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Izuku was never a tame god.
Of course he wasn’t, he was created to fill the void in power that the past Chaos God had inhabited. The old god had been Chaos since the world started, only to be struck down in his true form by mortals seeking fame. If he’d been more willing to take on a mortal form, more willing to keep up with the times, Izuku believed he would have survived. True names, true forms were what killed Gods.
Izuku was smarter than that.
Izuku was told that he was always in motion, which he supposed was correct. He was never one to stay in the same place, as it would cause many unfortunate accidents. He was never one to spare a single living thing, as he understood the domino effect of ruining cities and disrupting food chains and wanted to bear witness to the consequences.
Grass withered under his feet for no other reason than it disrupted the serene fields around him. Pots fell from shelves because it would startle the mortals who placed them there and Izuku found joy in that. Mortals bit into fruit and found it rotten because Izuku had touched it in curiosity and then laid it in a place where someone would eat it.
He was there when parents lost their children and also their minds with grief, with sorrow, with rage, and numbness. He was there when jealous lovers sought revenge and bloodlust clouded their vision until after the deed was done. He was there when soldiers were to return home from war, not quite the same as before.
Izuku favored those with riches, and became pleased when mortals worked their way up in the monetary hierarchy. Items of value held no interest to him, but the mortal's consequences of having and wanting such items kept him from abandoning that domain.
Mortals were greedy, and it just so happened that Izuku could manipulate that greed to stir up trouble.
He was Chaos: The Black Wolf; a being whose red-stained teeth were constantly bared in feral grins and had a howl that called for blood to be spilled. Gods forbid that mortals didn’t give him the satisfaction he wanted. Mercy upon the souls that were too slow to outrun his cruel torture.
He was Madness: Mind Destroyer; the ruiner of everything normal. The buzzing in the back of one’s head that filled them with paranoia, and the cause that eventually made them rip at their ears to make the noise stop.
He was Wealth and Fortune: Unsympathetic Greed; the kind that killed the past Chaos God, the kind that twisted morals and caused steep differences between the first and working class citizens of cities. He was the fat, wealthy kings who sat upon gilded thrones and feasted luxuriously whilst purposely ignoring their starving citizens outside the walls of their palace.
He met another god and instantly saw him as a beacon. He followed War, Katsuki, because battlefields were the most chaotic places to be.
When battles were at their peak, and the soldier's gaze's turned hazy with enemy blood blocking their vision, Izuku could simply walk through the fields at Katsuki's heels and suddenly there'd be an accidental slice of a sword; panic as realization set in; guilt and horror as the swordsman realized the blood on his hands wasn't the enemy's.
There could be an accident of a horse launching it's rider straight into enemy barricades, leaving him to be impaled and displayed like a macabre scarecrow. That horse could later run into the ranks of a formation, trampling quite the unlucky man.
There could be a misfortune of long ranged weapons, which might unfortunately be explosives, going off prematurely and giving away positions, subsequently giving the enemy side a chance to regroup, to charge and slaughter those hiding away with the failed explosive traps.
Izuku could walk behind Katsuki, his fellow god's red cape drenched darker with the blood of the men he'd slaughtered, and clean up the mess he would leave behind.
Katsuki was War, Blood and Victory. To him, it did not matter who won. He would even be satisfied if the fighting sides both lost, because it would mean he won. War usually held no sides. He cut down who he pleased. Sometimes he favored sides. Sometimes he favored none. He just fought and followed his nature.
However, he was messy with it; caught up in his bloodlust and desire to brawl, he left half alive men and dying hope behind him as he paved his way through the warzone.
It would have been kinder to kill them with War's glowing sword than leave them to Madness' rusty hatchet.
Izuku had no problems filling their minds with immense fear and panic, enough that their feeble mortal brains ceased to function properly. They forgot, or remained trapped on the battlefield, or simply refused to keep living.
So many things could go wrong.
Izuku enjoyed it.
He was Chaos: War's Poisoned Dagger; whose touch was a lingering effect long after the brutality of war calmed. A dangerous being who followed in the War God's shadow with a grin full of sharp teeth and laughter in his green eyes.
He was Madness: One Who Betrays; the one who created the barrier between sanity and insanity. He decided who was worthy of keeping their mind. He was the one who inevitably caused mortals to ruin themselves and hurt those close to them one way or another.
He was Wealth and Fortune: Spoils of War; the hoarder of the riches, territory and pride gained after a battle won. Someone who could be unsatisfied with his winnings and slice down more mortals, more armies, more cities until he found what he wanted.
When Izuku was around, what can go wrong will go wrong. Chaos was never truly gone from a place, even if he kept moving.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
Recently, though, he’d been changing. Not just emotionally or mentally, but physically too. As a god, he had free control over his appearance. Katsuki was the only god he kept in constant contact with, and the blond had stayed the same since Izuku and he had first crossed paths centuries ago.
If someone asked Izuku if his current form was his original form, he’d have told them no. He changed constantly, so constantly that he’d forgotten his original form. Katsuki often told him that no matter how much he changed, he’d kept the same green eyes. After that revelation, Izuku subconsciously made sure to keep his eyes emerald green. He told himself it reminded him of the same gems he’d colored them after. Nothing more.
He’d met a mortal woman, Inko, he’d realized once he recognized her bloodline. Cursed with Chaos, though it was less of a curse and more of a guide. Her family was the only bloodline he’d given positive chaos too, and even that was unintentional. He’d nearly killed her far relative by simply being in the room he was born in.
If Love, Shoto, hadn’t also been the God of Family and the God of Seasons and had not chosen to oversee the first birth of spring; been in the same room with him, Inko would not have existed.
He ended up coming back to watch the Chaos Children, trailing after them and enduring their childish adventures. They came back with spoils, stolen things or the odd pricey item Izuku had felt and wanted, then took one look at the kid’s eyes: wide with awe and gleaming with the temptation to snatch it, and then handed it over with a grumble and a huff to stop looking at him like that.
He doesn’t remember visiting Inko, which is why she must feel so calm in comparison to the rest of her kin. He hadn’t influenced her childhood.
Despite the lack of childhood connection, she did not turn her nose in disgust at the accidental chaos he caused when he was welcomed into her home. She did not look at him in fear nor hatred when he’d grow curious and rot her bread when he touched it.
Instead she treated him like the younger being he’d modeled himself after. To him, Chaos was a trickster, and tricksters should remain youthful. He was old enough to know he’d be considered a man in mortal terms, but young enough that no wrinkles had set in. Not that he was aware if he’d even wrinkle, as a being of perfection, but it was enough to place a range on his physical age.
Inko always offered him food and a place at her table, which Izuku accepted despite the lack of need for sustenance. She always mended his torn cape when she spotted it. She always brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead whilst giggling when he looked up with round eyes.
After his trips with Shoto, he knew of love. He had to learn it from the Love God himself to get a grasp on it, but he eventually understood it.
He loved Inko. He would burn worlds for her, he would tamper with his own natural chaos and madness to spare her from accidents involving him. She made him feel welcomed and loved in a way no other mortal had. Katsuki and Shoto loved him, he was now aware of this, but it wasn’t the same love as Inko showed him. It was like a mother deer and her fawn, he’d realized. Inko was a soft woman, gentle and sweet and somehow managed to make Izuku stumble after her like a newborn deer; a slave to her gentle pats and encouraging words.
This is when he’d started to rapidly change his appearance. Katsuki had pointed it out, voice light and teasing, but curiosity and some other emotion swam in his eyes.
His hair went from straight and hiding part of his face to curling and pushing upwards, mimicking Inko’s hair texture. His return from his next visit had his skin grow darker to match her tan, dark golden from working hours in the sun. His hair gained the slight tint of green hers did, he copied her freckles and dimpled smile.
Inko noticed, which of course she did, she’d been caring for him for a while at this point. She knew what he had originally looked like when he first met her. Izuku was grateful she never pointed it out verbally. He was sure he’d lose his composure and fluster horribly if she ever did.
That was another new emotion. Embarrassment.
Inko had a penchant for pinching his cheeks or making teasing quips about his odd habits or the fact that he was visibly restraining his natural chaos around her. It made his cheeks grow awfully warm and turn a shade of bright red that also travelled to his ears. It was noticeable enough that Inko had crooned over it when she’d first realized how visible it was and caused him to try to hide his ears with his hands.
Aside from those moments, which filled Izuku’s cold heart with warmth—not that he’d ever admit it out loud—Inko was generally just loving. At first he’d been afraid of touching her, nervous of his influence, but they’d worked up to it and now she hugged him every time he had to leave.
The Old Chaos would have been too prideful to ever admit it, but his time with Inko had humbled him. She would mother him and teach him how to manage his confusing emotions, and prompted him to talk out his frustrations instead of taking them out on the mortals around him or using his Chaos to wreak havoc.
This New Chaos melted into the best hugs he’d ever experienced. They were soft and warmed his whole body. Katsuki’s hugs; with Izuku’s cheek resting on War’s golden chest plate, and Shoto’s hugs; though rare, were fine, but Inko’s were definitely his favorite.
This New Chaos trailed after Inko like she’d hung his stars and moon, eager to help her in any way he could and fiercely protective of her.
This New Chaos was called son.
It hadn’t seemed intentional, the word passing from Inko’s lips, but to her compliment, she kept on as if it hadn’t been an accidental thing. Izuku, however, froze. His eyes widened and he turned to look at her, a fuzzy feeling spreading from his chest all the way down to his toes.
“Was that too much?” She had asked, realizing his silence. Inko had learned that when Chaos was silent, he was either plotting or conflicted. She made sure to listen when he babbled and ask about his thoughts when he went mute.
Izuku pondered it, turning her question and the innocent word of son over in his head. He was a god, he had no parents and no need for them. He never knew a Mother or Father or any type of sibling, and was fully content on being a solo creation. He’d survived for this long—Katsuki helped quite often, though..
He was an older god and had seen much more of the world than Izuku had. Katsuki had a full grasp on his emotions, having painstakingly worked through them himself and learned how to express each little detail, knew how to speak words that matched his tone. It was something Izuku envied greatly.
He was getting better. Shoto and Katsuki truly helped during his moments of confusion, both were emotion-domain gods anyways.
It was thanks to this help that he was realizing the emotions in his chest were hope and shock and a bit of nervousness.
It was nice to rely on Inko, it was comforting to relax into her hugs and hair ruffles, and it filled him with more delight than any battlefield ever could when she pushed his bangs from his forehead and granted the freckled area a gentle kiss.
She was to him what he had learned a mother was. Caring, teaching, full of love and made him feel appreciated and safe.
“No.” He had decided, and watched as her relief became palpable. “It was nice.” He had reassured, feeling his ears heat with a dreadful rush of slight embarrassment. Inko’s lips had quirked upwards when she noticed it and then she had crossed the room in a couple long strides to gently grasp his cheeks in her well-worked hands.
Izuku had never been touched by something softer.
“If only the old you could see the man you’ve become.” She said, voice hushed and eyes filled with the same love Izuku felt in his stomach. His breath hitched at the use of man instead of god. It felt much more connecting.
“Who am I now?” he whispered in return, brows furrowing slightly. Inko slowly guided his forehead lower, he was a bit taller than her, and pressed a light kiss to the furrow that marred his otherwise carefree-looking face.
“You’re Izuku.” She said simply after pulling back, voice soft still, but filled with a hard confidence that demanded she be taken seriously. It compelled Izuku to believe her. “You’re my son.”
Chaos had never cried until that day.
He was Chaos: Wrongful Curiosity; the rotter of bread when he wanted to touch the rising dough, the mischievous child who rifled through Inko’s cabinets and wardrobes looking for something to entertain himself with.
He was Madness: Endless Noise; the insistent tapping on the table while Inko painted, the constant humming when Inko worked in the fields, the never-ending babbling about his adventures, the laughter that echoed around the house he shared with Inko.
He was Wealth and Fortune; Bearer of Gifts; the odd solid gold chain and precisely cut gemstones that littered almost all of Inko’s flat surfaces, the jar of spices that sat in her kitchen, the porcelain and colored glass scavenged from his many travels, the awkward paintings he was learning how to create.
He was Izuku: Son of Inko. The one who learned how to braid hair, how to paint, how to work in the field, how to cook in a little house in a bustling village. The one who learned how to be human while still retaining his godly powers. The god who was loved by his mortal mother.
That one was his favorite title.