Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki stood at the edge of one of many identical islands, staring down past the carved drop into the pool of omnipresent mist. Cool tendrils swirled up to caress his nose, sinking once more to hide the mortal realm below. He stirred the aether with his spear like the ladle of a vast opalescent stew.
There was no water in the Plain of High Heaven. Rivers flowed with iridescent mist, scintillant air curling around floating cages of land. Seasons changed neither the landscape nor the weather. It did not rain on the gods. The power of the plain itself sustained the trees that grew and shaped themselves into symmetrical balance.
When he first ascended, Katsuki would dive head-first into the sky, godly power launching him across the heavens. As he contemplated the jump now, he knew he would simply fall until the threads that connected him to this plain pulled him back up. His fires had waned, mere embers coveted in his hands.
Katsuki never asked for these powers, and their loss made his taste for weakness all the more bitter. He lifted his foot to hover over the great space. Daring to test the boundaries of those he knew watched him, he pressed more of his weight forward.
A force hauled him away from the edge.
Like a leopard cub scruffed by its mother, he was yanked by the back of his neck, only to be thrown to the floor meters away. Heaven’s lights swirled in his eyes; the butt of his spear slapped and dragged across the floor.
He landed hard, sucking in a ragged breath.
"You’ve been disconnected." The voice of his master was as practiced and diplomatic as always.
The greater god loomed over Katsuki, kimono billowing over mantis-like limbs that scaled the sky, desperate to shade those beneath him. Even as Katsuki stood, Hakamada watched him from behind the length of his nose.
"I sensed greatness in your human form, and I granted you eternity." He leaned forward, leveling their noses. "I had such power because of the mortals, those who pay us tribute and grace us with their favor. We would be nothing without them, Bakugou. They give devotion and we receive strength, but we must return their faith in goodwill. You’ve done nothing for them since you ascended."
The sparks of a long-burning fire raced up his spine. "I gave my life—"
Threads from the greater god’s kimono lashed out, wrapping around Katsuki’s neck. He clawed at them with his free hand, only to be frozen in place by more of Hakamada’s power. Threads coiled around his wrists, locking them in place, his spear held in a frozen, white-knuckled grip.
"And how long ago did you die?" Hakamada asked. "How long has it been since your life on Middle Land ended in victorious carnage?"
Hakamada loosened the threads around his neck, while those around his wrists tightened enough for Katsuki’s heart to beat through his fingertips—a warning and a request. Neither one Katsuki would head. He snarled in reply.
"Centuries have passed, and they’ve forgotten you."
"I was a hero!" Katsuki yelled. "And now I’m expected to grovel? Because you chose my afterlife for me?"
"You are expected to teach them, reveal the truth of the heart to them. I used their strength to tie you to the Plain of High Heaven." He played cat’s cradle with the threads sewn deep into Katsuki’s back. "It is your duty to return that strength, yet you choose to do nothing, disconnecting yourself from their struggles. For that, your spirit has weakened."
"I never asked for this."
"No? You spent your entire mortal life pursuing greatness and not once did you wish to be recognized for it?" He gave the threads in Katsuki’s back another tug. "You were willing to risk your life then. How far are you willing to go to keep your power now?"
"It is not mine," he choked out. "It never was."
Hakamada tilted his head and the threads around Katsuki’s hands fell loose—just barely, just enough. He ripped away from the greater god’s power.
Freeing a hand, he cut away the remaining ties with his blade. He clutched the knot of threads behind his back and swung his spear in a blind arc. Lightning flashed down his spine. His vision blurred. The sweet air of Heaven escaped his lungs, forcing him to gulp down heaving gags. Hakamada shouted at him, but the ringing in his ears muffled the words.
Katsuki dove for the edge. Scrambling across the pristine ground on all fours, something thin and red caught his eye. A piece of string tangled within itself, unfeeling between his fingers. It trailed along the glossy floor, disappearing into the skies below.
He followed it.
Flashes of red flooded his vision as he plummeted into the mists that separated the Heavenly Plain from earth.
In the right morning light, when the village was quiet and the sun was preparing to rise, Eijirou thought that the forest tried speaking to him. Its voice grew more persistent as the village thinned, so many of its people lying in restless sleep or leaving before the sickness gripped their lungs. The forest frightened him. It too had taken people from their village, those curious or desperate enough to seek the top.
He listened as the winds howled through the trees like ghosts and the leaves whispered secrets to one another, but he couldn’t make out their message.
Like he did every morning, he loaded his saddlebags full of ink sticks, gathered his mule’s lead, and closed the stall gate, setting out on his trip down the mountain. Unlike any morning before, a monstrous gust of wind roared past him, a beast made of air that carried him forward on his toes and summoned an army of knee-high tornadoes.
Eijirou sucked in a breath as his weight returned to his feet. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes, black as his ink and stinging his eyes in the fierce air.
The wind crashed across the fields in the valley, a dragon of air that tore through the grain and swept up toward the heavens where the clouds swirled and danced. The sky parted over the Western hills. Blue turned to grey, grey turned to white, white turned to golden light so blinding Eijirou had to turn away.
And then everything went dark behind his eyelids.
The sky settled. The light faded as quickly as it arrived. He blinked. The dawn was still and dark, as quiet as it ever was.
Glancing at his mule, he asked, "You saw that, right?"
It huffed and nibbled at his hair, plaits thrown askew and hanging over his shoulder.
Eijirou looked out over the fields once more, only to see his small valley sitting in familiar stillness. He looked at his mule again. It dropped his braid and began walking down the road, dragging him by the lead grasped limply in his hand.
Jogging to catch up, he shook himself and continued on his journey. His mule clearly wasn't worried, so he needn’t be either. He took one last look at the Western hillside behind him, where the roof of the abandoned temple peeked through the trees as it did on any other day.
The leaves of the forest rustled as they followed him along the road.