Sup, everyone! Inhuman Heroes here, and here is my first ever story on Fanfiction almost completely rewritten! For original readers of this story, I have deleted all chapters after this because it's going to be very different than the original. The main reason for this rewrite is because i have just about completely remade the character in this story, John. Though, some of the important elements that I'm sure drew your attention, such as the mystery surrounding John, is still here, just done slightly different (better). Enjoy!
Throughout the city of New York, the only sound heard was the crackling of fire. Buildings were broken, streets were shattered, and corpses were strewn about. Blood was everywhere. To call it a city would be wrong. It would be more accurate to call it a cemetery. Nearby what used to be Times Square, there was a relatively unharmed taxi cab, save for scratches and bloodstains. A man was sitting with his back to the door of the driver's seat. His knees were up, and his arms were resting upon them. He had short brown hair that was blood soaked, and had crimson eyes. He wore a combat suit that was primarily black with gold spread throughout. One leg cut off at the ankle. The other was shredded up to just above his knee. Both of the sleeves were ripped apart up to the elbows, and the collar was missing. On his chest, there was the left half of a chest plate, displaying half of a golden Omega symbol that was now splattered with blood. The right side of his abdomen was bare, the edges of the cloth looking burnt. The man's hands were dripping blood, pools of crimson grew under his stained feet, and there were blood splatters all over his face, but there was not a single injury on his body. He was staring straight ahead with a tired expression. Before him appeared two flashes of light, one flawless white, and the other a beautiful purple. A tall bald man adorning an impeccable white suit appeared from the white flash, while a woman of average height and flowing magenta hair wearing a dress that mimicked the universal sky that cut off at her knees appeared out of the purple flash. The man in white had brilliant blue eyes filled with sympathy, and the woman had elegant purple eyes showing sadness. Without a word, the two walked forward. The man in white sat to the left of the man soaked in blood, and the woman sat on the right. Silence ran unimpeded for several minutes, before the blood soaked man opened his mouth.
"Doug. Ana."
"John." The woman, Ana, returned. Doug remained silent. "I…I'm sorry this happened."
"We all know you couldn't interfere. Don't apologize for something you were prevented from doing."
"This-this wouldn't have happened if Doug and I could have fought with you!"
"Not even I predicted the actions that Reichenbach took. All your help would've done was made it last longer."
"I could've healed their wounds." Doug finally spoke. "Ana could've helped you fight them off."
"Even if you were there to help, even if we did succeed in fending them off, all it would've done was postpone the inevitable. My family would have died, once again. Whether today or sometime in the future is no longer relevant." John softly explained. "It took you two too long to come here if you only wished to comfort me."
"We had proposed an idea to Father." Ana revealed. John raised an eyebrow. "He eventually agreed. If you wish to leave this world, you may, but only once, and neither of us may direct where you go." The brown haired man blinked.
"I see." He whispered. Ana clasped her hands in her lap as her head fell in sadness.
"John." she released a shuddering sigh. "Seeing your disappointment every time you fail to find a challenge breaks my heart. To see that you yourself have lost hope in achieving your only goal pains me even more. I used to love seeing the way your eyes lit up when facing a challenger, no matter how inexperienced they were. That light no longer manifests, and I wish so badly for it to return. Take this offer, I beg you. We might not be able to speak to one another until they day of our deaths, but Doug and I would be able to watch over you as you face new challengers that have not been daunted by your name. There is no guarantee, but this opportunity has the potential for you to find someone, something, that can challenge you. Please, use it." John's crimson eyes trailed over to meet Ana's violet, analyzing her teary visage as he thought over the proposal. Though he didn't look, the brunet could feel the hopeful stare from Doug burning into the back of his head. There was a moment where the only movement was that of the magenta-haired woman's tears dripping down her face. Then John sighed, an unimaginable weight behind it, and faced forward to stare into nothingness once again.
"…Only once, you said?" Doug hummed in affirmation to John's statement. "…Then I will give this opportunity a chance. If it fails, I will return, with Father's permission or not." Doug raised an eyebrow.
"And face his wrath?"
"You know better than most; he cannot intimidate me with the wisps he calls power. Even if he had the power that he burned away creating us, he cannot stop me." Ana chuckled hollowly.
"It still amazes me that your power is so unimaginably greater than ours that you could best any version of Father."
"It was a result of what he gifted me. Neither of your powers are weaker than mine, they simply don't serve the purpose mine does." Doug stared wistfully at the sky.
"While true, you took your power farther than either of us did." He mentioned.
"Mine was more vague than either of yours. I had to put in the most effort to learn how to utilize it."
"Yours was also the most simple at first glance. Lightning."
"Mine was also the most complex once you peered past the surface."
"True, true." Doug relented. "When do you wish to leave?"
"Send me at your leisure." John's eyes trailed over the bodies around them. "I have nothing to say goodbye to." The eyes of Doug and Ana fell as they processed the brunet's words. Then, in silent agreement, they each held out their hands, a swirl of violet and alabaster light surrounding John. He didn't so much as blink as he felt the world distort and shift around him.
Once the light faded enough for John to see, the man analyzed his environment. He was at the edge of a lush forest, with a town of wood and stone in front of him. The differences between his own world and the one the man was now in were evident. Glowing crystals shined from lamps and through shop windows, and the few denizens that roamed in the night wore clothes of odd designs and shapes. A quick glance around informed the brunet of the name of the town, Magnolia. He stalked around the edge of the brush, to investigate more without anyone noticing him, when he heard a muffled scream. It was far too soft to be heard unless one was mere meters away from the source, but John was a special case. Seeing the perfect opportunity, he burst forward, hunting down the quiet whimpers and tweaking the sight of any that caught eye of him just enough to remove suspicion. He was clad in clothes not recognized in this world; it would not do if he were to stand out immediately. Feather-light taps and adjustments of the strings always trapped in his calloused fingers, and those who saw him would see clothes familiar to them.
It took no longer than 15 seconds for John to discover the source of the whimpering, a voluptuous blonde woman clad in a blue skirt and a white top with a sapphire cross spanning the front. The woman had her hair pinned up in a side ponytail, with brown thigh-high boots. A belt was around her waist, holding a set of silver and gold keys that extruded magic. Well, a diluted magic. Not nearly as powerful as the pure energy produced by the mages of John's home world. A man was pinning her to a wall, tall, muscled, and reeking of alcohol. The man's left hand held both of the woman's wrists above her head, and his right was inching its way towards the zipper found at her shirt collar. Without hesitance, John darted up to them and captured the drunkard's right forearm in his left hand, before striking the near-rapist in the face so heavily that the man was sent across the alley into the opposite wall. John felt the man's blood cake his knuckles, adding another layer of gore that was currently unseen. The brunet spared a glance to the blonde, seeing that she was in a state of shock, but otherwise fine. He then looked down to analyze the drunkard who was slumped to the ground, seeing the splintered forearm, shattered nose, and fractured skull of the man. John shifted his gaze to the blonde, instantly spotting fear, shock, and increasing relief on her face.
"I'm going to drop him off at the nearby hospital. It is up to you whether you wish to remain here until my return or stay with me as I make the journey." Keeping his tone gentle and soothing was simple despite his emotional turmoil. He once was proud of his ability to act so flawlessly. Now he was just numb.
"I-I…" The woman stuttered. "P-please…" Though the woman could not finish her sentence, her intention was easily understood by the experienced man. The brunet grabbed the unconscious drunkard by the back of his clothes and slung him over his left shoulder carelessly. The crudeness of the action was in part to play the typical disgust one would have for a potential rapist. But it was also in part John's current apathy. He reached out his right hand for the blonde to take hold. She did so gratefully, clasping his larger hand between her smaller palms. The woman situated herself at his right shoulder, using John as a wall between herself and the drunkard over the brunet's shoulder. Seeing tension, however little, leave her body, John nodded and began walking.
He had been in the town for no longer than a minute, most of it being within an alley, but the world traveler's perception was unmatched. He had caught the white building, littered with medicinal symbols, three blocks before reaching the blonde and the drunkard. And so he retraced his steps so as to deposit the injured man to the infirmary. The blonde woman shivered as she ghosted over John's arm. He spared a half-instant glance that no human could catch, and recognized her need to vent. She was not yet aware of it, so deep in her shock. The brunet was not in the mood for talking, but he was far more disinterested in starting his journey in this world as an outcast.
"What's your name?" He asked gently. The woman in question flinched, before she exited her mind.
"L-Lucy." He caught her unwillingness to divulge her family name, and analyzed her once again. Although her clothes mostly matched the design of the people of the town, they were of a higher quality fabric. There were little, subtle hints of elegant designs hidden around. Almost as if the seamstress that made the cloth did not want to make clothes a 'commoner' would wear. The keys hanging from the ring at her hip, three were gold, and displayed the symbols of the zodiac. Aquarius, Taurus, and Cancer. Those three extruded more magic than the silver keys, and of a greater purity. Hardly any difference compared to the magic John was accustomed to, but enough that he could tell what they meant. The golden keys were one of, if not the highest tier of magical keys in this world. Since they were zodiac, there were twelve, possibly thirteen. For her to have three? All options pointed to Lucy being of noble descent. Which then lead to the conclusion that she ran from her home, to separate herself from, at the very least, a lonesome live as a noblewoman.
"Alright then, Lucy." He would pretend he was unaware of her status, at least for now. "Care to walk me through your day?" She was emotionally fatigued, the near-rape that she experienced was not enough to leave her in such a state. Something very good, very bad, or both occurred recently. The blonde blinked as she stared up at John.
"Huh?"
"You are very reasonably stressed. Vent to me. I do not mind." The woman's mouth hung agape at his words.
"Y-are you sure?"
"Of course. Go on." It would be useful for both, anyway. Lucy would be relieved of some of her emotional stress, and John would learn about the world he was now residing in. The key bearer took in a calming breath.
"Well, you could say it all started yesterday. I was in this magic shop run by this old man, and I saw this key that summoned this adorable little snowman creature! I just had to buy it!" The tale proved to be more fruitful than the brunet had even initially realized. Close to every sentence that slipped out the, now revealed to be, teenager's mouth was filled with information about the world. Whatever she didn't say, was something easily put together by the man, through the sheer amount of accidental information she was sprouting.
He had been transported to a world of magic, though only around 10% of the world actually unlocked the capability to use it. Some things were just like in his own world, like how magical energy was generated within people's bodies, and was the fuel for their spells. Though, this world's magic had a drastically different learning curve. So long as the proper training was provided, anyone could learn anything, unlike in John's own world, where one only unlocked the capability to use complex magic once they acquired a mastery of simpler magic. Lucy was a practitioner of Celestial Spirit Magic, wherein she used keys representing constellations to summon the manifestations of those constellations. Which only proved John's analysis around the golden keys correct. There were Magic Guilds, wherein the mages making up the guilds essentially took on the roles of mercenaries. The guilds themselves were governmentally approved, and ranked by popularity and strength. The number one guild in the country John had found himself in, Fiore, was named Fairy Tail. It was Lucy's dream to be a member, which she achieved when she accidentally encountered a boisterous member the previous day. The meeting was through a slave trader who had used the name of the member in particular to abduct people for his business. Once the trader had been taken out, the member, named Natsu, was all too happy to offer Lucy a place in Fairy Tail.
According to her description, the actual guild of Fairy Tail was equally as rowdy as the literal fiery member she had encountered. She had been walking home to her new apartment to rest and take everything in when she had been pinned to the wall by the drunkard that John was currently tossing onto a stretcher within the hospital. Lucy had clung to the brunet's arm the entire trip, through all of her increasingly energetic retelling of the past two days. They were standing in front of the hospital just as she finished her tale.
"…And now we're here." She breathed. He smiled. It was completely fake, but even the most analytical of people would be incapable of deciphering that.
"Indeed we are. Do you feel any better?" She nodded happily, a smile far more genuine than his dusting her face.
"A lot, thank you so much for listening to me go on and on!"
"Think nothing of it." He waved off. "After what you went through, it would be cruel to not relieve you of your stress."
"Thank you anyway. It meant a lot to me that you listened to me for all of that." She spoke. The brunet instantly caught the tone of her latter sentence, and just as quickly deciphered its meaning. Either neglectful parents, or ones too busy to give her their attention. It was likely that if anyone had listened to her while she was growing, it was only her servants. If Fairy Tail was as rambunctious as she had described, then it truly would be her dream made real.
"Is there any way I can repay you?" She asked. Ah, wonderful. He wouldn't need to use his skills in persuasion to find a place to sleep. He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head, falsifying nervousness. The sensation of having his bloodied hand pass through his equally bloodied hair was something he was accustomed to, and thus easily ignored.
Of course, she was completely unaware of how much blood dirtied his body, as well as how much had gotten onto her from holding onto him. He hadn't bothered masking the blood that had soiled the drunkard's clothes, as it had easily been mistaken for the unconscious mans' own.
"Well, there might be one?" Lucy's eyes shined at his words. "I came to this town today, and I haven't had the chance to look for a place to stay."
"Of course I'll let you stay at my place for tonight!" In addition to her excitement at being able to 'repay a debt', he caught the increase in her heart rate and the hint of something sweet from under her skirt. He paid them no mind. After all, stories of women finding their 'true love' through situations such as this were commonplace. With Lucy being of noble descent, he had no doubt that she had read many such stories. He dropped his hand, and directed a thankful smile her way.
"Thank you." Her face flushed for a moment before she gathered her wits.
"I-it's no problem! Follow me!" She beckoned as she began walking. He chuckled at her reaction before doing as asked. He quickly came up to walk side-by-side with her, allowing himself to be distracted by her joyous disposition.
"Hey, I told you about how I found my way here. Do you mind telling me what you're doing in Magnolia?" It was mildly amusing how her question held far more weight than she realized. There wasn't enough information available to him to spin a story about how he physically came to this town. Furthermore, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. He had been particularly attached to his latest family, and he was now in a funk. Hm. This was a restart for him. The latest in a long life of restarts, yes, but a restart nonetheless. Vague, but not incorrect answer, it was.
"I was reminded of something recently. Something I prefer to not acknowledge." He explained somberly. "A few friends of mine brought me here for a restart." John had already put together that, although Lucy was sheltered, she had an understanding of social interaction. As such, her cheer dropped from the tone behind his statement, and she lifted a hand to rub his back soothingly.
"I'm here for a restart, too. How about we do that together?" He turned his head down towards her with a thoughtful look. It wouldn't hurt, he supposed. A hollow smile fluttered onto his face, purposefully allowed to be fake.
"Does that mean tonight isn't the only night I'm spending within your home?" He joked. She cracked a smile at his successful attempt to lighten the mood.
"Yeah, yeah it does." Just like he wanted, the rest of their journey passed in comfortable silence. When they reached her apartment, his suspicions of the size were proven correct. It was a modest thing; a single bedroom, a single bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. It was small, probably she cheapest she could find so she wouldn't be reliant on the treasury her family owned once she began completing jobs. As such, it was an apartment that was unfit for John's large and imposing frame. In order to pass through the front door, he not only had to duck, but also twist his body so that his head and shoulders wouldn't crash against the doorway. Lucy gawked from inside the abode as he did so, and the sweet smell returned.
Ah, so it finally settled in her mind the difference in size between them. She was of average height, around 165 cm if his analytical abilities had not spontaneously declined and around 47 kg. He was an imposing 199 cm, and weighed 103 kg. She barely met the conditions of being in good shape, likely to preserve her image rather than be battle ready. He was the model of battle-hardened, every muscle in his body defined and powerful. It was good that he was going to have her shower before him anyway, as it would give her ample time to cool off. He shut the apartment door behind him, and found the ceiling just barely high enough that he could stand straight. It truly was a 'barely' thing, however. He could feel some of his hairs brush against the popcorn ceiling. He mentally frowned. It wouldn't affect his performance in the slightest, but it would grow annoying to hide the blood he was trailing from Lucy and the townspeople. Once she went to sleep, the brunet decided, he would cleanse away the blood that had stained the path he had taken.
"Lucy, why don't you take the first shower? It is your apartment, you deserve to make use of it before I." She nodded numbly, her face crimson as she turned towards the open bathroom. "Ah, and Lucy?" She snapped around, and John decided to not analyze to find out what had caused her to be so erratic. "This is going to sound a bit odd, but it's simply a quirk of mine. Please make sure that you clean yourself properly, it would ease my mind knowing I share a home with someone who cares for themselves properly."
In actuality, the 'quirk' was simply a smooth cover-up so she remained unaware to the blood that was sluggishly trailing down her arms and staining the front of her shirt. And unaware of the fact that he was manipulating her senses so the blood remained outside of her perception. He wanted her to shower first so he could properly clean the mess she would leave behind that she would likely never become privy to.
The blonde nodded shakily before darting into the bathroom, leaving John to find something to occupy his time. He settled on getting some of the cleansing out of the way. Through a sharp flare of intense heat, the remnants of his combat suit were free of blood in an instant. Another burst snapped out, and the blood that had seeped into the carpet was gone. He would save the viscera lying upon his skin for the shower. It was…a ritual of sorts. Those hands and feet of his, the ones behind countless crimes committed, countless lives lost. He felt it wrong to erase that which stained him directly. He felt that it was wrong to not thusly deal with it directly. That it was insulting to the sources of those stains if he merely eradicated and forgot them.
Exiting his thoughts, he entered the kitchen, leaving flickers of heat behind him to eradicate the blood he left behind. He looked inside the fridge and cabinets, memorizing everything Lucy had. She didn't have much, it was likely the bare minimum she allowed herself to buy with her parent's money. Luckily, John's skill in cooking was incredible. He could make successfully filling meals for the two of them for a week with the ingredients before him. That is, three small, but nutrient providing, meals a day for each of them. He could make it last two weeks by not eating, considering he himself didn't require food. However, Lucy would pitch a fit, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that. He organized a meal plan in his head as he sauntered over to the window in the living room, opening it up to glance down with the intent to erase any bloodstains within sight. Luckily, Lucy's abode was facing the street they just traversed down, so a significant amount of the blood was incinerated instantly. He shut the window and meandered over to Lucy's bathroom, opening the door and calmly walking over to where her clothes were tossed atop the counter. The blonde was sitting in the filled tub of water a mere two feet away, humming to herself as she played around with the dog-sized snowman shaking outside the tub. According to her, the creature perpetually shook, so he paid it no mind. Instead, he grasped her shirt and skirt, lifted them, and inspected them. Every spot of blood that caught his eye was disintegrated by flashes of heat. Once the clothes were completely free of blood, the brunet kneeled down next to the tub Lucy was now washing her hair in. He looked over the water, which was slowly turning pink, and at her, her arms and hands still unknowingly covered in blood. Her left cheek and parts of her thighs, as well, had blood upon them, from her pressing herself against him. She was washing her hair with her hands covered in shampoo and blood. He allowed himself a soft snort of amusement from the sight, before he held out his hand. Instantly, the water became clear, save for clusters of soap bubbles. Her body was completely clean of the crimson that she had been unaware of. It had been annoying to be so precise, but the blood that had mixed with her shampoo was gone, with none of the cleansing substance being taken with it. The only indication that she in any way felt what had just been done to her was through her shivering pleasantly, which was from him eradicating the blood covering her thighs. With his work done, he exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Lucy none the wiser to his ever entering the room.
As he sat upon the couch, keeping his hands and feet away simply to reduce the amount of cleaning he'd have to do, he mentally analyzed the buildings he had passed since coming to the town in hopes that he would recognize a clothing store. Sadly, he realized, for many of the buildings he passed, he only caught the signs displaying their names, and he didn't yet know how to read in this world. Luckily for him, their spoken language was shockingly close to English, so he didn't have to learn that as well. He'll ask Lucy to take him clothes shopping tomorrow. For now, he'll just continue to tweak the perception of those that saw him.
Lucy's bathroom door opened, and the woman released a relieved sigh. He twisted his head and caught her clad in nothing but a towel, which clung tightly to her due to her wetness. It brilliantly displayed her curves. Her hair was also trapped within a second towel atop her head, and her skin glistened from the light hitting her wet body.
"Bathroom's free!" She happily announced, picking up her clothes and journeying to her room. He lifted himself from the couch and entered the bathroom, easily figuring out how the shower worked and turning it on. He removed his suit and hung it on the towel rack screwed into the wall opposite the mirror. Which was steamed up from Lucy's bath. A flare of heat fixed that. John hunched down so that he could stare himself in the eyes, then slowly trailed his eyes down his body.
Completely unmarked skin, not a scar to be found, despite the hundreds of millions of battles he had been part of. In part, from his near invincibility. In part, from his unparalleled power and skill.
Not a scar to be found. Or, as John much rather prefers, no challenger good enough.
Blood was caked so heavily upon his extremities that the substance still dripped from his fingers. Puddles still formed under his feet. Though the droplets were slow to fall, though the puddles were slow to form, they still did, hours after the confrontation that brought them to such a state.
The mirror began to fog up again. He watched for a moment as the specially made glass misted up, and the image upon it distorted. He watched until his reflection became a blur. Until there was nothing but a man covered in someone else's blood. It was only then that he stood straight and entered the shower.
Raising the showerhead as high as it would go, the water could only reach his pectorals. He lowered the head, then fell back against the wall. He closed his eyes, and sank until his rear hit the floor. He allowed his own head to fall, and he was aware of locks of his hair flopping down as water clashed with blood. It was a gruesome noise. Something clear and free-flowing falling upon something murky and sticky, fighting for control. He opened his eyes slowly. Streams of pink were flowing down his head. Clumps of crimson occasionally fell and became stuck on the tile below him. He had them burn slowly, as he wondered whose it was. He had slaughtered so many today. The blood of numerous had splashed upon him. Hours later, as it was released from its capture upon his body, he couldn't help but ponder whose body it came from initially. Each time, the question was tossed around in his head until the clump was gone, before being renewed when he focused on a different one. He shifted his gaze to his hands. So much blood was to be found there. Enough that he could not see his skin. Enough that his fingers appeared to end in pointed claws. Enough that, when held under the spray of the shower, he could not feel the droplets pelt against his arm. The viscera extended past his wrists, past the length of his forearms, and spilled past his elbows. Of course, the farther from his fingers the blood went, the thinner it became. While that which covered his hand was a thick layer that neared a gel, that which extended past his elbow were mere splatters that discolored his skin. His feet were practically mirror images.
It was there that he reached the peak of his pondering. Exactly how much blood had he spilled to get his extremities to such a point? Exactly how many lives had he taken that he lost the ability to see his own skin? It had been so long since he last cared enough to remember those that tried to challenge him, but his thoughts always shifted to this after mass slaughters. Perhaps it was that lack of care that caused him to ponder those thoughts. Perhaps it was him no longer distinguishing between one challenger and another that caused him to become curious over which one's blood covered him.
Perhaps that would change in this world.
His head fell back against the wall, in time with his hands falling to the tile.
Hopefully.