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Chapter Text

EARTH'S MIGHTIEST MORTAL

On Earth-1, Izuku Midoriya is an aspiring Pro Hero-in-training, Deku, a student at U.A., the successor to All Might, his world's greatest hero, and has become the Ninth Wielder of One For All.

This is not his story.

Because on Earth-7567, Izuku Midoriya is someone else.

On Earth-1, Izuku Midoriya was chosen by the world's greatest hero.

On Earth-7567, Izuku Midoriya was chosen by someone else.

In a world were magic was once as easy to find as any Quirk, one power stands above them all: that of as Earth's Strongest Sorcerer, the Master of the Mystic World, the Champion of Magic and now, the time has come for him to pass his mantle on to a worthy successor of his own.

As other forces marshal their strength and train their successors, Izuku Midoriya prepares himself, as he steps into the shoes of Earth's Mightiest Mortal.

With the ancient power of the six gods at his disposal, Izuku Midoriya summons forth his newfound magical might to defend his world.

And all it takes is a single word… SHAZAM!

Prologue

Chapter One: Prologue

VOLUME ONE: ANCIENT POWER

Part One: The Old Gods

Chapter One: Courage

Chapter Two: Power

Chapter Three: Strength

Chapter Four: Speed

Chapter Five: Permanence

Chapter Six: Wisdom

Chapter Seven: The Champion

Part Two: Modern-Day Deities

Chapter One: TBA

Chapter Text

EARTH'S MIGHTIEST MORTAL

Prologue

Long ago, the world was fractured and disconnected.

The tribes of man lived in ignorance of their fellow man, each group believing themselves to be alone, to be the sole inhabitants of a world filled with danger. To help them combat these dangers, men prayed to their gods, to the powers that could control the world around them and manipulate fate itself.

And the gods answered.

The chosen ones of the gods stepped forth.

Mankind grew to find the power that now lingered within their veins. The ability to burn with the power of the sun; to call upon the thunderbolts of legend; and the power to bring life to even the most barren of fields.

It was in this time that the first of the sorcerers arrived.

Humans chosen to wield the powers of gods, these chosen ones arose as the defenders of man. No matter the threat, they stood as mankind's greatest defence in the face of evil.

Over the centuries - over the millennia - that would come to follow, mankind, Homo Sapien, would give various names to the spellbinders, the Homo Magi, that came from them: wizards and witches, warlocks and wiccans, sorcerers and magicians. The words changed, but the meaning remained the same. They were each exalted and hunted in equal turn. They were revered as saviours, only for the sweetness of their rise to be followed by the bitterness of their fall, when those who wielded power selfishly grew too many in number to be contained.

But it was from the beginning of this conflict that the First Champion was brought forth to answer Magic's call.

Jebediah liked to think of himself as a good man.

Most days, he awoke with to sun, to work alongside his father and brothers, as they tended to their cattle and ensured that their fields remained clean. He prayed to the gods for good weather, good health and good soil, and offered them a small sacrifice upon the coming of each new moon.

He was young yet, but soon to be a man proper, and when their current journey was completed, he looked forward to meeting the good woman his father would choose for his bride, and already his mind enjoyed the images conjured from the depths of his mind; of the many strong sons and beautiful daughters that they would soon share together.

He was a son of Canaan, a child of his gods Elohim and Asherah. He was proud to be a son of his people, and as they moved towards the river, his mind wandered to what would become of their home. Their people planned to come together with another tribe and begin to build a new settlement together. This time, with great walls for protection, where they could huddle together in winters and share the surrounding fields come summer.

His greatest concern for the moment, however, was the wellbeing of his mother, who was travelling heavy with what would soon become her and his father's eleventh child.

If the gods chose this time to be kind, then hopefully the newest holder of their blood would survive to see more than just a handful of summers.

Yet the gods rarely did.

When they moved, Jebediah had already decided that it would be to a home of his own. When things had settled and the time was right, he would build a small home for himself, and he hoped, his new bride. Together, they would tend the lands of their own, caring for a herd of their own, and he hoped, in time, he would be as blessed as his own parents with a brood of his own.

"Jebediah!"

His head snapped up at the sound of father's voice, his distress clear, "Father?!"

"Riders! Come quickly, we must prepare to defend our people!"

"Of course!"

His people were simple shepherds, they had no true weapons and nothing in the way of much wealth, but they were willing to defend themselves.

He took up his axe, his father choosing the scythe, as they joined the rest of the men, who did the same, each one taking up arms against those who would do them harm. They stood together, as the enemy's horses drew closer, and it was only then, did they see.

The small group of riders weren't racing towards them.

They were chasing the front man.

Yet the front man was no man at all.

For it was a woman.

"We need to help her".

"She is not our concern".

"Father-"

"No Jebediah", his father urged, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, "we must protect our own. That is now our most important task. Until we reach the new village, we must defend ourselves".

He frowned, as around him, the other men nodded at the perceived wisdom of his father's words, "And leave another to be hunted like a common dog?"

"You do not know this woman", his father pointed out, "she may be a thief. She may be disobedient, or even a whore. You know not enough to involve yourself in her affairs. If needs must-"

"But needs not. Remain here, Father, I will help, even if you will not".

"Jebediah!"

His father called after him, but it was for naught, for he had already gone.

Their horses were not designed to run fast, but instead to carry heavy loads. They had been bred for working in the fields, not running through them, yet, as if sensing the need, the steed he had taken from the pack responded, and within mere minutes, he had almost caught up to them.

He found their horses abandoned together, left stood at the side of what might have once been a mighty river, but was now little more than a trickling stream, surrounded only by mud and the sparsest amount of vegetation.

Slipping cautiously from the small saddle, he used the reigns to lash it to the largest shrub he could see, but it was a far cry from the security of a sturdy tree. He slid his axe from where he had tucked it into the saddle, and took comfort from its familiar weight. The wood of the handle was solid, and he knew that the head was as sharp as ever.

All he needed to do was swing it.

He followed the imprint of men's feet along the stream, tracking them as one would a lost animal, until he came to a dip, where the water formed something resembling a small pool, and at the side of it, he found the fleeing woman, caged in by the four men who had been following after her.

"-come now, little girl-"

"-should not have run-"

"-sure to return you to him-"

"-been properly compensated, of course".

Between the brief exchange, and the manner in which they had enclosed her, Jebediah decided that was all he needed to hear to make his decision.

"Enough", he said, announcing his presence as he dropped down to join them, his axe held firmly in his hands, while two of the men had swords hung at their waists, while the other duo seemed only to have a single dagger.

"I don't know who you are", the first man - the one closest to him - told him, "but your presence is not wanted here".

"My name is Jebediah", he told them, "but it seems to me that it is your presence that is not wished for".

The first man sighed, "This woman belongs to another-"

"I belong to no one-"

"-and he is eager to see her returned to him".

"Is that before or after you take your compensation?"

He spat the last word at him, the very same man who'd said it, and saw the grimace on his face, as he realised that he had, in fact, been overheard.

"Let's just deal with him", he told the others, as he drew his sword, "then we can get on with… enjoying the rest of our day".

Jebediah didn't wait after that.

Crossing the small distance in three large steps, he swung his axe with all of the strength born of a lifetime of manual labour, sending the first man spinning away from him, before he slammed the axe into the top of his skull. Blood spurted out of the wound, caking his hands in the warm liquid, leaving his grip loose, his fingers slackened from the slickness of the fluid.

"Look out!"

He dodged the second man, pulling his axe free of the first man's skull, and using its handle as a makeshift shield. He used it to block the swipes of his dagger, before ramming the butt of it into his stomach.

He dropped his dagger, falling to his knees as the air left his body, leaving him gasping and heaving. Wasting no time, he kicked the dagger away, before burying the axe into the middle of his spine. By the time he pulled it free, the man was already dead.

Seeing what had happened, the other two men attempted to charge him at the same time.

Desperately, he scrambled backwards to gain ground, but in his haste, he had forgotten about the blood on the ground. Hs sandals slipped, and his back hit the ground.

"HAH!"

One of the two remaining raiders - the one with a sword - made to swing it at him with all his might, and bring it down on his fallen body, but he made the same mistake that Jebediah himself had, and found himself slipping over the slick floor.

Taking the opportunity for what it was, he scrambled away, grabbing his axe as the second man drew close. It was a move born of desperation, but as he turned away, managing to regain his footing, he swung his axe behind him blindly, feeling relieved when he felt it hit resistance and sink into a man's flesh.

Despite everything that had happened, Jebediah felt mostly regret for the action.

He'd skinned animals before, cutting open carcasses for food and trade, but never had he desired to know what it was to sink a blade into a living man's form.

It wasn't knowledge he enjoyed having.

"ARH!"

As caught up as he was in his own musings, he'd forgotten about the one that had fallen.

With a pained grunt, he tried to pull his axe free from the side of the man's dead body, but it was stuck. He wrenched twice, three times before it pulled itself loose, but he was already behind him, his sword already poised.

He closed his eyes.

"Ack!"

He heard it happen; the gasp of pain; the sound of metal sinking into flesh, but he felt no pain.

Odd. He'd thought death would hurt more.

Cautiously, he slowly opened his eyes.

The second man was still stood in front of him, hands overhead, clutching at a sword that he fully intended on swinging down, straight towards him. The only difference now was the small dagger he could see, sticking out of his neck.

"Blah".

He spat out a mouthful of blood, his body collapsing, to reveal the woman stood behind him; one of her hands held up, right were the dagger's hilt had been, just a few moments before.

"Thank you", he whispered.

She turned to face him, eyes wide with surprise, before turning her head and promptly throwing up the contents of her stomach.

Only through a lifetime of practice with animals, did Jebediah not allow himself to join her in her momentary bout of physical sickness, and instead placed his hand gently on her back, and when she didn't react, he began to guide her back towards the stream. By the time he had finished, she had moved onto dry heaving, and he paused, rubbing at her back to allow her to finish, before taking her hands, and washing the blood from them.

His own skin was as dark as the most fertile of soils, dark brown and rich in colour, while she was noticeably of a much paler shade; the type that told him she came from stock that did not work in fields all day. Her family most likely came from this land, while his father had told him the tale of how his own ancestors had travelled across the Red Sea to settle in these lands.

As she finished, with him still gently brushing her back in a soothing manner, his eyes, the darkest shade of brown that most people had ever seen, met hers, and he was impressed and enchanted by their pale colour, almost able to be described as yellow, and perhaps, he mused, in the right light, they might also be able to be called golden.

"Does my", she attempted to speak, but sputtered the words, hacking for a moment, before being able to continue, "does my rescuer have a name?"

Thankful that the dark shades of his skin hid his blushes, he nodded, "Yes, my lady, I am known as Jebediah".

"Jebediah", she said, testing the word on her lips, and he couldn't help but marvel at the sound of her voice, "it means, 'Beloved of Jah', does it not?"

He nodded, "It does".

"Then you were named well, and I am lucky for it".

Again, he found himself thankful for the dark colouration of his skin, "And might", his voice squeaked, leaving her to giggle, as he cleared his throat, in an attempt to regain his dignity, "might I ask the name of one as lovely as yourself?"

"Qarinah", she told him, her head turned away shyly, but even he could not mistake the redness of her cheeks, "my name is Qarinah".

With nothing more to be done, Jebediah returned to his people, to his family, taking Qarinah with him as his guest.

They'd cleansed themselves in the stream before they left, letting the water wash away as much of the blood from their bodies as was able, with Qarinah even using a mouthful to clear away the acrid taste of her own vomit from her tongue.

Without a shovel of some description, Jebediah had no way of burying the remains of the recently departed, and instead chose to bury them beneath the nearby shrubbery. It was far from the care and customs that he had grown up knowing and believing to be sacred, but in time, their bodies would become one with the grass and soil, and he hoped that the gods looked upon the act as being the respectful gesture he intended it to be, and not a blasphemous one.

But until his time came, he had no way of knowing for certain.

Despite having fled her attackers on horseback, Qarinah admitted to him that she had stolen the horse she had used in a desperate attempt to flee the man who had attempted to 'claim' her, and in fact, had little knowledge of how to ride, save for 'hold on and pray'. Amused, and feeling somewhat nervous, he offered her the space in front of him, as they travelled back, the other horses tied together to follow behind them.

Her cheeks had flushed red when he'd offered, but the brilliant smile of relief on her face could have outshone even Shapshu, and he had not minded the close contact in the least.

His father was not happy with him for taking off as he did, leaving the travelling caravan with one man less to guard it, but even he could not deny that no woman deserved what was to happen to Qarinah, and upon the revelation that she had no other place to call home, offered her a place with them, in exchange for some work.

While he was correct in that she had never been made to work a field, Qarinah told them that her parents had made cloth for a living, and she was more than happy to help them, if they had materials with which she could work.

They did, and she could.

When they stopped with travel for the day, Qarinah sat with the other women and assisted them with the mending and sewing of the clothes, tents and blankets. She helped to keep everyone warm, and was welcomed as one of them for it. She seemed to delight in the attention of the older women, finding comfort in their steady guidance, but with what Jebediah knew of her deceased family, he assumed that she was simply enjoying the presence of a matriarch to help guide her.

His father had tried to speak to him once already, wanting him to make a different decision, but Jebediah had already made his decision.

When they arrived at their new village, ready to put everything together and build a new foundation for all of their people, Jebediah would take Qarinah aside and ask her to become his bride.

Jebediah had thought that nothing would ever take away his happiness.

Weeks after making his decision, he had gathered his courage and asked Qarinah to join him in matrimony, and to his eternal delight, she had accepted.

On the day of the wedding, their village was far from being finished, but they had managed to use rope to mark out where most of the buildings would go, and both he and Qarinah had delighted when they had been shown where their new tent had been set out, in the same spot where one day soon, they would have a house of their own.

'With space for many children', his mother kept reminding him.

Their wedding was the first that the village would ever see, and it felt as though the entire village had come to celebrate it with them.

Together, they walked through the village's main square, towards the shrine for the gods, as their people brought out their instruments, serenading them with songs, as together, they made their way to kneel before the statues. They cut open the young calf they'd chosen together, giving its life as an offering, in exchange for a blessing on their new life together.

One of the elders poured water from the shrine of Asherah over their heads, offering them a blessing of her fertility, while a second anointed their foreheads in oil, cleansing their spirits in font of Elohim.

After that, the third of the elders, wrapped the ceremonial rope around their hands, tying the knot around them for a moment, as she spoke the final blessing, and invoked all of the gods to bless their union. Their response was a strong breeze, which faintly chilled the area around them, but such a strong response could only be positive and he saw the brightness of Qarinah's smile behind her veil, as he told her so.

They feasted that night, with their friends and family, wrapped in their ceremonial robes, enjoying the sounds of music, the smell of fresh meats and the warmth of the large fire.

That night, they finally bade their well-wishers a goodnight, and retreated to their own tent.

They were both equally nervous, as they stripped bare before each other.

He helped move the veil from her head, as she slipped his headcloth from atop his head. She pulled the belt free from where it was tied around his waist with a laugh, and he pushed her outer wraps from her shoulders. His robes fell from his body with only the barest of pushes, while she turned away from him, letting her dress slip from her shoulders, until it was pooled around her feet.

Their actions were slow, cautious and methodical, but as the last of the daylight faded away to night, they began to become knowledgeable about each other, and to Jebediah, it was the greatest day of his life.

Jebediah had thought that nothing would ever take away this happiness.

How wrong he was.

Jebediah stumbled to his feet.

Around him, everything burned.

Flames taller than he was leapt up the side of their rudimentary buildings. Tents, nets and the clothes people wore were set alight.

This was supposed to be the single most important day of his life.

One day, not long after the night of their wedding, Qarinah had come to him, pulling him aside from the cattle he tended, and told him that she had the most important news of his life.

He was going to become a father.

She had to stop him from running around the village and telling everyone.

As the months passed and the seasons changed, he watched on, with a rapt fascination, as her belly swelled with the proof of their love. More than once, his father smacked him around the head for stopping his work in the middle of the field and staring towards where the women worked with cloth, reminding him to keep his eyes in front of him.

The loss of his father and mother's child was tragic, but thankfully, they seemed not to dwell on it overmuch, allowing the gods to take their right of them, instead choosing to focus on the blessing of their only child's grandchild.

Her belly swelled larger and larger, enough so that the midwives determined that she was having twins. 'An omen from the gods', they told him, but he had it not in him to care.

So long as Qarinah and the babes were healthy, Jebediah would continue to be content.

When the time came, he found himself being sent away from the healing hut, letting the midwives and other women do their work, to ensure that his family remained safe. His father and a few of the other men joined him in a drink, while his mother went to join the other women and promised him to look after them.

That should have been it.

The next thing he should have heard was the cries of his newborn child.

Instead, it was the screams of his mother.

The birthing tent burned quickly, flames in one second, ash in another, and as the men arrived, determined to fight to save it.

Jebediah saw the face of true evil.

Dressed as Qarinah.

"My love", it cooed, looking directly at him as it did so, "you've given me a link to this world, and now, our children", she swept her hands, revealing two winged creatures sat beside her, "will walk here forevermore. Thank you".

His mouth was dry, "What… what are you?"

"A nightmare come to feast… to feed… and we're so hungry, aren't we children?"

"Yesss…"

"Staaarved".

"Let your father live", it told them, "but kill the rest".

And like any good child with its mother, they listened.

And then, they obeyed.

He wandered out into the desert.

He had no food, no water. No provisions of any kind.

Only his shame, and the devastation he had brought in his wake accompanied him.

The animals were dead. The people were dead. The children were dead.

And he was to blame.

His father had asked him, begged him, to choose another. To choose from their sister tribe, but he had ignored him.

The gods had guided him, warned him, that their union was not blessed, that it was doomed from the start, but he had ignored their warnings.

Truly, he had no one to blame but himself.

"I deserve to die", he said, the motion cracking dry lips.

"Do you?"

He jumped, "Who said that?"

"I did".

"Who is I?"

"I don't know, who are you?"

"Your voice changes - who speaks?"

"You're speaking. My voice doesn't change".

"It can if you're upset. Are you upset?"

"I am. Are you?"

"Indeed".

"We all are".

"Yes, but not without cause".

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

"Such disrespect".

"And from a mortal".

"And a mortal who has allowed a demoness to walk the Earth, at that".

"Demoness… Qarinah…", he bowed his head, "I'm sorry".

"But are you?"

"Words are so easily spoken. They are so rarely meant".

"Would you make it right?"

"Such power is beyond me", he gasped, his legs finally giving in, leaving him lying in the dirt and the sand, "I am but a man".

"But you could be more".

"Which leaves only the question".

"Just what are you prepared to do?"

"I don't", he pushed himself up to his knees, "I don't understand".

"Jebediah of Canaan, your liaison with this demoness has allowed for eve more demons to walk among the mortals and their realm. Unchecked, their power could destroy this world".

"I have… I have doomed us all", he sobbed, crying dry tears with no water left to give to them, "my mother, my father, my people, all of them… my fault… sorry… so, so sorry…"

"Doomed them? Perhaps you have".

"But save them?"

"You still can".

"Don't undo it, but improve it".

"Some time still remains".

"Until the last man falls, there is always a chance".

"Do better".

"What…", his voice was hoarse, barely enough to speak with, "what must I do?"

"Speak the word".

"The word?"

"Yes".

"What… which word?"

"The word of power".

"The word of courage".

"The word of stamina".

"The word of wisdom".

"The word of grace".

"The word of strength".

"The word of magic".

"I… don't know it".

"Think".

"Think!"

"THINK".

"THINK!".

"We grant you're a piece of ourselves, Jebediah of Canaan".

"We grant you the position, as Champion of All Magic".

"We grant you ourselves".

"We give it freely, and name you as Earth's Mightiest Mortal, defender of all those who would come to harm…

"… bringer of justice…"

"… the seeker of truths…"

"I grant you the Power of Shapash…"

"… the Courage of Haurun…"

"… the Stamina of Anat…"

"… the Wisdom of Zuen…"

"… the Grace of Astarte…"

"… and the Strength of Melqart, now…"

"Speak the word".

He saw it then, in his mind's eye. The power of the divine. The gods given form. Their gift to him, was not a gift, nor was it a blessing or a curse. It was a task, a path to seek atonement through service to his fellow man. Their word was a warning to those set against him, and would bring hope to those that would otherwise be harmed.

And it would sit, forevermore, on the tip of his tongue, ready to be called upon.

With what little strength he had left, Jebediah pushed himself upright, and with great effort, forced his body to its feet. Above him, the sun's rays pushed against him, a reminder of the weight his new task held, but for that singular moment, Jebediah felt no fear from it. Instead, he found the resolve to do what was needed to set things to right.

And with the final moment of mortal strength, he threw back his head, opening himself up to the heavens, and called upon his body for a final roar.

"SHAZAM!"