Bile threatened to flood his lips with every passing heartbeat, but Izuku swallowed it down. He ignored the burning, searing flow in his veins. The drums in his ears turned dull under his focus. The unbearable itch in his skin was just another sensation—as insignificant as the wind.
"This is U.A. property!" Aizawa said, his hair hovering above his ears. "State your business and leave, or surrender yourselves to arrest!"
The Crow's leader said nothing. Instead, he turned to his right, where nine of his men stood at ease.
"Can any of you feel your abilities?"
The nine men looked between themselves, but it was the one nearest the leader who spoke. He stepped forward, and Izuku's eyes shot to him. He, like the leader, wore a bird-like mask, but unlike his leader, his mask hid his eyes. Two down-facing glass slits allowed him to see, and a silver cloak hid his figure. The only thing Izuku could see was his hair, which hung below his mask like a necklace.
"No sir, Overhaul. It really is Eraserhead."
Overhaul, Izuku presumed, clapped. It was a tiny, rubber sound, thanks to the surgical gloves adorning his wrists—but it was as loud as a thunderbolt to Izuku.
"Excellent. Yu?"
A large, bald-headed man with a blanket under his armpit stepped forward. He unfurled it, whipping it like a bed comforter, and then turned away from Aizawa and held the blanket out as wide as he could reach.
Another of the nine stepped forward—another large man with giant, spiked hair. He dug into his suit-pants pocket and retrieved something Izuku couldn't make out from his distance. Beside this spikey-haired man, another, far skinnier man also stepped up. He had long, silk-black hair and was bare-chested except for a small fur vest around his shoulders. His mask was ghoulish instead of beak-like, but when he threw his chin over his shoulder and gave U.A. one last look, Izuku swore the man was smiling.
With a hand still held out before Toru, he took the smallest step forward, and then another. He shuffled in silence, moving only when he was sure no one saw him. If he could get close enough, he could take out a few off-guard intruders.
"I will not repeat myself!" Aizawa said, and this time his capture scarf unraveled from his neck. "You are an intruder on U.A. grounds, and I will not hesitate to detain the whole of you! I—I-I…"
Izuku stopped in his tracks as the silk-haired man stepped behind the blanket. As soon as he broke line of sight, an awful, overwhelming nausea overtook Izuku. This time, however, it wasn't from Danger Sense. This had none of One for All's flavor, none of its intimacy—no, this feeling was alien, invasive, and absolutely disorienting. It was the work of another quirk entirely. He tried to take another step forward, but he lost track of his feet. His world inverted, and his vision warped like a clown mirror.
Beside him, the rest of 1A seemed equally affected—even Aizawa, ever the stoic, seemed uneasy on his feet.
Even without his internal balance, however, Danger Sense remained unaffected.
"Aizawa!" Izuku screamed, when one of the nine men-blobs in his vision turned into a rushing blur. "Backstep!"
He blinked, and his vision cleared only for a moment as Aizawa listened to him without hesitation. One of Overhaul's men, a tiny, beige-masked man broke their leader's line and rushed the homeroom teacher. There was a great distance between them, Izuku knew—but Danger Sense didn't lie. The beige-masked man was freakishly fast, and closed the distance nearly as fast as Aizawa could react. Izuku's advice rang true, however—and with Aizawa's backstep, the freak's swipe-attack missed by a hair.
Despite the nausea he knew Aizawa felt, the man spun on a dime and connected his heel to the man's face. The beige-masked freak flew to the side, the impact's impression carved into his mask as he collapsed. Aizawa fell to a kneel after the attack, unable to hold his balance. He managed to get back to his feet after a second. The freak did not.
"On the grounds of assault, intrusion, and suspicious quirk-use, your options have narrowed." The man said, and with a flick, slung his capture tape over the freak's ankle. "You're all under arrest."
Through it all, Overhaul remained silent, but with this awful disorientation in Izuku's gut, he couldn't quite get the whole picture. His mind was still racing, his instincts on autopilot—
"Eraser!" Thirteen said, her voice echoing through her suit's helm like a megaphone. "Take the kids and go! I will handle them."
With that said, she took a step forward and uncapped a finger. All at once, the intruders all took a backstep, their cloaks pulling against their legs with the sudden, wild suction of Thirteen's Black Hole. Alarmed cries escaped 1A—but Thirteen's Black Hole pulled Yu's blanket from his hands and into the hero's palm, where it disintegrated. One goon Overhaul tipped over, dragged by Black Hole—but Yu stomped on their ankle, stopping them from falling further.
All at once, now with Aizawa's line of sight returned, the manufactured nausea in Izuku's gut evaporated. However, even with the nausea-inducing quirk tamed, Izuku still wanted to throw up.
Only in this brief window of clarity did the situation truly hit home—U.A. was under assault—and his fledgling, nigh-defenseless classmates were in danger.
"No," Aizawa said, and his voice changed—harder. "We'll take them together."
The hero turned a bit, only enough for Izuku to meet a single of his candescent eyes—but what he saw translated as easily as a conversation. A sudden weight fell on his shoulders with the contact. He gave Izuku a responsibility he never realized would default to him until the very moment it happened. It was an admission of trust, Izuku saw—but also absolute panic.
Izuku's gut wrestled with itself, his intestines all pulling in opposite directions as the situation hit him over the head. Every movement of his body disagreed. Each rib turned to claws, tearing at his lungs. There was a pulsing furnace in his chest. His eyes were searing, agonizing cattle-brands, and his throat was thick with the ash of his world as it burned.
He almost jumped into the fray there and then—but then he caught sight of the horrified, slack-jawed expression on his classmates. When he swallowed, it went down thick.
Pivoting, he abandoned his panther-like approach to the enemy's flank and burst into smoke. Once he made the decision, his body went on autopilot. Without a thought, the smoke arranged itself into a thick wall between 1A and Overhaul.
"Everyone, back to the Ruin Zone! Let's get out of here!" He said, and began shepherding the class towards the door. For a second, no one moved—but then Kirishima echoed him, and the class burst into movement. "And someone radio for help! Jirou! Kaminari! Get on that!"
Most ran with them, following Ibara's lead as Kirishima watched their backs. Izuku counted heads. Everything moved so fast that he lost track of Toru, but he couldn't take the time to look for her. A pair of stubborn stragglers resisted the retreat, slowing everything down and devouring his attention.
"What?" Sero yelled, his voice an octave higher than normal. "You're trying to abandon them?"
Satou took a step back as well, looking as though to push through Izuku's smokescreen. In his hand, a bag of sugar was open.
"We can't leave them, guys, they're outnumbered!" Sero continued, pushing past Ashido as she followed after Tokoyami. The two gave Izuku worried stares, but he waved them along.
"We're not abandoning them! They're professionals—we're clearing the way! Let's get moving!" Izuku said, and turned back to the rest of class. Kirishima and him shared a look, and the red-headed boy nodded. He grabbed Sero by the shoulder, still not moving, and hauled him after the rest of class. Izuku couldn't say he was going back for the teachers—then Sero would never leave.
"C'mon guys! If we stay, we'd only get in the way! As Prez, I can't let you do anything I wouldn't, and I wouldn't want to distract them!"
"We're not giving them space, we're sentencing them to death!" Sero said, struggling out of Kirishima's grip. He took a half-step backwards before a piercing scream froze him.
"Stop arguing!" Ibara said, her vines whipping around her neck like agitated snakes. In one fell swoop, she scooped Sero into her vines and carried him out of the Plaza. Izuku exhaled, glad for him to be on his way, and made to follow—but then his spine tingled.
He spun, and saw Satou downing the full bag of sugar. In a breath, the boy's muscles bulged to the limits of his suit. With one hefty swipe, he cut away the smokescreen. Without the visual barrier, it was just Satou between 1A and Overhaul—but Satou was a rather lackluster protective screen. Overhaul didn't even look at Satou—or Izuku. He looked past them, at the escaping 1A, and with a single raised fist, let loose hell.
The forty gangsters all began running a wide path towards Aizawa. Their homeroom teacher braced himself for impact—but it wasn't necessary. Thirteen shifted her aim to follow them, and uncapped a second finger to pull them off their feet.
Before she could pull them all into Aizawa's effective capture range, however, the gigantic man stepped forward, his abominable creatures straining against their leashes. A cacophony of animalistic screams echoed around the Plaza as the creatures nearly strangled themselves against their leashes. Their holder didn't even struggle to keep them in line.
"Katsukame." Overhaul said, and his voice was crystal clear, even over the screams of his creatures and the vacuum of Black Hole. "Release them."
"Yes sir!" The giant man said, and with a single click, his leash on the monsters went slack. With a frenzied scream, they broke out into a gallop. They were grotesque creatures—clearly not human, but they weren't animals, either. With exposed brains and bird-like faces, they could've been anything. All had mammalian, nearly humane musculature, but none were strictly bipedal. Each ran like rabid dogs, their tongues lolling and their eyes red—but not one was slower than twice the fastest student. With his ears pulsing, Izuku ran to Satou, who stood his ground even as they all converged on him—
"Proto-Nomus!" Overhaul said, and his voice carried a hint of authority it'd otherwise lacked until now. "Don't let the weak escape! Kill them! We're only after the strong!"
All at once, the eight monsters leapt at the nearest student: Satou. Instantly, Voidlimb exploded outward as he tried to slow the creatures, but he only managed to snag the ankle of one. Beside him, Satou also tackled one, and with his bulging muscles, just barely managed to pin it. Instead of the rest ripping them apart, however, the six hell-hounds bounded overhead, chasing 1A's stragglers.
Izuku put all his strength into holding his creature back, even as the others got past. Maybe if just two stayed behind, just maybe if 1A only had to deal with six instead of eight, they could escape. However, instead of fighting back against him, his prisoner only seemed to resist harder. It scrambled, fighting against Blackwhip harder and harder and harder until—
With a terrible, wet wrench, the Proto-Nomu's leg came away in Blackwhip. Such an intense swell of disgust consumed Izuku that, in that moment, Voidlimb dissolved. The shock left him clueless of his power's disappearance, but it wasn't enough to smother the terrible fear that came next.
As if running from the Furies of Hades themselves, the three-legged creature ran away, running like hell hugged its heel. Its finger-claws tore the ground with each step as it flung itself forward with a feral intensity Izuku'd never seen. To watch it exist was awful enough—but then the black, vile blood dripping from its amputated leg ceased to drip.
Between breaking Izuku's grip and catching up to its fellow abominations, a new leg supported its back half, and the thing in Izuku's clutches was a dry, withered thing.
It took a second for his wits to return—and he immediately kicked himself seeing Satou still struggling over his Proto-Nomu. When he tried to pull the creature off him, his fingers only met air—or rather, his Voidlimb fingers were only air. He made to summon Voidlimb again—but all that came was a half-formed, thin strand.
All too fast, the Proto-Nomu twisted around Satou, reversing the pin. Its large palm-paws slammed into Satou's shoulders with enough force to crack the stone beneath him. The creature roar-screamed, spittle covering Satou's face. Its beak widened, and unlike Izuku's single-minded prisoner, tried to devour Satou's head in one giant bite.
Unwilling to take the time to fix Blackwhip, Izuku aimed his hand at the Proto-Nomu's body and blasted it with a barrage of Smokescreen pellets. He aimed at all the creature's weak spots—their massive eyes, their exposed brain, the thin muscles on their neck. The creature made a noise, something between a scream and a squawk, and flung itself off Satou's body. Izuku rushed to cover the downed boy with his own body then, but instead of the monster renewing its attack, it stopped. It stared at Izuku, one-armed and smoking, and abandoned the kill. With incredible hind-legs, it leapt over them and after its brethren.
"Oh no you don't!" Thirteen said, and turned her uncapped fingers towards the Proto-Nomus. Three monstrosities lost their grip on the ground and lost their progress. Another four stopped in their tracks, their finger-claws dug into the stone below—but one slipped through. It was a little bigger than the others, a little meaner, and Izuku lost sight of it among the rubble of the Ruins Zone.
He wondered, for a brief second, what the hell just happened. Why hadn't it attacked him? Why had it targeted Satou? The thoughts kept coming and coming, but more than questions, fear consumed him.
Fear strangled him, held him tight—but it was fine, he told himself, it was fine. Thirteen could hold these monsters indefinitely. No one with half a brain would dare approach her, not if they valued their life. No one—
"Hahaha!" Katsukame laughed, his voice somehow even larger than his large body. "A meal!"
The titanic man was far faster than his size should've allowed. In a blink, he rushed Thirteen, his hands splayed out in front of his masked face, laughing all the while. He kept laughing, even as Thirteen released the Proto-Nomus and turned to him, even when every cap on every finger popped open. His speed, already faster than any normal man's out to be, grew exponential as the pull of her Black Hole accelerated him.
When they impacted—Izuku didn't know how to feel. On one hand, he knew he should've been upset—the man would die instantly, after all, and any loss of life should phase him. Another, more rational part, knew that one less danger on the field meant one less danger for the rest of the class. That part knew they needed every advantage they could get—even if it meant a sacrifice.
But he didn't get to feel those feelings. He wasn't allowed to—not when the man's giant fists enclosed over Thirteen's, not when the man, instead of dying instantly, seemed to grow a little larger.
"Yes! Yes! Feed me more, Space Hero! Haha!" Katsukame roared, his muscle-fibers rippling under his skin as they expanded. His sweatshirt strained against his chest as he grew again—the pants around his thigh tore to accommodate more muscle, and in seconds, his massive boots were little more than kid sandals.
Thirteen wrenched herself away from the man and closed her finger-caps.
"What? How aren't you dead!?"
The man only laughed again before throwing a truck-sized fist at her helmet.
Beside her, the gangsters finally caught up with Aizawa. Their exchange was far more predictable—but that was the worst part. Izuku knew Aizawa was strong—hell, he'd experienced it first hand, but he was only a man. Each gangster was nothing to him, it seemed—but all of them together? Forty men and women, all armed to the teeth, against one lone hero out of his element? Izuku didn't need his master's quirk to see where this was heading.
He took a half-step towards Aizawa, but in his peripheral, he saw the last of the Proto-Nomus escape into the Ruins Zone. His instincts tore him in two directions—not to mention the half-conscious Satou, still slumped at Izuku's feet.
Either join Aizawa's side and fend off the forty gangsters, or go after 1A and fend off eight inhuman monsters. The hesitation was a curse, rooting him in place for far too many seconds than it should've. It was a decision he'd already made—but he couldn't bring himself to sentence Aizawa to death like that.
At last, with grit teeth and a fathomless sadness, he pulled Satou up and over his shoulders fireman style. The boy was massive, and Izuku struggled under him, but before anyone, he needed to get him to safety. He could only thank the boy's partial consciousness doing its best to hold onto him—saving Izuku from an otherwise dead weight.
He pushed Smokescreen downwards to lighten the load, but even though his suit was thin, it still muffled the propulsion. He nearly dropped the boy to tear convenient holes in his back, but then remembered: the suit would just heal.
Step by step, he staggered towards cover. The closest safe-space was a foothill of the Mountain Zone, but going there would mean going straight through Overhaul and his… eight… officers…
Crack! Boom! Kra-ka-ka-koom!
A masked man descended before him slowly, held aloft by a explosive pops beneath his feet. He was a tall, skinny man, with a mask more akin to bandages than a plague-mask. The bandages were pure white and covered the whole of his skull, barring his scalp. A flowing mane of red hair crowned him, with green-ends tickling his shoulders. It was a jarring appearance—and clearly not his preferred look, with the way he picked at the folds around his neck. The fluttering, calf-length ends of his dark trench coat settled as his feet met the ground.
"You're an interesting one. Did one of our Nomu already take a bite out of you?" He asked, his voice thin and muffled behind his bandages. The hint of humor in his voice was flat, but his cadence suggested a smile. "Here. Allow me to help."
He pointed a finger-gun at Izuku, and before Izuku could even blink, "fired."
Like taking a thumb-tack to an over-pumped basketball, the air between the man's finger and Izuku exploded. It was a narrow blast, however—like a cannonball shot through a barrel—and the impact only stunned Izuku.
Satou, however, blew off his shoulders completely. Spinning, Izuku could only cry out as the boy landed almost ten feet away—now completely unconscious. He almost made the mistake of turning away entirely. With a villain before him, however, Izuku knew he could only pray for Satou's safety until the man was dealt with.
A deep breath.
He willed Voidlimb to form, and despite its rebellion earlier, slid into place without complaint. Calling upon Aizawa's words from before, he steadied his gaze on the bandaged man's eyes. Smokescreen slipped through the seams of Voidlimb, reinforcing the arm and giving it a green haze. Reaching out with it, he formed his own finger-gun. The smoke in the arm flowed outward, then, pooling into a dense orb at Voidlimb's fingertip.
This was the first direct encounter with a villain. He'd faced disasters, terrorist attacks, and gang wars, but this was the closest he'd ever gotten to a true villain.
The bandaged man watched him in silence. He still held his finger-gun out, but with his other hand, he slid it where Izuku couldn't see—but that didn't matter. A niggling of Danger Sense told him all he needed. Whatever it was, he couldn't let the man pull it out.
They were like kids playing shoot-out. Only problem?
Izuku hated this game.
"Surrender." Izuku said, forcing his voice to be as even as he could manage. He forced the fear out of his voice, commanded it to heel. "We've already contacted reinforcements. With U.A. so close, they could arrive any moment. I don't know what you're doing here, but if you cooperate, I'm sure they'll let you off easier than—"
He laughed. The bandaged man laughed—a hollow, empty, habitual thing. Done without any real joy behind it. He laughed with such enormous force and such little mirth that Izuku almost laughed with him. He laughed—no, the man exhaled so much that he bent over himself, putting down his finger-gun to support himself with a knee.
All too fast, he straightened, and it became more obvious than ever that the man hadn't meant a huff of it. Almost like a child, he pocketed his finger-gun.
"You're a riot, kid," the man said. "Reinforcements? Let me off easy? Are you delusional?"
Izuku shifted, and willed more smoke to pool into the orb at his fingers.
"You're the delusional one, I think. You invade U.A. and expect… what? To kill some kids and skip town? No consequences? No. Last chance. Surrender."
Another huff.
"Your ability to bluff is rather exceptional, kid. The whole dome is jammed, and your little buddies won't be able to escape."
"Your jammers are outdated," Izuku said, without skipping a beat. "Quirks are getting more exceptional every generation, you know. A classmate of mine broke a signal through. I'm sure they're already half-way out the door now, anyways. You don't have to keep fighting. You've lost."
He didn't know how he was doing it. Lying usually took all his efforts—but he supposed he wasn't lying. What came out of his lips was pure conjecture—but also pure hope. It came off his tongue as easily as breath, but the man only stared at him, chortled, and turned aside.
"Hey!" Izuku said, grabbing the man's shoulder with another Blackwhip from his chest. He tried to turn the man back to face him—but the man didn't even budge. With a soft, gentle touch, he tapped the Blackwhip. The innocuous contact blew the quirk apart, destroying Izuku's focus and consequently his hyper-dense Smokescreen orb. The dual-explosion sent him flying backwards, landing right beside Satou.
From the moment the man touched Blackwhip to the instant Izuku's back hit the ground, his mind was a storm. What was this man's quirk? Was it five finger activation? It was explosive—did he have a time limit? Why was that explosion so much stronger than the finger-gun? Was it muscular or mental? What—
The train of thought died as soon as his back touched the ground. Izuku shot to his feet, prepared for a follow-up attack—but none came.
"Hey, Mimic! Overhaul!" The bandaged man said, cupping his hands so the Crow's leader could hear him. "If the Proto-Nomus ain't got the kids yet, they're probably gone! I think it's time to up the security!"
Overhaul seemed unfazed by the ongoing battles when he nodded.
"Mimic?" He asked, and the spiky-haired man stepped forward. "Is Eraserhead's blessing still upon you?"
"No, sir."
Overhaul nodded.
"Then proceed. Just make sure not to let him see you again."
He gave the man a thumbs up, and then lifted the item he'd retrieved from his pocket to his lips. It was a venomous-green vial, murky and dark and no larger than a finger—but when the man tipped it back, he struggled as if under gallons.
Izuku blinked, and he faintly recalled a time Nighteye sat him down and explained the basics of Trigger, the cornerstone of the drug-trafficking market. Something more valuable than opium, something more dangerous than heroin—hell, the thing was less a part of the drug empire and more a part of the weapon smuggling empire. A quirk-steroid—one of explosive capabilities. A teaspoon would be sufficient to quadruple the strength of any quirk—and this man just swallowed twenty.
He didn't grow larger, like Katsukame. He didn't start laughing like a hollow automaton, like the bandaged man. He didn't rush down Aizawa with freakish speed.
Mimic simply melted into the floor and shot off like a torpedo to the Ruins Zone. The land rippled after him. His Trigger-powered body turned the concrete and stone to little more than mud-like waves—and it made Izuku sick to his stomach. Not because he was heading towards 1A. Not because Satou might be dead behind him. Not because his teachers were fighting for their lives, and not because he was wasting everyone's time standing here.
No, what ailed him the most were those concrete-turned-mud waves made in Mimic's wake—because they were familiar. He'd seen them just a few days ago—smaller, less massive—in the halls of U.A.
The situation, as awful as it was, felt even worse knowing it was premeditated—and he'd been so-god-damn-close to stopping it. If he'd just been a little faster—a little more lucky—he could've caught Mimic before he'd gotten away. Izuku's eyes closed on their own accord. He could've prevented all of this.
He opened them. Aizawa was favoring his left leg. At his feet were at least a dozen bodies—but the goons never ended.
Thirteen was still grappling with Katsukame.
Most of Overhaul's officers hadn't even moved.
A trickle of blood dribbled out of Satou's mouth.
He swiped a thumb under his nose. A dribble of blood came out of his nose, too.
Through all of it—Overhaul just stood there, watching the chaos alongside his officers.
The bandaged man wasn't looking at him. Izuku could knock him out, if he was quick enough—but he'd leave Satou vulnerable. He glanced at the Ruins Zone. If he was fast enough—he could get there and help his friends against the Proto-Nomus— but he'd have to leave Satou behind.
For a second, he lamented the boy's existence. He hated how this hero—this boy, really, put himself in jeopardy for a lost cause. Izuku despised him and his unconscious body, and he hated how he'd over-complicated everything with his stubbornness.
Most of all, he hated this whole situation. He didn't understand why they attacked 1A, who was attacking, or why this was happening to him—he just didn't know anything. His guts were a tsunami of nausea—and he hated it. Hated not knowing what was going on, hated not knowing what to do. Izuku hated the fear that froze his ankles and stifled his lungs.
The tension threatened to boil over—but Izuku resisted. He resisted his annoyance, his anger, his frustration—he resisted his fear. Glancing between the back of the bandaged-man's neck and Satou, he made his decision.
Satou only did what he thought was right. Now, Izuku had to deal with the consequences—but that was what he trained everyday for. To be ready for the worst life had to offer.
To live with honor.
With Voidlimb, scooping up Satou was easier by a dozen magnitudes. Opening his nostrils and his lungs, he channeled every ounce of spare strength he had into Smokescreen.
Green gas exploded out from him, ripping his suit apart in the process—but that was fine. The cloud he managed was bigger than he'd ever attempted in a single breath before, but he didn't take time to admire it. Even now, explosions rang around him as the bandaged man blew away the smokescreen—but he didn't blow it all away in one go. That told Izuku two things: Either his limits were small, or he didn't want to kill them. Regardless, it meant the same. Izuku took that advantage and ran with it, Satou in tow.
Using Voidlimb like a sling over his shoulder, he carried Satou like an oversized-backpack. Using Danger Sense, he maneuvered through the terrain blind, placing his whole faith into his ability. With Smokescreen so thick that he couldn't see his nose in front of him, he navigated by the terrain's texture alone.
At first it was smooth, and consequently easy. Smooth limestone slabs defined the Plaza, and even afterwards, the steps leading up to the Ruins Zone were mostly pavement—though of the cement variety. Carrying the large Satou got harder once the terrain grew worse—more rocks, less stability, and an uneven path almost twisted his ankle twice. Still, he never fell. Only once did he almost slip—but it was due to the tumbling waves of Mimic.
At last, he found the end of his smokescreen and got a breath of fresh air. His cloud ended ten feet from the nearest half-destroyed building, and with his vision returned, he could manage the way with ease. With quick, calculated steps, he reached the nearest building in a few seconds. He was home free—but he couldn't help himself. As soon as he got Satou behind the nearest cover, he peaked back around.
Overhaul was staring at him. From this distance, he couldn't say what kind of expression the masked man wore—but he could see the way Overhaul paused when their eyes met.
Izuku blinked.
Overhaul waved him on—a casual, thoughtless, unknowable gesture—and reached down. From the ground, he retrieved the tiny Proto-Nomu and held it aloft by the scruff of its skinny neck.
Izuku couldn't fathom the reasoning behind the act—but what confused him even more was the look in the Nomu's eyes. They were deep-set, unlike his brethren, and black as the void itself.
There was not a creature in more pain.
He couldn't dwell on it—the Crow's leader, Overhaul, knew where he was. Izuku needed to keep moving.
Quick as he could, he brought Satou deeper in the zone and checked his vitals—for all the time he'd spent holding the boy, he hadn't once been able to check for a pulse, or even breath. Izuku thanked the heavens when he detected a heavy, but steady rise of his chest. His pulse was even. Satou's left shoulder looked broken, but nothing Recovery Girl couldn't handle—though it made a stomach-curdling click when he prodded it. It probably hurt like hell…
But he was alive. The bandaged man hadn't killed him.
The brief reprieve couldn't last, however. An ear-piercing scream-roar hybrid echoed around the Ruins Zone, slipping through the buildings, alleys, and cracks in between. It was a directionless, deafening thing—and if Izuku heard it in the wilderness, he'd have already needed a change of pants.
As things were, a cold patience infused his body, and he pulled his feelings out of the situation. Busting down the door to the most structurally sound building he could, he hid Satou away and covered him with his utility belt's shock-blanket.
"I'm sorry I can't stay, but just stay still and relax," he said to the unconscious body, before turning to leave.
Another deafening roar barrelled through the destroyed streets, and Izuku didn't waste a single more second. With a heavy breath, he burst out into a sprint, smoke on his heels.
There were more classmates to save.
[x]
"Let me go!" Sero said, struggling through the muffle of Ibara's vines. The writhing mass shifted to accommodate his struggle, so even when his arm slipped out, the rest of him stayed. "Satou's out fighting! Midoriya is gonna die with the teachers! Why aren't you—"
"Mido's only there to get Satou, man!" Eijiro said. The words came out with a bitter tinge, but he knew they were necessary. He wanted to join Midoriya as much as anyone—but he was the Class President, and he had a responsibility now. One entrusted to him by Midoriya. He couldn't just let Sero do whatever he wanted. "Our priority isn't to fight, it's to survive!"
A sliver of Sero's eye peeked out from between the vines. Red-rimmed and wide, it was glistening in the small light it had.
"That's not fucking manly, dude." Sero said, and his voice cracked.
Eijiro didn't have a response. He looked aside, keeping his eyes peeled for any 1A stragglers. With Sero's resistance, they should be behind the rest.
Ahead of them both, a loose rock threw Ibara off her feet. She landed hard on both knees, and Eijiro saw blood soak through the thin fabric of her dress. Sero's cage unraveled a bit—but Eijiro couldn't concern himself with that. He rushed to her side, and caught her when she failed to stand. A foul grimace carved over her features as the hem of her dress lifted to reveal a bloody mess. Gravel and sand buried in her kneecaps.
"Heavens…" She muttered, and Eijiro couldn't help but echo his Vice.
"Shit, fuck, crap—can you walk?" He asked, even whilst holding her upright by the elbow. Her brow scrunched as she retrieved her elbow, but to her credit, she could stand. She nodded, but then her eyes turned to saucers behind them.
Sero scrambled out of the last of Ibara's vines just as they saw him. He paused only long enough to meet Eijiro's eyes before he turned and doubled back toward the Plaza.
"Save yourselves, but I'm not going to let them die alone!" He said over his shoulder.
Eijiro took a half-step forward, but then remembered the unstable Ibara at his side. He glanced at her bloody legs, then to Sero's back, then to Ibara's eyes. She was paler than usual, with a ghost-like appearance more like Reiko's than her own. There was a dazed, unfocused aspect to her. He snapped under her chin.
"Are you okay? What should we do?" Eijiro asked, before throwing Sero another glance. Sero was almost out of sight, but he still couldn't decide. Ibara only looked at him, and he remembered she was his second, not the other way around. No matter how hard he wanted, however, no matter how much he debated, or matter how many times he questioned himself, he couldn't make a decision—not when his classmates were in danger…
Nor when he was in danger.
His mind was scattered—chunks pulled in every direction, and his heart wanted to follow each. Midoriya with Satou, Aizawa in the Plaza, Sero backtracking, and 1A in the Ruins. Each destroyed his internal compass. Eijiro's only solace was his northern star, Midoriya, whose trust in him was the only constant in this nightmare.
He was Class President, and he wanted to live up to that.
"Can you keep moving?" He asked, looking at Ibara. With wide, dull eyes, she nodded. He glanced at her waist—her hero suit was a simple dress, with no utility belts or aid packages. Digging around in his back pocket, he tossed her his only bandages. "Wrap yourself up and gather the class. Move as a group. I'll get who I can—but first, Sero."
On a dime, he turned, but he couldn't leave. His pant leg caught on something. He tried shaking it off, but it stayed stuck. Cursing his luck, he turned to manually unsnag himself—but found Ibara's thin fingers gripping him.
"D-do… Do you have a ration pack?" She asked, and there was a shake in her voice. "My hair—it takes nutrients to use, and Sero is surprisingly strong. It took a lot to keep him down. Without sunlight or food, I'm nearly out."
Eijiro bit his lip and shook his head. Before he could say anything, however, a dull explosion from the Plaza shook the air. He turned, his worry almost jumping out his throat—but then saw the titanic, green cloud. The connection sparked in his brain, and he gave Ibara his best smile.
"My utility belt kinda sucks—ask Midoriya when you see him. He carries everything." Eijiro said, when Ibara's fingers slid from his pants. He didn't stick around to see Ibara's opinion on that. "Stay safe."
He turned and followed the path Sero took, leaving his Vice President to her duties as he sprinted to his own. Hardening his calves, he managed to not twist his ankle on loose rubble, even when he should've otherwise fell. It made him fast—but not fast enough. It took a good minute, several twists, and a couple turns before he even glimpsed Sero again. When he did, the boy launched a tape onto the top of a building and swung himself over a mountain of rubble.
"Sero!" He called, seeing the boy's back disappear around the corner. "Come back! Either all of us escape or none of us do!"
Hardening his whole chest, face, and arms, Eijiro bulldozed straight through the rubble Sero swung over. It was more painful and far less graceful—but it was just as efficient. The concrete crumbled, and Eijiro's dead sprint resumed after only a second.
Sero's eyes widened as Eijiro barreled through the debris. In a split second, tape burst from his elbow and snagged another rooftop—but when he tried to swing again, the rooftop made a stomach-turning crack.
"Shit!" Sero said, his voice echoing through the ruins as the building's corner broke off. He fell into an alleyway, just barely avoiding the falling debris.
Eijiro only slowed as he turned the next corner, and found Sero collapsed at a dead end. Rolling over, the boy stood, cradling an elbow as he turned around. Eijiro came to a stop, blocking the boy's only exit. His eyes gravitated to the boy's elbow, and a pit opened up in his stomach. The appendage was crooked—and if he had to guess, gunked up. He took a step forward, worried out of his mind—but then remembered he just gave his only bandages to Ibara.
"Dude, are you alright?" He asked, but Sero only glared at him, backstepping.
"Get out of here! Go help everyone get out. Leave me be. I'll find my way out eventually—"
"Hell no!" Eijiro interrupted, staring at what he could only determine as Sero's broken elbow. "I wasn't going to let you go back before, but now you're hurt! You'd just be killing yourself and distracting Aizawa!"
Sero released his elbow, almost as to prove he was fine—but the limb hung crooked. Speaking through grit teeth, Sero scoffed.
"Oh, so a broken arm makes me a liability, but Midoriya is fucking missing one and you trust him more than me?" Sero said, and the words hit like a gust of wind. He shook them off for what they were: nonsense.
"Dude, not everything is about Midoriya! He's trying to stop Satou from killing himself, like what you're trying right now! I've seen enough of the guy to know he's smart. He can take care of himself."
"Are you insane? If anyone's killing themselves by going out there, it's him! Someone needs to go out there a-and help him!"
Eijiro blinked, and realized his hands went hard. He shook the sturdiness out of them as he ran a tongue behind his pointed teeth. Sero's words as they rebounded through his skull.
He looked at Sero again—but all of him, this time; without the narrow focus. The way his shoulders shrank inwards. His uneven, shaking breaths. Sero's pale, red eyes. Most of all, he saw how the boy never stopped moving—even when standing still, he was shifting his weight, ready to move at any moment, never static.
It took a lot out of Eijiro to lower his tone. He imagined the pit in his stomach, the source of his stress, and tossed his fear into it. The anxieties wrestled within him, fierce as any battle in history—but he didn't bother to watch who won. It was impossible to know how long this would last, but he needed the clarity now. With one massive emotional lid, he covered up the pit. When he looked at Sero again, his voice came out easy.
"You're worried, man, I get it—but your panic is putting us all at risk. Come on. Put some faith in Midoriya—put some faith in me—and come on. We need to get out of here before those goons decide they don't want us alive." Eijiro said. He offered the injured boy a hand.
Sero stared at him, and Eijiro almost relaxed. The boy's shifting weight seemed to settle in the middle.
"W-we can't. I can't." He said, before twisting his neck to the Plaza, as if he could see through the stone walls. "We're hero students. We're supposed to… we're supposed to fight for what's right—and we're killing them, Kiri. We're killing them by abandonment. It's… it's wrong. It's wrong that they fight and we don't—it's wrong that Midoriya is in there and I'm not."
Eijiro opened his mouth—but his eyes caught odd splotch peaking over the neck of Sero's suit. Usually, the boy's neckline almost came up to his jaw, but it must've fallen when Sero fell. Eijiro never noticed the mark before—but then again, he'd never given Sero so much scrutiny. It was plant-like, with a white stem and branches—but they were harsh, less organic and more jagged with red tinges. Almost electrical. He only noticed thanks to Sero's turn—and then lost it once Sero returned his gaze.
The boy's uninjured hand touched the side of his neck before returning to his elbow. He didn't say anything about it.
"Midoriya isn't hurt, Sero. He's scarred. Those wounds are old—and it's obvious that he's been living with them for ages. There's nothing wrong with having faith in him. You're the one who's hurt. We need to get you some first aid—but I'm out. Here—may I?" Eijiro asked, taking a step forward. Sero's knit brow overshadowed his eyes before he tilted his head back, and Eijiro glimpsed at a tear rolling down the boy's cheek.
The lid covering his emotional pit rattled, but he held it down with a forced smile. Sero rubbed the tear away. He mumbled something Eijiro couldn't catch, but he understood.
Reaching down, he tore the fabric from around his ankle. Recalling his first aid classes in middle school, he ripped the pant leg into a thin strip and wrapped Sero's elbow to his neck. He resolved himself to carry more first aid when a draft on his calf sent a shiver up his spine.
Sero took the first few steps with a wince, but eventually swallowed it down.
"I-I'm sorry, Kiri—I just—"
"Everybody's going to be fine, man. I've gotta make sure Midoriya's okay anyways. Iba's already gathering the class—now we just gotta meet up with her. Then I'll go make sure Midoriya and Satou are—"
The scream—if that's what one might call it—ricocheted through the crumbling walls, bouncing and scattering and repeating over itself twice-fold. A tingle violated his spine.
Eijiro's eyes jumped everywhere, from the crumbling wall to the shattered boulder he bulldozed, to nearby building's roof, but the sound was impossible to source. There was a second, more distant sound under it—and a handful more—but the first was so oppressive it was all he could focus on.
Eight sickening clicks popped in his ears—each a wet, organic sound more like neck-cracks than finger-snaps. Sero winced, his eyebrows knit as he looked around.
"What the fuck is that noise—"
The alleyway's wall exploded, a million stone shards racing for their skin, but Eijiro was faster. Stepping between the explosion and Sero, Eijiro crossed his hardened arms and bore the damage himself. He only had time to harden his arms, however—and he felt something hot and wet light up in his gut. He couldn't focus on that now, however.
A blur leapt from the crumbled wall, slamming into Eijiro's guard like a small car. The impact knocked him off his feet and into Sero. That split second between the explosion and the attack, however, was all the time he needed.
He didn't know who it was. He couldn't say if it was one of Overhaul's officers, one of his gangsters, or even if it was Overhaul himself—he swung, and his fist met flesh. He swung again, and his knuckles bounced off something hard—but he came swinging down with a people's elbow and hit something wet. The thing on him slackened and gave him the chance to grab Sero and haul him out of the way.
"Run!" He screamed, pointing back where they came. Sero winked at him, dull-eyed, and Eijiro cursed. Blood was flowing freely from a gash in his forehead, blinding him in one eye. He kicked himself for not blocking every piece, but before he could continue, the person tackled him again.
They wrestled on the ground, a mess of hardened arms and shadowed chests. The man tried to peel Eijiro's arms from their defense of his face, but hardened shoulders kept his defense solid. He continued to tear at Eijiro's defenses before rearing back, clasping its hands, and slamming them full-force on his crossed arms.
For the brief second the man pulled back, Eijiro got his first full view of the man—and knew instantly it wasn't one. It was one of Overhaul's beasts, with exposed brains and beaks instead of mouths—but he couldn't process his disgust before a terrible agony shook his forearms. For the first time in his life, something broke through his defense.
The Proto-Nomu's fists knocked the breath out of him—but only the breath. His arms, now broken, did their job in slowing the assault. Despite both arms pointing in directions they weren't built for, however—they didn't hurt. Not nearly as much as they should've. His mind didn't dwell on the damage—all he cared about was surviving and fending this monster off so Sero could escape.
He didn't know where the strength came from. Physically, he'd long since spent his power—but with the rattling, shaking war-cries from his stomach-pit, he rose, and he rose, and he rose again.
With everything he had left, he hardened his bare knee and shoved it into the Proto-Nomu's stomach. The force was enough to take the creature off him entirely. Eijiro rolled off his back and struggled to his feet, something made a magnitude harder without arms. He looked behind him. Sero swayed in place, bleeding and clueless.
He swallowed down a breath with a wet choke. The monster gathered its limited wits as Eijiro turned back to it. He glanced down, seeing the crooked angles of his arms—but also the odd way his black pants were turning red around the waist. Then, his eyes settled on the two inches of stone-shard impaling him, an inch beside his belly button.
Ah, he thought, looking back at his arms. They didn't hurt because of adrenaline—a resource, he noted with a wince, he was running out of.
He experimented with rehardening his arms—but stopped short when the agony made his brain short circuit. A static buzz filled his ears. Okay, he thought. Same story with his abdomen. Alright, he thought. His legs could harden, as could his shoulders and pecs—but they were soft, more limestone than granite, and it didn't even protect his vitals.
The Proto-Nomu lowered itself to all fours. Eijiro could only track it with his eyes as it began to pace back and forth. There was a familiar element here, Eijiro noticed, to a leopard—just three times larger. On two legs, it might've been twice as tall as Aizawa. It was surprising that the creature had the capacity to judge him—under its assault, it just seemed like a mindless berserker.
It paused, and Eijiro half-stepped forward, still wary of it making it past his guard—but it didn't move forward. A swell of something foreign in his chest urged him onward, and Eijiro took another step forward, and then another. The monster took a step back. His heart was a war-drum.
He'd never been a hero before. As much as he wanted, little Eijiro was never as flashy as Crimson Riot, nor as strong as All Might…
Questions filled his brain to the brim. Why did it attack him? Why wasn't it attacking him now? How was it strong enough to break his shield? How was it alive, with its skull cap removed and its body so horribly ravaged?
…Yet here he was, the only thing between his classmate and a painful death. His palms, from what little he could still feel, shook. Was this what All Might felt, defending that little boy all those years ago? Was this what it was like to accept death? To be fearless?
He didn't feel fearless, though.
Green drool dribbled out of the monster's beak as its throat clicked—the same bone-rattling sound from before. Eijiro stepped forward again—he could touch the creature, if he wanted. The lid on his fear shook like a tree in a flood—but he didn't let it slip. The creature lowered its head.
A sad, pained groan accompanied the shifting of gravel behind him.
"Ugh…" Sero moaned, his tongue sounding thick in his mouth. "What's… goin' on…"
Eijiro didn't see him do it—he heard it. The boy took a step to the side, lost his footing, and fell to the sharp, uneven ground with a surprised grunt. What he focused on—what he dreaded—was the Proto-Nomu's reaction.
Like a switch flicked inside its exposed cranium, the beast's whole body language changed. Its head lowered further—but this time, it wasn't looking at Eijiro.
Green drool flung from the creature's beak as it clicked again. The muscles in its shoulders tensed, and with raised haunches, made one horrible leap.
Time grew to a crawl. Its bulging eyes focused exclusively on the fallen Sero. Eijiro's spirit didn't waste a moment—the second the creature moved, he already wanted to move.
Yet… when he tried to take his classmate's place, his body simply disagreed. His head was light as air, his arms burned like fire, and his stomach was a mass which every ache in his body revolved around. He tried to move, to be a hero—but his body failed him. The lid on his fear, the thing he held so tightly over the pit, came loose. It flooded him like frozen river water, stealing his strength and will and power. Settling behind his eyes, the fear watched the Proto-Nomu fly past Eijiro, keeping his panic company.
He'd failed Sero.
He'd also failed to notice the eight black whips latch onto the Proto-Nomu's shoulders. A green comet shattered Eijiro's frozen time. The soles of two combat boots caved the abomination's skull in as every whip went taught, pulling Midoriya into the fray faster than a rocket. Midoriya kicked up a wild storm of green and gray dust as he landed—but with a single wave, the area cleared, and Eijiro saw the gore that was once a Proto-Nomu. Whatever design the creature's head once followed was forgotten. It was dead.
His boots, once gray, were now green-black, but he was otherwise spotless. Around his ankles was the creature's brains and face, caved in like a pumpkin. Eijiro threw the image straight into the pit.
Midoriya's mask was up, hiding his mouth, but his voice came out as if he wore nothing at all. Immediately, he was on Eijiro.
"Oh my god, are you alright? What—holy shit! Your stomach! Shit, fucking—we need to get moving—is that Sero!? Fuck, fuck—"
Eijiro raised a hand, as if that would slow the boy's mumbling, but the action seemed to meet his limits. His kneecaps went limp, and he fell back—but he didn't hit the ground.
Midoriya's green fringe was almost black in the dark light. His mask popped off with a hiss, and he was frowning. It shouldn't have been as big a comfort as it was. He felt Midoriya's quirk scoop him up, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sero similarly lifted. Their makeshift stretchers began bouncing, and Eijiro could only assume they were on the move.
"Damn it all. First Satou, then that explosive guy, now you—and Sero! God! Kiri, report?"
"Sero's concussed… Ibara's hungry… Class's scrambled… Stomach hurts."
"I bet it does, big guy, I bet it does—but you're not in danger of any death. It didn't hit an artery or any vitals. Leave the rock be—it's staunching the bleeding. Ibara's hungry?"
"Sheeza plant, dude. Quirk's 'ungry." Eijiro offered, his tongue feeling too-large in his mouth. Was he concussed too? "Where're we eadin?"
Suddenly, they stopped, and the world went dark as Midoriya took shaded cover. They were in an alleyway, behind a half-rusted dumpster.
"What're we—"
"Shh." Izuku said, a finger on his lips. Eijiro complied, though he wasn't sure what—
He nearly choked as the familiar clicking returned—at first a dull, quiet noise. It tickled his ears, and he might've thought of a cricket if he hadn't known better—but then it began to throb with proximity, and the lid began to rattle once more.
Gravel crunched right beside them, and it took everything Eijiro had to just barely retain the lid—but when the monster peeked around the dumpster, he just couldn't do it anymore. The lid was gone—but so was his muscle control. He couldn't scream. He couldn't call out and warn Midoriya—he could only sit there, bleeding out of his guts, arms hurting like hell, and stare.
He didn't understand. It was the exact same shadow that attacked him—he even recognized the scruff on its stomach where he'd kneed the thing. Was the pain making him delusional? Did Midoriya not… not just kill it a minute or so ago? Didn't he spread its graymatter on his boots? Wasn't it just a corpse, missing the top half of a skull? Was—was it not some bioweapon, but an actual immortal demon?
His eyes scrolled up from the stomach-scuff, and his heart froze. It's face was ugly—but not the same kind of ugly from before. It was misshapen—bulbus and wet and destroyed. Worst yet, Eijiro watched as its fatal wounds healed. First, its beak formed from broken, rotten bones—then its musculature grew and skin inched over it. The brain came next, and the monster's reformation became whole as one of its smashed, drooping eyes retracted back into its socket and blinked.
"Neither of you move," Izuku said, even when the creature blinked at them.
It clicked again as it peered even closer to them—but Midoriya didn't follow his own advice. He punked the monster, jutting his chin out. Eijiro was certain Midoriya was insane, but then it clicked, made a mewling cry, and turned away. Like a panther, it went away on all fours, clicking all the while—until he couldn't hear it anymore. Midoriya sagged once the last of the noise was gone.
"Thank god. I'm not sure why, but they won't attack me, even when I attack them." He said, before he unclipped his belt. Pulling it from his waist, he placed the pouches beside Eijiro and plucked several items from each. Eijiro's vision was far from consistent, but he thought he saw a small bottle and a roll of bandages.
Midoriya was quick, and his hand was soft—but there wasn't much he could do. For a second, he paused, whispered something, then began. He wrapped a bandage around Sero's forehead and Eijiro's waist, but he didn't remove the stone shard. The little spray bottle stung, but the wounds stung more. It only took a single glance for Midoriya to admit defeat upon inspecting his arms.
"Damnit… and Satou's still down there…" Midoriya said, muttering to himself. A small, ugly thing wormed its way through his guts. He was Class President—it shouldn't be anyone else's duty to reign in their class, yet Midoriya took the responsibility on his thin shoulders anyways.
"...Okay? Is he?"
"...He will be. Can you tell me about the thing that attacked you? I only got a glimpse before I… acted."
Eijiro took a deep breath—and regretted it, when a sharp pain jumped up his chest.
"...I think…" Eijiro began, before a cough stole his breath. It was the most painful cough of his life. "I think it wassafraid. I… we wrestled, and I-I thought it wanted t'kill me—but it stopped when I kicked it off me. Yeah… It wanned Sero, but it dinn'wan go through me."
He thought back to before, when the Proto-Nomu stepped backwards. It didn't make sense for it to be afraid—but fear was instinctual. It didn't have to have a human intellect to feel fear—and it certainly didn't need words to describe its feelings. Fear showed in body language, and that creature wasn't subtle.
Midoriya paused, looking down as he listened to Eijiro. He looked deep in thought—but then his eyes shot up, and they were alight with new fire.
"I think I understand… they're… whatever they are, they're simple. They can't function without explicit command—everything else is sheer instinct. They're not attacking me now, or you earlier, because they think we're strong. Overhaul said it himself…they're fine with killing us if we're weak… but he didn't tell them to fight the strong. So, as long as we don't run and prove we're strong, they're not a threat to us."
Eijiro coughed. He retracted his earlier opinion—this one was the most painful.
"So… it gave up 'cause I'm…" He began, but the space behind his eyes felt like a vacuum, and his eyelids drifted downwards. "'Cause I got biceps?"
He couldn't see Midoriya anymore, but he thought of his awkward smile and his sturdy expression, and felt himself relax. He was out for the count—but that was alright. The soft hiss of Midoriya's mask was the second to last thing he heard before he lost consciousness.
"It isn't because you have biceps, President. It's because you had what it took to defend Sero. You're a hero, man."
Eijiro peered into that vast, unending pit in his stomach, and thought he might've glimpsed the bottom.
[x]
AN: Aizawa in homeroom be like: I could not care less who these brats call their president. Aizawa, an hour later, during perhaps the most stressful crisis of his life: god i can NOT let they guy who filed down his own teeth take command.
And now, the monster battle royale begins. Who'll secure the win? Izuku? Overhaul... or a more sinister thing? I joke. Maybe.
This chapters a lil clunky, but I think I liked it a lot. Oh, and the introduction to another villain in Chisaki's group. fun. Also, chapter 52 is awesome. heads up for may.
bon voyage satou *salutes*
Review!~~