A long time ago, in an entirely different place and a different time. THere used to exist order, chaos and also beauty.
"Give me all your money."
A feminine gasp echoed in a dark street, as a man in a black hoodie jacket, common denim pants and tennis shoes glared at a brown-haired woman in a white blouse and a black skirt, mid-heeled black shoes, her face framed by a pair of prescription glasses.
It matters not the age nor the time or context; power draws power and desire is driven by power. As humans are, their basest of instincts give them that faculty. And just as power is real…so it can draw blood and pain also.
"AAAAGH!" The man screamed as the woman could only stare in shock as crimson red blood stained her blouse. The woman could only see in sheer shock as the man's wrist which had the hand which held the gun about to kill her was now pinned towards a wall, just as another arrow was pierced on his torso, near enough yet far from his neck.
Same cities, same people, same the end, no matter how much time passes; Blood, Crows and Dragons remain the same.
The woman who just was about to run away, saw a single thing…a falling black feather stained lightly in red. It mesmerized her and she found it beautiful. The symbol of the hero that has just saved her today.
"Society needs heroism to believe, hero course exams should be more lenient."
A passionate dark-haired female dressed in a gray school uniform with a black skirt declared before the rounded formation of tables; peers as smart and intelligent as herself. The future ideals of society, the future of law and righteousness in a world that really is on the borderline of chaos. Many of them possessed talents; Quirks. Apparently a genetical benefit born from the effort of evolution itself, abilities that at times they were to help the commonfolk and those that are most vulnerable, oftimes some would use their talents for good, others for evil. It was the way of the world, not everyone has kindness. For as the world is moved by blood, politics, the Games those in power play to use those below them as pawns on their own agendas.
He snorted.
Hero Schools, paragon of education of the future protectors of society and of the world. Ever since their inception their Hero Course Admission Exams were of the hardest tests one could ever take. They measured the capability of battling and fighting, of waging war. To make such exams lenient would be counter productive. Would they leave their lives in charge of a talentless hero? Of someone with no capability of protecting them? He felt the stares on him.
"Mr. Targaryen, we remind you that for this class if you have an argument you have to raise your hand and stand up."
The professor of the Debate Club answered to which he nodded and rose his hand, standing up he stared at everyone. Paragons of their talents and yet they are all foolish dreamers. The world outside is harsher than what they believe; do they think war and fighting is an adventure?
"I stand my claim, that Hero Course Exams should not be lenient. Instead, they should be harsher in the admission criteria." His comment caused many frowns and also glares towards him, many of the quirk users in debate class would be applicants to Hero Schools, it was what everyone desired.
"Could you elaborate Mr. Brynden." The professor, a dark haired man in a black two-piece suit, white shirt, no tie and a rather interested glint on his eye stared at him.
"It is simple Professor Mirai." Brynden elaborated as he took a step forward and now standing in the center of the circle formation of desks in the Debate Club's Classroom.
"Even if many may wish to be Heroes on a Hero Course, it must be acknowledged that Heroes are not like Quirked Commons. Their abilities, their performance and their biology makes them the only ones in the world capable of doing such tasks. If their quirks are useless in combat, i make my stance; they shouldn't even put their names on the admission papers."
And he could hear their whispers of anger between them. Many even cursing him 'Quirkless' under their breaths. He wanted to laugh at their faces and his temper would've burned them all in the room. He was after all a bearer of the blood of the dragon, blood of Old Valyria and that of the First Men. They didn't even knew he had the power to rule them. Yet, he wasn't going to risk anybody by doing so and thus he remained calm, calm as the cold snow in winter, which allowed for his features to be steeled in his ever present poker-face. As a scion of House Targaryen, the Doctrine of Exceptionalism established by his ancestor King Jaehaerys I Targaryen is a doctrine that is appliable to everything. Special individuals with special powers are born above those commoners, why be affected by the laws of commoners when you can use Fire-breathing dragons to exert your will upon the commonfolk. A laughable comparison to their ignorance and their own foolishness, for as he was aware he was above them all in station, rank and blood. Yet, to openly be arrogant and insult would mean falling in their game and letting his cards be known, he preferred instead to be underestimated and only be known as always for his sharp wit and intelligence.
"So, you're saying that if someone has a quirk not useful for combat. They are below heroism?" The professor inquired with interest for which he staid silent.
"The same principle applies to fighting with a blunt sword against a sharp sword; which sword would win in the end professor?"
In his past life, his hateful reproachful father Aegon IV allowed him a Lordling's education yet he always found himself fascinated with studying in the Citadel to obtain at least more Valyrian steel chains. He would've gone there if only they allowed women in the order, more to pity they didn't. He preferred his half-sister's Shiera's company than go by his days between dusty tomes alone.
"You can't just base your claims using rhetoric." A blond-haired student cried out which earned nods from everyone.
"Permission to reply?" He asked to the professor who granted it.
"It is not rhetoric, it is simple logic. If you pit two quirks, for example; one with the ability to heal all wounds with a touch against a quirk which allows you to concentrate energy and then let it out. Which one would be chosen for the Hero course? Quirk Exceptionalism is not a rhetoric, is a logic conclusion which is surprise hasn't been made law yet." He shrugged which earned many dirty looks by students, even Professor Mirai seemed to be on a hard bargain, then again who wouldn't. His claims have a base and this argument was an active topic in the Government of Japan. As the school bell rung, everyone rose from their desks and neatly arranged the classroom to a pristine condition once more, he wasn't new into putting his own bodily effort into it. Brynden Targaryen combed his loose long curvy silver-gold hair, a trait never seen before; at age 15 Brynden is at the cusp of his teenagehood and he is the most 'beautiful' young man in Musutafu Private Middle School, with a regal face with high cheekbones, chiseled and almost as if the gods themselves made Adonis a mortal. He felt humbled and out of arrogance, he never really enjoyed attention; even if constantly on the classes or on streets females would turn at least twice to take in his sight.
The Blood of Old Valyria, the blood generated by centuries of blood-magic and incest produced one of the most powerful lineages of a kingdom. Beautiful, mortal dragon riders who could burn fields of men at mere whims without even an ounce of effort. Having their blood was, a tasteful privilege. He shook his head; he wouldn't be in this club if it didn't gave him a feel of how politics are made in this planet for if he gained any advantage in the Game others played then he could make a difference. Going towards his locker, he did the intricate lock with the date that changed his life. The day that defined his morality regardless of how many times his life would be started again. The lock opened and he took out the materials for his homework and also took a duffel bag, as he navigated through the school grounds and outside them to go to the nearest building and end in its roof. Changing his attire into that he would be most comfortable for; light plate armor, breeches, a good quiver, his modern compound bow with some traces of wood to feel it and strapped to his belt; the treasures of his lineage; he was lucky to have them and he felt honored to the highest to have them both. And each day he tests himself to be worthy of having them near him. Yet he feels not complete without the black hood to conceal himself in darkness, with it his appearance is complete and thus he is fully himself once more.
Bloodraven
The cows of crows were almost as if a pleasurable song sang to him as he ran and jumped the building into the roof of the next; the art of horse-riding these days he took it as Parkour . The art of weaving through buildings, through places; in the most efficient way possible to exercise his trained muscles. Some call it Vigilantism, he called it different.
Protector of the Realm.
It felt exhilarating, liberatingly so. Bloodraven, wouldn't be a common hero; no, he wouldn't be a common man, nor a follower. He has been born to lead, his boiling blood of the Dragon with the enhancement of that of the First Men demanded him to dominate, called to his most vicious and most primal instincts. Making him warm, loved; as if the embrace of the parents he never knew was with him. This is what he was, what he will be forever and ever.
It is late Afternoon in Musutafu as a medium-heighted teenaged female, with pink-colored skin and hair, square-shaped eyes with black sclerae and yellow irises with long eyelashes below and around the sides of the eyes. With short-fluffy, unruly pink hair darker than her skin with two thin yellow horns protruding from her head, hooked squarely and leaning diagonally to opposite sides. She wore the uniform of Musutafu Private Middle School, as she hummed to herself walking down a quiet surburban street to the way home. Humming to herself she frowned, soon the school's finals would happen and her alst result on the exams were all C+'s with only one B-. So far she has tried it all; videos, podcasts, extra-cramming read and nothing seems to just stay in her brain for long, and it wrecks her. She can be a social and exciteable girl yet she struggles with her academic studies, and apparently from what the teachers said, even with her quirk, if she does badly at the tests, Hero Schools won't ever accept her.
That made her afraid.
As she passed by a small convenience store on the street corner. Outside the store is a small gas pump with a car parked next to it. The occupants of the vehicle, four adult men, were talking amongst themselves. She continued to walk down as the men begin to follow. Hearing the steps she lightly straightened herself.
'They are following me.' She thought with instinct and started to pick up her pace. The four men however matched her increasing speed until she crossed the road, yet even then they still followed her.
"Hey kid! We want to talk to ya'!"
She turned back to see the men wearing black hoods with skulls decorated on their faces. Causing her to widen her eyes in panic, the men were part of group with selective racism. She sprinted awy from them, yet before she could do so any further a yellow aura of energy surrounded her body which held her in place.
"Hey!"
Her confinement is the result of one of the man who called out to her, using his quirk as his hand glows with the same yellow aura. He flicks his wrist, spinning her around to face them all. What will they do? As she wriggled and tried, she couldn't move.
"Didn't you hear me kid? Do those horns make you deaf?" The leader of the group of four wondered. Their looks of disgust made her feel more fearful and also sadder.
"Look at those eyes, feels like she's staring into my-."
"ARGH!"
She fell face-first to the floor as they all turned to meet the man with the glowering green hand now grasping onto his right hand's wrist with his left hand.
Don't even think about it.
Her eyes widened, someone has saved her. But who? As she listened to the baritone voice, the four men turned around, they had no location available of the voice. With morbid surprise she saw the four so suddenly just stay silent, motionless as they turned around and walked back, ignoring her completely. Hearing a sound she turned to widen her eyes; for a second she saw a figure crouching nearby a tree, meter or even half of that measure. As he jumped and landed on the floor; as if the mirage was gone. All she could see was the mystifying silver hair and milky white eyes glaring in direction where her attackers went. And where there was milky white, turned indigo purple. Brynden knew she would be shocked.
"Sorry for taking so long." He toned and turned back to her. "My name's Brynden, Brynden Targaryen."
Mina Ashido considered herself a social bunny more so when talking about strangers; even more to someone that saved her from strangers that could've attacked her. They still were in the same supermarket, and even though she had money with her bought her a cold soft drink and something to eat even if back home her mother probably prepared her something. She had to refrain herself from not looking too much to his face, or looking to his eyes and not flushing from it. How can she not? She was used to manly men; buffed out men with strong faces, features that are posted everywhere. Rugged rough men to get the job done; manly men her mother would say.
Yet before her; her stereotypes and perhaps even her type of male has been challenged.
IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!
How can a man be more beautiful than a woman? It's impossible, her brain cannot compute that fact; even women have a threshold for attention and looking at a man's face.
AND SHE HAS BEEN STARING AT HIM FOR MINUTES ALREADY!
'Stop Mina, stop. He's just a beautiful man, probably the most beautiful man I've ever met in my life. But it's not different than any other man, i mean; there are beautiful men elsewhere too. Right?' She thought trying to get her thoughts from straying too much.
"So, you want to apply for U.A.?" He rose an eyebrow; ever since he broke the ice she introduced herself and told him the story of her life; nothing too abnormal. A girl, two parents, apartment home, the usual thing to consider. She went home and back each day for school. She aspires to U.A. Hero Course because she sees it as the job of her life; she condones bullying, likes to help others whenever she can and would put her life on the line for the sake of saving others. A true paragon of heroism, with an upbeat personality and highly social profile, an ideal hero in the making.
"Yes, I'm planning to apply to Yuuei. I've been training my ass off this year to kickstart well, although.." She frowned as she was reminded of her grades in the latest exams.
"Although…" He trailed off. "My grades aren't doing good." She trailed off and she expected him to laugh at her, as she felt something shift by his side, he saw him languidly leaning on the bench and staring up towards the skies.
"I can help you study; I'm the top of our year."
And that's even more unnerving since she doesn't knows about him at all, in which world was she that she didn't knew of this boy in her school at all.
"You will?" Her eyes shone as bright stars as he lightly chuckled, it was melodious.
"Yeah sure."
She took his hands and shook them repetitively as thanks.
"I also wanna thank you for helping me out back there Targaryen, it meant a lot."
He waved his armed dismissively.
"Please call me Brynden, or Bryn. Are you sure you're okay?"
She shrugged; physically she is but she still felt the aftermath of that experience.
"I guess. Figures the day the bus i usually take cancelled i came across those guys. And being called a freak and monster made this day ever better."
It was his turn to frown.
"I'm sorry for what you had to go through Mina-san. I really am."
She shrugged her shoulders once more, looking to the street across her. "Yeah, still, it's not that it's something i'm not used to. It makes me at times wonder if they have a point sometimes." She drawled.
"I now i can't help the way i look and should be proud of who i am. That's why i try to stay so positive and outgoing; to show that there's more to me than just appearance. Underneath, I'm the same as them. But sometimes it's just hard. How can people get to know me when they can't stand to look at me?" And it was her turn to look at the beautiful boy before her and ask her question. "Look at me and tell me I'm not out of place."
And he turned towards her as she felt his mesmerizing indigo purple eyes staring right through her eyes which stole her breath before he zig-zagged his gaze to navigate her only for a fraction of moment before he saw her eyes once more, and his lips curled lightly in a smile.
"I think you're dashing and beautiful Mina."
She was about to speak about the truth of his plans before she gasped so suddenly, taken aback by his statement.
"You do?"
"I know you are. You're special and unique, your looks are what make you beautiful. I should say the same, look at me and tell me I'm not out of place." He gave her back her words and she grinned even wider, he was good at talking and was a smart one no doubt about it. Even if she thought of it she won't openly say it.
"Here Check this out Bryn." She skidded from her chair and got on her feet once more, producing a liquid in her left palm as she held it up. He observed it with interest and aw.
"Whoa. You can produce fluid from your palms." He moved his head closer to her palm, analyzing everything about it.
"Not just fluid, silly." She giggled. "It's acid. I can produce it from my feet to." She gestured to her blades with her free hand. "I can just adjust the acidity of it a little." She revealed and he smiled.
"That's quite cool." He crowed, before letting himself calm down. His colly oriented attitude and his sophisticated mannerisms were quite unique however.
'Ok, this boy is very beautiful and fucking adorable in hos own right.' She thought to herself. Discarding the fluid on the ground.
The Rabbit's Trails
Rumi Usagiyama frowned at the scene before her, four guys with black hooded robes, suddenly fall unconscious on the street and when waking up they find themselves not remembering anything of what happened. Even the mind-readers found the same blank gaps on their minds. Being this the third time in a two month gap, the police forces called the aid of Pro-Heroes Mirko and Edgeshot, she herself was just soundly bored. She enjoyed the battle, fighting front to front and personal, the thrill of combat boiling on her veins and her very chest, not for investigative homework. As she glanced around searching for anything happening around in the community of Musutafu.
"Raven feathers." She turned to meet the Shinobi Pro-Hero who with his right hand rose a single red-stained feather.
"Is that-."
"Blood. Not human." Edgeshot stared at the black crow feather, vigilantism was an activity that is heavily punitive by law and by principle and ethic itself.
"The victims suffered pierceing wounds by wooden arrows with bullet-material capped tips."
She snorted, someone was playing vigilant on their turf and apparently loved the distance. She snorted.
'Cowards.' She thought, she always destroyed even enemies on the distance. She had the speed, she had the power and the drive to so suddenly be before them and just squash them with her mighty muscles. Edgeshot was of the few pro-heroes who furthered his education in Tokyo University, the resident expert in Forensic Science. Whenever Vigilantism was involved the police would always call him to verify crime scenes. She shrugged, and waved her hand.
"Call me when you have someone i can actually attack." She jumped away.
The Shinobi Pro-Hero rolled his eyes and went back to the trails that went further into the street and dissapeared. Someone went with the vigilante, he frowned. Hostage?
'No, the footprints appeared normal. The cadence of someone casually walking.' He thought with a frown, a puzzle proving itself harder to decypher.
A Raven's Musings
You did your duty to realm Lord Bloodraven, and she is thankful for it immensely. However, under my Kingdom, there cannot be a Bloodraven in shadows any longer.
At times he found himself hunted by the specters of his past, in his own way he tried to find something in his life yet he feared he won't ever find it. Not that he cared either way, Brynden Targaryen preferred his name to his real long names, titles and other vanities that he never truly saw sense for, not that he not enjoyed power. But, power for the sake of power not earned was the same as holding a useless tool. Yes, inherited power held its truths, yet he felt estranged. His senses tingled as his crow went to flight, he followed it by jumping from building to building methodically, until he ended before a Junior-High School. Taking out his specially designed compound with weirwood bow, he went to his tactical quiver, dividing his arrows in sections, he took out a special type, a type he knew he would use only for special and unique situations where he knew he could be forced.
Using the arrow and the bow came so naturally he easily easily nocked the arrow, pulling the string as much as he could as his good eye took aim. The bloodlust intent he sensed was immense, one he didn't felt since...he grunted. Dismissing the thought and the trip down the memory lane for later, he targeted a fair-skinned girl whose inward tilting yellow eyes with thin-slit-like irises revealed a very sinister smile that held in them so much secrets, attempting to hide between pale ash-blond hairs, wearing a school uniform with a kansai collar and a red scarf tied loosely below. He saw her creeping towards her target, a boy; women were deadly and their feelings and repressed desires were deadlier, she had a box cutter in hand. Her stance was of an unseasoned warrior and swordsman, a plain civilian attacker.
He let loose the string and let the arrow fly through the air. And he stroke true, that's what he believed, on the sleeve of her blazer's shoulder it stroke surprisingly pinning her nearby the wall causing the boy to turn around in shock and run away. His body flickered, appearing right beside the female wearing the same uniform she wore.
"You can't fool my eyes." From the depths of the shadows of his hood he mused.
"What do you want?" Her tone ticked-off trying to move her body or get rid of the arrow that pinned her shoulder to the wall, to no avail. As she tried to touch the arrow and yank it, she couldn't even move it from its spot, he snorted. He lightly smirked, he somehow found her irritation to be endearing instead of offensive. Most of his life he has always had figures of reverence or simply those that ignored him, females evaded him like plague. Only one ever approached him but her approaches were fonder, not irritated or hostile. This, being the first time a female reacted to him in such a way.
"I want many things." He trailed off, his lips lightly curling up as he held forth a red rose. As he presented it before her she narrowed her eyes turning from the rose to him.
"Could I perhaps invite you to drink somewhere?" He insisted, in a way he was protecting other males from having this aggressive female off their space. Distracting her on a date was a meaningless in the grand scale of things.
"Why don't you die first, and then I might think it." She offered him the same defiant sadistic satisfactory smirk at her raunchy remark, he ticked his tongue and lightly shook his head.
"And here I thought we had something good going, oh well."
Plan B then.
The last thing the girl saw was a strong punch connecting to her face, knocking her down. Yanking away the arrow, the female's body slid down to sit on the floor. With a profound sigh, he carried the female on his shoulder and jumped the buildings once more in general direction of the outskirts of the city.