyami has stayed out of the spotlight since his failure in Greece.
The world knows of the abyss. They have seen the power of a godling and it breaks Fumikage's heart that he failed in the most critical of ways. Was it not his duty, his responsibility, to protect mankind from the abyss? Inquisitor. That title had come with the expectation that he was to root out abyssal threats and eliminate them before they could harm others. Now, two million Grecian lives are on him because of his failure.
He doesn't even have the benefit of anonymity. Someone had leaked images of him from the Sports Festival with his dragon's arms manifested. The Imperial Household's PR team had done amazing work so he isn't reviled. If anything, he's being praised as a hero.
Fumikage hates every moment of it. He hates the award ceremonies—multiple ceremonies because not only had Greece given him one, but so had Europe and Toledo Research Institute and Japan—and he hates the fact that his name is everywhere on the internet. It's said in the same breath as Izuku when it should never have seen the light of day.
A part of him finds Izuku's antics in defeating the Meta Liberation Army entertaining. Mostly he's relieved because people are focusing on something other than their helplessness against the abyss. The world is on fire, pockets of abyssal incursions popping up everywhere. Fire is the only resource that effectively works.
"Sir, we have confirmed sighting of a priority target."
He's lying on a grassy area overlooking a water garden in the Imperial Villa. The sun is out in force for once which means Izuku isn't nearby and upset. This is the first time in weeks that he's had to see the sun and he's very specifically told everyone not to disturb him.
"And this has what to do with me? We have priority targets daily."
"You marked it with our highest security clearances. It's called the subtle knife."
Fumikage sits up, startling the man. Boy, really. He's not much older than fourteen. Younger than Fumikage, certainly, and still possessed of baby fat.
"Are you certain?"
The information comes straight from a cultist they managed to capture and interrogate. He finds it surprising the cultist's head did not explode given their propensity to doing so before they can divulge any information. Perhaps a cultist too low on the totem pole to earn that modification?
The knife is being held on an island off the coast of Japan, some thirty miles from Chiba prefecture. They don't have any maps that show the island likely making it an artificial island brought up from a quirk.
"Why are you so obsessed with this knife?" Maya asks him, her feet propped on the table.
She's dressed casually. Fumikage sincerely wished her blouse showed more of her cleavage than it currently does.
Because he is a fool driven to obsession, Dark Shadow says, feeding on Maya's plate of bacon. She pets the demon who purrs contentedly. One day Fumikage will understand why they like each other so much.
"Oh, I know that. Just why this knife."
"Because you showed me the knife," he says honestly. "We wouldn't be together without it. I want it back."
"Aren't you just a romantic?" She waves her hand. "Do as you please. It's not as if you need my permission."
"Maybe I just wanted to see you."
She rolls her eyes. "I'd rather see Dark Shadow. At least he knows how to treat a woman."
"It has no gender," Fumikage grits out. "And it is coming with me."
Maya pats the demon once more before Fumikage summons it back to his soul. He needs to stop giving it so much autonomy. Dark Shadow stands at the very top of his soul, towering over all the other creatures that he houses. It can spend as much time outside his soul as it pleases.
"You really need to stop being so jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
She flashes towards him and then stands in front of him, little space between them. He's suddenly aware of every blemish she holds and how her skin glows subtly from her powers. Most of all, he's suddenly aware of her scent, heady and intoxicating.
"Yes, you are." She leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead. "For luck."
And then she's gone in a burst of light. Fumikage simply stands there, utterly bewildered, his heart thundering. He can't help his grin.
It doesn't leave when he walks towards the island, a swagger in each step that chews through dozens of kilometres. The island is artificial, more a pillar than an actual island. There is no wildlife in the area, no plants or vegetation anywhere.
There is a gradual decline making almost a bowl. In the very centre of the bowl, he finds a single man on an altar. The altar is surrounded by a pool of blood, one that comes from slaughter. He doesn't want to consider how many dozens were killed to achieve this.
"Your arrogance knows no bounds," Fumikage says. "A ritual slaughter on a false island. Did you think we would not find you? We've been tracking you since Greece."
The cultist extends his arms. In one hand, he holds a glowing red orb. In the other, he holds a subtle knife with an edge that can slice through reality. Fumikage would recognise that knife anywhere.
The cultist laughs cruelly. "You think that thing was our goal. Pathetic. That creature was nothing but a beacon."
Fumikage cocks his head, amused. Oh, he probably should be ending this before it possibly becomes a fight, but there's nothing the cultist can summon that will harm him. Besides, he's waited almost a year to get that knife back.
"You're a fool. Now, will you comply?"
"It's too late. They come and there is nothing you can do."
The cultist laughs maniacally. Fumikage is quite disappointed. He'd hoped for something other than madness.
Something like the cultist suddenly and violently stabbing himself. Fumikage's eyes widen and then he's beside the altar, the cultist grinning at him.
He reaches for the man but a shimmering barrier stops him. It is a barrier of infinite distance. Fumikage breaks it with a thought, only for another to manifest in his place. When he breaks that, another appears. It is a cycle that refuses to end.
All the while, the cultist is dying.
Finally, the cultist slumps over.
Fumikage sighs. "I hate cultists." He looks down and sees his shoes drenched in blood. "I liked these shoes."
He reaches out to remove the subtle knife. If nothing else, he will console himself with returning it to the vaults. He wrenches it out of the man's torso and wipes it clean.
In the cultist's other hand is the glowing red orb. As Fumikage stares at it, he sees the creature trapped within.
The creature is small and pitiful. He's seen them before. It is a memetic nightmare. They do terrible things to humans.
Fumikage finds them cute. He'll have to destroy this one, unfortunately. He reaches out and touches it.
Instantly, he feels a drain on his power, the reservoirs of his soul being sucked away. Fumikage is a god, one of three, and whilst he has yet to reach the height of his power, his soul is a galaxy unto itself. That raw and endless power brimming with potential has just been stolen.
He pulls back, feeling cold and tiny. His reserves are filling up again but they haven't been this low since he was a mortal. With a thought, he forces the creatures in his soul to pour their energy into his energy reserve. They all have their own personal energy but the central reservoir is how Fumikage partitions more to those fighting with him.
A pillar borne of his stolen energy manifests where the memetic nightmare was. It slams him back and he lands roughly, bones groaning in protest from the force.
The subtle knife wrenches itself free of his grip. He doesn't have a chance to dodge before it stabs him in the chest.
Fumikage gasps and hears his hoard shriek in rage. The wound burns like fire. Then the knife jerks itself out of his chest as if held by an invisible person. His blood stains the ground, hot and gushing. Where it touches the ground, Fumikage can see life grow from it.
He ignores that for now, focused on repairing the wound. With his reserves this low and the pain clouding his mind, it takes longer than he would like.
"Witness a true God!"
The man who should be dead grins at him, dying, yes, but alive enough to do this with his quirk. He puppets the knife, fingers twitching weakly.
Then the knife with the blood of a god stabs the pillar of the memetic nightmare that stole the power of a god. The pillar rises far into the air, tall as any mountain. He shivers when he feels four more across the world.
The world shatters.
Time compresses.
Hope dies.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't look. Whatever you do, don't look at it.
Every instinct he has, instincts that thousands of creatures within him possess, tell him that he must. Not. Look. Right now, he's safe. In this moment that stretches out past infinity, Fumikage is protected so long as he doesn't move.
Nothing will happen. He'll be safe. The world will be safe.
But he must look. He must know. Slowly, his gaze darts to the right.
And then he sees that which should not be seen.
There are no words in the human tongue to describe the wrongness that he witnesses. It is a towering entity tall as any mountain but so utterly wrong that it defies reason. It isn't on top of him, thankfully, but it is close enough that he feels the weaker lifeforms in his soul being snuffed out just from staring at it.
Fumikage falls to his knees, his eyes burning. The power that consumes them is unnatural, something beyond the grasp of godflame and life. It is less genuine heat and more a manifestation of the song the Singers will one day sing.
He roars in pain, channelling power to restore them.
Except, it doesn't work.
Nothing should be able to do that to me. My body is a temple, inviolable and consecrated by my divinity.
He summons forth his remaining power to protect himself. His soul is breaking apart just from being in proximity to the creature.
"I can't see. Dark Shadow, what is that?"
Dark Shadow joins him. The demon is a bundle of nervous energy and tiny, hiding beneath the mantle of his divinity.
The seals were broken, it whispers in horror.
He is glad he can't see Dark Shadow's terror even though he can sense it viscerally. It distracts him from the terrible pain of his eyes, burnt and bloody and raw.
"What are they?"
The Singers, anathema creations of darkness from the very beginning. They were sealed by dark and godflame and disparity aeons ago. They herald the end of everything the godflame touches. They seek the end of all living forms.
"Oh," he says softly. "This is the end of the world."