CH 17, a continuation of the fishing village.

For reader notice. I have 3 ongoing fics. Void Hero, TWTGH (the want to go home), and Geneticist. I go between updating each one and attempt to update each once to twice a month when possible.

I would also like to invite you all to my Discord server for my fics— /tsCyUV2m6k . I do polls, post announcements for the chapters, and have links to all the important things on that server. It recently got a facelift as well, with the new surge in activity. Being on the server means you get to vote for the different fics and maybe even change a fate or two.

Anyway, back to the fic.

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Izuku cracked his eyes open slowly, the feeling of small hands tugging at his coat and pants waking him from the quick sleep. The air was damp, hot, and heavy with a silence that carried the faintest echoes of something lurking in the distance. His muscles were tight, the weight of the living nightmare still heavy, like a foul scent that clung to him, refusing to let go. Izuku rubbed his arms, trying to shake off the unease. His hands popped as he pushed himself up. "Take the blade to the dream. I'll look at it later." He muttered to the gathering of Messengers. They responded quickly and sank the weapon. He felt his stomach lurch, the rapid regeneration of blood vials still needed fuel. "And bring me some bread, please. Or anything the old lady has made."

The collection nodded before disappearing. Izuku took a moment to stretch, feeling the pull of his muscles as he did so.

It didn't take long for the messengers to return. Only a few popped up, each one with a different thing in their hands. One held a small bag, another with a loaf of bread, and the final with a small quarter of cheese.

Izuku collected the foodstuff from them and began to eat, ravenous beyond reason. Each bite seemed to dissolve too quickly, failing to fill the gnawing void in his stomach. His hands trembled slightly as he tore into the bread, ravenous beyond reason. His body had repaired itself many times over, but the cost was this—hunger that felt like a beast, consuming him from the inside. He couldn't recall the last time he needed to eat, but the trek through the nightmare had been long, so long he could feel the aches of his body from the countless fights still. He waved to the little messengers before beginning his ascent to the top of the well. A good feeling in his chest.

Izuku shifted, climbing slowly as the memory resurfaced. His mind wandered back to those frigid winter months when he'd dared to dream of moving up a grade. His heart had been filled with hope—just maybe—he could carve a path for himself. A path away from the daily torment of Bakugou, away from the constant humiliation. It had been a simple goal, but the mere thought of it made him feel warm like he had a reason to keep going. He'd studied like a man possessed, taken the test, and for once, he had felt good. Really, genuinely good since being diagnosed as quirkless.

But that warmth... shattered.

He hadn't meant to overhear the conversation. He'd only come out of his room, padding quietly toward the kitchen. He'd wanted a glass of water—nothing more—but as he approached, his mother's voice cut through the silence like a knife. Her back was turned to him, her posture tense, her tone sharp and clipped. "You know I can't send him to Hisashi. What would be the point? It's cheaper to keep him here. At least I don't have to deal with that bastard either."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. Izuku froze. He wasn't sure he'd heard it right. No... No, she couldn't have meant it like that. She had said mean things before, sure, but she still loved him, didn't she? Didn't she?

He wanted to believe that... but there it was—her words, laid bare in their callousness. To her, he wasn't a son. He was a burden, nothing more than a financial obligation she bore out of convenience.

His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening painfully. His heart hammered, and the pieces of hope inside him began to crumble, bit by agonizing bit. "I never should've had him. That's the truth." The voice was so casual like it was nothing. "He's just like his father—just another mistake on my part."

Those words echoed in his mind like a curse. His stomach twisted violently, nausea rising. Was that really all he was? Just... a mistake? He wanted to scream, wanted to demand an answer, wanted to understand, but his feet stayed glued to the floor. The truth was too much to bear.

From that moment on, the weight of her words had clung to him like a shroud. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he fought to prove himself, her voice echoed in the back of his mind. Every failure, every stumble felt like confirmation that maybe she was right. Maybe he was just like his father—someone destined to be discarded. Someone who could never be enough.

"If I hadn't botched things up, I'd be far better off." His mother's voice was bitter now. "You know how hard it is to move up in this economy with a quirkless child?"

The last words stabbed deeper than any wound ever could. Izuku had felt the air rush from his lungs as if he'd been punched by All Might himself. She didn't want him. She had never wanted him. And no matter how much he fought, no matter how much he tried to prove his worth, it would never change. To her, he'd always be... nothing.

Izuku gritted his teeth, his mind wading through the haze of memories. He shook his head, trying to shake free from their grip, but they clung to him like the stink of blood in the air. He was back, the blade buried deep in the chest of one of the fishermen, slamming the pitiful creature into the wall with a sickening thud. The force reverberated through his arms, grounding him in the present, the sharp tang of copper flooding his mouth. Or was that blood?

He wasn't sure anymore—everything bled together in this nightmare.

The stench was unbearable. Blood and decay filled his nostrils as he pushed forward. His eyes were drawn to a looming structure—a lighthouse, or what might have once been one. At this angle, it was hard to tell where the building began and the nightmares warping ended. But it didn't matter. The fight had carried him here, his muscles moving on autopilot, cutting down fishermen and their rotting fish dogs in a haze. He barely registered the hulking mass of another shark behemoth he had already slain. All the corpses exuded the smell of decaying corpses months older than they were. The thick ichor seeped into the spongy ground. Watering it in even more blood that got diluted by the endless rain.

His body acted on instinct now. The brutal efficiency of a hunter.

Izuku made his way to the hut, his hand rating on the decaying doorway as he sniffed the air, copper… blood. He walked deeper, the glowing false light of the lantern catching his eye and he lit it instinctively, before swinging his head to peer around.

"...Oh, you…" A voice wheezed, breaking the stillness. "I'm afraid, I've made a botch of things..." The voice was familiar, still new, still nameless.

Izuku's jaw clenched, his rage simmering beneath the surface. His eyes spotted the man who spoke. Their voice was weak, croaking as blood pooled from their mouth. He was dying. Just like everything else in this cursed place.

"I can hear the bell, now…" the man continued, his voice fading as his life ebbed away.

"...The beast-hide assassin... he's after me..." His voice was weak, trembling as endless rivulets of blood poured from the massive wound in his gut. Lower left abdomen. Just like All Might, Izuku thought, the comparison bitter in his mind. "...Again and again... it never ends..."

The man lay crumpled in a growing pool of his own blood—thick, nearly black, corrupted like the hut that surrounded them. The walls pulsed faintly, as if alive, feeding on the dark energy that seemed to bleed from the very ground. The rot was everywhere, soaking into the floorboards and air. The blood reeked, acrid and foul, a stench that clawed at Izuku's throat.

"Why did you come this far?" Izuku wanted to scream the question but instead whispered, frustration boiling beneath his exhaustion. "You said it yourself, some secrets are particularly unseemly." It was always like this—another death, another burden for him to bear.

The man's eyes weren't focused on anything now, distant and glazed over. They stared past Izuku, seeing something far beyond him, beyond the rotting hut. The man's blood wasn't just red—it was thick, sickly, threaded with dark veins of corruption like a dying river choking on its own filth. Izuku's thoughts flashed to how the man had his eyes covered the last time they met. "Why did I even bother listening to him? I don't even know his name." He thought bitterly, the foolish man hadn't even listened to his own advice.

"...Please, I need you to do something..." The man's voice rasped, fading. He ignored Izuku's questions, his hands trembling as they reached out, grasping weakly for Izuku's coat. "...This village... it's the true secret... Testament to the old sins..."

The words hung heavy in the air, thick with desperation. Izuku clenched his teeth, feeling a slow burn rise inside him—not quite rage, but a simmering heat of frustration. Another burden. Another plea. Always someone else's mess to fix. The weight of their sins pressed down on him, suffocating. His mind flicked back to the memory of his mother's voice, the way she spoke of his father. The way she spoke of him. Could he ever escape the shadows of those who came before him?

"It feeds this Hunter's Nightmare…" The man's breath rattled, a shallow gasp before he continued, "...Please... bring to an end the horror..."

Izuku's chest tightened. Fix it. Again. That same, weary command. His blood simmered just beneath the surface, the toll of his journey eating at his resolve. His mind was a swirl of rage from the evoked memories, the fact a man he had barely known lay dying at his feet. All the mistakes he was responsible for, whether it was his doing or not. Every person's mistakes became his to shoulder, it seemed, every sin laid at his feet. And now, another plea for salvation. Another weight to carry.

He grabbed the man by the shoulders, his voice sharp, "Listen, you never even told me your name! And now you're asking me to end this Nightmare? Like I wasn't already trying to do that while you were scurrying around?"

But the man's eyes were already too far gone, his mind slipping away. His voice, though faint, still cut deep. "...So our forefathers sinned... We hunters... we cannot bear their weight forever... It isn't fair, it just isn't fair..."

The man's words echoed, fading into the pulse of the corrupted village.

Izuku could feel the heat leaving the man, like a slow trickle, like the blood draining from his wounds. The last embers of life leeched from the man, slow and inevitable, just like everything else in this nightmare. The sins of those long-dead still stained everything in this cursed place. He clenched his hands, letting out a breath he closed the man's eyes with one hand. "Fuck."

Izuku scanned through the man's belongings, grabbing the ornate sword. Izuku's hands moved without thought as he rifled through the man's belongings, the weight of the ornate sword settling in his grip like just another burden. It was nothing to get overly excited over—just another weapon, another key to open another door to. To kill another beast, in a nightmare that seemed endless. He let out a breath as he grabbed a familiar-looking key from the man's pocket. He stood up and let out a low whistle while grabbing his key ring and looking through the many keys on it, finding the keys that closely resembled the one he just got. Vaguely reminiscent of the keys he had used in the cells right after Ludwig. He scanned the room one more time with his eyes as the myriad of messengers crawled from nowhere to around him. "Take him to the dream and get someone to bury him. Try to find out his name from the notebook still on him, please. Not that it matters anymore." He mumbled out absentmindedly as he spun the key in his hand.

"He heard the bell?" The memory of that voice—sharp, mocking—crawled into his mind like a shadow. Another man who believed himself above others, cruel for no reason beyond the joy of bringing pain.

Izuku stepped out of the decrepit building, the air heavy with the stench of salt and decay. His hand trailed along the rotting wood, fingers brushing against splinters as he circled the building. The world beyond opened up—the dark horizon bleeding into the sea, an endless void. He made his way to the cliff face the building was placed upon step by step. The wood changed to rough stone bricks that were stacked up into a lighthouse as the ground gave way to air but a few steps away from the building. Izuku made his way to the ledge and grasped the decrepit fence, its posts slanting dangerously, barely holding against the drop. The cliffs felt like the end of the world—an empty, bitter void. He felt like this village, clinging to life stubbornly—rotting from the inside, but refusing to let go.

His hands gripped the once smooth wooden fence, evidence of care was still present, from the fine carvings eroded away with time, to the smoothness of small sections, sanded down smooth. Izuku's fingers dug into the crumbling wood, the last remnants of the world before splintering away at his touch. It was hollow, like everything in this cursed place—once something real, now just a shell. The wood was rotted on the inside, his hands clenching semi-soft handfuls of wood. Splinters dug into his fingers and palm. The misting rain began to fall in thicker drops as he unclenched his hands, letting the rotted wood fall to the rotting dirt under his feet.

Another sigh left his mouth, his lungs letting out what stress it could.

He cupped his hands, letting the rain pool, the cold drops mixing with his blood and splinters. It should have felt cleansing, but all it did was carry the filth deeper, sinking into the cracks. The collection began to leak over the rims of his hands before he let it fall to the ground, the fragments of wood slipping from his hands. Even his body rejected this place, pushing the filth from his flesh as if trying to cleanse itself of the nightmare.

Izuku turned on his heel and began his walk back into the building and touched the lamp. "Take me to the underground corpse pile." Was all he mumbled out before in a flash of lightless brightness he vanished. There was no escape from this hell—not until every last creature responsible for it was dead. Not until the nightmare itself was silenced.

His eyes opened as the scent of copper flooded his senses. The room was unchanged—an ocean of blood, bodies ripped apart, filling every crevice. The stench of copper, once overwhelming, barely registered anymore. None of it mattered. Not anymore. He turned and made his way to the cells, killing the few things in his way as he did so. He remembered the fear that had gripped him before—the way the things lurking here had once made his heart race, even if he never showed it. This place had broken him in ways he hadn't expected. But now? Now, he felt nothing. As he stepped up to the cell the old key couldn't unlock, there was no fear, no hesitation. Only the cold, familiar routine.

He slid the key into the lock. The door clicked, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his own breath. Then, from behind the door, a voice—low and rasping— "Do you hear this?" Izuku listened, his hand on the door's handle. His hearing picked up a faint bell. "Fear the bell's toll... for it only brings death to those who dare pry into this nightmare. The Church assassins—they are never far behind when the bell rings," the man's voice dropped into a sickly whisper, as though the words themselves carried the weight of death.

"Noted," Izuku spoke plainly as he opened the door and went inside.

"Well, well, look who's here." The voice was clearer now, as Izuku scanned the room, his eyes catching the destroyed living area. His eyes fell on the sole occupant of the room, sitting alone, in one hand a simple bell, and the other an ornate mace-like weapon.

"Welcome to my quarters. I've never entertained a guest before." The man let out a laugh as he took in Izuku. "Are you here to kill me, child? Will that fix everything? Will it undo all the wrongs you've committed?" The man's voice trembled, a deranged edge to his words as his gaze pierced through Izuku. "You think you can just kill me and make it right?" His eyes stared at Izuku as if looking at the progenitor of all sin.

"Well, it's part of the plan," Izuku said simply, pulling out a Molotov. He gave it a toss-up and felt the familiar shape of the bottle landing in his hand. "However, from the look of you, you're not going to just let me kill you." Izuku's gaze hardened as he stared at the man, his body wrapped in the tattered skin of a Cleric Beast, the horns jutting from his skull like a twisted, grotesque crown. The stench of decayed flesh clung to him, and Izuku could feel the weight of the monster he was about to face. The man before him was a sinkhole of sins.

"Well," the man began, standing up as their joints audibly popped. "I believe it would be unsportsmanly to not fight back." The man stretched, raising the mace over their head as they did so. "Don't worry, child. I'll end you swiftly." The man spoke calmly, then without warning, drove the sharpened mace into his own gut. The sickening crunch of bone and tearing flesh filled the air as blood sprayed out, momentarily blinding Izuku. The smell of burning iron and rot filled his lungs. A groan of pain was heard and then a ripping sound.

In an instant, the man was on him. The mace twisted, growing into a monstrous two-handed hammer, jagged spikes of blood-forming along its massive head. It swung in a deadly arc, aimed to mutilate Izuku. Izuku ducked under the arc of the hammer, slipping into the man's guard. In one swift motion, he drove the lit Molotov into the man's chest. Flames roared to life, licking up Izuku's arm, searing his flesh as shards of glass bit deep into his palm. The fire spread fast, hungry, devouring both of them in its path.

One word escaped his lips, filled with every ounce of rage, pain, and resolve. 'Burn.' The blood-soaked flames twisted, turning from yellow to a violent blood-red, consuming the man in a hellish blaze. But before Izuku could register the transformation, the force of the explosion sent him hurtling backward, the inferno following him as he slammed into the far wall with a sickening crack.

Izuku shook his hand, sending the shards of glass into the already junk-filled room. He saw the flesh knitting already. His eyes jumped back to the man who pushed himself up from the shattered stones. Red flames had devoured a portion of the man's clothing, exposing raw, blistering burns that oozed clear fluid. But already, his skin was knitting itself together, the other hunter shrugged off the pain. A blood vial hit the ground at the man's feet.

As the glass shattered, the man was already upon him, swinging twice with brutal force, each blow aimed to pulp Izuku where he stood. Izuku quickened to the other side of the room, pulling out a small knife and pressing the sharp edge deep into his palm. The blood pooled quickly as Izuku with his other hand grabbed another molotov. "Embers of heat, fuel for fire. Blood that burns, burns that kill." Izuku spoke quickly, his eyes locked on the healing burn wounds of the man, "Agony unending, crimson flames—burns without end" Just as the man closed the distance Izuku reached.

Izuku caught the man's wrist, his fingers slick with his own blood as he smeared it across the man's scorched skin, from wrist to chest. His fingernails dug deep into the tender burns, feeling the sickening give of flesh beneath his touch. "Burn." He spoke the eldritch word and slammed another Molotov into the man. This time on the man's exposed face. For a fleeting moment, Izuku saw it—the flash of fear in the man's eyes as the Molotov shattered against his face, the flames greedily consuming his flesh.

This time Izuku didn't intend to let the man out of his reach. The yellow flames licked at the blood smeared across the man's chest, and in an instant, the fire transformed—a second burst of unnatural heat erupted, blood-red flames twisting like living things. They devoured the scorched flesh as if it were dry kindling, feeding on Izuku's blood as though it were oxygen itself.

A scream tore through the room—sharp, desperate—but it was snuffed out in an instant as Izuku slammed the man to the ground, his weight crushing down like a predator on prey. The mace flew, clattering across the room loudly as the red flames ate at the old man beneath Izuku. The man's neck was between Izuku's hands as the fire ate the man's face. The man's windpipe collapsed under Izuku's tightening grip, the fragile cartilage giving way with a sickening crunch. His fingers felt the grind of bone beneath the flesh, splintering and cracking as the man thrashed weakly, a futile attempt to escape. Izuku put his whole body into depriving the man of breath, The flesh gave way beneath Izuku's relentless grip, tearing apart with a wet rip as the skin and muscle peeled away. The clavicle bones jutted out like jagged teeth, snapping as Izuku twisted, pulling the man's head free in one brutal motion. Izuku tossed the burning head aside, the flames still consuming what little flesh remained. It hit the wall with a sickening thud, splattering charred skin and blood in a grotesque spray, the hiss of sizzling flesh echoing through the room.

Izuku looked down at his hands, coated in blood and soot, the warmth of the flames still licking at the ruined body beneath him. The room was silent now—only the crackle of fire and the soft drip of blood remained. He didn't need to be so brutal. But it felt good—satisfyingly good in a way that frightened him. The violence had been an outlet for the pain he had buried deep, for the stress that had been tightening in his chest as he kept going, kept pushing himself past his limits.

The man before him was not a good man, but not even bad men deserved what he had just done.

Izuku went to wipe his hands, but he froze, staring at the bloodstains that seemed to mock him. No amount of wiping would cleanse what he had just done. After a long pause, he stood up, retrieving the man's weapon. The Messengers appeared at his feet, their small, eager hands reaching for the prize. He knelt down, offering it gently. "Take good care of it, okay?" His voice was a whisper, soft and careful, a sharp contrast to the violence he'd just unleashed.

Izuku cast one last glance at the body, now nothing more than ash and twisted remains. The thrill of the fight had faded, but the guilt remained, clinging to him like the blood still staining his hands. He made his way to the lantern and in a flash, was gone once more.

Across the nightmare Izuku reappeared in the room where the man had died, the air still thick with the scent of blood and death. The body was gone, but the bloodstain remained. He walked into the continuous rain and breathed deeply. The oppressive heat of the village clung to his skin, making his flesh crawl. The stench of fish and rotting humans hung thick in the air, a rancid, festering odor that gnawed at his senses and stirred nausea deep in his gut. The whole village felt like a place long forgotten by the gods, left to decay into an endless howl of despair and death. A few more steps and he would be done here. A few more kills, a few more necessary murders.

He grabbed his sword from his back. Only one kill remained. The Orphan—the child of his mother's sister. The thought twisted something inside him. Blood may tie them, but in this nightmare, family meant nothing. He had to kill his cousin, the last vestige of his mission. Yet even as his hand gripped the sword tighter.

A small, tired smile cracked across his features—the kind of smile born from knowing the end was near, even if it came with more blood. His muscles ached, and his mind felt like it was teetering on the edge, but he was so close now. Just one more. Just one more.

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I know this one is a little late, but in my defense, October is the busiest month for university haha, and a lot has happened. I got a new job and am finally leaving fast food!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you in the next one.

Chapter length 4211, next chapter. Nightmare End