Chapter Text
Two streets. Two streetlamps. Two orange beams of light, spilling across the glistening highway with a softness that could only be outshone by brighter things— by buildings towering above and neon signs dripping condensed water amidst encroaching rain. Two policemen. Two guns. Both held in white-knuckled fists, long charcoal barrels facing opposite directions. Facing the enemy.
Facing each other.
The hands that held them did not shake. But if one member of the stricken crowd, paused on the street corners and sidewalks, looked closely enough, they could see flashes in eyes hooded by regal uniform caps. Raw, visceral, unfiltered.
Identical hatred.
Identical resolution.
Time hung suspended, there on the street, as heads turned to the men. They couldn’t read the emotion on their faces, the tension in their jawlines. This was not real. This was a trick, an illusion. Some Quirk that had transported the onlookers outside of time. These were partners, colleagues, people. People who did things. People who felt.
But two fingers curled around two triggers.
Flaring emotions joined as one.
Thundering cracks lit the crosswalk as two perfect shots hit their marks, and two bodies collapsed to the ground, nearly perfect mirrors of each other’s movements—blood, dark as wine, bloomed on their pristine white shirts as they limply met the concrete. The emotion that had seconds ago hardened their eyes faded with the light in them, until two officers stared blankly into the night underneath an elevated train rail.
Screams.
The crowd ran in all directions. Some backed away, horrified, hands covering mouths and hiding silent sobs. Others trembled but turned and ran as hard as their shaking legs could possibly carry them towards safety— safety. Because surely, two policemen would not just shoot each other. There had to be a threat. There had to be a Quirk at work.
“Send help,” said someone on their cellphone.
A security guard stood over the crime scene with disgust in his eyes. The badge he displayed was fake. The badge he carried in his pocket was not. Help, he agreed. The subject made his move. He had to.
The Endeavor Agency was less than two minutes away.
Steam rolled off the highway’s glassy sheen, rising higher, carried by spring heat until it dissipated level with the animated display screens hanging over this busy Musutafu roadway. On the elevated rail opposite, a train cut through the light, replacing it with darkness for a number of seconds, before passing unaware of the panic folding below.
One set of eyes did look down to the chaos. But they were not aboard the train.
Kneeling on the guardrail, the figure’s eyes jumped from person to person—they were like ants whose hill had been destroyed, clambering aimless now that a false sense of security had been ripped from their clutches. The figure reached a hand out, leather gloves reflecting light from the screens. Those people were scared. Uneasy. Vivid emotions were tangible in the air, so vibrant he could taste them.
There were those out there who felt things so strongly. It was beautiful. It was tragic.
But— he had to remind himself—revelry was not a game for the playing. Strategy. The feelings were little pigments on this canvas, a masterpiece in the making, his magnum opus. Feelings were mere components.
Ever still, working colorblind was nigh impossible, and time was drawing to a close.
A screech to the left drew the figure’s attention, and his cloaked silhouette stood. A train was approaching. Another section of the canvas called, and he’d just have to hope that he matched the correct color to the correct number…
Like that man had wanted.
Emotions swirled around him, still tangible in the air. Vivid. Vibrant. Beautiful. Tragic. They crackled like lightning. Charging the air with something electrifying, something bright and undeterrable.
In that moment, the city’s pulse shifted. The air distorted around him.
Vaulting to his feet, the figure sprung away, the empty air where he’d been crouched low now occupied by a forceful whoosh as something solid cut right through it.
The blow had come so close to landing that a chill fell upon the figure’s skin. He felt this. Physically. A rush of air cut through as the figure once again threw himself back in order to narrowly avoid the darkened blur that rocketed past him and into the divide between the railways.
Lightning.
Neon. Feeling. Physical. Green.
All at once, light danced across the intruder’s body. The blur was no longer dark. It stood from its place on the divide, hands curling into fists, a lithe but sturdy figure leveling its gaze at him. Muscles wound underneath an emerald jumpsuit, iron-soled red high-tops grinding into the stone—the green kinetic energy raced up, crisscrossing visibly between eyes narrowed into an unreadable expression. Eyes that glowed.
Unreadable — not quite. It was a valiant effort, but this boy’s eyes were too big to be inexpressive. Face too soft to hide his apprehension. Body too unbalanced to hide his rapid-fire survey of the man who stood before him. This boy was anything but unreadable.
One of Endeavor’s young freelance specialists.
He knew this one.
Knew him well.
Izuku Midoriya, that man had said, wide lips curling into a smile so sinister the figure recognized instantly the malice and bloodlust behind it. Show me how you break him. Bring him to his knees. Bring him to me.
He felt things, strongly— this boy.
Bring him to his knees.
Heroes were the most entertaining to break.
Opposite him, Izuku Midoriya grit his teeth, sweat already beading in the spaces between his forehead and the hair that brushed across it. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He wasn’t sure how, he wasn’t sure why, but something had brought this man out of hiding—he recognized well the characteristics Endeavor had pinned to the suspicious individual. Hours had been spent with quick glances to his blurry photo on the info boards, memorizing every fact, every facet. A simple brown trench coat. A wide-brimmed hat. Hunched posture. Taller than average… A traditional stage mask… in the shape of a kitsune spirit.
Quirk: Unknown.
They’d found him. Finally. And the fact that he’d been looking down on two murdered police officers could not have been mere coincidence—Izuku didn’t believe in those anymore.
Static crackled next to his ear. Shifting his hand to the device clipped to it, Izuku cupped his hand in order to hear the welcome voice over the line.
“Midoriya, do you have visual on the target?”
He inclined his head, keeping his voice low as possible. “Yeah. Elevated rail near the post building. Are you guys close?”
“We’re on our way. Do you think you can handle this?”
He didn’t respond, keeping his eyes trained on the suspicious entity before him. Curiously, the man hadn’t moved. Had barely reacted at all, except to dodge his initial hit. But the painted-on kitsune eyes bore straight into Izuku, a breeze dragging the ends of the figure’s trench coat into suspended space behind him. The humidity in the air hung thick in Izuku’s throat.
Two cops dead. Partners. They’d shot each other.
He couldn’t place it, but…
“You found something, didn’t you?” the voice on the other end asked.
“N-Not sure. Do me a favor and redirect the civilians out of here. I’m gonna try to keep this as contained as poss—”
Izuku’s eyes widened.
“Midoriya?”
He couldn’t believe it.
Just as quick as the words left his mouth, the man had stomped his foot into the weathered concrete on the railway’s other side. It was strange, and he couldn’t tell what the man was up to, until he slowly raised his fist in Izuku’s direction.
A rush of air blasted Izuku’s face, and suddenly his world tilted sideways.
His shoes swung out from under him, caught off-guard by the sudden assault, and with no way to catch himself he fell. The center of his back met something hard, and metal, knocking the breath from his lungs as shock coiled through his body—pain rippled across his torso.
“Argh—!”
“Midoriya!”
Izuku shut his eyes tight, swallowing down the sting, as both hands scrabbled into the stone beneath him. That was when he heard it.
The screech of metal. The rhythmic clacking of wheels against ties.
A train.
The figure’s body language hadn’t changed, still hunched and regarding him with unreadable numbness behind that mask. He’d seen the vehicle first.
Izuku’s chest tightened. Panic sucked an inhale past his lips, demanding reaction.
And so Izuku felt.
All at once, a buzz spread from pure want in his heart and exploded through his veins, to his fingers and toes, kissing every inch of his skin until an all-encompassing warmth cloaked his body—the energy rushed into his mind, brain following soul, as an energy of determination and protection filtered into blood it knew well. Sparks emitted. Power cultivated. One for All.
Izuku was in the air before his mind caught up to his instincts. Below, the train he’d been pushed in front of steamrolled through with little more than a shake at his propelling Air Force blast. His iron soles missed the engine’s nose by inches.
All the while, the man made his move, somersaulting onto the very same train that had nearly just flattened him.
Izuku crested his jump, falling back down to earth. Too close…
“Midoriya! Answer!”
“He’s on the move!” he shouted. “Looks like his Quirk has something to do with air blasts—and he just tried to kill me!”
“Everyone you meet wants to kill you.”
“Todoroki!”
“Follow the tracks… Bakugo says he has an idea.”
“Kacchan?” he mumbled. Izuku set his jaw, looking ahead to where the rail-line curved, hidden between multi-story buildings and more big neon screens. He and Kacchan knew this area well—had grown up here, together, on the streets of Musutafu. He knew what lay in that direction.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. Threads detached in his mind, weaving together into a picture, a hypothesis, of what his childhood friend intended to do. He wasn’t sure that he liked what his memories and innate sense of Katsuki Bakugo produced.
He fell, fell, fell, and felt again.
We have to stop him. Before anyone else gets hurt!
Determination. Concentration. Anger. Once more, the pull in his heart manifested itself across his skin, but this time it was different. This pulse did not electrify him. Instead, these sensations constricted around his heart, weighing heavy as he willed that darkness into pinpricks at his knuckles.
A black wisp shot out from the nodes on his gloves.
The solid darkness cut like a knife through the air, launching down at the moving surface beneath him with a precision that had been years in the making. It pierced the metal, the train’s roof, whisked away in a more level direction as it found its target and subsequently jolted Izuku in the same direction. Ignoring the faint ache in his forearm, Izuku willed the wisp to pull taut and begin retracting.
Just like that, Blackwhip guided his iron soles to the traintop, armor skidding along its roof. A blast of air threw his hair back across his forehead. Had it not been for his Quirk, he’d have tumbled right off instantly.
An anchor would have to suffice.
The figure had not stopped running, but his balance wasn’t perfect either. He’d only made it two cars ahead, as the train began its curve toward where Kacchan and the others no doubt lied in wait.
His hand shot to his earpiece once more, switching channels. A private line.
“Uravity,” he said. “You heard Shoto, right?”
“Yeah.” The voice came soft and clear across the static, slamming into his heart and fueling adrenaline there. But Ochako had always done that to him. The thrill of standing beside her never faded, even after all these years. His colleague. His trusted partner. His best friend. “You don’t think Bakugo’s gonna try something crazy, do you?”
He grimaced. “Almost definitely. Please, I need you to clear the area—”
“You act like I don’t know you two.”
He smiled at that. It was shaky and unsure, but grateful all the same. She really was amazing. “Thanks so much. Be really careful, okay? I’m still not sure what this guy is after.”
“Don’t like that a whole lot.”
“Tell me about it,” he murmured, and lowered his hand.
Izuku still couldn’t place his unease. Airblasts… that was clearly what he’d used to knock him over. But something so straightforward wouldn’t have caused two trained police officers to shoot each other. And it didn’t explain why he was canvassing the scene, either…almost as if to make sure what he’d come to do was done. There was something more here. Something he was missing. But what?
“Hey, stupid nerd.” Another voice in his ear. Much less sweet. Much more abrasive. “Remember that shitty pop up we went to as kids?.”
“Uh…” It took a lot not to gape like an idiot at the random question, but Izuku knew that a question like that to him in this voice at this time could never be random. He answered, quick, not wanting to invoke impatience. “With the Edgeshot impersonator?”
“And the knockoff merch.”
“The fake limited edition All Might figurines.”
“That’s your mark. Better fucking not miss it or I’m blasting you instead.”
Izuku absolutely knew he’d make good on that threat, too. He shared two private lines, and then the group line. One with Ochako. One with Katsuki.
As it turned out, he was usually coordinating with one of them on something really crazy or really stupid. Oftentimes, both crazy and stupid.
He remembered the day Kacchan had described well. It had been raining. They were seven. They’d made a trip to the shopping district to adventure around just as young boys always did, unaware of the storm. Izuku still remembered the pain from slipping on the water and scraping both his knees. Kacchan’s laugh stung worse. The popup itself had been located just in front of the railway pillar, too bright not to catch children’s eyes. He and Kacchan had sniffed out the frauds immediately—they were too well-versed not to notice such details.
Well-versed.
He understood.
Blackwhip still spilling out from his right glove, Izuku lifted himself to one knee. He braced his left arm with his right, closing one eye to set his aim.
Wait for it.
Wait...
He released the breath he’d been holding. He knew these streets. That was his advantage. That was what he’d use.
Now!
One for All glittered in its activation, tearing from the very same nodes that Blackwhip had mere minutes before. Twenty percent. Airblasts, huh? Payback time.
“Delaware Smash!”
A compressed bullet made from sheer wind rocketed away, faster than the train’s engine and faster than the villain— he could trace it, the warp in the atmosphere, as the Air Force smash connected with its target and sent the man’s trenchcoat and hat whipping through space. He didn’t have a chance at the attack. Unable to catch his balance, he stumbled a few steps, until his instability forced him to jump away.
And he did. Down into the city street below. Down into a scramble crossing, down into a place Izuku had spent his childhood and adolescence passing through.
Right onto a spot where, twelve years before, a shitty pop up sold fake All Might merch to his two future successors.
“Target on mark,” Izuku breathed into his earpiece.
“Let’s wreck this bastard.”
The train rounded the bend. Izuku released Blackwhip. He shot himself high into the air, an intersection rising into view as buildings parted to open a corridor straight through the heart of the city—Musutafu City Center Scramble Crossing opening before him. People were still running in all directions. But at least they were running.
Izuku switched back to the main line. “Kacchan!”
A low rumble plunked through the street to his right. His eyes narrowed, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, until he slowly realized that the bumps and crashes were happening underneath the road’s pavement. The villain was still sprawled on the ground, lax and unreadable beneath the mask he wore. Faintly, Izuku wondered if it was that simple. But he knew not to allow himself a luxury like that by now.
On the opposite side, an orange light erupted from the crossing’s subway station, another hero propelled into the air as popping explosions burst from his gloves, setting him loose into the night in an arc carved right for the villain.
“Took you long enough, damn nerd,” Katsuki grunted, a manic grin already baring his teeth. His red eyes reflected a fiery glow. “I’ll take it from here and show them how it’s done!” He swung his arms around, twisting a pin in his gauntlet and cupping one fist with the other. “AP Shot!”
A jet of light burst from his palm.
To Izuku’s left, a thin sheet of ice crept over the street, manifesting underneath Todoroki’s very boots as he skated down the pavement. To Izuku’s right, a siren pierced the city chaos. It didn’t take much for him to recognize the hero that sat crouched on top of the police car dashing through it all. Kirishima grimaced, arms hardening into lethal weapons as he prepared for a fight.
And from above, Ochako appeared—dropping down the length of a skyscraper, her booster boots propelling her, as she extended her leg to deliver a follow-up to Kacchan’s attack.
Hey Deku! You gotta teach me that kick thing you and Iida do!
“Ultra Falling Star!”
Her body twisted midair, throwing momentum through her leg. Kacchan’s explosion met the ground. Ochako was behind it in an instant, tucking all her force into the blow.
She dropped into the smoke, leaving a small Ochako-sized indentation on the shroud.
“Back her up!” Izuku called, pointing one fist at a streetlight. Hardened emotions tethered Blackwhip around the lamp’s bulb, dimming the light there by a mere touch.
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
Kacchan blasted his way down, as Kirishima leapt off the cop’s windshield into a running start that paced a few steps behind him. Shoto, too, wound away to the blaze’s opposite side. There, all four boys converged, Izuku releasing his makeshift rope to fling himself back into the air. Once again, he aimed his fists for where he knew the villain—and his dearest friend—should be. “Delaware Smash!”
Wind gusted through the smoke, evaporating it then and there. In no time, the scramble crossing was clear…
With no sign of Ochako or the villain.
Alarm jolted through Izuku’s bones. “Huh?”
“The hell.” Even Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. Izuku was on their private line immediately, ears straining for an SOS, but the only thing that came through was Ochako’s immediate scream of warning.
“Deku! It’s Bakugo!”
Izuku whipped his head towards his childhood friend. Sure enough, a dark figure stood, hunched slightly in his blind spot, the kitsune mask undamaged save for one black ash scuff across its cheek. Izuku didn’t even have time to call out before the figure snapped its arm out, slowly uncurling its fist.
A small flame, as if from a lighter, bloomed into life.
Izuku froze, the world fading out around him, focusing to one point. To the flicker, cradled gently in the villain’s hand. Wait, no—that couldn’t be. This man was using air blasts earlier. Quirks… like these… couldn’t be related, could they?
His mind was moving too fast to process what was happening elsewhere around him. Kacchan followed where his gaze had focused, eyes landing on the villain with a sneer that Izuku knew masked surprise.
The flicker was a flicker no longer.
A stream large enough to rival any of Katsuki and Todoroki’s simple moves exploded from the villain’s glove, forcing Kacchan to react by propelling himself higher into the sky, away from the flaming vortex. But Izuku knew better than to be watching out for him, not this time, at least. Because his eyes focused on what had been behind Katsuki, cowering in the corner of a department building storefront.
That villain hadn’t been aiming for Kacchan at all.
But for the small beads of sweat left in his wake, flung off his forearms as he blasted himself away.
The fire enveloped them, careening into something twice as big and twice as lethal. Something heading right for a mother and her small son in the store’s entryway.
“Damn it!” Katsuki swore, clearly enraged. But Izuku didn’t have the time. Light had enveloped him already, Blackwhip aimed for the two innocents with only a faint, silent apology for how threatening a thing it must’ve truly looked.
A pink blur beat him by less than a second.
Ochako’s arms took both mother and son, carrying them into the air with a thrust from her boosters. She avoided the initial blast, but with nowhere to go the fire hit the wall and rose. Panic slipped into Izuku’s throat, and all at once Blackwhip’s trajectory changed. It arced up, outrunning the fire and swinging itself up until it wrapped around her waist and snatched all three out of harm’s way.
Her brown eyes flicked from where the power dragged her higher upside-down, thankful, but with a hint of frustration that suggested she was just as lost as he was.
Izuku landed, reeling Blackwhip closer, until Ochako was a safe enough distance to let it fall from around her and recede back into its hiding place within his heart. She released herself, pointing the civilians to the barrier the police had set up moments ago.
“What the fucking hell, Deku!” Katsuki screamed, still wheeling around the crossing. “I thought you said his Quirk was air compression!”
He grit his teeth. “T-That’s what I saw!”
“How do you explain the fire, then?” Kirishima cried out. He guarded the opposite street, a sturdy shield refusing to let anyone or any thing through.
“Don’t tell me it’s another one of those hybrid Nomu wannabe bastards.”
Katsuki’s voice was low, with an edge to it Izuku hadn’t heard in quite some time. And, he guessed, he was one of only two people on that intersection who recognized the apprehension there. “N-No.” He couldn’t be sure, of course, but… “That doesn’t feel right, either. There’s something we’re missing. S-Stay back for now! Don’t get too close, we need to confirm his Quirk first!”
“No fucking waiting, I’m just gonna kill him already!”
“Kacchan,” Izuku hissed, but as usual his friend didn’t listen. He merely kept gliding between the skyscrapers, the villain using a combination of nimble moves and air blasts to dodge attacks.
Izuku chewed on his lip, eyes darting between the fighting, Todoroki attempting to seal off the streets, Kirishima directing the last of the civilians away from the crossing, and Ochako beside him, whose eyes had narrowed in discontentment. “Is it just me, or is something…weird about how he’s fighting defensively?”
Now that she mentioned it…
Ochako’s Quirk wasn’t inherently combat-based, so she had to get creative while fighting if she wanted to use it effectively. If anyone would recognize a defensive battle, it was her. Izuku nodded, hands curling into fists. “Kinda strange for someone who has such diverse attacks.”
“It doesn’t feel like he’s luring us into an ambush—more like he’s trying to avoid offense. Right?”
It slid into place. “That means—”
“Limited usages,” Kacchan spat. “Still doesn’t explain what the hell he’s using, though.”
Kacchan let off another blast, concentrating the firepower on the concrete as the villain flipped and shifted out of the way. Finally, Todoroki caught up, sealing off one of the streets with a wall of ice. At the very least, even if that figure tried to stop and melt it, it would give their team a chance to catch up. One escape route blocked.
“Slippery bastard!”
“He’s experienced,” Todoroki chimed in. “And, given how well he’s avoiding our attacks, I’d say he knows who we are.”
Izuku grit his teeth, and realization flooded into Ochako’s eyes as well. She whirled to face him. “You’re not saying…”
“This was premeditated.”
Crap.
“I don’t like this, Deku,” Ochako whispered.
He nodded. “No villain is dumb enough to attack this close to Endeavor’s agency when he knows one of us will be the first responders.” They all happened to be on duty tonight—or was that coincidence? “Even if he has a limited amount of attack power, he isn’t retreating. He’s after something. He’s wearing gloves.” Gloves hid destructive hands. Shigaraki. Overhaul. “Don’t let him touch you!”
Ochako took a deep breath, snapping open the Quirk-restricting cuffs again. “Hey, Bakugo, can you keep him distracted for a sec?”
“Fuck you, he’s going down!”
“Thank you!”
“Wait, what are you doing?” Izuku asked, glancing to her as she walked toward a fallen streetlamp. She wrapped all her fingers around it, lifting it up and resting it on her shoulder as easily as if it were a baseball bat. She smiled in her placating way, which only confused him more.
She aimed her gauntlet to the side, that smile shifting into a smirk. Of course. She was never able to keep up the façade for long—especially when it came to one of her many improvised special moves. “Oh, y’know. Knocking him off his high horse.”
The curled-up wire in her guard rocketed out and anchored itself to the opposite wall. She tapped her cheek, following suit, and holding a twelve-foot-tall streetlight out to her side as she swept it across the road.
A rather strange feeling told Izuku things were about to get messy.
Despite his vocal objections, Kacchan had indeed corralled the villain in their direction. He backed up, attention focused solely on the looming threat, as Ochako pulled closer and closer. She lowered her makeshift lance, the lamp’s curved arm aimed right for him. But then, it happened.
He looked at Ochako, her face twisted in determination.
And he dropped to his knees.
Izuku’s hand was on his receiver before he could blink. “Uraraka, wait!”
It was too late.
The man’s glove opened again, this time uncapping a metal rod that extended outward so fast Izuku could barely understand what it was. Worry flared through him, subsiding only slightly when he saw the metal extend up and down so that it formed a shield to block out Ochako’s assault completely. She gasped. Before she could make impact and hurt herself, she threw the streetlamp into the air, letting her wire carry her the rest of the way before releasing. The tension eased out of Izuku’s shoulders.
Kirishima groaned as Izuku heard his footsteps beside him. “Crap, that was such a good attack, too!”
“S-Support gear…?” Ochako murmured, wincing, as she stood back up and leaned against the wall.
“But there’s nothing like that on the market!”
“There’s more than one market,” Izuku said darkly.
His friends paled. Suddenly, the weight of this fight crashed down on each of them. If Ochako was right… Things just got a lot more dangerous. They needed to end this, fast. “Kacchan…”
“I fuckin’ heard ya. Playtime’s over.”
Katsuki blasted himself closer, hand flexing as small explosions crackled between his fingers. Ochako darted in again, as well, ready to cuff their mark as soon as Kacchan took him down. But something was strange in the way the man stood. That same hunched posture, wind tugging his coat open to reveal a hand tightening around something silvery, flashing in the light of the moon.
Kacchan wasn’t preparing a long-range attack.
“Bakugo!” Kirishima cried, having seen the device too. Izuku, face twisting with horror, leveled his fist at the villain.
Nothing could have prepared them for what happened next.
The villain’s image blurred. Blinding speed, a kind which Izuku had no inkling he possessed, ate the distance between the figure and Kacchan with no time for the latter to react. His red eyes widened, grit teeth straining his confident smirk—and the villain slotted between his outstretched arms. With fluid movements, practiced ones, the villain clamped one hand down on Katsuki’s shoulder and pressed the other to his chest.
Blue energy erupted from his palm, swallowing Kacchan whole.
He cried out, half in rage, half in pain.
“Kacchan!”
“Bakugo!”
Izuku and Kirishima rushed forward, step for step. Kacchan’s muscles went rigid as his cry choked out. Izuku bit back an insult. “Super speed? Is that your Quirk?”
Kirishima was already winding up a punch. “You’re going down, you bastard!”
Neither would make it in time. The figure blurred again—but not before throwing one arm around Kacchan’s midsection, ripping him off the ground and darting in the opposite direction.
Straight toward Ochako.
Izuku and Kirishima stumbled, trying to pull back punches left targetless. Kirishima slid to a halt, but Izuku, much lighter on his feet, whirled around.
Ochako leapt back, but her astonishment was clear. Her spring heel caught on stray rubble, and before she was able to catch herself the man was on top of her.
He touched her, the very same energy that has enveloped Kacchan enveloping her completely.
She screamed.
Both Todoroki and Kirishima called out her name, but Izuku’s bones already buzzed with One for All’s power. He sprung forward, reaching one hand out to break her fall.
He wasn’t the first one to get to her.
The kitsune figure snatched Ochako by the waist, too, launching up from the scramble crossing with yet another compressed air blast.
“Get back here!” Kirishima cried, rushing to meet them. Izuku crouched, watching as the man landed on the rail line. Super speed, huh? Okay. That stupid villain wasn’t the only one who had that in his arsenal.
Static burned between his eyes. Lightning raced across his costume.
He flew into the air, calling for his power and leaving a crater in his wake.
The villain paused. There, on the edge, it was easy for even their other two teammates to see him manhandle their friends. He dropped Kacchan and Ochako, both out cold, unceremoniously to the ground. He then took them both by one wrist.
At some point, he’d taken his gloves off.
The figure moved his arms closer, bringing Kacchan’s and Ochako’s with them. He was trying to touch them to one another. There was a meaning behind the action.
Something flared in Izuku then. He glared, menacing, at the masked figure as his power charged the air around him. His heart squeezed, aching protectiveness for his best friend and his trusted rival ripping dark energy from the notches in his gloves. “Don’t you touch them!”
Blackwhip tore through, pinning the man’s arms to his sides and locking his hands where they were, freezing him in place.
Still, he did not release his captives.
Izuku dropped onto the rail, eyes quite literally glowing with emotion. His expression hardened, eyebrows pinching together, eyes darting between Ochako and Kacchan. The man hadn’t even flinched. This stupid mask—he couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. He hated this.
But Izuku held his ground. “Drop them. Now.”
The kitsune figure merely stared at him, the painted-on eyes seemingly reading his soul as if it were a riddle to be deciphered. He wasn’t even struggling. Unsureness sent ice creeping up his veins, into his chest. Sweat materialized on his forehead. Something was wrong here, too. The villain… didn’t look unsure of himself at all.
A small beep sounded beneath him. His gaze shot down.
A metal disk. Flashing with lights. Blinking and blinking.
Izuku’s eyes widened. He’d made a mistake. He removed his foot, ready to throw himself away from the blast, but even he wasn’t fast enough.
Blue energy shot through his legs, spreading from his torso through his arms and next, crashing into his head until it rattled around there like his brain had decided to jump ship completely.
It hurt. A blinding white pain buzzed through him, sending spots dancing across his vision, indistinguishable from the lightning his own Quirk produced. His head pounded. Ringing pierced his ears and swallowed every sound in the city around him—including his friends’ shouts. It sapped the sturdiness from his legs, and somehow Izuku was aware of falling to his knees. Perhaps it was because he was aware of every place the gravel cut through his leg bracers, pain amplifying pain in a vicious cycle.
Did his heart stutter? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
His body fought against him, One for All sparking out. He wanted to shut down. But even as his knees hit the dirt, Izuku called out to the longing in his heart. He had to save them. Kacchan and Ochako. They needed him!
The kitsune man still hadn’t reacted. No, wait—his head had tilted, just slightly. He was confused.
Izuku may have graduated from the best hero academy in the world, but the most important lesson he had learned was one from the people there, not the textbooks.
Never. Give. Up. Plus. Ultra!
It wasn’t over until his heart stopped beating.
His free hand fell, bringing half his body with it. But Izuku willed Blackwhip taut. The villain put up too much resistance to bring him any closer than a single step, but Izuku had done what he’d set out to do.
On reflex, the villain tried to yank his hand free, stopping Izuku from pulling him down completely—and in the process, released Kacchan.
Even though his rival’s body slumped sideways, over the edge of the rail and into the air, slight relief rushed into Izuku’s chest. Below, Kirishima ran forward. Todoroki pushed his hand onto the ground, ice cutting through until a platform raised the other hero level with Kacchan’s falling form. Kirishima threw himself off the ice, deactivating Hardening, and pulled Katsuki into him as he changed their trajectory. Another wall of ice sprang up, and Kirishima hardened again, spinning around and colliding backwards so Kacchan didn’t take any blowback from the landing.
The two slid down the rest of the way, and Izuku knew Kacchan was safe now. But this fight wasn’t over yet.
“U-Uravity,” Izuku said, an edge to his shuddering voice. It was all he could do not to scream like they had. “Give her back.”
Blackwhip still pulled against the villain. Izuku tugged it harder.
He didn’t expect it to be much of a threat. All he wanted was to hold out for Todoroki, to know Ochako was out of danger. But for some reason, the man stepped forward. Blackwhip retracted further.
Izuku’s guard went up immediately. The villain was moving closer of his own accord, dragging Ochako limply across the rocks. The sharp edges had already started tearing her costume, cutting into her skin. A growl rumbled in Izuku’s chest. “S-Stop!”
He didn’t. Izuku’s mind whirled, trying to decide what to do. Keeping the man restrained ran the risk of getting hurt further, and he refused to go down, unable to know what was happening. But letting him go ran the risk of the man taking Ochako, for real this time. And Izuku was not letting that happen. Ever.
He dragged his free hand to his receiver, rebooting it to clear the static. “S-Sho—”
The figure blurred once more.
Like measuring tape snapping back into place, Blackwhip shot back towards him, slicing through the air. The villain came with it, and the sudden relent caused Izuku’s balance to abandon him completely. His chest met the gravel, head falling just short of where Ochako’s hung limply in the air. Her soft, scratched face didn’t stir as a breeze lifted the hair framing her face.
Izuku reached out, trying to take her by the arm, trying to free her. The energy around him evaporated, its power supply cut, but Izuku’s strength didn’t return. His vision only went cross-eyed.
The figure shifted, the kitsune mask replacing Ochako in his field of view. Something locked around his own wrist, snatching it from the air.
He suddenly found his glove ripped off, the spring air sticking heavily to already-clammy skin.
Izuku tried to pull himself free, but the kitsune man held tighter. He winced. That device had made him weaker, somehow, like he was trying to move through air with the consistency of mud.
A sound cut through the murk. Words. They were words. His earpiece— “S-Shoto—”
Something shook him. The kitsune man. These words weren’t Todoroki’s at all. They were deeper, lower, dropped from lips he couldn’t see. An expression he couldn’t read.
“To feel must be the greatest joy,” it said, and Izuku tried to blink away the haze.
“F… Feel…”
Huh?
“A hero who knows no empathy is no hero at all. You feel it. You know it well. But tell me, Izuku Midoriya, do you know true empathy?”
He knew his name. He knows my name. What was going on? What was happening? Izuku was too tired, too confused to panic. He grabbed blindly for some kind of hold, or even some kind of understanding. The villain had called him by his real name. Villains, even the most threatening ones, didn’t do that. This was planned. This was personal.
“What… do you want…?” Izuku choked out, opposite fist tightening.
“Peace.”
Before Izuku could question what on earth that could possibly mean, he jerked Izuku’s wrist again, doing the same with Ochako.
He pressed their bare skin together, their inner forearms meeting where the veins beneath lay visible and vulnerable.
A light flashed.
Izuku opened his eyes as another burning sensation jolted adrenaline into his blood, lifting his head up to see what was happening. The place where their arms touched shone, until the light spread out in a straight line to circle their wrists completely. It pulsated, the area of pressure spreading with the light, igniting a fire deep within the layers of tissue and fiber.
And all at once, it was over.
The hand holding Izuku’s captive disappeared, and he fell to the ground. Ochako did, too, released from her own imprisonment at last. The figure’s presence shifted from in front of him, and though Izuku wanted to know she was all right, he forced himself to locate their adversary. The light etched upon him did not dim. It continued to glow, emitting a faint light even as he spotted the man heading for Kirishima—who had his back turned, shaking Kacchan by the shoulders to try and rouse him.
Izuku’s hand fumbled limply, smacking his own face in an attempt to open up his receiver. “K-Kiri… shima…”
His friend froze, glancing up only in time to see the villain drop down in front of him, another stun device at the ready.
Kirishima hardened immediately, crossing his arms to accept the blow. The weapon snapped upon impact, shattered to pieces against armor tougher than nails with a personality to match. “Try again, creep,” Kirishima grumbled, rearing his fist back.
Izuku took Ochako into his arms, holding her close, and rolled them both into freefall over the rail’s edge.
“Wait—” Izuku swallowed. Kirishima had forgotten. “T-The shield—”
Sure enough, his fist made impact with a solid surface, Kirishima wincing with the sparks that dusted away from his attack. Izuku tucked Ochako’s head into his shoulder, as something cold pressed across his back and legs, funneling them gently back towards the street.
Kirishima kept pushing. It proved too much, however, when the figure stepped forward, throwing his fist away from the shield.
Todoroki whirled from where he’d caught Izuku and Ochako, raising his right hand again. He’d used his ice too much, sealing off every street. A thin sheet snaked his face. Even still, he slapped his hand once more to the asphalt, conjuring a stalagmite beneath the villain’s feet.
The villain merely used it as a springboard, flipping over Kirishima. From upside down, he took his rock-solid wrist, twisting his weight to use the young man’s momentum against him and knock him right off his feet. Kirishima grunted as he landed, the roadway cracking beneath him.
The villain grabbed Kacchan once more, dragging him closer.
And, just as he’d done to Izuku and Ochako, he pressed their wrists together.
A light identical to theirs glimmered through the mist and neon. Somewhere, faintly, Izuku hoped that Kirishima’s Quirk would protect them, would block whatever horrible pain awaited them. But that hope was dashed immediately.
Kirishima cried out. The silvery light bloomed around them, circling their arms, just as it had Izuku’s. Kneeling, the unbreakable Red Riot cradled his arm to his chest, warily looking to the same mark on his closest friend.
Todoroki, the last one standing, gave chase.
Izuku and Ochako slid down the makeshift ramp, finally coming to a halt on his back somewhere in the middle of the crossing. Something told him he needed to get up, get moving, help Todoroki take down this man. His hood stuck out above his head, and while he knew that Ochako wasn’t heavy in the least, that he could lift her with ease even without One for All, he’d done it so many times before, he just… couldn’t find the strength to. His muscles contracted as he willed them to move, vision growing blurry while the figure vaulted onto a streetlamp, then onto a balcony. Then further, further, out of their reach.
Gotta… get up.. gotta help… He’s a…
Murderer…
The villain paused, and Izuku caught full sight of the kitsune mask’s paint—every line, every talisman, every faded nick in the wood. From the corner of his eye, the shining light on his arm dimmed. A second later, Kacchan and Kirishima’s lights did the same. It was as if the man was telling him something, with those sculpted yellow eyes, but Izuku could not fathom what it could possibly be.
Todoroki shot out a stream of fire, working to melt the very ice he created. The villain launched into the sky again. Over their barrier.
Get up…
Get up…
His head swam. He held Ochako tighter. Hands were on his shoulders and arms, voices in his ear, as his sight faded in and out. Why was it so hard to stay awake? He’d remained conscious through much worse. The device hadn’t hurt him badly enough, so why—?
“Midoriya.” Todoroki. He grunted in response, but didn’t ease his hold on Ochako. In his daze, the hands pulling at him were not kind, and he would not hand his best friend over to them. “Midoriya, it’s all right. You can let go.”
“’Raka, she’s…”
“She’s gonna be okay. We’re going to bring you to the hospital. All of you.” Izuku peeled his eyes open, meeting Todoroki’s narrowed gaze. Todoroki looked up from him, to where Izuku knew Kacchan and Kirishima should be. “Let go.”
He obeyed, pushing down the strange way his heart twisted as the strangers lifted her off of him. They would help her. They would help her, she would be fine. He grit his teeth. “But… the villain…”
Todoroki placed a hand on his shoulder as Izuku rolled himself onto his side, gently trying to keep him from getting up. “I sent faster heroes after him. Don’t worry. I notified the old man already, the city’s going to be placed on high alert. We’re going to catch him.”
He frowned, eyes falling to somewhere near Izuku’s midsection. Green eyes followed his gaze.
The light may have dimmed, but it hadn’t disappeared traceless.
There, around his wrist, just below the curve of his hand, a strange iridescent mark weaved intricate designs across his veins and scars. It shimmered in the neon light, so unfamiliar to him. This marking—it had to have been left by the villain. That was it. His true Quirk. But... what was it? It was impossible to tell, and an ominous feeling settled in his burning throat. Bad. This is so bad.
Darkness clawed at him, and Todoroki’s half-soothing voice did nothing to placate his mounting anxiety as his eyes slid shut, exhausted body going slack as coherency clocked out for the evening.
Murderer.
They’d let a murderer slip away. And he’d used his Quirk on them.
Uraraka-san… Kacchan… Kirishima…
Please. Please, be okay.