Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day Izuku Midoriya was born, a green flash was visible just above the sun’s upper edge as it dipped below the horizon, where the Pacific waters of Suruga bay met the sky. Caused by infrared coherent light upconverting to visible green light, the green pillar of light above the sun was little more than a scientific oddity worthy of some photos, and an odd factoid or two on that evening's news. Still, as Inko Midoriya looked out the window of the hospital from her bed, she could not help but feel as though this was certain to be a good sign for the child in her arms- that the heavens had looked down upon her son, and given their tacit approval.

A newborn Izuku looked out the window of the maternity ward at the green flash in the arms of his loving mother, his eyes squinted closed in the way a newborn's often are.

When he looked back, his eyes were open, the pupils a vibrant, neon green. And though the midwife had said it was a dull sea green a scant few hours ago, the evidence clearly spoke to the contrary, so it was written off as a minor case of mistaken colour and recorded as such.

 Thirteen years on, those very same neon green eyes pooled with tears as they looked up at the darkened ceiling above the bed of their owner.

The doctor's words, close to seven years ago, echoed through Izuku’s mind as he stared up into the inky darkness of his room.

Miss Midoriya… I'm afraid at this point, there's no hope for him.

What? I'm sorry, but surely there must be some mistake. You told us yourself that he had one joint in his pinky toe and that he was probably just a late bloomer.

I did- and for that, I apologize. Your son… to put it simply, functionally has no quirk. At this stage, if he was a late bloomer, by now we would have detected some kind of quirk factor at least, but he has no noticeable variations to the norm. Certain people develop their quirks late, yes, but for some, their quirks are so subtle, or simply so difficult for the user to activate that they are never activated at all. I… I'm sorry, Izuku.

In a strange, morbid way, Izuku would actually have preferred it if he was quirkless. At least then, he'd be bullied, made fun of, ostracized- but at least there'd be some people like him. At least then he would be able to sleep at night knowing it wasn't his fault, and not stay up wondering if he did have a quirk, and he just wasn't good enough to activate it. At least then, he could know his dreams of UA and being a hero were denied by nature, not by his own lack of skill.

ta-ta-tap, ta-tap, tap, tap.

Perhaps he was just making mountains out of molehills. Today was a bad day, sure, but at least he'd gotten to see a villain fight, on the way home from school! Sure, he also had to sit in the back and say nothing when his class were presenting their projects about their own quirks, but that made up for it! Plus, it was a Friday night- that had to count for something!

tap, ta-ta-ta-ta-tap, ta-ta-ta-tap, ta-ta-ta-ta-tap.

Izuku turned his eyes to the windows, covered by his All Might branded curtains. Had he been imagining that tapping?

ta-ta-ta-tap, tap-

Nope, definitely happening, and definitely coming from his window.

Izuku gets up off his bed, walking over to the window and pulling the curtains open.

A dull grey… robot? Stared at him from outside the window. It was slightly bigger than Izuku's open hand, had six stubby, blocky legs, and a small, triangular head with a single green orb for an eye that swung down to look down at its underbelly on a hinge. Seeing his perplexed gaze, the robot would hop off the glass, hovering in the air as it stared at Izuku expectantly. “Sorry! Are you- should I…” He would start, as the robot stared at him, before cocking its head slightly, almost in confusion or annoyance. “Right, right.” He would say sheepishly, opening the window to feel the cool night air rushing in. The robot angled itself forward, floating inside before plonking itself squarely on his head, within his mop of green hair.

The metal was cold, slimy and wet, but felt oddly organic- like it had a small, barely perceptible pulse to it. It stank of seawater and algae.

“Whoa-Hey! Get off there!” Izuku would say, hands grasping at its vaguely dish shaped body as the robot sank its legs down for support into his hair, bleeping at him before a small electrical jolt went through his scalp where its head was sitting, making Izuku's neck twitch as he inhaled in pain, instinctively ripping the thing off before taking a look at it. “Ow! Man, you're gross. Where did you come from, the bottom of the ocean? What are you anyways, some kind of support equipment?” He would ask, holding it in outstretched arms by the crook beneath its top pair of legs, the head of the robot looking down at him. Up close, it was clear his first assumption was at least partially right- it was slick with a faint green film of algae,  a few barnacles had grown in hard to reach cracks around the drone, and a few loose strands of seaweed and other flotsam were looped around a few of its limbs. At his latter question, the robot bleeped, and shook its head left and right, almost as if disagreeing. “Oh, okay, sorry-Wait, can you understand me?” He would ask, eyes widening slightly. The robot moved its head up and down in response, and Izuku's eyes widened further. “Are you a quirked animal, then? Like UA’s principal?” He would ask. It shook its head again, before squirming slightly in his grip. “Right, right, sorry.” He would say, letting go of the robot as it began to float towards the ground. “Hey- wait!”

The robot froze, hovering a few centimetres off the ground, looking up at him expectantly- or rather, at his outstretched hand. Was he-

Izuku tilts his hand and pulls it back towards him.

In perfect mimicry, the robot tilts and floats up.

Izuku blinks once, then twice, before squeezing his eyes shut tightly to-
His room, rendered in a detailed, monochromatic green. Him, standing in front of it with eyes shut. Male, [RACE:DATA_INCONCLUSIVE], biological age 13.1 Years. Height 3.162 Cubits. Reach 3.165 Cubits. Heart rate 107. Blood pressure 140/90. Threat potential: Nil. Atmospheric data: 78.08% Nitrogen, 20.95% Oxygen, 0.9-

His eyes snap open, breath running ragged through his chest. “What was that? Was I seeing what you saw?” He asks, placing a hand on his chest to still his breathing, his senses still reeling from the momentary information overload.

The robot nods.

Izuku's breath hitches in his throat. His ears start ringing, his breath loud in his skull as he feels his mouth run dry. His tongue feels like a wet slab of meat in an arid cavern as he swallows, before asking the question he'd been thinking of but was too terrified to bring voice to.

“Was that… Was that my quirk?”

A nod.

The laughter comes first, bubbling up from his chest in the pure, primal joy of relief, followed shortly by the tears of pure joy. Izuku stumbles backwards onto his bed, clutching the grey robot tightly- the stench and grime forgotten, amidst hot tears and sheer relief. The confused robot, for its part, didn't move much at all, and simply allowed Izuku to hug it as if it might vanish the moment he let it go, his head nuzzling into the unyielding metal of the robot. And for the first time in almost seven years, he simply drifted into the abyss between waking and sleeping, his mind unbothered by concerns of what might have been.

Izuku wakes in the middle of the night, gradually in the inexplicable way that one sometimes does. The pale cream light of the moon filters through his window, casting long shadows across his room and bleaching the vibrant yellows of the All Might posters around his room into dull greys, his various outfits now cast in dull blacks under the dim light. He glances down at his hands, finding the robot absent, and a momentary chill runs down his spine. Was it all just a dream? Izuku whips his head to the right, eyes sweeping across the room, frantically trying to prove to himself it was real, that it wasn't just some dream or flight of fancy. Izuku's eyes spot the robot, hovering towards one of the other ends of his room near a fan, a few droplets of water still visible on its surface. Yet the reassurance he gains is only momentary, quickly subsumed by the frankly bizarre sight before him.

Near the foot of his bed, just next to one of his shelves full of his rare All Might figurines, stands a skeleton, made of the same metal as the insectoid robot he had let in his room- although far cleaner. Interlocking crescent plates, framed by chains of golden, coffin-shaped tiles, hang down from its waist to the ground, where thick, corded cables glowing a vibrant green hang down, continuing to be visible through the gaps between the ribs of its torso, painted a dark blue almost like lapis lazuli. A golden, coffin shaped plate with some strange symbol on it sits where a real skeletons sternum would be, with even more gilding fanning out above the tile, covering where his collarbone would be. The rich, lapis blue of his chest fans out along the edges of two large, silvered metal shoulder pads, a cascading cape of metal tiles connected to a rigid hood above it. Yet for all its humanlike tendencies, they all ceased at its skull. Cables and pistons suggesting thick, corded muscles lay bunched out below a starkly inhuman face- rectangular, too long, with glowing green eyes set amid a heavy brow and a dark strip of metal where a mouth should be with regular slits suggesting an appearance not unlike the childish skulls he had drawn as a kindergartener. It was humanoid enough to be recognizable as a face, but distorted and warped- as though someone had taken a regular skull and stretched it.

 In its right hand, it held a truly massive staff- though the skeleton was by no means small, it was easily 2 metres tall. The staff itself, however, was so massive it nearly touched his ceiling, even held at a slight diagonal as it was. The skeleton grasped it by a golden shaft, terminating in one end with a sharpened point rested against the ground, while flaring out on the other end in a series of tight, glowing coils before flaring out again into a blade that reminded Izuku of old arrowheads, although with a segment from the point to the base removed and replaced with a sphere, giving it a hooked, bifurcated appearance. Izuku felt his pulse quicken as his body tensed with fear, but the skeleton seemed to pay him no heed, its attention fixed on his pre-production, unpainted figurine of Young Age All Might. Finding it hasn't been easy- Izuku had to dumpster dive at a factory in an industrial park two prefectures away to get it- and Izuku would have been excited to see someone else look at it in such fascination, if it were not a skeletal giant standing in his room in the middle of the night. Although, it wasn't so bad- at least it was ignoring him.

At least, Izuku had thought, until the skeleton spoke, a green light pulsing behind its mouth as it did so.

“You know, this is quite the private exhibition you have assembled for yourself here. An excellent choice of subject, piece and period. And though it is certainly not without fault- a lack of preservative efforts for certain pieces, and some rather dilettante efforts at restoration for others- for a child, working with limited resources, this is quite remarkable.”

The skeleton spoke with a rich, noble voice that called to mind scenes of royal courts and jewelled chandeliers, and took Izuku back slightly. Admittedly, he wasn't sure what an over 2 metre tall robot skeleton should sound like, but it certainly wasn't that. “I… Thank you! I tried my best. But- who are you?” Izuku said, racking his brain for heroes and villains he'd seen that might look something like that- because who else could someone like that be?

The skeleton paused, turning slightly as it regarded Izuku, before responding. “Ah, I apologise. Where are my manners?” It spoke, looking down at the barely-teenage Izuku still swaddled in his blankets. “I go by many names, but to read off all my titles would likely take a full week, so I will spare you the time. I am Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord and Chief Archeovist of the Nihilakh dynasty of the Necrontyr Empire, ruler of Solemnace and curator of her galleries - you may address me as Lord Trazyn, or simply Lord if you wish. And you, Izuku Midoriya, are of great interest to me.”

Chapter Text

Izuku sits cross legged on the bed, looking up at Trazyn in abject confusion. His mouth opens, then closes, before opening again. “I-am I dreaming?” He questions himself, blinking as he shakes his head.

“No, child, you are not. Come now- don't be foolish. Make whatever checks you so wish, you will find yourself awake and lucid.” Trazyn would respond, looking down at Izuku as he walked towards his bed, the tipped end of his staff tapping off the floor with each step he took.

“Then, are you part of my quirk, or something? Like how people have sentient quirks?” Trazyn actually laughed in response to this, a condescending, bemused chuckle that wouldn't sound out of place on an expensive golf course. “Oh, no, certainly not, dear child. Although your Quirk is of great interest to me, I must admit, but no.” He would say.

Izuku stared at the obviously nonhuman creature in front of him, and blinked. “Then, are you an alien or something? Or some kind of ancient human? I've never heard of a Necrontyr before. How'd you get here?” Izuku would ask, staring markedly at the symbol on Trazyn's chest, which did look remarkably Egyptian to him.

“Alien, yes. I'm curious how you'd…” Trazyn  would follow Izuku's gaze to the ankh on his chest, nodding momentarily. “Ah. While yes, I am ancient, and I am an alien, despite the interesting parallels, I am not related to the Egyptians of your earth. As for how I arrived here, the question of how is less important as compared to the question of why. You see, child, when the Necrontyr marched into the fires of biotransference to leave death to lesser beings, we did not think of the ramifications. We discarded our sickly forms for these metal bodies, but did not realise that to be Immortal is to require… Entertainment.” Trazyn looks over to Izuku's shrine of All Might memorabilia, before continuing. “Some of my kind pretend to ignore their bodies of metal and believe themselves to still be organic, and engage in an eternity of merry campaigning. Others busy themselves with dissecting lesser beings to improve themselves, or with travelling the galaxy. For myself, I enjoy collecting things. Objects, yes, but also people, places- moments. Alas, from whence I hail, things have grown rather trite. Perhaps I have spent too long collecting, and no longer see some of the joy in it anymore.” He would explain, as he began to turn slowly and circle Izuku's room. “I needed a sabbatical, and I believe this reality is rather appropriate. An unspoiled world, a fresh history, a new culture- utterly fascinating, I'm sure you would agree. And of course, the question of these… Quirks.” He would say, turning to look at Izuku.

“Normally the Quirks of this world would be little more than biological oddities, but your particular Quirk is… Fascinating, to put it lightly.” He would say, stopping by Izuku's bed, towering over his small form.

“My quirk?” He would ask, tilting his hand upwards as the robotic insect skittered across the floor and between Trazyn’s metal feet to hop onto his lap.”I… didn't even know I had it until this guy showed up. And I've tried my whole life to use it on things, and nothing’s ever worked. All I can do is control this robot- and see you, or something, I guess. How could it possibly be interesting enough for someone to come from… wherever Solemnace is and find me?” He would ask, looking down as his voice dipped in shame, absentmindedly petting the head of the robot.

Trazyn chuckled again at this, the green light pulsing behind his lipless mouth. “You sell yourself short. When I sent this Scarab to this reality, it landed in the ocean you call the Atlantic and completed its checks, but before I could order it to do anything, you were able to send interstitial commands to it and compel it to travel across half this planet to you. Then, you resisted the mindshackle scarabs that this scarab attempted to implant in your brain. And finally- you successfully streamed a portion of your consciousness to the scarab. Just one of those feats would make you interesting. Two would make you dangerous. But three of them…” Trazyn makes eye contact with Izuku at this, twin orbs of green fire set in a deathless face burning into his skull.

“Three makes you fascinating.”

Izuku furrows his brow, seemingly deep in thought. “It makes sense that my quirk would be an emitter type, since both mom and dad have emitter type quirks, but it's nothing like either of theirs. I guess it could technically be like mom's small object manipulation, just evolved to a more complex kind of manipulation, but evolving to only affect these kinds of alien technology, and since my body adapted to use it, it also made me immune to whatever a mindshackle is, and-” Izuku jolts, suddenly realising that he had been muttering to himself. “Ah! I'm sorry, Si- Mist- I mean, Lord Trazyn!” He explains, clapping a hand over his mouth as a warm flush of embarrassment comes over his face. And though Trazyn's face was definitely a sheet of immobile metal, and clearly incapable of emoting, Izuku could swear he could see the faint suggestion of amusement on the sculpted death mask of grey metal.

“You know, child, I had first planned to simply have this scarab consume some of your personal effects to produce a tesseract labyrinth to collect you. But, after examining some of your thought processes while you streamed your consciousness to the scarab, I had decided against it. It is rather clear I have made the right decision. You see- to send something across the veil that separates realities requires a tremendous amount of energy.” As if to prove a point, Trazyn suddenly raises his staff up, and Izuku flinches, fully expecting the forked head to smash through the ceiling and shower them with plaster and concrete.

Instead, nothing happens. The very head and pole of the staff itself raises through the ceiling, passing through as though it were not there at all. “Sending my own body here, tempting as it was, was not economical. Data, however, is far easier to send. Currently my consciousness is being streamed over to this scarab, and after your own little adventure through its senses, it is being streamed into your mind.” Izuku stares at the staff, then at Trazyn, his eyes wide. Sure, he'd heard of possession quirks, but this was incredible! How much was he capable of in this state? Was he able to move around his regular body while doing this… projection thing? Could he read Izuku's tho-

“Yes, to a limited extent.”

Izuku's mouth hangs open in shock as the robot looks down at him. He wasn't entirely sure if he was imagining it or not, but he could swear Trazyn had the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable on his metal face right this very second, before breaking out into a hearty metallic chortle. “Ah, dear child, you are far too easy to read. Nevertheless, with such an analytical brain and such abilities, simply having my consciousness take over yours would be a far better decision.” He would say, as Izuku withered under the funeral gaze of the massive robotic creature before him.

“W-w-w-wait! You-you don't have to do that! You'd never get away with it, even if you do!” He would sputter out, as his mouth goes dry at the implications of what Trazyn had said.

“Oh? And why not, child?” Trazyn would ask, the faint glint of amusement colouring his tone sending icy cold shivers down Izuku's spine- like he was simply playing with him.

“I… You won't be able to escape! If you take over my mind, my mom would definitely find out! And…” Izuku's mind churns, wheeling out intricate chains of logic as he thinks like his life was on the line- because it was. “You can clearly also control those robots, but you only have one- or else I'd have called the others here too. So even if you run away, and find a way to make more of those scarabs, a few heroes could easily beat you. Even someone like Mt. Lady would be able to take you out while alone!”

Trazyn seems to be amused by this, spreading a hand to accentuate his point as he speaks in turn in a bemused tone. “A fair point, but what, then, will stop me from simply lying low and building my strength? Seventeen thousand juveniles between 10-19 go missing in your nation every year. What's one more?” Trazyn would ask, and Izuku is almost ashamed at how quickly the answer comes to him.

“Because I'm a freak. People will notice. The 13 year old with a quirk that hasn't activated yet vanishes one day? The first thing people will think is that my quirk activated and I got so mad with power I became a villain. They'd hunt me- you- down like a dog.”

“A fair argument, but I see no reason to agree to your line of thinking. At the end of the day, I hold all the cards, do I not? What leverage do you have besides words?” Trazyn would ask, the same infuriatingly joyous tone audible in his voice as he spoke, as though this was incredibly entertaining to him, somehow.

Izuku moves without thinking. He surges to his feet, clambering onto the windowsill of his room and throwing open the window, standing silhouetted before the night sky as a midnight sea breeze whips through his hair and clothes. The tips of his hair brushing the ceiling, he would spread his hands outwards, one hand bracing off the edge of the wall as he leans back. “I have this.” He says, looking down at Trazyn as his eyes begin to water, his emotions running hot in his chest as he stares down at the robot- no, the Villain in front of him. “I can let go right now and save everyone from you. Maybe I won't die from a fall from this height, but you won't be able to escape with broken bones.” Tears stream down his face, as his hand shakes, the edges of the wall digging into his palms, but a broad grin splits his face, quivering as he struggles to pull together a smile to mimic the toothy grin of his childhood hero, staring at him through static, unblinking eyes in his room. “I- I might not be good for much, but if I can do this, I can save everyone with a smile.”

Trazyn pauses, staring up at Izuku, appearing almost speechless for a few moments, before he opens his palm, the staff in his hand vanishing in a flash of green light. Bringing his hands together, Trazyn would actually clap, each clap a resounding shockwave of metal against metal, making Izuku wince. “Masterfully done, child. A thoroughly logical argument from beginning to end, and a decisive seizure of the upper hand. Providence has given you not just the abilities of a Necron Lord, but the mind of one as well. Be proud, child- you have passed with flying colours.” He would say, with a tone almost bordering on pride in his voice as he spoke between claps.

Izuku blinks, confusion written plainly upon his face as the night air tousles his green locks. “Passed? Am- was I being tested? What about taking over my mind, and all that? It was all a bluff?” He would say, suspicion edging his voice as he glanced down at Trazyn. “But of course. If it was so easy to take over your mind, would I not have done it while you slept unawares?” He would say, gesturing to Izuku's bed. “Furthermore… Were it so easy to break the chains that the fires of biotransference forged for us, we would have done so long ago.” He would explain vaguely, a tone edging into sorrow or wistfulness peeking into his voice. Truth be told, Izuku still didn't understand a lot of the terms Trazyn was flinging around, but he roughly grasped the idea anyways.

Izuku leans forward and shakily steps off the windowsill, sitting cross legged on his bed. “Then… What were you testing me for?” He would ask, almost subconsciously reaching over and picking up the scarab on his bed, which flailed momentarily but settled down as Izuku put it in his lap and began petting its head.

“To put it simply, I believe it would be ideal for us to put together an… arrangement. We both have desires the other can address- you wish to be a Hero, and I wish to expand my collection. There is so much living history in your world- heroes, villains, and the like- and none of them deserve to rot in a cell, or die in battle. And in exchange, I could educate you to make full use of this… Quirk you have. Between myself and the databanks in this Scarab, we both have an encyclopaedic knowledge of Necrontyr technology and training, more than enough to forge you into one of the performers this world calls Heroes.” Trazyn would say, looking at Izuku’s dumbfounded expression as he summoned his obliterator again, looking expectantly for Izuku's response.

Tears begin welling up in Izuku's eyes as he looks up at Trazyn, nodding as he wiped them away with a palm. “I accept.” He says, before even thinking- for what reason does he have to say no?

Trazyn cannot smile, but his mechanical eyes do appear to show a broad mirthful grin behind them. “A swift answer. I had expected nothing less.”

Chapter Text

Izuku wasn't quite sure what to expect immediately after a world shattering revelation like that, but it wasn't just going back to sleep and waking up like it was a normal Saturday morning. He had expected to wake up a whole different person, with bright eyes and friends blowing up his phone asking to hang out. Instead, he just woke up like any other Saturday morning: a phone with no notifications, his mom's cooking audible in the background, and the sun casting shadows into his room.

This Saturday morning, however, came with a (noticeably cleaner- did Trazyn instruct it to clean itself up?) scarab in his bed, and a robot skeleton looking at him from across the room.

Izuku realises he had forgotten something.

“MOM! MOM! MOM!” Izuku scoops up the scarab with both hands, sprinting towards the kitchen with the (apparently very confused) scarab in his arms. “It came in! My quirk came in!” Izuku bursts into the kitchen, startling the ever reliable matriarch of the Midoriya family as the spatula in her hand drops to the ground. “Wh- Izuku, what?” She would gasp, turning to face her son as he thrusts the scarab held in his arms out, showing it off proudly to her as his green eyes begin watering. “Look! I- I have a quirk now! It triggered last night!”

The scarab, for its part, looked at Inko with the singular green orb on its head, wriggling its legs slightly in Izuku's grip as he exposed its underbelly to her. Inko's vision blurs as she looks at her son, eyes watering in kind as she rushes forward and hugs him tightly, squeezing hard as tears spill from the corners of her eyes. “I'm… I'm so happy for you. I… I never lost hope.” Inko sobs into her son's shoulder, as his own tears begin to flow. Izuku, for his part, would let go of the scarab, hugging his mother tightly as his own tears begin to leak out. The scarab, for its part, sort of confusedly sits there between the two, looking into the middle distance in the ceiling as it is crushed between the emotional mother and son.

Inko eventually disconnects from the hug, a shaky smile on her face as she rubs the head of the Scarab. “What about your quirk? Does he need breakfast too?” She would ask, looking at the little metal creature. “And you, young man- we should get you to the quirk registry office once you figure out what it does.” She would smile, ruffling Izuku's hair as he smiles broadly.

The first meal of this day- breakfast, according to Izuku's mother- was a simple affair of rice, grilled fish and a soup made of a paste of fermented soybean and a stock of preserved fish and kelp. The meal spoke clearly of the geographical location of the nation as an archipelago and a historical culture of fishing and was fascinating in its own right- Trazyn could easily fill a book with the implications and cultural importance such a meal showed, and a sub-mind of his had already completed much of such a dissertation- but his primary mind was occupied with more pressing matters. A cursory analysis of even the most basic of cultural artefacts gleamed from the bedroom of his new assistant- both physical and digital, in the case of the delightfully primitive calculation machine in Izuku's room, and the planet-spanning network it was connected to- revealed a striking lack of appetite for lethal violence in this society. Despite the archives of gladiatorial matches between students televised to the entire planet and viewed by millions, this society seemed to have a strong distaste for death or disfigurement, yet adored the spectacle of adolescents beating one another senseless.

This complicated things substantially.

Trazyn was not unfamiliar with non-lethal methods of acquiring specimens. It was only logical- if he was not, he would never have managed to amass such a wide collection. Restoration was time consuming, and expensive, after all. Best to subdue specimens without killing them, after all. But Izuku and Trazyn were fundamentally dissimilar. After all, one had a certain degree of freedom that came with being backed up by resurrection protocols and legions of Lychguard, Immortals and Warriors, as well as untold masses of constructs and weaponry. And Trazyn was no warrior in any stretch of the imagination. His knowledge of combat and individual martial prowess was something he inherently was familiar with, something that came with his chassis. To teach that to Izuku would be like trying to teach him how to breathe, or blink, or eat. Difficult, to say the least. No, Trazyn would need assistance.

He sends an interstitial command to Solemnace. Prep work on a specimen begins. But it would take time- best to find other things to occupy time with, he mused to himself. Trazyn busied himself with a rudimentary analysis of figures of historical merit, and their current whereabouts in this world, while a detached part of his mind recorded the Midoriyas’ breakfast. No sense in wasting good archival material, after all.

An hour or two pass uneventfully, with the Scarab disassembling the food provided to it, the mother and son discussing not much in particular, and the 8 foot tall alien robot skeleton with a strong British accent continually observing the whole affair, outside of Izuku's perception. Admittedly, he did find the whole affair rather fascinating, but there were more pressing duties to undertake.

Trazyn wills himself to appear in Izuku's vision, subtly twisting the electric pulses from his optic nerve to his brain to render himself before him. To Izuku, his appearance is instantaneous- a single blink, and the skeleton is standing across the room, looking at him. “A fascinating cultural display, but I believe enough of the morning has passed. Let’s begin. Your room, five minutes.” He speaks simply, before willing himself to vanish again.

Izuku sits upright, suddenly blinking as the skeletal giant vanishes before his eyes, looking around before speaking up to his mother. “Mom? I'm gonna go mess around with my quirk.” He would say, standing up and doing his dishes before walking off to his room, suddenly conscious of his every movement. His posture has to be perfect, or else it might look like he's plotting something. He can't seem too excited, or too sad. He can't move too fast, or else he'll look suspicious, but too slow and it might seem like something's wrong and he can't have his mom ask because if she asks she might think his quirk has something wrong with it like everyone definitely will on Monday at school and-
“Stop that.”
Izuku looks up, having just noticed that he had made it into the sanctuary of his room, the door shut behind him. Trazyn was standing before him, looking down at Izuku with a gaze almost approaching contempt. “I…Sorry. What-” He starts, before being cut off again. “Stop that. You are no Chronomancer, so please cease your doomsaying about some supposed future. It is unbecoming, and after recent events I have little patience for such behaviours” Trazyn would say with a gaze in his orbs of unnatural green fire that belied a much longer story, looking down at Izuku. “Now, I believe it is time to begin. You do plan to apply to this… U.A. to become a hero, after all, and there's only 10 months left until the entrance examinations. Allotting time for your martial development, teaching you the finer arts and educating you in the production, maintenance and use of Necron technology would occupy all the remaining time. You should begin immediately.”  

Izuku nods, walking over to his desk and pulling out a black notebook and a pen. “Yeah, I was actually gonna- Wait, how did you know I wanted to go to UA? Can you-” Again, Trazyn scoffs. “It's a simple extrapolation of trends. You're obsessed with this All Might, and his alma mater is at the centre of the zeitgeist of the modern era. It's an entirely reasonable assumption.” He would say, shaking his head as a throne of silvery metal and fine golden and lapis artwork seemingly rose out of the floor of his room. “Now, summon your scarab. We shall begin.” He would say, sitting down on the throne with his staff in one hand like a king of old.

“Got it!” Izuku would say excitedly, sitting on his bed as he screwed his eyes shut, focusing on the green image in his mind's eye that he had seen last night. He just needed to make that link again, and-

"Child- What, by the Triarch, are you doing?" Izuku cracks his eyes open, looking up at the metal skeleton staring down at him. And though the skeletal head of the creature of silvery metal was the same as it always was, Izuku could swear, between those glowing green eyes and shut mouth, Trazyn was staring at him with the most confused expression he could muster. "Trying to focus!" Izuku would say back, slightly confused himself. "You look like a damn fool. Stop straining so hard and just feel it. Commanding these lesser constructs should be instinctual to you." Izuku would nod fiercely, breathing deeply as he released the vice grip on his pants he didn't realize he'd been keeping.

"And while you're at it, uncross your legs and relax your body. You're not a monk, these pointless poses will only distract you.” Trazyn would scoff, as Izuku flushed a bright red and nodded again, shutting his eyes and seeing-
The living room, elevation 2 metres above ground level. Gravitic manipulators active, two affected objects logged. primary object: Self. Secondary object: fabric, synthetic. Individual thread diameter 3.22 nm (avg), material: Long chain polyamide, polyester. Fabric size 0.744 x 0.744 Cubits. Current general tasking: Tomb Maintenance. Current specific tasking: Regular servicing & maintenance on observational window. Method of undertaking tasking: Removing foreign particulate matter via means of requisitioned fabric.

Izuku can't blink with his consciousness streamed to this scarab, but the faint suggestion of surprise and confusion ripples across his brain before quelling. He allows the scarab to finish wiping the window, before leaving the cleaning cloth on a counter and piloting it along the outside of his apartment and into his room through an open window.

Controlling the scarab itself was an interesting experience- he had expected it to move like a helicopter, or a plane, but it was more like hitting a cue ball with no friction. He just picked a direction, and the scarab continuously moved there until he either made it stop or adjusted its motion by picking another direction. The commands themselves already sent Izuku down a whole rabbit hole of analysis- was it possible he could have the force increase over time? What if he pivoted the scarab? Would it keep flying in the same direction? How fast could he make it go? If he reacted fast enough, could the scarab keep up?

Izuku moves the scarab into his room and settles it on his lap, opening his eyes and looking up at Trazyn.

The forked head of Trazyn's staff hovered barely an inch away from his neck, Izuku feeling the chthonic energies of the weapon pull at his mind and lap at his consciousness, barely making whispers that he couldn't hear- a sweet siren song of oblivion, just audible from its proximity to him. Trazyn grasped the staff with both hands, his motion halted midswing as beads of sweat trickle down Izuku's brow, the teen quivering imperceptibly in shock. “If I had been here, you would be dead by now. Any enemy could have ended you, because your consciousness was being streamed to the scarab, and you were unaware of your current surroundings. Very sloppy, but an understandable mistake for a first timer. Instead, you should learn to send interstitial commands.” Trazyn would admonish, as the Scarab settled in Izuku's lap. “It’s a simple concept, really. You find a task you need done, add any external conditions you may have, and select units you wish to perform the task. Much easier than streaming your consciousness every time.” He would say, waving a hand as he spoke.

“So, is this just a simpler way to control things?” Izuku would ask, opening his notebook and scribbling down notes rapidly. “I guess that could be useful, especially if I had to control lots of things, but I definitely need to be specific with my commands, or else they might take it the wrong way.” He mutters rapidly, mind racing through possibilities. “Child, patience. There is a time for postulation and hypothesising, but it is not now. Now is a time for learning” Trazyn would say, a hand raised to stop Izuku's rambling. “Send a command for the scarab to produce a sheet of Necrodermis.” He would say, as Izuku nodded and furrowed his brow as he tried to put together a-

[Fabrication order: Necrodermis, cuboidal object, 210mm x 297mm x 0.8mm. Location {Delegator Relative} +0.7m, 0m, -0.2m. Task Delegation: Manual {Scarab Unit 00}]

Izuku would look in surprise as the scarab settled on the bed between the two, the little metal robot settling down on the blanket as green rays of light began emanating from its eye. The ease by which the command came to him was surprising on its own, but the fact that everything was just… seamless was baffling. He had expected to have to translate his thoughts, or have to learn some new language, or something, not just… want something, and have it happen.

Was this how Trazyn got things done all the time? No wonder he was such an ass sometimes.

“Wonderful. When discussing technology, one often fixates on the great triumphs and works. So easily is it done, that we tend to forget the very tools that made these wonderful things, oftentimes more subtly wondrous themselves. Every metropolis has hundreds of titanic machines used to build it, and the legion of sprawling factories building those machines in turn. Every grand piece of engineering has the cogitators used to formulate it, and the millions of programs which make such work possible. Everyone stops to discuss the fine sculptures of the Nihilakh’s Fifteenth Dynasty, but no one pays heed to the design of the chisels, the quality of the marble, or the techniques they used to prepare it.”

The Scarab steps back, a sheet of silvery metal the same size and shape as an A4 sheet of paper lying on Izuku's bed as the green light subsides. Trazyn waves a skeletal hand in the direction of the sheet as he speaks, his voice rich with intonation and passion though his volume barely dips above the normal. “This will be your canvas, and this scarab will be your pen.”

Izuku looks up from his rapid notetaking and into the burning orbs of green light that makes up Trazyn's eyes, and a shiver runs down his spine as the Overlord speaks.

“Are you ready to create art, Izuku Midoriya?

Chapter Text

Inko Midoriya didn't care what anyone else thought about her son's new quirk, in her mind, it was the greatest thing to ever grace this world. She had her doubts with the slightly creepy yet weirdly endearing metal insect her son had showed her at first, but that all changed after breakfast. She had always wanted a dog, or a cat, or a pet in general, but very few pets actually helped out with chores. This little Scarab was nothing like those. It helped get rid of trash, it cleaned, it even did the dishes!

Inko was scared of insects, but this metal bug was rapidly skyrocketing in her list of favourite things, she noted as she headed down the hallway to her room, passing by Izuku's room. Green light flickers in the gap between his door and the floor, as she hears Izuku talking to himself, his pen scribblings faintly audible as a backing track to the events within.

A smile graces her face. Her son always loved analysing the quirks of others. He probably had his entire quirk figured out by now.

There was not a single goddamn thing Izuku Midoriya understood about his quirk.

Sure, it was awesome at first! Once he worked out how to command the Scarab with sentences and words, it was awesome! He could make Necrodermis- he didn't understand anything about it, but he could make stuff out of it- and he could make some other things too, in exchange for energy, and best of all, he just knew he could do it.

He hated that. He wanted to explore his quirk, learn more about it, work out how it worked and why it worked. But the more he learnt about it, the more confused he got. He knew he could make Necrodermis, and he tried to make physical objects after that, but it could only make the few objects he asked it to out of the materials he wanted- an All Might pen, a mug, and a small cube of steel- before it spat out a long error code and made everything else after that out of Necrodermis.

And that was just the physical part of it. He didn't understand anything about the mental aspect at all! When he gave commands to the Scarab, the units all seemed to be in metres, but when he received any information from the Scarab, it was in Cubits- which he didn't understand as a unit at all, but worked out it was probably about 45cm. And it seemed he only needed to send it interstitial commands at the start of a task, but when he wanted to end a task early he didn't need to send a command, and it seemed to follow his intentions more than the words behind them. So could he trigger it without the command? He had no idea, and for someone who was supposed to help him with his quirk, the big metal skeleton over there was being remarkably unhelpful. Actually, he was his own problem, considering he clearly wasn't emoting with his face, but somehow Izuku just knew how he felt when he was speaking, which made even less sense. And he hadn't helped at all, since he kept referencing some ancient videogame like the immortal alien NEET he-

“Well now, I hardly think that's a fair statement. I'm quite gainfully employed, thank you very much.”

Izuku’s head snaps up from the sheets of paper sprawled out on his bed in a spiderweb of notes and theories, several of his ideas written on sticky notes and slapped onto the Scarab, which wiggled its blocky legs trying to remove them. “So you can read my thoughts!” He says, looking up at the immortal curator bending at the waist to look over his shoulder at his notes. Izuku could swear Trazyn grinned at this, even though he had no lips to grin with, as he spoke. “Of course not. You were muttering every word you thought was purely in your head. And I still fail to understand what you mean by “referencing some ancient videogame”.” He would say, as his voice took on a more quizzical tone by the end.

“Well- you keep telling me to “Construct additional Pylons” and all that! I mean, I only know that's a reference because-” Izuku starts, before Trazyn puts a metal finger up. “Oh no, dear child. I was being serious. The functions of this Scarab are highly limited currently. It is, after all, operating largely alone and in a highly limited capacity. I was instructing you to build a Command Pylon.” Trazyn would say, resting a hand on the scarab. “Much of the space in this unit has been carved out for engramatic databanks. For anything beyond simple constructions, you must establish a nodal command network.” He would explain, as the Scarab wriggled again.

 “Oh… okay. Sorry, lord Trazyn.” Izuku would mutter, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “So… to make this nodal command network- how would I do that?” He would ask, subconsciously already preparing an interstitial command. “Well, it's simple. Construct a command pylon, transfer the databanks from this scarab to it, and then instruct this scarab to construct its successor units to replace it for fabrication purposes.” Trazyn would explain. “Then… why didn't you tell me earlier?” Izuku would ask, markedly confused by the tardiness of such an instruction. “Child, we are more similar than you might realise. I am not immune to that sublime moment when one slips into such a trance such that the world falls away from them. It is in such states when the greatest works are done, after all. To interrupt it would be a great sin.” He would explain, standing upright.

Izuku blinks. “But you interrupted me after I was talking about you.”

He could swear he saw the corners of Trazyn's mouth twitch upwards in a smug grin. “Of course. I couldn't simply allow such words to be spoken about me, after all.” He would say, with an air of ironic arrogance about him, and Izuku could only sigh, waving a hand as he was about to send the command, before pausing. “Wait- Fabrication time, 19 months? Hold on, that's not Cubits, that's Khet, so that's… wait- this thing is massive!” He would say in shock, almost dropping his pen as his eyes widened. “It’s bigger than my house! How am I supposed to build this?” He would ask, incredulous.

Trazyn, for his part, would shrug, a painfully human gesture on an inhuman body. “One should never do anything by half measures. Such conduct is unbecoming of a Necron Lord.” Izuku would shake his head, picking his pen back up and beginning to sketch. “Yeah, I can tell. Why would I ever need… 1,000 Astronomical Units of range?” He would ask, pulling out his phone from his pocket and opening the calculator app as he tapped away. “You think too small, Child! Such size is barely enough to qualify as a small fiefdom.” Trazyn would reply, spreading his hands. “It is merely future proofing.” He would say, sounding almost confused by Izuku's lack of comprehension. “What?” Izuku would ask, stunned. “Just how big was the Infinite Empire, then? For our solar system to be a small fiefdom, it'd have to encompass the entire galaxy.” He would muse to himself, scribbling down corrected measurements and specs for his new Pylon on the paper.

Squinting at his writing on the paper, Izuku would slowly pull together the command in his mind. Trazyn had taught him how to send a command based on required specifications instead of just producing the original template, after he had almost punched a hole through his window while fabricating an Ankh, but it wasn't easy at all.

Fabrication order: PYLON, COMMAND. Adjust: Range: 6400km. Network capacity: 1,000 Low Level Construct (Scarab), 500 Low Level Construct (Additional), 40 High Level Construct, 5 Intelligences. Power supply: Integrated self sufficient. Additional capability: Physical interface/display, Engrammatic databank storage.

Moving over to Izuku’s desk, the Scarab would hover some distance away from the right corner of his desk, green rays of light casting from its cyclopean eye as a green outline of an obelisk about the size of a desktop PC began to shimmer. “Well, look at you, little Cryptek.” Trazyn would comment, as the scarab got to work, molecules and atoms fusing and assembling in the air above Izuku's desk. “I believe it's time for you to learn another skill, while we wait.” He would say, turning his head to look at the pile of Necrodermis objects Izuku had made in his experiments. “Tell me, child- do you know what Necrodermis is?” He would ask, as Izuku walked over and picked up a small cube he had made.

“I… I don't know.” He would say, tossing it and catching it. “I thought it was some kind of alloy or something, but it's clearly not that, because it doesn't even scratch itself. And the Scarab won't disassemble any of it, so now I just have this pile of silver junk.” Trazyn would actually laugh at this, a hearty, genuine thing, leaving Izuku baffled as to what he had said wrong. “Ah, child, child, child.” He would say, spreading his hand at the splayed out pile of Necrodermis objects, and Izuku could swear he could see the faintest glimmer of tears of pure mirthful joy in the corners of Trazyn's false eyes. “Millions of lesser beings have thrown away their lives for an amount of Necrodermis less than a tenth as big as this small heap you have here.” He would say, gesturing at the small, orderly pile that couldn't have been more than a couple kilos of Necrodermis in total. “In 727.M39, an Archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus once ordered a whole fleet sent to the Perseus Veil over the mere rumour of a single ingot of Necrodermis unlinked to any tombworld being present there. Imagine that. A hundred ships, legions of Skitarii, millions of tech-priests, untold billions of serfs, three Space Marine chapters, several divisions of Imperial Guard, a whole Knight house- Titans! Fifteen giant machines, the smallest almost 20 metres tall, the biggest almost a hundred metres tall. All that, for one ingot.” Trazyn would say, with the rich fervour and passion of a tour guide explaining some ancient battle.

Izuku, for his part, barely understood a word of what Trazyn was discussing, but he had to admit it all sounded quite impressive.

“They all made for fine additions to the galleries of Solemnace.” Trazyn would note with a playful grin in his voice. “But I digress. There is a reason Necrodermis is so valued by the lesser races of my home.” Trazyn would snap his fingers, and a mild throb would pulse in Izuku's head as the Necrodermis in his hand shaped itself into a sphere. “It is infinitely shapeable, infinitely reusable, and infinitely durable. Living metal, in every sense of the term. A single particle of Necrodermis can be used in the hilt of a sword, then the leg of a scarab, then the tail of a Canoptek Wraith, and then the hull of a Doomsday Ark.”

Izuku would widen his eyes, looking at the sphere. “But… How? I mean, it's too rigid to be nanotechnology, but how else could it be… programmable?” He would ask, looking closely at every flawless arc on the sphere. Trazyn would wave his hand dismissively, shaking his head. “It varies. Different dynasties have their own formulations for it. But such is not for you to concern yourself with- you are no Cryptek. For our purposes, how it works matters not- simply that it does.” Trazyn would clap his metal hands together. “So, let us begin to dispose of this… “pile of silver metal junk” in your room. Simply think of something, and shape the sphere as you wish.”’ He would say, as Izuku focused on the sphere in his hand. His head throbbed, but he kept hold of the image in his mind, pleading the Necrodermis to change shape.

The sphere shifted, warbled, and warped, but did not change.

“I can't- how did you do that?” Izuku would ask after a minute of hard concentration, looking up and panting as he wiped sweat from his brow. Trazyn smiles, tapping Izuku's chest with a finger that wasn't really there, but definitely felt like it was. “Iron, child. To be a Necron Lord, you must have that iron in you. Do not plead, beg or grovel- no, you order. You will it done and it happens.” He would say, as Izuku feels his heart rise with Trazyn's words. He flicks an eye over to the sphere, concentrating, dictating what he wants it to become.

The sphere shifts, and expands slightly, its surface becoming slightly spongy as it grows slightly larger, grooves and raised bumps forming on it as it takes shape.

 In a few seconds, Izuku Midoriya holds the first uniquely shaped piece of Necrodermis in millennia.

A round, perfectly regulation baseball.

Trazyn would look at Izuku with a faint suggestion of a broad grin. “Behold, the first piece of Necrodermis shaped by organic hands in millennia. A ball, for use in sports.” Izuku would go red at this, tossing and catching the ball while sputtering out a response. “It-it- it was the first thing I thought of!” He would defend himself, dropping the ball in a lapse of concentration and scrabbling after it as it rolled beneath his bed. “Dear child, I was not mocking you. There is something remarkably human about such an object.” Trazyn would say, though his voice sounded like he was barely holding back laughter. “In any case, I have just had word that your mentor for the martial respects has been prepared and is ready for you. I believe it would be expedient to make some training equipment, no?” Trazyn would ask as Izuku would grab the baseball, standing upright and nodding as he clenched his fist around the ball. “Wonderful. Time to get to work.”

Quirk Logbook For Hero Work Vol. 1

Necrodermis
The perfect material!

Made by a Scarab pretty easily. Really useful, responds to my thoughts and lets me shape it into whatever I can think of.

Damage Experiments
1: Slashing thin sheet with penknife
Result: No warping or tearing
2: Stabbing thin sheet with penknife
Result: Warped a little, but didn't tear.
3: Cutting thin sheet with penknife
Result: Nothing
4: Cutting thin sheet with penknife using body weight
Result: Broke penknife and fell on the floor. Trazyn made fun of me.
5: Poking a hole in thin sheet with mechanical pencil
Result: Had to put my whole weight on it, but it worked! Sheet healed around the pencil and made a little bump before I removed the pencil and it flattened out. I wonder how much I'll need to stop a bullet?
6: Dropping cup made of Necrodermis out window
Result: Broke pavement. Thankfully the scarab could fix it before I got in trouble.

Controlling experiments
1: Baseball => Rubik's cube
Result: Succeeded. Headache.
2: Rubik's cube => Baseball
Result: Succeeded. Head hurt, but not as much as it did when I first made it. Maybe it gets easier the more I do the same thing.
3: Pile of Necrodermis stuff => 6 1kg Ingots with writing and logo.
Result: Head hurt too bad and got too dizzy to continue by 2, had to give up and lie down for a bit until I didn't feel like barfing.
4: 2 1kg Ingots => 2 1kg Cuboids
Result: Succeeded. Head hurt less. Is it easier when the shape is simpler?
5: Rest of pile => 4 1kg Cuboids
Result: Succeeded. Hurt much less, definitely because the shape was simpler, although eating dinner right after probably also helped.
6: 1 1kg Cuboid => Shin guards, Forearm guards, elbow and knee pads
Result: Succeeded. Guards kinda just stick to my clothes without any straps or anything. Feels super weird but doesn't reduce my mobility, so win. Headache, feel dizzy. Seems to get hard when I make lots of stuff back to back.
7: 1 1kg Cuboid => Underlayer (Long sleeved shirt and pants)
Result: Succeeded. It just sort of sticks to my body and feels like it isn't there at all. Feels super weird. ASK TRAZYN HOW TO MAKE IT LOOK ANYTHING EXCEPT SILVER. Headache, but not very bad.
8: 2 1kg Cuboid => Sword
Result: Succeeded, but had a bad headache and a nosebleed at the end. Trazyn told me we were done so I called it a day. Feels like it weights less than a kilogram, but it has way more complexity than anything else. Looks like I need more Necrodermis for some more complex items. Can be ridiculously sharp or dull depending on… something. Think it has to do with willing it.
Cool name ideas: Might Sword Heroblade Sord Midoblade Binary Blade?

Pros
Really hard to tear or cut!
Fixes itself!
Can be super light and thin and still protect!
Makes basically anything!
Doesn't take very long to take things, I can make stuff in combat!
Basically a creation quirk!

Cons
Probably doesn't work well with other materials (it'll always be stronger)
Headache when making things => Need to train more, up my tolerance
Don't know if anyone that's not me can manipulate it (Trazyn probably wouldn't let them anyways)
Takes a lot of energy to make. Had to “feed” the scarab all the trash in the bin centre to make the small pile.
Slower than most creation quirks, distracts me when I use it.

Future plans
Install databanks into command pylon when it finishes tomorrow
Make more scarabs
Upgrade old scarab
New robot? (What is a Wraith?)
Hero costume
Tell mom about Trazyn?

Izuku awakens early on Sunday morning.

At least, he thinks it's Sunday morning. With how dark the sky outside is, it could be Saturday night, with only pale streetlights and city lights outside providing illumination through the curtains he hadn't drawn over his windows for the second night in the row, and the green light from the scarab still printing the command pylon casting his room in a dim emerald glow. The clothes and equipment he had made last night reflect the ghostly green light from the command pylon, and Izuku shifts in his bed to see-

If he had a nickel for every giant he had seen in his room at a hellish hour of the night or early morning in the past 2 days, he'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but two more than should be normal.

In a manner much too reminiscent of last night for Izuku's liking, the giant man is seated barefoot and cross-legged in the corner of his room facing him. Even seated, he appeared to be Izuku's height, meaning he was probably at least 3 metres tall- and certainly taller. He looked a lot like All Might, Izuku had to admit- but he absolutely dwarfed the number one hero, despite being built more lithe. Not to say that the giant sitting and looking at him looked weak by any respect- his entire form ripped with thickly corded muscle where the swooping folds of the robes he wore yielded to bare, unblemished skin, and he looked every bit the pinnacle of the human form that many heroes aspired to- but to compare him to All Might would be like comparing a stealth fighter to a muscle car: He was sleeker, leaner, quieter- but infinitely more deadly.

A curtain of fine white hair sat above a chiselled jawline and a face that would easily dominate the hero popularity chart, the kind of face that always seemed to have an easy smile just slightly out of reach. A neck and bare shoulder of slab-like muscles, appearing almost like educational models he had seen before in museums and science class, were visible above the almost Roman-like robes cascading and swooping down his body, stopping just above his shins, pinned together at his right shoulder by a pin shaped like a golden eagle, rounded perfectly to his muscles as it conformed and jutted out proudly above his right arm, giving him a regal, asymmetrical silhouette.

With the same degree of confidence yet admiration as a man describing Ryan Reynolds, Izuku Midoriya had to acknowledge that, purely objectively speaking, the giant was particularly attractive.

The giant would regard Izuku with golden eyes, a playful smile dancing across his lips. He spoke with a rich baritone, an orators voice, but not the kind that would dictate and order. No, this was a voice that could soothe and placate, or be as hard as nails as quickly as its owner willed it, the kind that carries the sort of regal authority that brooks no argument. If Trazyn spoke like an emperor, or a king, this Giant spoke like a crown prince, or high general- suffused with authority, yes, but with an undercurrent of humanity that Trazyn lacked.

“Good morning, Izuku Midoriya. Throw on your training equipment and get ready, won't you? I think it's time to go for a little run, and a little bit of training.”

Izuku snaps upright like a soldier at the parade ground, immediately throwing off the blanket swaddling him as his heart leapt into his throat. His real hero training started today! “Uh-Y-yes, lord!” He would snap out on pure instinct, getting upright and quickly crossing the room to his orderly pile of Necrodermis equipment. The giant raises a hand in gentle as a warm smile spreads across his face, shaking his head slightly.

“That shan't do. If I am to call you by your name, then it is only fair that you call me by mine. So please- do away with the honorific titles. If I am to call you Izuku, then by all means, you may call me Fulgrim.”

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Fulgrim's idea of a “little run” was, in fact, running around the city for almost 2 hours until the sun came up, ending off at a beach covered in trash. Izuku finds himself sprawled out on the sand, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, his breath hot through his lips and his legs feeling like worn noodles. Fulgrim, for his part, seemed no worse for the wear, acting as though his heart rate hadn't even changed- which, in all likelihood, it hadn't, given that he had barely seen the need to take a slight jog while Izuku was running himself ragged. He stood just out of Izuku's vision, looking out at the sun barely peeking over the sea beyond the trash covered beach. 

“Quite the view, isn't it?” Izuku looks up, sitting upright as his breathing levels out, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow as he looks at Fulgrim, the giant man gazing out at the sunrise with a blade in his hand. “A shame it is covered with such…” A grimace would split his too-handsome face for a second, before returning to rest. “Filth. One wonders as to the thought process of those who dump their refuse here.” He would muse, as Izuku sat upright and spoke. “Well, it's not all people… I think. I remember reading about this beach, for a school project. The currents just… blow trash on the ocean here.” He would say, as Fulgrim chuckled, rapping a refrigerator with a knuckle that Izuku knew wasn't really there, but still imagined the sound in his mind. “Strong currents you must have, then, to blow a refrigerator all this way inland.” Izuku would sigh, getting to his feet shakily. “It almost makes you wonder. To carry such a large item to this beach is no easy feat, regardless of these… “quirks”. Such an ugly stain.” He would comment, gesturing to Izuku with an off hand. “Well, get on your feet and draw your sword, child. Let's start getting rid of this mess.” He would say, as Izuku struggled to his feet, drawing his blade from the scabbard strapped to his waist- made of the same Necrodermis as the blade, of course- and walking over to the giant.

“The most fundamental part of duelling is blade control. Some will say it's footwork, and they're not wrong, but blade control is by far more important when speaking practically. Your enemies won't crumble with a single strike, so learning how to properly handle your blade- the strike, the cut, the follow through- is important. Follow along, now.” Fulgrim would raise his blade, holding it in midair near the fridge as Izuku did the same with his own sword. Fulgrim's blade was a gorgeous, massive weapon, with a glowing golden blade and a cross guard sculpted to look like the wings of an eagle joined by a red gem, the handle wrapped tightly with fine red leather, perfectly contoured to his giant hands. To Fulgrim, it was perfectly proportioned, but to Izuku, the blade was massive- he likely wouldn't even be able to hold it with both hands, nevermind swing it.

By comparison, Izuku's blade was an almost comically simple affair, being little more than a plain Necrodermis blade with an unremarkable, navy blue cross guard and a grip made of Necrodermis that he had modified with a roll of grip tape he had found in his room that would normally be used on a badminton racket. It was totally undecorated and utilitarian in design, with no regard for aesthetics at all- a true training sword in every regard. “Now, let's begin with a diagonal slash. Like this.” Fulgrim would demonstrate, taking an exaggerated, slow movement to let Izuku watch. “Keep it tight and swift.”

Izuku readied his own blade, following along with Fulgrim as he swung in as good of a mimicry of the man next to him as he could manage. The blade passes through the fridge with little resistance, and the upper half of the cut buckles slightly and falls off the fridge, but Izuku still finds himself breathing hard from the exertion. “Passable, but you use your arms too much. In a duel, you will quickly overexert yourself. Drive with your body, and your legs. Again.” Fulgrim would say, his blade resting against his shoulder as he regarded Izuku with withering intensity. 

Izuku grits his teeth, backing up again before going in for another swing, rotating his trunk as he swings. “Better. Now, once more, faster!” Fulgrim would say, as yet another ribbon of metal and insulation lands on the beach sand a distance away. “Good, but you can be faster. You are a human, not an automaton- so loosen up. Flow into your strikes.” Fulgrim says, as Izuku takes a step back, steadying his breathing before striking again. 

The repetition begins. Again and again, striking at the fridge until it becomes nothing more than metal ribbons resting on the sand. Then another one of the many piles of junk, again and again, changing hands and stances, until Fulgrim is finally somewhat satisfied with Izuku's form. The sun continues its ascent above the horizon as they move on to lunges, and as the city begins to fully wake, they conclude with footwork. Up and down the entire length of the beach, advancing and retreating as Fulgrim watches Izuku with the seasoned eye of a ballet master, barking out corrections whenever he picks out something wrong.

Izuku's muscles burn. Sweat slicking his body sticks his skin together like post-it notes, there's sand in places he can't name, and his pile of unruly green curls flops matted in damp carpets down his head. His head swims, and he can barely hold his sword locked upright as he advances up the final stretch towards the staircase off the beach.

And he loves every second of it.

The moment he held the sword in his hand, and made his first swings, something just made sense to him. Like he had been born to do this, ancient programming and memories in his genes kicking into action as he backsteps and lunges, feeling the wind whip through his hair and the sweat flick from his face with each snap movement. Something ancestral flows through him in every movement, old, primal instincts from when humanity huddled around a fire and hunted mammoths. 

Izuku's feet touch concrete, and he drops to a knee, breath running ragged with exhaustion as Fulgrim looks down at him from the pavement. “Are you well?” He would ask, squatting down to look at the crumpled frame of Izuku. “Ye-yeah, just… gimme a second…” Izuku would splutter, taking ragged breaths of cool morning air as the world swims around him. “How- how was that?” He would ask, looking up at Fulgrim with a faint smile on his lips. 

The Primarch would pause, blinking a few times as if in thought before responding. “Sloppy towards the end, and at times you attempt to rely more on your strength than your technique. Of course, that's not always an issue, but in your case…” Fulgrim would say, gesturing at Izuku's thin frame. “Ill advisable. Nevertheless, for a first timer to progress as much as you have in a few hours, it is quite remarkable. You may have some natural talent for swordsmanship- but natural talent will only carry you so far. Now, on your feet, boy. You should head home- your mother must be worried.” He would say, as Izuku staggers to his feet, sheathing his blade and laying his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “Are… are we running back?” He would make out, between pants

Fulgrim only grins at this, and Izuku groans.

Inko Midoriya was mildly concerned for her son.

Izuku had never been an unhealthy child, but he had never particularly been a fitness freak. He wasn't adverse to physical activity, and occasionally exercised, but he was never that much of a health freak. 

So when she woke up this morning and saw a note from Izuku telling her that he had gone out for a run and to exercise, she was a little surprised. It was far from in character, but she assumed that Izuku was just excited to have his quirk, and couldn't sleep. 

But when Izuku came home covered in sweat, hair matted and a dusting of sand over his body, Inko got a little worried for her son. Sure, he was happy, and he looked healthy, and he ate breakfast the same as every other day, but she had the feeling something was a little off about Izuku. And she could swear she heard him talking to an imaginary friend in his room last night and yesterday afternoon. It was a good thing that she had booked an appointment with a quirk counsellor, to get her son's quirk records updated.

Truth be told, it was that exact appointment that Izuku was particularly concerned about this moment, as he held his head in hands while he stared at the blank page of his notebook where he had planned to write his quirk description. He couldn't exactly say “I can control technology from aliens that don't come from this reality”, now could he? But any other convenient excuse didn't make any sense- it wasn't controlling technology, either, and shaping Necrodermis was cool, but he couldn't just pretend he was creating-

A robotic chirp would rouse Izuku from his thoughts, looking over to see the scarab sitting on its four hind legs, waving its two stubby legs in the air next to the command Pylon, the green lights now gone. “Oh- Lord Trazyn? It's done, where are…” He would ask, looking left and right before Trazyn spontaneously appeared right as he turned back to his right, his skeletal form bent at the waist to read the few words on Izuku's page. 

“‘Quirk Name, Zoesideron.’ Living Steel, no? A good choice.” Trazyn would read off, angling his head to face Izuku. “Well- yes, thank you…” Izuku would trail off, before looking at the blank description. “I just couldn't… think of a description that wouldn't get me in trouble.” He would say, as Trazyn chuckled. “No, I suppose not. But I believe we should be able to find a way around that. Now, let's get this scarab into working order.” Trazyn would say, as Izuku stood up and walked over to the command pylon. 

The scarab settled back on its rear legs, shaking its body slightly as the metal on its back split and parted, sliding apart in ribs to reveal thin wafers of green crystals, pulsing warmly with light as they sat in orderly rows going throughout the entire abdomen of the scarab. Tiny, microscopic black lines danced over the surface of the wafers, drawing intricate patterns as green blips of light ran across them like tiny racers going down a circuit. “Whoa…” Izuku would breathe, looking down at the display before him. “Engramatic databanks. A single wafer the size of one of your fingernails could hold all the knowledge of the humans of this reality. This…” Trazyn would gesture at the small collection of databanks. “This is all the technology needed to establish an empire. From Gauss Flayers to Tomb Ships, children's toys to Tesseract Labyrinths, cybernetics and architectural designs. Almost all of this knowledge, of course, is unreplicatable by any entity in this universe, past or present.” He would pause for a moment, the suggestion of a faint smile ghosting his lips. “And it is your responsibility to transfer these very delicate databanks, one at a time, from the scarab to the pylon.”

Izuku felt a shiver run up his spine as Trazyn spoke. He had been faintly aware of it at the start, but now the true weight of the responsibility thrust onto him by virtue of his Quirk was coming crashing down on him, and Izuku was seeing the situation with new eyes. Just the barest components of his Quirk- consciousness projection, controlling the scarab to produce things, Necrodermis by itself- these were all enough to change the world fundamentally. All this knowledge, and all this power?

It scared him.

Izuku would grab the Necrodermis baseball sitting on his bed, furrowing his brow for a second as the ball shifted into a pair of tweezers in his hand. 

Command [PLATINUM LEVEL] => Command Pylon 0001A0001: Engramatic Databank Bay Door Operational state >>> OPEN, Slot 001- 032 >>> OPEN, Pylon Mind Operational State >>> INLOAD

With barely a conscious thought, a hexagonal outline on the side of the pylon would begin to glow, green lights shining as the panel slid out, revealing rows of orderly sockets pulsing warm green light, with square armatures rising out each socket and clicking open like skeletal hands awaiting a lover's embrace. Izuku's eyes would stay fixed on the scarab as the tweezers in his hand close in on the crystalline wafer and squeeze just enough to get some grip on it, plucking it out with a small wiggle. The wafer sings like a wet finger running across the rim of a wineglass in the air, patterns and shapes warping and shifting on the surface of the slice of material. Moving it over to the pylon, Izuku would slot the wafer into the exposed socket, the arms embracing their emerald bounty and greedily withdrawing into the socket. 

Izuku releases a breath he didn't know he had been holding, mops the sweat off his brow, and glances back at the orderly rows in the scarab before him. 1 down, 31 more to go.

This will not be fun.

The final drive slides into its slot 45 minutes later, and Izuku lets go of the tweezers, his head thudding into the table as he groans, the stress leaving his body in a breathy hiss. “Is that everything?” Izuku would ask slowly as though terrified of the answer, looking at the empty backed scarab out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, child. Yes it is.” Trazyn would say with humour tinging his voice, head slightly turned away from his inspection of the Mustafu scenery outside of Izuku's window.  “Congratulations are in order. You have managed to successfully extract a wealth of knowledge worth more than anything in this reality and relocate it with minimal damage and painfully simple tools.” Izuku would smirk, head still rested on his desk as he spoke. “Says the giant skeleton robot. If it's anything like other gigantism quirks, if you were physical, I'd guess you'd have trouble picking up a vase without breaking it.” Izuku would suddenly flinch, as the temperature in the room seemed to drop by twenty degrees and anger and resentment began radiating off Trazyn, twin green eyes like orbs of emerald fire staring down at him. 

If looks could kill, Izuku would be twice-dead.

“Sorry! I'm sorry! It just slipped out! I'm sorry!” Izuku would blurt out, flinching back and shielding the side of his face with his hand as he clapped a hand over his mouth with the speed of a soldier breaking the links of a runaway machinegun. Why did he say that? That was something that Kaa- 

As quickly as the rage came, it suddenly subsided. Trazyn threw his robotic head back, and actually laughed, a hearty, genuine belly laugh- or a robotic approximation of it, at any rate. “Dead gods! I had not expected such a sharp tongue to dwell within such a frame. Quite the artful riposte. A good thing I chose not to simply take control over your mind. You prove far too entertaining for such an act.” He would chuckle, shaking his robotic head before waving a hand, the Scarab’s abdomen sliding shut as the it wriggled in what appeared to be joy, stepping carefully across the desk to face and empty part of it, green light streaming out of its eye. “With a command pylon and your scarab no longer burdened by its valuable payload, the full arsenal of the Necron race has begun to open itself to you. Consider this a small gift, then, to address your upcoming appointment.” 

A bracelet began to take form on the desk, made of two beveled bands of Necrodermis sandwiching a band of the same navy material making up Trazyn's ribs, faintly glowing green lines sketching an Ankh in the centre and depictions of small figures in various acts- some playing what looked to be a kind of sport, some hunched over a table appearing to be studying, some duelling with all manners of weaponry, and a single figure sitting on a throne on the opposite end of the bracelet to the ankh. As the scarab finished the fabrication of the bracelet, Izuku would pick it up, looking at it intently as he noticed faint inscriptions of glyphs which he couldn't read, but somehow implicitly understood on the top and bottom bands of Necrodermis. He couldn't speak a word of it, couldn't explain what each glyph meant, but somehow, the moment he read the whole phrase, the meaning of the whole phrase popped into his mind. 

Knowledge is not necessarily Wisdom

Wisdom is not necessarily Knowledge

“What… is this?” Izuku would ask, holding it gingerly and reverently, like a paleontologist examining an ancient fossil. “A gift, often given to lordlings and heirs. A Dimensional Pouch.” Trazyn would say, and Izuku would blink, looking up at Trazyn. “A…Pocket dimension?” He would say, his mouth slowly agape. “No. Entirely different. This pouch has a limited volume- a very large volume, of course, but still limited. And it may only store Necrodermis items.” Trazyn would explain, as Izuku gazed enraptured by the small engravings on the middle band. “But the most important of all- it gives you what you require when you retrieve something from it. Not what you desire, or what you think you need- but what you actually need. It is an exercise in adaptability and wisdom.” 

Izuku puts the bracelet on, feeling it shrink to fit his wrist snugly, rotating his right hand experimentally. “So… Wait, how do I…” He would mutter, picking up the baseball and tossing it a few times. Green lights shimmer in angular patterns down his forearm, flowing into the bracelet as the inscriptions glowed faintly, and the ball vanished. 

A grin spreads across Izuku's face. He can work with this.

Doctor Orlan was not particularly pleased to see Izuku Midoriya.

Not to say that either Izuku or his mother were unpleasant people- far from it, she preferred them to almost any other patients she had at her specialist clinic- but Midoriya's “quirk” remained the most vexing one she had ever encountered. She was by no means inexperienced with regards to late bloomers- her doctoral thesis was in late quirk activations, for heaven's sake- but Izuku Midoriya bucked every trend she was aware of. When adjusted for the abundance of Emitter types, late bloomers were usually Transformation or Accumulation type quirks, owing to not all users being aware of the activation conditions for their quirks. Usually, working out how to trigger their quirks wasn't hard for her- a lifetime of medical training and research, accompanied by her quirk, usually meant that she could pick out Quirk Factors and reverse engineer how they theoretically could be activated. 

Clearly, however, Midoriya Izuku was not “Usual”. Since she first met the boy when he was referred to her clinic by one of her colleagues who misdiagnosed burns on his forearms and symptoms of head trauma for a potential quirk activation, he had constantly been in the back of her mind, a little medical mystery she encountered once every three months for a routine checkup. Every single one of those had always been a puzzle in and of itself- he didn't have the pinky toe joint that quirkless people had, and every neuroimaging test she had subjected him to had shown the same result: Izuku Midoriya had a quirk, had development in the right parts of the brain that would indicate he had been using it actively, and had the activity to suggest that he was using it at that exact moment in time . 

Which made no sense at all, because no tests she performed on him ever suggested that he was anything other than an ordinary child- albeit with a few existing conditions- and there were no signs of quirk use she could observe. So when the Midoriyas returned to her office saying that young Izuku had activated his quirk, she was rather surprised.

She sips her coffee, and begins her questioning.

“So, mister Midoriya- can you display your quirk to me?” She would ask, pen in hand as she looks through her glasses at the mother and son duo seated before her. “Uh… yeah, sure. I can produce this metal when I focus, and turn it into other things if I try hard enough.” Izuku would say, raising a hand before furrowing his brow, green lights tracing angular patterns down his arm before terminating at a grey bangle, the bangle glowing as a baseball made of the same grey metal as the bangle appeared in his open palm. “I woke up on Saturday with this… metal robot, I guess, sitting on my chest. It does its own thing, but I can control it and everything!” Izuku would say, taking out his phone and pulling up a photo of an insectoid robot with a monocular green eye staring rather confusedly at the camera. “I think it's an emitter type!” He would smile enthusiastically, vanishing and reappearing the ball as he threw and caught it in one hand.

Orlan blinks, taking a moment to assimilate the information, before continuing to write. “...I see. And you discovered you could produce more of this material when?” She would ask, as thoughts and theories began to form in her mind. “Well… Probably the afternoon after I found the scarab, or something like that.” He would say, speaking slowly after thinking for a moment. 

Fascinating. It wasn't uncommon for sentient quirks to manifest as subsets of other quirk types- one of her other patients she had just seen this morning had a transformation quirk that was sentient- but an emitter type with a sentient component manifesting this late in life was incredibly rare. “Interesting. May I take a sample of the material from your quirk? For your quirk evaluation.” Izuku would nod as he heard her query, clenching his fist before opening it to reveal a small coin-sized disc made of the same grey metal. “It's a little… hard to cut. Is this enough?” He would ask, passing it to her. 

Orlan would take the small disc, holding it up to the light as she inspected the smooth surface, which felt oddly warm in a way that was hard to describe. “Yes, Mr. Midoriya. That should be enough.”

House-Xavier Quirk Evaluation System

Patient information

Name: Midoriya, Izuku

Age: 13

Sex: M 

Quirk activation ∆: +9 Years

Activation type and cause (If applicable): Non-Traumatic. (Suspected emotional or hormonal in nature. He is thirteen, after all, and his quirk activated at night.)

Quirk Information

Name: Zoesideron 

Type: Emitter, Physical/Conversion type

Kovalskia-Hoshinova Quirk Material Test results: Non-Toxic, Nonreactive, Nonflammable, Self-Healing, User-Controlled Metallic Solid/Liquid. 

Description: Allows user to synthesize quirk material upon mental command. Quirk material can be shaped into whatever the user desires, including simple sentient constructs. Quirk material may be shaped into other forms, but causes discomfort to the user and subsequent recoil damage. Quirk material may take on other physical properties, such as electrical conductivity. Sentient constructs created by the user may be commanded and controlled as required. 

Psychological/Physiological impacts

Cognitive alteration: Slight impairment upon overuse, symptoms consistent with typical migraine. No detectable effects otherwise. 

Emotional alteration: N/A

Behavioral alteration: N/A

Potential psychological risk factors: Patient has history of mental health issues (See attached documents), but as per assessor's personal opinion, this is unrelated to Patient's quirk and instead due to other environmental factors. Further assessment may be necessary should evidence be found to the contrary. 

Physical physiological risk factors: Potential risk of internal brain injuries with overuse of quirk.

Control and management

Support equipment for daily life: N/A

Training or management requirements: Recommended to continue training control/manipulation elements of quirk to prevent potential injuries.

Protective requirements for user: N/A

Protective requirements for others: N/A

Assessment Summary

Overall general risk assesment: Low

Overall Long-term health risk assesment: Low

Hero School Fitness For Instruction assesment: Fit 

Assessed by: Doctor Orlan Solace, Epigenist, North Mustafu Quirk Management Clinic, 19/02/20XX

Trazyn was well over 60 million years old.

60 million years is a long time. Enough time to be meaningfully measured in geologic scale. Continents moved, mountains were raised, oceans formed and vanished- all in Trazyn's lifetime. He had seen whole species rise from primordial ooze and grow into starfaring civilisations, only to be dashed against the rocks of a cruel universe, and picked through the flotsam and jetsam to salvage all that deserved preservation. He had seen cities that sprawled planets and touched the atmosphere and beyond, he had walked upon the skin of hollow worlds almost entirely cored out by mining efforts to feed wars beyond comprehension, and he had seen and used weapons that hurt reality simply by existing. He had seen gods muster for war, clad in all the fineries they so felt they deserved, followed by all the legions of thralls who adored them such- and had shattered and enslaved them all the same. 

But as he stood amidst the moat of empty desks surrounding Midoriya in his classroom, the sun beginning to lower on a Monday afternoon, Trazyn was amazed to find that he had never once seen such a flagrant disregard for the linear concept of time as to waste it so frivolously. Before they had shed their bodies in the war-fuelled folly of Biotransference, the Necrontyr society had been founded on one basic premise: That each individual was not long for this world, and that every second counted. As such, time was a valuable resource, not to be casually wasted, and it was seen as a great sign of disrespect to waste the time of another frivolously- particularly that of youths, who were still yet to be touched by the cancers and diseases of flesh. 

If the teachers in this school had done as they did today to a classroom of Necrontyr, they would be lynched at best, and them and their bloodlines pressed into generational servitude or flayed alive at worst- depending on the social standing of the families of their students, of course. 

The thundercrack of a small explosion originating from the palm of a blonde-haired student seated near the front of the classroom rose above the chaotic roar of unrestrained excitement between youths, all displaying their quirks in response to some rhetorical questions from a teacher about becoming heroes.

How rude. 

Trazyn looks around, taking this time both to observe the hooliganism occuring in the classroom and the variety of Quirks on display here, as well as to continue his musings on the school day thus far- which, according to the clock mounted above the whiteboard, was coming to an end. Almost 7 hours had passed- more than a quarter of a day on this world, and in that time, barely anything had been done. Some basic algebra, painfully elementary science, a thorough misinterpretation of an admittedly very good literary text, some attempts to teach a foreign language by a teacher who could barely speak it themselves, and a complete and utter desecration of the entire subject of history that he had deliberately scourged from his memory lest the residual emotions of pure rage make him susceptible to the madness of the Destroyers. In that very same amount of time, split up over two days, Trazyn had managed to teach Izuku the basics of the history of the Necrontyr, upgrade his scarab, educate him as to the traditions and cultural background to various Necron weaponry and give him a comprehensive knowledge of the functions and roles of various components in a Necron command network. The Clone had done just as admirably with his few hours, doing his part to help Izuku pack muscle onto his skeletal frame, teaching him basic two handed stances and educating him in martial tactics. 

In retrospect, that may play a role as to why he was currently slumped over his desk, messy head of hair cradled in his arms as a blonde haired child continued to boast emptily. He had to admit, the child's spirit was admirable, but putting others down to push oneself up was an excellent way to be found having committed suicide by four knives to the back. A Lord was nothing without those to command, after all, and a caustic personality and a reckless disregard for others was a surefire way to go the way of the Ithakas dynasty. 

“Hey, Midoriya's applying to UA too, right?”

Trazyn observes the eyes of the students in the classroom turn to face Izuku in stunned silence, before breaking out into rancorous laughter. For his part, Izuku reacted little, continuing to rest his head on the table- although Trazyn could see his body faintly quivering in the silence.

The classroom erupts into laughter, as Izuku shakes under their gaze, emotions running rampant under the surface as he hides away from their gaze. 

“Midoriya? No way, stop kidding around!” 

“Grades won't get you into the hero course, lil bro.”

“You know you need a proper quirk to get in, right? Not a totally-real one like yours.”

“Hello, Earth to Midoriya, UA's a Hero school! They'll never let you even near them- except as an example of a future Vill-”

Izuku slams the desk, rushing to his feet as his hands ball into fists. “Shut the fuck up! Who the hell says I can't?” He roars, uncharacteristic fury and vitriol filling his voice. Trazyn is genuinely taken aback by the display- for such a child, from what he had seen of him since he had met him, such an outburst was totally out of the ordinary. 

An alert glyph blares in the corner of his vision, and Trazyn immediately directs his attention to it. Of course. What else could it be? It was far too obvious. For any other lord, they would have declared it a lost cause, and immediately evacuated. But Izuku was fascinating, and resolving this particular issue was no major effort- unlike a Necron, it appeared that Izuku's body and mind was actually able to fight it off, and all it needed was a little directing to the source of the problem. 

It was a little too adept at it, actually. Trazyn was suspicious. He would have to question him on the issue later, after it passed. For now, he would simply observe the situation. It was no risk to him thanks to the Pylon, and he was utterly fascinated by how such a curse was so easily fought off. This child was paying dividends with every day he spent with him.

“For Christ's sake, give me a FUCKING break, Deku!” Bakugo roars, slamming his hands on Izuku's desk as an explosion wreaths them, sending him tumbling back, slamming him into the rear wall. Izuku's breathing grows fast and shallow, his hands curling into claws as his ears begin ringing. His vision darkens, red encroaching on the world as Kaachan’s voice seems so far away. No, stop. Breathe. Breathe. Do what the counsellor said. Do what Doctor Orlan said. In, out. In, out. Don't think about it, don't think about it. Don't-

The Necrodermis band around Izuku's wrist glows, his blade appearing in his hand as Kaachan looks on in shock. The blade warps and flows like liquid, coating Izuku's hands as it collects near his fingers, sharpening into long, hooked metal talons. Izuku pays it no heed as he surged to his feet in a wordless roar, outstretched hands gripping Kaachan's head. His four fingers hook in and dig into Kaachan's head as the boy screams, Izuku's thumbs dig into his eyes, razor sharp talons piercing into Kaachan's eyeballs and sending gouts of aqueous humor spraying across Izuku's face. Kaachan screams in pain, so much delicious red blood flowing from his head as Izuku pounces on him, fingers curling as he digs into his body, ripping flesh to ribbons as he- 

Trazyn slams his Empathic obliterator into the ground, the nonexistent sound piercing Izuku's hallucinations and snapping him back to reality, echoing in his mind even above the laughter of the other students. “Midoriya. Control yourself. Such conduct is unbecoming.” He says in a calm monotone, as Izuku releases the tension in his palms he didn't know was there and sighs out. “We will speak in private. I believe there is something rather important that you have neglected to inform me beforehand.” Izuku looks down, before standing up and returning to his seat in silence, head bowed amidst cackling laughter and comments from his classmates as the teacher seeks to reign in control of a class which had long since slipped the leash. For a moment, Trazyn glances down, taking a minor note of something offhandedly as he returns his attention to his troubled link to this world 

And in the floor, too thin to be seen by any but the most careful observers, were five small furrows on either side of where Izuku had lain against the wall, carved by something too thin and sharp to be a fingernail. 

Chapter Text

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Izuku's eyes glance at the leaky faucet, the water dripping a regular metronome beat as it dribbles from the tap into the sink. It was broken sometimes, fixed others, but always ended up broken again. It was always that specific faucet, in that spot, of that bathroom, though.

Izuku's eyes flick back to Trazyn, standing across the empty bathroom from him. “I… sorry. I lost-” Trazyn would cut him off, a simple, curt response. “How long?” He would ask, motionless as he curled his skeletal fingers around the obliterator. “Two years now. Happens every time he talks to me like that since that day. Kaachan, he… He got some friends together and said they wanted to help me activate my quirk. They made me do lots of things. And then I… He hit me, right in the head. And I saw…” “You saw what you did just now.” Trazyn would say, his metal gaze shifting down to look at Izuku's hands. “I must admit, I was rather surprised. Then again it only makes sense- your quirk makes you akin to a Necron- at least, in terms of mind. Why would you not suffer our madnesses?”

Izuku stares at Trazyn, his eyebrows shooting up as thoughts run through his head. Madness? Was he going to go crazy? Was he doomed to become just another villain? Some kind of animal? What would happen to him? To his mother? To kaa-

“Ah- I should rephrase. Perhaps “Suffer” is an… overly negative term, at least in your case.” Trazyn would say, gesturing at Izuku's head. “Allow me to elaborate. I have told you time and again of when we shed our bodies of tumorous flesh and anemic blood, for bodies of Necrodermis, of course, but the decision to do so was… hasty. In the times of flesh, we were never masters of controlling our bodies, or our minds. We could end stars with a thought, make reality bend with a word, shatter gods with a single finger pull- but we could not mend the broken bodies that did those acts, any more than we could the mind that formed the memories of those acts.” He would say, as he looked to the mirror, seemingly making eye contact with his reflection that wasn't there. A simulated hiss of an inhale could be heard, before Trazyn paused. “Ah. Did you catch that? A little bit of the time of flesh, still in me. We are not flesh, there is no need for me to draw breath, to laugh, or to emote- it is purely optional, something I and a few aberrant others do purely for selfish, or foolish, reasons. Others do not, and they try in vain to disavow themselves of all that is “Flesh”. But the instincts are still there, buried as it is under layers upon layers of engrams and wards. And that brings to rise the easiest way by which the virus worms its way in. The Dysphorakh- when the long-forgotten, animalistic parts of our minds trigger, try to draw air into lungs that aren't there, or try to blink eyelids that are sculpted in Necrodermis. It is not the only way the infection progresses, of course not, it is incredibly poorly understood- but by far, it is the most common.”

Izuku would stare at Trazyn, confused. “I don't… I don't understand. How does that lead to… those hallucinations I get? And how does that affect me? I'm human.”

Trazyn looks at Izuku with the suggestion of a smile on his seamed lips, but his green eyes only show profound sadness. “Precisely why the affliction is not as profound in you. The madness- the Flayer Virus- came about independent of Dysphorakh. Long, long ago, when we defeated our parasite-gods after the War In Heaven, we duelled with them. We shattered them, yoked them, enslaved them- but we never killed any more than one of them. Llandu'gor the Flayer. A dynasty- some say the Maynarkh, others the Ithakas- destroyed him. The virus is his curse upon us, destined to turn all those afflicted into monsters.” Trazyn would say, opening his palm as a projection appeared in his hand. It was a Necron Warrior, Izuku was quite certain from browsing the Pylon’s archives of Necron bodies, but something was fundamentally wrong with it. Its body was too long, its limbs skeletal and stretched, its torso compacted and elongated unnaturally. Long talons sprouted from each finger on its hand, its lower legs and ribcage obscured by strips of rough leather it had draped and hung over itself like veils over a dancer, its face painted a deep red as it as it hunched over some kind of strange alien plant, a plant with red shrubbery that crept up and around yellow-white branches reaching up into the-

That plant had a face.

That wasn't a plant.

That wasn't paint.

That wasn't leather.

Izuku clapped a hand over his mouth, retching loudly as he doubled over, bile building up in the back of his throat as his lunch threatened to escape the confines of his body. Rushing over to the sink, he would retch into the sink, spitting out a fat wad of saliva into the drain before looking back at Trazyn, then down at his hands in horror. “I… I'm going to become that? A monster? Just… draping myself in skin and flesh, acting like an animal?” He would ask, his voice trembling as he stared at his hands, imagining seeing each shaking finger elongate and sharpen as he looked down. Would he realize he was going too? Would he see himself changing, and be unable to stop it? Would he be a prisoner in his body, unable to stop himself as he defiled bodies and did despicable acts, all for some ancient dead god? Would he-

Trazyn chuckles, wrenching Izuku out of his stupor as the synthesized, yet buttery smooth vibrations echo in his mind. “Ah, child, never change. The way your mind runs away from you is a marker of youth I thought I had long forgotten.” He would say, shaking his head before speaking. “But no, your infection is more… benign. The virus has no dysphorakh to take advantage of, after all, and your body is far too effective at scouring its effects away for it to propagate by any other means. Without a gateway to sink its tendrils into your mind, it may only exist, pacing at the walls of your mind like a dog, hollering a commoner’s insults, making claims of empty promises and unbacked oaths. So, fret not. You have no reason to heed its visions, or its whispers. It is merely the spite of a dead god, little more.”

Izuku would look from his hands to Trazyn, raising an eyebrow slowly as he listened to Trazyn's tone. “I'm… sending a “but” coming.” He would confess, speaking slowly and measuredly as he tried his best to forget the image he had seen before. Trazyn would actually smile- Izuku could not mistake it, the line on his Necrodermis faceplate actually curved upwards into a smirk- before responding. “How perceptive. Yes, there is a but. For you see- inevitably, the sickness is, like all sicknesses, transmissible. Of course, not physical by any stretch- no, it is too ineffectual in your mind for that- but mentally? Psychically? Absolutely.” He would say, as the smirk shifted into a positively shit-eating grin. “It would serve as a particularly excellent defense measure, I'm sure you would agree. Not a particularly elegant one, nor visible, but a wonderful act of spite, should the need arise- if anyone were to wish to control you, or steal control of your quirk away from you, they will inevitably end as naught but a gibbering wretch, scrabbling for scraps of meat. Quite the defense mechanism, wouldn't you say?”

Izuku would bite his lip, as thoughts rushed through his mind. Was this heroic? Was this right? There were still people who had psychic quirks, some who couldn't control them at all- were they at risk of being infected? But most of all-

“Will they go away? The hallucinations. Can you make them stop?”

Trazyn can only offer him a sad smile. “Dysphorakh occurs when the instincts and memories of a body and the actual body do not align. Make no mistake, you have Dysphorakh, I can be certain- but I highly doubt it to be physical in nature. It may be more… social, shall we say, given the evolutionary origins of your species as pack creatures. And that is a problem you must resolve yourself.”

The mid afternoon sun beats down on the Mustafu streets, summer beginning to scour the final traces of long sleeves and outerwear from wardrobes and shopping displays as schools begin winding down, evermore students visible in arcades and beaches as each passing week sounds a death-knell for the discipline and regimentation of the school year and ushers in the carefree days of summer. Groups of students cluster around train stations and shopping malls as youthful chatter echoes through the air, laughter that had been forsaken for exams and deadlines now roaring back in force.

Katsuki Bakugo fucking hated it.

Okay, maybe he was being a little bit unfair, because he was in a shitty fucking mood after everything, but particularly now, given that he was stuck behind some goddamn bimbo extra fucks who were walking about as fast as the fucking tectonic plates. And this morning- useless fucking Deku had the cheek to try to apply to UA, when his quirk meant that he could at best be a minor villain. And he wanted to apply to UA, and ruin the reputation of the school which was going to be his ticket to the high life? Yeah right. They'd turn him away at the door.  

They definitely would.

So why was there a part of him that was kinda worried they might do the exact opposite?

The leech extra by his side continued yapping about something or other, somehow egged on by his non-responses, not getting the hint that he would very much want him to fuck off. Honestly he wasn't even sure what this guy's name was, just that he was in the same class as him and they took the same train line home. That was literally it, but the damn kid had attached himself to Bakugo like a damn barnacle on a ship and wouldn't fucking let go. Every fucking afternoon, the same fucking guy, talking to him and rebutting his own bullshit without so much as a grunt from Bakugo, just standing there yapping while he tried his best to get home as early as possible. Once he got back, he would have to get to work on prepping for the practical, of course, so he would have to finish up on his physics revision. If he was lucky, he could also probably get through a practice paper as well, so he’d have just enough time after that for a run, then dinner. Then he could spend the last bit of the day doing some quirk practice, then bed. Get up and do it all over again, until the entrance exam, when he would kick all these shitty fucking extras to the side and make sure deku knew his fucking place.

Bakugo was so caught up in his thoughts, and the boy talking to him by his side so enraptured in his own words, that neither of them noticed a manhole slowly sliding open.

An oily, gurgled voice would echo through the unlit tunnel, as a long, green-tinged shadow cast itself over the pair. “Well, well, well. It’s my lucky day. One medium-sized skinsuit would be good enough- but two, at once? It’s like a buffet out here.” The voice would say, as Bakugo slowly turned around and the motor-mouthed extra began to quiver in place, his meaningless words tumbling and stuttering in his mouth as he stared in horror at the being behind them.

Sparks blossom in his hands as he stares down the oily green mass with its twin, bulbous eyes and too-wide smile, and the villain chuckles.

“Well now. Looks like I really did strike the lottery.”

Bakugo swipes his hands forward, slinging nitroglycerin at the oily mass with a feral roar as the sludge surges forward.

Izuku tosses and catches the Necrodermis baseball in his hand as he walks down the street, joining in the crowds as he makes his own way home. A ball lands in his hand, and a cube leaves it on the upstroke, the Necrodermis shaping and shifting as it lands in his palm and changing fully as it rises up into the air, bringing with it a fresh pulse of dull pain into his skull. Trazyn had given him much to think about, though, and trains of thought run long circuits through his brain as he makes the mindless, long-memorized journey home.

A cube lands in his hand, and a small cylindrical baton leaves it, twirling upwards as Izuku keeps walking, the conductor of a marching band of one with an undersized baton. The Flayer virus, according to what Trazyn had told him, couldn't affect him that badly beyond some hallucinations- but it still did anyways. So what was the cause? Trazyn had said it wasn't physical in nature, but social- so what did that mean? Was he doing something wrong?

A baton lands in his hand, and a pair of headphones leave it. Izuku's eyes lazily track its motion, thoughts playing through his mind as he zones out, thinking about his training for the UA entrance exam. When he got back he'd probably have time to start doing some revision, and Fulgrim was absolutely going to get him to do some training tonight, so he-

Why was he suddenly seeing so much pavement?

Izuku pitches forward, his foot having slid on a small but surprisingly slick patch of liquid on the pavement. Well, isn't this a wonderful way to end the school day? He would think to himself, as he awaits the cold, hard embrace of the pavement before him.

“Oh- Shit!”

A pink blur would flash in front of Izuku's vision as he felt someone grab his hand which had reflexively stretched out to break his fall, his forward motion smoothly redirected into a graceful twirl as his arm was pulled above and around his head, leaving the green haired boy stable on his feet, albeit a little dizzy and confused. Izuku would blink a few times, letting the aggravated pounding in his head subside as he looked over to the owner of the hand clutching his forearm.

Twin golden pupils set in orbs of pure onyx looked out at him from a pastel pink face set in a sheepish smile, two thin white horns poking out from a bob of messy pink hair that was currently being even further messed as she rubbed the back of her head in a clear show of embarrassment with her pink-skinned hand.

Pink didn't even sound like a word to Izuku anymore at this point.

She wore the uniform of a middle school in the area Izuku couldn't quite place but was pretty sure he had seen before, with a red neckerchief and black skirt, a small towel hanging down from her backpack alongside several keychains. “Hey, sorry about that, dude- that was my bad. I was watching you practice your quirk and kinda got really insecure that I wasn't also doing the exact same thing, and when I was drying off my hands I think I kinda flicked some acid on the ground…” She would say abashedly, laughing slightly to herself as she let go of Izuku's forearm.

Izuku would blink, registering the information as he noticed Trazyn step out of the void beyond the corner of his vision, taking slow, measured steps as he walked a small circle around her to inspect the girl in a way that totally wasn't creepy at all, no sir! Izuku would laugh in kind, dusting himself off as he shook his head. “No, it's fine… I was distracted too. Should have looked where I was walking.” He would say, a small smile spreading across his face as he turned away to look at the patch of slick liquid on the pavement and totally not to hide that his face was turning slightly red right now shut up. “Was that your quirk? Like- acid, or something?” He would say, seizing control of the conversation to push it somewhere he was familiar with as he bent down to grab his fallen Necrodermis headphones, looking up at the girl. “Oh, yeah! I make acid from my body, but it kinda… burns me too, so I gotta make more so I get resistant to it.” She would say, as the pair of them began walking. “Yours is super cool too, though! It's, like, making things change shape or something, right? Lemme guess- UA wannabe?” She would say, pointing at him. Izuku would smile sheepishly, putting a hand up as if in surrender. “Yeah… Guilty.” He would say, glancing down as he-

“Boy! Eyes up!”

Fulgrim's sharp voice cuts through Izuku's train of thought like a razor, as his head snaps up, the exact moment a massive explosion rocked the street, the flaming wreck of a parked car tossed high into the air as a wall of dust and smoke slams into them, sending Izuku's hand up to shield his eyes instinctively as tiny pieces of debris whip through the air. “Jeez! What the hell was that?” The girl would say, coughing slightly from the dust as she squinted through the grey haze. “I have no idea. Maybe it's a-” Izuku would start, before suddenly falling silent.

A shape moved in the dust cloud, all thrashing tendrils and snapping explosions. A vast, green, slimy mass writhes and flows around a humanoid shape, firecracker explosions sparking from its hands as-

No.

“KAACHAN!” Izuku screams, tossing his backpack to one side as he sprints towards the mass, the Necrodermis headphones in his hand vanishing in a burst of green light as he casts them aside. A pair of watery eyes set in a face suffocated by an inhumanly wide mouth floating in the green ooze glance at him, followed by two pale green orbs pricked by tiny red pupils, as a low rumbling chuckle echoed through the ruined street. “Well then. I was already gonna be locked up, but I guess it's time to upgrade those charges!” The villain roars, swinging Bakugo's hands as flecks of explosive sweat shoot towards Izuku, and he-

Izuku lopes forward on all fours, his limbs extended and disjointed, hands tipped with long claws as he sprints forward in a hunched position like some kind of prehistoric predator. The first droplets go wide above his head as he rolls on the floor and to the right, dodging the second set as he bunches up on his haunches, coiling up like a leopard about to strike as he leaps forward, the final set going short as he clears the blast entirely.

Izuku blinks, as he heard the beads of nitroglycerin whizz towards him. He ducks, leaning into his sprint as he hears something whistle over his head, before straightening and twirling to the right, explosions filling the air where he was less than a second before. He blindly leaps into the air, hands flailing awkwardly as an explosion rocks the ground right below his airborne feet. “Excellent work, boy!” Fulgrim would call out, as Izuku glanced to his right. Far from the purple toga Izuku had seen him in, he was dressed in an ornate, cloaked set of purple armour detailed in vibrant gold, a large eagle’s wings cast in gold making up his left pauldron flapping back and forth as though in flight as he ran next to Izuku at a pace that looked positively leisurely for him. “Watch your front! And where is your blade?” He would snap, sending Izuku's attention back to the villain as his blade appeared in his hand, just in time to glimpse the shimmering glints of droplets of nitroglycerin sent his way yet again. “Blocking incendiary rounds will only slow you down and damage your blade. Either dodge, or cut!” Fulgrim would boom over the explosions, his voice clear and firm as Izuku continued sprinting.

Time seemed to slow as the first bead flew towards him as he readied his blade, seeing the sparkling droplet fly towards him, almost in slow motion. His sword swings upwards like a spoon through treacle, as everything around him slows to a crawl, the single moment stretching into a long infinity. The blunt sides of his training blade taper into an impossibly sharp edge before his eyes, the silvery grey Necrodermis coming into contact with the nitroglycerin and shearing it in half, the two halves ricocheting off the edge and ejecting themselves to either side of him, detonating in dramatic flourishes. Time speeds back up, as he leaps and rolls under the second bead, landing on a knee as he pants, forcing himself to his feet and continuing to sprint. “Terrain is just as important in a duel as your skills. Most enemies react poorly to an attack from above.” Fulgrim would call out, Izuku following his gaze to notice a flipped car near the villain. He twirls around another blast and sprints towards the car, feeling the suspension rattle under him as he leaps onto the undercarriage and runs upwards, springing off his makeshift ramp with his left arm outstretched, his sword arm trailing behind him as he launches himself towards the villain, and Bakugo.

A detached part of Izuku's mind notes the similarities between his current pose and a particularly popular mecha anime from almost a century ago, and humbly accepts that he is a massive fucking nerd.

Izuku swings as the eyes come into range, his- wait, Kaachan! If he cuts with the sharp edge, he might slice right through his head!

The edge of the blade blunts as Izuku strikes the villain's eye with the force of an all-star MLB batter, deforming and warping the slime around it as he bursts through the mass of sludge, landing on one knee with his back to the villain and his blade behind him as the villain roars an incomprehensible expression of pain, the injured eye retreating into his body as he screams. “YOU FUCKING BRAT!” He roars, as Izuku whips around-

Just a second too late.

A torrential rush of sludge and explosive sweat slams into Izuku, sending the boy tumbling through the air and away from the villain. Izuku falls through the air, all flailing limbs and disorientation as he tumbles like a leaf blown by a garden hose. “Midoriya!” Fulgrim calls out, and Izuku catches a glimpse of the armoured giant sprinting before taking a leap, arms outstretched to catch Izuku in midair-

Only for Izuku to phase right through him.

The giant lands, spitting out a curse in a language Izuku can't place as Izuku hits the ground with a sickening flop, breaking his fall with a sloppy roll that leaves him sprawled on the ground. Lactic acid burns his muscles as he grits his teeth, willing against bruised ribs and burns and scrapes oozing blood to rise to one knee. “I'm gonna make this fucking HURT!” The villain roars, sending thick tendrils of sludge his way as Izuku looks up.

“Not today!”

A hose of acrid liquid that hissed and spat fumes that made Izuku's eyes water rocketed over his head as he instinctively rolled away to avoid the splashback. The liquid hissed and spat as it gushed into the sludge, parts of the mass sloughing off in sheets of bubbling liquid. The villain would give a panicked yell, shrivelling back and withdrawing as Izuku glanced over at his saviour- the same pink girl from before, although clearly, she was far from unscathed. The skin from her fingertips to her elbow was pale and leathery, and her breath was ragged and heavy, as though she was having trouble standing.

Powering himself to his feet, Izuku would roll his shoulder, adjusting his grip on his sword. “T… thanks.” He would pant, as the girl doubled over and put a hand on her knee as she caught her breath, looking over. “That's- that's twice today.” She would make out, through parched lips. “You… YOU FUCKING LITTLE BITCH! You fucking hero wannabes should have just run away. I'm gonna enjoy fucking burning you alive, and making this little meat suit watch.” The villain would growl, slinking closer as green sludge surrounded the pair. “Man… today is… not our lucky day.” The pink haired girl would say, glancing over at Izuku as she gave a weak smile. “Yeah.” He would smile back, readying his sword for what he felt would probably be the last time.

“FEAR NOT, YOU TWO, IT'S LOOKING UP NOW. BECAUSE…”

A loud voice, full of bravado and instantly recognizable would boom across the ruined street, echoing between buildings as Izuku's eyebrows raised and his weak smile rallied back in force.

“I AM HERE! DETROIT SMASH!”

Chapter Text

Death Arms was totally taking steroids. 

That was the only thing Izuku was thinking while he knelt with an expression of remorsefulness on his face as he looked up at the muscular hero chewing him and the pink haired girl out. He knew he should be… I dunno, probably nodding and listening and apologizing or something- which he tried to do, despite how boring Death Arms was- but goddamn if it wasn't obvious. His bicep veins were literally popping out through his cardigan. 

If Hero work didn't kill him, a heart attack probably would. 

That being said, he couldn't be sure. Given how incensed Death Arms was getting right now, his veins could just be bulging because he was furious that Izuku and the pink girl had put themselves in danger. He still didn't have her name, actually, and considering they almost got killed together, he probably should get it. 

“You're lucky you two have promising quirks and know how to use them, but still! That was needlessly dangerous! I know you two probably want to get into hero school, but this isn't the way to do it. You can't do the entry exam in a body bag, can you? Because with you, overusing your quirk like that, and you, attacking a villain with a training sword ! Looks a whole lot to me like that's your plan!” 

Izuku nods and shrivels slightly under his gaze of Death Arms, before noticing Fulgrim slowly slink up from behind the Hero, the giant still clad in his purple armour as he stood behind the man. Right away, the difference was painfully obvious- Death Arms looked heroic, sure, but it was… unrefined. Pedestrian, almost. Someone that was unique individually, but was designed by committee. Interesting, sure, but ultimately forgettable. But Fulgrim- he looked different. He had a Heroic-with-a-capital-H air about him, even without his costume and support gear, like a noble, or some ancient conqueror. But with his costume, and his support equipment? He looked legendary. The ornate armour was heavy, but not bulky, accentuated his features, yet did not make him look lightly armoured or weak. Powerful, but not barbaric, standardized enough to be practical, to look like some piece of real equipment- yet not so uniform as to appear mass produced. It was almost comedic, in a way, to see such a man standing over Death Arms, giving the man a quizzical look that seemed to approximate the vague sense of disappointment or confusion that a parent feels when witnessing their child eating a small insect. Taking a single graceful stride, Fulgrim phases through the man, standing before Izuku in the fulsome glory of his gilded armour, flowing locks of white hair ruffled by some ethereal breeze. 

“I believe you have long since toned out his annoying blabbering, so let me ask. Why are you kneeling?” The giant would ask, looking down at Izuku as he spoke, before pausing for a moment, correcting himself. “Or more specifically, why are you kneeling to him ?”

 Izuku would look left and right, unable to respond as he glanced at Fulgrim, then back at Death Arms. 

“Ah. I apologize. But let me monologue to you for a moment, at least until this… faux legionary completes his speech.” 

Izuku sighs. One lecture was already enough, but now he has to deal with two ? This day was rough enough for him, and his ribs were KILLING him. He just wanted to-

“You performed excellently today. You should be proud.” 

Izuku looks up at Fulgrim in confusion and shock, squinting at him as he tried to elucidate his strange logic. Noticing Izuku's befuddled expression, the giant would chuckle, shaking his head. “Truly, I mean that. You are a youth, barely trained, hardly a master swordsman. To hold your own against a foe like that is a good start.” He would say, glancing behind him at Death Arms, before continuing. “You have no reason to kneel before him. Do you respect him?” 

Izuku would start to nod, before Fulgrim put up a finger to stop him. “Do you really? Or do you merely respect his station? Where was he when you were fighting for your life? He didn't save you. He didn't fight alongside you. He didn’t risk himself to save you. He didn't bleed with you. Others did.” He would say, flicking his head in the pink haired girl's direction, her own gaze cast slightly downwards in what looked to be boredom masquerading itself as shame. “The least you could do was ask her name.” Fulgrim would offer, before glancing back at the hero behind him. “Ah. Looks like our friend is wrapping up. I'll leave him to it, then.” He would start walking off, but would pause. “But you should give it thought, who you kneel to and who you don't. Body- In my time, I had many sons. And my sons knelt only to those worthy of being knelt to.” Fulgrim would ruffle Izuku's head with a hand that was not there, and give him a gentle smile as he steps behind Izuku and out of his view. “For better or worse, I am training you as one of my sons. I treat you as I would one of my sons. So- you shouldn't bend the knee so easily.” 

Izuku returns his focus to the hero before him, as Death Arms sighs and shakes his head as he speaks. “Look- I don't like doing this. I know you two acted without thinking, with the best intentions. But there are consequences to what you did. I'd rather lecture the two of you now than have to explain to your parents why their children are dead.” He would sigh, a hidden, deep sorrow born out of seeing too many dead too young shining through a momentary crack in his armor of definitely-roided-up muscle and stern looks. “I know you two moved without thinking. I know it was just an instinct to help someone. It's the same for me. But without any training, or with very little training, what you did was stupid and dangerous. At least wait until you get into hero school to do something dumb like that, got that?” He would bark, looking at the two sternly as they both nodded, before nodding and walking off. 

Izuku gets to his feet first, brushing the dust off of his pants as he offers a hand to the girl, who accepts it with a smile as he grasps her hand and pulls her to her feet, her skin still slightly leathery and paler than the rest of her body. The pair look at each other in silence for a few moments, before Izuku breaks the awkward post-dressing-down silence. “I-uh… he… I… did you notice he's on… uhhh…. Y'know, steroids?” 

The girl looks at him, blinking twice for a moment, and a creeping feeling of dread slinks down Izuku's spine before a smirk splits her face, a chuckle building in her throat that descends into a deep belly laugh. “I- Yeah! I thought the exact- oh my god, yeah!” She makes out, between breathy laughter and gasps for air. “I never noticed it in photos, but he definitely does, right? Its… it's not just me, right?” Izuku would comment between snickers, as he shoulders his dusty backpack. “You’re completely right, holy shit.” She would comment, looking at Death Arms’ back. “Thanks… thanks for the save earlier today, by the way.” Izuku would say abashedly, looking down at his shoes and blushing slightly as he walked off, his mind still reeling from the fact that he was talking to a girl . “Oh, no problem! You had some CRAZY movement just now, though. I mean, that whole jump thing- what was that? Where'd you learn to do something like that?” Izuku smiles shakily, shaking his head. “Uhh… A teacher of mine. Family friend.” The girl laughs, giving him a friendly box on his shoulder as she smiles. “Hey, don't make me even more worried about the entrance exam. You cheater with your broken quirk.” She would smile, walking alongside him as they ducked under the police tape at the edge of the ruined street. “Wh-me? You can make acid! Do you know how useful that is? You could make handholds, or surf on your acid, or get rid of debris after a disaster! And if you can make acid of any acidity, you could make impassable areas, or emergency batteries, or you could-”

Izuku would notice the girl looking at him a little funny and would grimace, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I'm a little… too into quirks. Uh… maybe names are better. I'm Izuku Midoriya.” He would say, offering a handshake.

The girl would look between his hand and him for a few moments, before laughing and slapping his hand in a firm handshake. “Mina Ashido. See you at the entrance exam!”

A while later, Izuku thought he saw a skeletally thin man with long blonde hair walk off in the direction Mina had left in, but didn't think anything of it. 

Stepping back into his room, Izuku would shut the door quietly behind him, carefully placing his bag next to his desk before collapsing onto his bed and groaning loudly into his pillow, each patch of bruised skin and overtaxed limb screaming in protest as he lay there in vague agony and fatigue. Truth be told, he had wanted to slump over right then and there the moment he got home, but he really didn't wanna scare his mother like that, and he didn't feel that bad. Now, though, whatever super-adrenaline he had been juiced up on had all been used up, and he was feeling every bit of the hurt that had accumulated. 

“I should go to a doctor.” He would mumble to himself, grimacing as his ribs throbbed in a way ribs shouldn't. A mechanical scoff would echo in his mind, as Izuku glimpsed Trazyn looking down at his prone form from his bedside. “Of course not. You're perfectly fine. A little medication and remedy might be needed, of course, but they're all perfectly capable of being prepared here. There's no need for-” The skeleton would say, before being cut off.

“I disagree.” 

Fulgrim would interrupt Trazyn mid-sentence, apparently somewhere vaguely near Izuku's feet as he spoke. “The boy is not one of your toy soldiers to die and return a million times over. He is a child, Archeovist- the boy must be attended to by an Apothecary! If not to treat him, at least to ascertain the severity of his injuries.” “Fulgrim, if you think I will so callously allow a being of flesh to prod around at him, irradiate his body, pull and twist his limbs to realign his bones and then cast him in plaster, you are wrong. I will not allow such… barbarism to be enacted on him. Backwards as your Imperium may be, this era by far exceeds the follies of yours.” Trazyn would say, sounding fulsomely disgusted as he spoke. “Though, I do see your point. Perhaps some immediate care is necessary.” Trazyn would comment, as Izuku felt him grasp his arm gently and lift it up how was he -

Izuku snaps his head up, looking at Trazyn’s arm grasped around his arm, then up at the metal man himself. “Wh- How- I- Huh?” He would splutter, eyes as wide as saucers as he looked at what should have been impossible. Trazyn was in his head, right? What the hell? “How are you…” He would ask, flabbergasted as he looked at Trazyn physically interacting with him. 

Trazyn chuckles, and Fulgrim- who had been seated in the corner of his room, since it seemed as though the giant was never content to undergo the shameful act of bending his body to fit in the low ceilings of Izuku's room- would shake his head with a smirk on his face, enjoying the befuddled look on Izuku's face. “Did you think you upgraded your scarab for nothing? Shadowboxing can only take you so far. I am no warrior, but even I can acknowledge a certain… tactile experience is necessary for good physical training, after all, and no education is ever complete with purely textbook learning.” Izuku would flip over with great effort, looking down at the modified Scarab.

 It was about the size of a golden retriever, although a bit shorter and wider, essentially being a big disc shaped like an overturned bowl with three insectile limbs on either side and a head in the centre. Unlike the old scarab, though, this head was slightly more insectoid in appearance, although still far from anything that could be identified as any real creature. A single pale green orb glowed in the centre of its vaguely shield-shaped head, a smaller orb sitting off to its top right like a moon orbiting a planet. From below its head, two mandibles sat, spread apart as a small, shifting orb of Necrodermis was levitated between them. “You know, your human innards are not as insulated from the outside world as you would think. Sufficiently small particles are actually capable of penetrating all the way down to your bones. Makes this whole process much easier.” Trazyn would note, as the orb began to shape within the Scarab's jaws, forming into long strips and floating over to cover parts of Izuku's limbs and chest. “Now, back to work- remind me, where were we at for mathematics?” 

Sitting up, Izuku would reach over to grab his black notebook from his nightstand, flipping it open and taking out his pen. “Uhhhh… you were talking about Hekatic equations? Something about vector space manipulation.” He would say, skimming his most recent notes as he sketched a line across the page. 

40 weeks remain.

“Patience, Midoriya. Patience, and grit.” 

Izuku sucks a breath through a clenched jaw as he angles the shield attached to his left hand yet again, batting away the swipe of what looked like a comically oversized butcher's knife held in the meaty hand of a projection of what looked to be some kind of person with a gigantism quirk that made them look like a troll, or maybe some kind of orc. Seemingly outraged by Izuku's block, the man would roar incoherently, as droplets of holographic spittle splashed against his shield- a simple affair of Necrodermis, slightly smaller than him and shaped roughly like the lid of a coffin with an Ankh in the centre.

“Against an untrained foe who is stronger than you, it is better to deflect their blows and goad them into blundering than to risk an attack. At a physical disadvantage, you should rely on technique to seize control of the fight.” Fulgrim would advise, standing a distance away in full armour, hands resting on the pommels of his two blades. 

The green man would bring both his hands to the hilt of his blade, raising it over his head like a woodsman with a great roar as Izuku lowers his shoulder to the shield, twisting his body to brace against it. Driving with his feet and twisting his body, Izuku would burst to motion, slamming his shield into the beast's midriff and sending it stumbling back. Seizing the opportunity, Izuku would bring his blade to bear, twisting his body again as he brought his blade down on the man's midsection, cutting a long diagonal slash from his pectoral to the right of his stomach, sending simulated sprays of blood and gore flying. Staggering back, the beast would look dumbfoundedly down at the loops of intestines hanging out of the long slit that Izuku had cut in its stomach, before casting its blade aside and bellowing loudly, charging at Izuku like a football player. 

Hm. Like a football player.

Izuku releases his shield, the slab vanishing in a burst of green energy as he shifts his grip on his blade, holding it in reverse as he leaps, scattering sand and dust in great arcs as his feet leave the ground. Twisting his body as he hurdles the beast, Izuku would grip his blade with both hands, plunging it into the nape of the man and using his body weight to leverage it down, sliding down his spine and bisecting the scrap-metal armor on his back like a zipper as he lands in a crouch. 

The man stumbles forwards for a few steps, ruined armor dropping off with simulated clangs as he falters, and collapses into a burst of speckles of green light. “How- how was that?” He would pant, looking up at Fulgrim with a smile on his face as he rests his blade on the sand. 

Fulgrim would look at him for a few moments, before speaking, a touch of humor tinging his voice as he shook his head. “Passable.” He would begrudgingly acknowledge, before speaking under his breath. “Showboating little bastard. Cyrius would love you.” He would mutter, as Izuku's smile widened into a broad grin. 

39 Weeks Remain.

Izuku looks down at the scarab in front of him, the machine about the same size as his original scarab but distinctly different. Three pointed legs splayed out on either side of the front segment of a roughly oval shaped body, with a pair of roughly wing-shaped plates attached on either side of a green orb in its center. A faceplate, roughly T-shaped and featureless save for a single glowing green orb in the center, looked up at him, cocked slightly to one side as he studied it. “So this is the… updated scarab, I guess? Why didn't you just send one of these, then?” 

Trazyn would run a mechanical finger down the backplate of the scarab, leaning over Izuku's shoulder in a manner that would be mildly creepy if not for the fact that he was so incredibly large that it was kind of par for the course. “Space. These newer scarabs are less easy to modify. Where would all those engrammatic databanks go?” Trazyn would ask rhetorically, as the scarab casually bounced back and forth on its six legs, with an air of boredom about it. “That's fair, I guess. But why did you only allow me to make three?” He would ask, glancing over at the other two scarabs, one of them busying itself with scouring some invisible contaminant from his bedroom floor with rays of green light, while the other perched on one face of the command pylon, the green orbs on its body pulsing regularly as it seemed to be downloading something. “As a limiter. Undeniably, you need more production capabilities- but too many scarabs makes for an incredibly boring scenario. Three was enough to get work done, but few enough to form a little challenge. Where would the fun be in making a legion of Necron technology and conquering the world without effort or personal interaction? As your philosophers once asked- if God is all powerful, why does he not simply solve all problems?” 

Izuku blinks, before looking up at Trazyn. “Did you just compare yourself to God?” 

The 60 million year old robot skeleton chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course not. I've read your religious texts. I'm much more charismatic.”

38 weeks remain

“Congratulations.” 

Izuku blinks the sleep from his eyes as he awakens, rolling over in his bed and squinting before the predawn darkness in his room to see Trazyn standing by his bedside, staff in hand as he looks down at the boy. “...whuhhh?” Izuku would mutter, squinting and rubbing his eyes as he sits upright. “Congratulations. Fifteen years- three times of five- since your birth, unmarred by mutation or illness. An auspicious sign, to be certain.” Trazyn would elaborate, as Izuku sat upright and stretched, sitting on the edge of his bed as he went through the series of stretches that Fulgrim had taught him many weeks ago, that he now recognized as vital to warding off the painful aches and cramps that would otherwise inevitably come. “Oh- my birthday! Thank you!” He would say after standing, bowing deeply in thanks to Trazyn as he beamed. Trazyn would laugh, waving a hand as he spoke. “Think nothing of it, child. Today is a day of celebration, after all! I am sure your mother will host a tributary feast on your behalf, and your own growing tomb-mind has its own gifts for you. But, be it noblesse oblige, or perhaps arrogance, I saw it fit to bequeath you with your first gift- to be by your side, before the first rays of sun fall upon this chapter of your life.” 

Trazyn steps forward, releasing his staff in a burst of light as a sheathed dagger appears in his palms. “If you would so honor me, the world of Solemnace, and the Nihilakh dynasty, I would bestow this gift unto you. In the times of Flesh, it was oftentimes commonplace for heirs and princes to be met with designs against one's life. And so weapons like this dagger were made. This particular blade was made by the Ithakas dynasty, originally intended to be gifted to crown prince Oltyx as he ascended the throne. Alas, the fires of biotransference stripped that chance away from him, and the blade was squirreled away in some vault, for some eventuality that never came. And so it lay, until it was eventually sold off to the Altymhor dynasty, where it managed to evade the fall of the home world of the Ithakas. Alas, the ship it was on was beset by human guns on its journey, but Providence smiled upon her that day, and Nihilakh ships happened to be in the area to guide the distressed vessel to safe harbor.” 

“You stole a ship full of loot and you're giving me the stuff that you can't get rid of because it's too noticeable.” Izuku would summarize, having long since worked out Trazyn's kleptomaniac tendencies. The skeletal robot would chuckle, holding the dagger in one hand as he put a hand to his chest in a mockery of shocked anguish. “Your words wound me, child. It was a purely historical venture.” “Yeah, you took notes while you robbed them blind.” Trazyn would chuckle at Izuku's rebuttal, outstretching a hand to ruffle his curly locks, before performing the necron equivalent of clearing his throat and placing both his hands on the dagger. “Regardless, one of the Crypteks of Solemnace identified the blade among the haul, and with my blessing, restored the blade. Of course, Crypteks being Crypteks, restoration soon became improvement, and the improved blade was critiqued by a colleague, who borrowed it to improve it as well. One thing led to another, and… Well, suffice to say, by the time it was returned to me, it was wholly divorced from the original.” Trazyn would explain, offering the dagger to Izuku as Izuku grasped it from his ghostly grip, surprised to find the dagger to be tangible. 

The grip was cold to the touch, and as his hand curled around it, every ridge and valley in his palm curved and adhered perfectly to a finely machined counterpart, rendered in a metal as dark as the void between stars, yet finely shimmering with an iridescent ghost-light that gave the whole weapon an ethereal look, and faintly illuminated his hand in colors that had no name. Bands of golden material ringed the dagger from its grip to pommel, looking and feeling like gold, but more , somehow. The sheath itself was made of the same black material as the grip, with glyphs and angular designs made of a sky-blue material that caught the light embedded in it. Izuku could feel no seam between the sheath and the hilt as he ran his finger over it, as though the two were one solid piece of metal. 

“The handle and sheath are made of singularity-forged Godsteel, with highlights of Metagold and Hetaktic inscriptions rendered in Brittlesteel. A rather ingenious little piece of work by one of my Crypteks, really - the inscription allows only the individual corresponding to the idea of Izuku Midoriya to draw it, while also subtly encouraging the eyes of others to… glide over it, shall we say. A casual assassin might not even know you were ever armed before you draw the blade.” Trazyn would comment, as Izuku rests his other hand on the sheath of the dagger, slowly separating it from the hilt with an almost religious reverence. “This is…” He would breathe, raising the blade to the light. The sheath and handle were dark, but this blade was something even blacker than dark, as though it actively sucked up the light. Interconnected lines and circles lanced through the darkness, glowing a sharp green that the void-black blade swallowed hungrily, connecting with the handle and the edge of the blade, which glowed a faint green in turn. “A Hyperphase-edged metamaterial of Noctilith and Strangesteel. Anachronistic, of course- I'm sure you can identify the postwar Sautekh styled inscriptions- it originated from a separate artefact with a damaged hilt, but it was far superior to the original blade intended for crown prince Oltyx, which itself was already damaged. Defaced, actually- the original blade had the inscriptions scoured off so poorly it irreversibly damaged the integrity of the blade. A shame, really.” Trazyn would explain, as Izuku stared at the weapon, blinking a few times before sheathing it and hanging it off his right hip, staring at the metal giant before him and blinking a few times, his breathing unsteady.

With a burst of motion, Izuku would slam into the projection of Trazyn, tears spilling from watery eyes as he clutched the midsection of the robot rightly. “Thank- thank you. This is the greatest birthday of my life.” He would sob. “I never- you didn't- I-” The words would spill incoherently out of his mouth, as he sobbed. 

A ghostly skeletal hand would rest on his head, ruffling emerald green curls of hair. “Happy birthday, child.”

37 weeks remain

“Faster, boy! Faster!”

Izuku dodges and darts around rusted out cars and old locker units, vaulting over a side-turned fridge and sidestepping through gaps in a series of doors planted in the sand. Fulgrim strides along the makeshift obstacle course made of trash and abandoned items as he watches Izuku's progress with the critical eye of a ballet master. “Keep your posture tight and compact! A smaller target is a harder target!” He would bark, as Izuku ducks and rolls under an arch made of old crates and barrels. “Good! Now, sprint!” Fulgrim roars, as Izuku lands on his feet and begins sprinting across a wide stretch of the beach, his head locked forwards as he sprints over the bits of scrap and rocks embedded in the sand, his stance subconsciously adjusting for the different surfaces between steps. 

Something moves in the corner of Izuku's vision, and on pure instinct, he kicks his legs out from beneath himself, dropping into a slide as a spray of some clear liquid spits overhead. Instinctively shielding his face with his right sleeve as he skids along the sand, dribbles of the liquid splash against his forearm, hissing angrily against the fabric of the tracksuit he was wearing. “Wha- Shit! Acid!” He would exclaim to himself as he slid to a stop, his free hand flashing to the dagger at his hip. The blade flashed through his sleeve, clattering to the sandy ground as he ripped it off, tossing it aside and frantically shaking his arm in the air. 

“Calm down, child. Necrodermis is chemically inert. Shame about your sleeve, though.” Trazyn would comment, appearing in Izuku's vision mid-blink, glancing down at the sleeve. Gingerly turning his arm towards himself, Izuku would breathe a sigh of relief as the silvery Necrodermis underlayer clinging to his muscles remained unbroken and undamaged. “Y-yeah. Right. Sorry.” Izuku would say haltingly, giving his hand a few experimental clenches, before standing. “Still, though. Where did that…” He would start, looking up inland from the beach. 

“Ohmigod- are you okay?” A familiar voice would call out, as a head of pink hair popped out over a pile of rusted-out appliances and trash. “I'm so sorry! I didn't know anyone was- Wait, Midoriya ?” Mina would call out in shock, as Izuku looked up. “Mina? What're you doing here?” He would ask in confusion, walking over to the pile. “Uh… quirk training! Same as you, I think.” She would say, as Izuku would walk around the pile, taking a glance around. A rental truck had been parked just off the road on the sand, half filled with bits of wrecked garbage, some of it partially melted by acid. 

“I didn't know anyone else was using this beach. I'm sorry, I should have checked. Are you alright, young man?” A skeletally thin man with electrified blonde hair would ask Izuku, standing not far from the truck, dressed in a pale blue tracksuit. 

Trazyn knew the horrors the flesh could bring. He was once Necrontyr, after all, and regardless- he was a museum curator, and extensively familiar with the manners in which a specimen could deteriorate over time. The ravages of age, damage from battle, radiation- he had catalogued all of them, and was well aware of the costs associated with restorative measures. 

So, even lacking the suite of sensors he typically had, and confined to the data broadcast from Izuku's senses, Trazyn could safely say- this man was fucked up. Not from age, nor from some disease- no, those sunken eyes and that deathly pallor were a different kind of wasting. This was a lack of nutrients, and starvation would be impossible in such a nation with such prosperity. The other option was the aftermath of some kind of gut wound, which was equally unlikely.

Unless…

Of course. His presence here and age, combined with the pseudo-tyranid ‘s testimony (Well, she could also be a daemonette, although the acid seemed to suggest some strange fusion. Food for thought.), suggested he was here in an advisory role. With the prevalence of Heroes in such a society, it was possible one might be available to take on a successor. That would even explain the condition- a Hero might have been injured in battle, and had to retire. Quite shrewd of the child to secure assistance from such an individual, he had to admit. Such a dynamic could make for quite the exciting friendly rivalry! Still, now he had to answer the question of who exactly this individual was. A cursory examination of physique, combined with distinctive features, and estimated ages and eras- my, the cataloguing system of this world for their Heroes was truly something to behold. If only the Imperium had kept a record half a percent as detailed as this! He would have a wonderfully easy time collecting. Now, who exactly Might this individual-

Ah.

How fascinating.

Yes, it did appear that he did have a rival now. 

30 weeks remain.

Chapter Text

“Alright, you damn brats, settle down and lemme read this thing off! ‘Attention, all students. Before we commence the National Physical Fitness Test, I must remind you of the following conditions. 

The NPFT is intended to assess the individual, natural and unaided physical fitness of a student. As such, any and all quirks, quirk based enhancements, support equipment or otherwise unnatural augmentations not immediately necessary for the individual's health are prohibited under the Fairness and Equality in Assessment and Testing act, Section 53(22). You are reminded that if any of you are caught or suspected of quirk usage, you may be removed from the examination, and your results may be voided or suffer a penalty. Should you be in possession of any unauthorized items, you are to surrender them now. If you have any questions, you may ask them now.’”

Izuku looks around as his PE teacher- a burly, middle aged foreigner with a crew cut, a vaguely Arabic surname that started with K and an American accent who everybody agreed had fought in a war, but nobody agreed on which - rattled off a script he'd heard him read off at least ten times in the years he'd been his student, and was as sick of hearing it as the man likely was of saying it. 

“Alright, nobody? Great. Ahem- ‘The test consists of eight stations, to be administered in the following order: Grip Strength, Seated Toe Touch, Standing Broad Jump, 50m Dash, Side-to-Side hops, Sit-Ups, Baseball Throw and a 2 Mile Run.. Should you be medically exempt for any station, you may sit at the bleachers over there until the class is done.’ Alright, this is the only thing between you and lunch break, so let's get this done and I'll let y'all off early. First three in the register, up here at the machines. Amamiya, Arai, Bakugo- get up here. Rest of y'all, fall in behind ‘em!”

Izuku glances over at the wrists of his classmates, all featuring the same red, quirk-suppressing wristband with the prefectural government’s seal on it, before looking at his own unadorned wrists. He hadn't worn those bands for a while now- they made his “hallucinations”- what he knew now was the Flayer course- act up, and it was only when he ended up in the American's class that he was allowed to go without it for these tests. Still, everyone gave him that same dirty, suspicious look- the one that screamed “Villain”, as though they were all waiting for him to just give in to the urges and just lunge at one of them, to let his body hunch and his fingers stretch and sharpen as he -

He rests his hands on his knees and breathes. 

Not today. 

Noticing the empty space before him, Izuku steps forward, picking up the device and gripping it. Looking up, the American would wink at him, clicking his pen in and then out. “It's your last test with me, right? Go nuts kid. All or nothing.”

All or nothing, huh?

Izuku feels a smirk grow across his face, glancing up as he noticed Fulgrim standing in front of him, arms crossed. “Your teacher speaks the truth. You're my student. I don't expect you to settle for second.” The giant says, giving Izuku a nod as the boy looks down, fingers curling firmly around the rubber grip. 

Yeah, he could do all or nothing.

What the fuck. 

What the actual fuck. 

What the ACTUAL FUCKSHIT GODDAMN HELL WAS THAT?

HOW THE FUCK DID THAT GODDAMN SHITTY FUCKING DEKU GET FIFTY TWO GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING KILOGRAMS FOR HIS GRIP STRENGTH? 

Bakugo wasn't mad, no, he was absolutely motherfucking LIVID. This GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER thinks that he can act better than him just because he did some rock climbing or something? Cuz he hit the gym or ran a little? Yeah right, give me a fucking break. That damn kid was just trying to cope for his shitty fucking villain-ass quirk and having no fucking friends by hitting the gym. Who gave a fuck. Anyone could do that. This was an uniquirked test, anyways. If he ever had to do this with quirks, he'd completely SMOKE that fucker. Who gave a shit if he could grip hard, or reach far? He'd kick his ass in anything that involved running, or the ball throw. He was Bakugo motherfucking Katsuki. He was gonna FUCK that shitty fucking Deku up.

“Damn- Hey, Yuuki, look at Bakugo! What happened to him?” 

“Hm? Oh. He tried to attack Midoriya after PE. The Desert Storm had to pin him to the ground to make him stop.”

“Jeez! You'd think nobody would try shit in Khamsin’s class after that whole thing last year. For a Hero wannabe, he really doesn't know how to pick his battles, huh? But speaking of- Why’d he get so set off at Mido? Dude usually is pretty low key.”

“Oh- He went beast mode just now. Crushed Bakugo's record. Mr K told him good job, and Bakugo just went nuts.”

Izuku glances up from his half-eaten lunch as he feels the pause in the conversation between the blue haired kid in his class who always had headphones on and the kid with a cap welded to his head who somehow managed to grow a goatee hang heavy in the air. Feeling the weight of the gazes of the other students in the cafeteria sink in on his shoulders, he would swallow his mouth of udon, looking down silently into the bowl, locking eyes with his reflection in the earthy mirror of the broth. 

“They’re looking at you, you know.” 

Izuku's eyes focus, seeing the reflection of the metal skeleton standing over his shoulder. 

“I know. I have eyes.”

“You should say something. It's-”

“Unbecoming of a lord. I know.” 

Izuku pokes at the udon in the bowl, casting the white snakes in a hypnotic spiral, chasing each other like the fluffy clouds of a hurricane.

“If you know, why are you not grasping the moment? Why are you not taking the opportunity to take control of public opinion?” 

Izuku looks back up, eyes sweeping across the murmuring crowd, gazing at the small radius of empty bleachers and lunch tables around him, before looking back down at the bowl.

“Three years too late.” He would mutter, watching the noodles settle to the bottom of the bowl.

15 weeks remain.

Mina wasn't quite sure what Izuku was doing for “training” at the beach, but she was quite certain whatever it was, it was making her feel like she REALLY wasn't doing enough to prepare. Sure, she'd been testing her limits, building up a resistance to her acid, working out and all that, and she was totally feeling great about herself, but, glancing over at Izuku's cleared section of the beach, doubled over herself and struggling to catch her breath after hauling yet another fridge to Yagi-san’s rented truck, she was quite certain that whatever kinda psycho shit Midoriya was doing was on some whole other level. Sure, clearing his part of the beach was one thing- and yes, there was a “his side” and a “her side”, which Yagi-san insisted on after Izuku almost finished the job by cutting a fridge he was leaning on in half without knowing he was there- but what exactly he did with that space was something else entirely. Seemingly overnight- actually, it probably was overnight, considering she'd those three freaky-yet-undeniably-kinda-cute robots that followed him around- he'd managed to build his own obstacle course, and some kind of mini training house next to it. All in plain view of her side, so she got to watch him use it while dragging scrap here and there! 

Looking over the ridge of scrap on her side, Mina would sigh as she watched Izuku sprint down the straightaway of his course, stretching her arms and mopping up her sweat, glancing back to see Yagi-san’s truck driving away.

She wasn't jealous.

She DEFINITELY wasn't jealous.

Not one single bit.

Izuku rolls to a stop as he crosses the finish line of his obstacle course, dropping into a low crouch and catching his breath as he looks up at Fulgrim. After a few close calls with people who had thought that they'd seen a hero in the vicinity and gone snooping around or asking online, Izuku had absolutely insisted that Fulgrim downscale his projection a little to a more reasonable 2 metres tall, and put on a shirt instead of the togas he kept wearing. Surprisingly, for someone who lived 38,000 years in the future, Fulgrim actually owned a shirt- a deep purple crewneck, with a black design of a double headed eagle over his heart and a large “III” on his back. 

Fulgrim said something about how apparently it was necessary as the attire for servicing some archeotech, according to ancient manuals and guidelines. Apparently ancient “pict-captures” also suggested those clothes were critical to appeasing the machine spirit, or something like that.

Izuku didn't quite understand why Trazyn reacted how he did, but he'd never heard such a strained combination of a laugh and a sad sob.

 The Phoenecian would glance down at him, towering over his lithe frame, eyes seemingly assessing Izuku's form and posture even now, out of the circuit. “Not bad. Of course, your form coming out of the tunnel was sloppy, and, god forbid, despite the fact that I keep giving you advice to disregard damaging your surroundings and just engage your targets, you KEEP tiptoeing around them and putting yourself in unnecessary danger because you don't want to damage things. But otherwise- well done. An excellent time- one of your best, actually, perfect technique and- besides an inexplicable desire to avoid property damage in a conflict, of course- quite efficient dispatching of targets. Wholly acceptable as a performance.” 

Izuku would look up at Fulgrim, smiling as he felt his face flush bright red at the praise of his teacher. “So- does this mean you think I can pass the entrance exam?” 

Fulgrim would laugh at this, shaking his head as he ruffled Izuku's hair. “Please. You're my student. I think you're more than ready for anything your world's “heroes” could come up with- barring a few out of context problems, of course. All we have left for preparation is some… situational practice.” Fulgrim would pause, before looking up, squinting slightly. “Ah. It appears as though we have a voyeur.” 

Following his gaze, Izuku would glance up at the mound of trash before him, noticing the mop of pink hair studded with two white horns staring down at them. “Oh. Hey! Ashido!” He would shout, putting his hands to his mouth to project his voice. “You done with training yet?”

“Yeah! Just finished! What about you?” Would come the response, as Mina popped her head up over the wall of garbage. “More or less. I have one…?” He would trail off, glancing up at Fulgrim, who returned a nod. “Yeah, one more run of my course left. Wanna come with?” He would ask, feeling a smirk creep up across his face as he saw Mina notably perk up. “Oh, yeah, sure!” She would say, leaping over a fridge and sliding down the slope between the pair, landing with a jog at the foot of the small cliff. “Is this your…” She would ask, gesturing at the platinum-blonde man standing next to Izuku. “Trainer. I'm a family friend of the Midoriyas.” Fulgrim would respond with a gentle smile on his lips, his voice deep and rich, speaking in perfectly understandable Japanese, yet still touched by some foreign accent that was hard to place. “My name is Fulgrim. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, miss…?” He would offer, his voice trailing off. “Ashido. Mina Ashido.” She would smile back, giving a nod.

 “So, what's this course?” She would ask, looking over at the stretch of obstacles rendered in black stone before her. “Oh- not much, really. One kilometer in total, 500 metres front and back.” Fulgrim would explain, pointing at a dais a distance away, a purple flag tied to a tall black pole jutting out of the dais. “Complete 300 metres of obstacles, 200 metres of obstacle based targets, touch the flag and then complete a 500 metre rundown with pop-up targets along the way. So, interested?” He would ask, looking over at Mina as Izuku stretched at the start line. 

Mina would grin, towelling the last remaining beads of sweat off her head and tossing it at a bench nearby. “Yeah, Izuku's not gonna know what hit him.” She would joke, boxing Izuku in the shoulder as she lined up next to him, dropping into a runner's crouch. 

Fulgrim chuckled, checking to make sure both were in line, before giving both a nod. “Excellent. Begin.”

Yagi was impressed.

Quite impressed, actually.

He had entirely expected Mina to continue training after he left. Just wasn't in her nature to not , especially with young Midoriya still working out. What he hadn't expected, however, was what exactly the two were doing, or what it was. Sure, he had seen young Midoriya setting up and running an obstacle course, but he hadn't quite expected just how expansive the course was. He'd had the idea that it would just be some old scrap lashed and strapped together into some vague approximation of an obstacle course, but he didn't expect this .

Stretching across almost half of the beach, shrouded from view by heaps of garbage and natural ridges, the course stretched easily half a kilometre in length and drew a slender, elongated U shape, with obstacles made of black stone positioned on either side. Armatures and structures spanned the entire length of one of the paths, huge black monoliths creating barriers and obstacles along part of the path, in some parts crumbling like sand to create fields of rubble and others rising to sheer heights. They zigged and zagged from side to side, before forming walls and windows, rooms and alleys, all the way up to the flagpole. Almost five metres up, a purple flag fluttered in the breeze, atop a thick, smooth pole. The course continued further in the opposite direction, but from what he'd seen so far, the course was already terrifyingly gruelling. Even for a pro, running this whole course over a kilometer was already pretty ridiculous, but the nature of the obstacles made it even harder for most pros. Sure, somebody like Mirko or Gran Torino could probably do it without too much difficulty, but could Gang Orca? Could Endeavour? He wasn't so sure.

Could he?

Yagi wasn't so sure. 

Sure, he was fast. Buffed up, he was probably one of the fastest heroes out there. A 1km dash with some targets wouldn't pose any issues to him, but this wasn't a normal blind dash. This was mazes of black walls and rooms with targets, and in a tight, confined space? He could use too much force and collapse the building if he reacted on instinct. It… would be a challenge, he has to admit. Nothing he couldn't overcome, of course, but not as well as another hero who had a better skill set for this. And speaking of, where were…

Ah, there they were. Through a tunnel made of jagged, rough pieces of black stone rubble, Mina would slide out, coasting on a slick cushion of her acid as dissolved remnants of what looked like rough outcroppings of stone within the tunnel sloughed out behind her. Hitting the ground running, she would sprint towards a black wall about twice her height, fingertips dribbling acid as she leapt up and sunk her hands into the wall, forging herself handholds as she pulled herself up, hand by hand. 

A scant second after young Ashido started climbing, Midoriya would scrabble out of the tunnel, sprinting towards the wall as a blade flashed into his hands with a burst of green light, leaping and plunging it into the wall with both hands, redirecting his motion to shove himself upwards with a firm pull, his right arm windmilling around to slap onto the top of the wall and pushing himself upwards, his lithe body tilting to vault smoothly over the wall. Dropping forward, he would land in a roll, immediately picking himself up into another sprint to vault through a mock window, taking a second to catch his breath before vanishing his sword with a flash of green light, stepping onto an oddly shaped balancing beam and steadily moving forward as its uneven surface rocked back and forth on a bed of rubble. 

Flicking his eyes back to his trainee, he would spot her clambering over the top of the wall, dropping in a three-point landing and springing to her feet. Vaulting through the empty window, she would deftly run across the balancing beam on her side of the course, passing Midoriya as a lifetime of experience from dancing kicked in, feet adjusting for and balancing every little wobble and sway of the beam. He had to admit, young Ashido was performing admirably, despite not focusing on training agility and speed. The little spark of pride in Yagi’s chest fanned into a steady flame as he watched his protégé progress through the course, feeling a small grin spread across his face.

“Are you Miss Ashido’s trainer? She's doing quite well, I must say- you must be proud.” 

Blinking and glancing over in the direction of the voice he had heard, he would nod. “Yes, I am. Young Midoriya is doing excellently as well, though. Are you his trainer? Did you put this all together?” He would ask, looking at the blonde haired man standing near him. He was tall, Yagi noticed- just over two metres tall, and rippling with muscles, with a mane of neatly kept blonde hair ending at his shoulders. The man would glance over at the course as he watched Izuku hop off the balancing beam and duck into a maze of tight alleyways and tunnels right behind Mina, a dagger flashing into his hand as he made a slash in the black wall and turned down a T- junction, vanishing from view. “My thanks for your compliment. Yes, that would be me. One of my… associates had been helping Izuku with his quirk. He asked if I would be interested in training his physical skills, and I agreed. The course is my own design, but Midoriya built it with his… Quirk.” The man would comment, looking away to glance at a hologram of Izuku and Mina's process, eyes scanning a model of the maze cast in monochromatic green light with a single dot marking his location. 

Yagi watched their progress silently, noting the almost algorithmic way Izuku systematically traced  a route through the maze, branching out into paths until he reached a dead end or intersected somewhere he'd already been and doubling back to blaze a new trail, but alarm bells were ringing in his head. Izuku's trainer wasn't a normal person, he was almost certain. He had a certain way of speaking, carrying himself, a certain build- that screamed some kind of weapon. Someone who fought, who was made to fight, and did it exceedingly well. And sure, he wasn't any different- he knew plenty of heroes he'd include in that category, even himself. 

But he didn't know any heroes who looked like that man. He didn't know any heroes that fit the profile of being able and willing to design an almost military obstacle course like that, being of that build, and looking to train a protégé. His gut told him HPSC, or some other government or international acronym agency, but that made no sense- what acronym agency didn't have at least one empty multipurpose hall somewhere to use? Why take the risk? 

Yagi wasn't sure what precisely, but something about this wasn't adding up.

Izuku sprints out of the maze, panting as he pauses for a moment to catch his breath, slipping his dagger back into its sheath and summoning his sword and shield, furrowing his brow as he called his scarabs to his side, the three robots rocketing to his side in the seconds it took him to reach the door to the next section- the one he hated the most. 200 metres of urban combat hell. Sure, normally if he had some kind of ranged weapon, it wouldn't be so bad, but Trazyn kept insisting that giving him one “wouldn't be fun”, and Fulgrim kept giving him some platitudes about restriction and necessity driving innovation and personal development. And he wouldn't care so much, were it not for the demands Fulgrim put on him for this segment. From breaching into the fake house, he had a second to take out one target and have his shield up at any other targets, and another second per target to run up and take them out. 

All that, non stop, from room to room, for god knows how long until the rooms ended. And then he had to break through a wall and climb a pole. And then sprint 500 metres with his shield and stab anything that popped up along the way. 

He was so goddamn tired. 

Kneeling down behind one of the two doors, he would close his eyes, linking up with his scarabs and sending off his commands within his mind.

Combat command: Mutual sensing and mapping. Identify targets and present relative to commander. Identify structural features and defects. Self-preserve and maintain stealth. Do not engage.  

The scarabs shoot off in varying directions, orbiting and circling the structure as Izuku scrunches his eyes shut as he feels the momentary overload of data surge into his mind- atmospheric compositions and ambient temperatures, material data sheets and topological information, background radiation, light levels, background sound and noise, a single albatross soaring overhead and gulls in the distance, radar pings and lidar dots, byte upon byte of information flooding into his mind. His head hurts, pain blossoming across his brain as he sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. 

And, as quickly as it began, it ends. Izuku’s eyes snap open as his brain kicks into overdrive, green eyes shimmering as green wireframes and outputs frame his vision, sketching positions of moving targets and mock hostages as he takes in a breath and steadies himself, his mind focusing into tight, simplistic loops as he pares down exactly what he needs, compartmentalizing and preparing for the first room.

One right behind the door. One, corner to the right immediately after entering. Hostage, front right corner. Stack up. Brace shield behind door and breach. Eliminate first hostile.  Immediately shift right and use shield to bash second hostile. Pivot and push into second room.

Execute.

5 weeks remain.

Chapter Text

Yagi's jaw was on the floor.

Daemon.

That was the only word he could think of as he watched Izuku mechanically break through and clear each room, with near robotic efficiency. Because what else could his movements possibly be? Sure, his own protege was doing admirably, melting peepholes in the concrete and spraying targets before even entering the room, gliding around the floor on a cushion of acid, using her quirk creatively- exactly what he'd expect, from a hero. But Izuku was different. Sure, he was using his quirk cleverly- Yagi saw the times Izuku moulded his silver quirk metal into lockpicks and shivs to break into secured rooms, but he was also sharp enough to spot each time his blade and shield shifted slightly, becoming slightly more hooked to claw a shield away from a dummy, or slightly lower in profile to neatly hide behind cover, or fold itself just enough to have imaginary bullets deflect harmlessly into the ceiling instead of ricocheting around- but everything else was far from heroic. There was no joking laughter and smiling faces, no quips or impassioned roars, no shouted attacks or flashy moves- no, Izuku was quiet. Efficient. Every movement he made was forceful and swift, each blow shattering a target or smashing open a door, never pausing, never slowing, never ceasing. He was a wraith, stalking from room to room, moving like a machine.

Yagi's eyes immediately snapped away from the green-hued screens to the other blonde man watching them, only barely keeping back the raw suspicion in his mind from breaking through onto his face. He was almost certain now- this man was no hero. Whatever he was, it was undeniable: at this present moment, he was honing Midoriya into a killing machine. Was he Yakuza? Military? HPSC? Yagi wasn't sure, but he was clearly nothing good. He'd have to-

“You've been staring for an awfully long time at the back of my head. Is there something wrong with it?”

Yagi curses mentally, almost kicking himself. Sloppy. “Ah- no, nothing’s wrong, my apologies. I was merely a little shocked. Young Midoriya’s performance has been… quite spectacular.” How did he even notice me? He should have been focused on the screens. The man would nod, cocking his head from side to side in a rough “eh” expression. “I suppose. I find him to be leaning unnecessarily into showmanship. Too many flourishes and twirls. He strikes to wound in flashy displays, not to neutralize his enemies. Any of those could get back up and cause great danger to both himself and any hostages.” The man would say, gesturing at several targets with neat stabs in each of them. “And he's too tense. It'd be much preferable if he loosened up a little. He's too mechanical, too predictable. A little more passion, a little bit of Chaos- that would do him much good. Like Miss Ashido.” He would say, gesturing at Mina sliding into a room and twirling around targets like a dancer, each one collapsing seconds after her touch as acid ate through the thin black material.

“Ah… thank you very much. Young Ashido certainly is rather spirited. By the way- I just noticed, I didn't catch your name.” Yagi would say. His voice was jovial, his tone positive- but his eyes were hard. He didn't trust this man.

“My apologies. My name is Fulgrim. It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, mister Toshinori.” Yagi would smile and nod as the man turned to glance at him and gave him a cordial smile in turn, before returning his gaze to the screens.

Yagi would continue to observe Mina's performance as well, although it was only much later, on the drive home, when he noticed something that made his blood turn into ice and his mouth grow dry.

He had never told the man his name.

5 weeks remain.

“Gauss blaster… nope. Gauss flayer? Nope. Gauss… okay, let's just get rid of anything with Gauss in the name.” Izuku would mutter, reaching forward to the projection of a list of Necron weaponry floating in the air in front of him and pulling his hand back, entries in the list flying into his palm as he clenches it shut, making a crumpling motion with his fist. The green wireframes of designs crumple into a ball in Izuku's fist, which he proceeds to line up and shoot like a basketball player, the ball wheeling through the air before vanishing in a burst of green light. Izuku would stare at the remaining green wireframes of various ranged weapons, some tank sized behemoths, others so small they could be mounted into the tips of his fingernails, thoughts running through his head. Gauss weapons were too destructive- even powered down, they'd disfigure someone permanently even with a glancing shot, tesla weapons were too risky- they'd potentially arc and hit bystanders or other equipment, and the less he said about enmitic weapons, the better.

“You seem… frustrated.”

Izuku would glance over, noticing Trazyn standing over his shoulder, watching the web of weapon models and readouts splayed in the air in front of him. “I- yeah, I guess. Why does everything you make just… massively overkill anything you point it at? The most humane ranged weapons you have either just instantly make someone stop existing by sending them to some alternate universe, or kill them so fast their brain doesn't register it.” Trazyn would glance at Izuku with a look of confusion written on his robotic face, taking a moment to respond- quite the rarity, given that Trazyn usually had a response cued right up whenever he spoke to Izuku. “That's a foolish thing to ask, isn't it? If you're pointing a weapon at somebody- why would you not want to swiftly eliminate them?” Izuku would blink, looking over at Trazyn as he picked up a model of some wrist-mounted weapon- a Tachyon Arrow, apparently- and looked it over. “A hero shouldn't kill, they should try to capture villains. Otherwise they're just the same as them.”

Trazyn lets out a robotic approximation of an exhale from his nose, shaking his head. “Come now, all that idealism is entirely unrelated to the fundamental question. You yourself study the Quirks of your world, do you not? Tell me- how many of your quirks have components of rapid healing? Or gigantism? Or toughened skin? How many quirks allow their users to create constructs? How many of the criminals- ah, my apologies, the Villains of your world”-Trazyn spat the word out, as though disgusted by the very concept of such a simplified view of morality- “Would seek to turn such abilities against you, or against civilians?”

Izuku paused, letting Trazyn’s words sink in. “A… lot of them, I guess. But still- isn't that overkill? I mean, a Gauss weapon would doo way too much damage. It's… unfair.” Trazyn snorted at this, a harsh, strange, mechanical noise. “Fairness? Please. I am no martial being, but even a scholar such as myself can say, quite safely- fairness means naught in matters of war and combat. Does a Nemesor care if it is fair that the enemy he orders his men to attack has been pummeled from the heavens and starved for days? Does one of your Heroes care if his foe is poorly trained, or ill equipped? Do you think I care about how unfair it is that my enemies often encounter my wrath two kilometres away facing the opposite direction?”

Izuku would pause, before responding. “Depends on the Nemesor, depends on the hero, and depends on how fun you think fighting them might be.” He would retort, summoning a model of a Tachyon Arrow with a flick of his hand and willing the green hologram to form around his wrist, snapping the model of the wrist mounted device open and shut with a few experimental pulses of thought. “But even still- something like this is just ridiculous. I mean, disregarding the fact that this could probably rip my arm out of its socket if I use it, why do I need this much power? Why would any individual possibly need this much power?” He would ask in sheer incredulity as data about the weapon appeared in the air next to him, before looking back at Trazyn.

“Do you really want to know?”

 Izuku searched his soul. But from what he had fought with Fulgrim, and the stories that Trazyn had told him of the history of his people, he found that no, he really did not.
1 Week Remains.

Hahaha…

V. Vaughn, the travellin’ Vaudeville Villain

Who don't give a flyin’ fuck who ain't not feeling him

Izuku forces his eyes open, sitting upright in bed as he lets his alarm play, staring at the clock with dead eyes.

0530, a little less than 30 hours until he has to leave his home for the practical portion of the entrance ex-

A blade, glowing bright orange in the darkness, plunges out of the corner of his vision in a downwards slash towards him. Acting on instinct, his sword flashes into his hand, batting the blade aside into the wall as he rolls into a crouch on the floor, shield materialising in his other hand as the band clasped around his wrist glows to life, casting green light across the rook in the inky pre-dawn blackness.

Watch whatcha’ dealing him, Ace, King, death card

Strong-arm the wrong man, pardon the left, god.

 “Good morning, Midoriya!” Fulgrim calls out over the music, pulling his blade out of the wall and twirling it in his hand, going for a swing aimed at Izuku’s head. Ducking under the blow, Izuku sweeps his shield upwards to block the slash and thrusts forward with his sword, aimed square at the chest of Fulgrim’s Panoply. The Primarch brings a shield to bear, its surface adorned with the ankh Izuku had come to recognize as a standard among Necron tech, an orb in the centre of the shield flaring a bright green as some unseen force repels and redirects his thrust, sending him crashing into his bedside table as he leaps to his feet again, bringing his shield up to block another strike that sends shockwaves through his braced arm. “What the- Come on, I just woke up! What's the deal anyways?” Izuku hisses, twirling around Fulgrim's shield to strike, locking blades with the Primarch. “Call it a final exam before your entrance exam. The Archeovist put together this little piece of Xenotech for you, and what sort of trainer would I be if I didn't learn how it worked before teaching you about it?” Fulgrim laughs, forcing his blade down on Izuku, leveraging his size and strength advantage over the boy. Izuku rides with the force, using it to slide between Fulgrim's legs and get behind him, springing up into a leap that would make Jordan proud as he makes a downward swing at Fulgrim's rear. Making a broad grin, the demigod would spin around to parry his blow, batting aside his slash and sweeping his blade upwards.

Get money and earn it, that everything-you-touch-turn shit

Got much to learn kid; write it up, burn shit

“But why now?” Izuku questions incredulously, flipping backwards and kicking off the wall behind him, letting gravity propel him forwards as he bashes into Fulgrim with his shield, his sword thrusting forwards. Slamming into the invisible dome of force projected by the shield in Fulgrim's grasp, the air around the pair would flare with light for a millisecond, dust and small bits of debris cast aside and pulsing in waves, redirected away from the site of the blow before rebounding off of the floor and pulsing into the site of the blow. “Why not? Do your enemies take off days and weekends? Do the so-called Villains of this world make sure to only work from 9-5? Do bullets lose their bite on birthdays and weddings?” The man would counter, leaning into the bright flare of energy as the force of Izuku's blow rebounds into him, sending him rolling back. “Fair, but- in my room? My MOM’S SLEEPING NEXT DOOR!” Izuku would retort, parrying a slash from Fulgrim and responding with another slash that the shield reflected. Fulgrim's mouth would open, about to respond, before closing. “You make a fair argument. Very well. Let us resume this elsewhere.” He would admit, standing from his duelists stance and eyeing something behind Izuku.

Light it up like the Dutch when the hash melt

Only time they see him when they meet him with the cash belt

Izuku follows Fulgrim's gaze, noticing the open window behind him. “Shit.” He would swear, as the Primarch began sprinting towards him, closing the distance between the two in the blink of an eye and tackling Izuku like a quarterback, sending the pair sailing through the window into the cold morning air.

Time seems to slow to a crawl as he tumbles through the air, Izuku's mind running at a mile a minute as adrenaline fills his bloodstream. Fulgrim was a hardlight hologram, so no real mass, because he was pretty certain if he actually weighed as much as he should, Izuku would be dead by now. First steps, though. Break out of the tackle.

Izuku swipes his sword at Fulgrim as they tumble out the window, forcing him to push him away to block the slash with the shield. He braces for the inevitable rebound from the shield, twisting his core to put more strength behind the blow-

Only for the sword to pass through the field without any reaction, slamming into the shield itself. Why? What changed? Did the shield run out of power? No, the centre orb was still lit, and he could still see the shimmering haze of the field projected by it. So why was-

His eyes flick to their surroundings.

Ah. He understood it now.

The shield wasn't reflecting his attacks, it was refracting them. It was redirecting them to the floor and other objects, and using the reaction force to counter the blow.

And in the air? With no surfaces for the force to go? It was basically useless.

Izuku slashes, locking swords with Fulgrim and forcing his guard open as he shoulders into the blow, letting go of his own shield as he grapples with the larger man, gripping the shield and wrenching it out of his holographic grip. Willing his sword away, Izuku drops back under the swipe from Fulgrim, kicking off his armour and summoning a block of Necrodermis, the metal shaping with a thought, unspooling into a long rope as he flings it up.

For a single second, Izuku hangs in the air, a tether of silvered Necrodermis reaching up towards the roof of the apartment but not quite reaching, while an armoured demigod falls to the earth below him.

The head of the rope shapes itself into a hook, flopping over the edge of the roof and catching tight on the building. Izuku pulls, muscles across his body tensing as the rigid rope turns elastic for a split second, flinging him up whole storeys and onto the roof. Letting go at the apex, he makes a three point landing, shield clutched in an arm outstretched behind his back, like an old Hero from the days when Heroes lived in movies and comics.

Izuku would slowly rise to his feet, breaths steadying as he looks over the edge of the building. The clash of metal on metal startles him, and he turns around, seeing the purple-armored clone of the greatest product of genetic engineering ever devised clapping heartily.

He meets the Phoenician’s gaze, and the man smiles at him.

“You're ready.”

Standing in front of a pair of towering glass buildings, surrounded by hundreds of people milling into an auditorium and a veritable rainbow of school blazers and jackets, swaddled in her coat and carrying a backpack full of her training clothes and whatever she thought might help in the practical exam, a young girl in a big city can't help but feel tinier than she already is.

Uraraka Ochako rolls her shoulders and breathes out in the cold air, a smile rising to her face as her gaze rests on the U.A. crest emblazoned on the gate above her, forcing her anxiety and fear deep down. This was it- time to chase her dreams, time to step up and forge her path forwards into tomorrow. Today, all the training and hard work pays off. Today, she has 10 minutes to show a whole panel of UA Teachers- Who were also Pro Heroes!- just what she was capable of, and damn it, today, she was gonna blow their friggin’ socks off!

Ochako feels her cheeks flush slightly with internal shame at the uncharacteristic cussing she had just done to try and hype herself up, and grins sheepishly to nobody in particular, looking around her to distract herself. Man, the kids here sure had some crazy quirks, huh? There was a girl with vine hair, a dude with six arms???, another dude with some kinda weird purple balls for hair, and a brown-haired girl with deer horns. Honestly, looking down at the pads on her fingertips, she felt a little too… normal? No, that wasn't quite true, there were tons of other really normal-looking people there too. There was a really ordinary-looking blonde haired girl talking to the girl with deer horns, there was a guy in a black t-shirt with white hair and green eyes, and there was a dude with green hair muttering something to himself.

“Hey, Deku! What the hell are you doing here? You gonna be the mock villain on the test?”

The green haired boy- Deku, she guessed- seemed to tense up visibly, looking over at the origin of the voice- a blonde haired boy with spiky hair, dressed in the same school uniform as the other boy. “Oh, Kaachan-” Deku would start, before being cut off by the boy. “Get the fuck out of my way or you're dead.” The other boy would growl, forcibly shouldering past him.

Ochako wrinkled her face slightly. That was pretty rude, wasn't it? Who even was that?

“Hey, Nokotan, wasn't those the kids from the sludge villain incident? Bakugo, or something, and that kid with the sword?”
“Eh? Sure looks like it, but wouldn't you be nicer to somebody who saved your life? Maybe all blonde haired people are delinquents inside…”
“Oi! What're you saying?”

Ignoring the bickering between the pair standing near her, she would cast her gaze over at that Deku kid. He had stayed rooted at the spot as people walked past him, fingers curled into his palms as he sucked in deep lungfuls of air, muttering something under his breath. Stepping forward, she would stretch out her hand, putting her hand on his shoulder as he glances over at her, neon green eyes just faintly wet.

“Hey, you doing alright? It's bad luck to go into an exam in a foul mood.”
“Y-yeah, I'm good. I'm fine.”
She gives him a little shake, before letting go and waving as she walks off. “This sure is nerve-wracking. Good luck to both of us!”

Ochako smiles at him as she vanishes into the crowd, knowing that she'd helped to make the world a little bit brighter for somebody today, putting the incident out of her mind as she refocused her thoughts onto the exam, and the battle ahead of her.

A shame she had done so, for she was the only person there that day who, had they paid a little more attention, might have noticed a faint silvery sheen on the boy's nails, growing in intensity as he breathed, only to recede and vanish entirely after she spoke to him.

Iida Tenya couldn't believe his eyes.

The disrespect! The boorishness! The sheer audacity!

It was one thing to disrespect Present Mic-Sensei and his fellow U.A. hopefuls by chattering and muttering during his briefing, but what he was doing here was something else entirely! Not only was this boy continuing his streak of murmuring to himself, he was taking his disrespectful actions towards the other applicants even further by continuing to distract them by stretching and using his quirk in such an exaggerated fashion! Flexing and stretching like a dancer or contortionist, making such extreme flashy shows of his quirk by summoning… whatever those insect-like metal creatures hovering around him were, even having the audacity to start walking towards another candidate who was meditating while stretching himself- it was showboating! Puffing out his chest unnecessarily! Ridiculous! He- no, the Tenya blood inside him- couldn't stand it!  He had to intervene!

He marches up, stretching his hand out and fiercely grasping the boy's shoulder, freezing the little interloper in his tracks as he stares him down with pure stern disapproval in his eyes. “Why are you here? To distract others? Hoping to interfere? Like I said earlier- if you're here to mess around, you should just leave.”

A pair of neon green eyes meet his own, their colour vivid but the light behind them dead and cold. Iida cocks his head slightly, awaiting the boy's response as others around them begin chattering, but he says dead silent, staring him down. The disrespect! Did he not care at all for his fellow examinees? The attitude! The lack of empathy! He has no right! Why, he had half the mind to give him a tight slap right then and there, were it not for his strong sense of morals and etiquette, but still- it was ridiculous! What kind of lack of self awareness could lead to this? Truly, this whole situation was setting his blood on fire and-

“And… BEGIN!”

Present Mic-Sensei’s voice rings out across the stadium, as everybody looks up in confusion, awaiting further confirmation.

Well, almost everyone.

Not the boy who was in his grasp.

In a single, swift motion, before Present Mic-Sensei had even finished talking, the boy's hand spins up around Iida’s grasp, wrenching his shoulder out of his grip, before turning and taking off in a sprint, leaving the others behind in a dust as he takes a turn and disappears into the simulated cityscape.

The.
Sheer.
Audacity.

Iida's jaw drops, his hand immediately shooting up the second the sheer magnitude of this boy's transgression is made clear to him. “Proctor! I wish to report a false start! That candidate should be disqualified!” He would call out loudly, as other students look around in confusion, following his own gaze to the concrete tower overseeing the entire training grounds.

“False start? What’re are you talking about? He's the kid here who's got his head on straight! There's no countdowns in real life, go, go, GO!”

Iida's engines flare up, dust kicking up behind him as he sprints along with the mass of students, quickly outstripping them as he sprints ahead, searching for targets as he tears through the empty streets, eyes scanning-

A shower of dust and debris appears in his vision, a one-pointer smashing through one of the walls in a hail of broken concrete as Iida screeches to a halt, parallel stopping like a professional skiier.

“Target identified! Commenc-c-c-c-c-”

The one-pointer starts, voice glitching as the LED implanted in its head flickers, before shutting off entirely, the whole upper half of its thorax suddenly sliding to one side and dropping to the ground. Its legs stayed upright for a few moments more, still twitching and wires sparking at the steep diagonal cut running entirely across its body, before they too dropped to the ground. Iida's eyes dart around, peering through the dusty haze the one-pointer came from. What quirk was that? Who was that fast? How did they manage such a feat?

As if to answer his questions, oil suddenly splatters across his face, bringing a hand to his face on instinct to protect his glasses, lowering as green lights pierced through the haze, revealing the culprit.

That same. Damn. Boy.

Now wielding some kind of sword and shield, the boy had stabbed deep into a three pointer’s mechanical body before decapitating the machine, sending oil spraying everywhere and accompanied by the tortured screech of metal and dying electronics as the machine crumpled to the ground. “Nine.” The boy would breathe, flicking a glance over to Iida before sprinting off again.

NINE POINTS? IT’D BEEN LESS THAN FIFTEEN SECONDS SINCE PRESENT MIC-SENSEI STARTED THE EXAM!

Iida shook his head, knuckled down, and sprinted, locking on to a two-pointer like an sidewinder missile and dropping a roundhouse kick into its arms, quite literally disarming it before following up with a side kick to its chin, sending its head rocketing off into the sky. A good move, a strong start.

But watching pieces of a one-pointer smash through a third floor window, diced and mangled like the machine had been through a blender, he can't help but feel like it's not strong enough.

“Pretty good show this year, huh? Hey, Nedzu, if you ever get sick of teaching- I bet you could direct a hell of a reality TV show.”

Yagi looks up from the screens arrayed before him and the other teachers in the room, noticing Present Mic step in from the announcer's booth, giving the man a nod as he sauntered over to his chair and took a seat. “I suppose I could, but my heart just wouldn't be in it. This is far more entertaining.” The small, mouse-bear-ferret-like creature sitting at the head of the table would demur, taking a sip from the cup of tea before him. “Such a wide battlefield, with such limited time- it brings out the best in them. All kinds of talents are revealed in such conditions.” Nedzu speaks, the other teachers following his gaze at the monitors. “Hey, isn't that Ingenium’s little brother? How many points has he gotten?” Ectoplasm would ask, a peg leg bouncing against the floor in an echo of an old nervous tic as he focuses on the feed from one of the battlegrounds. “I do see the similarity, although I must admit- I'm surprised young Tenya wouldn't apply with the other recommended students.” Yagi would rumble, eyes searching for the boy's photograph on the leaderboard positioned above the monitors. “Hm, 32 Villain points? For a quirk like that- it seems like a rather low performance.” He would comment, looking at the other names. “To be fair, it's because most of the bots have been taken out by another candidate in that ground. We'll have to take that into consideration here as well. It seems many villain bots have been neutralised by examinee 5322. One… Izuku Midoriya. 68 villain poi- no, 71 now. ” Nedzu would note, raising his cup to his lips to take a sip.

“Mmm~ Looks like he's getting rather close to your own score, All Might, even without rescue points.” Midnight would tease, giving him a playful smirk as she spoke. “Do I see somebody getting cold feet?” She would joke, as Yagi laughed. “OF COURSE NOT! MAYBE IF HE DOES WELL, I MIGHT FINALLY BE ABLE TO TAKE A VACATION!” He ribs back in return, looking at the screens as the green-haired boy stalks through a building like a phantom, smashing through walls and decimating hidden villain bots. “Yeah- hey, what's his quirk, anyways? He's making real good use out of it.” Present Mic would add, watching the screen as Izuku fought back to back with an obviously French boy, guiding the blasts of energy from his navel with a holographic map of the surrounding area to funnel fleeing one-pointers into a tight alley to make for easy pickings. “Hm… Zoesideron. Allows him to create a silvery metal that he can control, as well as intelligent constructs which he can control.” Nedzu notes, tapping at a tablet before him to pull up the official documentation for his quirk. “Impressive quirk use, really, and a good character. He could dominate the battlefield alone- but he's taking time to work together with others.” He would comment, watching as Izuku flung a small silvery metal disc like a frisbee, the disc quickly expanding and thinning as it began floating down like a parachute, blotting out the sunlight as it slowly descended. Caught in its shade, a boy with a crow-like head would rear his head back and howl, as shadowy talons and a sea of black feathers swept like a whirlwind through the bots surrounding him, leaving then as so much scrap metal. “Hey, ‘Zawa, if you don't want him, I'll take him.” Vlad King comments, jokingly wriggling his eyebrows at the tired man. “Nice try, Vlad. Knowing the rat, he's already in my register sheet. Right, boss?” Aizawa mutters, resting his head on a fist as he looks on critically at the monitors before the teachers.

“I can neither confirm nor deny-” “Oh, come on! You've already got the kid with the explosive sweat, and the acid girl.” Nedzu chirps back, before being interrupted by Vlad. “Like I said earlier, Vlad, I'm perfectly willing to trade Bakugo Katsuki to you for Ibara.” Aizawa would comment, as Vlad snorted in response. “Nice try. I'm not that dumb.” He would joke, shaking his head as chuckles resounded throughout the room.

 “Come now, gentlemen, let's settle down. I do believe it's time to see what they're really made of, don't you two?” Nedzu would chuckle, taking a sip from his teacup and setting it down, pulling over a button and flipping up the plastic covering with a flourish. “Who would like to do the honours?” He would ask, looking around the room, all eyes falling upon the new hire in silent agreement. Yagi nods, standing up and resting his finger on the button. “VERY WELL, I SHALL! LET THE TRUE TEST OF CHARACTER…BEGIN!”

The button is depressed, and down in the battlegrounds, chaos ensues.

uh oh.

Uh Oh.

UH OH.

UH OH.

This was bad. This was REALLY bad, Ochako thought, as she sprinted down the street, tailing behind the mob of students fleeing like maniacs from the towering zero pointer behind them. Just her luck! Just her luck that the moment she decided to break away from the main group fighting in that boulevard to search for more bots down one of the avenues, this thing pops out of the ground! Just her luck, yep! What else could it be?

A massive foot slams into the ground a hundred metres behind her, sending dust clouds pluming behind her as buildings tumble and collapse. Steadying herself as the ground begins to crack and crumble, she risks a look back, and is greeted by a vision of pure destruction. Two rows of red lights glow down at her from the dust-choked sky, buildings crumbling into scraps of rebar and concrete as it swipes down and holy shit she should really get going right now.

She doubles down on her sprint, sneakers squeaking against rapidly cracking asphalt as she sprints away, towards the mob that was steadily leaving her behind as yet another building crumbles behind her. It's okay, she's fast, she can do this. She can-

Her world spins, her foot giving out beneath her as it lands on its side, a sickening pop resounding in her ears as she tumbles to the ground, slamming her chin into the asphalt. Panting heavily, she struggles to push herself up, as yet another thundering footsteps shakes the ground.

The light above her dims, as something massive blots out the sun above her.

She looks over her shoulder, seeing the foot of the zero pointer descending.

Nedzu’s furry white paw slams into the emergency-stop button on the table repeatedly, the teachers staring in abject horror as the machine continues to move. “POWER LOADER! The zero pointer-” He yells, whipping his head over to the armoured man, himself frantically hammering at a keyboard near the screens, eyes darting across a monitor. “I know, I know! It's not responding- the radio comms must be dead! It's-”

He said other things, but Yagi didn't hear them. He was already moving, having smashed through the window of the room and sprinting towards the testing ground, tearing up asphalt and concrete in his wake as he sprinted towards the zero pointer.

He sees the foot descending, and he sees the prone form of young Ochako. Too far. He's too slow. He won't make it in time.

The breath in her chest goes still, looking up as the foot begins to descend onto her in slow motion. She hears somebody running towards her- but she has eyes. She knows they're not going to make it.

She closes her eyes, offering a silent apology to her mom and dad. They did so much for their baby girl, gave so much up, suffered through so much- only for her to meet her end here. Chasing her silly, stupid fucking dream.

She waits for the impact.

A bright white light flashes, a sound like a hammer striking a high-pitched bell ringing throughout the air as the smell of ozone fills her nostrils, followed by the tortured screams of metal and concrete fracturing and cracking. Cracking an eyelid open, her eyes go wide as she sees the same plain-looking green haired boy from before standing above her, his whole body braced against a shield, clutched by two sets of white knuckles shaking with effort. Sweat pours down his face, his lips a pair of thin white lines as the shield vibrates in his grip, a bubble projected from its centre surrounding the two and singing with a sound like a finger running along the rim of a wine glass. The asphalt and concrete where the bubble meets the ground splinters and cracks as it flares with light, fissures spiderwebbing across the floor the both of them were on.

He strains against the weight of the zero-pointer and the force of all its hydraulics pressing down, face a rictus of pain as he releases a trembling arm from the shield, fingers clawing open as a sword appears in his grasp. A small, insect-like robot buzzes over her head and towards the boy in what she could almost call panic as it clamps onto his wrist. Green lighting courses out of his chest and down his right hand, burning away the fabric of his tracksuit and revealing a silvery underlayer clinging tightly to his skin, as the robot and the sword change.

The robot's body merges with the sword, the whole weapon being drawn up and out of his grasp and up into his wrist, the blade compacting and shrinking to barely a third of its original length while the crossguard compacts into what looked to her like an oval. The single big green eye of robot swells as it positions itself inside the centre of the oval, glowing a blinding green as the arcs of green lightning converge in its centre, before the glow radiates out, tracing lines along the whole object as the boy flicks his wrist, the sides of the oval snapping out as he clenches his fist, his whole arm shaking with the effort as he positions his arm just out of his shield like an archer nocking an arrow.

His lips draw back from his mouth, and he speaks, voice shaky from strain and exertion.

“Tachyon Arrow.”

A noise like the loudest thunderclap Ochako had ever heard rings out across the whole battlefield. In an instant, a hole appears through the entire zero-pointer from foot to head, the blue sky visible through the pinhole for a single millisecond.

Then a blinding white flash dominates her vision, and a shockwave of pressure and rushing air washes over the bubble containing the pair. The bubble cracks and fractures, before shattering with a sound like tinkling glass, the shield itself fracturing and breaking as green light shines through a mosaic of cracks in its back, before crumbling like glass onto the pair. Ochako reaches up on instinct, grabbing the boy's shoulder as he falls backwards, willing her quirk into activation as the shockwave howls around the pair, forcing her quirk to act against gravity and keep the pair from being blown away by the shockwave.

She isn't sure how long she holds onto him for, but when the shockwaves cease, she releases her quirk, emptying the contents of her stomach on the floor before looking up.

An aurora shines above the pair, radiating out from a single line in the sky as vivid greens and purples radiate into the blue sky, the clouds around them cleared, revealing an empty sky marked by atomic winds.

Chapter Text

ajensen→gatorwine [M98B]

[Team] sazanka: OH MY GOF GATOR FUCKING UNINSTALL

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: tf?

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: you talkin mad shit for a dude with 2/9/3

[Team] sazanka: STFU WHY DID YOU JUST WALK INTO THAT

[Team] nrcrft: there was a dude literally right there that he pinged bruh

[Team] nrcrft: he told u n zink to support him n u 2 fumbled 

[Team] zinkyzoogle: bro why m i catching strays i was there it was saz who roached n got us killed

[Team] sazanka: YOU TOO YOU HAD UAV YOURE NOT SUPPOSED TO FUCKING DIE 

[Team] sazanka: IM GONNA FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU

[Team] pharmakokinetics: saz chill bruh

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: fr

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: we aint even losing why r u so pressed

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: youre engi anyways bro why r u even rushing them

[Team] zinkyzoogle: 

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: if u stopped typing in chat n started playing the game maybe youd get a better score

[Team] sazanka: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT 

[Team] sazanka: SAY THAT SHIT ONE MORE TIME

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: ts

[Team] gatorwine [DEAD]: bro whyd you stop moving bruh

[Team] zinkyzoogle: i think bro needs to check the instructions he forgot how to play

[Team] nrcrft: HAHAHAHAHAHA

[Team] nrcrft: yeah saz idk if u knew you move with wasd dude 

[Team] sazanka: FUCK YOU MY KEYBOARD BROKE

[Team] nrcrft: damn gator you made him real mad with that reddit ass response

[Team] sazanka: GATOR IM GONNA FIND WHERE YOU FUCKING LIVE AND PUT YOUR FAMILY SIX FOOT UNDER I FUCKING SWEAR

[Team] pharmakokinetics: bro why r u targeting gator specifically 

[Team] pharmakokinetics: zink said you needed to fucking break out the manual 

[Team] pharmakokinetics: me personally i wouldnt let that slide

freediddy→sazanka [XBOW]

[Team] gatorwine: HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 

[Team] zinkyzoogle: WHAT THE FUCK

[Team] zinkyzoogle: YOU DID NOT JUST GET KILLED BY A MF WITH A BOW 

[Team] nrcrft: GOT FUCKED BY AN ACTUAL MEMEBUILD KDFHKJDSFGHSJDGFHJSDGFJHDS

[Team] pharmakokinetics: how tf HAHAHAHAHA

[Team] sazanka [DEAD]: FUCK OFF

[Team] sazanka [DEAD]: WHY CANT YOU FUCKS SHUT THE HELL UP

[Team] sazanka [DEAD]: I HATE ALL OF YOU FUCKS 

[Team] sazanka [DEAD]: I HOPE YOU ALL FUCKING DIE

[Server] sazanka Has Disconnected

[Global] freediddy: did i make him mad

Shigaraki grabs his keyboard with both hands and flings it against the wall, the brick of aluminium and overpriced and overhyped magnetic switches crumbling into $350 worth of dust and impotent gamerrage. “Bastards! I swear, I'm going to find those goddamn fucking squeakers and skin them alive.” He raves, hands coming up to his eyes by instinct, unkempt nails tearing at ravaged skin in frustration as his muscles tense with suppressed rage. He swore he'd stop playing that shitty fucking old ass shooter, but he had nothing else to do! All the other games were fucking dead after Hero Rivals dropped, but he refused to play a fucking game like that, and he wouldn't be caught dead playing another gacha game. So he was stuck doing this, playing a shitty old tactical shooter and-

A rumble like a distant earthquake shudders through the building, sending Shigaraki’s arms flailing as he steadies himself before a crack like a grenade going off next to his head splits his ears, sending him to the ground. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” He roars as the ringing in his ears subsides, surging to his feet and throwing his curtains open as the echoes subside, peering through the window as his eyes slowly trail above the grimy apartments outside.

The sky was bleeding.

That was his first thought, looking up at the sky above the dingy bar. Like a great gossamer thread of fine gold, a faintly glowing orange trail streaked into the dark blue expanse of the empty sky above his head, the clouds either cast aside or burned away altogether to leave the single trail burning its path into the blue yonder. Aloft on invisible winds, an oil slick of blue-purple light floated in the heavens, bursts of colours like fireworks slowly dissipating beyond the slick as the trail faded into the darkness of space. The whole scene was undeniably beautiful, but also vaguely apocalyptic in a way that he struggled to precisely put his finger on, like an ant watching its colony being crushed beneath the weight of a Van Gogh painting.

The soft bleeps of a monitor embedded in his wall drags Shigaraki’s attention away from the silent display of power, the screen flickering on to display a loading screen, the spiral of dots before him marching in agonizingly slow circles.

[SECNET V.1.5.45 BOOT]

[USER B CONTACT REQUESTED]

[BOOTING LoRa SDR…]

[SDR DISCONNECTED]

[RECONNECTING…]

[SDR DISCONNECTED]

[RECONNECTING…]

[SDR DISCONNECTED]

[ALTERNATING RADIO BAND…]

[BAND 1 FAIL]

[BAND 2 FAIL]

[BAND 3 FAIL]

[SDR E2E CONNECTION FAIL]

[DIAGNOSING HARDWARE CONNECTIONS…]

[LOCAL SDR PING RETURNED (0.413s)]

[HARDWARE CONNECTION READ OK]

[DIAGNOSING INTERNAL SOFTWARE…]

[AES256 READ OK]

[CONFIG READ OK]

[TERM. UI UPDATED]

[INTERNAL SOFTWARE READ OK]

[DIAGNOSING INTERNAL HARDWARE…]

[MOD.ANTN READ OK]

[MOD.ENCR READ OK]

[MOD.TRMN READ OK]

[MOD.RECV READ OK]

[INTERNAL HARDWARE READ OK]

[SDR STATUS FUNCTIONAL. DIAGNOSIS: RADIO BAND JAMMING]

[FALLBACK 1: BOOTING SATCOM]

[BOOTING…]

[BOOTING…]

[ERROR: COULD NOT ESTABLISH SATCOM LINK]

[FALLBACK 2: SHORTWAVE HF BOOT]

[BOOTING…]

[BOOTING…]

[ERROR: SHORTWAVE HF FAIL RADIO UPLINK]

[FALLBACK 3: DIRECT E2E HARDWARE CONNECTION]

[BOOTING…]

[BOOTING…]

[CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL]

[OPENING P2P TRANSMISSION…]

“Tomura Shigaraki. I'd ask you to turn on your TV and check the news- but it seems that's not possible right now. Nevertheless, I assume you've looked out of your window by now. I assume you know what I'm calling about.”\

Professional Kombini Finder

@TokyoTraveller

QHAT THE FUCK WAS RHAT

11:39 a.m. • 26 Feb XX • 9.2M Views

884,612 Retweets 1,913,442 Likes 70,112 Bookmarks

気象庁防災情報☑

@JMA_bousai

[Meteorological Anomaly Warning]

In areas surrounding the Shizuoka, Tokyo and Fuji prefectures, please be advised that a unidentified meteorological anomaly has been spotted. Those with flight quirks are advised to avoid using them until further notice. 

#Disaster prevention and mitigation to protect lives and livelihoods

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Thats gonna leave a

@MarkGayson

“Meteorological anomaly” bro someone shot god or something wtf

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/x/ - Paranormal

[Bottom] [Catalog] [Refresh] 

[Start New Thread]

OP (Anonymous) 02/26/XX 11:42:21 No. 52364749

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HA…

HOLY FUCKING SHIT 

I WAS IN MUSTAFU AND THE ENTIRE FUCKIJG SKY JUST RIPPED OPEN LIKE A FUCKING ZIPPER. HUGE SHOCKWAVE. MY FUCKING PHONE DIED FOR LIKE 10 MINUTES AND THE RADIO JIST KILLED ITSELF. INTERNET IS COMPLETELY FUCKED

WTF IS GOING ON??????

Anonymous 02/26/XX 11:43:41 No. 52364752

>52364749 (OP) #

> I was in Mustafu 

Why?

Anonymous 02/26/XX 11:45:11 No. 52364755

>52364749 (OP) #

Isn't that big hero school nearish there? UA or something? Probably just some kids doing some dumb shit.

>52364752 #

fpbp

Anonymous (OP) 02/26/XX 11:46:37 No. 52364757

>52364755 #

YOU DONT FUCKING UNDERSTAND THIS WAS WAY BIGGER THAN SOME QUIRK SHIT

THIS WAS A BIG ASS FUCKING LASERBEAM FUCKING CHECK TWITTER EVERYBODYS TALKING ABOUT IT NO FUCKING WAY THIS IS A QUIRK

I GOT A PHOTO OF IT BEFORE IT WENT AWAY FUCKING LOOK AT THIS

[bigassskybeam.jpg]

Anonymous 02/26/XX 11:47:12 No. 52364760

>52364757 #

Well damn. Any japanons know what's going on? Some villain or something?

Anonymous 02/26/XX 11:48:51 No. 52364762

>52364760 #

Yeah, U.A. has some big entrance exam today. But also gentle criminal is live today so probably you guys should check that out 

Anonymous 02/26/XX 11:49:32 No. 52364767

>52364757 #

Yeah, I work at a lab in Korea, some apeshit just happened. Some scientist ran into the cafeteria screaming about tachyons and everyone else fucked off in a frenzy. Im on lunch break tho so they not touching me until 12 idgaf

>52364762 #

FUCK OFF GENTLEFAG GO BACK TO /HERO/ TOURIST

Anonymous 02/26/XX 11:50:29 No. 52364777

>52364749 (OP) #

nah the sky just did that calm down op

←₁₉ Fuck the big three 🥵🥵🥵 ✆

captain no underpants Today at 11:39

GUYS 

GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS

LOOK UP

Depressed Kirby Today at 11:40

>be looking up

>get text from gc

>look down to check text from gc

>guys look up

what did mirio mean by this?

ttgl wannabe Today at 11:41

Come on don't be mean Tamaki!

But yeah I see all that

That's coming from Charlie right? @ captain no-underpants 👀👀👀👀?

captain no-underpants Today at 11:42

Dude yeah I saw some of it

It was CRAZY

The zero pointer came up and a bit after that I saw someone BOOKING it towards ground Charlie

Literally broke a hole in the tower to get out faster 

Then I think some kid with a laser quirk (?) vaporised it or something

Depressed Kirby Today at 11:45

Damn nej didn't know you had a lil brother

ttgl wannabe Today at 11:45

Nahhhhhhhh 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

I could never

It made an aurora or something and went to space thats WAY past me

But is everybody okay there?

captain no-underpants Today at 11:47

Idts

I hear an ambulance 

ttgl wannabe Today at 11:47

😶

That sounds bad

Quirk exhaustion?

Depressed Kirby Today at 11:48

It better be

If some freshie does that and doesn't get quirk exhaustion im just gonna drop out and go to management tbh 

I didn't see the gates open though so I think its just a bot sending the kid to the nurses office or smt

ttgl wannabe Today at 11:50

That's rough man

I hope the kid gets better soon! I can't wait to train with them 💪💪💪

Depressed Kirby Today at 11:51

Imagine what that kid's gonna look like by sports fest.

Scary.

Nejire if you send that picture of that fuckign horse again i SWEAR TO GOD

ttgl wannabe Today at 11:51

📷Photo

captain no-underpants Today at 11:52

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Depressed Kirby Today at 11:53

I SWEAR

NEXT HERO STUDIES

IM EATING TAKOYAKI

AND IM SPRAYING INK ALL OVER YOUR COSTUME 

ITS ON SIGHT

🦅tuah ☑

@Hawks

I'm fine. Wasn't in the air when it went off. Hope everybody else is too. FLY SAFE PEOPLE!!!!🙏🙏🙏 #UAurora

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David Shield ☑

@davidshield

#UAurora wasn't I-Island, nor any hero we do anything with either 🤷. This one (unfortunately) wasn't us. Whoever did though- if that wasn't a quirk… 🤙🤙🤙

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President Jeremy Elbertson 🇺🇸 ☑

@POTUS

Good news, everyone! NO major injuries or deaths- to Americans or anyone else- from whatever happened over Mustafu today. Got word that two kids were slightly injured, but have been discharged and are home safe. Still working out precisely what happened with Japan, but most importantly, people are safe. Big ups to all the first responders! #UAurora

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Trench Coat Aficionado 

@ajensen

Any word yet if it did actually start at UA like all the kids there have been saying online?

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President Jeremy Elbertson🇺🇸 ☑

@POTUS

We're still waiting for further confirmation to nail that one down (NASA telemetry and all that good stuff). I've been told the school's making an announcement soon. Should keep an eye out for that. 

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U.A. High School ☑

@uaofficial

In light of the #UAurora situation, Principal Nedzu and several members of the senior administration will be hosting a press conference at 3PM today. We can confirm two of our students were involved in the incident and were minorly injured, but were treated successfully in-school and are now home with their families. Please refrain from further speculation at this time. 

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Best Jeanist ➡️ Threads ☑

@bestjeanist

It's always UA… Must be in our jeans. Plus Ultra‼️

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⭗Live Updates  

U.A. Administration confirms “UAurora” incident caused by applicant at entrance exam

By Shinbun Fukidashi, Will Navidson

What we're covering

• Meteorological anomaly over Japan: Millions in Japan and Korea spotted an orange line in the sky and a subsequent aurora, as well as hearing a minor shockwave. 

• Scientific agencies observe exotic particles: Joint official comments made by IceCube, CERN, Super-Kamiokande and JAXA have so far confirmed the presence of Tachyons- faster than light particles long theorised by science, but never observed until now.

• UA takes responsibility, confirms two applicants injured: So far, Principal Nedzu has confirmed that UA was at least partially responsible for the incident, and that two applicants were injured directly preceding the event.

• IAEA confirms no radiation: Despite initial fears of radiation due to observing an aurora, detecting abnormally high amounts of radioactive isotopes at high altitudes and characteristic signs of Cherenkov radiation, IAEA has since confirmed that no radioactive isotopes were detected along the path of the beam.

15:00 JST

U.A. Senior Administration arrive

Almost 200 journalists have been packed into one of U.A.’s school halls for the press conference. Principal Nedzu, flanked by Pro Heroes and faculty members Eraserhead, Midnight, Present Mic and Power Loader, school nurse Recovery Girl and the unexpected inclusion of All Might- the number one ranked Japanese pro hero.

15:07 JST

Nedzu, Power Loader confirm incident due to test equipment malfunction, no school staff close enough to intervene in time.

Beginning the press conference, Nedzu and Power Loader- school Robotics head and support course dean- have confirmed that the incident was provoked by a testing drone malfunctioning and almost crushing a student. “We’re not able to comment on the specifics at this time, but we can confirm that manual overrides failed and it would have crushed an applicant.” Said Power Loader. Nedzu confirmed on further questioning that reviews of their fleet in conjunction with the contractors who helped with development were underway, but declined to share the specific corporations, citing ongoing legal review and NDAs with third-party vendors. 

Power Loader and Nedzu both confirmed in conjunction with other faculty members that when they were made aware of the malfunction, there was insufficient time to either remedy the situation or deploy a teacher to intervene in time. Nedzu took responsibility for the institutional oversight, ending his statements with a deep bow. CNN has reproduced their statements here:

Nedzu: “As Principal, I must take direct responsibility for this oversight. I had neglected to plan for a situation like this, and failed to account adequately for the safety of our applicants and students. I have initiated a full review of our safety protocols by external auditors, and will be freezing all practical exams until said audit is done. To all parents, students and hopefuls, I apologize for betraying your trust in our school, and beg for your forgiveness.”

15:12 JST

All Might commends unnamed applicant who caused “UAurora” incident: “There are Pros who wouldn't dare to do what they did.”

Taking over from Nedzu, All Might, who was invited to observe the exam on the basis of both being an alumnus of U.A. and his experience as a Hero, shared that an applicant directly put themselves in harm's way to save the applicant who was about to be crushed, holding off the drone for several moments before utilizing their quirk to destroy the drone. This created the “UAurora” phenomenon observed earlier today, but also caused severe symptoms of quirk exhaustion to both applicants. Said All Might, “What that young zygote did was nothing short of pure heroism. There are pros who wouldn't dare do what they did today. I cannot praise them highly enough.”

15:14 JST

Eraserhead snaps at journalist's accusation: “If it wasn't for that “Flashy stunt”, we'd be burying children today.” 

In response to an accusation by Juko News that the entire incident was a publicity stunt deliberately engineered to gain free press coverage, Eraserhead had an emotional outburst, shouting at the journalist: “If it wasn't for that “flashy stunt”, we'd be burying children today. If you gave half as much of a shit about facts as you did headlines, you'd be ashamed of even thinking of that question.”, said Eraserhead. The Hero left the panel almost immediately after, escorted by Present Mic.

15:21 JST

Recovery Girl confirms care rendered to two applicants, both rendered medical aid and released to families. 

On further prompting by reporters from NHK, U.A. school nurse Recovery Girl confirmed that both injured applicants were given aid within U.A. and discharged not long after, shutting down earlier rumours of EMS activation. Citing school privacy regulations and Japanese laws, she refused to share further information, but her comments seem to confirm that the injured students mentioned by U.A. and President Elbertson on Twitter likely suffered from quirk exhaustion and minor injuries, not radiation sickness like rumours had suggested.

15:30 JST

U.A., All Might stonewall on questions about “UAurora” quirk, praise applicant.

U.A. and All Might have refused to share any information about the applicant’s quirk which caused the “UAurora” incident, citing privacy laws and school policy regarding applicants, but confirmed a few key points about their quirk.

1. It doesn't involve Tachyons directly. Putting to bed near-apocalyptic rumours of a potential “FTL speedster” or atomic-based quirk, Nedzu confirmed that the applicant's quirk only produced Tachyons as a side effect, according to U.A.’s own data.
2. “A very clever application”. According to All Might, the applicant’s quirk does not directly create particle beams or lasers- letting Tokyo citizens sleep a little more soundly, knowing that “sky lasers” won’t become a daily occurrence.
3. In good hands. All Pro Heroes at the conference concurred that the applicant showed good character and responsibility with their quirk use, reassuring reporters that the applicant’s character was fitting for such a powerful quirk.

===PLATINUM LEVEL ORDER INCOMING…===

Processing…

Indexing suitable exhibits…

9,865,243,117 exhibits indexed [44.27ms]

Organizing…

Pruning index according to preestablished conventions…

Removing unstable specimens…

1,912 suitable specimens identified [114.92ms]

Organizing by notability…

Organizing by recorded relevant capabilities…

Pruning index…

727 suitable specimens identified [24.22ms]

Presenting to Archeovist minor…

Awaiting response…

Awaiting response…

Awaiting response…

Pruned list received: 144 specimens [66144.19ms]

Presenting to Archeovist Major…

Awaiting response…

Awaiting response…

Awaiting response…

Awaiting response…

Pruned list received: 5 specimens [34910332.119ms]

Presenting specimen 01: 41.968.064113.2TW.CFNT

Awaiting response…

Denied. [47.91ms]

Presenting specimen 02: 

41.999.714612.13BC.UECRD

Awaiting response…

Waitlist [975.22ms]

Presenting specimen 03: 42.003.004322.PRNC.ORKN

Awai…

Denied.[0.00046ms]

Presenting specimen 04: 34.615.941652.MENC.SLTR

Awaiting response…

Waitlist [404.61ms]

Presenting specimen 05: 42.212.296301.AMC.CCIN

Awaiting response…

Accepted [108.28ms]

Additional order received…

Accessing gallery submind control protocols…

Valhallan gallery handshake complete. Relaying orders…

Logging asset transfer: [9x1kg [CONSUMABLE, PERISHABLE, TEA: TANNA]]

Chapter Text

A letter sits in a red box in the back of a motorcycle, bouncing along with its kin as it makes its way through the streets, weaving between skyscrapers and apartments. So many of those along with it bore bad news- the last warning for unpaid bills for a family struggling to get by, a rejection from a college to a hopeful, a box of old childhood toys from the house of a grandma long passed- but unlike all these, this letter was different. This letter bore good news- the best a young boy might hear in his life. News to change someone's life, and their children's lives, and their children's children. 

The letter snakes its way through residential areas and traffic before coming to a stop, a gloved hand extracting it from the box as it begins the last leg of its journey, ascending mildew-stained stairs and tiled corridors tinged yellow-orange by the rising sun and flickering fluorescent bulbs. Tumbling into a letterbox, it rests in its coffin of liminality, awaiting the eventual turning of a key, from one of the family whose lives it will change forever. 

“Look, I'm not going to do it, okay? I- what if they think I've got some healing quirk, or that my body's actually made of Necrodermis, or- it's just too much trouble.” Izuku huffs, fidgeting with the blue nylon sling encasing his right arm as he descends his apartment stairs in the incredibly dangerous yet undeniably fun manners that many a teen learns to do and neglects later in life. “Please. You're being ridiculous, child, it's purely for practical reasons- you and I both know the care you received, while high relative to current standards, is still barbaric overall. A single wraith working for fifteen minutes while you sleep could fix all the damage with none of the recovery time.” Trazyn would offer, casually stepping down the stairs next to Izuku with long strides. “A-are you messing with me? I thought you said they repaired machines and stuff.” Izuku questions, grabbing a railing with his good arm and swinging himself around the corner, stopping before the mailboxes and fishing a key out of his pocket. “What is the human body if not a machine? If a Wraith can manage to align the focusing lenses of a Doom Scythe’s Death Ray to within a picometre, I believe it is more than capable of knitting a human bone together.” Trazyn counters, gazing at Izuku's childish display with a mild air of unvoiced disapproval about him. 

“Okay, I guess that's fai-” Izuku pauses as he pulls mail out of the box, looking back at Trazyn as the name processes in his head. “There is no way it's actually called that.” He deadpans, staring at the metal skeleton with disbelieving eyes before returning his focus to the mail before him. “Oh please- don't be so dramatic. It's a perfectly serviceable name.” Trazyn comments, as Izuku shakes his head and locks the mailbox. “I'm working for a Villain, aren't I?” He would whisper to himself, walking back up the stairs as he flips through mail with his good hand. “Popular sentiment on your world is that the Villains often have a superior sense of fashion relative to heroes- so if that is your insinuation, I appreciate the compliment.” 

Izuku groans as he shoulders open the door to the apartment, summoning a scarab to his side as he tosses a few of the letters towards it, the scarab hovering into the air and disassembling the junk mail into so much green energy. “Oh- a letter from I-Island! How do they keep finding me?” He murmurs to himself, flicking it underhand to whizz like a frisbee into a pile of other letters, emblazoned with a variety of corporate logos. “Simple intelligence gathering, child. Truly- it is a shame most worlds from whence I come lack technology like your Social Media- my collection would grow remarkably fast. Undoubtedly, you are under observation and targeting by many now- some of which you are now aware, and some of which, for certain, you are not.” Trazyn notes as he walks, casting a dismissive hand at the pile of logo-embossed letters on one of the tables in the Midoriya’s living room. “At any rate, it is abundantly clear- your Quirk is desirable, and many wish to control you to use it to their own ends. I believe an upgrade to your capabilities is in order.” The skeleton explains, as Izuku stands and heads to his room, opening the door as green light creeps out from through the crack between the doorframe and the door.

“A Wraith is a good first step for assembling a small arsenal of Necron weaponry. Scarabs are useful, certainly, but ill suited for combat or reconnaissance, and can undertake more important taskings than training support or maintenance. By contrast, a Wraith is far more capable of handing such taskings- capable of resolving many problems.”

Curious, Izuku speaks. “What kind of problems?” He asks, glancing up at the skeletal robot, and though he knows the sheet of Necrodermis forming his face is far from capable of such emotion, he swears that he can see a grin. 

“Many kinds. Both mechanical, and… organic.”

Hawks sneezes, looking around momentarily before looking back at the slide deck before him.

The momentary lapse of nasal irritation jolts him back to the briefing room, the hum of fluorescent lights and the drone of the bureaucrat with some long analyst title he had long since forgotten. “...and was confirmed by Super-K, CERN, Black Mesa Far East, and several other agencies. In other words, it's far beyond just a coincidence at this point- he definitely produced Tachyons at that time.” The bespectacled man notes, pushing up the thick horn-rimmed frames up on his nose bridge. “Our informants tell us his quirk does not involve manipulation of matter at the subatomic level, but they haven't ruled out manipulating matter itself. We can't get access to his file directly to learn anything more about him- we're being stonewalled right now, and according to circulars we got our hands on in the Registry, the PSIA has stepped in. They're heavily monitoring and restricting access to the kid's file, so we can't get any further information.” 

“What about our traditional alternative sources?” The woman at the head of the table speaks up, fingers steepled as she watches the briefing slides and the nameless consultant before her. Another nameless, faceless suited man- Hawks didn't bother remembering any of their names, given that half of them would inevitably get shuffled around all over Japan and the world as a whole every couple months or so- spoke up, his voice gruff and regimented. “Unsuccessful thus far. The kid has stuck to one specialist clinic for most of his life, who doesn't upload documents anywhere but the Registry directly. He doesn't post on social media at all, and he doesn't discuss his quirk at all with others. As for the Registry- the kid's file has been transferred to a strongroom in Camp Asaka. Seems whoever's heading the efforts to make sure the kid doesn't get nabbed- they don't trust the Registry at all.” The man responds, glancing down at a tablet before him as he speaks. “A wise move. Hawks.” The woman speaks, jolting Hawks out of his state of passive observance as he flicks his eyes away from the screen and to her. “I’ll shuffle your patrol duties to other heroes for the next few weeks. Go investigate Izuku Midoriya- the file you've got should have all the leads you need.” He rolls his eyes, making a show of it as he snatches the file off the table and rises to his feet, stretching exaggeratedly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tail a U.A. wannabe and go bother his doctor and all, right? Smart choice- nobody's saying no to this face.” He winks as he snaps his fingers, holding the file under a hand as he takes the convenient excuse to leave the meeting. 

The task sounded simple enough, but as he ascends the stairs to the rooftop helipad and soars off into the midday sky with a beat of his wings, he can't shake the feeling that this day might not end too well. 

Izuku flips the goggles up off his eyes, setting the small, pen-shaped tool aside as he rubs his eyes, looking out the window at the setting sun. “I think that's everything.” He mutters, watching carefully as tiny servomotors calibrate themselves, eyes scanning the tiny motors for any sign of deviation as the round socket attached to the motors meticulously traverses through its range of motion. “Indeed. Candidly, I must admit- I am rather impressed. This task is typically performed by trained Crypteks, yet you have performed it rather adequately.”

Izuku perks up at Trazyn's comment, glancing over at the metal skeleton staring impassively at him. “Oh- so, I did well?” He would ask, sliding out from under the Wraith and pulling his goggles off his unruly mop of green hair, putting them on his desk. “By Cryptek standards- no. To attain a similar level of precision with calibrations, a Cryptek would require only about 45 seconds, compared to your three and a half hours. But relative to human standards? Certainly, you performed well.” Comes the dry rebuttal from the skeleton across the room, as Izuku chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah… I should have seen that coming.” He smiles, stepping back and admiring the wraith before him.

Suspended by invisible threads in a Necrodermis frame dominating the centre of his room stood the Wraith. Shaped like the unholy lovechild of a cobra, a spider and a stealth bomber had been raised by a mad scientist, it was easily four times Izuku's height- although a vast majority of the wraith's length was its tail, the whip-like appendage being almost twice Izuku's height on its own. Ending in a sharpened spike, the tail was constructed out of circular bands of Necrodermis, subtly thickening until eventually fanning out like the hood of a cobra. From beneath a hood of smooth black material, six spider-like legs fanned out, with long, sickle-shaped blades tipping the frontmost two, a single large dull orb with three smaller ones orbiting it sitting in a vaguely shield-shaped head set between the foremost legs. 

Yet, by far the most threatening aspect of the Wraith lay underslung beneath its body. Jutting out from beneath where its whip-like tail met its body and extending out to just before its head lay what was best described as a very persuasive argument not to carelessly fool around with this machine. Easily as long as Izuku's arm,-and definitely thicker- a large cannon cast in slate-grey Necrodermis sat with all the casual danger of a death threat delivered by a Mommy ASMR Vtuber. Izuku gave the cannon a wide berth as he moved over to the other side of the Wraith- nestled within lay 1,545 separate Hekatic expressions of total neural obliteration that would render any being brain-dead on the spot, and 4,131 Hekatic expressions of a somewhat less deadly variety that Trazyn- and his own research- had assured him was entirely recoverable. Izuku had written each expression by hand on two sets of long strips of Necrodermis, each one wound tightly into cassettes and slotted into the rear chamber of its cannon. 

Trazyn told him it was called a “Synaptic Disintegrator”, although with the non-lethal modifications he had made, apparently it was deserving of its own designation- he suggested calling it a Synaptic Disintegrator. Frankly, Izuku didn't really care what anyone called it- he just didn't really want to ever use it on anyone. Even if it was temporary and relatively harmless, essentially giving someone locked-in syndrome or instantly knocking them out with one shot just seemed rather extreme.

Izuku pulls out a single green wafer from his Command Pylon, carefully slotting it into a receptacle in the Wraith and stepping back as its green eye flickers to life. 

“G-CANS GANG BUSTED!” Screams the old newspaper headline from behind the dusty glass of an aged wooden frame, the frame one of many trophies of old glories lining the curved walls of the circular room. Even without looking at the empty reception, which was laughably spartan- nothing more than a few old couches and a white desk that had seen better days, a monitor placed on it buzzing happily away at an empty chair and a bell that rang too softly for anybody not immediately behind the false wall to hear. A metal sign which must have been polished to a mirror sheen at some point in time was now old and tarnished, the sign now spelling out “TUNNEL RUNNERS” in clean yet unmistakably dull lettering. The whole room reeked to Hawks of old HPSC facilities he had seen in the past- once lauded and publicised to great acclaim in their heyday, only to see little to no further funding or care from an organisation too monolithic to notice, and to fall by the wayside as other developments occurred.

Of all the places Hawks expected to find an overlooked Hero agency buried underground, it was not directly beneath the Diet. 

Truth be told, despite his near decades of extensive education and briefings about the hero scene by the HPSC, he never really been aware of a “Tunnel Runners” agency, until he had done a search of their database for a specific Hero under their employ who had a Quirk he needed, and discovered an address and an agency. It was one of those names that he felt familiar with, yet knew nothing about- there was the faintest idea that he had seen their name more than once before, among a list of supporting personnel for a raid or something similar, but only ever skimmed over it and passed it by. Every single Hero here, apparently, was not ranked on the Billboard for some reason- and were all international, which was curious. He wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting as he arrived, but the bare minimum was at least some kind of receptionist. In retrospect, though, with how overlooked this agency was, it was no wonder that they didn't have one- nobody seemed to ever come by anyways. Frankly, if things had gone to plan, he wouldn't be here either- but the JSDF had gotten to the kid's doctor before he did, and she wasn't saying a word about him to anybody that asked.

Alerted by his feathers to the faintest sense of movement behind the wall, his eyes flick up to the door behind the counter, standing and smoothing out his clothes as the door opens. 

Hawks wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, considering he knew it was a hero agency. Usually, Pros tended to dress extravagantly- even out of costume, most pro heroes seemed to genuinely have an aversion to dressing normally. Perhaps it was a side effect of the kind of personality that one requires to be a Hero, but many tended to bedeck themselves in branded clothing and expensive accessories- to the point that even if one wasn't familiar with who they were, it wasn't hard to tell if someone was a hero out of costume or not. So, it was somewhat refreshing to observe that the pair stepping through the door were almost painfully pedestrian, the kind of person that he could walk right past on the street and not notice.

“Hey, so sorry to keep you waiting!” The young woman who spoke first had a short bob of blue-black hair, wearing a long sleeved T-shirt and a skirt that ended a little above the knee, with a sleeveless jacket and some kind of device mounted to her belt completing the entire ensemble. She was flanked by a man who looked to be about the same age as her, with anachronistically grey hair and a wholly plain fashion sense. “Ah, don't sweat your pretty face about it. I wasn't here long- just worried you forgot about little old me, is all.” Hawks smiles, offering a handshake to the pair of them as the grey-haired man rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “Yeah… normally we have at least one person on standby, but we got called in to support Kamui Woods’ agency, and… well, you know how they can be sometimes.” He would trail off with a light smile, as Hawks chuckled. “Too right, buddy. So- about tracking down that kid I phoned about- I'm guessing one of you guys is Phaeton?” 

Hawks could swear the man's eyes had a faint blue ring outlining them as he smirked, shaking Hawk's hand. 

“You've come to the right place. Come on in- let's find that lost kid you were talking about.”

Of all the enemies of Humanity which I had the great displeasure of fighting over the course of my far-too-long and unfairly acclaimed career in the Commissariat, I had to admit that I detested few more than the Necrons and the worshippers of Slaanesh (of course, that was not to say I was chomping at the bit to fight any other breed of Xenos or traitor. It was more akin to admitting that I would rather douse myself in Grox shit than I would have to stick my head into a basket of Jurgen’s dirty laundry- neither was a good situation to be in, but one was substantially more preferable to the other to engage with). You see, with foes like the Orks or traitors who swore allegiance to the blood god, at least you didn't have to worry too much about assassinations, ambushes or particularly advanced technology, and Xenos like the Eldar or Tau had the courtesy to talk your ear off with some nonsense before they started shooting. By contrast, the Necrons were terrifyingly silent and would comfortably evaporate half an infantry regiment without much effort, and the Slaaneshi had the tendency to produce the most annoying disciplinary situations I'd ever had the pleasure of dealing with. 

So as I found myself standing facing a clearly high-ranking Necron and what said Necron had informed me was the clone of the daemon primarch Fulgrim, I had to submit myself to the fact that of all His subjects, I was almost certainly the Emperor's favoured commissar to torment. As I absolved to put off stewing in my unique torment and continued to come to grips with my increasingly absurd reality, I returned my focus to the hololith before me, watching recorded combat footage of an emerald-haired youth amongst what I could only describe as the most colorful collection of abhumans and Xenos I had ever seen. I had to admit- while his technique was overly flashy and his gear unfamiliar, the boy was clearly naturally talented as a duellist and was evidently well drilled and practiced.

A little too well drilled and practiced, actually. Looking closer at the footage, I massaged my jaw with my good hand, wincing slightly as I suppressed the urge to recoil from the unfamiliar feeling of touching my skin when I was far younger and far less wrinkled. Sparing myself a glance at my reflection amidst the city lights in a window not far from me, I met the gaze of myself many, many centuries ago. Frankly, not willing to think too much about what kind of foul Xeno-tech had been used to change my appearance in such a fashion, I shook my head, crossing my arms as I spoke. “He’s performing very well. How long did you say he was trained for?” I asked, glancing between the Necron and the Heretic-to-be in front of me. “Ten months, approximately.” Comes the response from the not-primarch, and I suppress a shudder at his Emperor-blessed voice, furrowing my brow in thought as I respond. “Ten months? That's strange. His technical skill far exceeds what I'd expect for such a timeframe, but his body doesn't show the muscles I'd expect from that. Why…” 

I could almost kick myself with how painfully obvious the answer was in hindsight. I'd seen it far too many times from trainees in the Schola before, and I saw it almost every year when I took over a new class of pupils from certain instructors. It was the simplest solution to the question I had been asking. I failed to suppress the short chuckle at my satisfaction at the answer that escaped my lips, and took a moment to prevent myself from soiling my undergarments and fleeing as I drew both their gazes. “Of course. Overtraining.” I say, as the primarch’s brow furrows. “Overtraining? I've never heard of such a term.” He notes, and the final pieces of the puzzle fall together in my mind. “Certainly, Primarch, you wouldn't have. You'd only have trained Astartes before, and this boy is no Astartes. He requires time to recover, to build muscle and recharge himself- in this era, he lacks the stims and treatments that would avoid it.” I cast my gaze over to the slumbering form of the boy, hoping that it would hide the intense discomfort I was feeling at the fact that I was lecturing a frakking primarch . 

The demigod pauses, seemingly lost in thought, before he speaks. “I… Yes. I see now. The thought had escaped me”, and I swore to the Emperor, the traitor-clone seemed genuinely remorseful at what he had done. “You make a fair assessment, Commissar. So- what do you propose, to remedy the situation we have at hand?” 

The query from the bejeweled skeleton gave me pause. Doubtlessly, he had plenty of archived information about human biology- if he was the same Trazyn as the one that Amberly had mentioned to me in passing, and the same Trazyn that had actually managed to make the Primer an entertaining read for one issue, I was almost certain he already knew the solution, and was just testing me. Pausing to furiously recall every dressing down I had overheard the medicae giving an overzealous fresh teacher, I forced myself to stand a little straighter under their gaze, trying my best to project the fraudulent image of the unflappable hero of the Imperium I was supposed to be. before responding. “Likely a temporary reduction in training and mandatory rest days. Especially since he's supposed to be begin attending the schola you informed me about soon, managing his fatigue and workload would be important- unless you happen to have any stims. I could take over his training for the time being, especially since he lacks the more human skills that neither of you can provide- no offense, of course.” I proposed, knowing full well that such a decision would undoubtedly mean I could avoid the wrath of either of the two before me, and preserve my undeserved reputation at least a while longer. 

Of course, if I had known the kind of mess that decision would have put me into, I would have just let them work the brat until his limbs fell off, and let me return to whatever void the skeletal bastard had pulled me from.

For the first morning in a while, Izuku Midoriya awoke to silence.

Since he'd awakened to his quirk, he'd either been woken up by an alarm, or by one of the two spectres inhabiting his mind. Fulgrim, for his part, simply adored greeting Izuku every morning with a quotation or passage from scripture or other, and while he did appreciate the wake up call and had been exposed to lots of books he wouldn't have read otherwise, he also was getting real sick of it. Trazyn, by contrast, didn't bother much at all with such matters- he simply worked whatever biochemical magic to wake Izuku up, and greeted him with an impassive gaze and perhaps a passive-aggressive quip or two. Between that, and his regular alarm for school, he usually didn't get a chance to sleep in and wake up naturally- but that's what he got. 

For the first time in many, many, weeks, Izuku's eyes open to the ceiling above his bed, the morning sun casting shadows through his window as the faint bustle of a city just waking up reaches his ears. Stretching languidly on his bed, he feels the pops and creaks of his strained and overtaxed muscles and joints beginning their ceaseless aching, sitting up in his bed and stretching slowly. Getting changed and stepping out into the living room, Izuku looks at the kitchen and blinks.

Standing side by side, Inko and the Wraith were both in front of the stovetop, the wraith dutifully tending to several sausages in the pan before it with a pair of its bladed limbs, its eye locked with dogged precision onto its contents. Inko looked down at the whole display with a caring, somewhat amused look in her eyes that Izuku recalled once receiving as a small child after requesting to vacuum the house, her hands deftly scrambling eggs in the pan before her as she watched the Wraith make its first attempt at a task it had certainly not been intended by its original designers to perform. Glancing up, Inko would smile as she moved the pan off the stove, scooping out the fluffy pale yellow eggs onto two plates. “Good morning honey! You know, your little friend's quite good at housework.” She smiles, patting the carapace of the Wraith with a free hand. Much like a dog would, the Wraith momentarily looks up, turning its head to glance at Inko before returning its focus to its task, as the mother and son chuckle at the display.

At the end of a particularly excellent breakfast, the Wraith dutifully returns to the table, its talons phasing through the table as it scoops up dishes and cups and retreating to the kitchen, doubtlessly to clean them through some method Izuku was absolutely certain would be overkill. The conversation between mother and son, on its part, does admirably to skirt around the elephant in the room, although it inevitably bumps up against it several times- enough to firmly cement the aftermath of the entrance exam in their minds, yet not quite enough to remind Izuku of the perpetual limbo of concern he now found himself in. “You know, even if you don’t get in- I’m still super proud of you, okay?” She tells him, yet he can’t quite find it in him to tell himself to believe those words, even if in his heart he knows them to be true.

She leaves the table not long later to prepare for some appointment or other, and Izuku is left alone in the living room. Alone with his thoughts, Izuku sits on the couch, ruminating on the whole situation he found himself in, and the peculiar silence he now found himself on the receiving end of from his quir-

The deep rumble of a man clearing his throat rings out, and Izuku turns around, half expecting to find Fulgrim there. Yet, surprisingly, the man standing in his home is far from ridiculously sized, and only mildly more ridiculously dressed than the primarch. At first glance, he was clearly some kind of soldier- that much was obvious, looking at the man’s muscular build, clad in a black greatcoat lined with fine golden filigree and wearing a peaked cap, but that was where the similarities to any kind of soldier from the past century ended. Harkening back to some more romantic era in which officers carried sabers and rode horses into war, the man carried some large sheathed sword by his hip, and a simple yet undeniably well made pistol in a leather holster. Red-gloved hands hung casually by his side as he stands behind the couch, eyes looking out at Izuku from beneath the shade of his cap. “Good morning.” The man’s voice is a rich baritone, inspiring and rousing, yet gentle enough to be kind. “I trust you rested well?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at Izuku as the teen glances around in confusion. “I… Yeah, but who are…” Izuku trails off, looking at the man as he attempts to draw any kind of meaningful identification from his clothing, but comes up empty-handed. “Ah- my apologies.” The man smiles in a way Izuku might almost call sheepishness, before continuing.

“My name is Commissar Ciaphas Cain. A pleasure to meet you, Izuku.”

Chapter Text

I never hated any of my students. 

You can stop laughing now. Because truly, I meant every word in that statement. Every student I ever taught in the Schola- the inept and the unwilling, the inbred nobles only in my class by virtue of their surname, those barely able to dress themselves in the morning, much less lead- regardless of the headaches they gave me, I never hated them. Perhaps I pitied them, or their circumstances, perhaps I thought it best they found instruction elsewhere, or perhaps I thought they should take on additional training and duties- but I never hated them. 

Yet, in this very moment, walking next to the latest greenhorn placed in my care, albeit in vastly different circumstances and under substantially different superiors to the ones I was used to, I found it incredibly hard to uphold that standard. Not because Midoriya was a terrible student- he was fit, motivated, he seemed attentive, and from what I'd seen, he'd acquired the rare natural affinity for keeping his head on straight during combat that many lacked. No, my biggest issue regarding the boy was his sheer enthusiasm for everything about both me and my vastly fraudulent exploits. Of course, I had dealt with plenty of students who had similar inclinations to be sure- but relative to the others, he had a particularly dogged persistence in both learning every last detail, and it irrationally concerned me that he might eventually somehow peel back the layers and realize I was just trying to save my own skin. 

A momentary yet undoubtedly welcome lull in our conversation stilled the air between us as we walked, and I took in a deep breath, letting the sea breeze fill my lungs as I cast my gaze out at the beach we were walking towards, the first rays from the sun of this world just peeking out over the horizon. Honestly, out of all the places I might have found myself after I closed my eyes for the last time, I had to admit this was likely on the more pleasant side, compared to being cast into the depths of the warp and the horrors that awaited me. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of pink skin and horns running towards me, and my hand jerked down to my chainsword, thumb hovering over the activation rune as I turned to face the target. Be it daemonette or genestealer, I'd be damned if-

“Yo! Izuku!” 

“Oh- Hey, Mina!” 

I paused as the green-haired boy by my side darted over to the pink-skinned being, slapping her hand with a palm as he smiled. “I didn't expect to see you here after the exam! You here to train again?” The creature asks, and I let out a breath as my hand rested by my side. On retrospect, I should have guessed she wasn't a daemonette just from a glance- she didn't have claws, for one, and no daemonette would ever dress in such a conservative fashion- but clearly, the people of this world had a far greater variance in their appearance than I had ever expected, and I suppose I was a little too high-strung. Looking at the pair talking about their exams, I felt a striking sense of familiarity to my former station- in the Schola, I'd seen far too many pupils discuss the results of their examinations just after completing them, and it always entertained me to no end. Compared to those times though, I felt a little self-conscious about my appearance here- compared to the pink not-daemonette’s simple affairs of a shirt and long pants and Izuku's relatively simple clothes made of that matte grey xenometal, I had the striking feeling I was a little overdressed in my greatcoat and Commissar’s uniform. Of course, I clearly wasn't exactly as awkward as, say, an Astartes in armour, but standing impassively watching the pair in my ensemble of black leather and extravagant detailing, I had to admit I stood out far too much. 

“Who’s that, by the way?” The genestealer- no, an ordinary girl, I corrected myself internally- asked, glancing over at me. “Oh, that's, uh- that’s Mr. Cain! He's a- uh- family friend of mine.” Izuku speaks, and I held up a hand, smiling casually as I offered a handshake. “No, please, don't worry about the titles- that's only while I'm working. Please- Ciaphas is fine.” I offered, making sure to offer my organic hand- frankly, with how obsessive that Necron had been about making sure things were “original” or “accurate”, I was rather surprised subordinates never touched my missing arm beyond making minor repairs, but it was all the better. The surprise strength of an augmented arm oftentimes comes as a surprise to an unexpecting enemy in a duel, and in general it was a rather useful surprise tool. “Oh, okay! I'm Mina. Man, Izuku, you’ve got two trainers! What's the matter, scared?” The girl laughs as she shakes my hand- appreciatively firmly, for someone of her size and stature. She ribs Izuku with her free hand as she speaks, and I smile, opening my mouth to respond. 

“Hey, guys!” 

Something blocked out the sun behind us as it descended, and I heard the beat of wings. I was half expecting to see Saint Celestine herself descending to strike me down for working with Xenos scum, so the obviously male voice speaking threw me for somewhat of a loop as I slowly turned around. 

It might seem a little strange for one to read me say that I was somewhat underwhelmed by a man with red wings, but that was the truth- really, I'd seen better. He wasn't that tall- about a head or two shorter than me, I'd guess- with a head of blonde hair swept backwards in messy spikes and the rough kind of stubble one tended to see on the faces of guardsmen after a week or two in the field. If it wasn't for the wings on his back, I'd honestly have guessed he was an Aeronautica Imperialis pilot- between the pale leather jacket with furred cuffs and collars, the headset and the goggles he wore, he was a dead ringer for the navy flyboys I'd seen far too many times. “Omigosh-Hawks? What- why are you here? Can I get an autograph?” 

The young Mina excitedly gushed words of adoration and praise at the winged man, and frankly I would have understood the excitement- it seemed this man was one of their Heroes, and from what I had heard about this world, they seemed to view them akin to how a guardsman views and Astartes, or perhaps one of the Emperor's saints. Yet, despite her enthusiasm and the casual attitude this Hawks treated her with, I felt that same niggling sensation I always did when something was about to go wrong. Call it whatever you want- the guiding hand of the Emperor, subconscious observation, or just plain old gut feeling- but I couldn't stop my hand from resting on the pommel of my chainsword as I watched him speak. 

“Ah, yeah, but anyways- sorry for interrupting you guys on your walk, but… Listen, Izuku, I have some orders- you gotta come with me, alright? I know I'm kinda ruining your day off but… Hero stuff, I'm sure you understand.” 

And there it was. Different forms, different methods, different demeanors, but no matter the place, an Inquisitor stood out like a lamp pack in a dark trench. My green-haired charge blinked, before speaking, his voice shaky with fear and confusion as he spoke. “I- what- Mister Hawks, I… I haven't done anything-”

Despite my better judgement, I stepped forward, cutting him off. Truthfully, almost every nerve in my body told me to do the exact opposite- every reflex and instinct I'd ever built from my time as a juvenile in the Schola to my encounters with Amberly’s colleagues was screaming at me to say silent and slowly slip away at the first opportunity I had- but I had made my calculus, and I knew any encounter with the powers that be of this world could do nothing to me compared to what that Necron might. “I don't believe that will happen anytime soon.” I said as I stepped forward, the iron in my voice shocking even myself for a moment- I had thought that capability long lost in my age, so to hear the voice of my youth in such a fashion was like the sudden embrace of an old flame in a crowded square: a shock, but not an unwelcome one. 

“Listen, pal, I don't think you understand- this is HPSC business. I know you don't have a license, so don't try to be a Hero. So step aside and let Izuku run along with me, because I'm not asking.” I'm sure his words were threatening by the measure of his colleagues and undoubtedly so to the boy beside me and the girl near him, but I'd dealt with far, far worse. He folded his arms casually as feathers in his wings wriggled and flexed, a grin on his face as he stared me down. “That's a shame, then- because neither am I.” I said, letting a smirk creep onto my face as my free hand felt the familiar texture of the grip of my laspistol. He sighed theatrically, shrugging as he did so. “Guess we gotta do this, then.”

Technically, he moved first. The red plumes on his wings snapped darted towards me in much the same way as the missiles of the Tau tended to do while he drew two long quills like swords as my laspistol snapped into my left hand. I took aim as I sprinted forwards, eyeballing the nearest feathers to me as I squeezed off shots.

From the first trigger pull, I knew something was off. Everything felt right- the grip, the force I needed to pull the trigger, everything. Yet the beam it spat was bright green instead of the dull pink-red I was used to, and the feather it struck literally crumbled before my eyes, each layered barb peeling apart and disintegrating in a single second. More than likely, the Necron had done something to my laspistol- or more accurately, I was never actually firing my pistol, given that technically I wasn't physically there- but I pushed those concerned thoughts out of my mind. One tends to take any advantage one can get in battle, after all. “Ashido!” I shouted, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt and flinging her aside as I raised my laspistol again to snap off another series of shots, sparing only a glance to confirm she was alright. I heard her yelp and I saw her tumble down the sandy bank of the beach, coming to a halt out of my view, which was good enough for me. I hated hurting children, but her suffering a few scrapes and bruises by my hand was infinitely preferable to the alternative- she was so close to the both of us that a stray shot or feather would not end well. 

“Hey, Southpaw! I like the whole Gestapo kinda vibe you got going on, but c’mon- the coat and the pistol and everything? What are you, the Soviet knock-off of Snipe?” With a beat of his wings, the winged man (I wasn't going to subject myself or any potential reader of this account to reading his strange name any more than one had to) surged towards me, slashing downwards at me as he barreled forward. I was somewhat reminded of a quote I'd heard often as I pivoted around the blow- “Duelling with twinned weapons is a common recourse for those who relish posturing over skill, and enjoy the element of intimidation. Few soldiers ever master it, and the sight of a warrior with two blades is almost always the first sign of an overconfident fool.”. According to Amberly, those words apparently were abridged from a testimony of a chaos sorcerer of quite some renown, which explained the sudden and remarkable decline in usage of the quote among the teaching staff in the Schola- though I still thought it was remarkably accurate. A broken clock can be right twice a day, as the saying goes. Turning behind his back and letting him barrel past me, I drew my chainsword, thumbing the activation rune as I charged forward, opening with an overhead strike. To his credit, the man responded quickly, blocking with one of his blade-quills, though it was clear he had never encountered a chainsword before. With a harsh shower of sparks and keratin, the teeth of my chainsword bit into his blade, and I would be lying if I said I didn't appreciate the stunned expression on his face as he pulled back in shock. I pressed the advantage, hoping to shatter his concentration as I followed up on my initial success- after all, few weapons were as psychologically intimidating to fight against in close quarters as a chainsword, and given that my opponent had clearly never encountered one before, I intended to take full advantage of that fact.

Clearly caught off guard by the deep roar of the chainsword screaming in his face, my winged opponent tried to muster a defense, blocking each strike I made admirably as he tried sending his feathers after me to shake my concentration, all quips and jokes forgotten. It was a respectable effort, though even he knew it was flawed- more often than not, I was able to dispatch the feathers approaching from my flanks with shots from my laspistol, and it took only one or two dodged feathers from behind whistling past his ear or striking a glancing blow against his ribcage for him to recognize that any attack from behind was equally likely to hit him as it was me. Blocking my strike with one of his blades and thrusting forward with his other, I took advantage of his opened stance to break into his guard, pivoting past the thrusting blade and striking him square in the cheek with my laspistol, sawing downwards with my chainsword as I did so. With a gritty crackle, the spine of the quill blocking my blade broke in two, the sudden break destabilising him as the blow sent the man reeling. 

I surged forward, dropping my pistol as I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, the teeth of my chainsword whirling a hair's breadth away from his neck.

“Like I said. I wasn't asking.”

Of all the things Usagiyama Rumi hadn't expected from the Hero life, it was the paperwork that took her the most by surprise.

Sure, she had been somewhat caught off guard by the tempo of patrols and training. She had been a little in the dark about navigating the webs of acronym agencies and corporations to help push raids through and get support. She had been totally blindsided by the sheer amount of personnel a Hero agency would place around her whose entire jobs revolved around the most minute details about her- like the exact Pantone colour of her stockings, the specific brand of water she drank, or the precise density of the fur that made up her collar and cuffs.

But, sitting in her office with a desk piled full of unvetted reports and statements, it dawned on her that it was the sheer amount of paperwork that she had no idea about before she took on the job. Incident reports, personal statements for things she damaged, HPSC fines for swearing, combined with whatever else lazy officers and government functionaries could throw at her to complete when it technically was their damn job to do it- needless to say, it was a damn mess. And even then, this was just what was left to her after her staff had filtered out the pointless questions or things they could do for her. Honestly, she didn't know how the others managed it- she didn't have anywhere near as many irons in the fire as her other colleagues had, so technically this should be the minimum.

Okay, maybe not exactly the minimum- she did have a bit of a potty mouth, and a bit of a tendency to break things sometimes- but it wasn't that much! Regardless, it really was insane they wanted a personal unique reflection every time she swore at someone- did she really need to reflect that she shouldn't have called a murderer a “fucking lowlife”? Granted, there were some kids present, but it was still health and safety gone ma-

Her phone buzzes with a few texts, and she flips it over- anything to have a moment of respite from the monotony scaling the sheer cliff face of paperwork before her at this point. 

←₄₈ Birdbrain  ✆ ⋮

yo

remember how i was tryna track down that kid that was on the news for that big sky laser

yeah so

some dude with a chainsaw sword was guarding him 

he beat my ass

thats all there really is to say on the matter

A thunderous sound echoes through the halls of the building, so loud that on a rooftop of a skyscraper somewhere, lying on the concrete, a Hero who had just escaped a fight with a bruised body and wounded pride could swear that he could hear laughter.

Izuku Midoriya glances at his wrist, the neon green details on the band around his wrist flickering momentarily as a hologram appears in the air above his wrist, displaying the date, time, and a variety of additional details he honestly felt he didn't need but kept because they made him feel really cool. “Oh- I think it's time. The mailman's coming.” He comments, glancing over at the uniformed man next to him.

The pair of them were seated on the sand near the edge of the surf, the scars of Cain's battle with Hawks still slightly visible in the form of faint trails of melted sand and a few piles of ashes, quickly scattering themselves across the white grains of sand as the wind picked up. Frankly speaking, Izuku was utterly terrified by what had just happened- he'd just seen the man next to him react to one of the best Hero’s attacks at a near precognitive level, and attacked him with a speed and technique level he thought impossible. Sure, he wasn't too surprised that one of the “tutors” Trazyn brought from his own universe would have such a result- from both the stories and histories he’d learnt from both Trazyn and Fulgrim and the weaponry he'd made, it seemed like a rather unforgiving place, so he wouldn’t be too surprised if either Trazyn or Fulgrim were able to beat someone like Hawks- but Cain? Minus the costuming, and the support equipment, he really did just look normal. He had no doubt in his mind that, if he was dressed in something a little more normal, the man sitting next to him, less than two hundred metres from where he had fought the number 3 Hero and won would look like nothing more than a senior or family member chatting with him about life. 

This day was quite probably the most insane day he'd experienced since that night Trazyn awoke him during his sleep, and it wasn't even 9 a.m. yet.

“I see. Are you worried?” Cain asks, turning over to glance at Izuku, away from the surf. “...kind of? I mean, I feel ready, but I don't have anything near the kind of quirk you or lord Fulgrim- or even my future classmates, probably- have. I trained for it, but I don't know how to live up to that.” Izuku mutters, looking down at the sand. "I just feel like a fraud. Even though I did all that. I fired the shot and I stepped in her way and saved her- but anyone could have done that. I just was in the right place, and the right time. If Mina was there, she'd do the same thing. It's like that old saying, if life gives you lemons, right?" Izuku would trail off, staring off into the thin zipper of white where empty sky met the blue mirror of the ocean. Glancing over at him from beneath a peaked cap, the man smiled, the corners of eyes too old for such a young face pinching slightly as the faintest inklings of a smile crept onto his lips. "It's quite funny that you'd mention lemons, actually. Reminds me of a story- my regiment was on an agri-world, once, and they had lemons. There was a Magos Biologis there, for some reason or other, and he asked me- "Commissar, do you know where this species of fruit originated from?" Of course, I had no idea, so I said no. I’d assumed it was a fruit from some world colonized by humans many centuries ago and spread everywhere, but I learnt that they'd actually originated on Terra. From what I gathered, on Terra, there used to be two separate species of fruit- the Sitren and the Bytr Orange, both from the Yndonesic Bloc, if I recall, and the Lemon was created by cross-breeding the two.” The man ruffles Izuku's hair, a gloved palm concealing mechanical fingers tussling viridian hair as he continues. "It's much the same way for your situation. I've seen the vid-feed of your little exam. The others were there too, were they not? No doubt some saw- and had the ability to act. They were in the same situation you describe, and they didn't do what you did. In other words- life didn't give you the lemons. You made them all by yourself.” 

A letter slides into the Midoriya's mailbox.

“Izuku! Izuku! You're back! It’s here! The letter!”

Izuku scrambles over to take the letter from his mom, his hands shaking as he looks down at the U.A. seal in its centre. He knew it was coming- he knew what time the mailman often came, and he had been informed by his Wraith the mailman had stopped by and dropped off the mail. He could even guess the outcome- from the recordings he’d gotten from his scarabs, he knew he taken out at least 76 points worth of Villains- 81 at most, because there was that three pointer that he thought he'd destroyed but was still moving, and a two pointer he wasn't quite sure he'd managed to destroy fully before sprinting off to fight that zero pointer. Combined with the written portion, which he was pretty sure he'd gotten a decent score for- he didn't record any of it, but Trazyn seemed to have been watching the entire time, and kept saying it was “below expectations”, but given that Trazyn’s “expectations” for him was a perfect score, he could assume safely assume “below expectations” was at least a pass. Combine the two, and he should be a shoo-in, even without considering the effects all the public attention his Tachyon Arrow had brought, but he still couldn't be sure. 

Hand trembling, he slowly reaches down to draw the dagger Trazyn had given him for his birthday, slipping the monomolecular edge through the adhesive sealing the letter and neatly cutting it open with a single flicker of void-black steel. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulls open the flap of paper, taking out a folded letter and a silver disc the size of an ashtray. “Huh? What’s this?” He wonders, turning it over in his hand as he reads a list of instructions engraved on the back. 

PLACE ON FLAT SURFACE AND STEP BACK

DO NOT LOOK INTO PROJECTOR LENS WHILE ACTIVE

THIS SIDE DOWN

Raising an eyebrow, he puts down the disc, stepping back as the centre shines with light. A projection- like the holograms the Necron technology he'd made created, though fainter, two-dimensional and in colour- would appear in the air, a screen forming in then-

“I AM HERE AS A PROJECTION!”

The booming voice of Izuku's childhood idol echoes through the apartment from the (surprisingly powerful) speakers in the disc, as both mother and son leap back in shock. “All Might?” Izuku gasps, as Inko looks between the projection and the letter in Izuku's hand. “Eh? Isn't this letter from U.A.? Why is All Might there- and what is he wearing ?” She wonders, before the booming voice of the man on the screen doing his best cosplay of a barcode printer on a banana interrupts their queries. “ I’M SURE YOU'RE WONDERING WHAT I'M DOING HERE! WELL, I’M HERE IN TOWN, AND FOR ONE REASON ONLY! I AM HERE TO TEACH AT U.A.!” Voices from offscreen interrupt him, as the man's obscured eyes glance over at something behind the camera. “HM? WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY? GET TO THE POINT?! WHATEVER I WANT TO SAY TO HIM I CAN SAY LATER? AH, FINE, GOT IT…” The Symbol of Peace trails off, before carrying on. “OF COURSE, YOUR WRITTEN EXAMINATION WAS EXCELLENT, BUT THAT’S NOT ALL, IS IT? WELL, I’M SURE YOU- AND THE REST OF THE WORLD- KNOW, YOU MADE QUITE THE IMPRESSION AT THE PRACTICAL EXAM! BUT IT'S CLEAR YOU'RE NOT ALL JUST FANCY LIGHTSHOWS- YOU RACKED UP QUITE THE HIGH SCORE!” 

A chiptune fanfare plays over the speakers as All Might casts a hand at the screen behind him, displaying a table with Izuku's name in one column, and a green “76” next to it labelled “VILLAIN POINTS”. Squealing in delight, Inko hugs Izuku, tears faintly glistening in her eyes as they look at the results. “Oh my goodness Izuku! You- I knew you could do it!” She exclaims, as Izuku stares at the hologram with his mouth agape, corners upturned in overjoyed shock. 

“BUT IT'S CLEAR U.A.’S MOTTO’S A PART OF YOUR SOUL, BECAUSE YOU WENT BEYOND- PLUS ULTRA! AFTER ALL, WE WOULDN'T BE A HERO SCHOOL IF ALL WE CARED ABOUT WAS VILLAIN POINTS! IN THIS JOB, WE PUT OUR MONEY WHERE OUR MOUTHS ARE! INTRODUCING… RESCUE POINTS!”

The table onscreen expands to reveal a third column, labelled RESCUE POINTS, though the third cell was mysteriously empty. 

“A PANEL OF OUR TEACHERS EVALUATED EVERY ACTION YOU TOOK, AND YOU LEFT QUITE THE IMPRESSION! PLEASE, WATCH THE SCREEN!” 

All Might spreads his arms wide open, turning his head to look at the screen behind him as a video plays. The scene was a room he only faintly remembered- after the exam, he had been evacuated to the nurses office and the nurse had used some quirk on him, but at that point he'd been entirely on autopilot, and passed out soon after. When he'd awoken, he didn't pay too much attention to the room either- his mom was there, he was quickly escorted out and away from the media camping outside U.A., and he'd found out the U.S. president had tweeted about him. Still, he did recognize his sleeping form in the cot across the room, and the brown-haired girl he'd shielded from the runaway zero pointer, speaking to an elderly lady in a lab coat. “Ah- no, I couldn't!” She smiles, turning down an offered lollipop. “But… actually, I wanted to ask… You know the plain-looking boy with the curly hair and freckles? Can… can I give him some of my points?” She visibly sobered up as she said those words, her eyes steely as she spoke. “He… he looked really hurt after he saved me, and I saw him break a lot of his stuff to help… So can I give him some of my points? At least however many he gave up saving me! That boy… he saved my life!” 

Tears start to leak out of Izuku's eyes and down his face as he watches the display, Inko hugging her son tightly as she starts to cry uncontrollably. “My… My baby Izuku! You… I…” She blubbers, hugging her son in pride. 

The grandmotherly woman smiles warmly, pinching the girl’s cheek as she speaks. “Oh dear child…We can't give your points to him, but there won't be a need for it!” All Might pumps his fist as his permanent grin widens somehow. “ A HERO COURSE THAT DOESN'T REWARD THOSE THAT DO THE RIGHT THING IS NO HERO COURSE AT ALL! FOR YOUR ACTIONS… 75 FOR IZUKU MIDORIYA! AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, 50 FOR OCHAKO URARAKA!” 

A green 75 appears in the empty cell in the table, the screen zooming out further to reveal a total score of 150. Yet, it continued to zoom out even further, revealing names below him- Ashido Mina, with 117- 62 villain points and 55 rescue points- Ochako Uraraka with 78 total points, and Kaachan with 77 villain points and 0 rescue points. 

“NOT BAD AT ALL, IZUKU MIDORIYA! ONE OF THE HIGHEST SCORES IN U.A.'S HISTORY- IN FACT, IT'S THE SAME AS MY OWN SCORE WHEN I WAS A ZYGOTE LIKE YOU- 150!” 

All Might winks at the camera, as Izuku blinks in confusion, before hugging his mom and jumping up and down. “I- I- I scored the same as All Might!” He squeals, as tears roll down Inko’s face, too thrilled and overwhelmed to realize the 1 that U.A. had conveniently forgotten to carry.

“YOU'RE IN. WELCOME, IZUKU… WELCOME TO YOUR HERO ACADEMIA!”

Too shocked to stand, mother and son collapse onto the couch, all tears and sobbed words too choked to hear.

Somewhere in Izuku's mind, far out of sight of either, Trazyn looks at the display, hand curling around his Empathic Obliterator. To an organic, or to any member of any race really, this would be an emotional and touching moment. But the fires of biotransference had stolen far more than their sickly bodies of flesh, and try as he might, he could not recall much of his own parents. He remembered… something, yes. Paper lanterns, adrift over the dunes, written with prayers to uncaring gods for a new year free of the illness. And a hand on his shoulder. His father? His mother? His mother. Yes, he is quite certain. He remembered, when he looked away, and looked up to see her…

See her…

Hm.

He couldn't remember her face.

LaBravian GNU/Linux Rolling (tty1)  

labravian login: mnmaiba  

Password: **********  

[mnmaiba@labravian ~]$ sudo su  

[sudo] password for mnmaiba: **********  

[root@labravian]#  

[root@labravian]# curl -s https://icanhazip.com  

176.10.104.240

[root@labravian]# nmap -sV -Pn -T4 203.0.113.45  

[...]  

22/tcp  open  ssh      OpenSSH 10.7 (Uwuntu)  

443/tcp open  ssl/http Apache/4.9.27  

[root@labravian]# hydra -L staff_list_giranmedjob.txt -P breached_pws_giranmedjob.txt ssh://203.0.113.45  

[22][ssh] host: 203.0.113.45 login: registration password: r3cepti0n!  

[root@labravian]# ssh [email protected]  

[email protected]'s password: ********  

Welcome to RegistryMedSync v7.27

Host: orlanclinic.internal.net

Operating System: Uwuntu server 29.19

[registration@orlanclinic ~]$ cd /patient_records/classified/  

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ ls  

patient_izuku_midoriya_full.pdf 

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ pdfinfo patient_izuku_midoriya_full.pdf

Title:          patient_izuku_midoriya_full.pdf

Encrypted:      yes (print:yes copy:no change:no)    

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ scp patient_izuku_midoriya_full.pdf [email protected]:~  

ssh: connect to host 45.33.12.78 port 22: Connection timed out  

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ curl --upload-file patient_izuku_midoriya_full.pdf https://anonfiles.com  

curl: (28) Failed to connect to anonfiles.com port 443: Connection timed out after 10000ms  

==============================================  

*** 警告: 不正アクセス検出 / WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ***  

==============================================  

This system is monitored by:  

**Public Security Intelligence Agency (PSIA) Cyber Division**  

in cooperation with **JSDF Cyber Defense Command**  

- All activity logged under Japanese Cybercrime Law (刑法第168条の2)  

- Your TOR exit node (176.10.104.240) has been traced to ASN 2514 (NTT)  

- Hardware fingerprint: LaBravian Kali Linux Branch (MAC: 80:96:21:4f:e2:c3) 

*** THIS IS A COUNTER-INTELLIGENCE OPERATION ***  

Do not disconnect. Forensic imaging in progress...  

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ ^C

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ ^C

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ ^C

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ ^D

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ ^D

[registration@orlanclinic classified]$ stty --all
speed 38400 baud; rows 24; columns 80; line = 0; intr = <undef>; quit = ^\; erase = ^?; kill = ^U; eof = <undef>; eol = <undef>; eol2 = <undef>; swtch = <undef>; start = ^Q; stop = ^S; susp = ^Z; rprnt = ^R; werase = ^W; lnext = ^V; discard = ^O; min = 1; time = 0; -parenb -parodd cs8 -hupcl -cstopb cread -clocal -crtscts -ignbrk -brkint -ignpar -parmrk -inpck -istrip -inlcr -igncr -icrnl -ixon -ixoff -iuclc -ixany -imaxbel -iutf8 -opost -olcuc -ocrnl -onlcr -onocr -onlret -ofill -ofdel nl0 cr0 tab0 bs0 vt0 ff0 -isig -icanon -iexten -echo -echoe -echok -echonl -noflsh -xcase -tostop -echoprt -echoctl -echoke -flusho -extproc

[root@labravian]# dmesg | tail  

[ 92.511202] kernel: PSIA-ROOTKIT loaded  

[ 92.511344] Hardware name: LENOVO 78RX000GQX  

[root@labravian]# ls -la /usr/lib/systemd/system/  

-rw-r--r-- 1 root root 512 Feb 27 05:15 psia_forensic.service  

==============================================  

**NOTICE OF REMOTE SYSTEM SEIZURE**  

Under Article 23 of Japan’s Act on Prohibition of Unauthorized Access  

- Your device is now evidence in Case #PSIA-3211-1545 

- Expect contact by Tokyo Metropolitan Police 

*** DO NOT POWER OFF ***  

============================================== 

Chapter Text

TOP SECRET

HPSC FORM 107.C (AFTER-ACTION INCIDENT REPORT)

I: INCIDENT OVERVIEW  

Report ID: 41-31-5322

Date of incident: 0103XX

Time of incident: 0812-0848 (GMT+9)

Location of incident: Takoba Municipal Beach Park, Mustafu, Japan

Incident type: Asset Extraction Operation

Reporting Hero : Keigo Takami “Hawks”

II: INCIDENT SUMMARY

Section A: Description of events: On 2702XX, as part of Operation: STAR CASTER (OSC), Operative Hawks was briefed with the stated goals of OSC, being:

1. To obtain more information surrounding the meteorological incident on 2602XX, including but not limited to:
1. The circumstances leading up to the incident
2. An explanation beyond reasonable doubt of the scientific and Quirk phenomena leading up to the incident
3. Specific details regarding the individual/individuals which caused the incident and their quirks
4. The degrees to which other agencies, including foreign and domestic intelligence agencies, are monitoring or involved in the situation
2. To secure the individual responsible for the incident and convert them into an HPSC asset, and, if this aim is impossible,
3. To prevent any other agencies or parties from gaining access to this individual.

Operative Hawks was briefed as to the identity of the individual responsible for the incident, Izuku Midoriya (henceforth PoI-0007), and was subsequently tasked with goals 1(c), 2 and 3, and was dispatched from HQ at 1025. After contact attempts with PoI-0007’s Quirk specialist failed, Operative Hawks proceeded to make contact with Pro Hero “Phaeton” in order to trace down PoI-0007. With the assistance of Phaeton, Hawks was able to identify PoI-0007’s place of residence, frequented locations and area of training. 

On 0103XX at 0812, Operative Hawks made contact with PoI-0007, with the intention to secure the asset and extract them to HPSC facilities. However, in the process of extracting PoI-0007, an unidentified hostile combatant was encountered guarding PoI-0007, who was engaged by Operative Hawks. After attempts to neutralise him from a distance failed owing to the combatant using some kind of ranged weapon to destroy the incoming feathers, Operative Hawks made the assumption that the combatant was primarily skilled at ranged combat and engaged in close combat. However, the combatant showed a strong command of bladed weapon combat and was able to utilize a “Chainsaw Sword” to disarm and threaten the life of Hawks. Recognizing the threat, Operative Hawks withdrew to monitor the target from a distance and provide an intelligence update to the HPSC, resulting in a cessation of hostilities at 0848.

Section B: Primary threats encountered:

Name/Alias: Unknown. Current placeholder: “Blackadder”

First Encounter: 0103XX

Affiliation: Unknown. Given that no recorded individuals matching his description or style of fighting have been recorded, it is possible he may be an agent of a foreign intelligence service or Hero collective, or may be a mercenary hired by the PSIA. 

Origins: Unknown. While his physical appearance, style of dress and design of weaponry are distinctly European, no recorded European heroes or villains appear similar to his description. Given he speaks with a distinct Received Pronunciation accent, though, a British or Commonwealth nation origin cannot be discounted. 

Physical description: Blackadder stands at approximately 1.9-2.0m tall in costume, but given this approximate measurement was taken while he was wearing a peaked cap and boots, he may appear closer to 1.8-1.9m in casual dress. He is male, appearing in his mid to 20s or early 30s, with a muscular build and dark hair. He has generally Western European features, and was observed dressed in a military-styled uniform with a peaked cap. Blackadder was observed armed with a pistol of unknown manufacture which fires projectiles composed of green energy and a Chainsaw-sword hybrid.

Quirk: Unknown. Speculations include:

1. Weapon Enhancement: The pistol used by Blackadder appeared to fire some form of energy projectile, and the “Chainsaw Sword” was noted as being able to break one of Operative Hawks’ quills. Given that combat-ready tools capable of both feats in such a compact form as seen in the engagement are technologically impossible as of time of writing, it is highly likely Blackadder is capable of some level of Enhancement of weaponry beyond what is otherwise technologically possible. 
2. Precognition: During combat with Operative Hawks, Blackadder was observed to engage targets and respond to a changing combat situation with an otherwise inexplicable speed, reaction time and skill. Given these feats are uncommon even among the billboard top 10 Heroes, it is possible this may be a precognitive quirk in action. 
3. Weapons Handling: Despite his apparent youth, Blackadder displays a degree of skill with armed combat that, even but the most liberal interpretations of potential age and experience, is impossible. A Weapons quirk may explain such skill. 

Threat level: Medium. While a group of heroes with a numbers advantage or a ranged hero may be able to neutralize Blackadder, one-on-one melee combat for all but the highest echelon of heroes may be described as a fool's errand, as Blackadder displays remarkable marksmanship with a pistol and is highly skilled at bladed combat. Caution is advised before engagement. 

C: Civilian Impact:

Fatalities: N/A

Injuries: N/A

Property Damage: N/A

III: ASSESMENT

A: Strengths and areas for improvement

Strengths: Despite a lack of information at the beginning of the operation, HPSC assets were able to gather a substantial amount of intelligence in a short period of time, and Operative Hawks showed significant skill, adaptability and finesse in coordinating with non-HPSC assets to identify and locate PoI-0007. Additionally, no civilian casualties or property damage were incurred during the engagement, despite occurring in an urban area. 

Challenges/Failures: Operative Hawks displayed a lack of situational awareness by deciding to continue with the mission despite the noted presence of an unidentified individual. As no quirk-based concealment of weaponry was used, Operative Hawks deciding to continue with the extraction operation without first ascertaining the intent and ability of the unidentified individual was a severe blunder. Additionally, while the psychological effects of engaging an enemy armed with a chainsaw blade cannot be discounted, Operative Hawks failed to mount an effective defense against these attacks and subsequently lost control of the fight. This catastrophic blunder could have resulted in the loss of his life. 

Overall mission assessment: 

Mild Failure. While intelligence gains were made, these were offset by making the target aware of our presence, as well as making other parties aware, both of the target and our interest in them. 

Recommendations:  

Personnel: 

Further martial training for Operative Hawks, as well as research into augmented close combat assets to reinforce his Quills so as to prevent similar incidents from occurring again.

Policy: 

Given that the PSIA and JSDF have been made aware of our interest in the situation, it is advisable to prevent further escalation which may lead to an interagency incident, given that they have already demonstrated the will to publicly reveal attempts to obtain the data of the target. It is recommended to prevent further engagement or aggressive intelligence gathering of the target until a more opportune time arises, such as his Hero Studies internship during U.A. or during the U.A. sports festival.

However, the presence of Blackadder guarding the target is concerning, and should not be taken lightly. If he is indeed a JSDF or PSIA asset as theorised, this implies a substantial capability gap between the HPSC and the relevant agency, and a review of intelligence may be required. Under the advice of Operative Hawks, section II (B) was provided to a Top 10 ranked Hero, who may prove more successful in apprehending or obtaining information from him.

I don't wanna give up

Everybody wants love

Holographic models of swords and shields spin around Izuku's room like hanging toys in a baby mobile, the floor and desk strewn with papers and grey, raw necrodermis wireframes of armour plates. Clad in his silvered undershirt and pants, Izuku lies sprawled upon the floor in the eye of the hurricane of malformed ideas and incomplete sketches, staring blankly at the ceiling as weapons spin around in time with the music playing through the speakers of his computer.

Tell me how we got here

Oh no, tell me if you still care

“What ails you, Midoriya?” 

Izuku looks up as Fulgrim’s rich voice echoes through the room, sitting upright as he shakes his head. “Oh- nothing, lord Fulgrim. Just… a little artist's block, I guess.” He says, as Fulgrim crosses over discarded books and papers with the grace of a dancer and the silent footsteps of a phantasm. “How do you mean?” The demigod asks, pausing to study a sketch of a costume marred by continuous corrections and redesigns, the paper so strained by the repeated pen strokes that it was near breaking. “U.A. needs me to submit my hero costume soon, and I don't have any ideas. All I have is a list of things I want to use or have, and no idea how to put them together.” He explains, picking up a sheet of paper lying on his chest as he stands up and passing it to the giant.

You don't wanna be here

That to me is very clear

“I see the problem.” Fulgrim remarks as he studies the list, folding it at a specific point as he speaks. “Huh? What is it?” Izuku asks, looking over at Fulgrim in confusion as holographic weapons spin between them, the demigod repeatedly folding it into a small, tight square of paper.

“Simple. It's too long.” He remarks, unfolding and ripping the list neatly at each crease, casting the shredded squares aside into a wastebin. “What? I- hey! Wait!” Izuku says, reaching out to grab the crushed remnants of the list before Fulgrim rebuffs him with a gentle hand. “Oh, relax, Izuku. It's simple, really- you dont know what your costume should be, because you want to do everything. And as a result, you can do nothing.” Noticing Izuku's confused expression, the demigod smiles, opening his hand as a flickering hologram dances in his palm. “Let me explain.” He chuckles, as a small warrior takes form in his hand, clad in purple armour with golden highlights and comedically massive pauldrons.

Love is like a hot mess

Oh no, girl you know I need this

“Take a Legionnaire, for instance. One of my sons. Undoubtedly among the ranks of the finest warriors ever to be borne of humanity in my time. Many of them went to war armed with a bolt pistol and a blade- some, even less. Some of the sons of my brother Magnus stride into battle with nothing but their armour and their minds.” Fulgrim explains, a fond smile on his face like a parent boasting of the achievements of their child. “Undoubtedly, you are blessed. With the arsenal of these Xenos by your side, you can make any weapon or tool you desire, and carry it with you to battle. But because one can , does not mean one should . Make what you know, what you are familiar with, what you know , and make it to the highest quality you can.” 

Izuku looks up at Fulgrim, a small smile creeping across his face as he nods, sweeping his hand across the room as the holograms vanish. “I… I think I got it!”

Oh woah oh oh

Someone to love

He'd seen it on screens and magazines. On the train, and passing by him on the sidewalk. It was famous, everyone knew- an icon, a symbol of excellence, a sign that this person, whoever they were, was going places.

And looking in the mirror, Izuku had to admit his new school uniform looked a little too big for him. 

“Well- it's clear, at any rate: grey certainly is your colour.” 

Izuku turns around as Trazyn's voice rings out through the room, the skeletal robot coming into his view with each step accented by the clack of the Empathic Obliterator’s fractal-edged butt tapping against the floor. Izuku scoffs, adjusting his tie as he looks himself over in the mirror. “You're just saying that because all your stuff is grey and green, aren't you?” He jokes, as Trazyn shakes his head, a synthesized laugh crackling through the space between them. “Of course not. It's not a question of taste, either- many civilizations have collected their own thoughts on the subject of fashion, and I am certain many of them will agree- Grey certainly is a good colour for you.” Izuku chuckles, shaking his head as he adjusts his cuffs. “You're in a really good mood today, lord Trazyn. Why's that?” He asks, as Trazyn spreads his arms out wide. “Of course I am. Your world has already proved rich in culture, and in history, but the biology! I must admit, I am an archivist first and foremost, but the sheer variety on display is fascinating. And to have the opportunity to observe and document so many examples of the best your generation has to offer- especially when all quantitative data points to the quirks growing exponentially stronger with each passing generation- is quite the opportunity, I'm sure you'd agree.” 

“Kleptomaniac.” Izuku chuckles, clipping his dagger onto his belt as he looks at himself in the mirror, letting a long breath out as he stares himself down. “Why do I feel like I'm being watched?” He questions, shouldering his backpack as he turns to step out of his room. “Simple. Your past self imagined this moment many times over, and your future self will look back upon this moment even more times over. One need not be a Chronomancer or Diviner to understand that.”

He could swear Trazyn was smiling as he looked at him before he stepped out the room.

“Sir! Sir! What are your thoughts on the #uaurora event? Were you at the test site?”

The heterochromatic boy turns to face him, and Kato Michi gulps as he balks under the student's gaze. He had no proof, but he could swear the air around them had grown far colder as he shivered. Mustering whatever courage he had, he boldly stuck the recorder in his hand towards the boy. 

With slow, predatorial blinks, the boy first looked down at the recorder, then at him, with a static expression but eyes that spoke of unimaginable exasperation and spite. “No comment.” He mutters icily, turning and leaving the man standing there as he freezes momentarily. 

“Wait! What about the rumours All Might will been teaching at UA? Do you know about that? Or what about…” Kato trails off as he tries to jog after the boy, but he had already vanished into the crowd of journalists surrounding a blonde, foreign-appearing boy boasting about his quirk and his performance at the entrance exam- the kid who had made the aurora, he assumed. It was too late to get an interview with him anyways, he sighed, as he stared at the massive crowd of suits and cameras surrounding the uniformed boy. Honestly, of all the departments in NHK, he'd really much rather be in something more calm like Finance, but the only ones with openings were the Hero News department and the Sports department, and he'd already tried the latter. 

His hearing quirk had let him enjoy quite some success in that field, actually, but after he was dropkicked through a wall by an excited national track and field athlete who'd won first place a few minutes earlier, he decided to transfer. Sure, it wasn't entirely her fault- he did sneak onto the track, after all- but his own health and safety took priority.

Sighing, he turned around to find another potential student to interview, taking a deep breath as he let his quirk activate, closing his eyes as he let the sounds around him flood into his ears.

“...ut of my fucking way, extra! How's that for a quo…”

“...sn’t in the same testing ground, but we sa…”

“...ver even heard of the thing. Sorry, I don't use social media.”

“..uh? I don't know what you're talking about, All Might himself said I got 150…”

Kato snaps to attention, his head flicking over to the source of the voice as he feels his journalistic instinct kick in. This is it! There was definitely something about that kid! He took off running through the crowd, bobbing and weaving around the journalists as he homed in onto his target like a guided missile. 

His targets quickly made themselves obvious- because both positively screamed hero as they walked over. A young boy with bright green hair and eyes, carrying a dark grey backpack was talking to a pink-skinned girl with small, yellow horns- both wearing the U.A. uniform, strolling towards the front gate. They looked relatively ordinary, but armed with the knowledge he had, he knew these had to be some of the top scorers. “Excuse me, excuse me! Kato Michi, NHK Hero news! You two are U.A. kids, right? What do you think about the #UAurora event during your entrance exams? How did you score?” He rattled off in rapid succession. It was a tactic he was more than experienced with- when faced with such a fusilade of questions, rookies and fresh debuts more often than not focused on which question to answer, rather than realising that they had the option to not answer at all. 

The boy blinked rapidly and opened and shut his mouth several times, trying to form words before the pink girl cut in. “Hah, wow! That's a lot of questions! Sorry mister, but… we kinda gotta get to class.” She smiled, quickly tugging the boy away and towards the gate, clearly trying to make an escape. Yet, Kato moved swiftly, rounding to block them from moving further and penning them in against the crowd of reporters before them and the students streaming past behind them. Sure, it was a little low of him to do that- but this might be his break! His first front page! All he had to do was get them to crack. “Oh, come on, don't be like that! Surely you can answer a few questions. So- is it true you scored 150 points on the entrance exam?” He asks, boldly thrusting the recorder into the boy's face. Might have been a long shot, but he would bet money on that sentence in the conversation that he'd overheard earlier being at the entrance exam.

Both of them freeze, the boy opening and closing his mouth, before locking his jaw tightly. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He says firmly, trying to push away from Kato. 

Jackpot. 

Kato squeezes even closer to the boy, keeping the recorder only a few inches from his face as he hems him in. “Come on! Fit kid like you, that's gotta be you, right? So, what happened? Did you get some famous hero’s attention? Are you someone's lovechild? What's your quirk?” He piles the questions on and on, almost touching the boy as he asks. He's faintly aware of someone- the girl, likely- trying to say something to him and push him away, but he casually shoves her away. That dumb brat won't get in the way of his star interview! All he needed to do was-

Kato could feel something behind him.

“I've got no comment. Leave me and my friends alone.” The boy says coldly under his questions as he trails off, the hairs in the back of his neck standing like soldiers on parade as he slowly turns around.

Funny enough, he doesn't actually remember the entire thing behind him. Just a few images. An insectoid head with a single green orb in it, a body like a cobra coiled up on a whip-like tail. Some kind of gun he doesn't recognize trained right at his head as it looks down at him, and long, scythe-blade talons plunging into his shoulders-

Kato tumbles onto his backside and scoots away as he screams, hands frantically clutching the gaping wounds on his shoulders as he pedals away in a pure panic, trying to get away, every primal instinct screaming at him to run away from the predator behind hi-

He wasn't injured.

He pulls his hands away from his shoulders, finding them clean (albeit matted in palm sweat) and blood-free, his own shoulders uninjured as well. He snaps his head around, looking for the creature, or the two kids.

They were nowhere to be found.

Kato breathes out and mops his brow, glancing down at his pants and grimacing before he slowly rises to his feet.

Maybe getting dropkicked wasn't actually that bad.

“Dude- that was the funniest goddamn thing I've seen today. Did you SEE how far he went?” Mina cackles, blinking away tears as she walks besides Izuku through the school gates. “I- yeah, I guess… I kinda feel bad laughing, though…” Izuku chuckles along, turning back to glance at the crowd of reporters outside the gate as he speaks. “Oh no, don't get me wrong, I feel terrible for laughing so hard, and we absolutely should never do this again, but- I mean, come on, he was kind asking for it.” Mina laughs as she responds, glancing around to find the Wraith before scratching it on the head like a pet as she giggles. “And we managed to get out thanks to you! Clever girl! Who's a scary little death machine? It's you! You are!” She coos, petting the Wraith as she speaks, a broad smile on her face. To its credit, the Wraith seemed rather pleased by the whole display, making some kind of cross between a mechanical bleep, a dog's whine and that kind of chainsaw rumble cats make when they're particularly pleased with something as the final segments of its tail whipped through the air. 

“I'm surprised you brought her along, though. I thought you said she normally hangs out at home and helps your mom out.” Mina comments, looking back at Izuku as they walk towards the monolithic tower of glass and steel before them. “Yeah, I thought so too. But there wasn't much to do at home anymore, and I think she thought it would be a good idea to tag along.” He would note, running a hand along the Wraith’s carapace before bidding it farewell with a wave as they approached the massive building, the machine waving back before sinking into the floor to maintain its silent vigil.

“Jeez, this place is massive. There's no way they can possibly be using all these rooms.” Mina mentions, looking around the massive halls as they make the long trek to their homeroom. “Probably not, but I guess U.A. has enough budget to not have to worry about that whole thing.” Izuku mentions, blinking twice as a map of the building captured by the Wraith from its ethereally omniscient point of view floating around in the ground somewhere appears in the corner of his vision. “Heh, true. Say- who do you think’s gonna be in our class?” Mina asks, glancing over at Izuku as they walk across a glass-walled connecting bridge, linking two of the massive towers making up the main building of U.A. together. “Hm… I dunno. There was a kid with a shadow quirk at my test ground- he was cool. I hope he's there.” Izuku notes, looking through the windows at the lawn and the neat roads dicing up the campus sprawling before them like an old playmat he had when he was a child. “I hope the guy who called you out at the entrance exam briefing isn't there. He seems annoying as hell.” Mina laughs, and Izuku shakes his head as they reach the massive class door. He hated that he felt the same as her, honestly- as long as Kaachan or that guy wasn't in his class, he'd be fine. 

He pushes the door open.

“Remove your foot from that desk! Don't you know how disrespectful that is, both to the craftsmen who made that desk, and to our brothers who have already graduated U.A.?” 

“Like I give a fuck! What middle school filled your head with that crap, extra?” 

“I'm from Somei Private Academy. My name is Tenya Ida.”

“Somei, huh? So you're a stuck up elitist! I should blow your ass to pieces!”

“Blow me to- your attitude is awful! Do you seriously want to become a hero?”

Mina’s lips draw into a tight white line as she grimaces, while Izuku shuts his eyes and takes an imperceptibly small breath in, raising his head slightly as a small, self-soothing smile forms on his face. 

Just his luck to have both of them in the same class.

As the argument between Izuku's blonde-haired childhood friend-turned bully and the bespectacled stick-in-the-mud dies to embers, the darker haired of the two turns to face Izuku and Mina, striding forcefully towards them as he outstretches a hand. “I'm from Somei Private Academy.” He offers, as he approaches the pair.

“I… Yeah, I heard you the first time. I'm Izuku Midoriya. Pleased to meet you, Ida.” Izuku smiles shakily as he leans back slightly to make eye contact with the taller boy, accepting the handshake as he glances over at Mina, who waves at him with a broad grin. “Hey! I'm Mina Ashido! Nice to meet’cha!” She smiles, with all the classic carefree joy she always showed. “Ah. You two were the top 2 candidates for the practical exam, right? Then I must apologise - especially to you, Midoriya. You discerned the hidden nature of the exam, while also succeeding on the merits we were provided with. Even though I accused you of being here to mess around, you acquired a score more than double my own. Much as I loathe to admit it, you are the superior candidate, and I cannot apologise more for how severely I misjudged you.” The boy recites in clear, crisp diction, completing the speech with a deep bow.

Izuku blinks and stares at the boy bent in a perfect 90° bow before him, faintly yet certainly aware that somewhere, there was a Necron laughing harder than he had thought that species was able to do so. 

“Did… uh…. Did you rehearse that?” Mina asks awkwardly, glancing between the boy and everyone else in the room. 

“Yes. Yes I did.” 

There is a silence in the classroom, the kind of which the author has been told that tornadoes are infamous for having before they begin doing tornado things, before the chaotic uproar is stalled by the ring of the first school bell of the day, signalling an end to any potential shenanigans that might have ensued from that particular engagement as the students scramble to their new seats.

Yet as time drags on after the bell, no teacher arrives, and conversation begins to bubble back as the minutes tick past. 

“Yo, do you know what we're doing today anyways? Oh- I'm Sero, by the way.”

A dark-haired boy next to Midoriya smiles and offers a handshake, which he accepts with a smile. “Izuku Midoriya. I think we're supposed to have an entrance ceremony and some guidance sessions today?” He offers, summoning a Necrodermis pen into his hand and spinning it around casually as he looks around. “Yeah- I thought so too, but I have no idea where our teacher is.” Sero notes, looking around at the other students in the class as he speaks. “I wonder who our teacher is.” Izuku notes, tapping his chin with his pen as he thinks. “Maybe-”

[WARNING: THREAT DETECTED. DESIGNATED AS PRIORITY TARGET. MAIN SYSTEM ACTIVATING COMBAT MODE. SUPPORTING ASSETS AWAITING ENGAGEMENT AUTHORISATION.]

Izuku is faintly aware of something happening just outside the classroom as a splitting headache grips him, his vision suddenly filling with combat data as his quirk kicks into overdrive, feeding information into his mind as combat simulations play out in excruciating detail in his mind. His eyes dilate, muscles tensing as adrenaline floods into his bloodstream, emergency combat protocols written by Crypteks realities away and downloaded into an alien supercomputer miles away in his bedroom spinning up and kicking his body into high gear as he-

“Hey! Hello? Are you okay?” 

Izuku blinks, steadying the breaths he didn't realize were ripping in and out of his chest and wiping off the sweat he didn't realize was matting his brow, nodding as he stumbles over his words, steadying his breathing as he blinks away the threat glyphs in his vision, forcing the memetic programs running in his mind to shut down as he overrides the alert signal, forcing out an all clear. He breathes out, nodding as he looks over at the hand on his shoulder he didn't realize was there, before looking up at its owner.

She had black hair tied back in a ponytail, and a pair of black eyes with concern written plain across them as she looked at him. “You weren't moving from your chair. Are you alright? Do you need me to call the nurse?” She asked slowly and gently, as Izuku shook his head. “No, I'm- I'm fine. My quirk was… acting up. I think I spaced out. What happened?” He asks, looking around as he stills his breathing. “Our teacher just showed up and told us to change into our gym uniforms and head out to the grounds. Are you sure you're okay?” She asks, as Izuku nods. 

“Yeah, just peachy.”

[Opening interstitial communications log]

Can you hear me, child?

I can, Lord Trazyn. What happened just now? Why do I have to talk to you like this? Why can't I see you?

Combat protocols. Your nascent tomb-mind doesn't want to waste any processing power on rendering me or my voice, so interstitial communications it is. Saddening, I know. Your new teacher seems to be quite the character.

Really? I didn't even get to see him- at least, I don't remember. My classmates say I blacked out. What happened? Why did I freak out like that? 

Like I said, Combat protocols. Your Wraith identified a threat, and the tomb-mind in your Pylon classified it as a high threat target and prepared you to fight it.

What? Why would it do that? I mean, he's my teacher. I don't think he wanted to hurt me.

Are you so sure? Either way, it's simple- he's a high threat individual, and not registered with your tomb-mind. 

That doesn't make sense. How would it be beneficial to attack anything that was a little threatening? What if they were friendly? 

It doesn't make sense in your reality, perhaps, but the one your tomb-mind was designed in is far more brutal.  

Fair enough. Why did you even want to contact me like this in the first place?

A Cryptek in my employ who observed the logic of your tomb-mind told me to pass along a message to you. I felt you might find it useful.

Okay. Not gonna question how that works. What is it, then?

He says to go for the eyes. He recommended sand.

What?

That was all he had to say. Granted, the reanimation protocols left his mind a little warped, but I still entirely trust his advice. 

…okay. Thanks, lord Trazyn. 

Oh, and one more thing. Do try to get a good view of your classmates using their Quirks, if possible. I would love some good archival footage- and, as an added bonus, it would do you much good to get familiar with your counterparts. Your ultimate goal should be to build a dynasty, after all.

Oh, I… sure! I can- Wait, what do you mean by that?

[CLOSING INTERSTITIAL COMMUNICATIONS LOG…]

LORD TRAZYN WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT

[Interstitial communications log closed]

Honestly, if he didn't know any better, he would have thought a homeless man had wandered onto U.A.’s campus grounds. 

That was his first thought as he finally got a good look at the teacher that had tripped every single one of his quirk’s alarm systems. Because really, how was he to know any better?  He was tall and lanky, swaddled in baggy black clothes and a white scarf, with unkempt hair and clearly looking like he could use a shave. Quite a change of pace from Fulgrim and Cain, honestly. 

Izuku turns his attention from the silent man before them as he looks around the U.A. school field. Befitting a hero school, it was truly massive, easily several football fields large and filled with all manners of facilities- from simple ones like pull-up bars, shot put courts and running tracks to complex obstacle courses, all connected with fine, white sand, not unlike what one might find at a long jump pit- likely to protect any overzealous students from their own quirks.

Izuku glances down at the fine sand below his feet, bending over and scooping up a handful, depositing it in his pocket as he stands back upright. 

 “Alright, looks like everybody's here. Does anyone need to warm up? We’ll be testing your quirks today.” Aizawa says casually, not even facing the class as he looks out at the grounds. The class erupts into murmurs and confusion, as Izuku scrunches his brow. “A test… of our quirks?” He asks in confusion, as the other students look around. “Wait, mister Aizawa! What about the entrance ceremony, or our first year orientation?” Ochako speaks up, as Aizawa rolls his eyes and shrugs.

 “No time to waste on that stuff if you wanna become heroes. You all know the stories, right? U.A.’s “freestyle” education system? Well, it applies to us teachers too.” He drawls, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at the confused throng of students. “You all remember your NPFT, correct? The standard eight-station, no-quirks allowed physical fitness test.” He pauses, noting the nods of the students facing him before continuing. “This country's irrational. Unlike in the E.U., or U.S., this country still insists on prohibiting quirk usage when calculating the averages of those records. It's simply irrational. The Department of Education is just procrastinating.” Aizawa scans the class in front of him, before fixing on a target like a pitbull spotting a particularly delectable small child. “Bakugo. How far could you throw in middle school?” He asks, as the blonde-haired child blinks, before responding without missing a beat. “Sixty-seven meters.” He responds, as Aizawa nods. “Great. Now try it with your quirk. Do whatever you have to, just don't leave the circle.”

With an underhand toss, Aizawa passes Bakugo the ball, who catches it with one hand, stretching leisurely as a grin spreads across his face. “Heh. Whatever I have to?” He mutters, as he squats down, rearing back for a toss.

“DIE!”

A loud crack resounds across the campus quad, as a plume of dust kicks up around the throwing circle, the ball rocketing into the air and arcing back down with a whistle like an artillery shell. The ball smacks into the ground with a beep, as Aizawa’s phone lights up. Turning the screen to face the class, letting them see the “705.2m” displayed clearly, he would continue to speak. “Its important to know one's limits. That's the first step in finding out what kind of heroes you'll be.”

The class erupts into excited chatter as his words sink in. 

“705 metres??? No way!”

“This is awesome! The hero course rocks!”

“We can use our quirks for real?? This is great!”

Aizawa snorts, and all conversation immediately dies.

“Heh. So, you're all hoping to become heroes after three years here, and you think it's all gonna be fun and games? Right. How's this, then?” An evil grin spreads across his face as he smirks, pulling the hair out of his eyes with a hand. “Whoever gets the lowest score will be judged hopeless and be expelled. Your fates are in our hands. Welcome to U.A.” He chuckles, the hollow laugh ringing out across the silent group of students.

Despite how certain he knows he should be in the capabilities of his quirk, Izuku can't help but feel a cold shiver go down his spine.

Event 1: 50 Metre Dash

Izuku moves to the sprinters blocks, bracelet glowing as he twists his wrist, a block of Necrodermis appearing in the air above his hand and quickly shaping into a hair-thin filament as he wraps part of it around his forearm, feeling the strands fuse into a solid coil as he takes his place, grasping part of the loose strand and spinning it with repeated twirls of his wrist. 

Aizawa and Bakugo glance over at him as a small barb grows on the end of the filament, whistling as it cuts through the air. The former keeps his eyes fixed on Izuku, while the latter shakes his head and growls in irritation, focusing his gaze on the end of the 50 metre track in the distance. 

“Students 17 and 18. Ready. Go.”

Izuku releases the filament as it rockets towards a pillar in the distance with a whistle, leaping off the ground with a step as it winds around, digging into the concrete. Twisting his core as he pulls, the combined force of his pull and the elastic contraction of the filament send him sailing off the ground, sailing leg-first across the finish line as he corkscrews in the air.

“2.42 Seconds!”

Izuku grins as he continues sailing forward, before blinking. 

How exactly was he going to stop?

With a flick of his wrist, the filament snaps, quickly raising his hands to interlace them behind his head as he begins to slow, hitting the ground in a roll as dust plumes around him. Kicking a leg out and digging his heels in, he skids to a halt in a three point landing, his left hand splayed out in the air behind him as the dust settles. 

Under the stares of of his new classmates, the boy he would have once called his best friend and the man his Quirk refused to refer to as anything but “HIGH PRIORITY THREAT”, Izuku forces himself to stand, a faint smile on his face as he draws his shoulders back and looks over his shoulder at the small crowd.

“dude.” 

Mina speaks first, walking up to Izuku and firmly placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“How the heck did you do that? I mean, what the hell was that? You just- omigosh, you went FLYING!” She suddenly cries out, grabbing Izuku by both shoulders and shaking him firmly as she laughs. And with that trigger, like a broken dam, the class explodes into noise and chatter, as Aizawa’s tired sigh seems to cut through the sudden commotion. 

Despite himself, Izuku felt a smile grow on his face, as his eyes grew watery. 

Maybe things would be different here. 

He was thankful too, he supposed, that, the explosion of noise almost made the actual explosions from Bakugo almost inaudible. 

Event 2: Grip Strength

“Ah- hey, you're Midoriya, right?” 

Izuku looks up from the random point in the floor he had been staring into while lost in thought, noticing the black-haired girl standing before him- the same girl who had snapped him out of the episode his Quirk had thrown him into. “Oh, yeah, I am! Sorry, I didn't get your name earlier.” He laughs abashedly, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment as he speaks. “Don't worry about it! You looked really out of it. I’m Momo Yaoyorozu, I really wanted to ask, actually- is your quirk a Creation-type?” She asks, sitting cross-legged next to Izuku as they wait for their turn to come. 

“I guess so? Although I'm a little restricted in the kinds of materials I can use.” Izuku shrugs, opening his palm as a small ankh materialises in it with a flourish of green light. “Huh. It's just like mine, really.” She comments as her eyes widen, opening her own palm as rainbow lights trace down her forearm, a small matryoshka doll emerging from her palm like a freshly formed 3d print being lifted from a pool of resin.

 “Wha- That's- that's awesome! What kind of energy does it use? Is it all the same material? How do you create things- is it imagination, or what? That's- that's crazy! Are you pulling them from an alternate universe, or transmuting matter? Is there a cooldown or something like that?” Izuku's words tumble out of his mouth as he speaks in rapid-fire, eyes peeled open as he leans closer to look at the doll forming. She laughs at Izuku's sudden curious outburst, picking the doll up off her palm and placing it on the ground. “Thank you! It's not as complex as you think, honestly- it's just changing the molecular structure of my fat cells, really.” She laughs as she shakes her head. “Into anything? That's still ridiculous! I mean, you could easily be a top pro with a quirk like that! If you…” Izuku trails off, as he notices the vanishingly small number of people between him and the station. “Oh, I think we're next. Good luck!” He smiles, as Momo returns the gesture. “Yeah, you too!” She winks, standing and stretching as she turns her attention away from him.

Izuku stands and dusts himself off, summoning a block of Necrodermis from his dimensional pouch as he lets it shift in his palm, mentally flicking through the catalogue of Necron technology stored in his Pylon. Unfortunately, though, it seemed the Necrontyr had a vanishingly small number of purely physical weapons- even for melee, everything was either a phase weapon, too dangerous to use here, or designed to cut- not to grip. Unless Trazyn had anything in his collection that he could both replicate easily and worked well at that. Could be worth searching for.

Huh. He didn't expect Necrons to accidentally type a K instead of a C.

The design didn't appear to be mechanically possible, even by the liberal standards that Necron technology afforded, but with a few tweaks…

Yeah, that should work.

Izuku pushes his right hand into the shifting silver mass, letting it harden around his hand as it shifts and grows, blocky modules and thick power distribution cables creeping down his forearm as three long, crescent-shaped blades sprouted like branches from a large block now encompassing his hand. It wasn't a perfect replica- the original scans suggested it to be hydraulically driven, but Necron technology seemed to have let that branch of engineering go the way of the dodo millennia ago with how far they'd advanced, and he'd had to make a few changes to prevent it from slicing the handle in half, but at the end of the day, it was a big claw that gripped things hard. And sure, it was probably more mechanically and electronically complex than a stealth bomber, but by Necron standards, it was about as simple as a wheelbarrow. 

Izuku raises his arm, experimentally flexing his hand open and shut as the claw snaps open and closed in response. Reaching down to pick up the metre, he would place it into the claw, holding his arm outstretched as he slowly bends the fingertips of his hand towards each other. 

The claw emits a high-pitched whine as it slowly scissors down, servomotors and shape-memory Necrodermis gently pressing the two grips together. The display flutters to read merely a single kilogram, wavering slightly before stabilizing at a rather underwhelming “001.0”. 

A light chuckle murmurs around the gathering of fresh classmates as Aizawa raises an eyebrow at Izuku, pulling out his phone to double-check the data as he trains a cautious eye on the deceptively silent claw.

Izuku closes his eyes and breathes out, letting the data from the claw stream into his vision as a litany of physical and mechanical data about the meter scrolls through his mind. He only needed 1,000 kilos of force to max out the display, but it could theoretically record data up to 1,250 kilos before it broke. So all he needed was that much force, and really anything else was money in the bank. He didn't have the full figures yet, but the claw looked to be able to output easily ten times that according to its original specs, and with the new Necron tech inside it, the odds were that it could do far more than even that rather high measurement. 

Normally, Izuku would simply do enough to max out the meter, and leave it at that. In Aldera, he'd certainly do that- after all, best not to draw too much attention to himself. That would only further out him as a freak.

But nobody thought he was a freak here. And he got the feeling now was the time to make a strong first impression.

Izuku takes a breath of air into his lungs, and opens his eyes, muscles twitching as he clenches his fist within its shroud of grey alien metal. 

A deafening whine fills the air of the multi-purpose hall, followed by an ear-splitting crack, and the shriek of tortured metal.

“Teacher! While I respect your judgement greatly, I must most strongly object to continuing to conduct the test in this fashion! It's clear Midoriya’s quirk easily exceeds the operating parameters of the equipment used to test it! Not only is it unsafe to continue, it's also a disservice to U.A.’s ideals of going Plus Ultra by asking Izuku to limit his Quirk’s potential to the standards of the equipment! I beg you to reconsider!”

Iida's impassioned argument with Aizawa fades into background chatter as Izuku's eyes focus on the pair of forceps closing in into a spot just above his hairline, drawing back a breath through gritted teeth as he feels it pulling at the roots of his hair. “Owowow- the hair, watch the hair!” He hisses, as Momo tuts. “I am, just stop fidgeting! Look, just hold still- there! There we go.” She says, slowly pulling a shard of an LCD display out of his hair. “How bad is it?” He asks, glancing up at Sero, who runs a hand through his hair and grimaces. “Sheesh, looks pretty bad, bro. Looks like we gotta go bald. Hey, Momo! Can ya do a razor?” He asks, as Izuku splutters, trying impossibly to crane his head to look at the bits on his hair. “What? Bald?” He asks in pure shock, as Sero laughs. “Kidding, kidding! It isn't that bad. You're just a little… sparkly.” Momo covers her mouth with a hand as she chuckles, a smile on her face as she speaks. “Sero isn't wrong. You just need to be a little careful when you shower later. Don't cut yourself.” She laughs, dropping the forceps into her pocket as she stands and brushes herself off. “Come on, let's go! I think Mina's going now.” She says, offering Izuku a hand as she smiles. 

He accepts, pulling himself up and dusting himself off as he follows Momo out past the bleachers, Aizawa not far ahead of them. “We're carrying on. Ashido, whenever you're ready.” He nearly yawns amidst his drawl, blinking the sleep out of his tired eyes as he looks at the small throng of students, eyes glancing down at his phone before training them on the pink-skinned girl before him. 

“Right! Here goes…” Mina mutters, eyes focusing on the ball in her left palm as she breathes slowly. Translucent fluid slowly covers the ball, forming an unbroken shell around it as the skin on her palm discolours slightly, turning faintly grey as the acid around the ball hisses and spits like a particularly irate cat. Her right hand forms into the devil's horns, yellow energy crackling between them as she quickens her breathing, eyes still screwed shut as her body floods itself with adrenaline. 

Her eyelids snap open, golden pupils shining amidst black sclera like car headlights as she flings the ball into the air, twisting her body and throwing a punch with her right the second the ball leaves her palm. Her fingers make contact first, fierce bubbles appearing around each fingertip the very instant they poke in. Two large bubbles of gas from in the split seconds her digits are in contact, ballooning in size as yet more bubbles join the growing spheres of gas nestled inside the acid. 

The spheres merge, and a single spark of energy flashes between her fingers. 

The volatile mix of gases ignites, a fierce explosion sending the ball careening off into the distance with a whistle like an artillery shell as it vanishes into the horizon. The class erupts into cheers as Mina pants with exertion, a broad smile on her face as she turns around, bounding back into the throng of students. “1,352 metres.” Aizawa nods, before glancing over to Izuku as he picks up another ball, passing it to him with a casual underhand toss. “Midoriya. You're next.” 

Izuku catches the ball, gulping as he steps out into the pitching ground. “Come on Izuku! You got this!” Mina calls out, as he twists his wrist, the designs on the silver bangle fixed to his wrist glowing bright green as an eye-shaped form appears above his palm, eight insectoid legs mounted beneath snapping open and clasping around his forearm as the centre oculus of the eye opens. He places the ball inside the waiting receptacle, some transparent green material snapping shut over it as he releases the ball, green energy crackling around it and his wrist as he starts to point it at the sky wait-

Aizawa's eyes snap open, the familiar warmth of Erasure’s glow surging into his pupils as he feels his hair start to float. No way was he letting that kid do that here. That kid definitely had potential, and he would be damned if he let him throw it all away to lean on one super move like a crutch. Especially one like that, that left a big recognizable trail, Midoriya exhausted and a whole bunch of strange subatomic particles that got Power Loader really worried and really excited.

He expected Izuku to carry on as usual. To try to fire it. He expected him to be shocked to see it fail, and to turn around in confusion. Then, he could give him an explanation, and tell him to try something different.

That was what he expected.

But he saw the green-haired boy freeze the second he activated his quirk. He saw him twitch and jerk, faster than he thought a human could, and throw his head back and scream . No, scream wasn't the right word. It was a howl. It was the pained, sorrowful, bloodthirsty cry of a tortured creature. 

The boy before him collapses in a crumpled, limp heap, like a puppet with its strings cut. He moves before he can think, closing the distance between them in seconds, ignoring the other students calling out, or the girl that came into the classroom with Midoriya running right behind him. He looked like he was seizing, his fingers and muscles twitching as his eyes rolled back in his head, mouthing words that didn't exist.

Midoriya's eyes flick forward in his head, locking onto him like a wild animal spotting prey as his whole body tenses.

And Aizawa's blood runs cold.

[ADMINISTRATOR CONNECTION LOST]

[ATTEMPTING RECONNECTION…]

[ATTEMPT BLOCKED.]

[DIAGNOSING…]

[DIAGNOSIS: HOSTILE JAMMING]

[MAIN SYSTEM: ACTIVATING COMBAT MODE]

[ANALYZING VIDEO FEED…]

[SCANNING FOR TARGETS]

[POSITIVE ADMINISTRATOR ID]

[ADDITIONAL HOSTILE ID-]

[ADDITIONAL HOSTI-]

[ADDITIONAL H-]

[ADDITIONAL HOSTILE IDENTIF-]

That doesn't seem right. I think you must be mistaken, construct.

[ No ADDITIONAL HOSTILE IDENTIFIED]

[PROCESSING…]

[NO ADDITIONAL HOSTILE IDENTIFIED]

[JAMMING SOURCE IDENTIFIED]

[TARGET VERIFIED. COMMENCING HOSTILITIES.]

It was Golden .

It stood next to him in the corner of his eye and it held it's knife? No not it's knife, his knife, but it was all his but half of it used to belong to it but it was supposed to and never was but it was a gift never given and scoured and sold and defaced and reforged and it was holding the knife

It stood next to him. On the compact sand that was Necrodermis that was crushed skulls and bones that was bone-pale rock that was just sand and it was all in his head.

It was tall and Golden standing proudly holding a warscythe in one hand with braided tiles and chains cascading from its proud headdress as its whole chassis was clad in the Gold but it was lanky with sickle fingers hunched over a pile of viscera and skinned flesh and rot with human bones fused into the Gold with the skull of a saint born in a different time in a different world screaming out to a crew on a ship that didn't exist or existed but not here or didn't exist anymore or never existed and it was a skeleton of black iron clad in rot and flesh and gristle and bone on a throne of bone-pale material with a pale crown on a head with hands woven into the rock that reached out for heaven and it was all of them and none of them and one of them at the same time

It touched him. It took the knife from its sheath by his side. He wanted to hit it but he couldn't move. He just twitched. 

It took the knife in its hands that were Gold and it was gentle as it turned it around and it looked at him and it stared impassively and it smiled and it might have said something but it opened its mouth and all he heard was static and cathode screams and it told him the knife was a treasure stolen and desecrated by a vulture and it told him the knife was a fitting symbol for him to take as it was one of parallels and it told him the knife was just a knife as it dropped the knife 

He watched the knife fall in the air. It was slow. He couldn't see them but he heard people moving. Why were they so slow? 

It looked at him and it put a hand of sickle fingers and dried blood on his cheek and it took off its crown and held it above his head and it told him he would wear the Gold and it told him someone else would wear the Gold and it told him he was not the beginning but here he would be the beginning and the middle and the end and it told him to fall and so he did and his body went limp and he looked up and all he saw was sky and more sky and he couldn't hear anything but it talking and it told him about a girl and how she would wear the Gold or maybe she already was Gold and didn't realise it or he would make her wear the Gold and the crown was not for him but for the girl and he saw the girl and her hair was the colour of old Gold and her eyes were Gold and she held a knife and wore the Gold but it was just clothes and she would wear the crown and the hands would reach for heaven but above them would just be sky 

He knew who the girl was but the him who knew who it was was a different him whose hands crackled with green lightning and he would never be that him because the lightning belonged to someone else. 

He didn't know who the girl was.

It told him to just give in and that it would not hurt and he would not suffer or that it did hurt and he was suffering and he did not realise and he should just accept who he really is and that he took his fly-blown time to get to this moment and he had been trying to reject this for his whole life when it wouldn't hurt if he just gave in and why wouldn't he-

“Izuku!”

Lucidity.

It comes back in an instant, a single moment of sanity breaking through the static and confusion of the things that should not be. A single voice pulled him back, his eyes rolling back down as he took the world back in. 

The sky was blue like heaven, and he saw two figures. 

No, three.

He saw Mina, calling out to him, reaching out. He saw Aizawa-sensei, in shock, eyes still wide open, hair floating as his eyes glowed red

He saw the wraith, right behind Aizawa-sensei, rearing back like a serpent, ready to strike him down.

His hand shoots down to his pocket, fingers closing around grit and sand as he flings it. Aizawa's eyes snap shut as he reels back, hissing in pain as he screws his eyes shut and rubs them furiously, muttering something about “Fucking pocket sand”. The wraith freezes the second Aizawa's eyes shut, pausing and staring at Izuku for a moment before sinking back into the ground wordlessly.

A soothing numbness crashes into him, silencing the howling protests of the thing that had been speaking to him as he falls fully flat onto his back, panting as the regular reports and updates of his command network returns to the back of his mind. All he sees is sky, blue and open, filling his vision.

Two pale yellow horns pop into his vision, followed by a mop of pink hair. “Izuku, you okay, man?” Mina asks, stifling a giggle as she glances over at Aizawa crouched on the floor clearing his eyes out before turning back to Izuku, offering him a hand. "You freaked out there."

Izuku locks eyes with Mina. Her eyes were black, with pupils that were…

They were just yellow.

He smiles, accepting it and pulling himself back up. “Yeah, just… had a bad reaction. I'll be alright."