Its beautiful.
The orange twilight of sunset shining on the skyline of Mustafu, the twinkling of light off of windows and skyscrapers rivaled the beauty and grace of the stars of the heavens themselves. The breeze was gentle against his skin;flowing past his messy green curls like the kind and comforting caress from his doting mother, the sounds of the city stirring underneath him filled his ears in a beautiful crescendo of noise as the people fluttered about heading too and fro. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply; the faint scent of food stalls and cigarettes wafted from below, his chest slowly and gently rising and falling as he took a deep lingering breath.
Its beautiful, a singularly perfect moment.
One to die for.
He stood off of the railing that separated him from the concrete edge of the building, a final teasing barrier to his watery rest. Would Kaachan push him if he was here, or just mock him until the tears fell again? Would his teachers stop him, or would they turn another blind eye?
He sighed. He thought things would change; that he wouldn't be just another quirkless punching bag, that the skills and knowledge he had would prove that he was something more, that he could rise above the statistics set before him.He tried so hard to prevent this fate, to ensure his mother wouldn't be left further heart broken.
It's better this way.
She'd never have to worry about the mistake she birthed into this world, perhaps she'd regain the light she had in her youth. Perhaps not. He'd never know.
His foot rose and he began to fall forward; the wind intensifying as he fell, gaining momentum as the river drew ever nearer. It'd be quick. He'd made sure of it. His skull would shatter and his neck would snap: painless. He'd never again have to be the brunt of ridicule; an object of disgust; a target to beat. He could be at peace.
It was odd that in this moment, when death was so near, that he could feel so alive. The wind howled and swirled around him. His heart thundered. The feeling of weightlessness as he fell, like he was soaring. He wished this moment would never end, that it would last forever.
Would they be happy he wondered, knowing that after all the beatings and threats and bullying they did to him it was the symbol of peace that finally broke him? That the greatest hero of Japan's words led to this? The culmination of a lifetime of victimization at the hands of his old friends, he could feel anger in him welling at it all. Kaachan had so much potential to be an amazing hero.
If only he acted like one.
It infuriated him at times, how often he stepped in to stop his old friend from beating whatever pebble or extra that drew his ire. How often he'd been beaten only to limp home hiding his injuries.
His eyes closed, the water was so close now.
He just hoped things would be different after this, that he'd change in whatever rebirth awaited him, that he'd be given the strength to fight harder, the will to endure better than he had now, to feel alive like he did now.
It was warm.
A gentle breeze caressed his cheek and face carrying the scent of unknown flowers and rich earth, his eyes struggling open blinding him as the sun's rays danced along his surprisingly light body which he forced to slowly rise into a sitting position. A hand rose to cover his eyes as he groaned, each blink bringing a swirl of colors and fleeting images until he finally felt able to keep them open.
He lost his breath at the sight before him.
He was on top of a grass covered hill overlooking a vast near never ending field of flowers the likes of which he could never have imagined, soft pinks melded with vibrant violets and striking yellows. It was a living tapestry without any discernible pattern or reason, chaotic and.
"Beautiful is it not?"
The voice resonated in the air around him sending a chill down Midoriya's spine as he quickly turned to its source coming face to face with the kind smiling face of an elderly man, his loose robes swaying in the gentle breeze of the field around them a ancient gnarled wooden walking stick in his left hand while his right held the strap of a large leather pouch that sat on his withered thigh. The hunched gardener stared down at Midoriya a soft grandfatherly smile tugging at his lips yet Midoriya didn't feel the comfort it would normally bring nor could he pull his eyes away from the gardener's ancient cataract filled eyes, in the exposed parts of his body he could see trails of warts and sores along the gardener's fingers and arms. He could feel his revulsion rise as the elder's smile widened showing off rotted dead teeth and a deep primal part of him screamed to run to bathe himself clean of any contamination, instead he swallowed nodding as he turned towards the field of flowers. "It…it's beautiful, I have never seen so many flowers."
The elder let out a surprisingly deep guttural laugh. "Indeed." He said, raising a finger as an odd colored butterfly fluttered by. "You are lucky Midoriya Izuku, are too few to have the will to be able to see its fecund beauty." The old gardener turned their head looking over the field once more, chest heaving as he took in a deep wheezing breath, Midoriya watched on, swallowing mouth dry as confusion flooded his mind.
"I…I don't understand, how am I here?'" He trailed off as a soft breeze caressed his face and like an onrushing wave the memories collided into his consciousness, memories of him falling, of oncoming concrete. His throat dried as he came to the obvious conclusion. "I…I died."
The gardener flashed a rotten smile as he let out a deep phlegm filled chuckle. "Yes, and like falling unripe fruit I plucked you from your journey to the great sea of souls." He said head shaking as if amused at a child's ignorance, a cold shiver made its way down Midoriya's body. "No, you simply lie in the threshold of the next part of the cycle."
"Cycle?"
"Yes." The gardener's body shook as he took in a deep wheezing breath, his ancient frail body shuddering as it willed itself forward, the gnarled walking stick rising and falling as a near skeletal hand raised beckoning him to follow. "Come, we have much to discuss." He swallowed body trembling before standing and joining the elderly skeletal man on his walk down the hill into the field of flowers.
He tried to ignore the churning of his stomach as the faint sound of laughter came from some unknown point.
It was quiet save for the chittering of unseen insects that hid among the swaying blooms, the scents of roses, lilacs, and countless other indistinguishable flowers melded forming a nearly sickeningly sweet disorienting haze that filled his lungs as their feet crunched along the grove. "Where…where are we going?"
"That is up to you." The elder said, his swollen jointed hand reaching down to grab a flower giving a sense of utter control. "Few ever venture deep into the garden, fewer still ever reap its bounteous rewards." He chuckled and the flower in his hand shook petals turning into a pair of wings as its body grew a hard carapace shell before impossibly taking flight.
Midoriya stared at the impossible display. "How?"
The elderly man chuckled. "I'm capable of great things Midoriya Izuku, in this realm all things are within my grasp." His face voice was powerful despite its deep phlegm filled wheeze. But that's not what you wish to know.." the voice trailed as his lips curled, broken rotten teeth in full display. "Is it?"
Midoriya was silent for a moment before shaking his head. "W…why am I here? I…I died, I know it."
"And may yet if I allow it." That stopped all the thoughts in the greenette's mind, his eyes staring at the man as he stopped.
"Then why?"
The gardener beckoned him forward and he noticed that they stood near the edge of a forest, one that wasn't there before, one whose trees stabbed at the sky with their pointed canopies and needle-like leaves. In surprise he looked back at the hill they started at long out of sight leaving them on the edge of the unknown. "To see if you are worthy."
"Worthy?" He asked, looking back at the elder.
"Yes, for I see potential in you and my gifts are many and powerful." He smiled. "Powerful enough to give you what you've always desired." His heart raced a bit at that. "I saw it as you fell." The elder raised his hand, the sleeve rolling down his scar and pox filled arm as he seemed to act out the memory. "Like a bright star you fell, uncared for in improper soil by inexperienced gardeners." The hand clenched. "Praying to endure, to take root and grow." The hand opened as his arms outstretched, he seemed larger now where once stood a near withered skeletal man in dirt covered robes stood a pudgy welt covered man. "Praying to me."
"I did? But I didn't."
A laugh from the trees around them cut him off.
"It was enough, enough for me to notice, enough to take pity." The rotund grotesque man turned his wispy long oily hair clinging to his scared head as he turned deeper into the forest. "I can grant you this gift, to endure where others would fail a true champion of the cycle."
"What cycle?" He asked, taking a step forward, snapping a branch, a gaggle of chittering filling the void.
The elder laughed. "Why rot of course! Tell me, are all men equal Midoriya Izuku?"
The question took him aback for a second. "I…I'm not sure?" He said voice trailing before continuing. "Quirks objectively make people different, due to their power and-."
The man laughed. "Insignificant! Do heroes not grow old? Do the quirked not get sick? Do mortals not die? No, all are equal to me from the greatest of heroes to the weakest insects. All part of the grand cycle of rot and life." A fat wrinkled hand reached up towards a tree, a bundle of flowering buds caressing against his boil and lesion covered skin. "All under my gaze, all cared for by my loving hands." He said finishing as the flowers bloomed before turning his yellowed illuminated eyes to Midoriya. "And I have gazed upon you, how like a gardener you seek to protect your fellow growths. How even when trampled you endure."
Midoriya swallowed as the man stretched his arms out. "I heard your prayer, not to simply wither and die, nay! You prayed to me so you could endure! So that you might find fertile soil to take root and achieve your destiny, a hero." His smile widened further, almost too wide the old man's greasy skin stretching to a nigh inhuman degree before threatening to tear. "My champion."
Midoriya took a step back, his mind warring to run in terror or to stay, his head shaking. "I-I can't I'm not-." His back pressed against rough gnarled wood, his heart racing as his throat dried eyes darting in search of escape. There had been a path back, back to the field, back to the peace of gently swaying flowers.
Where had it gone?
A voice boomed from a thousand different directions startling Midoriya from his wandering thoughts and back into unreality, it was frightened yet defiant and all too familiar. His eyes landed on the old gardener, his greasy sickly fat hand taking a dark necrotic tint rose as an impossibly large black fly landed upon his index, its chittering wings repeating the same words once again.
"Stop Kaachan!"
It was his voice, his memory. "How?"
"I have seen your worth, so eager to protect, a will unbroken even if you accept the truth." The fly took off and he realized the forest had gone, leaving them in the center of an unending swamp, his feet sinking into damp mud, odd slime covered pustules covering the sickly trees around him as a stench of unbridled nature filled the air around him. It was rich, and damp yet underneath it all the undeniable taint of sickeningly sweet decay. He gagged, eyes watering as his nostrils burned from it, burned from the stench, burned from the hazy air around him. "I have heard your prayers Midoriya Izuku." Midoriya coughed out wet and violent as he watched the old gardener point towards a nearby pool on its edge a massive withered ancient tree stood foreboding and powerful, in its broken twisted branch a single apple fuzzy and mold covered.
"That's not how a hero acts!"
"Swan dive off the roof."
"Stop!"
"You're nothing!"
"Deku!"
"Be realistic."
Their voices rushed at him coming from all directions, the leaves and roots of trees screamed at him as the drops of slime on the trees sang out. Memories flooded his mind, memories of him standing against Katsuki in a naive attempt to protect another student, memories of him being beaten again and again before rising on shaking bruised arms knowing it'll only prolong the pain, memories of every insult and cruel word thrown at him by peers and teachers, all due to his lack of quirk.
"Take my gift, become what you were always meant to be. A champion; powerful and enduring." A thousand eyes stare at him from all over their chittering laughs filling the air as the old man watches on.
"What if I-." He swallowed, barely able to say the words.
"Refuse?" The gardener chuckled. "Then you'll stay becoming one with the garden, watching as those you could've saved wither and join you in the death you accepted." Screams rang out from hundreds of unseen mouths, men, women, children all crying out from deep in the swamp Midoriya's heart breaking as he searched. "Accept and gain what you always wanted, accept and become a hero."
Midoriya stared up at the gardener before swallowing. "I…I'd really save lives?"
"Or destroy if you choose."
He swallowed, slowly turning his head towards the outstretched tree.
He stepped forward, his feet sinking into the wet slime covered mud as countless unseen voices chittered away in excitement, sickly yellow eyes watching as he marched forward the mud rising with each step. First his ankles, then calves, until he was thigh deep in the filth, his skin burning until finally reaching the base of the tree. With a hesitant hand he reached up the branch seeming to lower itself before he felt the fuzzy multicolored apple brush against his palm, he winced as his skin burned where it contacted the fruit. Inflamed boils sprouted and burst out leaving puss filled craters as he clenched and screamed out. The fruit gave way easily, its mold covered squishy skin tearing as its rancid juices coated his now trembling rash and lesion covered hand.
He could hear music now from beyond the trees, off key and ear piercing but music nonetheless. Joining it came the chittering laughter that'd followed the pair since they arrived in the swamp, he brought the rotting fruit to his lips, its stench making him cry as he hesitated. But deep down he knew there was no way back, no way to go home as he was. His lips brushed against the fruit sprouting cancerous growths as he bit down on it.
His tongue swelled and he choked as he felt the pestilential power fill him, he let go of the fruit falling to his knees as he struggled for air his hands reached up and clawed at his struggling throat as puss and bile leaked from his lips. He was dying again, deeper than just the death of his body this was a taint into his soul. He choked out collapsing forward into the mud, he'd die here he was sure of it.
At least he was until a hand flipped him over.
All around him came the smiling disease ridden visages of decaying abominations, his tear filled eyes widened darting in panic as their rotted rictus smiled loomed over his dying form. A singular cataract filled eyes slithered down towards him it's snake like eyestalk dripping pus and mucus onto his body, another had its limp dangling tongue brushing against his face it's rotted teeth on full display as maggots wriggled and writhed in its gums knocking a few out.
Yet what stole his attention was the gardener's booming laughter, his eyes darting down to the man only to watch on in horror as the gardener began to grow. His diseased skin tearing as folds of fat ruptured, bony antlers sprouting from his head as muscle tore and dark puss filled blood rained. The gardener grew further and further what was once a man became a mountain of pestilence, its laughter booming as its body touched the sky and blotted the sun. From his lesions came smaller versions of it, maniacal laughing daemons that chittered and laughed with wild mad abandon in their impossible defiance of reality. Musicians approached playing bagpipes of blackened lungs and rib cage drums, the mountain raised its arms flecks of skin taking impossible flight as they morphed into man sized flies. "Play my children, play in celebration, play for my chosen!" The daemons cheered some lifting his convulsing body as fever overwhelmed him, their cheers deafening him as his eyes began to roll back a seizure taking him.
"For the garden!"
"For the grandfather!"
The world became dark once more, the sensation of cold water entering his lungs driving him to gasp out as he awoke lungs burning as he coughed out until the inhaled water escaped back into the canal. The sounds of Mustafu filled the air as the sun reflected off the towers of steel and glass that surrounded him. Wide wide eyes he looked around in utter disbelief as he felt his heart racing, this wasn't possible. Yet in his mind replayed a singular phrase.
"For Nurgle."
I apologize for the delay, from work to school and being a full time parent with another on the way things got away from me. Yet beyond just lack of time or writer's block as I was writing the next chapter it just wasn't meshing right, as such I ended up rewriting entire chapters leading to this a full on rewrite of the story. It'll be slower paced but worth it i think.
chapter two enroute and i'd like to thank toastykit for their help with beta reading.