Chapter Text
All men are not created equal. That is a lesson Izuku Midoriya learned at the ripe old age of four. And he learned it again. And again. Every day into his teenage years. Then he woke up in a morgue.
Two morticians hover over a green haired corpse on a table. “His name is Midoriya, Izuku. Next of kin: Midoriya, Inko. Must be his mom. Huh, says he’s quirkless.”
“Quirkless? That’s rough. No surprise he jumped.”
“The only surprise here is that he’s still somehow in one piece after falling from that kind of height. Now hand me the eight inch blade.”
Putting the scalpel in place, the mortician prepares to make the incision when the corpse suddenly jolts upright with a sudden intake of breath, startling them both. “Oh my god!”
Taking several steps back, they watch as the former cadaver climbs to his feet, his skin an ashen grey, his hair having turned several shades darker to the point it was only a shade or so off from being pitch black, and his eyes were almost glowing red. Seemingly in a daze, he stumbles out of the room past the stunned morticians. “…we should call somebody about that.”
Shambling blindly through dark streets, the walking corpse hears distant echoes, some resembling the conversation he just left behind. Most didn’t. “His name is Midoriy-Mercer.”
“Now he’s ex-Blacklight.”
“WE WILL BURN OUR OWN TO HOLD THE REDLINE! IT IS THE LAST LINE TO EVER HOLD!”
Too much, too loud, all at once, all talking and dying and killing. So much killing. He holds his head in his hands as he collapses to his knees in pain. Then something slashes his back and the echoes go quiet. He tries to get up but his body won’t respond. Studded boots take up his vision and a feminine sounding voice speaks.
“Don’t even try skinny bones. Most people can’t do shit for a few hours after my claws get ‘em, and my dealer sold me that good Trigger tonight, so you’ll be lucky to even feel your toes tomorrow.” She lifts him. “You and I are going to have some fun.” She walks through back alleys, unaware of the primal hatred she had ignited in Izuku Midoriya, and of the changes happening deep within.
She took him to a rundown apartment that doesn’t look like it should legally be standing, several syringes scattered about the floor. She props him up against a wall and he gets his first good look at his captor. The nails she scratched him with were particularly long and sharpened, green and dripping with something. “Let me get my camera squirt. Hehe, this is gonna be fun.” She goes into another room, not seeing Izuku’s fingers curl into a fist.
Coming back, she finds the spot she left the dark haired teen empty. “What the?” He appears around the corner she just passed and grabs her by her throat, lifting her off the ground to slam her head first into the ground, snapping her neck on impact. And something happens. Some unknown primal instinct takes over and tendrils burst forth, taking the woman and destroying her, assimilating her… consuming her.
So much information, so many memories, once hers and now his all at once. Her quirk was Paralysis, letting her produce a toxin from her nails. And she took a lot of Trigger tonight.
When the small time villain calling her Toxine was finally gone, absorbed into Izuku Midoriya, something inside him changed. He became aware of every cell in his body shifting, reorganising themselves, becoming something more.
In no small amount of pain, he collapses to his knees as tendrils of red and black spread over his arms, turning his hands into large armoured claws that had a red glow to them. And it’s here he speaks his first words since awakening. “What’s happening to me?”
“And that,” Izuku darts around to see a man in a leather hood standing in the doorway of the apartment “is the million dollar question.” Izuku brandishes his new claws and the man holds up his arms in mock surrender. “Huh, scary.”
Izuku takes a step forward. “Easy kid. You and I,” tendrils spread over the man's arms, forming similar claws to Izuku’s own “we aren’t so different.”
Eyes narrowing, Izuku asks a question. “Who are you?”
The stranger retracts his tendril claw things. “Eh, that kind of depends on your philosophy. Most people call me Alex Mercer. But you can call me Dad.”