My Hokuto Academia
AN: Just a fair bit of warning, there will be SPOILERS for both My Hero Academia [Vigilantes too], Hokuto no Ken, and Souten no Ken (and its continuation, Regenesis).
I DO NOT own Hokuto no Ken or My Hero Academia, they belong to their respective creators, Tetsuo Hara, Buronson, and Kohei Horikoshi. Support the official releases, especially of Souten no Ken. Support the official release! Mainly for emphasis!
Italics = Flashback
"Italics" = Speaking in a Different Language
'Italics' = Inner Thoughts
Italics = Flashback
"BOLD" = All-Might's tone or Present Mic [excited]
Chapter Sixty-Three: Calm Before the Storm
"One more match for tonight…" Bloodgash said to himself as the cleaners wiped down the arena. If he had to admit, some of those matches were a joy to see, and each fighter brought their own skill set to the table, especially since their Quirk was suppressed. The last match was between some tattooed boxer and some hotshot ex-hero, and the fight was clear as day.
WHAM!
The boxer sent his right fist into the ex-hero's nose, breaking it like glass and stunning him for a few seconds. A few seconds was all the boxer needed. The boxer went for a decisive three-punch combo: jab, cross, and hook.
A resounding thud rang out once the ex-hero's head made contact with the floor, and the boxer walked away as soon as the bell rang.
' And that's it, ' Bloodgash thought as the last fight came to a quick end. He made his way back to his cell, accompanied by Jourdain, and had some small talk on the way there.
"Today's matches were… actually interesting," the merc said.
"Usually you get one or two interesting matches. Most of the time, it's a brawler vs. another brawler," Jourdain replied. "Anyone in particular that stood out?"
Bloodgash hemmed. "There were a few. Not sure if any of them are worth recruiting, but they have my attention."
"That's a compliment, coming from you," Jourdain replied.
"Apex vs. Dao Lang seemed like a good start. What's their story?"
"Apex's a disgraced soldier who tried his second chance at being a Pro Hero. Dao Lang's a former Hong Kong cop who went to work for the local Triad."
Apex vs. Dao Lang
WHIFF!
The blond Chinese prisoner dodged one punch by swaying to the side. One after the other, he either dodged or parried the other convict's strikes with forearm blocks. The other convict, though bigger in size and muscle, was getting frustrated at his inability to land a hit on him.
"Triad—fucking—scum!" the other convict growled as he kept missing hits. In a quick second, he backstepped to avoid any oncoming attack.
"Was that it, Apex?" mocked the Chinese prisoner. The brown-haired convict, Apex, only sneered in response.
"You haven't seen shit yet, Dao," Apex barked as he charged toward him with a jab. The Triad hitman was ready to slip—
SNATCH!
Apex seized Dao's ear in a tight grip and fired jab after jab into the hitman's face. Each hit made the hitman's face bleed from his mouth and nose. Dao backstepped, trying to overextend Apex's grip and loosen it.
"Who said you can get out?" Apex exclaimed. The ex-hero wrapped his arms around Dao's neck in a solid rear naked choke, elbow directly beneath the chin, and the other arm behind the back of his head.
"Try getting out now," Apex said through gritted teeth. Dao struggled to breathe as the other convict fell backward to minimize his chances of breaking out. Wrapping his legs around Dao's legs was another reassurance.
Rikers Island Entanglement!
Dao flailed, trying to get out of Apex's stranglehold, but the ex-hero kept a tight grip. The hitman's airway was tightening and Apex rolled around to prevent any attempt at breaking out.
It took six seconds to stop Dao from flailing.
It took another three seconds to completely KO Dao.
Apex released his hold around a choked-out Dao Lang and his only response? Spit on him as he walked away.
"Any more details on Apex?"
"Alvin Valerian. Before you ask, yes, he was a rich kid," answered Jourdain. "Claimed he wanted to find his own way in life."
"Let me guess, didn't work out?" Bloodgash asked.
"Mustered out of the US Army within four years and tried his hand at being a hero, Overstrike Hero: Apex."
"Cheesy name. And his Quirk?"
"Tenfold - Increases his physical stats for a time period of ten minutes. Enough to take on some heavy hitters from the United States" listed Jourdain.
Bloodgash had to pause at that, prompting him, "If he went on a rampage, how much damage could he do?"
"In theory, he could take out one-half of Toulouse," explained Jourdain. "If it's any consolation, Apex isn't an idiot."
Bloodgash snorted in response. "Sure he isn't. One of the middle matches—that's one that surprised me. Did not know there was a woman's ward here too."
"To be fair, we keep the wards separate, and honestly, you're rarely gonna get a glimpse at them," Jourdain explained to the merc.
"That's actually fair. Oh, right. Wild Wyla fighting against… Bathory. Edgelords who didn't grow up," the merc dryly remarked.
"Bathory was the easier of the two to take in—a simple tranquilizer dart when she was distracted. Wyla was a different beast altogether…" Jourdain responded with uneasiness emphasized by the latter prisoner.
"Who exactly is she?" the merc asked.
"Wild Wyla. Real Name: Wilda Durand. French-Canadian ex-pat and pit-fighter… made quite the name for herself in the underground matches, taking a literal bite out of each defeated opponent," Jourdain explained.
"I'm guessing her Quirk is called Flesh Eater?" asked Bloodgash with some sarcasm. Jourdain rubbed the back of his head in response to that.
"Are you fucking serious…" Bloodgash responded with some disbelief.
"The official name is Carnivore. Any sort of flesh she consumes boosts her physical stats in proportion to how much she eats. However, overconsumption will leave her sluggish. Depriving her will drive her into a frenzy."
"That was obvious in the fight… What's Bathory's story?" Bloodgash answered, wanting to change topics.
"Bathory herself was some cult enforcer. Her Quirk is called Devilkind. Allowed her to have the features of an attractive devil: curved horns, talons, claws, and a model-like face and stature. Enhanced strength, speed, and endurance are the perks."
"The cult's name?"
"Outer Sanctuary. I know, cheesy name," Jourdain said with a sigh. "Their so-called purpose was to help teens who felt like outcasts because of their Quirks. Good idea, but it slowly went to shit as they committed robberies and the like."
"France's finest ran them down before they got a chance to become a bigger threat. I get it. It's safe to assume that Bathory is the last member of this cult?"
Jourdain nodded, confirming the merc's suspicions. He thought back to the fight; Wyla was short in comparison to Bathory, but her combat skills were something to see.
Wild Wyla vs. Bathory
Wyla was on guard, tanking scratches from Bathory's claws, but one thing was constant: she was gradually pacing forward, subtly forcing the devil woman back.
'The masked bitch should have given up at this point; anyone w—' thought Bathory, throwing a jab at Wyla.
WHAM!
Wyla slipped by one of the devil's punches and cut off her thoughts with a quick jab to her mouth, cracking two front teeth.
"You bit—"
WHACK!
Wyla silenced her with an elbow strike to her left cheek and a teep to her stomach, causing her to gag.
"For a cult enforcer, you're a bit pathetic," said Wyla, prepping a roundhouse kick.
WHAM!
Bathory got her side guard up, tanking the hit. In one motion, she latched onto the attacking leg and swept Wyla's standing leg, felling her to the ground. As soon as Bathory got on top of her, she continued her barrage of claw slashes, shredding her opponent's hoodie, and was getting to her shoulders.
SPURT!
Wyla cried out as soon as Bathory thrust one of her claws into her left shoulder. The devil woman keeps digging in, intending to take her shoulder, and even—
WHAM!
Wyla cut her off with a free punch to the face and kept at it until her claw loosened from her shoulder. Next, she kicked at the devil's knee, causing her to flinch in pain, and keep some distance between them.
"You little chienne; I'll gut you," snarled Bathory.
Wyla flipped her off in response and tore off the remaining bits of her hoodie, revealing a blue sports bra, and a couple of tattoos on her stomach. The only thing that stayed on was the custom facemask that had designed teeth on them.
"You know how many have said that to me," Wyla taunted, taking a kickboxer's stance. "Try to guess who succeeded."
Bathory charged towards her, claws at the ready, screaming, "I'll be the first then!"
The masked kickboxer gauged her timing, knowing that if she missed, she would be down for the count. Permanently this time. Bathory, closing the distance, swung her right claw vertically downward, aiming to take Wyla's head off.
WHISH!
She completely missed it! Wyla took a half-step back and loaded up her response: Demon's Bite .
Bathory's face went upward to the ceiling, stunned and bleeding, trying to regain her footing. Instead, she swung her left claw at Wyla…
WHIFF!
The masked girl covered herself with a raised guard, then threw it off, and stepped closer to grab her in a Muay Thai clinch.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Bathory coughed up blood, courtesy of Wyla's knees, and she attempted to wrench her way out of her clinch. Wyla would not let her do that; she turned her around and threw off any attempt to exit her clinch. The devil-woman stomped on Wyla's foot to loosen the clinch, but she missed by a half-inch. Wyla swept the offending leg in response.
BAM!
Wyla drove her knee right into Bathory's nose, hearing a cracking sound too.
"You… bich…" slurred Bathory as she snatched her offending leg and slammed her into the ground, making Wyla grunt in pain; Bathory saw her grip loosen and took her chance to get loose. Wyla grunted in response while Bathory fixed her nose.
Wyla and Bathory moved around each other, gauging their distance, and not throwing a punch. The devil-woman stepped forward, throwing a kick as her next move.
BIFF!
The masked woman caught her leg and kept a tight grip on it. As the devil-woman tried wrenching her leg from Wyla's grip, the latter made a step forward and drove her elbow right into the knee!
KRIK-CRACK!
"ARGH!" yelped Bathory as Wyla released her leg and followed up with an uppercut into her unprotected face. However, she wasn't done.
KRACK!
Bathory's face was sent to the left, courtesy of an elbow slash.
WHAM!
The devil-woman was down to a knee from an inside leg kick. However, Bathory pulled off an unexpected move: waving the white flag. Supposedly. Wyla let her guard down and turned around, walking out of the ring… if only it were easy.
"That bitch is gonna shank you!" screamed a member of the crowd. Bathory was running towards her, desperately wanting to kill the bitch—but Wyla turned around quickly, delivering a hook punch to the speeding devil-woman.
Bathory quickly guarded up but felt no punch. On the other hand, she heard a small step and peeked through: Wyla fooled her, she didn't intend to punch her, it was a classic feint, and she fell for a simple—
BOOM!
Wyla ended her thoughts with a classic from Muay Thai: Spinning Back Kick.
"Now', it's over," Wyla stated, walking away… but she felt weary until shaking it off.
"My Quirk's a pain sometimes, even with the Suppressor Collar on."
"I'll consider Wild Wyla. Apex, file that under maybe," Bloodgash replied, analyzing the two winners.
"You sure you want a confirmed flesh eater on your team?" questioned Jourdain.
"She kept control of herself, but it's the Quirk Suppressors working. For now. Maybe my employer could provide some incentive to keep her working for the League. Like a Quirk suppressor pill to keep the Quirk effects at bay."
Jourdain had to give credit: that was a good incentive to keep working for a confirmed villain. As enlightening as this small talk was, the guard still had a job to do, and after this week, he would be free from this hellhole.
"We should be close to your cell, Bloodgash," piped up Jourdain.
"Oh, you're right," responded Bloodgash. As he entered the cell, there was Dabi, looking bored as usual. Jourdain locked the cell and went on his merry way. The burnt man rose up from his bunk and wondered what the small talk was about.
"Just discussing some of the prison matches that happened earlier tonight," Bloodgash replied while getting to the top bunk.
"Oh… potential recruits?" Dabi asked, hopeful.
"Yes. Oh, do you want to hear the rest of the matches?"
"Sure." Dabi shrugged. "What was the next one you were gonna talk about?"
"The next match was some servy blue-haired athlete—calls himself Mach 8. He was fighting against a horror movie reject. Keeps a mask on at all times."
"Horror movie reject?" interjected Dabi, wondering if he heard that correctly.
"Looked like something out of those—what'd they call it—backwoods horror movies," Bloodgash answered.
"Was it some stitched-together mask?" Dabi questioned.
"It was a sack with eye holes in it. He was burly, but with muscle on his forearms… however, I can tell he wasn't all up there," the merc said, motioning to his head.
"Did he have a name?"
"Didn't hear, but they called him Man-Eater. From that title alone and his get-up—plain coveralls, stained mask, and limited vocabulary—all of it screams backwoods horror slasher."
"Mach 8?"
"Egotistical douche, but can back it up with skill at least," the merc replied. "The guy had him on the ropes…"
Mach 8 vs. The Man-Eater
The bovine man was swinging at the comparatively slimmer fighter who was wearing a hoodie with a sports team logo on it. With each missed hit, Mach 8 snuck a jab to his face. The brawler whined as he got hit, but the faster man was still too quick for Man-Eater.
"Come on, I have seen elderly people hit faster!" taunted Mach 8.
WHIFF!
A single backstep exposed the bovine fighter's side. Mach 8 took a small step, delivered a hook, and stomped on his foot before putting some distance between them. The Man-Eater growled in confusion but mistakenly believed Mach 8 left him himself open. Grunting to himself in reassurance, he closed the distance, intending to take his —
KRACK!
The Man-Eater squealed in pain. His thigh felt like an arrowhead had pierced through it. As he looked down, the athlete sprained the bastard's knee with a joint kick.
"Rawrhhh!" screamed the bare-knuckle brawler. Mach 8 responded with a palm strike to the nose, hearing a small crack. As Man-Eater stumbled back, Mach 8 drove his foot…
Below the belt…
Dabi cringed as Bloodgash finished his recount of the match. The finishing move that killed the Man-Eater was an axe kick to the crown of his skull.
"Goddamn… he didn't fuck around," replied Dabi. Bloodgash nodded in confirmation and he noted that Mach 8 walked away from the corpse with little care in the world.
"No, he did not," he replied. "You wonder how the fuck a former athlete ended up in a French prison?"
"You know what, fuck it. Tell me." Dabi replied, sitting back.
"Mach 8 was peddling some Trigger. Why? He hit a wall with his speedster Quirk—he maxed out his speed stat."
"Stat?" asked Dabi, confused by the slang.
"Shigaraki uses a lot of gamer talk; I picked up some from him," the merc clarified. Dabi nodded in return. "Mach 8 has a big ego: the fact he hit the wall didn't sit well with him. In his mind, if he couldn't be the fastest, no one could."
"Massive insecurities about losing his edge," Dabi replied, understanding.
"Exactly. He was terrified about that. The idea of going into coaching or, fuck, getting an apprentice, never made it to his skull," explained Bloodgash, tapping his head.
"You want to—"
"No, not at all. He wouldn't be interested either."
"Any other matches?" Dabi asked, changing the topic.
"One. It was between True Fear and Cacciatore. I know, cheesy names. It was the classic setup for a monster movie or a slasher," the merc answered.
"Slasher? You mean those movies that star dumb teenagers getting hacked to death by a psycho in a mask?" Dabi asked.
"Yup. I have heard some interesting info about both. Cacciatore was once like me but got scarred in a horrific accident. Unlike yours truly, he got stuck here. True Fear was a Pro Hero who grew disillusioned; he believed that inflicting other heroes with fear would drive them to perform better," Bloodgash replied.
"A bit more detail on the first guy?"
"A former sweeper for the Neo-Camorra who went freelance after realizing constant infighting became a drain on his pay. Guy earned his name for his hunting abilities and how he gets his targets, no matter the injuries." Bloodgash explained.
"Sounds like he has an enhancer Quirk of sorts," Dabi added. "What about the other guy?"
"It's some sort of gas-emitter Quirk called Phobia. The Italian's is called Kinetic Charge; it builds up copious amounts of kinetic energy for later skirmishes."
True Fear vs. Cacciatore
Two fighters were trading blow for blow. However, one of them, who was littered with scars, was pushing back against his opponent: a kickboxer with a hood over his face. Before feeling cornered, the hooded fighter threw a front kick to keep some distance between them.
"Fucking cacacazzo…" muttered Cacciatore. "So you're not a joke like the other Heroes that got in my way."
True Fear did not respond; instead, he charged forward. Cacciatore quickly put up his guard for any incoming attack; however, he didn't feel any impact at —
CRACKKK!
"Sonova — !" swore Cacciatore, peeking at what Fear did. Leg kick to the thigh and the follow-up, a straight punch bypassing his guard.
WHAM!
As the Italian was reeling, Fear continued his attack, pummeling his unguarded frame. Cacciatore back-stepped and flanked him, responding with a hook to the side of his head. Stunned, Fear tried to refocus on Cacciatore. Only problem: his guard was shaky. The Italian cocked his arm back and sent a haymaker to his face…
True Fear's eyes clenched shut as the impact came.
'Wait, where's the im — '
Fear's thoughts were cut off by a sharp pain to his chin. Cacciatore did not let up, unleashing a volley of jabs, hooks, and leg kicks into an exposed True Fear. He immediately backed away, almost delaying the final blow.
True Fear gripped his ribcage, confirming that the hitman was aiming there, and knew he was gonna be knocked out soon if he didn't do something soon.
"Spero che dopo questo vi piaccia mangiare il cibo con una cazzo di cannuccia," barked the Italian as he charged, fists ready.
WHIFF!
He missed.
WHIFF!
Cacciatore missed again; True Fear was back-stepping. The Italian had an idea of what he was trying to do: make him waste his energy.
'Two can play that game, stronzo.'
Cacciatore appeared to throw a jab but stopped the momentum. True Fear, surprised for a second, didn't react quickly enough for the leg sweep. As soon as his back was on the ground, the Italian landed his elbow into Fear's sternum and was rewarded with a pained gasp.
Frenesia Dell'orso!
The Italian went on a ground and pound, smashing his fists into True Fear's face and increasing the pace. The ex-hero saved himself from further injury by sneaking in a punch to the liver. Cacciatore gagged, stopping his volley, and that was enough for True Fear to respond by buckling his hips.
"Oh no, you fuc—"
He was cut off by Fear reversing the situation: he was on top and his back was on the ground. Cacciatore pulled a cross block, covering his face and throat from any—
SLAM!
He felt his bones creak a bit!
SLAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Fear was throwing palm strike after palm strike into his guard!
Rebellion Palm!
Cacciatore felt his arms creak more with each palm thrust - his arms were going to break after three, no, two more strikes. The Italian screamed as he rose up, using his forehead to damage the ex-hero's palm.
Fear did not flinch at the scream but switched his palm strike to a downward chopping elbow strike into his nose.
SPURT!
The Italian had a bloody and broken nose, forcing him to use one hand to cover it up and the other one to hold off True Fear.
"Right where I want you," muttered True Fear as he secured the hitman's free arm at the wrist, trapped it by squeezing the knees, and fell backward, completing a solid armbar.
"Lasciami andare!" Cacciatore barked, struggling to get out of the armbar. Fear solidified his grip in return.
"I'll fucking—"
CREAKKK!
"Erggg… kill you…"
CREAKK!
"Pezzo di me—"
CRACK!
The Italian's cursing was reduced to horrid screaming as his wrist was snapped in two. Fear released the hold and slammed his knee into the hitman's face, mouth open, cracking a few teeth. Fear hoisted him up and struck his cheek with an elbow twice.
"That all you got?" spat Cacciatore.
"Alm—" the other was cut off by a headbutt. And another. True Fear stumbled a bit, letting go of his grip, but that was all the hunter needed. Cacciatore threw a straight punch dead-center, but that would be his last mistake.
True Fear grabbed his punching arm and trapped it, but the Italian threw the other arm at him in a desperate attempt to get free. The ex-hero pulled a forearm block, sliding off the attack, and trapping both arms.
"You're gonna head—"
CREAK…
Cacciatore was shut up by True Fear slowly breaking his arms at the elbow. The Italian cursed at him, but the ex-hero ignored it. The popping sounds were small enough to be drowned out by the hitman's still cursing mouth…
CRACK!
True Fear bent both arms in two and finally let go. Cacciatore screeched like a banshee, flailing around in pain, and falling to a knee. The ex-hero seemingly won, but waited for the Italian to put up one last act of defiance. He could hear Cacciatore panting as he struggled to stand up, the Italian not taking his eyes off him.
"Get—used—to sleeping with one eye open, you hear me?" spat the Italian. True Fear ignored the hitman's rant as he walked toward him.
"Ho amici - amici che credono nella punizione, nell'eroe," Cacciatore ranted, ignoring True Fear's closing in. "Uccidermi non cambierà..."
WHAM!
True Fear silenced him with a roundhouse kick to the head, cutting off his words and ending the fight.
"...looks like I need to eliminate Villains on top of motivating Pro Heroes too," the ex-hero muttered to himself, sighing, "My work's never done…"
Cacciatore just lay there, a pool of blood forming around his head.
"So who are the ones you think are worthy?" asked Dabi. Bloodgash had to think about this. He needed to be careful about who to recruit; he didn't want a repeat of what happened at the League's hideout, and most of all… filtering out the psychos. That was something he did not want to deal with.
"Maybe two or three of them; I'll send a small message with Jourdain's help," the merc replied.
"Good enough for me," Dabi shrugged.
"Time to get some sleep," Bloodgash stated, going to his bunk. "It's going to be a long day and a longer week."
The burnt man nodded in agreement, falling into his pillow, followed by Bloodgash nodding off to sleep.
...~-~...
Bloodgash was rudely awakened by the sound of banging batons outside his cell, making the merc curse to himself while walking to the front of the cell. It was that burly prison guard Dur Benet beating on a convict who barely fought back. The rest of his crew snickered as their boss ranted while beating him.
"Vous vous prenez pour un dur? Vous pensez que vous pouvez parler franchement!"
WHAM! WHAM!
"Vous voulez attirer l'attention à ce point? La voici!"
WHAMMM!
Dur Benet's baton made a final sound into the convict's skull, caving part of it in, and once getting his bearing back, he noticed a lot of eyes glaring at him. The guard snorted, causing some of the glares to become stronger.
"Qu'est-ce que vous regardez tous?" barked Dur Benet. "Allez, parlez! Juste pour que vous le sachiez, vous le rejoignez," the guard added, pointing to the beaten convict. Some convicts looked away, not wanting that treatment. However, one voice spoke up.
"I think you're a piece of shit who gets off on his power," barked one. Benet narrowed to where the voice was. He stood in front of the offender, the smirking Bloodgash, and narrowed his eyes at him.
"Veuillez répéter cela. Si vous le voulez bien."
"I'll kindly repeat it. Louder if you prefer, Jiàn nǚ rén." Bloodgash replied without hesitation. "You. Are. A. Piece. Of. Shit." He paused. "Am I clear enough?"
Benet glared at him. His men were itchy, ready to intervene but he waved them to not. He kept listening, motioning for Bloodgash to continue.
"You're a piece of shit who gets off on his own power, that's all. Point clear en—" He was cut off by a punch to the face, sending him to the ground.
"Vous aimez dire des conneries, n'est-ce pas?" Benet berated as he picked up Bloodgash by the collar. "C'est maintenant qu'il faut tirer la sonnette d'alarme. Allez, raconte toutes les conneries que tu veux." He baited, wanting the merc to give him a reason to beat him beyond normal.
"You're an asshole, that's how," gloated Bloodgash. Dabi's eyes narrowed at his merc comrade, wondering what his plan was supposed to be.
WHAM! WHAM!
Bloodgash's face was on the receiving end of two jabs - the merc didn't falter. His response? Spitting blood in his face with a grin that screamed is that all? Before the guard could even respond, Benet's jaw snapped shut, courtesy of a short uppercut. The other guards who accompanied Benet looked nervous at how the situation was escalating.
"Espèce de merde!" threatened Benet, but noticed all the convicts looking at him with strange looks in their eyes. Instead of continuing this spat, he gained back his composure and barked a couple of orders to his men.
"Jetez ce bâtard à l'isolement!"
Some of the guards were in a daze, wondering if their boss wasn't as powerful as they thought.
"À tout moment aujourd'hui!" howled Benet. The guards snapped out of their stupor, grabbing Bloodgash and mumbling to him that solitary confinement will last as long as he wishes. However, the merc? He was still grinning as he was dragged away.
The burly guard rubbed his jaw to soothe his injuries, but he noticed a couple of things: some of the convicts perking an eyebrow and others smirking at what had transpired. He needed to bring this situation back under his control.
"Qu'est-ce que tu regardes, putain?! Retournez dans vos cellules!" Benet raved, but only a couple of convicts walked back, in fact, the rest delayed their return by a few seconds. All to take in the entire image: the abusive guard's image of viciousness had started to crack.
"RETOURNEZ DANS VOS CELLULES!" Benet snapped. All he got in return were a few shrugs and smirks that never left their faces. The situation may have gotten back under his control, but he could tell that this was the start of something, that prisoner had lit the fuse, so to say. As Benet stomped away, Dabi was wondering to himself.
'What was that, Bloodgash?'
...~-~...
Solitary Confinement
Bloodgash was dragged by a group of guards down a darkened hallway, briefly stopping for one of the guards to unlock a door near the end. The scarred merc took the pause as an opportunity to shoot his mouth off again.
"Are you gonna actually th—"
He was cut off by a baton to the face.
"Fermez-la!" scolded a guard. The rest threw him into an empty room, lights off, and the moment they locked the door, all lingering light vanished. Bloodgash had some difficulty standing upright due to the pitch blackness in his confinement. He had to take careful steps, not wanting to trip over something.
"It was worth it…" he muttered. "All of it, a good kickstart to the prison riot."
24 Hours Later…
"Vous avez compris la leçon!" screamed a guard as he threw Bloodgash back into Dabi's cell. The burnt man stared at him, wondering what the point of his little act was, but the merc had a small knowing smirk on his face. Concerned, Dabi asked the first question.
"What exactly were you hoping to gain with that stunt of yours?"
"Think of it as a kickstart to the riot that will cover our escape," Bloodgash answered. "You saw it; that pig's image of fear started cracking."
Dabi nodded. He saw that a majority of the convicts didn't obey Dur Benet, and wondered if it could work as Bloodgash said.
For the next hour, Bloodgash shadow-boxed, with Dabi following his movements. For the last five minutes of the exercise, Bloodgash and Dabi lightly sparred against each other. When Dabi threw a punch or kick, Bloodgash parried, and vice-versa, but Dabi weaved out of his range.
As they wound down, a familiar face appeared in front of their cell.
"You seem better…" drawled Jourdain.
Bloodgash snarked in response. "Solitary confinement can help with focus."
"Perfect," Jourdain responded. "That little stunt of yours did rile up a few prisoners, even the horror movie rejects."
Bloodgash raised an eyebrow, signaling for him to elaborate. Dabi sat back and listened.
"It sounds last minute, but some said you had some brass balls for standing up to someone like Dur Benet. If you're planning some meeting between today or tomorrow, they want in on it."
"Anyone in particular?"
Jourdain tsked, following up with the surprise. "Ryosuke Webb. The mad doctor. He's bringing a couple with him as insurance."
"Alright, bring him to the meeting. It's gonna happen tonight during a free period, and that will be final," stated Bloodgash. Jourdain nodded in confirmation and noted he'd pass along the info to the female ward to see if there were any potential takers there too.
"This will work, right?" Dabi asked, hoping.
"Something like this? It's a one-way ticket out of hell; you'd have to be fucking stupid to miss out."
...~-~...
Night Time
Bloodgash and Dabi were the first ones in the rec room and killed some time watching TV before the big meeting started. The couch was old, evidenced by the wear and tear on the sides, and the wooden table in front of them was the only thing that could be considered new.
"Two minutes left," the merc said to himself.
"Let them take their time," replied Dabi who was invested in what was playing on TV: a Pre-Quirk movie about a former convict breaking into prison to get revenge on the one who ruined his life. As the two-minute mark passed, Bloodgash saw his first visitor: A lanky man in a small overcoat, black hair with silver accents, and also wide eyes. By his side were two men, resembling bodybuilders with animalistic appearances.
"You must be the one called Bloodgash, no?" the man asked.
"And you must be the Mad Doctor, Ryosuke Webb. Have a seat anywhere," Bloodgash said, pointing out to some of the folded-up chairs in the corner.
"I'm comfortable standing," Webb replied back. "You two, you can sit if you like," he suggested to the two. Bloodgash got a better look at both of them. The one on the left looked like a snapping turtle with scarring on its arms; the other looked like a gray werewolf with three scratch marks over its left eye.
"Former experiments, I assume?" asked Bloodgash, needing to gather more info.
"Successful ones," Webb corrected. "Their former names don't matter, they are referred to as Deimoschelys and Sfagilykos."
"Greek names?" asked Bloodgash.
"The names fit, especially after their first test run ." The added emphasis on the last two words was enough to pull Dabi's attention away from the TV.
"They tore them apart, I assume," deadpanned Bloodgash. Webb nodded to the unsurprised merc.
"So who were they prior, if you don't mind me asking."
Webb shrugged and, feeling it could do no harm, answered, "Deimoschelys was a big shot from a submission grappling outfit. Sfagilykos was some pit fighter from Russia who fell on hard times."
Bloodgash could tell there was more that Webb was left out but for now? It was enough and he heard a group of footsteps coming his way. A small group of scarred and horror movie-like convicts appeared in the doorway, all led by Jean.
"Bonsoir, Bloodgash. Hope you don't mind," said Jean.
"This will do, Jean… this will do," Bloodgash responded. As soon as he spoke, some of Bloodgash's old crew came through the doorway with Sonnenberg in the center.
"Time to start this meeting then," spat Bloodgash, getting up from his seat.
...~-~...
Bloodgash cleared his throat, taking a view of all of the convicts seated on the floor or the remaining chairs, and viewed one more person near the door: Jourdain. It was the perfect cover so no other guards could interfere.
"I can already assume why you're all here," he spoke. Murmurs were heard through the rec room with the occasional sardonic response.
"The guard over there said you have a plan," barked one of the convicts, who had lizard-like tattoos on his face.
"Yes, I do," Bloodgash responded. "We are going to break out of Erinyes. However, there's a plan for how it will be done. Our friend, Mr. Jourdain, has an important part to play: he's going to walk his way to one of the radio towers and turn off the signal powering all these Suppressor Collars. I don't need to say what happens next."
"A complete riot…" muttered Jean as a grin formed on his face.
"Every cell on Erinyes will unlock too—complete chaos. Chaos we can use to our advantage, but remember two things: only fight to progress to our exit, and if you fall behind, that's your responsibility."
"The fuck?" barked one voice in the crowd. Bloodgash focused on the source, narrowing it down, and lo and behold, it was Apex. The brown hair along with the five o'clock shadow made him recognizable.
"Yes?" asked Bloodgash, motioning him to continue.
"So if we're caught in some shit—according to your words, we're left behind? That's the gist?" questioned Apex, daring Bloodgash.
"Yes, do I need to simplify it further?" baited Bloodgash. "You get caught up, you're on your own. Is that a problem?"
"... No." Apex grumbled. "Let me ask this; what's your exit plan?"
"That's easy; Mr. Jourdain will send a signal to my employer in the radio tower, then his assistant will use his Quirk to generate an easy exit for us and remember: time is of the essence, meaning he can't maintain the portal for long," Bloodgash explained.
"It's coordinate-based, is it?" hypothesized Apex. Bloodgash nodded yes, confirming the ex-hero's suspicions.
"Any other questions?"
One of Bloodgash's old crew stood up: tan-skinned, heavy white ink on both arms, tightly tied ponytail, and the most striking part: a burn mark on his chest in the shape of a triple line.
"Who's your employer?" asked the ponytailed convict. "I think you owe us that."
"Alright. He's called Sensei, and he's the leader of a rising villain outfit in Japan, the League of Villains. Does that satisfy you, Blanco?"
Blanco grunted, sitting back down as the whole rec room broke out into murmurs as they heard the League name. Some saw this as a chance to get out but others weren't pleased with that arrangement. Blanco stood up again and walked towards Bloodgash, dissatisfied with what he heard.
"Bloodgash, may we talk in private?" questioned Blanco.
"Sure, I can spare a few minutes. After you, Blanco," Bloodgash responded, motioning for him to lead the way. As they walked, Bloodgash noticed Blanco making a left and motioned for him to stop.
"Tell me the truth, what's really in it for you?" Blanco challenged.
"You know the prick who gave me these scars?" Bloodgash pointed out. "Once I complete this op, I'm a step closer to finding him. The moment I'm closer? I can likely be back with them, my old employers."
"Wait, old employ—you're kidding?" asked a confused Blanco. He had to think back on what his scarred comrade said about old employers, but he made the connection as he remembered a certain word: Xsur.
"When I have ever—" Bloodgash started before his collar was grabbed by Blanco.
"In all my time as a member of Mexico's special forces and working with you, those guys were called the boogeymen. I—like—living," spat Blanco as he slammed Bloodgash against the wall.
"That's what you're afraid of?" Bloodgash responded, unfazed.
"I heard horror stories about them! Even the sicarios I fought against would shit themselves in fear! Are you risking our lives to go back to them ?"
"Yes," Bloodgash bluntly stated. "You know, if you didn't want to join the League, fine. I'll drop you off in the Golden Triangle where you'll be fighting for scraps constantly. Is that what you want?"
"Consider my partnership with you over. I'll come with you, but that's it. The moment I drop in Japan, you tell your boss to drop me off in the United States," prattled Blanco as he gradually loosened his grip.
"The United States? What's there for you?"
"Getting away from the shitstorm you'll involve yourself in!" Blanco barked at Bloodgash but the latter was unfazed. The scarred merc matted down his collar and left on his way back to the crowd whose murmurs were dying down.
...~-~...
As Bloodgash made it back, Jean and Dabi asked what Blanco wanted with him, but the merc waved it off. "He got cold feet but wants to break out regardless."
"Blanco was always overly cautious; it worked in some cases and others… it was just unnecessarily annoying," Jean added, slouching.
"What else can you do? But the deal still stands." Bloodgash responded, shrugging it off.
"You're gonna take Blanco?" Jean questioned.
"Only if he pulls his weight," Bloodgash replied. The French merc was satisfied with that answer but Dabi was a different story.
"I'm not sure. Blanco seems like he'll flake."
"If he does, I'll gut him," Bloodgash answered. "If anything, this meeting's over. We have a long few days ahead of us."
Tuesday
Today was supposed to be quiet. No one caused any difficulties at the cafeteria, but that came to an end as the first fist landed in a convict's eye. It was between a vile-looking simian convict and a humanoid shark, but no guard intervened. Some of them even murmured about taking bets on who would win.
"Who are you betting on?" asked Bloodgash, seated away from the two convicts' spat.
"Devil Ape, mon bon ami." Jean answered. "Sea Fang is not as vicious as he used to be."
"How do you know?" questioned Bloodgash. The answer he got was Sea Fang screaming in pain, prompting him to turn around to see Devil Ape mangling his right hand with his teeth.
RIPPP!
Sea Fang's entire hand was torn off like wet tissue paper and spat back on the ground. Devil Ape continued his attack by clawing at him and weaving with his monkey-like agility. Sea Fang was becoming covered in cuts as he missed his target.
"Hold—"
CRUNCH!
Devil Ape dropped down and bit at his thigh and drove his claws into it, gouging it, and once again tore a piece of flesh from the shark convict. He backed away…
"We're not done! Not yet!" screamed Sea Fang but his mobility was halved because of his bleeding thigh. None of the guards intervened, some even saying it would resolve itself soon. The shark-man attempted to run towards Devil Ape but both blood loss and the stinging pain stopped any attempt.
"Guards!" he barked. "Why aren't you doing anything?!"
"Oh s'il vous plaît, ce n'est qu'une blessure superficielle," one guard stated, waving off the injury.
The other guard shrugged it off, "My buddy said it's just a flesh wound. However, it seems you're gonna have another issue. Right… about… now."
Sea Fang was confused by what the two guards meant, only to feel a sharp pain in his side. The shark-man turned around, seeing a bloody shank puncturing his hide. He saw the prick who did it: a shaking convict with a beetle appearance.
"You're dead!" roared the shark-man as he strangled the beetle convict.
Wednesday
Some of the convicts were getting rowdy in their cells, escalating to the point where some of the guards had to do their jobs. A group of four guards arrived in front of a cell where they found two convicts fighting in close quarters.
"Oh, super. C'est Jean. Il cause des ennuis. A nouveau," one of the guards deadpanned.
"Pourquoi cause-t-il encore des problèmes?" shouted a guard with a tiger-like Quirk. The four were preparing to open the cell door but Jean stopped that attempt by puncturing his cellmate's throat with his fingers.
"Bon, vous êtes en retard," Jean mocked before wrenching his fingers out of his now-dying cellmate. As the man gagged on his own blood, Jean raised his foot and stomped on his head. Over and over again.
KER-RUNCH!
With a final stomp, Jean broke the man's neck and sat back down on his bunk. The four guards hesitated to open the door, not knowing what the blond convict would do next. The tiger-like guard made the decision to open it, albeit shaking.
"Ne vous occupez pas de moi, mon compagnon de cellule était une merde." Jean casually stated, almost as if discussing the weather.
"Putain d'enfer..." muttered one of the guards, surveying the damage done to the now-dead cellmate: heavy bruises, lacerations around the throat area, broken nose, and the way his head was angled.
Unfortunately, some of the convicts were whooping, trying to break their cell doors down. One of the guards panicked, got on his handset radio, and screamed the following.
"Demande de SAUVEGARDE! UNE PUTAIN DE SAUVEGARDE SUBSTANTIELLE!"
…
"Ce n'est pas une farce! Les condamnés deviennent de plus en plus agressifs!"
…
"Oui, je suis sérieux ! Oh merde, l'un d'entre eux essaie d'enfoncer la porte de sa cellule!"
KRIK!
"Non! Éloignez-vous de la porte!" the panicked guard ordered in vain. One of the cell doors started to crack. The convict in question was a six-foot-tall heavyweight with the appearance of an ogre, and there he was: ramming at his door. Over and over again.
"Arrêtez ça!" pleaded the panicked guard as the door was cracking further and further. The guard's panic was well-founded, and the door finally reached its limit…
KRIK-CRACK!
The door shattered with the ogre ramming through the panicked guard too. He couldn't believe it, his simple tactic actually worked! This excited the other convicts more. Some cheered on the ogre to escape and others rammed into doors with more force. The tiger-like guard had to be an idiot if he thought this situation could get back under control.
"Où est cette putain de sauvegarde!" yelled the tiger guard.
KRIK!
The tiger guard heard a cell door crack ten paces away from him, he hurried in vain to stop the attempt.
CRACK!
"Non..." he mumbled, seeing a nearby cell door halfway broken!
KER-CRACK!
Three cell doors finally shattered, releasing three more convicts. All three of them had crocodile Quirks; the one in the middle screamed every man for himself as he was the first to sprint to the right. The other two sprinted in the opposite direction not five seconds after.
"Tuez-moi," muttered the tiger-like guard. "S'il y a un Dieu, s'il vous plaît, tuez-moi, putain." As the guard pinched his nose.
Thursday
The last two days have been terrible, with more prisoner behavior than usual and, worst of all, four near-successful escapes! Most of Erinyes' personnel shook off their complacency first at roll call. But this didn't intimidate any of the convicts, it only made them want to escalate the situation even more.
One guard muttered, "Cette situation va s'aggraver…"
Jourdain saw the fear in the eyes of his colleague, but he was aware of his task today: unlocking all the cells in Erinyes. He took a last look around and repeated to himself what he'd thought.
'It will be a new start after today. To start over, to start fresh. No more debts. No ties to villains. Just do your part, Jourdain. Everything will fall into place.'
"J'ai oublié de mentionner que nous serons affectés à la tour radio aujourd'hui." Jourdain said, pulling his colleague out of his gloomy mood.
"Oh. Ooh! Comme ça, on sera en sécurité si ça empire!" cried the colleague, relieved to be in a safe place: the radio tower.
"Nous n'avons pas toute la journée, Beaufoy. Il faut se dépêcher." Jourdain called out to his younger colleague. Beaufoy motioned for him to lead: he was new to Erinyes.
...~-~...
Jourdain was the first to enter the radio tower, followed by Beaufoy, and before going over any procedures, Beaufoy locked the door for the sake of security. At the initiative of his colleague, Jourdain nodded.
'Time to play my role.'
Jourdain did a sweep of the room for what he needed: the switch to shut off all the security systems. For the time being, however, he had to keep Beaufoy occupied; a few seconds would be all he needed.
"Beaufoy," Jourdain said. "Vérifiez l'un des moniteurs. Il pourrait s'agir d'un des prisonniers à problèmes d'aujourd'hui."
Beaufoy nodded and walked over to one of the monitors to check for any of the problem convicts. Jourdain searched some more, then he found it. It was off to the far left. The master control panel: black in color, with several buttons coded for the ward cells, and two large red switches. Wasting no time, he jogged over to both switches and flipped them. It seemed too easy, but his walkie-talkie started to go off, and Beaufoy's too.
"SONNEZ L'ALARME ! TOUTES LES CELLULES SONT OUVERTES! PIRE! ILS UTILISENT TOUTES LEURS QUIRKS!"
Beaufoy didn't need to be asked twice, he sprinted to the nearest horn and sounded the alarm: a high-pitched warbling noise.
'So this is the calm before the storm,' were the final thoughts of Jourdain before he was punched in the jaw, knocking him out.
Author's Notes: Two chapters in one day, but more will be available on A03.
Rikers Island Entanglement - A rear naked chokehold with the user's legs wrapped around the enemy's legs to keep them from escaping.
Frenesia Dell'orso [Bear Frenzy] - A vicious take on ground and pound; Cacciatore tackles the opponent to the ground and wails at them with strikes to the face with the ferocity of a bear.
Rebellion Palm - A palm strike from True Fear that works better at wearing the enemy's defenses than a straight-up attack.
SONNEZ L'ALARME ! TOUTES LES CELLULES SONT OUVERTES! PIRE! ILS UTILISENT TOUTES LEURS QUIRKS! = SOUND THE ALARM! ALL CELLS ARE OPEN! WORSE! THEY ARE USING ALL THEIR QUIRKS!
Vérifiez l'un des moniteurs. Il pourrait s'agir d'un des prisonniers à problèmes d'aujourd'hui = Check one of the monitors. It could be one of today's problem prisoners
Nous n'avons pas toute la journée, Beaufoy. Il faut se dépêcher. = We don't have all day, Beaufoy. We have to hurry.
Oh. Ooh! Comme ça, on sera en sécurité si ça empire! = Oh. Ooh! That way, we'll be safe if it gets worse!
J'ai oublié de mentionner que nous serons affectés à la tour radio aujourd'hui = I forgot to mention that we'll be assigned to the radio tower today
Cette situation va s'aggraver…
Tuez-moi," "S'il y a un Dieu, s'il vous plaît, tuez-moi, putain = "Kill me," "If there is a God, please fucking kill me"
Arrêtez ça! = Stop it!
Non! Éloignez-vous de la porte! = No! Get away from the door!
Où est cette putain de sauvegarde! = Where's that fucking backup!
"Demande de SAUVEGARDE! UNE PUTAIN DE SAUVEGARDE SUBSTANTIELLE!" = "Requesting Backup! SUBSTANTIAL FUCKING BACKUP!"
"Ce n'est pas une farce! Les condamnés deviennent de plus en plus agressifs!" = "This is not a joke! The inmates are getting more and more aggressive!"
"Oui, je suis sérieux ! Oh merde, l'un d'entre eux essaie d'enfoncer la porte de sa cellule!" = "Yes, I'm serious! Oh shit, one of them is trying to break down his cell door!"
Oh, super. C'est Jean. Il cause des ennuis. A nouveau = Oh, great. It's Jean. He's causing trouble. Again.