After so long, I present to you the rewrite of Deku's Retribution. One of the most well-received stories I've written yet and one of my first publications here.
I've procrastinated, thought over, and pieced together what I could. I looked back on the story and thanks to one of you guys I've finally seen a better angle on this topic. Things have changed, for better or for worse, that is up to me to find out. A lot has changed. But I know I can do better. So here it is.
A more detailed warning for anyone reading: this story will have graphic descriptions of death, gore, violence, mentions of suicide explicit language, etc.
Retribution: (noun) punishment inflicted on someone as vengeance for a wrong or criminal act.
He always liked his room to be cold when he slept. In warmer months, he would have a window open and a fan blowing to help his body unwind after a long day. His quirk needed high temperatures to function, to get his pores going to produce his explosive sweat, but even he admitted that he needed a break from the scorching heat, whether from his own body during and after a vicious workout or the sun beating down on him as he trained.
But for almost the past year, the cold of his room didn't bring him comfort no matter how much he willed it to. Instead, it seemed to act as a trigger for his constant nightly torture, just one form of punishment he endured for his sins.
It was non-stop.
Every night…
The same nightmare.
Katsuki Bakugou was not one to be shaken easily; he inherited that from his mom's side of the family because it sure as hell didn't come from the old man. Fear is consistently dwarfed by his default emotions of pride, anger, and savageness. He feared almost nothing. The feelings of fear were for the weak-willed, the spineless, and the stagnant. But he now understood it. He saw as it forced him to look at himself and the reflection in the lake in his dreams showed him a monster wearing his face. Below the surface of the green-tinted waters was the same thing that's been haunting him for months.
His face. His eyes. The look of utter rage.
It wasn't uncommon for him to spring up from his nightmares in a cold sweat, sometimes screaming so loud the old man and shitty hag would barge in and comfort him like he was still six years old. He wasn't some snot-nosed little brat anymore, dammit. (That didn't mean he pulled away from his folk's gentle hugs.)
It didn't matter how much consoling his parents gave him. He didn't have the will to look them in the eyes and tell them to stop when they kept saying "It wasn't your fault". It never made him feel better, it just made him feel sick, like All Might landed a Detroit Smash into his stomach that made him want to spit out bile. All it did was remind him of what he'd done. Sometimes, it even made him question if he should even keep following his dream.
He believed that if he kept working, and kept fighting, he could use all of his efforts in some desperate attempt to rectify his sins. He wanted to feel like it would give him a reason to keep going. Maybe, it'd make the burden a little less heavier.
Maybe not. It didn't make him feel like it changed the fact that he would never wash away the evil he committed. A crime; something so devious that would make even his idol stare down at him with utter disgust and throw him in jail to rot for the rest of his life.
Izuku Midoriya. The name of the person he failed the most. It was the name of someone that in another life, he would call his best friend and brother unbound by blood. Instead, Midoriya was his prey in some fucked up game of fueling his bullshit ego and feelings of superiority. He wasn't alone in that regard. Half of their shitty class was just as guilty of abusing him as he was. They all carried those demons. The difference was at least he had the common decency to feel like his demons meant something instead of brushing it off and finding someone else to pick on. He made sure the new victims were protected; he learned his lesson and he was trying to become a hero damnit.
The type Midoriya wanted to be.
His eyes opened to be welcomed by the near darkness of his bedroom. Pale white light from the moon outside shone from between his curtains. His visions flicked over to the alarm clock on his bedside.
4:24 AM, February 13th.
'It was time', he thought. The anniversary of Midoriya's death. Friday the Thirteenth.
He could feel something in his soul twist like an aggravated snake when he saw the date. He trusted his gut and it was telling him that something nasty was going to happen. He could only pray to whatever god was out there it wasn't true.
Some distance away, as though mockingly responding to the teenager's silent prayer, something below the earth stirred within a rotten corpse. Like the spark from a matchstick, a growing presence grew in strength.
Evil can be born from even the most righteous of motives like vengeance for grave wrongdoings but may give rise to a twisted nature and run afoul like an animal afflicted with rabies.
Evil can be born from an innocent heart once it has experienced the cruelty of life and the darkness within humanity's soul.
Evil can be born from retribution.
