AN: Here is an update all, as requested by Tree Licker a random guy on my discord server, hope you all enjoy.
Also speaking of discord. I am still a part of a discord group, there are tons of others there, plenty of writers, admittedly mainly PJO, but other stuff too, including a growing number of MHA writers. Feel free to pop along and say hi, I'm always happy to chat about the stuff I am writing. So if you fancy it please do to join by sticking this: discord .gg / elibrary into discord, with no spaces, or using the link on my bio.
Thanks for reading and please do leave a review, that or feel free to PM, I am usually much better at answering those!
Slight warning for this chapter, there is a little gore, and some cannibalism. But also this is a Tokyo Ghoul crossover so you should probably already know what you're in for.
Disclaimer: I do not own My Hero Academia or Tokyo Ghoul.
( - )
(Last Time)
Previously, he had thought his life was over.
When he had seen Arima's blade coming, he had thought he had made peace with that fact.
Now that he was here and alive, he didn't feel like he wanted to die any more.
He had another chance.
A chance to live free.
A chance not to be hunted.
A chance to actually be happy.
Clinging onto that thought, he once again started running.
But first, he would need to find something to eat.
( - )
Chapter 3
( - )
(With Haise Sasaki)
The night was drawing in, and with it came the cold.
In the distance, he could see dark, monolithic tower blocks starting to light up as residents slowly began to trickle home from work and settle down for the evening.
Already the streetlights overhead had flickered on, bathing everything in a soft white glow.
Despite the oncoming night, however, the city was still lively. In the distance, he could still hear the constant roar of cars and vehicles and the ever-present sound of humanity.
Tokyo for all the people and society might have changed was still a city that never slept.
There was always something happening and always people around.
Just like he remembered.
His lips curled upwards into a slight smile at that thought.
In many ways the noise, and constant hustle and bustle, suited him.
Ghouls were predatory creatures by nature.
They lurked in the shadows, downside alleys and underpasses, deftly avoiding detection from the oblivious masses that thronged the city's prime thoroughfares, even as they silently stalked their prey.
Ghouls were the world's apex predator.
They were at the top of the food chain, kept in check only by their low numbers, and their fear of each other.
After all, a ghoul's greatest fear was not humans, but instead other stronger ghouls.
It was one of the reasons why the weakest of their kind grouped together in gangs, and hunted in packs.
Despite what many in the CCG and the wider public believed, it had little to do with territory or pride, but instead was more to do with safety in numbers.
The CCG, for all that they liked to think that they were the guardians of humanity, had very little impact in the grand scheme of things.
Yes, it was true that they were a symbol of safety and protection, one that allowed the populace to go about their dreary lives without worry, even as the media spun the stories the CCG wanted them to, coaxing the faceless masses into a false sense of security.
But that was all they were.
A symbol.
For every ghoul they managed to track and kill, thousands of other humans died.
For every victory they achieved, they had a dozen failures.
In reality, ghouls killed more ghouls than the Doves and the CCG ever would.
That was the grim reality of the situation.
It was the way the hierarchy that defined their coexistence worked.
Where humans thought they were on top and were the inheritors of the world, in reality, they were on the bottom, barely above the animals.
They were not nearly as in control as they liked to think they were.
No, the average human was little more than prey to a ghoul and meaningless fodder to the politicians and corporate leaders that ruled the world.
The majority of the human population was little more than cattle, animals that needed to be kept happy and docile enough that they never realised just how much danger they were truly in until it was too late.
In the literal sense for ghouls, and in the metaphorical sense for politicians and business leaders.
As for where he ranked in the unspoken hierarchy….
Well, that was complicated.
He was a ghoul, and in his humble opinion, a powerful one at that.
But he was also a former specialist in the CCG and the ex-commander of the Quinx Squad.
He was a traitor to his kind, one that had been indoctrinated into killing and hunting other ghouls. Which in itself wasn't a major issue, considering ghouls regularly killed other ghouls. Only in his case, it was, as he had done so while wearing the CCG's colours.
People like him were reviled in the ghoul community for their actions, even as he was reviled by humanity for his nature.
But then again, maybe that didn't matter any more considering the massive change in his circumstances.
He grimaced at that thought, even as he slowed his pace.
He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had fled the hospital – it had still been light when he hopped out the window – but since then his mind had been a whirl with thoughts of everything that had happened to him since he turned traitor, and more importantly on what had occurred to him in the time that had passed since Arima had beheaded him.
After all, in the intervening time between his former mentor killing him and him waking up, he had ended up being isekaied into another world… like a shit anime protagonist.
Licking his lips nervously at that thought, he shifted his gaze to his surroundings.
The backstreet he was in was all but empty aside from the occasional passing car.
Hiding in the shadows, he backed up to the wrought iron fence behind him, his gaze still scanning the area.
Despite still being in the urban mass that was Tokyo, he was cold.
The wind that gusted in between the tall buildings cut through his thin, hospital clothes with ease, chilling him to the bone.
He needed to find shelter, somewhere he could stay for the night while he regrouped.
His fingers twitched at that thought.
But first, he needed to eat.
With that thought in mind, he turned and vaulted over the fence in a single movement, his bare feet landing silently in the neatly trimmed, damp grass on the other side.
Looking around one last time, and ignoring his rumbling stomach, he then proceeded to slink forwards, sticking to the shadows, his head lowered, as he passed through the trees, as he instead approached the small, neat and compact field of grave markers.
The cemetery looked more akin to a pleasant park than it did the final resting place of who knows how many people.
Looking around, he scented the air, using his enhanced sense to check for anybody else lurking around.
There was nothing aside from the smell of freshly turned earth, grass, trees, faeces and several different types of animals.
He was alone.
Continuing his observation, his gaze shifted to the grave markers.
Burials were a rarity in Japan, as for the most part bodies tended to be cremated – or at least they had in the society he was used to –, but despite that, they did still happen.
That said, from his experience only the rich and famous ended up being buried, as the plots were expensive to buy and the constant maintenance even more so. Which probably meant that those within the cemetery were all members of the social elite.
Not that he cared, or at least not right now.
Instead, all he cared about was the fact that the cemetery was dimly lit and, as far as he could tell with his enhanced senses, completely deserted.
Steadying his breathing, he braced himself for what he had to do next.
Moving silently through the cemetery, he kept his eyes peeled for disturbed earth.
As he did so, he felt bile build up in the back of his throat.
With a grimace, he forced the bile back down, even as he came across a plot with freshly turned earth.
Crouching at the side of the plot, he then started to dig, his pale hands standing out in sharp contrast to the dark earth as he quickly scooped it out of the way, and into a pile behind him.
He could see the mud staining his hand, and he could feel it building up under his black fingernails.
He focussed on that, even as his hand hit something hard.
Taking a deep breath, he continued his grim work, shifting away more earth as he slowly revealed the coffin beneath.
The coffin was a smart, and expensive-looking affair made of polished black wood, with silver inlay around the edges.
Written on the front was a name and an epitaph.
'Yoroi Musha'
'A hero to the people'
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he punched his way through the coffin lid and peeled it away with contemptuous ease, revealing the shrouded body inside.
Wincing, he felt his nose scrunch up in disgust. Although the body within didn't smell too bad - which was a sure sign that the body had been carefully preserved - it did still smell of decomposition.
Opening his eyes, he looked the body up and down.
Within the casket was the body of an elderly man, with a long white beard.
The man, whoever he was, was wearing a gleaming black set of samurai-style armour, and a long, flowing red cape that was currently carefully wrapped around his body.
At his side were a set of three swords, a katana, a wakisashi, and a tantō.
All three blades had ornate handles and were sheathed in intricately decorated, black, wooden scabbards.
The guy looked like an Edo Era samurai cosplayer.
He licked his lips guiltily, even as his stomach rumbled unpleasantly and saliva began to build up in the back of his throat.
It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to feel this hungry.
It made him feel very on edge.
His thumb unconsciously glided over the knuckle of his middle finger, cracking the joint.
He needed to eat, because if he didn't…, well, if he didn't then he would be a danger to everyone around him.
Taking a deep breath, he ignored the familiar scent of decomposition.
He knew what he had to do.
Hero.
Samurai.
It didn't matter to him right now just who this man had been in life, because right now, in death, he was just a corpse.
Hazarding one last glance around at his surroundings, he exhaled and pulled the body out of the casket, before with a grimace he started peeling away the armour, like a hungry human might unshell a nut.
His organs had probably been removed and had likely been replaced with cotton wool.
But the meat on his arms and legs would likely still be fresh enough to satiate him, even if the taint of embalming fluids would likely spoil the taste.
Ignoring the gurgling sound coming from his stomach, Haise steeled himself as he ripped an arm off the now naked body and started to feast.
Growling, he grimaced at the taste.
The arm was chewy and dry.
No doubt both because the man had been both old and surprisingly muscular, and also because his blood had been drained away during the embalming process.
It was not as juicy as he was used to, and the texture was just plain wrong.
It was like eating cardboard.
Coughing, he forced his first mouthful of flesh down his throat.
It tasted off too.
It didn't taste quite like human flesh.
The taste was pretty close, but also a bit... different.
There was just something odd about it.
He suspected that the odd taste was probably due to the embalming fluid.
Fortunately, his regeneration would take care of any damage eating that crap would do him.
His gut churned at that thought, even as he took his second mouthful of flesh.
It wasn't pleasant, but he could at least stomach it.
Closing his eyes, he continued to rip and tear into the arm, biting off chunks and gnashing at the bone.
The man's arm didn't last long, nor did his other arm.
Reaching down, his strong fingers pierced flesh as he twisted the man's leg, breaking the kneecap and managing the body's hip.
With a crunchy pop, the thankfully meatier leg came free.
Holding it like a giant chicken drumstick, he started biting into the once muscly calve and tore away more flesh and sinew. It was a bit stringy too.
His stomach was still churning, and he could feel his heart begin to pound faster in his chest.
The flesh had started to burn as it slid down his throat.
So too had the blood in his veins.
It felt thick and hot, like molten lava.
Once again, he blamed the embalming fluid.
Pushing down his disgust at both his meal and himself, he continued to eat his fill, even as night truly set in, and the air became colder and sharper.
Gritting his teeth against the cold, he threw the gnawed leg in his hand back into the casket with the rest of the remains, or what little of them that were left, even as he kicked in a few pieces of the man's armour.
He was definitely going to hell.
But at the same time, it was better that he ate the dead and buried then allow himself to starve. After all, if he left it too long, then it would only be a matter of time until he lost his mind and tore through a dozen innocent living humans. A starving ghoul was one of the most dangerous things on the planet.
Taking solace in that thought, he kicked the broken lid of the coffin back into the earth and began to fill the grave in again.
If anyone came across it in the next day or so, then it would be obvious that the earth had been disturbed.
But after that, he would be in the clear.
Standing up at that thought, his eyes shifted down to the gauntlets, boots, cape and helmet that were lying innocuously next to the once again covered grave.
These were some of the things that he had deliberately not put back in the grave.
Considering what he'd just done, grave robbing was likely to be the least of his crimes should he be caught.
Pulling on the gauntlets and boots in the vain hope that they would protect his hands and feet from the cold, he then snapped the odd and highly conspicuous, golden horn off of the helmet and donned it as an impromptu mask – it would have to do until he got a better mask – which he could use to protect his identity like the ghouls back home used to do.
Pulling the chin strap tight, he then wrapped the thick red cloak around his shoulders, completely covering his upper body, even as he then used a part of it as a hood.
It was not the greatest disguise, but it would do the job for now and keep his identity hidden as he headed deeper into the city.
After all, now he had eaten, it was time to both find shelter and also find out more about just where he was and what was going on.
With that thought in mind, he started moving.
His stomach was still roiling with discomfort as he digested his meal, but it had at least quelled his hunger.
Increasing his pace, he didn't look back as he instead leapt over the fence and darted off into the city. His gait was a bit off as he adjusted to his new, and slightly too-large boots.
Building up his pace as he started to jog, Haise continued to stick to the shadows where he could as he skirted the crowds, keeping his eyes peeled for danger, even as he deftly avoided running into anyone.
He didn't want to attract too much attention, especially not with his current less-than-subtle getup. He looked like an edgy cosplayer.
Fortunately, he knew what he was looking for and also had a general idea from past experience about just where the place in question would probably be located, it was just a matter of searching.
In the end, his patience paid off, as although it took him close to half an hour he did manage to eventually find a library.
Coming to a stop in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, he quickly eyed up his target.
He was quite far from the city centre now, but despite that the surrounding buildings were still very tall.
The library itself was similarly quite large and looked to be made of metal and glass.
Narrowing his eyes as he eyed the building up and down, it didn't take him long to figure out his way in.
It might be cliché, but the building almost certainly had a ventilation system, which meant that there would undoubtedly be some large vents somewhere on the roof.
Flexing his legs and wiping the sweat out of his eyes – he was beginning to feel a bit feverish – he took a deep breath and made his move.
Pushing off the ground, he cleared fifteen feet easily, his trajectory taking him straight into the side of the building, only for him to push off again the moment he touched down, which in turn launched him up and over to the building next to the library. Twisting in mid-air, he did exactly the same, clearing even further now as he finally made it onto the roof, with him rolling to shake off the momentum of his landing.
He was breathing heavily now, and he felt hot under the collar.
His back and face were now drenched with sweat.
It felt like he was wearing a tight mask across his face.
He was definitely feverish.
"Fuck," He hissed.
His regeneration should have kicked in by now.
Pulling himself together, he found the vent he was looking for.
Ripping off the cover, he crawled inside and quickly descended into the depths of the building.
He needed to stay focused.
He knew what he was after.
He had to find books about recent history, books on geography, books on Quirks, and books that would tell him a bit about the society he had now found himself a part of. Moreover, he had to steal those books, so he could peruse them at his leisure, even as he started making plans for what would do next.
After all, without access to an ID or any papers, it was unlikely that he could get a proper job right now, which in turn meant no money, and so no home, because to rent a flat, or even a room in a shared living complex, you needed money, ID, a job and references.
None of which he had, and none of which he would get either, or at least not until he could find out the state of society, and infiltrate whatever underworld currently existed. All of which would require him to have some basic knowledge about just where he was and what was going on around him.
With any luck, once he had gotten himself sorted out, he could then start trying to live a normal life, or at least as normal a life as a ghoul could live.
Holding onto that thought, he quickly got to work, his sharp eyes peering through the gloom as he started making his way through the library, looking for anything he could use to help himself.
( - )
(Later)
Staggering through the sewer tunnels an hour or so later, Haise had to take a moment to lean against the wall of the sewer in order to keep himself upright as he caught his breath.
His head was pounding, like mad, and his heart was burning like hot coal.
His face was covered in sweat, and his body was soaked in it.
His skin was hot to the touch and quite clammy, but despite that, he still felt cold.
Perhaps worst of all though was the pain he could feel emanating from his kakuhou, the sac-like organ unique to ghouls on the small of his back.
Clutching the bag of purloined books closer to his chest, he tried to keep himself going as he stumbled on through the darkness. The fetid stench of the sewer assaulted his nose with every step he took.
Something about his latest meal had not agreed with him.
It felt like he was about to collapse at any moment.
He needed to find a place to crash.
Somewhere safe, and out of the way.
Turning a corner, he tried to focus his blurred vision.
He could see an alcove ahead, within which was some kind of shack made out of cardboard boxes and what looked like a few metal road signs.
Trying to maintain his grip on his fading consciousness, he saw a purple-haired woman standing beside the shelter, beckoning to him.
He didn't recognise her, or at least not in his current state, but at the same time, she felt… familiar…?
There was a soft, coy smile on her face as she beckoned him closer.
Her mouth moved as she said something, but in his delirious state, he couldn't understand her.
Stumbling forwards, his mind a muddled mess, he headed for the shelter.
He was about to pass out at any moment.
His stomach lurched at that thought, and agonising pain shot through him, radiating from his kakuhou.
The purple-haired woman smiled in response, there was no fear on her face as she beckoned him closer.
Stumbling forwards, he saw the shelter move slightly, and his hazy vision caught a flash of green.
Trying to focus his dazed mind, he swayed to a halt and watched a grotesque, slimy blob monster oozed out of the shelter, it had a maw of sharp yellow teeth and cold, yellow eyes.
It looked angry, and it was shouting and spitting at him aggressively.
Fear shot through his confused mind at the sight of the monster.
It was an abomination, the kind of creature that could only be dreamed up in the twisted nightmares of a deranged serial killer.
As the fear sank through to his bones, he had only two responses to choose from.
Flight or fight.
Out of those, there was only one he would choose.
Letting a howl of terror-fueled rage, he dropped his books and leapt at the monster.
Glorious, all-encompassing pain shot through his body as he called upon his kagune and lashed out at the eldritch nightmare in front of him.
A flash of light filled his vision, and the laughter of the purple-haired woman echoed in his ears.
He didn't know what the future held for him, but hopefully, it was better than whatever lay in his past.
( - )
(The Next Morning)
Taking a drag of his cigarette, Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi grimaced as he looked down at the vandalised grave of the recently deceased, and former Ranked Sixth Pro Hero, Yoroi Musha.
In life, the man had been a legend.
He had been a once-in-a-generation hero, the Former Number One Hero in fact, before All Might had arrived on the scene and had inspired several generations of heroes to follow in his footsteps. And even after All Might had unseated him from his lofty perch at the top of the rankings, he had still managed to stay on close to the top, even as age and wear and tear from a lifetime of fighting took their toll.
His hands clenched into fists at his side, at his own memories of the solemn and serious hero.
The man had lived and breathed heroism, and stood as a beacon of justice and order for close to five decades.
He had been a generational icon and had stood at the forefront of the hero movement in Japan. So much so that even All Might the living legend, and the Symbol of Peace, had cited him as one of his inspirations growing up. Suffice it to say when he had finally met his end at the hands of a villain only a week ago, it had been a shock, especially considering the villain in question escaped. The one black mark on the legendary Pro hero's otherwise flawless record.
He took another drag of his cigarette and focussed on the burning feeling of the smoke as it circulated around in his lungs.
Yoroi Musha had been a good man and an even better hero. In fact so great had been his achievements in life, that in death he had been granted a plot in the vaunted 'Field of Heroes', a place where he could lie forever among the great heroes of the past.
It had been a well-deserved honour.
One bestowed only upon the greatest of Pro Heroes
Tearing his eyes away from the disturbed grave site, Naomasa looked over at the distant police cordon, behind which he could already see a curious crowd of commuters and casual onlookers gathering.
Yoroi Musha had only been in the ground a day, and already some had desecrated his remains.
Things would turn very ugly when the news spread, very ugly indeed, especially when the journalists got a hold of it and did what they did best, and sensationalised everything.
Grimacing, he pushed down his anger and returned his eyes to the scene of the crime.
His gaze lingered on the forensics team that was carefully examining the crime scene. Which at the moment was a pile of freshly turned dirt, a few broken pieces of lacquered black wood and a chunk of golden metal.
To follow due process they would need to be exhumed, especially considering the broken remains of the golden horn that had once graced Yoroi Musha's helmet and which now lay on the ground beside the grave, was a sure sign that someone had interfered with the body.
Things were about to turn very ugly, and heads would undoubtedly roll.
The Field of Heroes was supposed to be secure and well protected, especially at night when it was locked up and access to the public was restricted
There were motion sensors on the perimeter fence, and cameras dotted throughout the park, hidden behind trees.
There was also a rotating team of guards that regularly patrolled the five hundred square metre park; and whose job it had been to react to any breach of the security perimeter.
Suffice it to say, the guards on duty tonight would be getting fired.
In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the entire security company ended up being liquidated, as the taint from this failure would forever follow them.
It was not good.
Not good at all.
Pro Heroes were larger-than-life celebrities to the people. They were often featured on billboards, in films, books, and comics, they could be seen patrolling the streets, and in interviews, and there were countless clips of them on HeroTube saving lives and fighting off villains.
Their entire society revolved around these individuals.
They were the bastions of peace and order, and Yoroi Musha had stood as a giant among their number.
Yeah, he bit his lip and tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette, he suspected that he'd probably end up having to work overtime to bring the case to a tidy end.
A sharp gasp from in front of him suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts.
"What is it?" He demanded, crossing over to the grave, his attention fully on the forensics team.
Brushing aside another officer, Naomasa scowled as he saw several other officers heading over curiously.
"Back to your posts." He snapped, his eyes narrowed as he shifted his attention to the overly nosey officers.
Glaring them down, he watched as they grudgingly went back to their assigned posts.
Shaking his head at the uniformed officers' lack of discipline, he crouched beside the hole, even as a pale-faced man scrambled to get out of the uncovered grave.
Holding his hand over his nose to block out the putrid smell of decomposition, he peered into the grave.
Almost at once, he felt his heart drop into his stomach like a leaden weight.
The coffin, which had been smashed to pieces, had been carefully moved out of the way to reveal the mangled remains of Yoroi Musha.
The expression on his now-revealed face was serene.
He looked peaceful, or at least from the neck up.
From the neck down, though… he was just a mutilated torso.
His arms and legs had been messily ripped off and stripped of flesh, and the remains of his armour were haphazardly scattered about his final resting place. From just a glance he could see several pieces of his costume were missing, including his red cape, as was one of his famous blades.
Feeling bile build up in the back of his throat, Naomasa's eyes shifted to the shredded remains of the once-great hero's arms and legs.
His stomach lurched, even as he pulled himself away from the grave and staggered haphazardly over to a nearby tree.
Retching, he spilt his guts all over the roots of the tree.
Whoever, or whatever, had disturbed the grave, had gnawed the flesh off of Yoroi Musha's bones like some kind of rapid beast.
There had even been teeth marks in the bone as if whoever had done it had even gone so far as to try and suck the marrow out of them.
Cheeks bulging and stomach heaving, he threw up what remained of his breakfast.
Leaving nothing but an acrid taste in his mouth.
The worst thing of all had been the bite marks, they had been human….
( - )
AN: So what do you think? Kaneki, or Haise at the moment for those who know their Tokyo Ghoul really has the worst of luck. It's like there is some kind of sadistic puppet master pulling his strings. Fortunately, it won't be all dark and grim though, there will be some light, some fluff and even a bit of romance. It'll be a story of highs and lows, with a lot of actions, some death, some heartbreak, some joy, some wins, some losses, and a lot of character development and interactions.
For those who expect, or want him to go to U.A. and join up as a student, I'm afraid that just won't be happening. Not only is he a bit too old, but he is also far too fucked up, and has a different, murkier path to tread, which will weave between the light and dark and enter shades of grey as he tries to discover himself and create a new life for himself where he can finally find love, joy and happiness.
Also once again, I am on a discord with a load of other writers, so if you fancy popping over to ask questions or offer suggestions about this story, or any of my other ones, or to find new authors you might not have come across yet, please feel free to use the link in my bio.
Thanks for reading and if you have any suggestions or questions feel free to PM me or find me on Discord. Please, read, review, comment, critique, so long as you're polite and helpful, and not rude and agressive, I don't mind. I love to read the response, and often times it does give me a good kick in the arse in terms of writing too.
Catch you later.
Greed720.