The sound of an ambulance-
Back to the present.
Izuku was brought back to reality as a gun sounded off. He looked towards his cat and she just looked at him and pawed at her food bowl. "Sorry schrö."
She just pawned harder as he looked at her. "Ill give-" he was cut off by meowing and pawing harder at said bowl. "People could-" "meowwwww!" "Fine!"
Izuku put to much food into schrö bowl but we was in a hurry. Another shot sounded out. And he pushed his body to go faster. Thats when he remembered his semi new quirk. He started to focus on where the sound came from. Soon the shadows around him slowly reached for him. And as the shadows climbed him faster and faster he felt his feet land on air as he disappeared from his spot.
When he fully emerged from the shadows he found himself a top a semi tall building. He heard people shouting and many more whispering. He could smell the fear. It made his mouth water, and his teeth grow sharper.
He slowly walked to the edge of the building he was on and looked down. And his mind start to think of a plan. "Four low level grunts...and two middle level grunts...nine hostages."
He quickly scanned the area and his non existent heart started to beat in anger. On the ground laid a small child with two wounds. One to the chest and one to the head. It made him sick, it made him angry.
He tried to calm down but couldn't. Soon the fog slowly rolled in. The grunts all stopped moving as they watched the fog intensely. "Go time." And Izuku dropped off of the building and landed right in the middle of the incoming fog. His quirk was going wild as the fog kept rolling in harder and thinker.
He heard a grunt shout an order before something rocked into him. Soon pain filled him as he looked down and saw a gaping whole right where his stomach and part of the large intestine was. He grunted as he felt it slowly mend.
He raised his arms skyward, fingers twitching like claws tasting the storm. His head tilted back, lips parting as if reciting scripture born in blood.
"I am the blood you spill," he whispered.
The air thinned. The temperature crashed. White mist spilled out like a living thing, curling around boots and bones. Breath came in shivering gasps, each exhale from the grunts clouding the air in terrified rhythm. Izuku felt it—everyone felt it. That primal, crushing silence right before the world ends.
"The mist you breathe."
One grunt screamed and activated his quirk—a blaze of energy forming in his hand—only for it to sputter and die. His body followed, knees buckling, head lifting off his shoulders in a clean, fluid motion. Blood sprayed in a wide arc across the fog. Before it could hit the ground, the mist devoured it.
There was no thud. No scream. Just absence. Then the head vanished.
The fog thickened, turned red at the edges.
"Each fallen soul," he said, voice now layered with something older, something wrong, "an offering to my endless hunger."
Screams erupted in all directions, swallowed almost immediately by the rising tide of mist. Bones cracked in the dark. Flesh tore wetly. A body hit the ground, twitching, still trying to crawl away as its legs dissolved into the fog like sugar in water.
Nova tilted his head, listening. The screams were a symphony—his music. Until the silence snapped.
A thunderous crack. His head jerked back. Half his skull exploded. The entire left side of his face was gone—bone shattered, brain exposed, mist steaming from the wound like boiling oil. But he didn't fall. He didn't flinch.
He laughed. Low and ragged, the sound came from somewhere deep, rising into something unholy as the hole in his face slowly closed. Crimson light pulsed from his remaining eye, burning through the fog like a god's wrath.
He stepped forward, mist trailing behind him like a cloak made of screams. The remaining grunts turned to run—but the fog whispered secrets in their ears.
And the one who pulled the trigger—the one holding twin pistols—was backing up now, hands shaking. Izuki didn't speak again.
The man's breath came in choking sobs as he stared at what remained of his squad—his family—now desecrated, desecrated by that thing.
The mist had become an executioner's stage.
One grunt's jaw had been torn clean off, tongue dangling like a severed worm as the fog jammed his teeth down his own throat. Another's chest had been cracked open like a cage, ribs pried apart by vapor-thin tendrils that slithered through his lungs, inflating and deflating them like broken bellows.
The strongest among them, the one they all trusted to fight to the end, had his spinal cord exposed, fog wrapping around it like a serpent, puppeteering him with his own nerves. Every time he twitched, blood spurted from his eyes like tears.
Their bodies danced as if in mock celebration—limbs twitching, heads lolling, blood dripping like rain onto the crimson-soaked floor. It was a grotesque masquerade, orchestrated by a demon cloaked in human flesh.
And Izuku stood in the center of it, chest riddled with bullets that no longer mattered, his skin torn and still healing in slow pulses. His mouth and chin were coated with blood. His glowing eyes locked onto the last survivor.
The man's soul shattered. He tried to crawl away—tried to scream—but only sobs came out. Then Izuku knelt beside him. No more fog. No more theatrics.
Just silence. He reached forward, his hand trembling—not with rage, but with something colder. He gently cupped the man's cheek, bloodied fingers stroking skin as if comforting a dying child. His thumb brushed away a tear from the man's eye.
Izuku leaned in close, his breath warm against the man's ear.
"It's okay," he whispered, voice soft as silk. "You don't have to run anymore." Then—He opened his mouth, and sank his teeth into the man's neck. The flesh tore like soaked paper.
Blood erupted in a hot gush, coating Izuku's face in red as he drank deep, throat working as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful. The man convulsed, twitching in his arms—but Izuku held him steady, tenderly, like one might cradle a lover or a child. Until the trembling stopped, until the last flicker of resistance died out with a wet, rattling breath.
Then—gently—he laid the man's body down. As if he were tucking a child into bed. The fog around them began to slow, losing its unnatural vitality. The puppets, their strings severed, collapsed to the blood-soaked floor in mangled, twisted heaps. Arms bent the wrong way. Eyes still open. Mouths frozen mid-scream.
Their suffering was over. And the room, at last, fell quiet. The hostages, still bound and hidden behind debris and shadow, stared out in horror. None of them moved. None of them breathed too loudly. They had watched monsters die—but what they had witnessed in the fog wasn't heroism.
It was reaping. Izuku rose to his feet.
His body trembled—not from exhaustion, but from something far older, far deeper. He stood amidst the corpses like a monarch before a graveyard, bathed in blood, the mist still curling at his ankles like it worshipped him.
Then he looked up. Not at the dead, but at the living. His glowing eyes softened. His expression—once feral, once monstrous—had grown quiet. Gentle.
He turned his gaze to the slaughtered bodies around him. To the broken souls he'd puppeteered, torn apart, devoured.
And he whispered, as if offering them peace, "You're free now." Then he looked to the hostages. And in the same calm, trembling voice—soft as falling ash, too human to be human—
"You all are."
The fog began to pull back, crawling up the walls and slipping through the cracks, leaving behind nothing but blood, silence, and the ghost of a monster who spoke like a savior.
He glanced at the men, women and children who were tired up and walked away. The blood rushing towards him as it slowly absorbed into him.
He was tired. And all he wanted to do was cuddle up to schrö. But he stopped as he looked back towards the guns the man and held. Something inside him was demanding to grab them. He listened as two tenders of blood slowly brought them to him.
He grinned as they felt perfect.
Two days later - Mei
She kept watching at the news. A new vigilante was running around. And the scene they showed was horrific. Soon she would be going to the scene of the crime as ome of her inventions could help
Back with Izuku.
He was cuddled up to schrö as he continued to plant small kisses onto her head. Police had come by his home multiple times but lucky they didn't investigate. And he smiled as his choice of a slightly abandoned house was the right call.
Sorry for thjs chapter being short, but I have around 700 pages to catch up on for a book...anyways, enjoy :)
ALSO, next chapter is going to be mainly finishing the past about Izuku and then stuff about mei:)
