Chapter Text
In a discreet apartment in Mustafu, a perfectly normal family resided, or so the neighbors believed. The truth, however, painted a much darker picture. Within the confines of the apartment, a four-year-old boy with curly green hair lay on the floor, hidden beneath his bed, bearing the marks of bruises and burns. Tears streamed down his face, tracing the path from his green eyes. Just above them, a second pair of eyes glistened, devoid of tear ducts and unable to shed tears.
“Venom? The brat got a venom quirk?” Izuku could hear his father’s enraged voice directed at his mother. “As if those freaky eyes weren’t bad enough?”
Today was the day Izuku’s quirk had manifested. He had hoped it would be a good quirk, something that would make his parents love him. But instead, it only fueled their hatred.
“Why can’t they love me? What did I ever do to deserve this?” Izuku wondered silently as his father’s harsh words continued to echo through the apartment.
“Fucking useless villain. The bastard brings us nothing but shame. I can’t believe something like that is my son.”
The child trembled, tears streaming down his face as he tried to stifle his sobs beneath the safety of his bed. He knew his mother was present, but her silence spoke volumes. She never raised her voice like his father, but her cutting remarks were just as painful, if not worse.
“Honey, I think that’s enough.” She finally interjected, her tone devoid of warmth. “The neighbors might start asking questions if they hear what you’re saying.”
Izuku didn’t hold any illusions about his mother’s intervention. It wasn’t out of concern for him or an attempt to protect him from his father’s cruelty. It was solely to preserve appearances, to maintain the facade of normalcy for the prying eyes of the neighbors. In this house, the absence of love was as tangible as the venom coursing through his veins.
“God, how I want to get rid of this thing.” His father seethed with anger. “This useless freak.”
“We can’t kill it. People will get suspicious.” His mother responded coldly. “But there is another way. We still have her number.”
“That’s it!” His father exclaimed. “Inko, you’re a genius!”
Izuku’s tears subsided, his breath hitching as he listened to his parents’ conversation. He couldn’t comprehend the full meaning behind their words, but a sense of dread washed over him, filling his young heart with a deep unease.
“Hey, it’s Hisashi.” His father spoke into his phone a few minutes later. Izuku could hear the muffled conversation from where he hid. “So, remember that offer you made me a few years ago? Is it still up?” There was a pause, followed by a sinister chuckle from his father. “No, no. You’ll make great use of him. I promise you.”
The words struck fear into Izuku’s core. He didn’t understand the specifics of the conversation, but he knew enough to sense the imminent danger that awaited him. At that moment, his parents’ betrayal pierced his fragile heart, and he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of twisted fate awaited him at the hands of this mysterious person on the other end of the call.
…
Izuku wakes up in a cold sweat. His spider legs lashing at random, but there’s nothing in his room except for the walls littered with holes from all the times he stabbed it, waking up like this. Looking to the side, he sees one of his metallic-looking legs buried in the wall to his right. He gave up on trying to fix the holes once he realized the nightmares wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon.
Getting up from the bed, Izuku walks to the nearby wall and takes off his pajama shirt with the help of a hook in the wall. Honestly, those legs are more of a bother than anything else. Then he puts on a simple black t-shirt and basketball shorts and moves to the kitchen, not even bothering with slippers.
The place is very barren, practically empty, but there’s not much more one can expect from an abandoned apartment owned by a legally dead 13 years old boy. Checking the cabinets, Izuku soon realizes he’s out of cereal and anything else he could eat for breakfast. Just great. Sighing and ignoring his growling stomach, Izuku goes back to the room, grabbing a beanie and face mask.
Then he goes to the entrance, puts on his worn-out sneakers, grabs his, also worn-out, backpack, and leaves. There’s not a single soul in view for several blocks. Ever since a villain with an earthquake quirk attacked a few years ago, this area has been condemned due to structural damage. The only ones who live here now are desperate homeless people. A group he’s part of.
Izuku wouldn’t say he hates his life. Once, he did, but now, more than anything, he hates the people that made his life like this. Once upon a time, Izuku imagined how it would be to have a loving family, but he learned his lesson pretty early. Trust is the most useless thing in the world.
Once Izuku started living by those words, his life became much easier.
Whistling a happy tune he heard on a street tv a few days ago, Izuku makes his way to the public library. He might not be able to go to school, but he likes to stay on date with his studies. Learning is fun, one of the few things Izuku really enjoys in his life. The fact that the librarian is a no-bullshit woman who doesn’t allow any kind of discrimination also helps a lot.
Once he reaches the library, he goes straight to the education session, pulling out a chemistry book. He sits in a corner of the library and starts reading. All the while, he keeps ignoring his growling stomach. It’s pretty common for Izuku to skip meals, so he’s very used to ignoring his hunger. Hopefully, he can get some food tonight.
Izuku remains absorbed in his book for several hours while he jots down notes on everything he finds interesting in his notebook. Eventually, his attention is grabbed by a bunch of kids in school uniforms entering. He glances at his left hand, making sure he’s still wearing his fingerless glove and gets up.
There’s no use in continuing. For now, teenagers are never silent. So he moves to the fiction session. An old horror book grabs his attention, so he starts reading. Something about a clown monster who eats children, and one of his many forms is a spider. Interesting. Guess this explains why some guys called him Pennywise the other day.
He reads the book for a few more hours until he realizes the sun will be setting soon. So he slides a bookmark into the book and goes to the entrance. He checks out the book and slides it inside his bag before leaving. Then he goes home.
Getting there, he takes a cold shower - he’s lucky this place even has water, so he can’t complain about not being hot - and then lies down on the old couch he got to the trash beach. Despite not being his intention, he ends up napping for a few hours, and when he wakes up is already pretty dark outside. Glancing at the wall clock, he sees it’s already past 10 PM. So it’s time to go.
With the help of the hook, Izuku takes off his t-shirt, and after a bit of juggling, he manages to put on a simple white shirt and his red hoodie. Then he puts on a pair of black jeans and goes for the entrance. He grabs a second pair of shoes, those being bright red sneakers, and puts them on. Instead of leaving through the door, he walks to the window and jumps down.
The eight spider legs that were folded on his back quickly unfold and tense, bracing for impact. Izuku lands on them, absorbing all the impact from the fall, leaving the boy completely unharmed. It’s probably not a very healthy habit, but Izuku just loves jumping from tall places.
The first time Izuku went out in the middle of the night, wearing a red hoodie and a face mask, he had no plans to fight villains. He just wanted some fresh air. He was still living at… that place and desperately needed to get out, even if just for a few hours. It was a particularly bad day. The training was nasty and left him with a new wound on his chest he was sure would scar.
He just wanted a bit of fresh air, but somehow he ended up face-to-face with a man trying to attack a younger girl. Before he could understand what he was doing, Izuku attacked the assailant. The spider legs were still a new development at the time, so Izuku barely knew how to move them. Still, a surprise strike to the back of the head knocked the man out. The girl thanked him profusely for saving her.
That was the first time Izuku felt really useful. The first time the guilty for everything he was forced to do wasn’t eating him alive. And the feeling didn’t vanish even after he went back and was punished for leaving.
Izuku never intended to become a vigilante, but it happened anyway. But he can’t say that he regrets it. Even if he eventually gets caught, that’s probably karma.
Reaching his patrol zone, Izuku quickly climbs a building and perches himself at the edge of the roof. Heroes very rarely patrol this area on the outskirts of Mustafu. This is one of the main reasons Izuku chose this area. Here he can actually make a difference.
After a certain time of the night, anyone on the street is suspicious. Some unsuspecting people often wander carelessly in these areas, but these people usually end up dead or worse. Villains, criminals, drug dealers, murderers, rapists. This area of the city is home to the worst of humanity. Those who are not involved in crime live in fear of leaving their homes.
From his spot, four pairs of eyes scan the streets. Izuku’s first pair of eyes can’t see much due to all the darkness, but the second - also green, with no visible sclera, just a pair of wide pupils - sees every detail present. And this includes the two suspicious people who are about to meet in a nearby alley.
The two suspicious men talk in whispered voices, but Izuku hooks his legs on the alley wall and slowly approaches. Just like a spider, Izuku can use his legs to walk on walls as easily as it is to walk on the floor. Like a predator stalking his prey, he waits for the right moment to strike.
If, in the meantime, he also listens to their negotiation for information, this only makes his job in the future easier. The tone of voice being raised indicates that the negotiation is about to go wrong and also opens the perfect window for the mysterious figure to enter.
Releasing his legs from the wall, Izuku drops down between the two men, using two of his spider legs to absorb the impact. He barely makes any sound. Izuku doesn’t utter a single word before he moves two of his spider legs, immediately knocking down the weapons the men tried to draw.
“I don’t tolerate drugs in my territory.” Izuku says before charging viciously at the two figures. Their screams echo through the alley, but no one will check. No one ever does.
Barely five minutes later, Izuku is carrying the two men, limp, bleeding, and clearly in need of medical attention. But they are alive. Like a sack of potatoes, he drops the two on the main street and calls the police. He quickly tells his location and hangs the call before anyone can reply. Then he searches the villains for their wallets. He ends up finding a few bills and coins, gathering about 5000 yen in the end.
As soon as Izuku hears the police sirens, he uses his spider legs to scale the building. When the police finally arrive, the only indication that the vigilante has been there are the two unconscious men.
Once he’s far enough, Izuku stops to rest. Sitting down at the edge of the roof. He hooks the four middle legs on the wall and roof as he looks around. This is one of his favorite parts of patrolling. The city is so beautiful at night that he could spend hours just admiring it. But he has a job to do.
“Found you, Spider Brat.” A familiar gruff voice calls as he lands on the roof. The four legs that aren’t being used to steady Izuku on the edge of the roof tense, and arm up, ready to attack.
Izuku slowly turns his head, meeting Eraserhead. One of the few pro heroes who still tries to patrol this area.
“Eraser.” Izuku greets, letting the legs drop. “I still can’t believe you got everyone to call me that.”
“You’re a spider. You’re a brat. And you never gave me a vigilante name to call you.” Eraserhead shrugs. “It’s no one’s fault but your own.” Izuku looks away. He’s not pouting under his mask. He’s totally not. “Here.”
Izuku’s front legs instinctively stab the sandwich Eraser threw at him. At least it’s not a juice can. This is a mistake the hero only made once.
“Thanks.” Izuku grumbles, reaching for the sandwich in the leg.
“You’re late today.” Eraser comments as he approaches slowly.
As Izuku eats his sandwich, he keeps his second pair of eyes trained on Eraser. Just because the man never really tried to catch doesn’t mean he’ll just trust him.
“I slept in.” Izuku says. “I guess it’s a good thing since I’ve been having trouble sleeping for a while.”
Eraserhead already knows that Izuku is a child, even though he doesn’t know his exact age. There’s no use in hiding it, considering he doesn’t have a voice changer. And his size kinda gives him away. Still, this is as far as Izuku is willing to let the man learn. Heroes are even less trustworthy than adults. He learned it the hard way.
“Well, I’ll give you a warning.” Eraserhead replies. “The HPSC is taking me out of your case. Since my quirk is ineffective against mutation quirks, they decided to task a new hero to catch you. Today is the last day I’ll be patrolling this area.”
“Any idea who they are sending now?” Izuku asks. Eraserhead gives him his logical ruse grin. “Well, this grin means it’s either someone I’ll find amusing or it’s Endeavor. Regardless, it’s not someone who represents a risk.”
“I won’t be able to bring you food anymore.” Eraserhead says, sobering as he passes him a paper slip. “But if you need, you can go to one of these places. Just go there, and you can get a free meal. No questions asked.”
Izuku looks at the paper and slides it into the pocket of his hoodie.
“I’m glad I got to meet you, Eraserhead.” Izuku says. “I’ll be on my way now. I hope I’ll see you again one day.”
Having said that, Izuku jumps down the building. His spider legs absorb all the impact, and he gets to the floor without a single scratch. Sparing one glance behind, he sees Eraserhead on the top of the building watching as he leaves. Izuku gives him a wave before walking away. He still makes sure the man isn’t following him.
Izuku patrols for a few more hours then goes back home. On the way, he passes by a 24/7 convenience store and grabs a few cereal boxes. It’s not like he has many choices on what he can bring home in the first place. He has neither a fridge nor a microwave. But still.
After that, he goes back home, climbing the wall and entering through the window. He quickly takes out his vigilante garb and takes another cold shower to get rid of the dust and blood covering him. Izuku pointedly avoids staring at the back of his left hand until he can put the glove back.
Once he’s out, he looks at his vigilante garb and frowns at the state his hoodie is. He’ll need to wash it tomorrow. Thankfully, he still has some money left, so he can do laundry tomorrow. Most of his clothes are in need of washing anyway. He doesn’t have much in the first place.
But this is something for future Izuku to worry about. Now he only wants his bed. Tomorrow is a new day.
Chapter Text
Izuku was used to hiding under his bed. In the last few days, it had become his safe haven. The little boy did his best to stay out of his parents’ way, especially because his father, Hisashi, would resort to violence whenever he got too close. But today was strangely different.
The atmosphere at dinner was oddly calm, and for the first time, Inko wore a genuine smile as she allowed Izuku to eat with them. Hisashi refrained from his usual outbursts and aggression, which made Izuku feel like he was part of a real family. They even let him sit on the couch and watch a movie with them, something he had only dreamt of before. It was almost like they cared, and for a brief moment, Izuku felt a glimmer of happiness.
But as night fell, the illusion shattered when two unfamiliar men arrived, carrying a briefcase filled with money. The tension in the room escalated, and Izuku’s heart sank. He looked to his parents for an explanation, seeking reassurance, but what he received was far from it.
“Mommy? Daddy? What’s happening?” Izuku asked, confused and scared.
“Deku, sweetie,” his mother spoke in a saccharine tone she reserved for the neighbors. “You need to go with these men for a while.”
And there it is, the confirmation of his true worth in his parents’ eyes. His given name, Midoriya Izuku, holds a hidden meaning that he understands all too well. Deku, the nickname derived from his name, is a constant reminder of his perceived uselessness and worthlessness to his parents.
“Just be a good boy. You’re finally helping us, son. You are our hero!” His father exclaimed, a malicious grin stretching across his face as he counted the money.
Izuku’s heart sank at his father’s words, but he knew better than to protest. With a nod, he obediently followed the man who had placed a hand on his shoulder. As they stepped outside, Izuku mustered up the courage to speak.
“Where are we going?” He asked, his voice barely audible.
“To your new home.” The man replied, a twisted smile playing on his lips. “With a little training, you’ll become an invaluable asset to our group.” He locked eyes with Izuku, his expression filled with sinister satisfaction. “Our perfect assassin.”
Izuku had heard the term before, and he knew what it meant. An assassin was someone who took lives, someone who killed. The very thought sent a wave of horror through him, and he couldn’t bear the idea.
“But I don’t want to be an assassin.” He protested, his voice trembling with fear.
The man’s grip on his shoulder tightened painfully, causing Izuku to wince.
“You don’t have a choice, boy.” he sneered. “Your father sold you, and we paid a hefty price for you. So, we can either do this the easy way...” His voice trailed off, filled with menace.
Izuku’s lips quivered, and he fought back the tears threatening to spill. With a heavy heart, he nodded slowly, understanding the dire consequences of defiance.
“Good. Just be a good boy, and everything will be fine.” The man added, patting Izuku’s shoulder with false reassurance. “I promise.”
But Izuku knew better than to believe in promises. So many times before, he had been let down, hurt, and abandoned. The bitter taste of broken vows lingered in his heart, leaving him with a deep-seated distrust of anyone who offered reassurance.
------------------------------------------------------------
Shouta is not one to “hang out” with friends. His friends (all two of them) know this. That is why he is sure that when he told Hizashi that he was going to visit him today, his blond friend already knew that it wasn’t a casual visit. Hizashi and Nemuri crash at Shouta’s house at least once a week, but the last time Shoua was in one of their houses was about five years ago.
Well, if Zashi thinks that Shouta is visiting him merely for work purposes, he is absolutely correct.
Arriving at Hizashi’s apartment, Shouta knocks on the door, and the music playing inside soon stops. A few seconds later, the door opens, and Shouta is greeted by his best friend (not that he has any plans to admit this), dressed in casual clothes and without his silly cockatoo hairstyle.
“Hey, Sho! Come in!” Hizashi says cheerfully. “I made coffee.”
Well, at least he knows how to appease Shouta. Coffee always gets Shouta in a good mood.
A few minutes later, Shouta and Zashi are in the living room sitting on the couch, each one with a cup in hand. Shouta with his coffee and Zashi with tea. Gross, who drinks tea?
“So…” Zashi starts after a while. “What is happening?”
“You’ve been put in a new case, haven’t you?” Shouta says. “Spider Brat.”
“Oh? Yes, I have.” Zashi confirms. “The HPSC is really pushing the heroes to catch this vigilante. He’s-”
“A kid.” Shouta says as he grabs his phone.
“He’s WHAT!?” Zashi replies, activating Voice accidentally.
“Look, I’ll tell you what I know. Since they are taking me out of the case I can’t help him anymore.” He puts a picture into his phone. “This is the boy. He’s-”
“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH.” Zashi screams, and Shouta barely has the time to erase his quirk.
“Why are you screaming?” Shouta says, looking at his phone. “He’s not that- Oh.” On the screen is a close-up of a wolf spider. “Sorry. This is from when I was researching spiders.” He swipes the image. “This is the boy.”
On the screen is a picture of a boy wearing a red hoodie and a face mask. From under the hood, a bit of curly hair is visible. His hair is a dark color. Black? Or a very dark green? On his back, there are 8 spider-like legs. The legs have seven segments each and seem to be made of some kind of metal. The tips are shaped almost like lances and look very sharp.
“T-T-this is Spider Brat?” Zashi asks nervously, clearly trying not to freak out at the spider mutations.
“He’s very skittish.” Shouta says. “And I suspect heavily that he’s homeless.”
“You seem to know a lot.” Zashi says.
“I’ve been trying to build trust with him for a long time, but the kid obviously has some serious trust issues. The most I got in over two years was him letting me get close enough to give him a sandwich.” Shouta replies. “Look, Zashi. The boy doesn’t trust adults, and heroes even less. Under no circumstance you are to get inside his range, or he can and probably will lash out. And if he ever lets you close enough. Don’t. Touch. His. Left. Hand. He likes to talk about quirks, but mentioning heroes will make him clam up. Food is a good way to build trust with him. So I would recommend you to keep a sandwich or a few granola bars with you.”
“That’s a lot.” Hizashi says. “He seems to mean a lot to you.”
“He does.” Shouta nods, then he gives Zashi the scariest glare he can muster. “Hurt the kid, or break his trust and I’ll strap you to a chair and pour a bucket of insects on your head. Understood?”
Zashi is sweating coldly as he nods quickly at Shouta’s threat.
“Ok. I’ll be careful.” Zashi says.
“Good.” Shouta replies, finishing his coffee. “Also, you should keep an eye on the food bank. I gave him the address, so he might appear there sometime soon. You volunteer there on the weekends, right?”
“Yup.” Zashi says. “Lunch Rush will be with me this Saturday.”
“Good.” Shouta nods. “I hope the brat appears. He clearly doesn’t eat enough.”
“I’ll keep an eye on your kid, Shou. Don’t worry.” Zashi says.
“Not my kid.” Shouta replies, getting up from the couch. “I need to prepare for patrol. I’m going back to my old route now. Good luck, Zashi.” He starts walking to the door. “You’ll need it.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Hizashi loves volunteer work. Whenever he has free time, he likes to participate in projects that support the community. His favorite place is the Lunch Rush’s food bank. The cook hero put this place together practically alone as a way to give food to anyone who needs it.
This place follows a very simple principle. No matter who you are, anyone hungry will be fed. As long as they don’t start any trouble, even the Boogeyman of the Underground could come here, and they would leave with a delicious bowl of hot, nutritious soup.
Hizashi volunteers here every Saturday, and today he’s serving the food.
“Bon appetit.” He says as he gives a listener their bow, and the line walks. “Enjoy your meal. Have a nice dinner. Have a ni-” He freezes as the next one steps in. Hizashi’s eyes are immediately drawn first to the second pair of eyes open on the boy’s head, then the spider legs tucked behind the boy’s back as he reaches for the bowl of soup. “AAAAAAHHH.” Hizashi screams and drops the bowl.
The boy’s eyes widen, and he jumps back. He looks at Hizashi, his expression flashing betrayal, guilt, hurt, and anger.
“I’m sorry.” The boy grumbles, then he turns back and starts running.
Shit, he messed up.
“Lunch, cover me!” Zashi yells as he takes off his apron and runs after the boy.
Everyone is looking at him, but he doesn’t care. He needs to find the Little Listener and convince him to come back. It’s not his fault that Zashi wasn’t ready.
Hizashi follows the boy to the end of the street, where he loses sight of him. Looking up, he sees him climbing the wall of a building with impressive dexterity. Not even Shouta would be able to climb so fast. Soon he’s out of view.
“Fuck…” Hizashi says, rubbing his face. “Shouta is going to kill me.”
Hizashi sighs and goes back to the food bank. He really hopes he didn’t completely mess up any chance of getting the Little Listener’s trust.
------------------------------------------------------------
Izuku just wanted to get to the place Eraserhead talked about, get a meal, and for once, not go to bed hungry. Is that too much to ask? What was he thinking? Of course, it was going to happen. It always happens.
People like him don’t get good things, even in places that, in theory, are meant to help people like him. Still, the expression of fear on Present Mic’s face - Izuku has no doubt that it was the hero, even though he wasn’t in costume - hurt a lot more than he expected.
Probably because of how much he used to look up to the hero. The segments about quirk discrimination on his radio program are one of the few things that kept Izuku hopeful while he was in that horrible place. The man is always advocating for equality and respect. But, of course, in the end, he was just another liar.
Sighing, Izuku prepares to start his patrol despite his growling stomach. The chill winter air doesn’t make it any easier, but Izuku is very used to the cold after being forced to sleep on the cold floor in winter so many times.
Izuku can only hope one of the criminals he defeats is carrying a cereal bar or something like that. He’s about to start his patrol when he hears someone climbing the building and walking slowly toward him.
“Who’s there?” Izuku asks, turning around with two of his legs ready to attack.
To his surprise, he sees Present Mic, still dressed in the same way as he was in the food bank, minus the apron, with a bag in hand. The man gives Izuku a strained smile as he clearly tries to find something to focus on that isn’t the legs at Izuku’s back.
“Hey, Little Listener.” The hero says. “You ran away without getting food. So I brought some.”
Izuku narrows his eyes and takes a step back. Two of his legs already tensing on the floor, ready to jump away any second now. Two others are still poised to attack if the man gets closer. But Izuku knows he’s at a disadvantage here. Present Mic is a long-range fighter, after all.
“How did you find me?” Izuku asks. “No one should know that I take my breaks here. No one except for…” The legs tense even more. “Eraserhead. He’s your friend isn’t he?”
“Yes, I asked Eraser.” Present Mic replies. Izuku is about to jump away and never come back to this building. He should have known he couldn’t trust a hero. No hero ever helped him. Why would Eraserhead be different? “Wait! Please! Just hear me out.”
Izuku thinks for a moment. Frankly, he could just leave, but…
“Ok. I’m listening.” Izuku says, still prepared to jump away.
“Look, Little Listener. I’m sorry for freaking out like that. I promise it wasn’t your fault.” Present Mic says.
“Then what happened?” Izuku replies. “I know fear when I see it, Present Mic-San.”
“Yes, but it’s not your fault that I have a phobia of insects, and even mutation quirks freak me out if I’m caught off guard.” Present Mic replies. “I’m really sorry for that, Little Listener. I swear it’s not because I think your quirk is bad. With how much Eraser talks about you, I know you’re a great person. It’s just that phobias aren’t rational.”
Izuku looks him in the eyes for a few seconds, then he sighs, the tension in his legs and tucking them back.
“Fine. Let’s say I believe you.” Izuku says. “Why are you here if insects freak you so much?”
“Well, for starters, you’re not an insect.” Present Mic replies. “I just need some time for my dumb brain to get used to your mutations. After all, we’ll be seeing each other for a while.”
“You’re the hero that got put in Eraser’s place.” Izuku realizes. “So this is why he only grinned when I asked. Jerk.”
“Yeah. Eraser can be a bit of a jerk.” Present Mic nods. “Now, here.” He extends the hand holding the bag for Izuku. “I brought you some soup.” He puts it on the floor and takes a step back. “Again, I’m sorry I scared you. I promise it won’t happen when you come again. You could be the worst villain in the world, and we would still feed you if you showed up.”
Izuku reaches with a leg and pulls the bag closer. Inside is a sealed bowl of soup, still piping hot. He raises an eyebrow and slides it back towards Present Mic.
“You first.” He says. Maybe he’s a little paranoid. Sue him.
Present Mic just smiles at him and opens the bowl, taking a spoonful of soup and eating without hesitation. Satisfied that he’s not about to be poisoned or drugged, Izuku takes the bowl and starts eating. Still keeping his upper eyes on Mic.
Izuku slowly brings the spoon to his mouth and immediately feels an explosion of flavors in his mouth. He didn’t know food could taste this good. Most of the time, he only eats granola bars, and occasionally he can put his hands on a fruit. Even on the rare occasions, he gets enough money to but a pre-packed lunchbox, the food is bland at best. But this?
“This is the best thing I have ever eaten in my life.” This is not even an exaggeration.
For as long as Izuku can remember, his parents hated him. The physical abuse only started when the poisonous part of his quirk manifested, but even before that, they never showed any affection for Izuku. He was only given enough food to keep him from starving, usually bread scraps and a little water.
Izuku feels a sudden wetness on his face and looks up, expecting to see rain. But the sky is perfectly clean, so what’s happening? Bringing a hand to his face, Izuku finds the source. He’s crying. The last time he cried was so long ago. He can barely remember it. He thought they had beaten it out of him.
Silently, Izuku finishes eating, happy that Present Mic doesn’t comment on him crying over something as silly as a bowl of soup. After finishing it, he pushes the bowl away and bows to Present Mic.
“Thank you for the food.” He says.
“You don’t have to thank me, Little Listener.” Present Mic replies. “As I said, you are welcome at the Food Bank any day. I volunteer there on Saturdays, and I promise I won’t freak out next time.”
Izuku nods and turns his back to the hero, still paying attention to sudden moves.
“It’s time for me to start my patrol.” Izuku says. “So, I’ll be on my way. Unless you’ll try to stop me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not your enemy, and I don’t intend to catch you.” Present Mic replies. “Just be careful.”
“We’ll see if that’s true.” Izuku grumbles and jumps down the building. Just because the man gave him food doesn’t mean Izuku trusts him. He’s not some stray cat. “Present Mic, huh?” A scream from a nearby alley catches his attention. “Well, time to take out the trash.”
Chapter 3
Notes:
CW: Mentions of torture and suicidal ideation.
This chapter begins the reason why I categorized this fic as Mature.
Proceed with caution.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku’s innocent gaze wandered across the plain walls of his new room, his tiny frame swallowed by the vastness of the unfamiliar space. The villains had thrust him inside the building without warning, their hurried instructions about training in the morning barely registering in his mind over all the fear. To him, it simply meant that something would happen, something he couldn’t quite comprehend. But not less scary for it.
In truth, the room bore an uncanny resemblance to his previous room, with its dull gray walls and an empty wardrobe, save for one stark difference - the lack of a bed. It seemed the villains believed Izuku didn’t need one. Above him, the flickering lamp barely illuminated the room before dying a few seconds later, casting the room in darkness, leaving only a faint stream of light trickling through a small window. The bars affixed to it caught his attention, further sealing his fate within these foreboding walls. Besides, escaping is a concept that he lacked both the courage and understanding to pursue. Even if he managed to break free, where would he go? His own parents had handed him over to these villains. He had nowhere to go.
Resigned to his isolated corner, Izuku plopped down on the cold floor, curling on himself. With nothing else to occupy his time, he resorted to counting the tiles, his small finger tracing their patterns with meticulous care. Time became an elusive concept, slipping through his grasp as he immersed himself in this mundane activity. He didn’t know how long he had sat there, but the monotony was interrupted when the door creaked open, shattering the heavy silence that had enshrouded him.
Two figures entered the room, one lingering by the doorway - the same villain who had delivered him to this haunting place. His long silver hair obscured much of his face, imparting an eerie air to his presence. Dressed in a foreboding black suit, he looked at Izuku with a smile that didn’t bring him any comfort. The opposite, his smile promised nothing but pain.
The second person commanded attention in a different way. A towering figure, she wore a long black dress that split open at her side. Elbow-length black gloves adorned her arms, a sharp contrast against her fair skin. Her stiletto pumps echoed ominously on the cold floor with each step, drawing Izuku’s fearful gaze upward. A sinister smile adorned her face, her makeup accentuating the sharpness of her features.
As the woman closed in on Izuku, a chill crept down his spine, his heart racing within his tiny chest. Fear consumed him, his limited understanding unable to fully grasp the danger ahead.
“So, this is Hisashi’s kid.” the woman said with a sinister edge to her voice. “I’m Lillith, but you may call me Master, Lady, or Boss from now on. Welcome to the Nine Circles of Hell.” With each word, she took another step forward, her presence overpowering and intimidating. “You have a very pretty face, darling. What’s your name?” she asked, her sinister smile never fading.
“I-I-Izuku.” He replied timidly, feeling incredibly uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze.
“Hmm... What a horrible name.” Lilith remarked callously, reaching out to grab his left arm, pulling him closer to her. “But that’s okay. I have the perfect name for a worthless kid that was sold by their parents. From now on, you are Belial.” Her words struck him like a cold blade, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his young shoulders. She glanced back and nodded at the man standing at the entrance. “Mammon, is the brand ready?”
“Yes, My Lady.” Mammon replied obediently. “Satan is bringing it.”
“Good.” Lilith nodded with satisfaction, her cruel intentions laid bare.
A few seconds later, the door creaked open, revealing a frail-looking man entering the room. Izuku recognized him as the second individual who had accompanied Mammon to take him away yesterday. Clad in an ill-fitting suit that seemed several sizes too big for his thin frame, the man exuded an air of fragility.
“Right on time, Satan.” Mammon declared, his voice laced with anticipation. “It’s time for Belial’s branding.”
Satan nodded silently, handing over a peculiar object to Lilith. Izuku’s eyes widened in terror as he recognized it—a glowing branding iron.
“Now, where should we mark him?” Lilith mused, her sadistic delight evident in her voice. “His thigh? Upper arm? Maybe his chest? Or his forehead?”
A surge of fear coursed through Izuku’s veins, propelling him backward, but in an instant, both Mammon and Satan closed in, their grip on him unyielding as he struggled in vain.
“No, please. Stop.” the little boy pleaded, his voice trembling with desperation. “Please, no!”
A sadistic grin spread across Lilith’s face as she proclaimed. “Oh, I know the perfect place! Hold him tight, boys. We don’t want to ruin the mark.”
Izuku’s feeble attempts to break free proved futile against the strength of the men who held him captive. His scrawny frame paled in comparison, leaving him helpless and vulnerable. Glassy-eyed, he could only watch in dread as the searing branding iron drew nearer, its heat radiating against his skin. In a final act of desperation, he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain that was about to consume him.
The searing sensation exploded across his skin, far surpassing any pain ever caused him by Hisashi. Izuku’s voice erupted into an agonized scream, a heart-wrenching sound that reverberated through the desolate walls, a piercing cry that echoed his torment.
------------------------------------------------------------
Izuku jolts awake, his body drenched in a cold sweat. It’s almost funny how this has become somewhat of a routine for him. Letting out a weary sigh, he readies himself to get up from the old bed he lies in. However, as he looks at his left hand, he notices his glove is missing. Amid his restless sleep, he must have unintentionally pulled it off, leaving his hand exposed. Dread fills him as he gazes upon the branding mark on the back of his hand.
The mark is a nine-pointed star, an amalgamation of two distinct shapes intertwined together. It stands as an indelible testament to the horrors he has endured. The surface of the brand is marred with knife-like scars. And yet, the original mark remains visible and clear, serving as a constant reminder of what they did to Izuku. He wonders why this symbol, this painful reminder of his past, can’t simply fade away.
With a heavy heart, Izuku averts his gaze to the floor, where he discovers his fingerless glove. Slipping it back onto his hand, he rises, mentally preparing himself for the challenges that await him in the day ahead. He can already feel that this will be a bad day.
------------------------------------------------------------
There are a lot of words that people would use to describe Present Mic. Discreet is not one of them. To the general population, Present Mic is a loud and flashy showman. These people have no idea how much Underground work Hizashi does.
Twilight Hero. An unofficial term used for heroes who, despite having a large media presence, do most of their work Underground. Hizashi is one of these heroes. The truth is that if it were not for his desire to make a difference through his radio show, Hizashi would have become an Underground Hero like Shouta.
All this to say that, yes, Hizashi knows how to be discreet. He has participated in dozens of undercover missions. The hero is experienced and knows that a lack of information is a sure way to die. That is why today, he’s in civilian clothes roaming around the red district. This area, practically abandoned by heroes, except for a few Undergrounds that patrol it occasionally, is completely unknown terrain for Hizashi. And he will be here for quite some time.
Out of costume and without downing his persona, Hizashi has met very few people who can associate him with Present Mic, and this is perfect for what he needs to do. Pretending to be a mere lost civilian, Hizashi approached several people to ask for information. Interestingly, most of them, though suspicious of him, show little sign of fear. Listening to some conversations, he can summarize some things. This area is known as Spider Brat’s hunting ground. That’s why civilians walk around here with relative ease.
There are some unwritten rules about this territory. The main one being no criminal activity. But apparently, Spider-Brat carries a particular anger towards cases involving child abuse and drugs. Hizashi wonders if he has any particular reasons for this. It’s very likely that he does.
The farther Hizashi gets from the center, the fewer people he sees. The corners of the territory are practically desert except for one or two people who walk with their heads down and in quick steps, constantly glancing around and, surprisingly enough, up. It’s like they expect something, or someone, to drop in their head at any moment. Hizashi takes note of everything he sees. He also wonders how people will react to having a hero like Present Mic suddenly patrolling this area. He honestly doubts the reactions will be too positive.
Hizashi is about to continue when he hears a scream coming from a nearby alley. Now, even if he’s out of costume, he’s still Present Mic. Without thinking twice, Hizashi runs toward where he heard the scream. Just as he’s about to enter, a body comes flying out of the alley into the street. A bald, middle-aged man with no visible mutations, tattoos all over his arms and face. The man is bloodied and full of bruises. His arms are bleeding.
Once he’s sure the man isn’t about to die, Hizashi walks into the alley. The sound of fighting is unmistakable, but the darkness makes it very hard to see exactly what is happening. Then a second body drops from above, falling straight into a trash can. Hizashi looks up just in time to see someone bouncing from the wall. A metallic glint being the only distinguishable feature.
A third man tries to run away from the alley, carrying a briefcase, but then the figure drops in front of him. The figure is barely visible due to the darkness, but Hizashi can make out a red hoodie and eight metallic spider legs on his back. A second set of eyes, which seems to glow in the dark, are trained at the man who tried to run.
“You won’t escape.” The figure says. “You choose to deal drugs in my territory. Now you’ll suffer the consequences.”
The man throws the briefcase at the figure and takes off to the other side, but the figure just hooks a leg around the briefcase with practiced ease and, at the same time, he stabs the man through the leg. The figure strolls toward the man and stops in front of him. Even though he’s kneeling, the difference in height between the two puts the man at eye level with the figure who grabs him by the head. The figure lets out a single growl, then slams the man’s head on the floor five times before dropping him.
“Since you’re here, you can call the police.” The figure says and throws the briefcase at Hizashi’s feet, then jumps using his spider legs to climb the building. “I’ll wait you know where.” Then he practically vanishes.
It’s not every day that Hizashi is surprised by someone. He heard that Spider Brat is brutal, but he wasn’t expecting to be to that level. Checking all the knocked-out criminals, he’s glad to see that despite some severe wounds, none are at risk of dying. Despite his brutality, the Little Listener seems to know how to hold back.
Hizashi anonymously calls the police and leaves - He’s not in the mood to deal with paperwork, sue him - rushing to the same place he met Spider Brat last time. While climbing the building’s fire escape, Hizashi acknowledges to himself that Shouta was right when he said that Hizashi lacks mobility. Honestly, even if he was trying to catch Spider Brat, he’s sure that the boy could easily escape him.
At the top of the building, Hizashi finds the boy perched at the same spot as last time, observing the city. He has to admit, the view is beautiful. Not wanting to catch the Little Listener off guard, Hizashi clears his throat to announce his presence. The only sign that the boy heard him is the small twitch on two of his legs, but the boy keeps looking ahead. Hizashi isn’t a fool, though. He can see the boy has his guard up and is just waiting for Hizashi to try anything. He really wonders what made this boy so distrustful of adults and heroes.
Hizashi keeps his distance and smiles, despite knowing the boy isn’t looking at him. He reaches into the backpack he brought with him and pulls out a lunchbox. This one he made himself for the Little Listener. He hopes he likes Omurice.
“Hey, Little Listener. Are you hungry?” Hizashi asks, waving the packed lunchbox. The Little Listener turns to him with a frown.
“I’m not hu-” A loud growl coming from the boy’s stomach interrupts his denial. Hizashi stifles a laugh when the boy looks away in embarrassment. “I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity, Little Listener.” Hizashi replies. “No one should ever go hungry.”
“Why do you even care?” The boy asks, narrowing his four eyes at Hizashi.
“I care because I’ve been in your place before.” Hizashi replies. “Probably not in the same way. I don’t know your story. But I came from the system, you know? I was born with my quirk, and my crying deafened my parents. They didn’t want me, so they dumped me in the system. Due to my quirk, I was constantly muzzled. Most of the time, I couldn’t take it off even to eat. So I know how horrible it is to be hungry.”
The boy sighs and looks down.
“I wish my parents had dumped me in the system.” Hizashi barely hears what he said, but before he can ask anything, the boy extends a leg.
Hizashi smiles and hangs the packed lunchbox on the leg. The boy pulls it towards himself and opens it slowly. His eyes widen and spark as he sees what’s inside. Hizashi respectfully looks away as he lowers his mask and starts eating or rather, wolfing down the food. Like the last time, Hizashi hears the kid sniffling as he eats.
Hizashi can feel his heart breaking for the Little Listener. It’s really sad that something as simple as a lunchbox is enough to bring him to tears. It’s like no one has ever been kind to him in the past. And the worst part is that this is probably right.
There’s also what he said about wishing his parents had dumped him in the system. Foster care in Japan is horrible, especially for people with a so-called “villainous” quirk. A category he’s sure the Little Listener’s quirk falls in. Where did the boy grow up for him to believe Foster Care would have been better? Who Hizashi needs to murder?
“If you allow me, Little Listener. I want to bring you a lunchbox every night.” Hizashi proposes gently.
“Why would you do so much for me?” Izuku asks.
“Because I’m a hero.” Hizashi replies.
Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to say. The moment the word hero leaves Hizashi’s mouth, the boy scoffs and looks away.
“Right. A Hero. ” The boy sneers, venom lacing his words, causing Hizashi to flinch. “Like you and your lot actually care about doing your job. All you care about is your hero rankings and popularity.”
“Of course not.” Hizashi says. “Little Listener, I’m a hero because I want to help and save people.”
“Lies! All you heroes do is lie!” The boy replies, raising his voice. “You claim to want to help, but the moment things get even slightly dangerous, you heroes choose to save your own skin instead of the people in danger.”
“Where were the heroes when the people here needed them? You’re only here because you were assigned to capture me. Dozens of villains run rampant in this area. And yet, when they finally send a hero, it’s to arrest the vigilante.” The boy scoffs and crosses his arms. “Where were the heroes when a six years old boy was raped and killed last week? Where were the heroes when a woman was shot to death because of a loan she got to try and raise her daughter? Where were the heroes when a villain organization was kidnapping and trafficking people because of their quirks?”
The boy gestures frantically around, his spider-like limbs scraping against the rooftop.
“Where were the heroes when a 4 years old boy was sold to said criminal organization by his own parents? Where were the heroes when said boy had a brand forever burned in his body? When the boy was forced to kill for them? When he begged to be saved? When the villains pumped trigger in his body and forced a quirk awakening that almost killed him? When the boy escaped and begged for help?” The boy glares at Hizashi and sits down. “Why did the so-called heroes refuse to help him, and instead, gave him back to the villains when he asked for help? Why did this have to happen not once, not twice, but. Three. Fucking. Times. For the boy to understand that heroes are liars and they won’t ever help him? For him to decide he would never trust a hero again!?” He sits down again, with tears falling down his eyes. “Where were you when I needed you?”
Hizashi is at a loss for words. How does one even respond to this? He finally understands the depth of the kid’s pain and resentment toward heroes. He realizes that no matter what he says, he can’t erase the failures of the heroes in this child’s life. And even if it’s technically not Hizashi’s fault, on a personal level, there is one thing he can offer this hurt child.
Kneeling down, Hizashi bows deeply, pressing his forehead against the cold surface of the roof. The boy looks at him, puzzled by his actions.
“What are you doing?” The boy asks, his voice filled with confusion.
“I’m sorry, Little Listener.” Hizashi says. “There’s no excuse for how much the heroes failed you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
“Stop! Words are meaningless.” The boy says, his voice trembling with sobs. “I don’t need your apologies. I don’t want your empty apologies. Words are worthless.” He turns away from Hizashi. “Just like I am.”
Hizashi takes a deep breath, gathering his resolve.
“The only thing I can offer you is a promise, Little Listener.” Hizashi says. “I’ll prove you can trust me. Not with words but with actions. It’s never too late to be saved. And no one is worthless.”
The boy looks at him with a frown, his expression guarded. Then, he abruptly tears off the glove from his left hand, revealing a seared brand on the back of his hand. He thrusts his hand toward Hizashi’s face as if to force the hero to acknowledge it.
“I am. It’s literally my name.” He says, shoving his hand at Hizashi’s face.
Hizashi’s eyes widen further as he comprehends the significance of the brand on the kid’s hand. The Nine Circles of Hell, one of the most dreaded criminal organizations in Japan, flashes through his mind. For years, they had instilled fear in the hearts of the people, their executive members shrouded in secrecy. However, six years ago, a newcomer emerged within their ranks, referred to as Bellial. And three years ago, the entire organization vanished. The pieces start to connect, and Hizashi realizes the truth behind the boy’s words about being sold to the villains.
“This is who I am.” The boy declares, his voice heavy with self-loathing. “I’m Deku, a useless son. I’m Belial, a worthless villain, and killer.”
Before Hizashi can even fathom a response to the weight of those confessions, Spider Brat abruptly rises and bolts away. Hizashi swiftly rises too, but before he can take a single step, the boy’s spider-like legs tense, propelling him into the air with incredible force. The boy gracefully lands on the roof of a building across the street. He glances back at Hizashi for a moment before vanishing into the cloak of the night.
“Fuck!” Hizashi grits his teeth, frustration and worry evident in his voice. “This is all so messed up. I have to find him.”
Hizashi swiftly descends the building, his mind racing with concern. He spends the remainder of the night tirelessly searching for any traces of the elusive vigilante, but every lead proves fruitless. It’s evident that the boy didn’t go back to his usual patrol route. The weight of worry settles heavily upon Hizashi’s shoulders, threatening to consume him.
“Please, stay safe, Little Listener.” Hizashi whispers, his voice filled with genuine concern.
Lost in his haste and preoccupation, he fails to realize that he left the empty lunchbox behind on the rooftop. A discarded fingerless glove lies forgotten next to it.
------------------------------------------------------------
After making sure Present Mic wasn’t somehow tailing him, Izuku bolted straight home. Fuck! How could he have been so stupid? He spilled everything to the man. Now Present Mic knows he’s Belial. He knows Izuku is a villain.
“God, his face.” Izuku mutters, rubbing his tired eyes in frustration. The image of Present Mic’s furious expression when he finished speaking flashes through his mind. The man was seething, even if he tried to hide it.
“Why the hell did I open my big mouth!? Even if he wasn’t after me before, now he knows exactly what I am.” Izuku laments. If there was any doubt before, Present Mic definitely wants to arrest him now. Shit, if he catches Izuku, it’s straight to Tartarus for him.
“Please, not again.” Izuku pleads under his breath, his voice filled with desperation. He can’t afford to lose his freedom. Not again.
This can’t happen. This won’t happen. If his only choice is a lifetime behind bars, Izuku would rather not live at all.
Taking a deep breath, Izuku raises one of his sharp legs and gazes down at it, acutely aware of their true strength and razor-like edge. He learned pretty early how effortlessly they could pierce through flesh and bone, a chilling testament to their power.
Running his hand along the metallic surface of the appendage, he lets out a heavy sigh. His eyes then shift to his exposed left hand, fixating on the branding and scars that litter its surface. He turns his hand and brings the leg down, pressing it against his own wrist.
“Just do it…” He mutters to himself, his voice trembling. “Put an end to it all.”
Izuku applies pressure, feeling the sharp point breaking through the skin, a single drop of a crimson liquid emerging. Tears well up in his eyes, a mixture of pain and desperation.
“Come on, you useless Deku. Stop being a coward.” He whispers, his fist clenching tightly.
Yet, deep down, he knows he’s still a coward. Izuku yearns to live. It seems like he’s not only worthless but also selfish.
Letting out a weary sigh, Izuku collapses onto the bed, still clad in his vigilante attire. He can’t even summon the energy to change out of it.
For how long he remains in that state, he doesn’t know, but eventually, tears engulf him until sleep offers solace, granting him temporary respite from his overwhelming emotions.
Notes:
Quick explanation of Izuku's villain name:
Belial means worthless in Hebrew.
Belial began as an adjective, but it later became another name for the devil. In Christian tradition, when Michael was instructed to show Hell to the followers of Jesus, Belial and 666 fallen angels were visible.
Chapter 4
Notes:
And Izuku's suffering continues.
CW for this chapter:
Torture, death, manipulation.
Proceed with caution.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time Izuku killed someone is a memory that will be burned in his mind for all eternity.
It had been about two months since Izuku had been brought to that place, wherever it may have been. The brand on the back of his left hand had ceased its painful throbbing some time ago, leaving behind a prominent burn scar as a constant reminder of his new ownership.
Lilith had assigned Mammon as Izuku’s handler, and for the past week, the man had been subjecting Izuku to, in his own words, “pain tolerance training.” Well, “training” was just a fancy word for the sadistic pleasure Mammon found in inflicting pain upon Izuku.
Izuku found himself suspended from the ceiling by his wrists while Mammon, with a manic grin, towered over him, toying with a taser in his hand. Pressing the device against Izuku’s right upper arm, he turned it on, sending electric currents coursing through Izuku’s body. Despite the agony, Izuku barely let out a grunt.
“Hmm, it seems you’ve become quite accustomed to this already. That was faster than I expected.” Mammon remarked, his tone filled with twisted amusement. “Do you naturally have a high pain tolerance? Or perhaps your nerves are already fired.” He examined the taser and shrugged. “I’ll have to ask Asmodeus to give you a check-up later. But for now, since you’ve adapted to the current level, we’ll just have to increase it a little.”
Izuku’s breath hitched as he watched Mammon dial up the intensity of the taser, poised to press it against Izuku’s thigh. However, just as he was about to deliver another jolt of pain, the door swung open.
“How is the training going?” Lilith inquired, striding into the room.
“Well, his tolerance is something.” Mammon replied a tinge of surprise in his voice. “I had expected it would take three months before raising the intensity, but he’s already ready for more.”
“Interesting.” Lilith mused. “Well, release him for now. It’s time for his initiation.”
“Right away, My Lady,” Mammon acquiesced, bowing slightly as he produced the key to Izuku’s shackles, promptly unlocking them rather unceremoniously.
As soon as his arms were freed, Izuku crumbled to the frigid floor, devoid of the strength to even lift himself. Every inch of his body throbbed with agony, muscles spasming from the relentless shocks he had endured.
“Alright, let’s go.” Lilith declared, her voice devoid of sympathy. Izuku attempted to rise, but his weakened legs betrayed him, incapable of supporting his own frame. Observing his struggle, Lilith heaved a weary sigh and turned to Mammon. “Carry him.” she instructed, her tone laced with a mix of impatience and detachment.
Mammon nodded in acknowledgment and effortlessly hoisted Izuku onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, obediently trailing behind Lilith. Together, they carried Izuku into a vast, empty room adorned in pristine white. Inside, a tall woman with cascading, curly locks sat on the floor, her eyes closed in meditation.
“Belphegor, the boss is here.” Mammon announced, breaking the woman’s reverie. With a languid stretch, she opened her eyes and briefly glanced at Lilith before yawning loudly.
“Morning, Boss.” The woman greeted, her eyes fluttering closed once more. “All set.”
“Good.” Lilith responded, her attention shifting to Izuku as Mammon gently placed him on the ground. “Now, Belial, as I mentioned earlier, it’s time for your initiation. Don’t fret, sweetheart. As long as you do exactly as I say, it’ll be a breeze, no pain involved.” She said, a twisted smile playing on her lips. “Now, look up.”
Izuku followed Lilith’s instructions, his eyes landing upon three individuals knelt on the floor, their hands bound behind their backs and their faces covered by sacks.
“Oh, this part never gets old.” Mammon chimed in with a mischievous grin, relishing in Izuku’s captivated gaze upon the helpless figures.
“Alright, let me introduce you to Shiroma Taro, Miyazaki Mana, and Toyama Masuyo.” Lilith said, pointing at the three individuals on the floor. “They all owe us something they can’t repay. Taro-kun borrowed money from Mammon to feed his daughter. Mana-chan, a single mom, thought she could sell us out to the heroes while trying to get cash for her sick son’s medicine. And poor Masuyo-chan, a drug addict with nothing left to lose. It’s a sad existence, really.”
“W-What... What do I h-have to do?” Izuku’s voice trembled as he stammered.
Lilith’s eyes gleamed with anticipation as she revealed.
“Make a choice. You’ll kill one of them.” Izuku’s eyes widened in disbelief, struggling to comprehend the weight of the decision. “The other two will be set free, debts wiped clean. It’s all up to you, Belial.” She said, turning to Mammon.
Mammon nonchalantly reached into his suit and produced a gun, casually placing it into Izuku’s trembling hands.
“Here you go. Just point and pull the trigger. Piece of cake.” He remarked, a cruel grin etched on his face.
“Personally, I think the right choice is pretty obvious. But hey, I’m dying to see what you’ll do.” Lilith added, her voice dripping with anticipation.
Izuku’s hands shook uncontrollably as he held the gun, his gaze shifting between the weapon and the three people before him. One was a struggling dad trying to feed his daughter, another a desperate mom fighting for her sick child, and the last a poor soul with nothing to lose. Lilith was right—the choice seemed clear. So why were his hands trembling so violently as he struggled to take aim?
“I can’t…” Izuku’s voice trembled with anguish. “I can’t kill them. Please, I just can’t.”
“Of course, you can, darling. You’re stronger than you think.” Lilith responded dismissively, her voice laced with an unsettling encouragement.
“I really can’t.” Izuku insisted, his grip on the gun loosening as he let it drop to the ground. Lilith’s expression turned cold.
“That’s a shame.” She said, disappointment evident in her voice. “ Get up, Belial. ”
To Izuku’s surprise, his body moved on its own accord, his legs carrying him back to a standing position.
“What’s happening?” Izuku tried to speak, but his voice was silenced, his mouth refusing to obey his commands.
“Don’t talk.” Lilith commanded, her words sending a shiver down Izuku’s spine. “I said it would be easy and painless if you followed my instructions. I said, ‘kill.’ So, you’re going to kill.” She looked at the terrified trio tied up before them and grinned. “Now, be a good boy and stand next to them. ”
Izuku’s heart pounded in his chest, desperate to resist, but his feet continued to move against his will. He stood beside the three trembling individuals, their pleas for mercy echoing in his ears .
“One last chance, boy.” Lilith declared, her voice dripping with menace. “Choose one and end their life.”
“I can’t…” Izuku choked out between sobs, his voice breaking under the weight of his despair. Lilith’s disappointment only grew.
“That’s a shame.” She said with a cold smile. “ Bite Mana on the neck. ”
Izuku’s entire being revolted against the command, but his body betrayed him. He could feel his mouth involuntarily opening, closing in on the woman’s neck. In an instant, a horrible taste filled his mouth—a bitter reminder of the blood he now bore witness to, a blood that was not his own.
A few seconds passed, and the woman’s screams pierced the air, her body convulsing in agony. Then, as abruptly as it started, she fell silent.
“Two minutes? That’s quite fast.” Lilith remarked, her tone betraying a hint of curiosity. “Is it always like this? Let’s try again.”
“But... you said only one of them would die.” Izuku stammered in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the horrifying reality unfolding before him.
“If you had made a choice, Darling.” Lilith retorted coolly. “But since you refused, bite Masuyo this time. Just a quick bite on her upper arm. ”
Once again, Izuku’s body moved involuntarily, his teeth sinking into Masuyo’s arm. Moments later, the room filled with her agonized screams. However, unlike the previous victim, her suffering was prolonged, stretching out over several minutes before she succumbed to the pain.
“Five minutes. So, the dose and the injection site do make a difference.” Lilith observed, nodding with chilling satisfaction. “Now, onto the last one.”
“Please, no.” Izuku pleaded, his voice laced with desperation.
“Now, Darling. As I said, when I tell you to kill, you will kill.” Lilith coldly reiterated. “But I’m feeling generous today. So I’ll give you one more chance.” She picked up the gun from the floor and placed it back into Izuku’s trembling hands. “You can do it yourself and spare him the suffering, or I can force you to bite him, and he’ll die in pain. What is your choice, Belial?”
Izuku’s gaze shifted between the gun and the quivering man before him. Taking a deep breath, he mustered his resolve and pressed the cold metal against the man’s head.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice filled with regret.
With closed eyes and a steady grip on the weapon, Izuku pulled the trigger. The sudden recoil sent him stumbling backward, and he felt a warm liquid splatter across his face. Opening his eyes, he saw the crimson stream flowing from the lifeless body sprawled on the floor.
“See, I knew you could do it, Belial.” Lilith proclaimed, her smile oozing with satisfaction. “You’re free again.”
As soon as those words left her lips, Izuku was struck by excruciating pain in his head, coursing through his entire body, causing him to collapse onto the floor. His throat filled with bile, and he involuntarily vomited onto the unforgiving surface despite having an empty stomach.
“I’m sorry it had to come to this, darling.” Lilith spoke in a disingenuous tone of faux tenderness. “But now you see, right? The best course of action is to obey me. Otherwise, I’ll have to use my Quirk again, and the pain will only intensify afterward.” Izuku felt her hand gently caressing his curls, a sickening juxtaposition of affection and control. “So, you know what you have to do, don’t you, darling? Will you be a good boy from now on?”
Tears welled up in Izuku’s eyes as he nodded in response, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his tormentor’s control.
Shiroma Taro, Miyazaki Mana, and Toyama Masuyo—their names etched into his memory, a painful reminder of the choices he was forced to make. Izuku vowed he would never forget those names.
------------------------------------------------------------
The days when Hitoshi simply needs to leave the house are rare, but they still happen. Not because he lives in a bad home; on the contrary, his home is perfect. Sometimes too perfect. About five years ago, when he was eight years old, Hitoshi was rescued from a horrible foster home. Since then, he has lived with an Underground Hero and his detective husband.
Initially, they only intended to foster him until finding a more suitable home, but as time passed, they grew attached to Hitoshi, and he to them. Fostering turned into adoption, and now they form a loving family.
Shouta and Naomasa are the best parents Hitoshi could ask for, and sometimes that’s exactly the problem. Having spent so long in the system, Hitoshi is still unlearning old habits, and one of those is being suspicious of any kindness. In theory, he knows that their care and kindness are genuine, but sometimes lingering doubts make it hard to believe it’s all real.
On days when the voices in his head become too loud, their boundless kindness becomes overwhelming, and Hitoshi needs to escape. Usually, he would go to the cat cafe owned by a sweet old lady with a plant creation quirk near his house. However, the cafe is closed today, so instead, he finds himself walking around the city and eventually ends up inside the public library on a whim.
Hitoshi wouldn’t exactly call himself an avid reader, but he appreciates the opportunity to lose himself in a good book every once in a while. As he enters the library, the librarian quickly assists him in setting up a library card and offers a warning to stay out of trouble before granting him access. Hitoshi decides it’s best not to test the woman’s patience and nods in understanding.
As expected of a library, the atmosphere inside is tranquil and hushed. It’s a place of peace. Hitoshi observes people engrossed in their reading and studying, others engaged in quiet conversations, and a few individuals immersed in a board game whose name he can’t quite identify.
Hitoshi is just about to head toward the fiction section when a glimmer to his right catches his eye. Turning his gaze, he discovers a metallic limb reflecting the sunlight from a nearby window. The limb belongs to a boy with a hint of green hair peeping out from under his beanie. Deeply absorbed in a book, the boy sits at a table, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
Normally, Hitoshi would pay no mind and continue his search for a book. Yet, there’s something undeniably intriguing about this boy, as if he possesses a magnetic pull that draws Hitoshi in. He feels like a moth being irresistibly drawn to a flickering lantern.
“Am I seriously considering approaching some random kid I don’t even know the name of?” Hitoshi muses to himself. What am I? An extrovert?”
Despite his hesitation, Hitoshi gathers up the nerve to approach the boy. As he gets closer, he can’t help but notice the boy’s metal limbs moving around like spider legs. It’s an unusual sight that piques Hitoshi’s curiosity even more.
Hitoshi also notices that the boy’s arms are littered with scars and burns. It seems like this boy has it rough. He wonders if the boy is a foster kid like Hitoshi was. He can see a quirk like that being considered villainous.
Finally reaching the table, Hitoshi realizes that the boy is completely absorbed in his book, oblivious to Hitoshi’s presence. Hitoshi takes a moment to observe the boy up close. He notices a second pair of eyes on his face, closed, which makes it hard to even notice they exist. His face is adorned by freckles on his cheeks, forming a diamond pattern. It’s a unique and intriguing combination. He has a face mask down and inaudibly mumbles something as his eyes run over the page.
Lost in his thoughts, Hitoshi stares at the boy for a little longer than he intended. Suddenly, he snaps back to reality as the boy turns a page. In his embarrassment, Hitoshi clears his throat, but just as he does, one of the metal spider legs comes dangerously close to his eye. The boy’s wide-eyed gaze meets Hitoshi’s, and they both share a moment of shock and surprise.
“Oh, God! I’m so sorry. You scared the hell out of me.” The boy blurts out, retracting the metal leg and tucking it along with the others behind his back. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you? Should I get help? Maybe the librarian? Shit, I’m really sorry. I’m…”
“It’s fine. You didn’t touch me.” Hitoshi interjects, raising his hand to halt the boy’s frantic apologies. “I’m sorry for startling you. I’m the one who approached you like this.”
“I’m really sorry. I’ve been a bit on edge lately.” The boy responds, bowing slightly. Then, he tilts his head and looks at Hitoshi curiously. “You’re not a regular here.”
“I’m…” The boy hesitates for a moment. “You can call me Deku,” he says with a melancholic smile.
Useless? No way. Hitoshi won’t have any of that.
“Greenie works better for you.” Hitoshi retorts, smirking. “So, watcha reading?”
The boy sputters at the nickname but quickly recovers. He closes the book, marking the page with his finger, and shows Hitoshi. The cover has a red circle and a scary-looking grin. It had “Stephen King, IT” written on it.
“Never heard of it.” Hitoshi says.
“It’s an old horror book.” Greenie replies with a shrug. “It’s about a child-eating monster and a group of kids trying to survive. Very interesting and a bit unsettling at times.”
“Sounds scary. Should you really be reading this?” Hitoshi asks. “The rating is 18+. How old are you? Eleven?”
“I’m thirteen, thank you very much.” The boy replies with a frown. “Besides, what do I have to fear?” He opens the book again. “Monsters aren’t real. It’s the humans you need to be worried about.”
This troubling statement brings Hitoshi’s eyes back to the boy’s scar-covered arms. It’s not his place to ask, but Hitoshi is sure that whatever caused this, it was no accident.
“Would you recommend any books?” Hitoshi asks.
“Hmm… The Chronicles of Ice and Fire series is great.” Greenie replies. “Actually, most of the books in the fiction session are good. Just stay away from the Twilight series. That thing will make you want to claw your eyes. Sparkling vampires, what idiot thought that’s a good idea?”
Hitoshi and Greenie end up talking for many hours until Hitoshi feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and realizes he’s very late to go home. As he sends a message to his Dad saying he’s fine and just lost track of time, Greenie seems to realize the hour too.
“It was nice to meet you, Shinsou-Kun.” Greenie says.
“Yeah, you’re cool.” Hitoshi replies with a smile. “I hope to meet you again.”
The boy’s smile seems a lot more forced after Hitoshi says that.
“You’re cool, Shinsou-Kun. You deserve a much better friend than me.” He says as he walks away. “Someone who’s not worthless.”
Before Hitoshi can say anything, the boy practically bolts from the library, leaving his book behind. Hitoshi glances at it for a few seconds, then picks it up and takes it back to the bookshelves. As he’s about to return, he sees the Chronicles of Ice and Fire books Greenie mentioned earlier. He decides to borrow the first one.
As Hitoshi walks back home, he can’t stop thinking about Greenie. He’s an interesting person, and Hitoshi can’t deny he’s pretty. But the thing stuck on Hitoshi’s mind is the worrying number of troubling statements the boy said in the few hours they talked. The boy is practically a walking red flag, and Hitoshi can’t help him. But maybe another person can. An Underground hero, perhaps?
------------------------------------------------------------
With each passing day, Hizashi is closer to a freakout. It’s been five days since Spider Brat ran away from him, and he hasn’t seen a single shadow of the boy since then.
As Hizashi patrols, as Present Mic this time, he can easily see the people looking at him and whispering. Some point fingers in his direction, some stare in curiosity, and many glare at him. He would have to be deaf not to notice what they’re saying.
There’s not a single proof for what they’re accusing him of, but that’s not important. Present Mic started patrolling this area. Spider Brat is missing. This is enough for the rumors to start.
“I heard he arrested him.” He hears from a group.
“I heard he’s injured pretty badly.” Others say.
“Fucking Lemons. You just can’t accept that someone else is doing your job better than you, can you?” A man yells at him as he passes.
“I heard he killed him.” Someone whispers.
Hizashi just smiles at the civilians as he walks, not showing how much their words hurt. He knows not everyone likes heroes, but that’s the first time he goes through this kind of hate during patrol. But after what Spider Brat told him, he can’t blame them.
The heroes practically abandoned these people. Hizashi might be a hero, but he’s not their hero. No, their heroes are people like the Crawler, Knuckleduster, Stendhal, and Spider Brat. Vigilantes, who keep protecting them despite not receiving not for it. Truth be told, Hizashi doesn’t have anything against vigilantes as long as they stay on the right side of the law.
“Go home, Lemon. We don’t want you here.”
That’s another thing. This isn’t the first time Hizashi has heard this term. “Lemon” is a mocking term used for Limelight heroes. Hizashi is a Twilight Hero, but that’s an unofficial term used only in the hero community. To the public, Present Mic is a Limelight hero.
The patrol is tense, and Hizashi ends up encountering a large number of criminals. It is clear that the presence of Spider Brat is a major deterrent to criminal activity in this area. The atmosphere is completely different from the first time Hizashi had been here.
But none of that matters. The only thing on Hizashi’s mind throughout the patrol is that he needs to find Spider Brat and talk to him. To reassure the boy that he has done nothing wrong and doesn’t need to be afraid. But with each passing day without any news of him, Hizashi grows more worried.
Hizashi is not a proud man. He knows when he needs help, and now is clearly one of those times. Hizashi has only talked to the boy twice. However, he knows someone who has known him for over two years.
As soon as Hizashi gets home from his patrol, he picks up his phone and calls his friend.
“Uncle Zashi?” It is late, but there is always at least one insomniac awake in that house. Looks like today is Hitoshi’s turn.
“Hey, Little Listener. Sorry for calling so late, is your Dad awake?” Hizashi asks.
“Yeah, he’s grading papers in the living room. I’ll go get him.” Hitoshi replies with a yawn.
Hizashi hears a muffled conversation then the phone is passed.
“I know you wouldn’t call so late for any reason, so what’s happening?” Shouta asks.
“Shou. I need your help.”
Notes:
On the happier side, my favorite purple boy is here! :D
Chapter 5
Notes:
I'm sure you were all expecting Necromancer today, so what happened?
Well, to put it simply, my insistence on keeping to a schedule of updates, coupled with a wave of writer's block has turned writing Necromancer into a bigger chore than I expected.
I always say that it's better to write what you're in the mood for than to try and force yourself into something and end up getting sick of it. Maybe it's time I started taking my own advice.These last few weeks I've been writing Necromancer more out of obligation than because I wanted to write the story. Not that I've gotten sick of it. I still love Izuku and his zombie family, but other ideas have been occupying my mind lately, and if I keep forcing myself to write Necromancer I might end up dropping the story altogether.
I'm not putting Necromancer on Hiatus, though. I'll still write it, but chapters might take longer now.Sorry about that.
TL/DR
Expected Necromancer update delayed due to writer's block and my stubborness on keeping a schedule. Writing became a chore due to lack of motivation. It's important to me to enjoy what I'm writting, and at the moment I'm not enjoying writing Necromancer. Other ideas are occupying my mind. Necromancer isn't on Hiatus, but expect longer waits between chapters. I'm sorry.Now, about the chapter:
CW: Human experimentation, and torture.
Proceed with caution.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku was again waiting in his “room.” Lately, it seems that this is the only thing he has been doing. Next to him is a plate with a half-eaten sandwich on it. Even though he gets almost no food, he still can’t stomach it. Well, it’s probably wise for him to keep some for later in the first place.
His hands trembled because of the residual electricity in his body that still caused him to spasm even though the session had ended over an hour ago. Mamon said he had one more thing planned for Izuku today.
Izuku could not help the fear he felt. Surprises are never a good thing in this place. Fortunately, Izuku hadn’t had to kill anyone else since the first time a few weeks ago. Izuku has no doubt that he will be forced to kill again in the future, but the longer it takes, the better.
As Izuku was thinking about the future, the door opened, and Mammon entered, accompanied by a second villain. A tall man dressed in colorful and flashy clothes. The man had a rainbow cape and bright pink hair. As soon as the new man saw Izuku, he approached, getting uncomfortably close. He started rubbing his cheeks.
“So this darling is Belial? Such a cutie.” He said.
“Leave this for later, Lucifer.” Mamon replied. “You know what that crazy woman will do if we’re late.”
“Fiiiiiiine…” Lucifer whined. “But he’s such a cutie. Do you think Lilith would let me borrow him later?”
“This one is mine, Lucifer.” Mamon replied. “Now, leave me to work.”
“You’re no fun.” Lucifer said. “Well, it was nice to meet you, cutie.” He said, planting a kiss on Izuku’s forehead. “Now, go to sleep, my prince.”
Izuku’s eyes widened as he felt something piercing his neck, and then suddenly, he started feeling very sleepy. He fell forward, and the last thing he saw before passing out was a pair of arms holding him.
…
When he woke up again, he was strapped to a bed. Looking to the side, he saw several shelves with dolls. Scary realistic dolls. They all seemed to be looking directly at him. No matter where he looked, it was either white walls or more dolls.
“Admiring my collection, sweetheart?” A female voice asked. “I love them very much. I made each of them by hand.”
“Who are you?” Izuku asked, forcing himself to look at the source of the voice.
Izuku saw a woman with long brown hair tied up in a long braid. The woman had a lab coat covering most of her body and a face mask. Her red eyes had a certain sadistic glow that made Izuku want to get out of there as quickly as possible. But the straps that bound him to the bed were very firm.
“Oh, sorry. Where are my manners?” She chuckled. “You may call me Doctor Asmodeus.” She said as she walked to an IV drip, which Izuku suddenly noticed was attached to his arm. “Lilith wanted me to do an experiment with you. She’s feeling quite optimistic. You see…” She taped the bag with the weird electric blue liquid dripping into Izuku’s body. “This is trigger. A drug made to temporarily enhance quirks. But this one is a bit different. I call it Trigger-G. And if it works like intended, the results will stay forever.”
As she said that, Izuku started feeling like his body was getting hotter. He was sweating.
“Mamon has been training your pain tolerance, right?” She asked but didn’t wait for Izuku’s response. “You see. Previous subjects found this experiment slightly… Painful.” She chuckles again. “So, we thought that the subject would have a better chance of surviving the process if they had a better pain tolerance. But don’t worry. Even if we are wrong, I promise I’ll take good care of you. You can become part of my collection. You would make such a pretty doll.”
Izuku’s eyes widened as he realized what she meant. All those dolls. Are they…
“Are the dolls-” Before he could finish his question, the hotness became too much.
It was like he was burning. Like all the times his father used his fire-breathing quirk on him. But this time, the burning was inside his body. Spreading from his arms into his whole body. Izuku couldn’t hold back. He screamed.
“Oh, you have such a beautiful voice.” Asmodeus said. “Keep singing. I think I’ll call you little bird from now on.”
The burning sensation started focusing on his forehead, specifically, his second pair of eyes. Suddenly, Izuku felt something running down from them. It felt like tears, but Izuku knew those eyes couldn’t cry, so what was happening? Why were they hurting so much?
“Oh. Dear. How interesting.” Asmodeus muttered as she wrote in a notebook. “Your eyes are literally melting. I wonder why? Are they rebuilding themselves? What will these new eyes be capable of?”
Izuku could barely hear the woman over all the pain in his body, head, and eyes. This was so much worse than Mamon’s torture. And he couldn’t even struggle because of his bindings.
“Make it stop! Please!” Izuku begged between sobs.
“Calm down, darling. You are so strong, you know?” Asmodeus said, patting Izuku’s head. “Other subjects would be dead already. But not only are you still alive, you’re also conscious. That’s impressive. Maybe you won’t become part of my collection yet. It’s a bit of a shame, but I prefer older dolls anyway.”
Izuku kept screaming as he felt like something was forming on his forehead. But the pain was too much. Izuku felt himself about to pass out due to the pain.
“Guess this is your limit.” Asmodeus said. “Well, I still consider this a success. We’ll have to do this again some other time.” She smiles, and Izuku feels her taking the needles off his arm.
It took a while longer for the pain to start diminishing, but as it did, Izuku was hit by a wave of exhaustion. Unable to stay awake, Izuku found himself drifting into sleep.
…
When he woke up again, Izuku was back in his room. The lights were shut, but for some reason, he could see perfectly well. He had to look up at the lightbulb to make sure it was really shut. Though, it felt like it was dark and light at the same time.
“What is happening?” Izuku muttered, scratching his head.
Then it hit him. His eyes changed.
Focusing, Izuku closes only his upper eyes, and the room gets dark. Then he opens them back and closes his lower eyes. He can see everything. His upper eyes have night vision now. And it doesn’t look like he can turn it off.
Then Izuku notices a small note on the floor. His blood freezes once he reads it.
We’ll play more soon, sweetheart.
- Asmodeus
------------------------------------------------------------
Shouta finds himself facing the library that Hitoshi mentioned. According to his son, he finds a boy with curly green hair, two pairs of eyes, and spider legs bent over his back. Although there is a chance that it is just a coincidence, Spider Brat has such a unique quirk that Shouta doubts that this is, in fact, the case.
Without too much hesitation, Shouta enters the library, instantly bumping into a lady of about fifty with gray hair. This lady has a presence that could rival Chiyo, which obviously means that Shota will not risk ignoring her. Thus, he ends up forced to make a library card despite the fact that he will probably never come back here. It’s not that he doesn’t like to read, but he doesn’t have much free time for it.
“No fighting in the library.” The woman says. “And no arresting either, Mr Hero. If you find something, take it outside.”
Shouta finds himself nodding stiffly at her words. He has no intention of starting a fight or making an arrest, and this is just one more reason for that.
Walking inside, Shouta finds rows upon rows of bookshelves, as expected from a library. There are a few people there reading and chatting in low tones, but they don’t interest Shouta. He’s here after one specific person. And it doesn’t take long to find him.
In a corner of the library, engrossed in a book, is a kid with very familiar metallic spider legs folded on his back. In this illuminated environment, instead of the rooftops of the city at night, Shouta is able to get a good view of the boy.
The boy has dark green hair poking from under the beanie he’s wearing, and his face mask is down, giving Shouta a view for the first time of the boy’s full face. He didn’t know he had freckles, but it really suits him. His appearance is a bit worrying. Specifically, the very clear eyebags under his eyes show that he hasn’t been sleeping well.
There’s also his body. The boy is wearing a T-shirt and basketball shorts instead of the hoodie and jeans Shouta is used to seeing the boy wearing. This gives Shouta a clear view of the boy’s arms and all the scars littering it. Besides that, another thing is very clear. The boy is skin and bones. No teenager should be so thin.
Which makes Shouta wonder. He has seen the boy carry and throw adults three times his size. He also saw him break noses, arms, and even a skull with his punches. But the boys don’t have any muscle mass. How can he be so strong?
Well, that’s not the time to ponder about that. Very carefully, Shouta approaches the boy. Knowing his tendency to lash out when he’s scared, Shouta stops just out of the boy’s range. He catches a glance at the physics book the boy is reading. He’s pretty sure it’s a high school book. Shouta feels slightly guilty about interrupting the boy’s studies, but this can’t wait.
“Spider Brat?” Shouta calls softly.
The boy immediately stiffens, and as expected, one of the spider legs lashes out and tries to attack him. But being outside his reach, the spear-like limb stopped a few inches from his face. He always aims for the eyes. Shouta observes.
The boy raises his eyes from the book slowly. His upper eyes are closed, but his lower eyes are wide open. Shouta can see the fear rolling out of the boy in waves. His eyes scan the entire library in search of both enemies and escape routes.
“Eraserhead.” The boy says, obviously trying to sound casual.
“Look, I just want to talk.” Shouta says, raising his arms in a surrender motion. He very slowly brings his hands to his neck and pulls his capture weapon out, depositing it on the table. “You can hold this.” Then he reaches inside his utility belt and pulls out a wrapped sandwich, tossing it at the table. “This too. You’re obviously not eating enough.”
Spider Brat suspiciously eyes the scarf and sandwich for several seconds before reaching with his legs to pull both towards himself. He makes no move to open the sandwich, though.
“Where are the others?” The kid asks, looking around.
“The others?” Shouta asks in confusion.
“Heroes? Police?” The kid shrugs. “I assume the place is surrounded.”
“Why would it be, kid?” Shouta asks.
“Spare me, Eraser.” The kid says with a glare. “You really want me to believe Present Mic didn’t tell anyone?”
“He told me a few things.” The kid flinches. “He said you opened up to him a little.”
“Yeah. That’s a way to put it.” The boy mumbles.
“He was upset about how you were treated.” Shouta adds. “Took too long to respond, and you ran away.”
“He was livid, Eraserhead.” The kid replies. “I know anger when I see it. And he was pissed off at me.”
“I can assure you he wasn’t.” Shouta says. “Yes, he was angry, but not at you. He actually thinks you hate him now and are avoiding him.”
“Well, I am avoiding him. And any and all heroes.” The boy replies. “Did he really not tell you anything I said?”
“No, he didn’t. Mic might be loud, but he’s one of the most trustworthy people I know.” Shouta explains. “Whatever you told him, you can be sure he won’t tell anyone without permission. He’ll take your secrets to his grave.”
The boy thoughtfully looks down at the table.
“I’m tired of people dying because of me…” He whispers. “If you’re not here to arrest me, why are you here? I doubt it was just to bring a sandwich.”
“You’re right. It was just half of the reason.” Shouta nods. “I came because Present Mic asked me to help find you. He wants to talk. Just talk, I swear. I know you don’t trust heroes, and I’m sure you have good reasons for that. But Mic won’t hurt you, I promise you. He’s just worried.”
Spider Brat looks at Shouta with a very conflicted expression, like he’s in a serious debate with himself. He stays silent for several minutes, but Shouta doesn’t try to hurry him up. He just waits patiently for the boy to get to a conclusion. Finally, the boy sighs and looks at Shouta.
“Fine.” He says. “You can tell Present Mic I’ll be waiting for him in the same place as last time. Midnight. If he really just wants to talk, tell him to come in civilian clothes and alone. If this is a setup, I swear I’ll vanish, and you’ll never hear of me again.”
“It’s not. I swear.” Shouta replies. “I’ll tell him what you said. Don’t forget to eat the sandwich.”
The boy nods, looking down at the sealed sandwich, then throws Shouta’s capture weapon back.
“Thank you, Eraser.” He says, getting up and closing his book. “I’ll give him one more chance.” He walks towards the bookshelves to put the book away. “I hope I won’t regret it.” The last part wasn’t intended for Shouta to hear.
Knowing the talk is over, Shouta walks away. He spares a nod for the librarian and leaves the library. He’s sure Spider Brat has a lot to think about. Shouta did the best he could at the moment. The rest is up to Zashi.
He gets home at about 3 PM, and, to no one’s surprise, he finds Hitoshi napping on the couch. Naomasa is probably at the precinct. Honestly, he’s happy his son is getting some sleep. This boy has one of the worst cases of chronic insomnia Shouta has ever heard of, and no matter what they try, nothing seems to help.
Shouta goes to his room and pulls out his phone to call Zashi. The phone barely rings once before Zashi answers.
“Shou?” Zashi says.
“Are you camping next to the phone?” Shouta asks. “No, don’t answer. Just… I found him.”
“You did? Is he okay? Where is he?”
“Calm down and listen carefully. Zashi.” Shouta says seriously. “He agreed to meet you to talk. Same place as last time. Midnight.”
“He did? Oh, thank god.” Zashi replies.
“Yes. He’s giving you a chance; if you blow it up, you can be sure you won’t have another one. So listen up, Zashi.” Shouta says, using the same tone he would use with his students. “He wants you to go in civilian clothes. And he wants you to go alone. He’ll run away if he gets even the impression it might be a trap. And we both know that the only heroes that could hope to match him in terms of mobility would be Edgeshot, Hawks, and All Might. If he runs again, we won’t find him.”
“I know, Shouta.” Zashi says in utter seriousness. “I won’t fuck this up.”
“Good.” Shouta nods. “And bring something for him to eat. The boy is literally skin and bones.”
“You got it, Shou!” Zashi replies and hangs up.
Shouta sighs and puts his phone away. His mind wanders back to what he saw in the library. That little boy who barely looks like he’s ten. With those big green eyes that should have been filled with innocence, and yet are hardened and wary like Shouta would see in veteran heroes. Not to mention all those scars.
What kind of life did he live? Who hurt him that much? What kind of monsters would hurt a kid so much?
“I’m counting on you, Zashi. Save him.” Shouta mutters.
Notes:
Uh, over a month and a half since I started with this fic, and I keep forgeting to link my discord here.
Discord: https://discord.gg/9HTxDbUNAu
I make most of my announcements here.
Chapter 6
Notes:
CW for this chapter:
Torture and References to cannibalism.
Proceed with caution.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku ran. He ran as fast as his tiny legs would carry him. Where was he running to? Not important. The only thing that matters is to put as much distance as possible between him and that hell the villains called their base. It was a simple oversight; Mamon forgot to lock the door to Izuku’s room, which gave him the perfect chance to escape.
The five-year-old could barely feel his feet due to all the pain, but he didn’t care. He just willed his legs to keep moving. His bare feet patted on the hard street, and he knew they were probably bleeding from all the stones he stepped on.
Izuku kept running, though, because he didn’t want to even imagine what would happen if Mamon caught him. Fear was the only thing keeping him going. So he kept moving, running, and running more.
Until he bumped into something and fell on his butt. Looking up, Izuku saw a very tall man wearing some kind of hood up. It made him look like a cobra staring at him. Izuku couldn’t make much of this person, but he could see a forked tongue poking out of his mouth every once in a while.
“Hello, kid. Are you lossst?” The guy asked in a gentle tone.
“Are you a hero?” Izuku asked.
“Yessss. I’m a hero. You can call me, Kobra.” He said.
Izuku almost started crying. He found a hero. A hero can help him. A hero can save him.
“Please help me.” Izuku said. “Don’t let them take me again.”
The hero smiled at Izuku, extending a hand. He froze for a second when Izuku grabbed it, showing the brand in the back of his hand, and then he smiled again.
“Of courssse, kid. Don’t worry.” Kobra said with a smile. “I know what to do.”
Saying that Kobra took Izuku into his arms and started carrying him. Izuku was so tired that he could barely keep awake. He couldn’t see where the hero was carrying him or how long they walked. But it was okay. The hero would keep him safe, right?
“Oh, you found him.” Izuku stiffened once he heard the familiar voice.
“Yup. You should keep a better eye on your thingsss.” The hero replied in a cold tone. “I expect compenssssation for that.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Mamon said. “Give him here.”
Izuku felt himself being passed to Mamon, and he looked at the hero with a betrayed expression. The hero just looked at him with a cold expression.
“Oh, don’t give me that look, boy.” Kobra said. “You really thought I would crossss the Nine Circlesss of Hell? Dealing with them issss much better.” He smirked at Izuku. “Nothing perssssonal, kid. It’s just businessss. Give my regardsss to Lilith.” He said with a wave, then walked away.
Once the hero was out of view, Mamon turned away and started talking.
“You really thought you could escape?” Mamon asked. “You’re mine, kid. And I don’t let my things go, you know?” He chuckled. “Though, I have to commend you. You did a good job with this escape. If only you hadn’t been dumb enough to ask a hero for help, maybe it would have taken us a few days to find you.”
“But… Heroes are supposed…”
“To save you? To protect you?” Mamon laughed. “How precious. Heroes are just glorified celebrities who punch petty criminals. They won’t cross us. Most of them either fear us, or we pay them to look to the other side. The ones dumb enough to cross us?” He looks at Izuku and grins. “They all end up six feet under. You’ll never escape us kid.”
Mamon brought Izuku back to the facility, but he didn’t lock Izuku back in his room. Instead, he took Izuku to another room, this one smelling heavily like blood. The walls and floor were full of dried blood. He dropped Izuku there and left.
A few minutes later, he returned with another man in tow. A tall man with glinting metallic teeth. He looked at Izuku with a scary grin.
“So, I can have my fun with him?” The man asked.
“Yup, he’s all yours, Beelzebub.” Mamon replied. “Just get him to Asmodeus once you’re finished. And no permanent damage, we still need him.”
“Fine, I can work with that.” Beelzebub said walking to Izuku. “So, I heard a naughty boy needs to be punished.” He said, just as Izuku heard the door closing. “Well, I love naughty boys.”
The man grabbed Izuku’s and bit his upper arm, tearing a chunk. Izuku immediately starts screaming, and the man munches it.
“Hmm… That’s the first time I taste someone your age.” The man says. “Teenagers taste better, but you’re not bad.” He grins, showing Izuku his bloodied teeth. “Well, we are only getting started, boy. I hope you’re ready.”
For the next hour. The only sounds that could be heard were Izuku’s screams and cries. By the end of it, he could barely keep himself conscious.
The next time he woke up, he was back in his room covered in bandages. Mamon was there, smiling at him.
“This is what happens when you try to escape.” He said, patting Izuku’s head. “Don’t try again and we won’t have to do this again. You just have to be a good boy.”
Izuku nodded at Mamon, and the man left the room. Izuku curled and started sobbing. He only got to take off the bandages weeks later, and when he did, he realized he was covered in scars. Most of them were bite marks.
…
Even to this day, eight years later, Izuku still has a horrible gash scar on his right upper arm. The exact place where Beelzebub tore a chunk of his arm. This mark is a forever reminder of the first time he was betrayed by a hero. If only it was the only time.
Honestly, Izuku is very tired of having all those nightmares about his past. And yet, he’s sure they won’t stop anytime soon.
Glancing at the clock, Izuku realizes it’s already past 11 PM, which means he has to meet with Present Mic soon. As the time gets nearer, Izuku can’t help his nervousness about the prospect. Can he really believe that Present Mic doesn’t want to arrest him? In the two years he has been talking with Eraserhead, the Underground Hero never lied to him. The man might have bent the truth or hidden things a few times but never outright lied to Izuku. That’s the only reason he’s giving the benefit of the doubt.
This doesn’t make the prospect any less scary, though. But Izuku isn’t a coward (yes, he is), so he puts on his red hoodie, jeans, and mask and leaves. If he ends up meeting and beating up some criminals along the way, well, it’s a good stress reliever, and he missed patrolling.
Izuku arrives about 20 minutes earlier, and to his surprise, Present Mic is already on the rooftop. Like Izuku asked, he’s wearing civilian clothes, with his hair down and without his directional speakers. He has a small bag next to him and is looking around nervously, glancing at the clock on his wrist every few seconds. What is he waiting for? Maybe backup? Other heroes here to arrest Izuku?
Izuku, thankful for his night vision, crawls toward the edge of the building and looks around, trying to identify any kind of suspicious movement around. He even checks other nearby buildings for heroes or even police officers positioned. He casts a critical eye at the people walking the streets, but it really seems like they are really just civilians walking around.
When he looks back at Present Mic, the man is giving a heavy sigh. He gets up and looks around once more. His expression looks… Sad? Why is he sad? Izuku glances at his clock and realizes it’s already ten minutes past midnight. When he looks again, Present Mic is looking in his direction, and suddenly, the man’s eyes widen, and he yelps, taking a step back. Which makes him trip on the bag he left on the floor and fall on his butt.
Izuku hesitates for a moment, giving one more glance around to make sure no other hero is there. It looks like they really are alone. Bracing his spider legs like a spring on the floor, he jumps to the other rooftop, landing silently in front of Present Mic. The hero is already scrambling to get up but stays sitting and gives Izuku a warm smile.
Maybe it’s his paranoia talking, but Izuku meets the smile with narrowed eyes, looking around once more. Both stare awkwardly at each other for several seconds until Present Mic coughs, breaking the silence.
“Little Listener! I’m so glad you came.” He says, smiling. “I thought you had changed your mind.” He looks at the building Izuku was a moment ago. “How long have you been there?”
“Half an hour?” Izuku replies, tilting his head. “Sorry for being late, Mic-San. I was observing, and must have lost track of the time.” There’s no use in being dishonest, and it’s not like Izuku is hiding the fact that he doesn’t trust the hero.
“I see.” Mic nods, not letting his smile falter for a single second.
“Well, I’m here. Eraserhead said you wanted to talk.” Izuku says.
“Yes, I wanted to.” Mic replies, grabbing the bag on the floor and putting it in his lap. “I wanted to apologize for my reaction last time, Little Listener. I didn’t want to scare you. I wasn’t ready for all you said, but I swear I wasn’t angry.”
“You were livid, Mic-San.” Izuku says. “The only other time I ever saw this kind of expression in someone’s face was when Satan was about to transform.”
Honestly, the one Izuku feared the most among the villains was Mamon, but an angry Satan is a very close second place, mostly because of how unpredictable his wrath made him.
“Not at you.” Mic replies. “Yes, I was furious, but not at you, Little Listener. I was angry at all the people who hurt you. At your parents for selling you. At the villains for all they did. At the heroes who abandoned you. But never at you, Little Listener. You were - are - a victim.”
“I killed people.” Izuku says.
“You were forced.” Mic counters.
“I had a choice.” Izuku replies. “You don’t know half of what I did, Mic-San.”
“And I don’t care either way, Little Listener.” Mic says. “You are just a child. You shouldn’t be held accountable for what some horrible people made you do.”
Izuku gives him a nod, still unconvinced. After all, he’s sure the man would change his mind if he heard everything Izuku did. Izuku is sure he’s beyond forgiveness.
“If you say so.” Izuku says instead.
Present Mic keeps smiling and reaches into the bag, pulling first a lunchbox, then a blue square plush spider with pixelated red eyes and black stripes in the legs.
“This is for you, Little Listener.” Mic says, extending both items for Izuku. Izuku takes both but eyes the plush warily. “I know what you’re thinking. I swear there’s no tracker in the plush. You don’t have to take it, and you can leave it somewhere if you just don’t want to hurt my feelings. But I genuinely want to apologize for the miscommunication last time.”
Izuku inspects the spider, looking at its pixelated eyes for several seconds. He has to admit, it’s very soft. He doesn’t think he ever held something so soft in his whole life. His parents never bought him any toys. He really has to control himself not to start crying right there. He’s still not sure it’s not a trap. Mic says there is no tracker in it, but what if he’s lying?
Izuku sits down and opens the lunchbox. There’s curry inside. It smells very nice. Like in the previous times, Izuku eats it quickly while he keeps his upper eyes on Mic. The hero doesn’t make a single movement, just watching as Izuku eats with a smile on his face. He seems really happy to see Izuku eating, but why would he? Izuku doesn’t get it.
“You’re weird.” Izuku says.
“I hear that a lot, Little Listener.” Mic replies.
Izuku finishes eating, and then they stay there silently for a while. Surprisingly, it’s a lot less awkward. Eventually, Izuku is the one who breaks the silence.
“I’ll… Start patrolling again tomorrow.” He says hesitantly. “And, I guess I’ll come back here.”
Somehow, Present Mic’s smile widens even more. It’s like Izuku just gave him the greatest gift in the world. Really, why would this make him so happy? This man is so confusing.
Not wanting to overthink it at the moment, Izuku gets up, nudging the empty lunchbox back to Mic with one of his legs. He offers him a nod before turning around.
“I’ll see you around. I guess.” Izuku says as he walks.
“Sure thing, Little Listener. Be careful!” Mic replies, and Izuku doesn’t even need to look back to know the man is still smiling at him. Doesn’t his face hurt from smiling so much?
Izuku gives him one last nod before jumping down the building. He starts walking back home, and on the way, he passes a trash can and stops. He eyes the trash can, and then the spider plush in his hands several times. He should get rid of it. There’s such a big chance that it’s a trap.
Izuku reaches for the lid and holds the spider just over the trash can. He just needs to open his hand and let it fall. Simple, easy. The pixelated red eyes of the plush seem to look deep into his soul. He has never had a toy in his life. Not even a rubber ball. This is the first time someone has given him a gift. Or at least a gift, apparently without malicious intentions.
And once again, Izuku proves to himself how weak he is. With a sigh, he closes the trash can and walks back toward his house, holding the plush against his chest. It’s so soft. He didn’t know that plushies could be so soft. Suddenly, he understands why children like to hug them so much.
“I hope you’re not a trap…” Izuku mutters as he walks home.
On the chance there actually is a track, Izuku gets ready to leave the building behind. He knows it’s dumb to compromise his home just for a stuffed animal, but he can’t bring himself to get rid of it.
That night, Izuku falls asleep, cuddling the plush spider. It’s the first time in a long time his night isn’t plagued by nightmares.
------------------------------------------------------------
Shouta sighs in relief as he hangs up the call. Hizashi just called to tell him how the meeting with Spider Brat went, and thankfully, it seems like they cleared their misunderstanding. He even got the distrustful kid to accept a gift. In two years of working with the boy, Shouta never got him to accept more than a sandwich.
Shouta runs a hand over his face as he gets up, glancing at the clock. It’s past 2 AM, and yet, no one is asleep. It’s kinda funny how this is a normal occurrence in this household. He checks Hitoshi’s room and finds his son with his noise-cancelling headphones at his desk, writing something that could either be his homework or the fanfics he thinks Shouta doesn’t know he writes.
Then he goes to the living room, where he finds Naomasa trying to read a report while Bastard, their bratty cat, harasses him, demanding cuddles. Shouta takes pity on his husband and grabs the cat, pulling him into his lap as he sits on the couch. Naomasa looks up from his work and smiles at him.
“How’s your kid?” He asks teasingly.
“Not my kid.” Shouta replies. “And better than I expected.They cleared the misunderstanding, and the kid intends to go back to patrolling tomorrow. He’s opening very fast to Zashi.”
“Jealous?” Naomasa asks.
“Honestly?” Shouta could deny it, but unfortunately, he’s married to a lie detector, so it’s useless. “Yes. In two years I barely got the kid to trust me enough not to bolt at seeing me. Zashi has met him less than five times, and he’s already opening up to him.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Shouta.” Naomasa replies. “If not for you, I doubt the kid would have even considered opening up to Zashi. It’s thanks to you he came such a long way. It’s also thanks to you that Zashi even got the chance to clear up the misunderstanding.”
“It’s so frustrating, Masa.” Shouta sighs again. “It was the first time I ever saw him properly, you know? All the times we met, it was in the dark, and he was completely covered.”
“He’s very careful.” Naomasa nods at him. “If it wasn’t for Hitoshi randomly going into that library…”
“It could have taken weeks, or even months to even have a hint of how to find him.” Shouta sighs as he runs his hand through the cat’s fur. “And honestly, just looking at him. The boy is covered in scars. Burns, and cuts. His right arm has a very old scar that seems to have been done by a jaw. I think the burns are from electricity, he has Litchenberg figures in his arms too. I fear what I would see if he took off his shirt. Honestly, the only part of his body that seems not to have scars is his face. And if that wasn’t enough. He’s skin and bones. He’s skinnier than Hitoshi was when we started fostering him.”
“You care for him a lot.” Naomasa says, and it’s not a question.
“I want nothing more than to bring him here and adopt him right now.” Shouta replies with a sigh. “But I’m not the person he needs. I hate it, but his well being is more important than what I want.”
“It doesn’t mean you won’t be able to be in his life.” Naomasa replies. “Maybe not like a Dad. But I don’t think you would be a bad uncle.”
“Maybe…” Shouta says. An indignant meow makes Shouta realize he stopped petting Bastard. “Needy brat.” He grumbles as he starts scratching the cat behind the ears. “Well, we can only trust Zashi.”
“Something you fully do.” Naomasa replies with a smirk.
“Yes, but never tell him that.” Shouta replies. “I don’t need him getting an even bigger head. That cockatoo haircut would look even more ridiculous.” This makes Naomasa laugh, which Shouta considers a victory.
He’s not lying, though. As much as he wants to care for the kid, Shouta knows Zashi is the one who has a much better chance of bringing him out of his shell. If there’s one person who can actually get Spider Brat’s trust, it’s him. And Shouta would trust him with his life. The kid is in good hands.
Notes:
If you read Snake of Asclepius, you'll find Beelzebub quite familiar.
Yes, Munch is back. Sorry.
Chapter 7
Notes:
CW: Torture(non graphic), and human experimentation. Doctor Asmodeus.
Proceed with caution.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Strapped tightly to the sterile laboratory bed, Izuku felt the weight of his resignation settle upon him. The painted stark white walls seemed to enclose him, trapping him in a cold and ominous atmosphere. His gaze fell upon the shelves, adorned with an unsettling collection of human-like dolls, their unyielding stares drilling into his soul. Despite the fear coursing through his veins, Izuku remained silent and compliant. Struggling wouldn’t do him any good.
Painful restraints held him captive, the tight straps cutting into his bony wrists and ankles, his emaciated frame accentuated by the unforgiving grip of the bindings. He was sure they would leave a mark for some time after this, but that was the least of his problems.
From his constrained position, Izuku’s gaze shifted to the figure of Doctor Asmodeus, a haunting presence in the room. The doctor’s meticulous preparations with the IV drop sent shivers down his spine. Familiarity mingled with dread as he recognized the routine, the monthly cycle of torment that had become his life.
Once a month, in this lab, Izuku was subjected to Doctor Asmodeus’ sick and painful experiments while he was stared at by all the creepy dolls. Month by month, she has increased the dose of the product she calls Trigger-G in Izuku’s body. The boy struggled to keep his upper eyes, painfully sensitive to light, closed under the strong lights in the lab.
In this forsaken laboratory, Izuku’s existence narrowed down to the bed and the haunting gazes of the dolls. The silence was palpable, interrupted only by the faint hum of machinery, serving as a discordant symphony to his desolation. He doesn’t know for sure what is the point of these experiments. He only knows that it has something to do with enhancing his quirk.
But this time, besides the usual electric blue bag, Izuku’s gaze sharpened as he observed the doctor hanging a second bag in the IV drip. It was similar to a blood bag, but the contents definitely weren’t blood. The transparent bag held a thick, silvery liquid that seemed to shimmer under the sterile lights. The transparent bag hung ominously from the metal hook, its contents shimmering with an ethereal silver glow. Encased within, the liquid surged and swirled after the doctor gave the bag a small flick.
Izuku’s heart raced a flicker of curiosity mingling with his ever-present fear. He knew whatever was inside the bag it would be painful for him. Yet, despite the uncertainty that engulfed him, he could only watch in silent anticipation, resigned to the path laid out before him. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest. The silence was almost as painful as the fear, and yet Doctor Asmodeus kept working in silence.
The crazy woman knew how much Izuku hated the silence. That was just one more way she found of torturing him. Honestly, Izuku wonders how he stayed sane after a whole year of that. Maybe he didn’t.
Finally, the woman breaks the silence.
“Izuku, sweetheart. Are you ready? Today, we shall venture into uncharted territory, a realm where your quirk shall ascend to unimaginable heights.” Doctor Asmodeus leaned closer to Izuku, her voice dripping with a disturbing sensuality.
Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, his voice barely a whisper.
“What will happen, Doctor Asmodeus?” He asked, forcing his voice to stay steady. He knew he wasn’t fooling her but refused to show his fear.
A twisted smile played upon the doctor’s lips as she caressed Izuku’s cheek with a gloved hand.
“I’m so glad you asked, my dear. Liquid mercury, or quicksilver as it is popularly called, coursing through your veins alongside my wonderful Trigger-G. This combination shall unveil the untapped potential within you.” She excitedly announced.
Trepidation gripped Izuku’s heart, but he still refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
“And... What if something goes wrong? What if it’s too much for me to handle?” He asked. Though he already knew her answer.
Asmodeus chuckled softly, her voice sending a chill down Izuku’s spine.
“Oh, my sweet child, the risks are but part of the thrill.” She said, running a hand through Izuku’s curls. “But you have no need to fear. If it is indeed too much for you, I can assure you that you will be immortalized as part of my beautiful collection.”
The doctor gestured around to the creepy dolls staring deep into Izuku’s soul. The boy’s breath hitched at the reminder that all those dolls were once human like him. And this could be his fate as well if this experiment failed. And yet, there was nothing he could do against it.
Izuku’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and reluctant acceptance coursing through his veins. He resignedly nodded.
“Let’s get this over with.” He said.
Asmodeus’s eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as she reached for the IV drip, her voice lowering to a whisper.
“Prepare yourself, Izuku. Today, we shall unlock the hidden potential within you, and the world shall tremble at your newfound power.” She patted Izuku’s head.
As Doctor Asmodeus hooked the IV drip onto Izuku’s trembling arms, the moment of truth had arrived. As the liquid mercury and Trigger-G began to flow into his bloodstream, an intense and excruciating pain tore through his young body like a relentless storm. Izuku’s small frame convulsed with each wave of agony, and his anguished screams filled the sterile chamber, reverberating off the walls.
The liquid metal seemed to sear his veins, a burning sensation that intensified with every passing second. It felt like molten metal coursed through his blood, scorching every nerve in its path. His underweight body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out, his skin prickling with a thousand needle-like sensations.
Amidst the torment, Izuku’s lower eyes flooded with tears, unable to contain the overwhelming pain. Silent sobs wracked his body as he desperately tried to endure all the pain from this sick experiment.
As the experiment pushed him to his limits, something even more unsettling occurred. Izuku felt a strange sensation in his mouth, and to his horror, his teeth began to fall out one by one. The pain intensified as his young jaw seemed to reshape itself, making way for something new, something stronger and sharper.
His upper canines, once ordinary, transformed into pointed fangs bearing a certain resemblance to spider fangs. The metamorphosis terrorized Izuku as his quirk and body changed in ways he could never have imagined. The pain of this bizarre transformation was overwhelming, a gut-wrenching ordeal that pushed him to the brink of consciousness.
With each passing moment, Izuku’s strength waned, the agony and exhaustion becoming too much to bear. As the final throes of the experiment tore through him, his body reached its limits, and darkness welcomed him with merciful arms. Consciousness slipped away, leaving him to rest in a temporary respite from the nightmarish torment.
The laboratory fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of machinery and the soft breathing of the unconscious child. Around him, the dolls continued their eerie watch, their unblinking eyes observing the aftermath of Doctor Asmodeus’s cruel experiment. Izuku lay still, his body transformed, his quirk awakened to a new level, but at what cost, he could not yet comprehend.
As Izuku’s weary eyes fluttered open, he found himself back in the confines of his room. The same old, bare gray walls stood as silent witnesses to his captivity. The door, locked from the outside, sealed him within this solitary prison, while a small window, obstructed by sturdy bars, offered a glimpse of the outside world illuminated by the glow of the full moon. The night was deep, the darkness enveloping everything like a heavy shroud.
Despite the lack of illumination, Izuku’s upper eyes, transformed after Asmodeus’ first experiment, effortlessly perceived the details of his surroundings. The room, bathed in shadow, held no secrets from his heightened senses. Every crack, every imperfection on the gray walls, was revealed with striking clarity. It was a bittersweet gift, a reminder of the grotesque transformation he had undergone, courtesy of Doctor Asmodeus.
Near him lay a note and a thin red blanket, a stark contrast to the monotony of his surroundings. The note, bearing the doctor’s unmistakable touch, whispered of a twisted affection.
You’ve been such a good boy. Here’s a reward. Hope you like red.
- Asmodeus.
The words sent a chill down Izuku’s spine. He reached out a trembling hand and grasped the note, its texture rough against his fingertips. A mix of emotions welled up within him – gratitude for the temporary respite, confusion at the doctor’s twisted acts of kindness, and a haunting sense of unease that gnawed at his core.
The thin red blanket laid upon him as a reward he didn’t ask for. It offered both physical warmth and a macabre reminder of his entrapment. He knew it was all a trick, but this was the first time he had ever received anything from the villains besides pain. He’s not hopeful enough to think maybe things will start getting better. Thinking so would be foolish.
And yet, as the moon’s ethereal light cast its glow upon the room, Izuku couldn’t help but feel a sliver of hope, however feeble it may be. With a mixture of trepidation and determination, he clung to the belief that one day, he would break free from these gray walls. That one day he would escape, or that the heroes would find him. Maybe he is a fool to cling to hope. But without that, what will he have left?
…
Perched atop the rooftop, Izuku gazes out upon the city cloaked in the embrace of night. Like a predator, he surveys the bustling streets below with an intensity beyond his years. His unique ability manifests itself, granting him an extraordinary perception of the world around him. With his upper eyes, he diligently scans the labyrinthine web of life unfolding beneath him, keenly attuned to the smallest details.
From a pickpocket to a serial killer, nothing escapes his eyes. Each flicker of movement, each subtle shift in behavior, he sees everything. In the darkness, he becomes the silent observer, the one who uncovers the hidden truths that others overlook.
As the night enfolds him, Izuku’s eyes remain fixed upon the ever-changing tableau below. His role as an unseen guardian of the city compels him to remain vigilant, ready to spring into action when darkness weaves its tangled web. The night is his domain, and with his extraordinary perception, he stands poised to safeguard its unsuspecting inhabitants.
Huh, how poetic. Maybe he has been reading too many books recently.
His spider legs are folded behind his back, two of them clinging to the roof as a safety measure. Not that he really needs it; a fall like that wouldn’t even scratch him, but he’d rather not have to climb all the way up again. It’s more a matter of convenience than actual necessity, really.
The sound of approaching footsteps draws Izuku’s attention, and he turns to find his usual visitor, Present Mic, waving at him with a bag in hand. The man has been keeping his promise of bringing food to Izuku every night. It’s become a routine, one that the boy can’t help but feel both grateful for and suspicious of.
The lingering doubt within Izuku’s mind whispers to him, warning him that this could be some ploy to deceive him, to lower his guard. Heroes, in his experience, have proven themselves untrustworthy before, and he can’t shake the nagging belief that it’s only a matter of time before Present Mic follows suit.
Yet, deep within him, the little that he managed to preserve from the innocent little boy he once was yearned to trust the man. It’s been weeks since Izuku received the stuffed spider from Present Mic, the same one he clings to each night for comfort. So far, no heroes have burst into his room to arrest him, indicating that Mic was telling the truth when he assured him there was no tracking device hidden within it.
Wariness battles with the remnants of his childlike hope, and Izuku finds himself torn between the two. It’s a delicate balance, navigating the world of heroes and villains, and his instinct for self-preservation urges caution. But that small part of him, that resilient fragment of the boy who once loved heroes, still wants to believe in the possibility of trust.
But Izuku can’t bring himself to take this leap of faith. The fear of enduring a fourth betrayal grips his heart tightly. So he pushes the innocent little boy deep inside his mind, where he can’t be hurt anymore. If Izuku doesn’t cling to a lie, the day the truth inevitably comes out, he will not suffer from the disappointment again.
Until that day comes, however, Izuku will accept and be grateful for this man’s kindness. Even if he believes it to be fake.
“Hey, Little Listener.” Mic exclaims with an enthusiastic wave and a wide grin. Izuku responds with a small wave of one of his spider legs, a silent acknowledgment. “There you go.”
Present Mic carefully hangs the bag on one of Izuku’s legs, keeping his distance and avoiding any sudden movements. His unwavering smile brings a glimmer of reassurance. Izuku checks the bag’s contents and the enticing aroma of pork wafts into his nostrils. Inside, he finds a lunchbox filled with Katsudon. He can’t help the way his mouth waters at it.
Izuku can’t help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through him despite his attempts to conceal it. However, Present Mic’s perceptive gaze tells him that his excitement is transparent. Ignoring the smug grin on the hero’s face, Izuku focuses on the delicious meal before him.
With each bite of the Katsudon, a burst of flavors dances across his taste buds, bringing a sense of comfort and familiarity. The tender pork cutlet, the perfectly cooked rice, and the delectable sauce create a symphony of satisfaction in his mouth. He relishes every mouthful, savoring the warmth and nourishment it brings to his small, weary frame. He quickly decides this is his new favorite food.
With his upper eyes, Izuku keeps an eye on Present Mic, who continues to watch him with an air of amusement. There’s a hint of warmth and genuine care behind the hero’s eyes despite the lingering doubts that Izuku harbors. In that fleeting moment, a tiny ember of trust stirs within Izuku’s heart, threatening to melt away the walls he has put up to protect himself.
But as the ember of trust flickers within Izuku’s heart, he swiftly snuffs it out before it has a chance to grow into a fire. With a determined resolve, he hastens to finish the last morsels of his meal, not allowing himself to linger in the warmth and connection that it brings. Once the lunchbox is emptied, he returns it to Mic with a nod and a shy “thank you,” keeping his emotions guarded.
Leaving the remnants of their interaction behind, Izuku rises from his spot and makes his way to the rooftop’s edge. There, he stands tall, his gaze fixated on the sprawling cityscape stretched out before him. The night air whispers through his hair, carrying a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. With a deep sigh, he feels a sudden surge of courage welling up within him, pushing him to do something he wouldn’t typically do.
Turning slightly, Izuku calls out softly to Present Mic, the man who has become an unexpected presence in his life.
“Mic-San.” He says, his voice carrying a tinge of hesitancy. “Do you... Do you want to patrol with me?”
There’s a brief pause as Izuku anxiously awaits Mic’s response. The proposition hangs in the air, and Izuku wonders if he’s overstepping boundaries. After all, Present Mic is still a hero tasked with arresting him. Asking the man to patrol with the vigilante he should be trying to capture seems a little too much.
Mic’s eyes widen, surprise evident on his face. Yet, that trademark grin slowly spreads across his features, revealing a genuine warmth.
“Sure thing, Little Listener.” He replies, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “I’d love to patrol with you.”
Despite his distrustful nature, Izuku can’t help but feel a sense of relief and even a flicker of happiness at the prospect of having company during his patrols. He never patrolled with a partner before, not even with Eraserhead. Having is fun, and he can’t deny how much safer it makes him feel.
As they embark on their joint patrol, Izuku learns a lot more about the loud hero. Present Mic is more than just an exuberant hero with a booming voice. Surprisingly, he possesses an unexpected proficiency for stealth and ambush tactics, a skill that rivals even that of Eraserhead.
Mic maneuvers through the shadows, relying more on his natural abilities than his quirk. He actually barely uses his quirk the whole patrol. Izuku can feel a certain admiration for the hero. Mic’s ability to blend seamlessly into the night, his footsteps light and movements calculated, leaves Izuku in awe. The duo spends several hours patrolling the dark parts of the city, their footsteps echoing through deserted alleys and dimly lit streets.
As the clock strikes past 4 AM, they find themselves back on the familiar rooftop where they first joined forces. Present Mic’s wide smile is a heartening sight, a beacon of warmth in the cold night air. Despite Izuku’s guarded demeanor, he can’t help but reciprocate with a small smile of his own. The exhaustion weighs heavy on Izuku’s small frame, but beneath the weariness, a newfound sense of contentment begins to take root.
“Be careful on your way home, Little Listener.” Mic says, his voice soft and genuine.
Izuku nods, acknowledging the concern before going to the edge of the roof and jumping down as he usually does.
As Izuku walks back home, his mind whirls with conflicting emotions. The warmth in his chest, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time, is both comforting and unnerving. Old wounds don’t heal that fast, and they leave scars. His whole life, Izuku never met an adult he could trust, but could Mic be different?
Amidst the darkness of the night, a flicker of light emerges in Izuku’s heart. He contemplates the possibility that there might be heroes out there who genuinely care, who can be relied upon, and who won’t let him down. Maybe Eraserhead really cared about him. And maybe Mic cares, too.
It’s just an ember, but unlike previously, Izuku finds himself letting it grow. He’s not ready to trust the hero yet. But maybe he can give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he had a lot of chances to catch Izuku already.
As he finally reaches the solitude of his room, Izuku finds himself perching on the window, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance. The events of the night replay in his mind. He wonders what is the right thing to do. Deep in his mind, a little boy whispers that this time, things will be different.
Glancing at his bed, Izuku finds the pixelated plush spider Mic gifted him. Taking it in his arms, he hugs it tightly against his chest, ignoring the wetness he feels behind his eyes. As he lies down on his bed, clutching the plush, he finds his lips moving in a silent plea.
“Please, don’t betray me too.”
Notes:
So, I have a question for you guys.
I have about 5 fics with 5 chapters already writen. I could start posting them, but when the chapters will be released would be anyone's guess.
What do you think?
Chapter Text
Izuku’s eyes scanned the familiar laboratory surroundings. This time, however, he was not bound to the laboratory bed, subjected to Asmodeus’ twisted experiments. No, the scene before him was one of unexpected respite, though the scars of his past remained etched upon his body.
Sitting on a cold metal chair, Izuku’s small form was covered in open bite wounds. The marks of his suffering were vivid and raw, a testament to the pain he had endured at the hands of the doctor and the sadistic Mammon. Yet, Izuku showed little reaction as Doctor Asmodeus tended to his injuries, applying a cloth soaked in antiseptic to the worst of his wounds. While uncomfortable, the burning sensation paled compared to the agony of the experiments he came to associate with this room.
Through sheer repetition, Izuku had grown accustomed to the physical and psychological torment. He had become desensitized to the pain, numbed by the countless experiments and the torture training from Mammon. It was a coping mechanism, a way to endure the suffering that had become an integral part of his existence.
As the doctor’s hands moved with a strange mix of clinical detachment and peculiar care, Izuku’s gaze remained fixed on a distant point, his mind a haze of resignation and survival. He had learned to separate himself from the pain, to dissociate his consciousness from the physical reality of his wounds. It was a self-preservation mechanism, a shield to protect what little of his spirit remained untarnished.
The laboratory walls, once filled with the haunting presence of the dolls, now seemed to fade into the background, their eerie gaze a mere backdrop to the grim tableau of Izuku’s endurance. The sound of his own heartbeat echoed in his ears, a steady rhythm that reminded him of his unyielding resilience.
“Frankly, that imbecile.” The doctor said as she cleaned the wounds on the boy’s face. Her usual sensual tone shifted to a tone of irritation. “I told them to leave your pretty face alone.”
As Doctor Asmodeus continued tending to Izuku’s wounds, her hands delicately approached his upper eyes, well aware of their sensitivity to light. The marks left by Beelzebub’s teeth loomed dangerously close to his precious orbs, mere centimeters away, threatening irreparable damage. This knowledge seemed to stoke a deep anger within the doctor, her eyes flickering with a fiery intensity.
“If that bastard ruins your eyes.” She seethed, her voice dripping with anger. “I will turn him into my next doll. How dare he ruin all my hard work. What did you even do for them to send you to Beelzebub again?”
Izuku responded detachedly, his voice carrying the weight of resignation.
“I tried to escape again.” He admitted. “I got pretty far. Even found a hero, Death Arms, I think was his name. But he was nothing but a coward. As soon as he saw the brand, he gave me back to Mammon without a second thought. Even got on his knees, begging for his life, swearing he didn’t try to help me. No dignity at all.”
The doctor hummed, a mix of amusement and contempt playing across her features.
“Hmm, Mammon must have been furious.” She mused. “That greedy bastard hates when his possessions attempt to escape. But Beelzebub, that cannibalistic fiend, went too far this time. Fortunately, my quirk can rectify this situation.” She said, her lips curling into a sinister grin. “I never explained it to you, did I?”
Izuku shook his head, his gaze fixated on the doctor’s face, anticipation mingled with trepidation.
“I call it Cinderella.” She declared, her voice laced with a perverse pride. “It allows me to return things and people to a beautiful state. Unfortunately, I can’t use it on myself.” With that, she pressed her hand against Izuku’s face, her touch transmitting an eerie energy. “It’ll hurt a little, but you can handle it.”
In an instant, Izuku was plunged back into the depths of agony as the memories of Beelzebub’s torture resurfaced with a vengeance. The pain was unbearable, tearing through his body once more, and he couldn’t contain his screams of anguish. But within that agonizing ordeal, he clung to the belief that he could endure. He had faced worse before.
When the doctor finally released her grip, the wounds on Izuku’s face had all vanished without a trace, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin. However, the wounds on his body remained, etching deep scars as a cruel reminder of the torment he had endured.
Noticing Izuku’s confusion, the doctor’s smile widened, a perverse sense of satisfaction radiating from her.
“These scars are a lovely ornament to your body.” She explained, her voice dripping with macabre affection, “But they ruin your pretty face. As I said, I can restore your beauty, my definition of beauty.”
A mix of revulsion and helplessness welled up within Izuku, but he knew better than to challenge the doctor’s whims. His face may be healed, but his body will forever bear all the scars caused by the villains. A twisted canvas reflecting the sick definition of beauty of this crazed doctor.
…
Izuku stands at the top of the rooftop, the night breeze gently tousling his hair as he awaits Present Mic’s arrival. The city skyline twinkles below, a silent witness to the secrets and dangers concealed within its streets. Present Mic soon appears, wearing his usual vibrant attire that somehow manages to shine even in the dim light. And even more surprising is the fact that the man can be great at stealth while wearing this.
“Hey there, Little Listener!” Mic greets with his trademark enthusiasm, waving his hand in a wide arc. As usual, he gives Izuku a lunchbox.
Izuku’s eyes light up at the sight of the lunchbox, knowing that it’s become somewhat of a tradition for Present Mic to bring him a meal during their rooftop rendezvous. Grateful for the gesture, he opens the lunchbox and takes a seat, savoring the delectable aroma that wafts from within.
“Mmm, thanks, Mic-San.” Izuku says with genuine appreciation, his voice muffled between bites.
Mic chuckles, his vibrant personality shining through.
“Glad you like it, Little Listener!” He remarks, before downing a serious expression. “So, what’s been on your mind? You seem worried.”
Izuku swallows his food before responding, his expression turning serious.
“Yeah, there’s something going on. I’ve been noticing more and more reports about a new drug circulating on the streets. Drug deals are increasing a lot as well. The dealers are even getting bold enough to do it in my territory.” He explains with a frown.
Everyone knows how protective Spider Brat is of his territory, and one of the things he hates the most is drug dealers. The number of dealers he sent to the hospital is a testament to that.
“I heard about it too.” Mic replies. “And it’s not only here. This new drug is popping off everywhere. Eraserhead came across it a few times, but he doesn’t know yet what it does.”
As Izuku finishes his meal, he carefully passes back the lunchbox to Mic, giving the man one of his rare smiles. Then he gets up and strides towards the edge of the roof, his spider legs digging into the roof to support his perch. With a graceful yet sturdy posture, Izuku positions himself at the corner of the rooftop, his upper eyes scanning the streets with surgical precision.
“I haven’t spotted anyone carrying the new drug yet.” Izuku remarks with a slight frown, his mind already calculating the possible implications. “But we should tread carefully, Mic-San.”
Present Mic nods in agreement, his vibrant smile softened by the seriousness of the situation.
“Absolutely, Little Listener.” He replies, the enthusiasm in his voice taking a more measured tone. “I think it’s best if we stick together. Two sets of eyes are better than one, especially when dealing with something like this.”
Izuku’s eyes widen slightly at the suggestion, realizing the wisdom in having a partner by his side during the investigation.
“Don’t you mean three sets of eyes?” He says with a smirk, blinking his upper eyes at the man.
“Of course.” Mic laughs. “Three pairs of eyes are better than two.” He corrects.
“You’re right.” Izuku nods. “How about we-”
Before he can finish his sentence, a flicker of movement catches Izuku’s attention. His eyes shift swiftly to the source, spotting a suspicious group making their way into an empty alley – a notorious location for drug deals. His heart quickens, and he glances at Mic, sharing an unspoken understanding.
“I’ll stick to the walls and try to gather intel.” Izuku proposes, his voice low but resolute. “Can you go down and corner them? Once you’re in position, we’ll strike together.”
Mic grins, acknowledging Izuku’s plan with a nod.
“Sounds like a solid strategy, Spider Brat.” He replies, the use of Izuku’s vigilante name emphasizing the trust he places in the young vigilante. “I’ll be right behind you. Just remember to be cautious.”
With a last reassuring nod, Izuku braces his legs, using them like springs to propel himself towards the alley. His limbs cling effortlessly to the rough surface of the building as he descends soundlessly, a silent observer blending into the shadows.
Izuku listens intently to what they are talking about. But he is rather displeased with what he hears. Those idiots are just some minor dealers. They have no idea about who makes the drug or even what it really is. They just know it’s some kind of quirk-enhancing drug based on Trigger.
For a moment, Izuku hears a very familiar female voice in his head, but he immediately shakes it off. Now is not the time for flashbacks. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Present Mic positioned. He smiles at the hero, despite knowing he can’t see him, and lets himself fall down in the middle of the criminals.
“I won’t tolerate drugs in my territory.” He announces as his legs start moving. Like whips, they hit the criminals quickly and painfully.
Present Mic quickly joins the fight, not even bothering to use his voice to attack. The two fight together with practiced ease they learned after weeks of working together. Their moves are almost like a dance. Mic’s attacks are fast and precise. Izuku’s are heavy and brutal.
By the end of the fight, all criminals are either on the floor, passed out, or groaning in pain. And Izuku has a briefcase in his hands. One he’s sure it’s filled with drugs.
Izuku’s heart is still racing as the adrenaline of the fight starts fading. The vigilante looks towards Present Mic, who’s in the midst of tying the criminals’ hands with a bunch of zip ties. The hero nods in acknowledgment at Izuku, the message clear to the boy. Gathering his resolve, Izuku carefully props the drug briefcase on the floor before him and unclasps the lid, taking a peek into its contents.
But as his eyes lay on the syringes inside the case, filled with a painfully familiar electric blue liquid, Izuku feels like the entire world is crashing down around him. A shiver runs down his spine, and he starts sweating cold. The realization strikes him with an overwhelming force, and his breath catches in his throat. This is a drug he hoped he would never have to see again. Trigger-G.
“No…” Izuku whispers. “No.” He repeats, a little louder. “NOOOO!!!” He screams.
------------------------------------------------------------
In the dimly lit alley, Hizashi restrains the last of the criminals, their struggles gradually subsiding as he secures the bindings. But his attention is abruptly drawn away by a piercing scream, the desperate cry of the Little Listener echoing through the air. He spins around, expecting to find the boy under attack, but instead, he finds himself facing a much more heartbreaking scene.
Kneeling on the ground is the boy’s trembling frame in front of the open briefcase, its contents triggering a wave of terror within him. The Little Listener is hunched over, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn white from the sheer force of his grip. The words “No, please. No.” spill from his trembling lips, repeated like a desperate mantra, each utterance laden with fear and despair.
Hizashi wants to help him. Not only is he a hero, but in the weeks he came to know Spider Brat, he has come to care for the Little Listener like he was his own kid. Every sob that rips from his throat sounds so incredibly wrong in Hizashi’s ears.
Hizashi is well aware of the Little Listener’s emotional nature. The hero has witnessed the boy shed tears over the smallest acts of kindness, even something as trivial as a lunchbox. And it’s exactly because he has seen his tears that he knows those are different. The silent tears the boy shed while eating that bowl of soup on the first day they met are nothing like the anguished sobs raking the boy’s frame.
The boy’s spider legs are completely restless on his back, almost forming a barrier around the boy and lashing at anything that moves. Hizashi knows he can’t get any closer. Otherwise, he will end up being cut in half, like the fly that obliviously wandered within range of his limbs and was struck with deadly accuracy. Approaching isn’t an option. Besides, he’s sure that touching the kid at the moment would be a bad idea. He might not know where the boy is at the moment, but he’s sure he’s not here at all.
Fortunately, Hizashi has other ways of helping. One thing people seem to forget is that his quirk is “Voice,” not “Shout.” He can use it for much more than just screaming at bad guys.
Taking a deep breath, he begins to hum a calm and soothing melody, infusing his voice with the resonance of his quirk. The melodic vibrations permeate the alley, enveloping the space in a comforting aura, drowning out all other sounds. Even the sobs of the Little Listener, though still visible in their trembling form, seem to fade into the background as Hizashi persists.
Driven by his stubborn determination, Hizashi continues to hum for several minutes, unwavering in his commitment to calm the distraught boy. With each passing moment, he observes the transformation taking place. The sobs gradually diminish, the trembling subsides, and the boy’s white-knuckled grip on the floor loosens. Slowly, the Little Listener lifts his tear-streaked face.
Hizashi’s heart aches at the sight before him. The boy’s face shows clearly how distraught he is by whatever he saw. Tear-stained cheeks, red and puffy lower eyes from incessant crying, and labored breaths akin to a runner after a marathon. But at least he seems to have calmed down. The spider legs stop lashing and fold back in his back.
Giving the boy a few more moments to regain his composure, Hizashi cautiously approaches. His presence is gentle, mindful of the fragile state the boy finds himself in. Kneeling down in front of him, Hizashi extends his arms towards him, stopping just a few inches from the boy’s arm. His eyes meet the Little Listener’s, waiting patiently for any sign of consent or denial, very aware of the delicate state the Little Listener is still in.
“Are you okay, Little Listener?” Hizashi’s voice is soft, filled with genuine concern, and still a hint of his quirk. His words hang in the air, a lifeline offered, but with the understanding that the boy may need time and space before reaching out for it. “What do you need? Touch, proximity, or space.”
“Space, please.” The boy says hesitantly, still trembling while he shakes his head.
Hizashi gives him a slow nod and, respecting the boy’s boundaries lowers his hand and takes a step back, mindful of his posture to avoid any sense of towering over him. The air between them is filled with a quiet understanding as they maintain their respective positions, allowing the boy the necessary time and space to regain his composure.
Minutes pass in gentle silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the alley. The boy gradually calms down, his trembling subsiding as he bravely recomposes his demeanor. Then, with a final calming breath, he reaches for the briefcase and closes it. Then he slides it towards Hizashi, still avoiding looking at it.
With a nod of understanding, Hizashi turns his back to the boy, ensuring that he won’t catch another glimpse of the distressing contents of the briefcase. Hizashi looks in confusion at the many syringes inside, filled with an electric blue liquid he can’t identify.
“Trigger-G.” The boy states, seemingly sensing Hizashi’s confusion, his voice calm and detached, though a subtle undercurrent of fear tinges on his words. “Unlike regular Trigger, this variation can permanently enhance a quirk, as long as you are compatible. However, the compatibility rate is less than 10%. And even if you are compatible, you will feel like molten lava is coursing through your veins. The use may lead to permanent mutations in both your quirk and body.”
As the Little Listener calmly explains the nature of the drug, Hizashi’s experience as a hero allows him to read between the lines. The low compatibility rate, the excruciating sensation of molten lava coursing through one’s veins, and the potential for permanent mutations in both body and quirk. These aren’t merely hypotheticals or hearsay. The Little Listener is speaking from firsthand experience. And Hizashi is pretty sure the boy didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Suddenly, the panic attack makes a lot more sense. The weight of the circumstances becomes more apparent, and Hizashi’s heart goes out to the boy, knowing that he has endured far more than anyone his age should have. Hizashi can’t help but admire how strong he is to still be there even after everything he faced.
As Hizashi opens his mouth to say something, the piercing sound of a siren cuts through the air, signaling the imminent arrival of the police. Worry etches across his features as he glances towards the Little Listener. Spider Brat is still a vigilante, so the police will try to arrest him if they see him.
“Go, I’ll be fine.” The boy reassures Hizashi, his words laced with a resolute determination. Without hesitation, he leaps onto the nearest wall, effortlessly scaling it with agility and disappearing into the night.
As Hizashi waits for the police to take custody of the restrained criminals, his gaze drifts back to the closed briefcase. A sense of foreboding settles within him. Some would call it paranoia. He calls it intuition. And his intuition says that this particular case will prove to be more intricate and multifaceted than he could have anticipated.
Chapter Text
Not even two years of constant torture had been enough to desensitize Izuku to the horrors of Doctor Asmodeus’ experiments. Each session seemed to inflict even greater agony than the last, a relentless cycle of pain and suffering.
Once again, Izuku found himself in the familiar confines of the laboratory, surrounded by sterile white walls and shelves lined with haunting dolls. Bound to the hospital bed, his body strained against the restraints, multiple needles puncturing his arms and legs, delivering concentrated doses of Trigger-G and Quicksilver into his veins. The pain pulsed through him, an unrelenting torment that seemed to consume every fiber of his being.
Doctor Asmodeus stood nearby, her gaze fixed on the monitors displaying Izuku’s vital signs. She jotted down notes on a clipboard, her mind consumed by thoughts of experimentation. The silence hung heavily in the room, broken only by the hum of machinery and the sporadic scribbling of the doctor’s pen.
Izuku remained quiet, not from a lack of pain but because his voice had been drained by countless screams. How long had he been here? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? It was impossible to tell, as the laboratory offered no indication of the passage of time. The room was completely stripped of clocks or windows.
Suddenly, the laboratory door swung open, and Lilith entered the room. Her presence brought a brief flicker of recognition in Izuku’s weary eyes, but he lacked the strength to meet her gaze fully.
“How’s it going?” Lilith inquired, her tone devoid of warmth. “It’s been a while since he showed any progress.”
“We are close to a breakthrough. I can feel it.” Asmodeus replied, her voice carrying a mix of determination and excitement. “Maybe if I try using this instead of that? Or perhaps…”
Izuku struggled to comprehend the barrage of scientific jargon that spilled from her lips. He was no scientist, and in his current state, his mind could only register the overwhelming waves of pain.
“Well, if he doesn’t show results soon, we’ll have to dispose of him.” Lilith responded coldly, her words sending a jolt of panic through Izuku’s weary frame. “We can’t continue to waste resources on someone who has reached their limit.” Her eyes scanned the laboratory until they landed on a small bottle. “What’s that?”
Izuku’s mind briefly grasped the gravity of Lilith’s words, fear coursing through him at the threat of being discarded like a worthless object. However, the pain that consumed him overshadowed his ability to process the situation fully. His focus remained fixated on enduring the torment inflicted upon him, his thoughts fragmented and his body weak.
“Oh? That?” Asmodeus responded, a sadistic glimmer in her eyes. “It’s just something I concocted a few days ago. A mixture of Belial’s venom and that of a stonefish. The result is a poison that is less lethal but inflicts a far greater amount of pain.”
Lilith’s eyes sparkled with a twisted fascination.
“Interesting. And is Belial immune to it?” She inquired, a chilling implication lingering in her question. Izuku felt a spike of fear ripple through him, his heart racing at the horrifying possibilities.
“Resistant, but not immune.” Asmodeus answered, her tone laced with dark delight. “He won’t die.” Her grin widened a sinister expression that sent shivers down Izuku’s spine. “But he’ll wish he could.”
A sadistic grin spread across Lilith’s face as she reveled in the prospect of inflicting more torment upon the young boy.
“Alright, inject him with it.” She commanded, her voice dripping with sadistic anticipation. “Perhaps a little more pain is exactly what’s been missing.”
“Understood, boss.” Asmodeus acknowledged with a nod, her compliance unwavering.
Retrieving a syringe from a nearby drawer, she swiftly filled it with the venomous concoction. In one swift motion, she jabbed the syringe into Izuku’s trembling thigh, delivering the poison deep into his already battered body. The act was carried out with a cold efficiency, an embodiment of the doctor’s twisted expertise.
A few seconds after the venomous mixture was applied, Izuku’s body reacted with a sudden cold sweat and a sharp, throbbing pain originating from the injection site. The intense discomfort quickly spread throughout his body, causing dizziness and making it difficult to breathe.
Overwhelmed by the agonizing pain, Izuku couldn’t help but unleash a torrent of screams, his sore throat stretching as he tried to give voice to the indescribable sensations coursing through him. The pain was something he couldn’t put into words.
In the midst of his suffering, a peculiar sensation washed over Izuku as if he was melting. His sweat took on an unusual appearance, thickening and altering in texture. Lilith’s inquisitive voice pierced through the symphony of anguish.
“What’s that white stuff?” Lilith queried, noticing the abnormality. “It doesn’t look like sweat.”
Asmodeus, equally intrigued, examined the substance on Izuku’s forehead and offered an explanation after some time had passed.
“Oh, it’s collagen.” Asmodeus shared with an excited tone. “It appears that his bones are undergoing some sort of transformation. This could mean we’re finally making progress.”
As sweat dripped from Izuku’s body, he felt a peculiar sensation building beneath his skin. It was as if a weight was settling within him, causing his body to grow heavy. A profound transformation seemed to unfold as if every bone in his body was melting away, only to be remade anew. The stinging sensation concentrated on the side of his spine, just beneath his shoulder blades, intensifying over time.
The sensation resembled dozens of stings coming from under his skin, like something was desperately clawing from within to break free. Izuku’s cries of pain escalated alongside the growing sensation until he heard a distinct sound of tearing, followed by a warm rush against his back.
The bed beneath him gave way, causing Izuku to fall to the floor. However, he found himself partially supported by an unseen force against his back. The pain overwhelmed him, forcing his eyes shut preventing him from witnessing the unfolding events.
“Well, this isn’t what I was expecting.” Lilith remarked, her voice tinged with surprise. “Do you think he’ll be able to control it?”
“Not yet, but with proper training, I believe he can.” Asmodeus responded. “This finally explains the connection between his multiple eyes and the venomous fangs. The boy possesses traits akin to a spider.”
Asmodeus and Lilith continued their hushed conversation while Izuku, overwhelmed by the pain, succumbed to unconsciousness. The world around him faded into darkness, leaving him devoid of sensation or sound.
…
Eventually, Izuku regained consciousness, finding himself back in the familiarity of his room, though the duration of his unconsciousness remained a mystery. Attempting to rise, he discovered that his body felt unnaturally heavy as if weighed down by an immense burden. Every movement required tremendous effort as if he were encased in lead. With great difficulty, he managed to lift his head and noticed the presence of a note nearby, a common occurrence in his life.
Using his heavy arm, Izuku strained to bring the note closer, his curiosity piqued by its contents.
Hello, Belial.
Our last experiment proved to be a complete success. I’m sure you must be curious about what transpired.
It’s quite simple. Your quirk has finally reached the state I refer to as “awakened.” Your bones have undergone a remarkable transformation, adapting to the mercury injected into your system. They have now become composed of the very substance itself, much like your newly-formed limbs. Through the adaptations you acquired during the experiments, your bones remain in a state of simultaneous solidity and liquidity, granting them unparalleled flexibility.
The current sensation of heaviness you experience is to be expected. Mercury is approximately ten times denser than bone, resulting in a significant increase in your weight. However, with the proper training, this can be overcome. Mammon will assist you with that.
The experiments will persist as I require further samples of your blood to perfect the Trigger-G formula. But I would like to extend my congratulations, my dear. You are my greatest accomplishment to date.
I anticipate our next encounter.
- Asmodeus
Izuku’s eyes scanned the note, his brow furrowing in confusion. New limbs? He attempted to scratch his head despite the heaviness that weighed down his limbs, and to his astonishment, he felt the scratching sensation. Perplexed, he glanced down, only to discover his heavy arm hanging limply by his side. Whatever had just scratched his head, it certainly wasn’t his own arm.
Curiosity mingled with trepidation as Izuku raised his gaze, and his eyes fell upon a metallic-like limb positioned just above his head. The limb resembled a spider leg, boasting seven distinct joints and composed entirely of a shimmering silvery metal. It was a material he had become intimately acquainted with through his experiments, although now it remained solid, unlike the liquid form he had previously encountered. To his surprise, he discovered seven more of these spider-like limbs firmly affixed to his back.
Understanding dawned upon him, realization flooding his thoughts. The Trigger-G had catalyzed a profound evolution in his quirk. It seemed that his destiny had always been intertwined with that of a spider. Fascinated, he observed as one of the metallic limbs shifted and moved, its control proving challenging yet not insurmountable. A mix of awe and determination welled within him, for he knew that with time and practice, he could learn to master this newfound aspect of his quirk.
Yet, beneath the awe, a bitter laugh escaped Izuku’s sore throat. With each passing day, these villains transformed him further into a creature resembling a monster.
------------------------------------------------------------
Izuku watches the docks from his perched position atop the building. He’s managed to wrangle - ahem, persuade - information from a dealer that two of the people responsible for the Trigger-G trade will show up here tonight to discuss something. Apparently, two gang leaders are coming here tonight to have a discussion about territorial disputes. Both gangs are dealing with Trigger-G.
Well, Izuku doesn’t care who they are as long as they have some information about who’s making the drug or know someone who does. The only thing in his mind is getting this damn drug out of the streets. He won’t allow anyone to suffer like he did because of this drug.
Not far from Izuku’s perched position, Present Mic remains concealed in a strategic hiding spot, his senses attuned to the unfolding events at the docks. From his covert vantage point, he patiently awaits the arrival of the two notorious gang leaders, knowing that their encounter could provide crucial leads and valuable insights into the enigmatic drug’s origins.
Izuku’s senses sharpen as he observes the scene below, relaying crucial details to Mic through the communication device the hero gave him earlier. Their shared objective outweighs any reservations he may have about heroes for the time being.
“I’m seeing something.” Izuku says, activating the comm device Mic gave him earlier. “I think it’s them. Both are accompanied. I see at least 8 people apart from the leaders. 4 are armed with some kind of firearm. Two have clubs. The other two have some kind of mutation quirk. I see claws. They look pretty sharp.”
“Understood, Spider Brat.” Mic replies. “What about the leaders?” He asks, relying on Izuku’s night vision for scouting.
“No clear mutation. The first one is wearing white pants and jacket. Sunglasses even though it’s night, maybe his quirk is vision related. He has his hands in his pockets and seems to be fiddling with something. Maybe a knife?” Izuku relays. “The second one is wearing jeans and a black vest. Relaxed posture. No sign of mutation either, but the way he moves his hands indicates a contact quirk. He looks prepared to grab something at any moment.”
“Alright.” Present Mic nods. “Focus on the armed ones first. We jump in at ten. You count.”
“Understood.” Izuku nods and pulls his face mask up. “One, two, three…” Izuku mutters, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His face mask is pulled up, concealing his identity and allowing him to fully immerse himself in his vigilante persona. “Four, five, six…” The legs tense on the floor. “Seven, eight, nine…” He can see Present Mic start moving from the corner of his eyes. “Ten!”
Izuku propels himself into the air, his agile form soaring towards the center of the group.
“ STOP RIGHT THERE CRIMINAL SCUM! ” Present Mic screams while Izuku is still out of range. The attack takes the criminals by surprise and stuns a few of them.
With precision and calculated force, Izuku aims to land directly on top of the first armed thug, utilizing his considerable weight to incapacitate the individual. His heavy weight due to his mercury bones allows him to quickly knock the man out.
With a swift roundhouse kick aimed at the criminal near him, Izuku delivers a powerful blow to the back of the thug’s head. Simultaneously, his spider legs lash out, knocking away the club of one criminal and intercepting the claw attack of another.
Meanwhile, Present Mic deftly retrieves a hidden knife from his boot and engages with precision and speed. Disarming one criminal, he swiftly throws the individual over his shoulder, the blade piercing the criminal’s thigh.
Izuku wastes no time as he launches himself at the black-vested leader, delivering a powerful dropkick to the man’s face before gracefully maneuvering himself back into a standing position using his spider legs. One of his legs strikes with precision, impaling the hand of a criminal attempting to aim a gun at him.
The combined efforts of Izuku and Mic quickly neutralize the armed threats, leaving only the two mutants, the one with the club and the white-clad leader.
While Izuku deals with the mutants, Present Mic engages in a tense battle with the white-clad leader, who pulls a butterfly knife from his pocket. The clash of their movements fills the air as Mic skillfully counters the leader’s attacks, showcasing his own formidable combat prowess.
Izuku keeps the mutant criminals at bay with his agile spider legs, utilizing quick slashes whenever an opening presents itself.
“Behind you, Spider!” Present Mic alerts Izuku.
Izuku turns around and finds himself facing a looming threat from behind. The last villain, muscles bulging with strength, swings a club at Izuku’s head with tremendous force. Despite his best efforts, Izuku is unable to dodge the attack in time, and the impact lands squarely on his face. Surprisingly, the club shatters upon contact, barely affecting Izuku.
Reacting swiftly, Izuku retaliates with a powerful punch to the man’s stomach, sending him flying several meters and rendering him unconscious. Turning his attention back to the mutant criminals, Izuku seizes the opportunity to immobilize them with a swift strike from his spider legs, rendering them unconscious and effectively ending the threat.
Turning back to Present Mic, he sees the man executing a judo throw on the last criminal, followed by an axe kick to his head, effectively ending the fight.
They exchange a brief, concerned glance before Present Mic rushes to Izuku’s side, his worry evident in his voice.
“Are you alright, Little Listener?” Mic asks, cautiously reaching out to examine Izuku’s head where the club had struck. Aware of Izuku’s aversion to physical contact, Mic hesitates, unsure if he should proceed.
Izuku takes a deep breath and nods, understanding Mic’s concern. He lowers his head, allowing Mic to get a closer look. Fortunately, there is only a small bump, a temporary mark that will fade away soon. Izuku simply shrugs at Mic’s puzzled expression and then points a leg toward the two leaders.
“We should tie them up.” Izuku suggests.
“You’re right.” Mic nods in agreement. “We can leave the interrogation to the police. I have a friend who can extract information from them.” He pulls out his phone to call the police to get the criminals.
Izuku starts searching the unconscious criminals, finding vials of Trigger-G in their possession. But being prepared this time, he doesn’t freak out. However, his attention is drawn to something unexpected—the gun of one of the thugs. Contrary to his initial assumption, it appears to be more than just a typical pistol. Those guns are actually meant to fire…
“Little Listener, behind you!” Present Mic’s warning comes just in time, alerting Izuku to the thug on the ground who aims his gun at him.
Reacting swiftly, Present Mic throws himself in front of Izuku, using his own body as a shield. The bullet strikes Mic’s upper arm, and both fall to the floor. Izuku quickly recovers and pounces on the thug, forcefully smashing their head against the ground.
“Mic-San! Are you alright?” Izuku asks, concern evident in his voice as he examines the wound. However, his eyes widen when he notices a syringe protruding from Mic’s arm. “Damn it!”
Present Mic writhes in pain on the floor, screaming as his quirk goes haywire, releasing soundwaves uncontrollably. Izuku braces himself, relying on his legs to steady himself as he cautiously approaches the hero, covering his ears to shield himself from the cacophony.
Kneeling before Present Mic, Izuku pulls him into a tight embrace, offering comfort and reassurance.
“It’s alright, Mic-san. Everything will be okay.” He says in a soothing voice. “It hurts, but it’s only temporary. You’re going to be okay.”
As he holds Mic, Izuku notices a liquid dripping from the hero’s ears, along with a small device. Recognizing the device as hearing aids, he quickly removes them. The fluid, a mixture of blood and an unfamiliar substance raises his concern. Izuku understands the implications. Present Mic’s ears are mutating because of the Trigger-G, indicating compatibility with the drug.
While lost in thought, Izuku’s attention is drawn to Present Mic’s sudden change in demeanor. His eyes roll inward, and he becomes limp in Izuku’s arms. Panic grips Izuku’s heart, and he instinctively places two fingers on the hero’s neck, searching for a pulse.
“Please, no.” Izuku whispers anxiously, his relief palpable when he detects a steady pulse. “He just passed out.”
Izuku’s worry remains, but he takes a moment to collect himself, grateful that Mic is unconscious rather than in a more critical condition. With determined resolve, he gently lays the hero on the ground, ensuring he’s in a comfortable position. Still, what should he do now?
Izuku assesses the situation, weighing his options carefully. He glances at the motionless criminals on the ground before turning his attention back to the unconscious hero. Leaving Present Mic behind is not an option. If any of the criminals wakes up, they won’t hesitate to kill the hero. However, taking him to the police is out of the question. They’ll certainly think Izuku attacked him.
With a resigned sigh, Izuku carefully lifts Mic and positions him on his shoulders. Despite the noticeable size difference between them, the hero is quite light. With a last glance at the criminals, Izuku starts walking away with the hero. He can freak out about what he’s about to do later.
Chapter 10
Notes:
CW: Mamon, Self-harm, talk about Izuku's past.
Proceed with caution.
Chapter Text
Maybe Izuku was an idiot for doing this again. But once again, he found himself trying to escape the Nine Circles of Hell. In the last few months since his spider legs manifested, Mamon’s training has become even more hellish.
By now, he had become accustomed enough to his new weight that he could move relatively nimbly. His mercury bones were incredibly strong, and all the torture he had endured all this time had made his pain tolerance extremely high.
The problem was just that he knew he was making progress quickly. Izuku never forgot what the Nine Circles of Hell wanted him to become. He was sure that soon, they would decide that Izuku was ready to become the assassin they wanted. This may be his last chance to escape.
He sprints as fast as he can, but despite adapting to his new weight, he remains slower than he once was. For many times, he tripped and fell down due to overcompensating his balance because of the spider legs he could barely control. Mammon’s relentless pursuit echoed behind him, his footsteps drawing nearer with every passing second. Izuku’s heart raced with desperation, knowing his time was running out.
Pushing his limits, he maneuvered through the labyrinthine hallways, the pressure of Mammon’s presence urging him forward. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but Izuku’s resolve burned fiercely. With each step, he clung to the hope that somehow, against all odds, he could break free from the clutches of the Nine Circles of Hell and forge a path to a life of his own choosing.
As he ran, he ended up once more bumping into a hero in patrol. The hero wore a yellow and green costume, a yellow mask over his eyes, and padlock earrings. Izuku wasn’t sure who this hero was, and he considered running away before the hero could ask anything. He still remembered the last two heroes who he talked to. But as he heard Mamon’s footsteps drawing closer, he knew he had no choice but to take a leap of faith.
“Please, help me.” He begged the hero.
“Hey, kid. It’s okay.” The hero reached to take Izuku’s hand. “I’ll help y-” He suddenly froze when he saw the brand on Izuku’s hand.
“Oh, there you are.” Mamon suddenly appeared with a sickly sweet smile on his face. “Sorry about that. My kid likes to run ahead. He’s a little troublemaker.”
Izuku could see in the hero’s expression that he didn’t believe Mamon, but he stayed silent for several seconds.
“I-It’s no problem, Mister.” The hero replied.
“C’mon, let’s go back.” Mamon called, and Izuku tried to hold onto the hero’s hand, begging with his eyes to be saved.
“I can’t save you, kid.” The hero said, nudging him towards Mamon while avoiding looking Izuku in the eyes. “Go back with him.”
Izuku felt something shattering inside him with that. Why did no hero ever try to help him? Is he really undeserving of being saved? Shouldn’t the heroes save anyone?
Suddenly, Mamon grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the hero.
“Just keep your mouth shut, and we’ll have no problem.” Mamon said, and the hero just nodded at him.
Izuku is so shocked that he only walks with him in complete silence. Surprisingly, this time, Mamon doesn’t mock him. He doesn’t scold him for escaping. Doesn’t say he’ll send him to Beelzebub. They just walked in silence until they got back to the facility, and Mamon pushed Izuku back into his room.
“You finally get it, don’t you?” Mamon said, looking down at Izuku.
“The heroes won’t save me.” Izuku responded, his gaze meeting Mamon’s. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Belial. No hero will ever save you.” Mamon nodded. “You belong to us. It’s time you stop this useless rebellion. We don’t like hurting you, you know? When we do, we have to spend resources to heal you. It’s a hassle. Just behave from now on, and you might even get some privileges with time.”
Before Izuku could respond, Mamon departed, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The weight of resignation settled upon him, along with the realization that escape was not a feasible option. He found himself caught between the tormentors who control his fate and a world that seemed indifferent to his suffering.
Izuku’s gaze fixated on his left hand, particularly on the branded mark that had served as a constant reminder of his enslavement. A whirlwind of emotions surged through him, ranging from pain and fear to sorrow and desperation. But amidst this turbulent storm of feelings, one emotion rose to the forefront: anger.
Fury coursed through his veins, ignited by the memories of his parents’ betrayal, the relentless cruelty of the villains who have tortured him, and the cold indifference of the heroes who have turned a blind eye to his suffering. Above all, his anger was directed at the accursed brand that brands him as property, robbing him of agency and hope.
In a fit of rage, Izuku could no longer bear the weight of his torment. With a primal scream, he drove one of his spider legs down onto the branded mark, piercing the back of his hand. Blood trickled from the wound, mingling with the mark, but it wasn’t enough to rid himself of its oppressive presence.
Driven by sheer frustration, he stabbed again and again, the pain in his hand becoming secondary to the overwhelming need to erase the brand that haunted him. Each strike was a desperate act of defiance, a desperate attempt to reclaim a semblance of control over his own fate.
The room echoed with his cries and the rhythmic thud of his relentless assault. The anger fueled his actions, the adrenaline drowning out any sense of reason. With every blow, he longed to obliterate the symbol that had come to define his suffering.
------------------------------------------------------------
As Hizashi’s eyes flutter open, he’s immediately greeted by searing pain in his head. He winces, trying to recall what happened and how he ended up in this unfamiliar place. As he looks around, he realizes that he’s lying on a bed inside a bare room. The old walls are littered with holes.
He gently touches his head and finds it wrapped in bandages, covering his ears. Despite the bandages and the absence of his hearing aids, he doesn’t have any problem hearing. Outside, he can hear the birds chirping and rain falling, something that is usually hard for him even when he is wearing hearing aids.
Memories of the recent events start to piece together in his mind. He recalls the fight he and Spider Brat had against a group of drug dealers. He remembers taking a bullet to protect the kid. His memory blurs as he recalls losing control of his quirk and eventually passing out from the pain.
This explains why, besides the headaches, his throat feels so raw. The pain in his head intensifies as if to mirror the disarray of the room surrounding him. Questions fill his mind. What was the bullet that hit him? Where is he now?
His thoughts then turn to Spider Brat. Where is the young vigilante? Did he manage to escape? Where is he now? Hizashi can’t help but be worried about the Little Listener. Gathering his strength, Hizashi attempts to sit up, wincing again as his head throbs with pain.
As Hizashi surveys his surroundings, he spots something lying on the bed beside him - a plushie, a spider plushie to be precise. It’s the same plushie he had gifted to Spider Brat long ago. A warmth fills his heart at the thought of the young vigilante having held onto the small gift from Hizashi.
Suddenly, a realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. Is this where the kid lives? The pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place. The holes in the walls, the presence of the spider plushie, and the apparent absence of adults in the room all lead to the same conclusion.
It dawns on Hizashi that he is in Spider Brat’s living space. This must be the kid’s hideout, the place he calls home. His concern for the young vigilante amplifies. This place looks about to fall to the ground. Can anyone really live here? Where is Spider Brat now?
As Hizashi stands by the bed, his attention is drawn to another sound emanating from the next room, the bathroom. He realizes that the sound he had initially mistaken for rain is actually running water. The water soon stops, and moments later, the door creaks open, revealing Spider Brat stepping out with a towel draped around his shoulders, busily drying his hair.
Hizashi’s eyes widen in shock as he sees the boy’s state. Hizashi has never seen him wearing anything but hoodies and pants, so he never got to see much of his skin. But now, the kid is shirtless and wearing shorts, exposing a canvas of scars that mar his young body.
The boy’s arms and legs are littered with cut scars marring his skin. There is a patch of scar tissue on his upper body that appears to have been torn, and multiple bite marks mark his shoulders. The most striking and intricate patterns of scars are etched across his chest and belly—Lichtenberg figures. Someone tortured the kid using electricity, and the extent of the scars show that it happened for a long time.
As the boy lowers the towel from his face, he freezes upon seeing Hizashi standing there. An awkward expression crosses his features, and he shakes his head, seemingly surprised by Hizashi’s wakefulness.
“Oh, didn’t think you’d be awake yet.” The boy mumbles, clearly caught off guard by Hizashi’s presence.
With an air of nonchalance, he grabs a shirt and attempts to put it on but struggles slightly due to the presence of his spider legs.
“Hey, Little Listener.” Hizashi greets with a friendly wave, doing his best to conceal the seething rage that churns inside him.
He still remembers what happened the last time he showed anger in front of the Little Listener, and he certainly doesn’t want a repeat of that. Instead, he tries to keep calm, especially considering he’s in the boy’s home.
Once the boy finishes putting his shirt on, he turns to Hizashi with a worried expression.
“How are you feeling?” He asks.
“Honestly? My head is killing me.” Hizashi replies. “And my hearing is weird. I mean, I should be practically deaf without my hearing aids.”
“The bullet that hit you.” The Little Listener says. “It was Trigger-G.”
“So, the pain that I felt…”
“It’s the result of the drug. Your auditory system has melted and remade itself.” The Little Listener explains. “Which must be why your hearing is better now. The first time it happened to me, it remade my upper eyes.”
“I can clearly hear the birds chirping outside.” Hizashi says. “Normally, I wouldn’t be able to do that even with my hearing aids on.”
“This is permanent.” The boy replies. “So, I think you should go after new hearing aids. Though, this time they should limit your hearing sense. My upper eyes have night vision 24/7, this is why I keep them shut when it’s bright.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.” Hizashi says sincerely. “I don’t think I ever felt so much pain in my life, and I was injected with the drug only once, and I assume it was with a small dose.” He looks sorrowfully at the Little Listener. “How long did you have to endure that?”
As the silence lingers for several seconds, Hizashi thinks the boy will choose not to answer. Hizashi understands that discussing such painful memories can be difficult. However, after a deep sigh, the Little Listener finally responds, his gaze distant and haunted.
“About three years. At least once every month. Sometimes twice in a month, if the doctor wanted to test something new.” The kid reveals, his voice heavy. “The experiments’ length would vary. But the shortest session I can remember was about three hours long.”
The revelation sends a shiver down Hizashi’s spine, and he can’t help but feel a mix of anger and sadness at the cruelty and inhumanity the Little Listener has endured. He wishes he could take away the pain and erase the scars on the boy’s body and mind.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Hizashi says, his voice full of empathy. “Is it okay if I hug you?”
The boy’s stoic facade begins to crumble, revealing vulnerability underneath.
“W-What?” His voice trembles as he asks.
Hizashi smiles softly, understanding the young vigilante’s hesitation.
“Is it okay if I give you a hug?” He repeats gently, extending an open hand toward the boy.
Confusion and raw emotions swirl in the Little Listener’s eyes. It’s evident that he struggles to comprehend why anyone would show him kindness after all he has endured. The weight of his past pain and betrayals must make it hard for him to accept the sincerity of Hizashi’s intentions.
“W-Why?” he asks, and Hizashi notices the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. “What kind of game are you playing here?”
Hizashi’s heart breaks at the boy’s response, realizing the extent of the trust issues and fear that have been ingrained in him. He stays still with his arms open in invitation but without any sudden movement.
“I’m not playing any games.” Hizashi says gently, his voice sincere and earnest.
“N-N-No one e-ever gave a shit b-b-before.” The kid stutters.
Hizashi’s heart breaks even more at this revelation. He wishes he could turn back time and change the past to ensure that the young boy never had to suffer in silence.
“I shouldn’t have been the first one to care.” Hizashi laments. “No one should have to endure what you’ve been through.”
He takes a gentle step forward, closing the distance between them but still giving the boy space and autonomy. His arms remain open, ready to offer comfort if the Little Listener chooses to accept it.
The kid hesitates for a moment longer before stepping forward and accepting the hug. He stiffly wraps his arms around Hizashi’s torso, his guard slowly starting to lower as he allows himself to be embraced. After a few seconds, the young vigilante begins to relax, finding solace in the comfort of the hug. Hizashi can feel a wet spot forming on his shirt as the boy cries silently, finally letting out the emotions that he had kept bottled up for so long.
“Mic-San?” The boy calls, his voice trembling. “The villains. The experiments. The torture.” He gives a silent sob. “Did I deserve it?”
Hizashi’s heart clenches at the pain and self-doubt in the Little Listener’s words. He tightens his embrace, wanting to provide as much comfort as he can.
“No, of course not, Little Listener.” Hizashi assures him firmly. “You did not deserve any of that. Nobody should have to endure such cruelty, least of all a little child.”
The boy hesitates before asking the question that has surely haunted him for so long.
“Then… Why has no one ever helped me?” He buries his face on Hizashi’s shirt. “Why didn’t anyone save me?”
Hizashi’s heart aches at the desperation and pain in the kid’s voice. He holds the boy close, offering what comfort he can, but he knows he has no easy answers to give.
“I wish I could explain it.” Hizashi says, his voice filled with sorrow and frustration. “I could make a thousand excuses, but the truth is that we failed you. Adults, heroes, society, we all failed you. I’m sorry, Little Listener.”
“Stop…” The kid says, shaking his head.
“I know you said words are worthless.” Hizashi replies. “And I understand why you think that. I wish I could do more. I wish I could take away all the pain you’ve endured. But all I can offer you now is my support and my presence.”
The boy stays silent for a few seconds, and Hizashi holds him gently, giving him the space he needs to process his emotions.
“It’s more than anyone else ever offered me.” The Little Listener finally says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been hugged in my life.”
God, will this boy ever stop shredding Hizashi’s heart? He has never been hugged before? Not once in his life?
Hizashi tightens his embrace, wanting to convey as much reassurance and care as he can through the gesture.
“How does it feel?” Hizashi asks gently, wanting to understand the impact of this moment on the boy.
“It feels nice.” The Little Listener replies, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “It’s warm. I never thought I’d feel something like this. I can see why people like it so much.”
Hizashi smiles gently, knowing that this small gesture may be the beginning of building trust and healing for the young vigilante.
“I’m glad.” Hizashi says, his voice gentle. “You deserve to feel nice and loved, Little Listener. You deserve to have someone who cares for you.”
The boy clings to Hizashi a little tighter as if seeking reassurance that this moment of comfort is real and won’t be taken away.
“I’ll be here for you.” Hizashi assures him. “You’re not alone anymore. I promise to be someone you can rely on, someone who will protect you.”
The boy’s hold on Hizashi tightens for a moment. He looks up at Hizashi’s face, searching for something, and Hizashi meets his gaze with kindness and understanding.
“I can’t believe you... Not yet…” The boy says hesitantly.
Hizashi meets the young boy’s gaze with understanding and patience. He can see the wariness and doubt in the boy’s eyes, the hesitance to fully trust in the words being offered to him. He knows that trust is not something that can be easily given, especially after enduring so much pain and betrayal.
“I’ll be patient.” Hizashi says softly, his hand gently stroking the boy’s back. “I won’t rush you. You can take all the time you need to trust me. And even if it’s never. I’ll be here, no matter what.”
The Little Listener’s eyes show a mix of vulnerability and hope, and Hizashi feels he has taken a step in the right direction. It won’t be easy, but Hizashi is stubborn. He’ll be here for the Little Listener no matter what.
Chapter 11
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
After the last attempt to escape, Izuku’s hope crumbled like fragile glass. The moment he woke up after his last breakdown - with his hand healed and littered with new scars, but the brand still clear - he finally grasped the harsh reality. The heroes weren’t coming to rescue him. Since that day, a profound change overcame him as if a part of his soul had withered away.
That bright-eyed boy who had once dreamed of becoming a hero was dead. In his stead emerged an apathetic, hollow version of himself, drained of emotions driven solely by obedience.
Mammon’s brutal training intensified, each session pushing him to the brink. But Izuku’s responses were starkly different. He would barely grunt in the face of all the torture he suffered, let alone cry like he used to.
In the confines of the laboratory, Doctor Asmodeus’ sick experiments pressed on. Yet, the agony that once engulfed him seemed dulled, his body almost numb to the torment. He had grown so detached and compliant that the doctor even took to foregoing the restraints. She still complained that he missed hearing his cries, but Izuku was too numb to care.
Both Mammon and Lilith seemed content with this new compliant version of Izuku, or rather, Belial. One day, as Izuku indulged in the only pastime he had in this place, counting the cracks in the walls (now numbering 347, two more than last week), Mammon strode into his cell with a tray in hand.
“I did mention that good behavior could fetch you a few privileges, didn’t I?” Mammon remarked, depositing the tray on the floor with a casual kick, astonishingly keeping its contents intact.
The tray held food, a pitiable assortment at that. Despite its unappetizing nature, it radiated warmth. Hospital food, it resembled. Stale bread, an overly ripe apple, porridge resembling vomit, bland fried chicken, unidentified grilled vegetables, and a cup of orange juice – the sole mildly pleasant offering. The food reheated in the microwave. Maybe they were simple leftovers.
Nonetheless, Izuku devoured each morsel as if it were a gourmet feast. Starvation had clawed at him for far too long.
“Continue obeying, Belial.” Mammon murmured as he watched Izuku eat. “And maybe next time, you’ll get a say in your meal.” Saying that, he leaves.
Watching Mammon’s departure, Izuku continued chewing on the stale bread. A dry, bitter chuckle escaped him.
“How generous.” He muttered, the sarcasm thick in his tone.
He found himself obeying villains in the faint hope of one day securing a decent meal. Could he sink any lower than this? The notion of placing his hopes on such a meager promise felt like yet another cruel mockery in his life’s grim narrative.
------------------------------------------------------------
It’s with a heavy heart that Hizashi departs from the Little Listener’s makeshift home. He knows it’s necessary, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
In their last conversation, the Little Listener had started to open up to Hizashi, and despite having admitted he couldn’t believe completely in Hizashi’s kindness yet, he still allowed himself to be comforted by the Voice Hero. He put enough trust in Hizashi to show his vulnerable side, to show his tears.
In the course of a single conversation, Hizashi had made more progress than in the several past months he worked with the young vigilante. He was determined never to betray the Little Listener’s trust, to honor the fragile bond they were building.
The kid seemed drained after their heart-to-heart. Pushing further or overstaying would only set them back. So, Hizashi made sure the kid was alright and, despite protests, left some money behind before leaving.
Exiting the place, Hizashi couldn’t help but frown as he spotted the abandoned building where the Little Listener resided.
It was a condemned structure, part of a block that had been condemned following an earthquake. Many buildings had collapsed, but some remained almost intact. For safety reasons, the entire block had been scheduled for demolition, but several factors made it so the buildings were still standing even years later.
Fortunately, the building appeared sturdy, which brought relief to some of Hizashi’s concerns about the boy’s current living situation. One day, he vowed, one day he would get the Little Listener into a proper home. One filled with all the love he deserved so much yet never got. Be it with himself or another family. However, this would only be possible once the kid placed enough trust in him.
Patience was his ally. Until that day arrived, Hizashi resolved to keep a watchful eye on the young vigilante during his patrols.
With this in mind, Hizashi made his way out of the condemned block, a destination set in his mind. He’s sure his friends are worried about him after he seemingly vanished last night.
As he left, he couldn’t help but wince at how loud everything sounds. Going from practically deaf to having super hearing overnight is something that will take some getting used to. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out two cotton balls that Little Listener gave him before he left and stuffs them into his ears.
He’s still hearing too much, but at least it’s bearable. Still, it’s better for him to walk along less busy streets until he gets used to it or until he gets new hearing aids to limit his hearing, as the boy recommended.
------------------------------------------------------------
Naomasa’s attention has been tethered to his phone for hours, a sense of unease gnawing at him. The waiting feels interminable.
The night before, he had rushed to the docks in response to a tip about a drug deal that Hizashi and Spider Brat had intercepted. Hizashi was usually there, waiting, no matter how chaotic the situation. But not this time. Hizashi was missing, no message left behind, leaving Naomasa filled with dread.
Hizashi was like a brother to Naomasa’s husband, and even though their own relationship wasn’t as close, he counted Hizashi as one of his best friends. He knew Hizashi wouldn’t vanish without a trace unless something dire had transpired. All he could do was hope and wait for news.
In the midst of his vigil, Sansa bursts into his office, his cat eyes wide and anxious.
“Present Mic is here!” He says in a rush.
“He’s here!?” Naomasa sprang from his chair, propelled toward the door by a surge of concern.
“He’s in one of the interrogation rooms.” Sansa quickly briefs him. “Asked for you and Eraserhead.”
“Why the interrogation room?” Naomasa raises an eyebrow.
“I heard him saying something about needing silence.” Sansa replies. “He was rubbing his temple a lot.”
“I don’t remember Present Mic having migraines, but I’ll get him some painkillers just in case.” Naomasa says thoughtfully. “Did he seem hurt?”
“No.” Sansa shakes his head. “But he seemed very troubled.”
“Alright. Call Eraser; I’ll check on him first.” Naomasa says, rushing out.
The corridors of the police station blur as Naomasa races to the interrogation room. He reaches the door, grasping the handle with urgency, and pulls it open. Inside, Hizashi is hunched over the cold metal table, his posture tense, his expression strained. His fingers are pressed against his temples, a sign of distress that sends another spike of worry through Naomasa.
“Naomasa, I love you.” Hizashi says in a voice barely above a whisper. “But please, close this door slowly and keep your voice down. My ears are killing me.”
Naomasa obeys immediately, easing the door shut, his movements careful and deliberate. He knows Hizashi well enough to understand the gravity of the situation.
As he turns to face Hizashi, he takes in the absence of the familiar hearing aids and the cotton stuffed into his ears. A thousand questions bubble up in his mind, but he reigns them in, remembering Hizashi’s request for patience and discretion.
“Zashi, what happened?” He asks, lowering his voice at Hizashi’s request.
Hizashi lets out a tired sigh and runs a hand through his hair. His classic spiked hair is messed up and barely standing.
“Long story, and I don’t want to explain more than once.” He says, a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. “So let’s wait for Shouta first. I’m fine, don’t worry, just not used to this yet.” He points to his ears.
“Alright.” Naomasa nods. “Do you need something?”
“A tea would be nice.” Hizashi smiles. “But I know you don’t have that here, so water will do.”
“Got it.” Naomasa says. “I’ll lock the door so no one bothers you. The room is soundproof.”
“I know, that’s why I came here.” Hizashi replies.
Naomasa quickly returns with a cup of water and a couple of painkillers. He hands them over to Hizashi, who accepts them with a weary but grateful smile. The hero quickly downs the painkillers with the water, sighing in relief as he leans back in his chair. It’s clear he’s been through a lot.
“We’ll wait for Shouta to get here before we start.” Naomasa says gently, keeping his voice low. “In the meantime, is there anything else you need?”
Hizashi shakes his head, looking a little more at ease as the painkillers kick in.
“Just some time to gather my thoughts.” He replies, his fingers lightly tapping on the table. “And maybe some company, if you don’t mind.”
Naomasa nods in understanding, silently pulling a chair over the table and sitting down.
As they sit in silence, waiting for Shouta to arrive, Naomasa can’t help but think about the strong bond between his husband and Hizashi. They are brothers in everything but blood. And that deep bond is the exact reason why Naomasa isn’t surprised when Shouta arrives less than 10 minutes later, despite them living at least 20 minutes from the precinct.
Naomasa has no doubt that Shouta came here by rooftop jumping instead of walking like a normal person. As soon as Shouta enters the room, his eyes immediately zero in on Hizashi. Without a word, he goes over to his friend, his usual stoic expression showing a hint of concern.
“How are you holding up, Zashi?” Shouta asks, his voice gruff but filled with genuine worry.
“I’ve felt better.” Hizashi replies with a weak smile. “But I’ve also felt a lot worse. A good night of sleep, and I’ll be good as new.”
Shouta nods and sits down next to Hizashi, still far enough to give him personal space.
“Alright.” Naomasa breaks the silence after a few more seconds. “I guess we can start.”
“A few things for the record.” Hizashi says. “First, don’t record this, Masa. The Little Listener will be mentioned a lot. Second, Spider Brat is fine. He’s the one who saved me last night.”
“Alright. Why don’t we start from the beginning.” Naomasa says. “We arrested all the criminals last night. It doesn’t look like any of them managed to run away. We also got the drugs.”
Hizashi’s grin returns briefly.
“Yeah.” He says proudly. “The Little Listener and I make a pretty good team. We took care of those clowns without much trouble.” His expression then grows more somber. “But things took a turn when one of them pulled out a gun. The scumbag was about to shoot the Little Listener, so I took the bullet for him.”
“You took a bullet!?” Shouta exclaims, though still mindful of his volume.
Hizashi raises his hands defensively.
“I’m okay.” He assures them. “But it wasn’t just any bullet. This almost makes it worse.” He winces as if recalling a painful memory.
“What kind of bullet was it, Zashi?” Shouta asks, his voice hesitant.
“It was Trigger-G.” Hizashi sighs heavily. “The same drug we’re trying to track down. It felt just like the Little Listener told me a few weeks ago. Like molten lava coursing through my veins. My quirk went haywire for a while. Eventually, I blacked out from the pain. When I woke up, I found myself in an unfamiliar bedroom, lying in a bed I didn’t recognize.”
“Wait, are you saying…” Naomasa’s eyes widen in realization.
“Yep. The Little Listener saved me and took me to his home.” Hizashi replies. “He even patched me up. Then, he explained a little more about the effects of the drug. It’s... terrifying, to say the least.”
“Terrifying how?” Shouta asks, raising an eyebrow.
“It completely rewired my hearing system.” Hizashi reveals, his voice laced with discomfort. “Painful as hell. I’m almost glad I was unconscious for most of it. That’s why I’m not wearing my hearing aids. I can hear again. Actually, I have super hearing now.”
Hizashi’s revelation hangs in the room, each word heavier than the last. Naomasa and Shouta exchange glances, their concern evident. This situation has taken a darker turn than they could have ever expected.
“So, you’re saying that Trigger-G completely remade your quirk and your hearing?” Naomasa asks, his voice filled with worry.
“Yeah, it’s why I’m having such a migraine at the moment. It feels like everyone is shouting in my ear constantly.” Hizashi sighs.
“Zashi, you can’t just ignore this.” Shouta says firmly. “You need to see a doctor. We can’t risk your health.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going straight to Chiyo after we finish here.” Hizashi waves him off. “But not before I finish here.”
“Alright.” Naomasa concedes. “What else do you have?”
“About the case? Nothing concrete. But about the Little Listener? A lot.” Hizashi leans forward, his expression determined. “I’m not going to betray his trust by revealing specifics. But let me tell you this - he has been through hell. He’s been betrayed by everyone: heroes, civilians, villains, even his own family. I don’t care what the police or the HPSC says about him. We have to save him.”
Naomasa sighs at that. It’s just like Hizashi to act like this. But that’s exactly why both he and Shouta know he’s the best person to get Spider Brat’s trust. And their best bet at getting that kid out of the streets.
“Alright, I’ll help keep anything about the kid under wraps for now. But our priority remains finding the source of this drug.” Naomasa nods in understanding.
Hizashi takes a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing,
“According to the Little Listener, the drug was initially created by a doctor affiliated with the Nine Circles of Hell.” He explains. “However, it’s been three years since anyone has heard about them. I have my suspicions about what happened to them, but until the Little Listener confirms, it’s just a theory. The point is: they’re supposed to be all dead, so who could be producing the drug now?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” Naomasa sighs. “For now, go get checked to make sure there’s nothing wrong with your body. I’ll interrogate our new ‘friends.’”
“How I wish I could be there.” Hizashi replies with a lazy smile. “Give them hell, Masa.”
“You can count on me.” Naomasa replies with a sadistic grin. Maybe his husband rubbed on him.
“Well, I’ll make sure you get to Chiyo.” Shouta says, getting up before sending a glance at Naomasa. “You warn us if you get any lead.”
“Understood.” Naomasa gives both a salute and watches as they leave the room.
As they leave, Naomasa takes a few minutes more to process everything he just learned. They aren’t any closer to finding out who is supplying the drug, but Hizashi seems to have made a lot of progress with the young vigilante. That’s great news.
He really hopes that Hizashi can get through to the kid. From what he gathered, the kid never got love from anyone. It’s admirable just how kind the kid still is despite how much the world made him suffer. Naomasa will be damned if he doesn’t help the kid get the family he deserves.
Notes:
We are getting very close to the climax of Izuku's past.
Chapter 12
Notes:
"StallKing why didn't you update anything last week?"
Well, you see. My mind have been kept hostage by Undertale Yellow recently. So, I kinda forgot I had to update anything else. Sorry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As the days passed, Izuku’s life with the villains became increasingly routine, and he couldn’t help but grow accustomed to his experiences.
Mammon’s relentless training and torture sessions, where pain had once been his constant companion, now felt more like a monotonous chore. Doctor Asmodeus continued her experiments, each session leaving Izuku’s body scarred and battered. The emotional toll of his tormentors’ cruelty had dulled.
He hardly even flinched whenever Leviathan - the shapeshifter - would play his cruel pranks on him. The man liked to turn himself into a hero and barge into Izuku’s room, pretending he was there to save him, only to go back to his real form - or maybe not, Izuku never really saw his real form - and laugh at him for having hope. Even that failed to get a reaction from Izuku anymore. Nowadays, whenever the villain came around, Izuku would just wave and proceed to ignore him.
Then, one day, Mammon appeared with a folded suit in hand, and Izuku knew that something was about to happen. Something he wouldn’t like.
“Lilith believes you’re ready.” Mammon explained as he gave him the suit. “It’s time for your first mission.”
It’s time for your first mission.
Those words echoed in his mind as Izuku went through the motions of putting the suit on autopilot. Surprisingly, Mammon helped him put it on, kneeling down and tying the tie for him. The suit was even adapted to accommodate his spider legs. All other clothes Izuku owned, he had to make holes on them to pass his legs.
The suit felt foreign against his skin, a stark contrast to the faded, worn clothes he had become so used to. The fabric clung tightly to his body, and it was surprisingly flexible and breathable. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeing not the hopeful boy who had once dreamed of becoming a hero but a shell of a person shaped by his captors.
With a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, he followed Mammon’s lead, stepping out of his room. He knew whatever he was going to be forced to do would haunt him for the rest of his life, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Mammon led Izuku through the dimly lit corridors of the villain’s hideout, each step echoing with a sense of foreboding. They eventually arrived at a heavy, ornate door adorned with an intricate carving of the symbol of the Nine Circles of hell. Mammon knocked on the door.
A voice from within called out. “Enter.”
The door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in crimson light. Lilith sat behind a grand obsidian desk, her piercing eyes fixed on the newcomer. She exuded an aura of authority and power, and her gaze seemed to pierce through Izuku’s very soul. Whatever she saw, Izuku both dreaded it and hoped she would like it.
“Ah, Mammon.” Lilith purred seductively. “You’ve brought our young Belial. Leave us.”
Mammon obeyed without a word, closing the door behind him and leaving Izuku alone with the fearsome villainess. Lilith gestured for him to approach, her long, blood-red nails gleaming in the eerie light.
Izuku couldn’t help but feel a shiver of apprehension as he approached the desk. He tried to keep himself as straight as possible, making sure to be respectful to her. He knew firsthand just how bad it was to anger Lilith, and he didn’t want to ever feel that again.
“Belial, it’s so nice to see you.” Lilith purred, her lips curling into a sinister smile. “You’ve come a long way since your recruitment. Mammon told me that you’ve been much more... compliant lately. Are you done with your little rebellious phase?”
Izuku swallowed hard. He knew he was being tested right now, and if he answered this wrong… He didn’t want to think about the consequences.
“Y-Yes, Lady Lilith.” He replied, his voice trembling slightly but maintaining a tone of utmost respect. “I’m sorry for causing so many problems. I won’t be rebellious anymore.”
Lilith’s smile widened, and her red lips seemed to glisten in the eerie light of her office. She leaned back in her obsidian chair, her sharp nails tapping lightly against the armrest.
“That’s what I like to hear, Belial.” She purred. “Rebellion has no place in this family. Continue being a good boy, and you won’t have any problems here.”
Izuku nodded vigorously, his face a picture of obedience. He had learned the hard way that he should always do the best. And the best is to obey. Lilith’s approval was like a lifeline. As long as she’s happy, Izuku won’t be hurt.
“T-Thank you, Lady Lilith.” He stammered. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”
Lilith’s crimson gaze bore into him as if searching for any trace of insincerity. Satisfied, she leaned forward, her fingers interlocking as she rested her chin on them.
“Belial, my dear, you are quite exceptional.” She said, getting up as Izuku looked at the floor in fear. “You’ve proven to be more valuable than you may realize.” Izuku kept looking at the floor as he felt a hand falling on his hair. “Dr. Asmodeus’s research had stagnated for some time, but you gave her a breakthrough.” She murmured, her fingers moving gently through his hair. “Mammon also holds you in high regard.”
The hand on his hair was supposed to feel comforting, but it felt anything but. He felt violated. Izuku didn’t want to be helping villains. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be a villain. But he had no choice.
Izuku forced himself not to cry. It wouldn’t do him any good at the moment.
Lilith’s hand went down his face, her fingers brushing his cheek as she leaned in dangerously close to his closed upper eyes.
“You’re doing exceptionally, darling.” She said softly. “Continue like this, and we may even grant you some actual privileges.”
She leaned in further, planting a kiss on his forehead. Izuku felt like throwing up despite his empty stomach, but he forced himself to just nod.
“Y-Yes, My Lady.” He forced himself to say. “Mammon-Sama mentioned that you had a mission for me.”
“That’s correct.” Lilith said with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve chosen an easy target for my little assassin’s first mission. And you won’t be going alone.”
“What is the mission, Lady Lilith?” Izuku asked hesitantly.
Lilith got up and went back to her seat, leaning on it.
“Don’t fret over the details, dear. Leviathan will be your partner for this assignment. He will provide you with all the necessary information once you reach the location.” She briefly glanced at the clock on the wall. “You shall depart immediately. That will be all.” She clapped dismissively.
Izuku nodded, knowing better than to question further. He turned and headed for the door with a heavy heart. He didn’t know what the mission would be, but he had a sinking suspicion and, he hated it.
…
Izuku and Leviathan, disguised as an old man, navigated the crowded streets of the Mustafu’s poorer region. They both wore matching suits, which obviously made them stand out in the middle of such a poor area. It was obvious that description wasn’t on the agenda for today. Leviathan, in his elderly persona, moved with a hunched gait, relying heavily on a cane as if every step was an effort.
The smell of trash and drugs filled Izuku’s nostrils as he walked, but he ignored it in favor of silently following Leviathan’s slow pace. The man could easily get into character regardless of the form he took, but Izuku really wished he would choose someone who could walk a little faster.
As they walked, Izuku kept thinking of what the mission could be. He knew he was trained to be an assassin, so his mission would obviously be an assassination. But who could the target be? Why were they being so secretive?
After what felt like an eternity of wandering through the decaying district, they arrived at a ramshackle building adorned with graffiti-covered walls. Leviathan came to a halt, turning to Izuku with a glint of anticipation beneath the facade of the frail old man. Dread settled in Izuku’s chest as he surveyed the scene; it was someone’s home.
Leviathan shifted his disguise, transforming into a young woman with long red hair and piercing blue eyes. He (her?) grinned at Izuku, who couldn’t hide his fear.
“There we are, Belial.” Leviathan said with an unsettling cheerfulness.
“Why are we here, Leviathan-San?” Izuku couldn’t suppress his anxiety.
“To set an example.” Leviathan replied, his tone chillingly casual.
“An example?” Izuku echoed, his voice quivering with unease.
“Yes, Belial.” Leviathan’s sinister smile remained firmly in place. “Someone borrowed money from us and failed to repay. We’re here to show the consequences of defying our family.”
Izuku’s gaze fell upon the dilapidated house. He couldn’t help but wonder how desperate its owner must have been to resort to borrowing money from the Nine Circles of Hell.
“Is this wise?” He found himself asking, his conscience nagging at him. “Dead people can’t pay debts.”
Leviathan burst into laughter, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
“Oh, we’re well aware of that.” She said between chuckles. “This debtor owes us the least. As I mentioned, it’s all about setting an example.”
Izuku frowned at the moral quandary.
“So, we kill them as a message to the others.” He summarized with a heavy heart. “To say, ‘This is what will happen if you don’t pay.’”
“You’ve got it.” Leviathan nodded, her smirk unyielding. “You just got a single thing wrong, though. We won’t kill them. You will.”
Izuku’s blood ran cold at Leviathan’s words. Horror washed over him as he stared at her, struggling to comprehend the gruesome task she was asking him to undertake. It was one thing to be entangled in a criminal organization’s activities but to take a life…
“You... You want me to…” His voice trembled, unable to articulate the chilling task being demanded of him.
“You’ve done it before.” Leviathan replied calmly. “You can do it again.”
“I didn’t have a choice then.” Izuku protested, desperation creeping into his voice. “But now…”
“Lilith has high expectations for you, Belial.” Leviathan interjected, causing Izuku to freeze. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”
“What if they have a family?” Desperation fueled Izuku’s next plea. “Children? Loved ones? I—”
“He does.” Leviathan confirmed, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “A wife and a ten-year-old son. The boy is positively adorable.” She chuckled darkly. “You’ll be responsible for ending both the husband and wife. What happens to the child will be your choice.”
Izuku’s heart sank further, dread gnawing at him as he dared to ask. “You mean…”
“You can provide the boy with a merciful end.” Leviathan continued, her grin widening. “Or you can let him live, and we’ll take him. Asmodeus has been wanting a new doll for her collection.”
Izuku’s mind raced as he grappled with the agonizing decision before him. Either he’s the one who will have to kill a kid, only a few years older than Izuku himself, or leave him to the clutches of Dr Asmodeus and her cruel experiments. He knew there wasn’t a right answer to this dilemma.
Yet, there was only one possible answer for that. Izuku wouldn’t wish the suffering he has to endure upon anyone. Let alone a kid.
Izuku approached the decrepit house with heavy footsteps. His heart pounded in his chest as if it, too, were begging him to find another way. But there was no escape from this moral abyss.
Raising his hand to knock, Izuku hesitated as he heard laughter coming from inside. With a deep breath, he summoned the last of his resolve and rapped on the door. Moments later, a man, likely in his late twenties, opened the door, his eyes filled with kindness.
“I’ve never seen you around here, kid. Are you lost?” He asked, glancing down at Izuku.
Izuku shook his head, his voice quivering with a heavy burden.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” He began, revealing the brand on his hand. “I don’t have a choice. I promise I’ll be quick.”
The man’s expression shifted to one of fear.
“Wait.” He gasped, but before he could react, Izuku thrust one of his spider-like limbs into the man’s forehead, ending his life instantly.
As the lifeless body crumpled to the floor, blood oozing from the hole in his forehead, Izuku heard a terrified scream and turned to see a woman, probably the same age as the man, staring at him with wide eyes. Tears welled up in Izuku’s own eyes as he saw her fear, but he knew he had a mission to complete.
She tried to run, but Izuku was quick to catch up to her, biting her arm. She fell to the floor, screaming in agony from Izuku’s venom. With a heavy heart, he stabbed her in the forehead just like her husband, granting her a merciful death and sparing her from the agony of his venom.
The sound of a door slamming echoed through the house, drawing Izuku’s attention. He found a closed door with a nameplate that read “Yuki.” Clenching his fists, Izuku broke through the door with his spider legs and entered the room.
He heard a muffled sobbing coming from under the bed. The boy was clearly trying to keep quiet. Memories of his own past came to Izuku’s mind. All the times, he had hidden under his bed in fear. He never imagined he would become the monster he once feared.
With a heavy heart and tears in his eyes, Izuku approached the bed, his voice quivering.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, unable to contain his sorrow any longer. “I’m so sorry.”
He thrust a spear-like limb downward, easily piercing the mattress and into the soft flesh of the young boy. A soft gasp, then silence.
Izuku stood there, tears streaming down his face, as the blood of the little boy ran through the floor, staining his shoes.
Leaving the house, Leviathan reappeared next to Izuku, holding a bag of popcorn as if she had just come from a movie theater.
“You put on quite a show.” Leviathan remarked, her tone casual. “You’re great at that. A bit merciful, but I guess it’s part of your charm.”
Tears still glistening in his eyes, Izuku could only manage a nod in response.
“Are we done here?” He asked, his voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and despair.
“Almost, darling.” Leviathan replied, a sinister smirk tugging at her lips. “It wouldn’t be a message if we didn’t leave a way for people to know it was us, right? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this part. You can just sit and rest.” She handed him a handkerchief. “Also, you have blood on your face. Wipe it off.”
With trembling hands, Izuku wiped away the red stains on his face, his breaths shaky and uneven. The enormity of what he had just done weighed heavily on him, and he couldn’t contain the torrent of emotions any longer.
He sank to his hands and knees, the empty popcorn bag falling from his grasp, and he began sobbing uncontrollably. Fear, anger, regret, sorrow, and countless other emotions washed over him, his tears falling like rain.
Sometime later, Leviathan returned and found Izuku in this vulnerable state. In an unusual display of either compassion or mockery, she placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You really did great today, Belial. A few more missions, and you won’t even feel anything anymore.” She remarked, her voice carrying an odd mix of approval and indifference. “The quicker you learn, the better. Innocence doesn’t get you far, Belial.”
Izuku continued to cry, the weight of his actions and the darkness that now enveloped him becoming all too real.
Notes:
First full flashback chapter, but we'll have another one soon.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The years went by like a blur for Izuku. The promise of a normal life. The dreams of becoming a hero. All shattered into irreparable fragments. He had become the perfect assassin for the Nine Circles of Hell, an obedient and emotionless weapon devoid of the spark that had once defined him.
In the three years since his debut as Belial, Izuku hadn’t failed a single mission. He had killed without hesitation, leaving behind a trail of victims whose faces haunted his nightmares. Their accusing eyes followed him into his restless sleep. It had reached a point where he no longer woke up screaming; He got used even to his nightmares.
He remembered every detail of his targets - their names, their faces, their stories. Those memories were burned in his very soul, just like the brand on his hand. In the quiet moments of the night, he would see their faces, hear their cries, and feel their lives slipping away beneath his hands. Guilt and self-loathing were his only companions now.
At the age of ten, Izuku had become little more than a hollow shell. He didn’t smile, didn’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary, and didn’t react to the world around him. He merely existed, an automaton executing orders without question. His innocence had been sacrificed to the darkness he served. Like Leviathan said: Innocence didn’t get him far.
The Nine Circles of Hell had kept their promise of providing him with some privileges. He had a room now, a modest one with a simple bed, but it was a luxury compared to everything he ever had. Yet, it meant nothing to him. The books he had received as rewards for his missions allowed him to continue his education, a small spark of the old Izuku’s love for learning. But even that passion had been dulled, replaced by a mechanical disconnection.
Sometimes, in the deepest recesses of his mind, Izuku wondered why he continued to endure this wretched existence. The thought of giving up crossed his mind more than once. But he couldn’t summon the courage to end it all. He was trapped in a nightmare of his own making, a coward who couldn’t do the right thing.
Izuku sighed wearily as he heard heavy footsteps approaching his door.
“I AM HERE!” A boisterous voice rang out, accompanied by the sound of a door being flung open. “TO SAVE YOU!”
“All Might” stood there in his usual hero pose and with his signature smile. Izuku had to admit it was quite impressive.
Izuku didn’t bother to lift his gaze from the book he was reading. He closed it and calmly walked over to a bookshelf in the corner, slipping it into its designated spot.
“Another mission?” He asked with a tone that betrayed none of the resentment that had long festered within him.
“Boy, you’re not fun.” “All Might” replied, and with a theatrical flourish, the hero façade vanished, revealing Leviathan in yet another one of her guises, this time as a young child. “Your reactions used to be so funny.”
Izuku ignored the comment, his focus solely on the impending mission.
“Do we have another mission?” He asked again, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Yes, we do.” Leviathan replied with a casualness that sent a chill down Izuku’s spine. “A hero is sniffing around our business. Lilith wants them gone.”
“Okay.” Izuku said, his movements methodical as he began to prepare for the mission. “Who’s the target this time?”
Leviathan’s grin widened.
“Oh, based on what Mammon told me, I think you’ll enjoy this mission.” She said with a laugh. “Your target is Rock Lock.”
“I can’t save you kid.” The words echoed in Izuku’s mind. “Go back with him.”
Rock Lock, the hero who had once seen him pleading for help and yet had heartlessly sent him back to his abusers. It was a twisted form of poetic justice, an opportunity for revenge he had never expected.
As he deftly tied his tie, Izuku glanced at the mirror and found himself smiling. The very thought of ending a hero’s life brought a dark satisfaction that chilled his own heart. If he relished the idea of killing, if he had truly become one of them, then perhaps there was nothing left of the boy who had once aspired to be a hero.
However, as Izuku’s mind drifted back to that fateful encounter with Rock Lock, he could only think one thing: Karma is a bitch.
…
Izuku perched silently on the rooftop of a building, his eyes fixed on the darkened alley below. Leviathan stood next to him, but he was here just to watch over Izuku as always. This was Izuku’s mission, and he had honestly wanted to do this alone.
His target had been lured to this location by a false lead the Nine Circles of Hell gave. As Izuku watched the hero approach the alley, his heart remained as still as the night around him. Supposedly, a deal would be happening here tonight, but as the hero went deeper into the dark alley, he found nothing.
It was in this eerie quiet that Izuku decided to make his move.
Without a sound, he descended from the rooftop, his spider legs bracing the impact and allowing him to land silently.
Rock Lock’s attention was solely focused on the dead-end alley, his senses on high alert. He didn’t see or hear Izuku approaching until it was too late.
With a sudden and chilling presence, Izuku emerged from the darkness, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling determination. The hero turned, realizing too late that he had walked right into a trap.
Izuku’s assault was swift and merciless. Without uttering a single word, he delivered a powerful kick to the back of the hero’s head, sending him crashing into the alley’s unforgiving brick wall. The surprise attack left Rock Lock dazed and disoriented, unable to react in time.
Before the hero could fully comprehend what was happening, Izuku dropped down on him. Despite his tiny body, Izuku’s bones were made of pure quicksilver. This made him weigh over 300 pounds. The razor-sharp appendages restrained Rock Lock, pinning his arms and legs against the cold ground.
With an eerie calmness, Izuku spoke, his voice laced with a haunting intensity that sent shivers down Rock Lock’s spine. “Hello, Rock Lock. Remember me.”
The hero struggled to focus through the disorienting haze of pain and surprise. Slowly, recognition dawned in his eyes, and he squinted at Izuku. It was as if a long-buried memory had been unearthed.
“The kid.” Rock Lock gasped, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and horror. “You’re alive.”
“No thanks to you.” Izuku retorted, his words cutting like a knife.
Rock Lock’s eyes filled with a complex brew of emotions—guilt, remorse, and something else. He hesitated for a moment before finally finding the courage to ask, “What did they do to you?”
“Do you want to know?” Izuku tilted his head, his eerie gaze locked on the hero.
The question hung heavily in the air, the tension between them almost unbearable. Rock Lock swallowed hard, his throat dry, but he nodded ever so slightly.
“Yes, I need to know.” He replied, his voice barely a whisper.
“They made me a monster.” Izuku replied, his tone cold and unforgiving. “The kind of monster I never asked to become. They twisted me, Rock Lock. They molded me into their assassin. They turned me into Belial.”
The hero closed his eyes, and a single tear trickled down his cheek.
“I should have helped you.” He admitted, his voice filled with the weight of his own regret. “I’m so sorry, kid. I was a coward.”
“Sorry won’t change anything.” Izuku replied icily, his grip on the hero’s collar unyielding. “Consider this your karma.”
As he prepared to strike the final blow, something small and unexpected fell from Rock Lock’s utility belt. It was a small piece of paper, and Izuku’s curiosity got the best of him at the moment. He snatched the paper, all while keeping the hero pinned in place, and his eyes widened at the image it held.
It was a picture. In it, Rock Lock was captured in a moment of pure joy, cradling a small bundle of fabric with a radiant smile. Beside him stood a young woman, her eyes filled with happiness and warmth.
“You have…” Izuku began to say, his voice trembling.
“My wife and son.” Rock Lock explained, his voice breaking with emotion. “He was born just a few months after my biggest mistake. He’s the reason I finally understood how deeply I messed up with you, kid. I’m so, so sorry.”
For a moment, the alley seemed to fade into the background, and Izuku was lost in the picture. He saw the genuine joy in Rock Lock’s eyes, the happiness that had eluded him for so long. There was a family, a wife, a son—the life that might have been Izuku’s had fate taken a different path.
“Why?” Izuku’s voice trembled with a mixture of anger, sadness, and desperation. “Why couldn’t anyone save me? Why didn’t anyone love me? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS LIFE?”
“Kid. I-”
“Shut up!” Izuku’s voice cracked with raw emotion. “You left me! You had the power to save me, but you didn’t. How dare you call yourself a hero? I’m going to end this right now!”
With murderous intent, Izuku brought down his spider-like limb with all the force he could muster, aiming for the hero’s forehead. His mind was filled with a blazing desire for vengeance. He wanted to make Rock Lock pay for abandoning him.
But in a split second, before the fatal blow landed, the image of a bright-eyed young boy with green hair and freckles flashed vividly in Izuku’s mind. At that moment, he could see the boy looking into his eyes and shaking his head.
His attack stopped just millimeters from the hero’s forehead, and with a trembling hand, Izuku pulled back his deadly limb, allowing Rock Lock to gasp for breath.
“Kid?” Rock Lock’s voice quivered with a mixture of fear and relief as Izuku got up and walked away.
“Leave.” Izuku’s tone was frigid, devoid of any emotion. “There was no lead. This was a trap.”
The implications of Izuku’s words hit Rock Lock like a tidal wave. He had been lured here to his death. Yet, Izuku was letting him go.
“Kid, come with me.” The hero tried to plead, taking a hesitant step forward. “I can save you this time. I can help y-”
Izuku’s response was swift and deadly. His spider-like limb shot forward again, stopping just before Rock Lock’s nose, and the hero froze in his tracks.
“I’m sparing your life.” Izuku declared, his voice like ice. “But make no mistake. I didn’t forgive you. I’m not going to trust you. I. HATE. YOU!!!” He yelled the final words with an intensity that sent a shiver down Rock Lock’s spine. “So, leave. Before I change my mind.”
Rock Lock hesitated for a moment, his gaze locked with Izuku’s. He understood the gravity of the situation, and he knew that this bridge had been irrevocably burned. He had failed to save Izuku when it mattered most.
“Okay, I understand.” Rock Lock said, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m so sorry, kid.”
Izuku’s response was cold and unyielding.
“Words are worthless.” He said. “I don’t need your pity.”
With that, Rock Lock turned and walked away, leaving Izuku alone in the dimly lit alley. The young assassin watched him for a few more moments, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions. He knew that his actions would have consequences, but at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
------------------------------------------------------------
Hitoshi isn’t an obsessive person. It’s just that when he gets curious about something, he can’t let it go until he learns more.
For example, once, he got interested in cats and spent weeks looking up all sorts of weird facts about them. (Like, did you know that the pattern of a cat’s whiskers is unique to each cat, similar to human fingerprints?)
Another time, he wanted to know all about Underground heroes, so he scoured the internet for sightings of them. He already knew about Eraserhead even before being adopted by him.
But now, Hitoshi’s latest interest—“Obsession Hitoshi. Let’s put the right label.” “Shut up, Dad.”—was spiders. Ever since he met that boy with spider legs on his back at the library, Hitoshi wanted to talk to him again. That boy was skittish, always on the edge of running away. But when he talked about books, he did it with so much passion that it fascinated Hitoshi. The boy also had this low opinion of himself, saying Hitoshi deserved “a friend who wasn’t worthless.”
There was just something about him that drew Hitoshi in like a moth to a lantern. He couldn’t help himself. Plus, overhearing Dad talk to Uncle Zashi and learning that this boy was a vigilante only added fuel to his curiosity.
So, for the past few weeks, Hitoshi had been reading everything he could find about spiders. (Spiders use hydraulic pressure to move their legs; they don’t have muscles in their legs. They rely on internal fluids to extend and retract their limbs.)
Today, he found himself wandering near the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of the spider boy again. He asked the librarian, but she hadn’t seen the boy in a while. She seemed worried, which only made Hitoshi more determined to find him.
However, as he walked, he seemed to have misjudged just how dangerous this area could be. It wasn’t that late, but the sun was starting to set, and the streets were getting emptier. Just as Hitoshi thought of heading home, a sudden grip on his arm yanked him into an alley. A knife pressed against his neck.
“Give me everything, kid!” The wide-eyed man demanded.
Hitoshi knew he could take this guy down, but he didn’t want to risk getting into trouble for using his quirk illegally, even in self-defense. Besides, the guy seemed drugged and unpredictable.
Although the man’s hold on the knife was loose, attempting to disarm him was dangerous. The safest choice was to give up what little he had - a few bucks he always kept on him for the train and maybe a snack and his cell phone - and walk away with his life.
With a resigned sigh, Hitoshi opened his mouth to comply, but before he could say anything, a blur zipped past his face, and he was suddenly free.
Blinking in surprise, he turned to see the mugger sprawled on the ground with a broken nose. Standing next to him was the familiar boy with green hair and eight spider legs coming from his back.
“I wouldn’t recommend staying here when it’s late.” The boy cautioned.
Hitoshi studied him, recognizing the boy from their encounter at the library. His attire was somewhat similar but with jeans instead of basketball shorts and a green hoodie to match.
“Lesson learned.” Hitoshi replied with a nonchalant shrug. “But it’s good to see you again, Greenie.”
The boy paused, casting a brief glance at Hitoshi.
“The boy from the library.” He said. “Shinsou, was it?”
“Yep.” Hitoshi confirmed with a nod. “You didn’t tell me your name, so I’ll keep calling you Greenie.”
Greenie simply shrugged and began restraining the unconscious mugger with zip ties.
“It’s the third time I’ve stopped you this month.” He muttered to the unconscious man. “Can you give me a break?”
“So, Spider Brat, huh?” Hitoshi remarked.
Greenie froze, his eyes widening as he turned to face Hitoshi.
“How do you know?” He asked.
Hitoshi let out a snort of amusement.
“For one, there aren’t many people with a mutation like yours.” He gestured to the spider legs folded on Greenie’s back. “Two, normal folks don’t go around saving strangers from muggers, let alone carry zip ties. And three, you just confirmed it.”
Greenie couldn’t help but chuckle at Hitoshi’s observations. Hitoshi is just glad he didn’t run away.
“You’ve got a point.” Greenie admitted, his tone relaxed.
“So, Spider Brat.” Hitoshi grinned, clearly enjoying the interaction. “I don’t see a lot of vigilantes in this area.”
“Well, technically, this isn’t my territory.” Greenie replied. “I was just taking a walk when I saw the guy. He tried to mug me once. He’s always trying something around here.”
“One would think the police would have arrested him already.” Hitoshi said with a frown.
Greenie’s expression darkened at that.
“The police are almost as useless as heroes.” He spat, full of venom.
“Guess you don’t have good experiences with the police and heroes, huh?” Hitoshi said softly. “I can relate. I used to get a lot of shit because of my quirk. A police officer once tried to frame me for a murder. Good thing I had been adopted already, and Pops wouldn’t have any of that bullshit.”
Greenie sighed deeply.
“There are... a few good heroes, I won’t deny.” He admitted. “But I don’t trust them. Learned the hard way that I can’t trust anyone but myself.”
Hitoshi frowned at the admission. It was becoming evident that the boy was likely in the system or even homeless. However, he decided not to pry further.
“So, you saved me.” Hitoshi said. “How about I get you an ice cream as a thank you?”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Greenie replied. “I didn’t help you wanting to be paid. It’s fine.”
“I insist.” Hitoshi countered. “There’s a great stall not far from here. Please?” He offered a friendly smile.
Greenie hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened.
“Alright, then.” Greenie agreed with a small smile. “I guess an ice cream won’t hurt.”
With that settled, the two walked together to the nearby ice cream stall. It was a quaint little place with a variety of flavors and toppings to choose from. Hitoshi got a vanilla cone, while Greenie chose a taro cone.
They sat down on a nearby bench and talked some more. Neither delved into the details of their lives, but Hitoshi could see that the boy was opening up to him. He couldn’t help but smile at that.
“I’m just saying.” Greenie said, waving a hand around. “Cursed Child never should have existed. There was literally no reason for that book to be released!” He angrily took a bite of his cone. “This book ruins so many things from the rest of the series.”
Hitoshi couldn’t help but smile at Greenie’s passionate expression. The boy looked adorable like this. Wait, what? No. Bad Hitoshi. Stop thinking like that.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his forehead.
“Are you okay, Shinsou?” Greenie asked worriedly. “You’re looking kinda red, and you didn’t answer.”
Hitoshi blushed harder and batted the hand away.
“I’m fine.” Hitoshi said. “Guess I’m a little tired. It’s been a long day.”
“You can say that again.” Greenie chuckled, finishing his ice cream. “Do you live close?”
“I have to catch the train.” Hitoshi replied before looking up. “Guess I should be on my way.”
“Let me get you to the station.” Greenie said with a smile. “It’s dangerous to go alone.”
Hitoshi snorted at the phrasing.
“Are you going to give me a sword?” He asked.
“Why would I have a sword?” Greenie asked, tilting his head.
The fact that the reference went over his head is honestly very sad. He hopes he can show Zelda to Greenie one day. But that’s a plan for the future.
“It was just a joke.” Hitoshi said with a smile. “Let’s go?” Greenie nodded, and they started walking.
As they went, Hitoshi wasn’t sure if he should try to start a conversation or let the silence hang. All too soon, they reached the train station.
“Well. This is where we part ways.” Greenie said. “It was nice talking to you again, Shinsou.”
“Yeah.” Hitoshi replied with a smile. “I hope we can meet again. You’re very cool, Greenie. I’d like to be your friend.”
Greenie blinked at him a few times.
“Why?” He asked, clearly surprised by the offer. “You deserve a better friend than a-”
“Don’t call yourself worthless, Greenie.” Hitoshi interrupted. “You’re a nice boy who loves books and spends your nights saving people. There’s nothing worthless about you.”
Greenie hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground.
“You don’t know that.” He replied, his voice heavy with uncertainty. “Shinsou, you have no idea about my past. What I did. What I was forced to do. I’m not friend material.”
Hitoshi was taken aback by the sudden outburst, but he quickly recovered and took a step ahead, putting both hands on Greenie’s shoulders. He’s so small. He’s the same age as Hitoshi. He shouldn’t be that small.
“I really don’t know about your past.” Hitoshi said, his tone calm and reassuring. “If you ever want to share it, I will listen. But I promise I won’t care. Because your past doesn’t define you. People have to do bad things to survive sometimes. That doesn’t make you a bad person. A bad person wouldn’t be out on the streets risking their life to help people who will likely not even thank them.”
Greenie looked at him with wide eyes, clearly not used to hearing such words of understanding and acceptance.
“You don’t need to trust me completely.” Hitoshi continued. “You don’t need to tell me your name now. Or ever. But this world is too cruel to tread alone.” He got the last line from a fortune cookie, but Greenie didn’t need to know that.
“I…” Greenie hesitated for a second, then nodded softly. “Okay. We can be friends, Shinsou.”
Hitoshi smiled warmly and pulled a paper from his pocket, quickly scribbling his number.
“Here.” He said, offering the paper with a smile.
Greenie hesitated for a second before responding, “I don’t have a phone.”
Hitoshi blinked, momentarily surprised. It was easy to forget that not everyone had a phone, but it also made him wonder about Greenie’s circumstances.
“No phone?” Hitoshi asked. He didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t help but feel concern for his new friend. “Well, I guess you can still call me from a phone cab if you ever need it.” He offered genuinely. “And I mean it. You can call me at any moment. I will do my best to help you.”
Greenie nodded at him with a small smile on his face.
“Okay, Shinsou.” He said gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Can we meet at the library?” Hitoshi asked.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been there.” Greenie frowned, deep in thought. “The librarian must be worried.”
“She is.” Hitoshi confirmed.
“I’ll start going again.” Greenie decided. “Now that I know I’m not…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m usually there during school hours. But I also go on weekends.”
“Then I’ll see you on Saturday.” Hitoshi said. He noticed his train arriving. “Oh, my train. Gotta go. Bye, Greenie!”
He began to run towards the approaching train just as Greenie hesitated for a moment. Then, just as Hitoshi was about to enter the train, he heard his new friend call out.
“Izuku.” Greenie said just before the doors closed.
Hitoshi’s eyes widened, and a genuine smile crept onto his face.
“Izuku, huh?” Hitoshi mumbled to himself. “That’s a nice name.”
Notes:
Izuku finally told someone his name.
Chapter 14
Notes:
CW: Gore and murder
Proceed with caution
Chapter Text
Izuku silently climbed back up the building a few seconds after Rock Lock had disappeared from view. He still wasn't sure why he spared the hero. It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd been ordered to kill one. However, it was the first time he'd ever gone against an order. Panic was already starting to rise within him. He knew Lilith wouldn't be happy with him.
On the rooftop, Leviathan awaited him. Her expression was a mix of a scowl and a smirk.
“You know.” She began, “I always told Lilith you were weak, that it was only a matter of time until you failed. But I didn't think you would choose to fail on purpose. She won't be happy, you know?”
“I know.” Izuku replied quietly.
“I wonder what your punishment will be.” Leviathan continued, taunting him. “Maybe she'll let Beelzebub have his fun with you. He's been saying he misses spending time with you. Or perhaps she'll have Mammon 'train' you again. Or maybe she'll decide you're a waste of time and finally allow Asmodeus to add you to her collection.”
As she grinned at him, Izuku felt his blood boil. He had experienced fear, sadness, frustration, and hopelessness throughout ALL his life. Those were all feelings he was very familiar with. But what he felt now was entirely different. His blood was boiling, and he had an overwhelming desire to break something, to hurt someone, to scream, to vent.
Leviathan's words had pushed him over the edge, and he recognized the feeling. It was so much like he had seen his father act all the time. And that's when he realized what he was truly feeling. For the first time in his life, Izuku was angry.
“Are you even listening to me?” Leviathan called, snapping her fingers in front of him. “You know, after messing up so badly, the least you could do is to he-”
Before he even realized what he was doing, Izuku had one of his spear-like spider legs plunged through Leviathan's heart. His eyes widened as he realized the gravity of his actions. Leviathan stared at him in absolute shock.
Izuku could have pulled away and rushed with Leviathan to Doctor Asmodeus before it was too late. Begged for forgiveness in the hopes that they’d spare his life after such treason. And maybe, things could go back to normal. But that was not what he did. Instead, he took a step forward and bit Leviathan's arm. His venom acted swiftly, and the only reason she didn't start screaming was because she couldn't draw breath to do so.
In an instant, Leviathan's disguise vanished, revealing her true form—a middle-aged woman with disheveled hair and rotting teeth. She slumped to the floor, and a few seconds later, her movements ceased entirely. She was dead.
As Izuku stared at Leviathan’s lifeless body on the floor, he felt something bubble up in his throat. Just like the anger, it was an emotion he'd never experienced before. And as he gazed at Leviathan's lifeless form, he couldn't help it. For the first time in his life...
Izuku laughed.
…
“One down. Seven to go.” Izuku gleefully muttered to himself as he approached the villainous complex that had imprisoned him for so long.
For years, he had lived in constant fear of the Nine Circles of Hell, but who would have thought that all this time, he didn't need anyone to save him? He could free himself. All he had to do was what they had trained him for – to become an assassin. To gain his freedom, Izuku just needed to do one thing: kill them.
He could feel the still-fresh blood on his face and suit. He never realized just how pretty the crimson color really was.
As he strolled through the complex, he knew there was likely an unhinged smile on his face. But it didn't matter. He was free, and he reveled in it.
“Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Lilith, Lucifer, Mammon, and Satan. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.” He counted on his fingers, contemplating where to begin. “I'll start with the most troublesome ones.”
With a smile, he started skipping his way toward the solitary cells. The rooms were all soundproof, something Satan loved, as it helped him remain calm. Izuku knew that attacking Satan without a plan would be suicide – an angry Satan was the second scariest thing he'd ever seen in this place.
He would need to be clever. As he pushed open the door, he saw a series of cells and went straight to the last one. The sound of classical music filled the air as he approached Satan, who had his eyes closed, lost in playing an imaginary violin.
Izuku crept up with slow, deliberate steps. Once he was close enough, he jumped onto Satan's back, unbalancing the scrawny man and knocking him to the ground.
“What?” Satan blurted out, trying to turn around, only to see Izuku perched on his back. “What are you?”
“Bye-bye, Satan-san.” Izuku giggled and then sank his teeth into the man's neck.
“Argh! You little!” Satan yelled, trying to toss Izuku away. “I'll kill you!”
Izuku sprang backward, watching as the man rose, his scrawny frame filling with bulging muscles. He started advancing toward Izuku, who simply waved at him.
“You're already dead, Satan-san.” Izuku said, his voice filled with amusement. Then he turned his back on Satan, leaving the cell.
“Get back here, you little…” Satan tried to take a step, then collapsed to his knees as Izuku's venom took effect. Blood started oozing from his nose, mouth, and eyes. “I'm gonna...kill...you…” He fell forward, reverting to his scrawny form once more.
Izuku sealed the cell shut, silencing the classical music, and walked away.
“Two down.” He sang out cheerfully as he started to skip again. “Six to go.”
…
Izuku continued to skip through the facility's corridors, greeting the cameras with cheerful waves. After years of captivity, he knew every inch of the place like the back of his hand. He had memorized the locations of every room and every camera. He was heading to the monitoring room next, but he had no worries about the cameras; the villains were too arrogant. Despite having cameras all over the facility, they only had one person to watch them.
As he opened the door to the monitoring room, he found exactly what he expected. Belphegor was slouched in front of the bank of monitors, sound asleep. Why they always left the laziest person Izuku had ever known in charge of the cameras remained a mystery, but he wasn't complaining. It worked in his favor.
Izuku approached her, briefly considering waking her up so she could witness what was about to happen. However, he decided against it. Belphegor was mostly harmless. In all the years Izuku had been there, she had never directly harmed him. So, he would grant her a small mercy.
Stopping in front of Belphegor, he raised one of his spider legs and drove it through her forehead. Her death was instant, and she didn't even open her eyes.
Izuku withdrew his spider leg, wiped the blood from the metallic limb on her dress, and nodded at her lifeless form.
“Goodbye, Belphegor-san.” He murmured as he left the room. “Three down ♫.” He sang, “Five more to go ♫.”
…
“Hello, Beelzebub-san.” Izuku called out as he entered the room.
Beelzebub's room looked more like a butcher's shop straight out of a slasher movie than an actual bedroom. Hooks adorned the walls, each one having a lifeless body hanging from it. The bodies were all covered in bite marks, with a particular preference for the upper arms and shoulders.
Beelzebub looked taken aback when he saw Izuku, especially given the boy's bloody appearance.
“What do you want, runt?” Beelzebub asked, arching an eyebrow, his customary metallic smile in place. “Did Lilith send you?”
Izuku approached him, a disturbingly sweet smile on his face.
“Oh, no. This has nothing to do with her." He replied casually, his voice laced with malice. “I’m just here for a little payback. You seem to enjoy biting so much.” Without hesitation, he opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into Beelzebub's shoulder. “Hmmm, yeah.” He mused, savoring the moment. “I can see the appeal.”
“What did you…” Beelzebub began to say, but the venom was already taking effect.
“Go to hell, Beelzebub.” Izuku sneered with a twisted smile before taking a step back and sitting on the floor.
Beelzebub tried to reach for him, but the venom acted swiftly, causing him to crumple to the floor, writhing in agony. Izuku watched with a smile as the man started bleeding and screaming while clutching his chest. He was dead within moments.
“Hey, Beelz, I need your help with…” A voice called from the door. Izuku turned around and saw Lucifer entering the room. “Something…”
His eyes widened as he saw Beelzebub dead on the floor.
“Belial?” Lucifer exclaimed. “What are you—”
“Four down ♫.” Izuku sang as he got up and started walking towards Lucifer. “Four more to go ♫.”
Lucifer's eyes widened, and he quickly opened his arms.
“Pride flash!” He said, and a rainbow flash momentarily blinded Izuku. Once his vision returned, Lucifer had already vanished.
“Ooh, are we playing Hide and Seek, Lu-Chan?” Izuku grinned as he walked out of the room. “I love Hide and Seek.”
…
Lucifer was a very prideful man. He wore flashy clothes, and his steps always oozed confidence. One word to describe him would surely be "flamboyant." But his flamboyance turned out to be his worst weakness.
Lucifer had the stealth skills of a peacock. Following him through the corridors was laughably easy for Izuku. Using his spider legs, he clung to the ceiling, tracking the vain villain like a predator stalking its prey. A persistent giggle escaped him as he closed in.
“LU-CHAN!” He called mockingly. “WHERE ARE YOU?”
A door slammed shut, and Izuku chuckled as he figured out where Lucifer had gone. It was Izuku's own room. Without hesitation, Izuku broke down the door and stepped inside, spotting Lucifer with his back against a bookshelf filled with Izuku's books.
“Found you, Lu-Chan!” Izuku declared, his grin unsettling.
Izuku preened as he watched the prideful man cower in fear against the wall. Izuku took deliberate, noisy steps toward him, stopping right in front of him.
“What are you doing, Belial?” Lucifer stammered.
Izuku ignored him and reached for a book on the shelf.
“I never properly thanked you for the books you got me.” Izuku said, his tone shifting from menacing to almost casual. “They were one of the few things that kept me sane here. Of all the villains, you were one of the least horrible, Lu-Chan.”
“Then let me go.” Lucifer pleaded. “I won't ever get in your way, Bel-” He cut himself. “I mean…”
“You don't even know my real name, do you?” Izuku tilted his head, a wicked smile on his face. “It doesn't matter.” He focused on the book, and Lucifer tried to escape, but Izuku impaled his leg with a spider leg, causing him to crash to the floor. “‘This Is The Skin Of A Killer, Bella!’” Izuku read from the book, a hint of disdain in his voice. “You know?” He closed the book with a loud snap. “Twilight sucks.”
“Belial?” Lucifer called out in desperation.
“I can't let you go, Lucifer.” Izuku stated coldly. “After today, I'll either be free, or dead. And I won't leave anyone who could come after me in the future.” He grinned at the man on the floor. “So, bye-bye, Lucifer.”
“Wait.” Lucifer began, but his plea was cut short as Izuku pierced his neck with a spider leg.
Lucifer stared at Izuku with wide, horrified eyes as he bled out on the floor, trying to reach with his hand until it fell limp by his side.
“Five down ♫.” Izuku sang as he left the room, casually tossing the book over his shoulder. “Three to go ♫.” The book landed on Lucifer's face, covering his lifeless eyes.
…
Izuku couldn't contain his laughter as he approached Mammon's room. The sheer arrogance of these villains amused him. He had killed five of them already, as subtle as a sledgehammer, and they hadn't realized a thing. No alarms, no pursuit, nothing.
Shaking his head, he broke through the locked door to Mammon's room and entered. The room was a bizarre mix of a treasury and a torture chamber. Shiny trinkets littered the space, interspersed with a macabre collection of torture instruments. It was just as Izuku had expected.
“What are you doing here, Belial?” Mammon growled menacingly as he glared at Izuku.
Just yesterday, this would have sent Izuku cowering in fear. But today, he simply smiled and took a step toward Mammon.
“Hey there, Mammon-Sama.” He cooed in mock sweetness. "Heard from the others? Things are getting pretty bloody, you know?"
Mammon's frown deepened as he grasped the implications. His eyes widened in realization.
“What did you—”
“Levi, Sat, Belphie, Beelz, and Lu-Chan.” Izuku said with a grin. “You're the sixth. And I'm going to enjoy this.”
He lunged, stabbing straight through Mammon's chest. But in the blink of an eye, Mammon disappeared.
“Oh, just a clone.” Izuku pouted, glancing around the room. His eyes landed on a particularly precious-looking vase. “Ooh, this looks expensive. You better show yourself, Mammon-Sama, or I'm going to smash this next.” He threatened. “Five, four, three, two—”
“Don't you dare, you brat!” Mammon suddenly reappeared and lunged at Izuku with a taser. But Izuku was ready, swiftly dodging and tossing Mammon to the floor.
“Your training really paid off, Mammon-Sama.” Izuku remarked with a grin as he pinned Mammon with his spider legs, stabbing his hands and legs. “I can take down people much bigger than me now.”
“Fucking brat, we should have killed you.” Mammon spat.
“Yes, you should have.” Izuku agreed, taking the taser that Mammon had dropped. “Oh, I remember this one. We had so much fun with it.” He turned the dial to the maximum setting. “Let’s play one more time? For old times' sake?” He pressed the taser against Mammon's neck.
“Wait, Belial, don't—”
“Go to hell.” Izuku said with a smile and activated the taser.
He watched as Mammon screamed and convulsed under the electric shock. Izuku didn't stop, keeping it on Mammon's neck for several seconds even after the man stopped moving.
“You lasted much less than I thought.” Izuku mused as he got up, stabbing Mammon's stomach for good measure. “Six down ♫.” He sang as he left the room. “Two more to go ♫.” He left the room, leaving behind the lifeless body of Mammon.
…
As Izuku approached Lilith's office, he couldn't help but glance down at the brand on the back of his hand. This mark was the biggest threat to his plan. As long as it existed, he couldn't disobey any orders Lilith gave him. However, Izuku had always loved quirk analysis, and he'd had more than enough time to analyze just how Lilith's quirk worked. For her quirk to take effect, two conditions had to be met:
One, the target needed to be branded, just like Izuku was.
Two, the target had to hear Lilith's orders. And that was Izuku's way in.
Without hesitation, Izuku drove his spider legs into his ears, piercing his eardrums. He barely flinched at the pain and ignored the blood seeping from his ears, he had endured much worse things here. The important thing was that it worked. He could no longer hear a thing.
With this newfound immunity, he kicked open Lilith's office door and entered. Lilith's eyes widened in shock as she began speaking, but Izuku couldn't hear her. He knew he could read her lips if he wished to understand her words, but why bother?
Instead, he lunged at her, driving one of his spider legs into her shoulder, sending her crashing to the floor. Pinning her down, he was poised to end her life swiftly, but then an idea struck him. This was the perfect opportunity to gather some vital information. So, he grabbed her by the collar and stared into her eyes, baring his teeth threateningly.
“Lie to me, and you're dead.” He warned, making it clear that he wouldn't hesitate to use his venom. “You know how painful my venom can be. Tell me, who else works for you? I'm not interested in mere underlings you control with your quirk. I want to know about the real players, past and present.” If he was going to eliminate them, he couldn't afford any loose ends.
He watched Lilith's lips move and focused on reading them.
“Lucifer and Satan. They were newcomers.” She revealed. “The roles previously belonged to other individuals.”
“WHO!?” Izuku growled, pressing for more information.
“Inko and Hisashi.” She replied, causing Izuku's eyes to widen. He stared at her incredulously. “It's the truth. Inko was the former Lucifer, and Hisashi was the former Satan.”
Izuku had often wondered about his parents' connection to Lilith. Now it made sense. They hated him for his villainous quirk, yet they had been villains themselves. A bitter chuckle escaped him at the irony.
With a sigh, he released Lilith and stood up. She began to rise as well, but Izuku wasn't about to let her escape. He stabbed her through the chest, and she fell to the floor lifeless. Izuku calmly left the room.
“Seven down ♫.” He sang. “One… No, three more to go ♫.”
He then made his way to Doctor Asmodeus's labs.
…
Izuku held Doctor Asmodeus at the tip of his spider legs. One swift movement and her life would end. She was acutely aware of her vulnerability. Asmodeus wasn't a combatant; she was a doctor. Her expertise lay in labs and clinics, not in the field. Izuku knew she posed no physical threat to him.
“Very clever.” Izuku read her lips. “I warned Lilith that this weakness would be her downfall someday.”
“She got what she deserved.” Izuku growled, his tone laced with anger. “Now, heal me.”
Doctor Asmodeus slowly extended her hands toward Izuku's ears and activated her quirk. He winced as the pain of his eardrums being pierced returned, and then his hearing was restored.
“I never imagined you would have the audacity to do this.” She said with a twisted grin. “You truly are my magnum opus, Belial.”
“My name is Izuku.” He growled, frustration coursing through him.
“Belial, my dear.” She replied dismissively. “You are a perfected killing machine. Flawless. Remarkable. Forged to perfection through the crucible of life. I can't wait to see where your journey leads.”
Izuku sighed, realizing that she wasn't really listening to him. Asmodeus was arguably the most deranged among the Nine Circles of Hell. Although Mammon and Lilith were his primary tormentors, she had been the one who caused him the most pain.
Yet, paradoxically, she was also the only one who had shown him any form of kindness and affection, albeit in her distorted way. Not unlike an inventor cherishing their creations.
While she continued to monologue, Izuku knew he had to leave. He couldn't afford to linger any longer. With a heavy heart, he pierced her through the stomach and turned away.
As he walked out and closed the door behind him, he left her behind to her fate. She stared after him, an unsettling grin on her face as blood oozed from the hole in her stomach.
“My lovely Belial.” She muttered to herself. “What a magnificent specimen you are.”
…
Izuku stood atop a building, watching as the sirens of approaching firefighters pierced the night. Flames danced in the dark, consuming the complex below. It was a fire he had started hours ago, a fire that had slowly devoured everything in its path.
He understood that by doing this, there would be no evidence left to identify the individuals inside. But he was content with that outcome. These people would become a mystery, a question mark in the minds of those who learned of their disappearance.
And that was fine with Izuku. They didn't deserve attention or recognition. The Nine Circles of Hell would simply vanish, just as they had caused so many others to vanish.
“Eight down ♫.” He sang softly to himself, a dark and haunting tune. “Only two more to go ♫.” Turning away from the blazing inferno, he added with a chilling smile, “Mommy. Daddy. I'm going home ♫.”
With that, he vanished into the night, leaving the fire's glow behind.
Chapter 15
Notes:
CW: Blood and murder. Izuku's rampage continues
Chapter Text
Izuku descended from the building, his footsteps quiet as he moved through the shadows. He knew that if he encountered the police or a hero in his current state, it could spell trouble. His body was smeared with blood, a testament to the night's actions.
As he walked through the dimly lit alley, something caught the corner of his eye. There, at the entrance, stood a figure he recognized all too well. It was one of the three heroes who had betrayed him in the past. Izuku would never forget those eyes, that costume, and the serpentine tongue.
“Kobra.” He mumbled to himself, a dark grin forming on his face.
The hero heard Izuku's deliberate footsteps and turned to look at him, spotting the bloodstained figure stepping into the light.
“Oh, it's you.” The hero grumbled, his gaze returning to the burning building. “What the hell happened here? After all the boasting about their strength, they end up dead? Just like that? Lilith better be alive; I've gained too much from her.”
“They're all dead,” Izuku stated, a chilling smile evident in his voice.
“What do you mean?” Kobra frowned and turned to face Izuku. “Who could have possibly killed them?”
“Me,” Izuku replied, his grin growing even more sinister. “And you're next, Kobra.”
Kobra's eyes widened with shock as he processed Izuku's words. It finally dawned on him that Izuku was in a horrifying state.
“You... you killed them?” Kobra stuttered, taking a cautious step back, his composure wavering.
Izuku's laughter, chilling and surreal, echoed in the darkened alley.
“Yes.” He replied, his voice tinged with madness. “It was so easy. None of them expected their little assassin to turn on them. They truly believed they had me under control. Isn't that funny, Kobra-San?”
Kobra swallowed hard, fear knotting his features. Izuku took a slow, deliberate step forward, and the hero's hands trembled as he fumbled for something concealed within his costume. But before he could react, Izuku's spider-like legs shot out with a swift, calculated movement, stabbing through his arm.
“Argh!” Kobra screamed, cradling his bleeding hand.
“For someone who's supposed to be a hero, you're far too sloppy, Kobra-San.” Izuku taunted, tilting his head with an eerie smile. “But you're no hero, are you? Heroes don't make deals with villains. Tell me, how much did you gain from Lilith? How long have you been working for her?”
Kobra's expression shifted from surprise to one of pure fear.
“I... I didn't have a choice,” he stammered, his voice quivering. “She had something on me, something that would ruin my career. I needed the money, the power she offered. I had to... play both sides.”
Izuku's unsettling grin grew wider as he leaned in closer, his spider legs retracting but ready to strike again.
“Playing both sides, Kobra-San?” he asked. “How's that working out for you now?”
“I swear, I didn't know you were going to... to do all this,” Kobra pleaded. “I never meant for you to end up like this. I thought we had an understanding. I can help you, Belial. We can work together, and I'll make sure you get a chance at a new life, a real life.”
“You think I'll believe you, Kobra?” Izuku hissed, his spider leg hovering ominously. “You're just a lying snake. You are part of the problem. You helped create me. You helped turn me into this monster. It's only fair that you assume the responsibility, right?”
Kobra's face turned ashen, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape that didn't exist.
“I'm sorry, Belial. I'm so sorry.” He whimpered.
Izuku's laughter filled the alley, a dark and haunting sound.
“Your apologies won't change anything, Kobra-San,” Izuku said. “Also, my name isn’t Belial.” With a sudden lunge, the spider leg pierced through Kobra's chest, and he dragged the hero closer to his face, staring into his terrified eyes. “It’s Izuku.”
Then he let the hero drop to the floor, lifeless.
Izuku stared at the body for a few more seconds, before throwing his head back and starting to laugh. As the sirens of approaching heroes grew louder, Izuku stepped out of the alley, disappearing into the shadows, his haunting laughter echoing in the night.
…
Izuku doesn't like silence. All his life, everything was either silence or angry yells. Izuku hates both. Silence is just another reminder of his loneliness. Either at home with his parents, or in the complex with the villains, he was always lonely.
Izuku hates loneliness. He doesn't want to be alone anymore, but even in all his desperation for company, he also can't bring himself to trust the people he knows.
He doesn't know what made him trust Shinsou enough to tell him his name, his true name. When he talked to the other boy, he felt less lonely. He almost felt like a normal person at that moment. But he wasn't a normal person. No amount of pretending would ever erase everything Izuku did. All the lives he took.
That night, on the top of a building, Izuku sat at the edge, his legs dangling absentmindedly as he looked to the sky, admiring the stars. He wouldn't start his patrol for a few more hours, so he tried to relax. But the silence was deafening. Nothing screams louder than the sound of silence.
Slipping his hand into his hoodie pocket, Izuku feels the pocket radio he bought a few months ago on a whim. He's not sure what possessed him to spend a part of the little he normally earns, money that should have gone towards food or essentials, on something so trivial and pointless.
It's not like Izuku has a good relationship with music either. Hell, he hates classical music. Even the mere sound of a violin is enough to remind him of Satan. And other than him, the Nine Circles of Hell didn't like music very much.
The first time he ever heard anything other than the classic music Satan would use to keep calm, was weeks after he escaped them. So, yeah. He had no idea what made him want to buy this radio. But ever since he got it, he would use it every Friday night. Not only was it a good way to keep the silence away, but he honestly liked the songs that played on the Put Your Hands Up Radio.
Tonight is no exception. Izuku knows that on Fridays, Present Mic hosts his radio program, so he doesn't expect to see the man on patrol.
Turning on the radio, Izuku hears a song already playing.
------------------------------------------------------------
It’s been a week since Hizashi last patrolled with the Little Listener. He had to take time to get acquainted with his new hearing, and thus, he’s been training non-stop. Chiyo scolded him a few times about taking things too fast, but Hizashi had a good reason for wanting to be back to work so fast.
After everything he learned last time, it doesn’t feel right to leave the Little Listener alone for so long. More than anything, Hizashi fears that the boy will end up thinking that Hizashi abandoned him. He’d never, but the boy wasn’t sure of that. Hizashi fears that one more betrayal, even if it is just on the boy’s mind, will tip him over the edge.
More than anything, Hizashi just wants to meet him again and make sure he’s fine. Or at least as fine as someone with such a horrible past could be. That’s why Hizashi called on his radio today and asked them to put on a pre-recorded program today. Hizashi usually doesn’t patrol on Fridays, but he can make an exception for today.
As he approaches the rooftop where he usually meets the Little Listener, Hizashi’s new sensible hearing catches on something, and he brings a hand to his ear, turning down his hearing blockers - courtesy of Power Loader - to be able to hear better. To his surprise, it’s music. Pre-quirk era music. There’s only one radio that still plays this kind of music. His own.
Slowing down, Hizashi approaches the rooftop, and his eyes widen and soften at the same time as he sees the cutest thing he has ever seen since the time he found Sushi playing with a ball of yarn. On the rooftop, Spider Brat has his arms and spider legs spread as he spins around and jumps. There’s a small radio on the floor playing the music, and the kid is singing along as he dances.
“I need a hero.” He sings and dances. “ I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night. He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast, and he's gotta be fresh from the fight.”
Hizashi approaches silently, and sits down on the neighboring rooftop, watching the scene with a soft smile. He has never seen the boy looking so peaceful like right now.
“I need a hero.” He sings at the top of his lungs. “I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light. He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon, and he's gotta be larger than life. Larger than life.”
The music continues to play, and the boy twirls around, completely lost in the moment. For a while, the world seems to melt away, leaving only the rooftop, the music, and the pure innocence of the dance. It also feels like Hizashi is intruding. He’s sure the boy doesn't know he’s there and doesn't intend for him to see this. But Hizashi can't bring himself to turn away. So he stands there silently, watching the captivating scene.
He also wonders if there’s some hidden message to the song the boy is singing. The boy, who had repeatedly expressed his distrust of heroes, is here singing about holding out for a hero. Maybe it’s because the song just happens to be playing. But it doesn't feel that simple.
As the song nears its end, and the boy begins to slow down, Hizashi makes a silent promise to himself. He will be the hero the boy was asking for. When the song is finished, the boy stops and plops down on the floor, panting but wearing a faint smile. Hizashi decides it’s the right time to approach.
He picks up the lunchbox he has prepared for the Little Listener and jumps to the rooftop where the boy is. As he lands, the boy tenses and sits down, immediately focusing on him. But a second later, he relaxes as he recognizes Hizashi. It warms Hizashi's heart. A few months ago, the boy wouldn't have relaxed around him.
“Mic-San.” The boy greets him, glancing at the radio that is still playing Hizashi's voice. “I thought you'd be on the radio today.”
“I've finally been cleared to patrol again, and I didn't want to wait,” Hizashi explains. “So they're playing a pre-recorded program.”
The boy nods at him and lies down again.
“How much did you see?” He asks.
“You have a great voice,” Hizashi replies with a reassuring smile. “And those were some impressive moves.”
“I'm quite flexible.” The boy says. “And I... I don't like silence.”
The admission catches Hizashi off guard. The boy rarely shows any kind of vulnerability, and this feels almost like the boy exposing his soul to Hizashi. It's small and weak, but it's trust. An ember of trust that Hizashi will never let die out.
“I'm glad my program can help with that,” Hizashi says. “That's the reason I started, in the first place. I wanted to create a safe place where everyone could be heard. Anyone who calls at any point will be heard, be it to report a crime or just talk about their day.”
“That…” The boy arches his head, glancing at Hizashi. “Sounds very nice.”
“If I can help at least one person, all the effort is worth it,” Hizashi says and puts the bag on the floor. “Now, you must be hungry. There you go. It's Katsudon, Lunch Rush's special.”
The boy takes the lunchbox slowly and opens it. Hizashi doesn't comment on the wetness he sees in the boy's eyes as he starts eating. One day, this boy will stop crying at the smallest signs of kindness. One day he'll believe he deserves it.
“How are your ears?” The boy asks. “When my eyes... mutated. It took me weeks to get used to keeping them closed during the day.”
“Loud sounds still hurt,” Hizashi says, not drawing much attention to the boy’s words. When the boy is ready to tell him about the things he went through, Hizashi will be there to listen. “But I'm getting used to it. Your idea worked, by the way.” He turns his face so the boy can see the small devices in his ears. “These can block sounds above a certain frequency, and they are adjustable.”
The boy sighs in relief and nods.
“That's good.” He says. “I would never want anyone to go through what I went through.” He hesitantly looks up, something vulnerable in his eyes. “Mic-San, can we…” Hizashi's breath hitches, and he waits patiently for the boy to make up his mind. However, he shakes his head. “No, it's nothing.”
Hizashi doesn't let his disappointment show. Instead, he smiles warmly at the boy.
“Whenever you're ready, Little Listener.” He says.
“I'm sorry.” The boy says, looking down and pushing the empty lunchbox.
“Whenever you're ready, Little Listener,” Hizashi repeats. “I mean it. I'll wait as long as I need to, even if that day never comes.”
The boy finally meets Hizashi's gaze, a mixture of longing and trepidation in his four eyes. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then hesitates. Hizashi doesn’t hurry him, only waiting for the boy.
“Izuku.” The boy says slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “My name is Izuku.”
Hizashi feels like crying, but he keeps his emotions in check. The boy has trusted him enough to share his name. That’s probably the biggest step they ever took.
Izuku nods, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and a glimmer of hope.
“Only when we are alone?” It sounds more like a question. Like he’s testing the waters.
“That's perfectly fine, Izuku,” Hizashi replies with an encouraging smile. He knows just how hard it is for the boy to put this amount of trust in him. Hizashi decides that this should go both ways. “My name is Yamada Hizashi.”
“Yamada Hizashi...” Izuku tests the name on his tongue. “Yamada-San. You are the nicest adult I have ever met. I wish I had met you earlier. Maybe things could have been different.”
“Izuku,” Hizashi calls softly. “I know you don’t believe me yet. But I’ll keep repeating until it sinks. It wasn’t your fault, and you’re not a monster. You’re a hurt kid, and you deserve kindness. You deserve love.”
“You're right,” Izuku replies with a sigh. “I don't believe you.” He looks away, his voice heavy with the weight of his past. “Not when all I see whenever I close my eyes are all the people I hurt. Their hateful stares. Their judging words.” He glances at Hizashi, his gaze filled with pain. “Yamada-San. I killed my first person when I was 4.” He laughs bitterly, but Hizashi can see the tears running down his cheeks.
Every word about Izuku's life feels like a knife to Hizashi's chest. If he could, he would whisk this child away and provide the love and safety he desperately needs. But he knows it's not that simple, not until Izuku asks for help. For now, all he can offer are words.
“The past can't be changed,” Hizashi says gently. “It hurts, and it'll continue to hurt. It might never stop hurting, Izuku. But you're just a kid. You're not responsible for what they made you do. Wanting to live isn't a sin, Izuku. The first step to starting to heal is learning to let go. You deserve it, Izuku. You deserve kindness. You deserve love. You deserve to feel safe. You deserve a home.”
“I want to believe you.” He admits with teary eyes. “But I don't know how.”
There's not much Hizashi can do right now. Words won't reach Izuku. He's said it himself: words are worthless.
Hizashi opens his arms in a silent invitation, and Izuku wraps his arms around Hizashi's neck, burying his face in Hizashi's shoulder as he sobs. Hizashi rubs his back comfortingly, being mindful of the spider legs so that they don't accidentally lash out.
As he comforts the crying child, he can make out a few words Izuku cries between his sobs.
“Please,” he says again and again. “Don't betray me. Not you too.”
“Never, Izuku. I promise you.” Hizashi murmurs in his ear, even though he's not sure if the boy can hear him.
Words are the only thing he can offer Izuku at the moment.
It doesn't feel like it's enough.
Chapter 16
Notes:
CW: Gore and murder.
At this point ou know the drill.
Proceed with caution
Chapter Text
In the dead of the night, Izuku walked the path to his old home. As he looked around, he saw the old park his mother would bring him while she still pretended to care. Before his quirk manifested. Their neighbor still had the same neon yellow car everyone said was an eyesore.
Everything looked exactly the same, albeit a little smaller. He was still pretty short for his age, but Izuku had grown up a little since his parents sold him. The swings in the park looked a lot smaller now.
Then he found his old apartment. If he remembered correctly, they lived on the 3rd floor. Izuku wondered if they still lived there. If they didn’t, finding them would be much harder. Well, only one way to find out.
Izuku started climbing up the wall until he reached the third floor. Then he went to the window where he remembered their apartment was and peered in. His eyes widened at the view.
All the furniture was replaced. Gone were the worn-out couch and the small coffee table where he used to draw with crayons before he was four. The room had a fresh coat of paint, and everything appeared tidier and more organized than he remembered.
Then Izuku remembered the money case Mammon gave his parents the day they sold Izuku. Looks like they made good use of the money, huh?
Looking around, Izuku saw them. They looked a bit older, but there was no doubt. It was them. Midoriya Hisashi and Inko. His parents. They still lived there, and they looked happier than ever.
Izuku felt his blood boil. They sent him to hell and then went on with their lives like nothing had ever happened?
With a heavy sigh, he dropped down, bracing his fall with his spider legs. Then he took the stairs, going up to the third floor.
Once on the third floor, Izuku stood in front of the door of what used to be his home. His heart pounded in his chest, a confusing mix of anger, sadness, and longing battling within him. He hesitated, his hand inches away from the door.
He wanted them to pay. But something inside him still longed for their love. A love he knew never existed.
With a deep breath, he knocked on the door three times, a sense of anticipation and anxiety welling up within him. It was now or never. He stepped back and waited, each passing moment a series of internal struggles.
“Hisashi, dear, can you answer the door?” Inko’s voice came from within, her words soft and tender.
“Going, love,” Hisashi replied, a gentleness in his voice that Izuku hadn’t heard before. The only memories Izuku had of his father were of screams and kicks.
The door creaked open, and Hisashi peered out, his eyes scanning the empty corridor.
“Down here,” Izuku said, drawing Hisashi’s gaze downward. His father’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. Izuku, drenched in blood, his smile somewhat unhinged, yet he stood there with an eerie calmness.
“You?” Hisashi stammered, his eyes filled with disbelief.
Izuku didn’t give him time to react. His spider leg shot out, stabbing him straight through the chest. His father looked at him with wide eyes as blood started pooling in his mouth.
Izuku ignored the choked sounds and went past him, stopping to take off his shoes as Hisashi fell to the floor. He neatly put his bloodied shoes next to his Father’s and his Mother’s at the entrance before glancing around but finding no guest slippers. He shrugged and stepped inside, making his way to the kitchen.
Izuku easily finds Inko in front of the stove, stirring something.
“Hey, dear. Who was at the-” She turned around expecting to see her husband, but her eyes widened as she saw Izuku. “Door…”
“Hi, Mommy.” Izuku greeted, waving a spider leg in her direction. “Did you miss me?”
“Deku…” She said softly, but Izuku still heard.
Did she even remember his name? Probably not. To his parents, he was never anything but Deku—just a useless kid they wanted to get rid of.
“That’s not my name!” Izuku snapped, stepping aggressively forward.
“No, no. Of course not.” Inko replied, taking a step back in fear. Then she takes a deep breath and schools her expression. A perfect mask of motherly love that would fool Izuku if he didn’t know better. “You’ve grown so much, sweetie.”
Izuku chuckled at her tone. So now he was “sweetie,” huh?
“Why?” he asked, his voice tinged with sadness.
Inko, her gaze still swimming in a facade of maternal affection, appeared to consider her words carefully. Though her tone and demeanor remained gentle, underneath it, Izuku could sense the fear that had taken root in her.
“Why what, darling?” She replied, maintaining that sweet, motherly tone.
“Why did you do it?” Izuku’s voice turned sharp. “Why did you sell me? Why did you abandon me? Why did you hate me?”
Inko hesitated, her eyes drifting away as if searching for the right words. She knew exactly what would happen if she used the wrong words.
“We didn’t want to do it, sweetie.” She began, her voice quivering, and false tears glistened in her eyes. “We were in deep trouble... debts, threats. Your father, he had made some terrible decisions. We had no choice.”
“I have a great memory, Mommy. I remember that day like it was yesterday.” Izuku muttered before looking up at her eyes, “If you didn’t hate me, why did you never stop Daddy? Why did you let him hurt me?”
“Darling, I was scared. I was powerless. I wanted to protect you, but I couldn’t.” Inko replied, her voice thick with pretend regret. “It was your quirk... Your father, he believed it was... dangerous. They promised they would take care of you.”
Izuku didn’t need a lie-detection quirk to know she was lying. Everything she said was just a load of bullshit. But he still took the bait.
“Did you regret it? Do you love me, Mommy?” He asked her, tilting his head.
“There wasn’t a single day I didn’t regret it, Izuku.” She said, discreetly moving to the sink and grabbing something. “I love you, darling.”
She reached out her arms, one hidden behind her back, while the other was opened for an embrace. Izuku hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the hug, allowing himself to fall into her trap.
Izuku embraced his mother tightly, relishing the warmth of her touch as she comforted him. Her tears dampened his shoulder as they clung to each other, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel something akin to the love he’d always longed for. Her soft, reassuring words flowed over him, and he almost let himself believe they were genuine.
“I missed you so much, sweetie.” She whispered softly. “But it’s over now. The pain will stop now. Mommy will make sure of it.”
But then he felt her arm moving behind her back. Izuku realized something was off, and he tensed. A stabbing sensation followed, but he barely reacted, only tightening his hug around her. The knife barely sank a few centimeters into him, his mercury bones absorbing most of the impact and protecting his vital organs.
“Thank you for the hug, Mommy,” Izuku said, his tone still surprisingly calm despite the life-threatening situation. “I knew you were lying. But I still hoped. Aren’t I an idiot?” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve been betrayed. Time after time. And I still hoped. ‘This time will be different,’ I said to myself. But no, you’re just like the others. Right, Lucifer?”
Inko struggled to speak, shock written across her face.
“How did you...?” She managed to utter, her voice trembling.
A scream echoed from outside, likely a neighbor discovering Hisashi’s body. Izuku should’ve probably closed the door after entering. Whoops.
“I asked Lilith before, well…” Izuku chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the commotion. “I think you understand.” He paused, then continued, his voice colder. “You sold me because you hated my villainous quirk. And you and Daddy were villains. Ironic, no?”
“Sweetie, I…” Inko tried to explain herself, but her words were cut short as Izuku’s spider leg struck her.
“No, I’m done with listening to you.” Izuku declared, his voice heavy with bitterness. He stabbed her repeatedly, each punctuated word accompanied by another strike. “You are. Just. Another. Lying. Snake!” He continued to stab her, his rage and frustration coming to the surface. “I’m done. Good riddance, Inko.”
Inko’s cries of pain merged with her desperate pleas for mercy, but it was all in vain. Izuku’s rage consumed him, and he wouldn’t be swayed. He pressed on even after her words turned into mere gasps. He continued to stab, each motion filled with a bitter vengeance, even after her heartbeat faded into silence.
When he finally let go, her lifeless body collapsed to the floor. Izuku stood there, staring at her for several moments, his breathing heavy and erratic. The room was filled with the gruesome echoes of his anger and despair.
“I just wanted my Mom.” He mumbled, his voice breaking with sorrow. “Why couldn’t you have loved me?”
Izuku turned, intent on leaving, when a new voice rang out, cutting through the eerie silence.
“Freeze, villain!” And oh, wasn’t that a familiar voice.
Izuku couldn’t help the grin on his face as he turned to the newcomer.
…
Yamada-San is worried about something. From the moment they got to their meeting spot, Izuku could see it. As Izuku eats, Yamada-San keeps sending him those glances.
Now, Yamada-San looking at Izuku as he eats isn’t anything new. He does it every night. But usually, he would just give him a soft smile as he makes some small talk about one thing or the other.
Though, Yamada-San is being awfully quiet tonight, and his glances at Izuku are filled with worry. A few months ago, Izuku would be sure that there was something wrong. His mind would be spiraling straight to the worst-case scenario.
But by now, Izuku is far from believing Yamada-San will just betray him like that. He’s still wary of a potential betrayal, but he’s not on edge every second he’s with Yamada-San. Not anymore.
Izuku wonders what could be bothering Yamada-san tonight. He takes another bite of his meal, trying to appear nonchalant, and waits for him to open up. But as the time passes, Yamada-San stays silent.
“What’s in your mind, Yamada-San?” Izuku asks.
“You’re too observant, Little Listener.” Yamada-San sighs, and smiles at him, but his expression quickly turns to a serious one. “Izuku.” Izuku straightens up. “We have a lead on the Trigger-G case. We know who’s distributing the drug.”
Izuku narrows his eyes.
“Who?” He demands.
“I honestly don’t want to tell you.” Yamada-San sighs. “It’s a bit selfish on my part, but I don’t want you to have to deal with this. This case. This drug... It has already hurt you too much.”
Izuku leans back and looks upward, watching the stars.
“I got it,” Izuku says. “I really do, Yamada-San. But I need to know.” He looks back at Yamada. “Please, Yamada-San. Let me help.”
Yamada-San hesitates before nodding.
“It’s a local gang.” He explains. “They are calling themselves ‘Hell’s Gate’ and came seemingly out of nowhere. We believe they are just a façade for a bigger group, but we won’t know until we capture them.”
“Do we have a plan?” Izuku asks.
“We’ll raid them this Saturday,” Yamada replies, reaching into his coat. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to convince you not to come.” He puts a paper sheet in front of Izuku. “So Tsukauchi managed to get this for you.”
Izuku takes the paper; to his surprise, it’s a contract.
“This was made with a judge’s quirk,” Yamada-San explains. “If you sign it, it’s impossible to be nullified.”
Izuku reads the contract carefully, his eyes scanning the document. As he reads through the legal jargon, the terms become clear. This contract ensures that he is officially and legally assisting the authorities in their raid on Hell’s Gate. He spots clauses outlining his cooperation with the police, confidentiality agreements, and the responsibilities he’ll hold during the operation.
“This basically gives me immunity.” Izuku summarizes the contract. “For the duration of the raid, neither the police nor heroes will try to arrest me. And my actions won’t be considered vigilantism.”
“That’s right.” Yamada-San nods. “But the contract doesn’t protect you from past acts. So, as soon as it’s over, you must leave.”
“I thought contracts were supposed to be two-way roads,” Izuku says. “What do you gain from this?”
“Just the help of one of the best vigilantes in Japan,” Hizashi replies with a smile. “Tsukauchi is on your side, Little Listener. He doesn’t want to arrest you.”
Izuku hesitates for a moment before nodding and extending his hand. Hizashi smiles and gives him a pen. Izuku quickly reads through the contract one more time.
“What should I sign?” He asks.
“Your vigilante name,” Hizashi replies. Izuku nods and signs “Spider Brat” on the contract before returning it to Hizashi. “Perfect, Little Listener. Now, as I said, the raid will be on Saturday. I’ll be one of the heavy hitters. I’d like you to be with me, but…”
“I’m an ambush fighter,” Izuku replies.
“Yes.” Hizashi nods. “So, do you mind partnering with Eraserhead instead?”
Izuku shakes his head.
“I’ll be fine.” He says. “Eraser is a good hero.”
Hizashi seems relieved by Izuku’s agreement.
“Great. I’ll let Eraserhead know. I trust he’ll keep you safe.” Hizashi says.
Izuku nods and finishes his meal. The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle above. As they part ways, Izuku can’t help but think about the upcoming raid. He still has no idea where the drug is coming from, but he will put an end to this.
That’s a promise.
Chapter 17
Notes:
CW: Same as last few chapters. Gore and Murder.
Proceed with caution.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku turned, intent on leaving when a new voice cut through the eerie silence.
“Freeze, villain!” And oh, wasn’t that a familiar voice.
Izuku couldn’t help the grin on his face as he turned to the newcomer.
“Death Arms!” Izuku said, sounding like a fan seeing their favorite hero.
Going after Death Arms wasn’t in Izuku’s plans. But for such an opportunity to fall on his lap like this, it surely was fate, right?
The hero's eyes widened as he saw Izuku there. Izuku was sure he was a sight to behold at the moment. It's not every day you see a child covered in blood grinning at you, after all. Still, there was no recognition in his eyes. Of course, he forgot. What reason did he have to remember some random kid he abandoned due to his cowardice?
“Put your hands…” He glanced at Izuku's spider legs. “And legs up. I suggest you make things easy on yourself, villain.”
“And why would I, Death Arms?” Izuku replied, his grin widening as he took a menacing step forward. “Who's going to stop me? You?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” The hero said before rushing at Izuku with a fist raised.
Izuku smiled and opened his arms. Then, just as the fist was about to make contact, he closed them, his spider legs covering his front and making a shield that blocked the punch. Izuku felt the impact run through his appendages, which easily absorbed the damage.
“DoN’t sAY i DidN’T WaRn YOu.” Izuku mocked him. “God, where do you get those lines?”
“What are yo- gah!” Before he could finish, Izuku drove a leg right through his heart.
“At least Kobra and Rock Lock had the decency of remembering me.” Izuku said with a frown. “You couldn’t even give me this satisfaction.”
Izuku threw the hero to the floor and then stabbed him in the stomach and neck. Then he left him there to bleed out and left the apartment. For a moment, Izuku considered setting the building on fire, but he discarded the idea. The other residents were not to blame for the filth that lived there.
As he left the building, Izuku could hear several sirens approaching. Izuku climbed onto the roof and then jumped to the next building. If possible, he would like to avoid confrontations with more heroes and police today.
Despite the catharsis he was feeling at the moment, exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him. With a sigh, Izuku moved away from that place, keeping himself in the shadows. He needed to find a place to stay the night.
The answer came about half an hour later when he found an abandoned block full of condemned buildings. Several buildings had cracks in the structures. Some had fallen, and it seemed like the place had been abandoned long ago. The fact that he couldn’t even see homeless people in some streets was a big tell that something bad happened here.
Nature had begun to reclaim the concrete graveyard. Vines crept up the sides of buildings, prying loose bricks from some structures that seemed about to collapse. Weeds sprouted through cracks in the pavement, and in some places, small trees had taken root. The air was thick with the musty scent of mold and the tang of rusted metal.
After walking for a while longer, Izuku finally came across a building that appeared more stable than the crumbling structures around it. It resembled an abandoned hotel, its facade weathered but standing firm against the elements. Izuku approached cautiously, wary of any hidden dangers within.
The entrance door was broken and wide open, giving Izuku easy access to the hotel lobby. As he stepped into the building, Izuku had to quickly close his light-sensitive upper eyes as, to his surprise, the automatic lights flared on. Somehow, the building still had electricity even after being abandoned for who knows how many years.
The air inside was stale and filled with dust. Izuku moved cautiously through the deserted hallways, searching for a relatively safe spot to rest for the night. He ended up finding the kitchen, though the smell of rot was so strong that he couldn’t even bear to approach it.
If he decided to stay here long term, maybe he could clean the place, but that was a thought for another time. For now, Izuku continued looking and eventually found a small room that seemed untouched by time, its door still intact and offering a modicum of privacy.
Entering the room, Izuku surveyed his surroundings. The furniture was dusty but serviceable—a worn bed, a cracked mirror hanging on the wall, and a table with a single chair. It was far from luxurious, yet it felt like so much more than Izuku had his entire life.
Izuku stood before a shattered mirror, its fractured surface casting his reflection into multiple distorted images. Dust particles floated lazily in the dim light filtering through a grimy window behind him.
The boy stared at his reflection, noticing details he had overlooked until now. His entire body was stained with blood, and his unruly mass of hair could easily be mistaken for red instead of its natural green hue. Despite the chaos of the day, his suit miraculously remained intact. The one quality thing he got from the villains. His “uniform.”
Raising his left arm, Izuku examined the branded mark on the back of his hand—the symbol that had bound him to the Nine Circles of Hell, dictating his life for the past five years. But now, they were gone. Izuku was finally free.
Returning his gaze to his reflection, he studied his altered appearance. His two sets of eyes stared back at him, his skin pallid from years devoid of sunlight. He knew beneath the sleeves of his suit lay a myriad of scars crisscrossing his body. The eight metallic spider-like legs folded behind him would also be a reminder of what was done to him for the rest of his life.
In five years, he had changed so much that he couldn’t recognize himself anymore. The only remnants of the “old” Izuku were the freckles that adorned his cheeks—left untouched by Doctor Asmodeus, who perhaps found them "cute" in her own twisted way. The thought made Izuku chuckle and cringe simultaneously.
Even after enduring the doctor's sadistic experiments for half a decade, he still couldn't grasp her distorted sense of beauty. Though she claimed to care only for what she deemed “beautiful,” her definition remained elusive to Izuku's understanding. He doubted he ever would.
But those thoughts were unnecessary now. Because they were all gone.
Lilith was gone.
Leviathan was gone.
Satan was gone.
Belphegor was gone.
Beelzebub was gone.
Lucifer was gone.
Mammon was gone.
Asmodeus was gone.
Hisashi was gone.
Inko was gone.
As Izuku silently recited each name, his reflection in the mirror distorted, an eerie grin spreading across his face as their faces flashed through his mind. The shock and disbelief they had shown as Izuku ended them one by one. They had never believed he could defy them. Their arrogance had cost them everything.
Part of him almost mourned how swiftly it had ended. Five years of torment, and Izuku had brought it all to an end in just one afternoon. They barely suffered compared to what they had put Izuku and hundreds—if not thousands—of people through.
“The Nine Circles of Hell, huh?” Izuku murmured aloud, a grim satisfaction in his voice. “Well, if there's a hell, I'm sure you're all headed straight for it.”
Izuku threw his head back and erupted into laughter. The sound echoed off the walls of the empty room, bouncing off cracked surfaces and broken windows.
Five years of torment all ended in a single day. It felt unreal, too easy. Izuku half expected Mammon to burst through the door, ready to drag him back into another “training” session. He half anticipated Doctor Asmodeus to reappear, strapping him down for more experimental procedures. Maybe it was all a dream, a cruel trick to shatter his spirit once again.
But nobody came. They were truly gone.
Izuku's laughter turned into hysterical cackling. It was wild, a cathartic release of pent-up emotions—relief, triumph, sadness, anger, madness.
“They're gone!” Izuku exclaimed between fits of laughter. “I'm free! They're gone! I'm free! They're gone! I'm free! They're gone! I'm free! They’regone! I’mfree! They’regoneI’mfree! They’regoneI’mfreeThey’regoneI’mfreeThey’regoneI’mfree! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
As Izuku's laughter echoed and reverberated around him, filling the room with a tumultuous cacophony of emotions, he felt an unexpected blur in his vision. Tears welled up in his eyes, catching him off guard. He had thought all his tears had dried up long ago, but it seemed like that was just another thing Izuku was wrong about.
As Izuku's laughter subsided, a profound wave of exhaustion washed over him. He glanced again at his reflection in the mirror, frowning at the sight of blood covering his body.
He knew he should wash up. If the electricity still worked in this forsaken place, perhaps the water did too. Yet, he couldn't summon the energy for that now. Instead, he clumsily kicked off his shoes and discarded his suit in a pile at the corner of the bed. With heavy steps, he made his way to the bed and collapsed onto it, relieved to find it still sturdy enough to support his weight.
Tomorrow, Izuku would begin to contemplate what the future held for him. But tonight, he simply needed rest.
In the dim light of the abandoned room, Izuku drifted into a fitful sleep. As exhaustion claimed him, his mind temporarily quieted. But he knew that tomorrow when he awoke with a clearer head, the weight of his actions would finally hit him with full force.
But that was a problem for future Izuku. For now, all he could do was surrender to the oblivion of sleep, hoping for a momentary reprieve from the tumult of emotions swirling within him.
That night, Izuku's sleep was plagued by more intense nightmares than usual. He could hear the voices of the villains in his dreams. However, unlike before, they didn't sound angry, disgusted, dismissive, or complacent.
Instead, they sounded proud.
That realization was far worse than anything else.
------------------------------------------------------------
Shouta sighed as he approached the familiar rooftop, his steps heavy with the anticipation of the conversation ahead. The soft glow of the setting sun bathed the rooftop, casting long, dancing shadows across the worn concrete. At the edge, silhouetted against the vibrant hues of the sky, stood Spider Brat. The kid's posture was tense, every muscle coiled, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
His spider legs were folded on his back, poised to strike if needed. As Shouta drew closer, the kid turned around, undoubtedly recognizing Shouta's footsteps. His four eyes narrowed in suspicion, the upper pair glowing eerily—a sight Shouta had long since grown accustomed to.
Moving with deliberate, telegraphed motions, Shouta set down the bag containing the lunchbox Zashi had insisted he bring and took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture meant to convey non-threatening intentions.
Shouta understood the kid's distrust. Though he didn't know as much about Spider Brat as Zashi did (he didn't pout when he found out the kid had told Hizashi his name, really), he had gathered enough to understand that everyone who should have cared for this kid had failed him miserably. His trust issues made Shouta look like a gullible child in comparison.
“You're not Present Mic,” Spider Brat called out, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern, though the latter was more evident.
“Good to see your eyes still work, brat,” Shouta replied, keeping his tone light and calm. “Mic couldn't make it today. He... had a bit of an accident.”
The kid's four eyes widened in worry and confusion as he processed Shouta's explanation. His head tilted to the side, a spider limb extending cautiously to reach for the bag, pulling it closer with a curious yet cautious demeanor.
“An... accident?” The kid asked slowly.
“Yeah, he's a dumbass, as you already know.” Shouta nodded, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Some kid brought a grasshopper to the class today.”
A chuckle escaped the kid's lips, already anticipating where this was going. “What did he do?” He asked eagerly.
“First, he screamed and shattered every single window in a radius of two kilometers from him—burst all his students' eardrums, but thankfully, Recovery Girl healed everyone,” Shouta recounted, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Then he forgot he was on the second floor and jumped out the window.” The kid's laughter bubbled forth, a rare sound but one Shouta definitely didn’t mind hearing. “He's fine, but he got a pretty bad sprain and is sleeping off Recovery Girl's quirk. He should be back tomorrow.”
“That sounds a lot like him,” Spider Brat sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don't get how he can be so smart one second and a complete idiot the next.”
“Believe me, none of us do,” Shouta nodded in agreement, a fond exasperation evident in his expression. “I suppose that's just part of his charm.”
“Maybe,” the kid replied, settling down on the rooftop, his spider limbs forming a protective barrier around him. Despite his seemingly relaxed demeanor now, the unspoken message was clear: Don't get any closer.
The kid cautiously opened the lunchbox, looking like he expected to find a bomb inside. It always pained Shouta to see just how guarded and downright paranoid the kid was in response to any acts of kindness directed at him. Not for the first time, Shouta found himself wondering about the kind of life this kid, who appeared to be the same age as Hitoshi, had endured until now.
His gaze drifted to the kid's left hand, covered by a fingerless glove as always. Shouta didn't know what the kid was hiding under it—only Zashi did and he refused to talk about it—but he knew it held significance, a secret the kid was unwilling to reveal.
It took the kid about ten minutes to inspect the food before he deemed it safe enough to take a tentative bite of the now-cold onigiri. Hizashi preferred to provide more complete meals, but that was all he managed to prepare today.
The kid's clear distrust was one reason Shouta preferred to bring pre-packaged meals instead of homemade ones (it had nothing to do with Shouta being unable to cook; shut up). The kid seemed more at ease when he had food that couldn't easily be tampered with.
Shouta couldn't help but wonder if people had drugged the boy's food before. He doubted he would like the answer.
“Three days,” the kid's voice snapped Shouta out of his musings, and he looked up to see the intensity in the kid's gaze. “The raid. It's in three days.”
“Yeah, it is,” Shouta affirmed with a nod. “I'm sure Mic already talked to you about why he didn't want you to go, right?”
The kid's expression tightened, a flicker of defiance crossing his features. “Yeah, he did. But I’m still going. You agree with him, don't you?”
“I don't know half as much as Mic does,” Shouta replied carefully, choosing his words. “But I know this case is personal to you. You know more about this drug than the whole police force combined. Mic was injected with it once, and his hearing evolved. It's not hard to put two and two together.”
The kid clenched his fists, his spider limbs tensing and leaving scratches on the floor in a silent display of frustration.
“I guess Mic really didn't tell you guys anything about it, huh?” The kid sighed.
“Only about the drug's effects and his experience with it,” Shouta replied calmly. “I believe you've been exposed to it for far longer than he was, though.”
Another heavy sigh escaped the kid. “I'll only say this once. If you want to record, then do it now.”
Shouta observed the kid's demeanor with a practiced eye, noting the weight of each word, the tension in his stance, and the weariness etched into his expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small recording device, activating it with a click.
“This is Pro-Hero Eraserhead. Hero Code 37453. The date is January 28th. Taking statement about the case involving the drug Trigger-G from the Vigilante Spider Brat,” he announced, following the basic protocol for recording official statements.
“As you probably already suspect, yes, the drug was used on me. Or rather, I was the main test subject for the initial creation of this drug,” the kid began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of resignation. Shouta felt his fist clench involuntarily as the suspicion he had desperately hoped was wrong was now confirmed. “I was born with a second pair of eyes, but they were exactly like the first one. Then at four, my actual quirk manifested, at first, I just called it venom." He pointed at his fangs. "But after being exposed to the drug the first time, my upper eyes melted and remade themselves. They now have night vision 24/7. I can't turn it off, it's a mutation. After three years being exposed to the drug, other aspects of my quirk also mutated.”
“Do you know who makes the drug?” Shouta inquired.
“The original creator was Doctor Asmodeus from the Nine Circles of Hell,” Spider Brat replied, his voice trembling slightly like the simple mention of this name was almost enough to trigger a PTSD episode. “But it can't be her who's doing it now. She's dead.”
Shouta knew better than to press for details about Asmodeus at that moment. But he had a sinking feeling he knew how she died. The deaths of the Nine Circles of Hell were still a mystery. Police weren't even sure if they were really dead since the bodies left on the compound after the fire were impossible to identify.
“The drug is incomplete,” the kid continued a moment later. “Asmodeus was still experimenting with it when…” He trailed off. “Whoever is making the drug now is probably continuing her research. The people are most likely test subjects for the drug. I've been tracking it for some time, but every dealer I caught were just idiots who didn't know where the drug came from.”
This was worse than Shouta expected. He was honestly amazed that the kid was even alive after over three years of being pumped with an experimental drug, let alone one as painful as Trigger-G. Silently, Shouta turned off the recorder. Without Naomasa to clear it, it was impossible to know if all the statements were truthful. However, Shouta knew the kid hadn't uttered a single lie, and he knew Naomasa would also take it seriously.
“Thank you for sharing all that. I have no doubt it was painful for you,” Shouta said softly.
“I don't need your pity, Eraserhead,” the kid retorted, his tone sharp and defensive. “You know about it now. That's why I won't be backing out from this Raid. This drug shouldn't exist. I WILL make sure no one ever suffers like I did because of it.”
Shouta didn't want the kid to get involved, not with a case that would undoubtedly cause him even more pain. But he understood the kid's determination. It wasn't his right to stop him, and deep down, he doubted he could, even if he tried.
(He knew he could, but doing so would destroy any and all trust they had ever built with the boy. Shouta couldn't bring himself to do that.)
“Alright,” Shouta relented, his voice firm yet resigned. “You'll be with me. Our role in the raid will be infiltrating the compound before the attack starts and taking out three key members of the gang. I’ll give you an earpiece before we go in, and I want you to check in with me every ten minutes, understood?”
“Got it. I won't let you down,” the kid nodded, determination shining in his eyes.
With that, the kid finished his food and nudged the lunchbox back to Shouta. In a flash, before Shouta could even react, the kid vanished from his sight, likely leaping off the building to begin his own preparations.
Though Shouta knew the kid wouldn't allow him to accompany him on the patrol, he couldn't help but hold onto a sliver of hope. Still, he hoped the little trust he had managed to build with the kid would be enough to have the kid trust him to have his back during the raid.
Hope was the only thing he could hold at this moment.
Notes:
With this, all flashbacks about Izuku's past are done, however, if theres any other piece of his past you want to read about, leave a comment, and might write another flashback about it if I think it's important :D
Chapter 18
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The night carried a palpable sense of anticipation for Izuku as he approached the meeting point. Several heroes were already gathered—most were Underground operatives, though a few discreet Twilight heroes were also present. To his surprise, even one Limelight hero stood among them.
Izuku often wondered why Edgeshot was considered a Limelight hero when his entire persona and operational methods fit an Underground hero. But there was no time to dwell on that now.
Making his way through the cluster of heroes, he ignored the murmurs from those who recognized him. The contract protected him; they couldn't arrest him right now, and he was allowed to be here. He gave a quick wave to Hizashi as he passed but didn't have time to chat.
Spotting Eraserhead in the midst of the gathering, Izuku approached. The hero gave him a nod of acknowledgment and carefully placed a small earpiece in his ear.
“Remember, check in with me every ten minutes. If you're in a position where you can't talk, tap the piece. Once means 'fine,' twice means 'trouble,'” Eraserhead instructed.
Izuku nodded sharply as he adjusted the earpiece. It was already tuned into the heroes' frequency, and he could hear more and more heroes checking in.
“Spider Brat, checking in,” Izuku said, and the chatter abruptly ceased.
“Huh, I thought Tsukauchi was joking when he said he invited a vigilante into the raid,” a voice Izuku recognized as Edgeshot commented.
“He wouldn't be able to keep me out of this even if he wanted,” Izuku replied, stretching in preparation.
“The brat is with me,” Eraserhead said into his own earpiece. “We are infiltrating first. Confirming targets?”
“Your targets are Poison Joe. Quirk: Poison Touch. He can poison anyone he touches with all five fingers. You can't miss him—the guy has purple skin and rainbow hair,” Tsukauchi explained. “Next, you have Red Blade. Quirk: Blood Manipulation. He can create weapons from his own blood. Red hair and eyes. Lastly, there's Techno Fang. Quirk: Cyberkinetics. He can control technology with his mind. He has USB connectors in his hair. This one needs to go first, otherwise, they'll have time to erase all evidence before we can gather it.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Izuku said, bracing his spider legs on the floor.
“Don't underestimate the enemy, kid,” Eraserhead replied with a frown.
“I'm not underestimating them,” Izuku retorted curtly.
Infiltration and assassination were his specialties. The Nine Circles of Hell had ensured that, and those weren't skills he could easily forget. Infiltrating a gang like this wouldn't be a problem for him.
“I'm taking a vantage point,” Izuku said before jumping onto the wall and climbing to one of the rooftops around. From there, he could barely make out the warehouse the villains were using as a base.
The meeting point was set up several blocks away from the warehouse to avoid tipping off the villains about the raid. Izuku and Eraserhead would have to travel by rooftop, but that wouldn't be a problem for them. It was less than a five-minute journey.
A second later, Eraserhead landed silently behind Izuku. They both observed the warehouse, shadows blending with the night. The anticipation was thick in the air, the mission at hand a looming presence that demanded precision and skill.
Eraserhead's voice broke the silence. “Remember the plan. Techno Fang goes down first. We need to preserve their data. Ready?”
Izuku gave a sharp nod, his legs twitching in readiness. “Ready.”
With a final nod from Eraserhead, signaling their readiness, they moved. Silently, they leaped from rooftop to rooftop, navigating effortlessly through the cityscape. The night became their ally, its darkness providing cover as they approached the villains' base.
The warehouse loomed ahead, a seemingly abandoned structure that had likely been vacant for a long time. Street lights in the vicinity were mostly turned off, giving the impression of a simple malfunction—except to Izuku, who knew one of the villains possessed a technology-based Quirk.
As they closed in, Izuku could make out sentries positioned strategically around the warehouse, their gaze fixed on the ground, unaware of the two figures approaching from above. It was a common blind spot that Izuku always exploited—people rarely looked up.
Eraserhead motioned for Izuku to hold position while he surveyed the scene. Timing their infiltration was crucial to avoid detection. After a brief assessment, Eraserhead pointed out a slightly ajar window on the second floor—a potential entry point, albeit guarded by a lone smoker.
“Let me?” Izuku asked softly, turning to Eraserhead.
“Go ahead, kid,” Eraserhead nodded in agreement.
With a graceful leap, Izuku landed on the wall just above the window. The night's darkness and cloud cover provided excellent concealment, rendering him practically invisible unless someone shone a light directly at him.
The man at the window continued smoking, completely oblivious to Izuku hanging right above him—an opportunity Izuku was quick to seize. Moving with the agility and precision of a spider, he descended headfirst, his movements fluid and silent. Carefully, he wrapped his legs around the window frame, lowering himself just above the man. In one swift and calculated motion, he grabbed the man's head and swiftly knocked it against the windowsill.
The sentry slumped unconscious, subdued before he could raise an alarm. Izuku quietly pulled him inside, ensuring he was hidden from any potential patrols. He then signaled to Eraserhead, who swiftly joined him through the window.
Inside the warehouse, they found themselves surrounded by dimly lit crates. Eraserhead quickly inspected them, confirming they contained various drugs, though none of the Trigger-G they were after.
Shaking his head slightly, Eraserhead gestured upwards. Izuku nodded in understanding, leaping silently and clinging to the ceiling.
“How's the visibility?” Izuku whispered softly. His enhanced night vision made it difficult to gauge the darkness accurately, and he didn’t want to risk closing his upper eyes and missing something crucial.
“It's dark enough that you won't be seen if you stick to the shadows,” Eraserhead replied, his voice barely audible. “I'll manage on my end.”
“Alright,” Izuku nodded decisively. “You take the left, I'll take the right?”
Eraserhead nodded in agreement, and together they began their stealthy advance through the warehouse, shadows enveloping their movements as they pursued their targets.
------------------------------------------------------------
Eraserhead focused intently on the task at hand after parting ways with Spider Brat. His thoughts kept returning to the vigilante, a mix of concern and trust in the kid's abilities. The operation was critical, and he couldn't afford distractions. He had to believe Spider Brat could handle himself.
Moving stealthily through the warehouse, Eraserhead's senses were heightened, alert for any sign of the targets. After about ten tense minutes, he decided to check in with the vigilante.
“Kid, check-in,” Eraserhead murmured into his earpiece, keeping his voice low to avoid detection in the eerily quiet warehouse.
“I'm here,” came the welcome reply from Spider Brat. “I have eyes on Poison Joe, but I can't make a move yet without alerting the camera. Any luck with Techno Fang?”
Eraserhead paused briefly, scanning his surroundings before responding quietly. “Negative. Haven't located Techno Fang yet. Stay hidden and keep monitoring. Alert me if there's any change.”
“Got it,” Spider Brat affirmed, his tone steady and focused.
Eraserhead deactivated his comms and continued his search. It took a few more minutes, but he eventually located the monitoring room where Techno Fang was stationed. The villain's hair was plugged into a computer, monitoring multiple cameras simultaneously. Eraserhead noted there was a camera inside the room too, heightening the need for stealth.
Taking a deep breath, Eraserhead activated his Quirk, feeling the familiar burn as his eyes glowed and his hair levitated. Immediately, Techno Fang's emitter Quirk ceased its function, though his hair remained connected to the computer. The villain began to panic, looking around in confusion.
“What the hell? What's happening?” Techno Fang exclaimed, turning to see Eraserhead approaching.
Before the villain could react, Eraserhead swiftly ensnared him with his capture weapon, slamming him to the ground and rendering him unconscious. He secured Techno Fang, covering his mouth and immobilizing him before stashing him in a nearby closet.
“Techno Fang neutralized,” Eraserhead reported quietly over the comms.
A moment later, a loud noise echoed through the earpiece, followed by Spider Brat's voice. “Poison Joe neutralized as well. Had to take down a thug that was with him.”
“Try to hide both. Immobilize them if possible,” Eraserhead instructed, his voice steady. “We don't want to risk them waking up and causing trouble.”
“Understood,” Spider Brat responded promptly, his voice calm and focused. It was unusual to hear him talking like that.
The name “Spider Brat” was Eraserhead's doing. He'd started calling the kid that because of his snarky, sassy demeanor whenever they interacted. The kid usually acted like a bratty child, always ready with a sarcastic remark. Hearing him so calm and composed was so different from what he was used to.
To be fair, Eraserhead only ever interacted with the kid during patrol breaks. He had seen the kid in action and knew he was brutal and efficient, but this side of him—this level-headed professional—was new.
Eraserhead couldn’t help but wonder which part was the mask and which was the kid’s true personality.
Eraserhead quickly scanned the cameras, locating the last target. “Spider, Red Blade is close to you,” Eraserhead warned. “It seems like they still have no clue there's someone here.”
“Got it. Moving in,” Spider Brat replied.
Eraserhead watched the feed, observing Spider Brat's movements as he navigated the shadows. He didn't get to see much, though. The kid was good at keeping himself in the cameras' blind spots. Even knowing where the kid was and the path he was taking, Eraserhead still had trouble tracking him.
Red Blade stood in a room filled with crates, casually inspecting the contents. His crimson hair and eyes made him an unmistakable figure, and his relaxed posture indicated he felt no immediate threat.
Eraserhead saw the moment the kid arrived, crawling through the ceiling towards his prey. Spider Brat waited, biding his time until the villain leaned down to inspect another crate.
That was the moment the kid struck. He dropped on top of the villain, who barely had time to gasp in surprise before the kid had his legs (the human ones) around his neck, cutting off his air supply.
Red Blade struggled, his hands clawing at the legs constricting his neck. Eraserhead saw him forming blood claws on his fingers and clawing at the kid, who didn't even wince at the feeling of claws digging into his thighs, only tightening his grip. After a few more seconds of struggle, Red Blade went limp, and Spider Brat let him go, tying his arms and legs with zip ties.
“Red Blade neutralized,” Spider Brat reported. “He's out cold and tied up.”
“I know. I'm watching it from the camera feed.” Eraserhead allowed himself a brief moment of relief. “Good work, kid. Regroup with me at our entrance point.”
“On my wa—” Spider Brat started, but suddenly halted, his demeanor shifting abruptly.
“Kid?” Eraserhead called, concern edging into his tone. “What's the problem?”
Without a word in response, Spider Brat darted out of the room, leaving Eraserhead momentarily perplexed and tense with anticipation.
------------------------------------------------------------
“Good work, kid. Regroup with me at our entrance point,” Eraserhead's voice echoed through the earpiece.
“On my wa—” Izuku started, only to stop abruptly as he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. His body froze in place.
A tall figure stood at the edge of his vision, resembling a woman with pale skin, white hair, and piercing red eyes. She was dressed in a formal gown, an eerie contrast to the dim, grimy surroundings of the warehouse. Izuku shouldn't recognize this woman, yet her eyes felt hauntingly familiar.
His body strapped to a cold metal bed. Shelves filled with creepy dolls staring at him. A pair of sadistic red eyes peering at him.
“That’s impressive,” a female voice echoed with chilling amusement. “Maybe you won’t become part of my collection yet.”
Izuku's heart pounded in his chest as the memory surged back, the fear and pain of those moments threatening to overwhelm him. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe, to stay in the present.
“Kid? What's the problem?” Eraserhead's voice crackled through the earpiece again, but the words barely registered in Izuku's mind.
The woman smirked at him, a twisted smile that sent shivers down his spine and moved out of the room. Before he could think his actions through, Izuku found himself chasing after her. He was sure he was right behind her, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors, but as soon as he rounded the corner, he was met with emptiness. No woman. No red eyes. Nothing.
He felt a rush of confusion and frustration as he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Doctor Asmodeus was dead, right? He had made sure of that. It couldn't be her, right? It must have been his imagination.
“Kid, report!” Eraserhead’s voice cut through the haze in his mind, snapping him back to the present.
“I'm fine,” Izuku said, his voice slightly ragged. “I thought I saw something…” He muttered, glancing around once more to confirm there was no one there. “I was wrong.”
Eraserhead's voice came through the earpiece again, tinged with concern. “Stay focused, kid. We can't afford any distractions. Regroup at our entrance point.”
Izuku took another deep breath, shaking off the lingering unease. “Understood,” he replied, his voice steadier now.
He turned and began making his way back, his senses on high alert. As he moved through the darkened warehouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.
“It's just paranoia,” Izuku muttered to himself, trying to dismiss the eerie sensation crawling up his spine.
Finally, he reached the entrance where Eraserhead was waiting, his expression unreadable. “Everything clear?” Eraserhead asked, his eyes scanning Izuku for any signs of distress.
“Yes. Don't worry,” Izuku replied, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to assure the hero or himself.
“Alright.” Eraserhead nodded after staring at him for a few seconds. He reached for his earpiece. “Eraserhead here. We took down the targets. Proceed with the raid.”
“Roger.” Tsukauchi's voice answered. “The Strike Team is on the way. You can fall back. Pick off any stragglers you come across.”
Eraserhead turned to Izuku, his gaze intense but not unkind. “You did well, kid. But stay sharp. We still have a job to finish.”
“Got it.” Izuku nodded, feeling a bit more grounded with the acknowledgment.
With that, they waited until they heard the commotion indicating that the Strike Team had started. The sounds of doors being kicked in, shouts, and the occasional thud of a takedown echoed through the warehouse. Eraserhead and Izuku exchanged a quick glance, not needing words.
------------------------------------------------------------
Present Mic's unease grew palpable as he surveyed the aftermath of the raid. The warehouse, now subdued and eerily quiet, bore signs of a gang that was ill-prepared for the assault they had just endured. The sparse number of gang members, lack of sophisticated weaponry, and underwhelming combat quirks puzzled him. This was not what he had expected from an organization involved in the distribution of Trigger-G.
“Something doesn't add up,” Present Mic muttered into his earpiece, his voice laced with concern. “These guys were way too under-equipped for what we know they were dealing with.”
Eraserhead, who was scanning the area for any overlooked threats, responded in a low tone. “I noticed that too. It's like they weren't prepared for a fight at all.”
“It's like they were just a small-time gang, not a big organization dealing with a new type of drug,” Mic speculated, his mind racing as he tried to piece together this puzzle. “It's almost like they were a decoy. A front for something bigger, maybe?”
Before Eraserhead could respond, Edgeshot's voice broke in over the earpiece. “We found the drug,” he reported tersely. “But it's just a single crate.”
“We've found far more than that just by catching random dealers,” Eraserhead sighed. “I think Mic is right.”
“The gang members were all apprehended,” Tsukauchi called in. “We'll have to wait for the interrogation to get more information. I doubt any of them was the fabricator.”
Mic rubbed his temples, frustration evident in his voice. “This doesn't make sense. We were expecting a major bust, and instead, we find this... amateur setup.”
“Whatever they were doing here, it's clear they weren't the masterminds behind Trigger-G. This feels like a distraction, or perhaps a test.” Eraserhead replied before pausing for a second. “Are you sure kid?” Did Izuku already take off his earpiece? “Okay. I’ll tell him.”
“Did something happen?” Mic asked worriedly. “Is Spider okay?”
“Not a scratch. Don’t worry.” Eraserhead assured him quickly. “He said he has something to tell you. He’ll be waiting at the usual spot.”
“Wait, so you know where he is?” An Underground hero Shouta didn’t care enough to remember the name asked. “He’s a vigilante, right? Can’t we capture him now?”
“Try it and you’ll end up with a broken arm,” Mic snapped at the man, his voice brooking no argument. “I’ll meet him, don’t follow me.”
“Alright. Make sure he’s fine, Mic,” Tsukauchi chimed in calmly. “And Umbra, until the raid is officially done, the kid has immunity. You can’t arrest him today.”
“I’m leaving,” Mic stated firmly. “I’m serious, don’t follow me. Mic, out.”
With that, Mic disconnected from the communication and started making his way to the roof where he usually met Izuku when patrolling. He had a feeling the kid knew something they were missing.
------------------------------------------------------------
Izuku perched at the edge of the building, his legs dangling over the abyss below. The night sky was veiled by thick clouds, denying even a glimpse of stars. The air held a chill that nipped at his skin, compelling him to burrow deeper into his hoodie for warmth.
A soft thud broke the silence, but Izuku remained surprisingly composed. His lack of immediate tension spoke volumes about the trust he placed in the person approaching behind him. Trust. It was a rare currency for Izuku, one he had sworn not to extend again, especially not to a hero. Yet here he was, defying his own resolve, finding himself trusting Hizashi.
Hizashi approached the rooftop edge and settled beside Izuku, maintaining a respectful distance yet close enough for Izuku’s comfort. The unspoken understanding between them was palpable: Hizashi trusted Izuku not to recoil.
“Hey, Izuku,” Hizashi greeted with a gentle smile. “Long night, huh?”
Izuku shifted slightly, nodding in acknowledgment before returning his gaze to the sprawling cityscape below. The distant city lights flickered against the night’s embrace, casting a gentle glow over their perch.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Hizashi?” Izuku asked abruptly, his voice revealing the impact of recent events.
Hizashi pondered the question thoughtfully, his smile fading as he scanned the city. “Ghosts, huh? I've never really given it much thought. Why do you ask?”
Izuku hesitated, his fingers toying nervously with his hoodie’s edge. “I... I saw something tonight,” he confessed softly, almost to himself. “Someone... who shouldn't be there.”
Hizashi turned fully to Izuku now, his expression compassionate and attentive. “You want to talk about it?”
Another pause from Izuku, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the city lights. “It's... it's silly,” he began, his voice barely audible. “They're all supposed to be dead. She couldn't have survived her injuries. I know that. She couldn't heal herself.”
Hizashi's brow furrowed with concern, sensing the weight in Izuku's words. “Who are you talking about, Izuku?”
Izuku drew a deep breath, steadying himself. “Doctor Asmodeus,” he uttered finally, the name heavy with significance. “She... she was supposed to be gone. But tonight... I saw her. Or at least someone who looked like her.”
Hizashi's expression darkened slightly, a flicker of unease passing over his features. “Are you certain it was her?”
“I... I don't know,” Izuku admitted, his voice wavering. “It could have been my mind playing tricks on me, but... those eyes... I'd recognize them anywhere,” he confessed quietly. “I see them almost every night in my dreams…”
Hizashi wrapped an arm around Izuku’s shoulders, pulling him into a supportive embrace.
“I can't tell you for certain it wasn't her,” Hizashi murmured gently. “But if somehow she survived... if somehow she's back... You have us now, Izuku. I'll protect you.”
Izuku leaned into the hug, finding solace in the warmth of Hizashi's arm that offered a small measure of comfort against the chill of uncertainty. He felt a twinge at the back of his lower eyes, but he blinked it away determinedly. He wasn't crying. His tears had dried up long ago.
“Trigger-G... It's her invention,” Izuku murmured softly, his voice tinged with fear. “If she... If there's even a small chance she somehow survived... She's dangerous, Hizashi... Not like normal villains, but... You can't underestimate her.”
Hizashi tightened his embrace, absorbing the weight of Izuku's words. Izuku buried his face against Hizashi's shoulder, seeking solace in the reassuring presence of the hero.
“I won't, Izuku. I promise I won't underestimate her,” Hizashi asserted firmly, his voice resonating with unwavering determination. “This could be a major breakthrough for us. Thank you for telling me. I know it's not easy to talk about your past.”
Izuku nodded silently, grateful for Hizashi's support. Maybe Asmodeus somehow survived. Maybe he was just seeing things. Izuku didn’t want to think about this right now.
If she survived, he would deal with her in the future.
Notes:
Did the raid feel anticlimatic? I feel like I hyped it a little too much on the last few chapters and the end result might have been a little lackluster.
I have a plan, and this raid was just a small piece, though.
Chapter 19
Notes:
The plot thickens :D
CW: Blood and Murder
Chapter Text
The day after the raid, Izuku slept unusually well. Given how the previous night had ended, it was surprising that his sleep wasn't plagued by nightmares. Perhaps his talk with Hizashi really had helped. Sitting on his bed, he grabbed his plush spider and hugged it tightly, his mind replaying the events of the raid. With a clearer head, he began to process everything.
The memory of Doctor Asmodeus' haunting eyes lingered, but he forced himself to focus on the details of the situation. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't always trust his senses, especially when it came to the Nine Circles of Hell.
It wouldn't be the first time he thought he had seen them when they weren't really there. For weeks after escaping the compound, Izuku had been haunted by their presence.
Every elegantly dressed woman made him think of Lilith. Any little crackle of electricity brought memories of Mammon. The faintest sound of jaws snapping sent him into a frantic search for Beelzebub. Every flash of light made him fear Lucifer was near. He always had to wonder if the heroes he saw on the streets were truly heroes and not Leviathan in disguise. Whenever he heard snoring, he pinched himself in fear that he was trapped in one of Belphegor's nightmares. Any raised voices made him cower, thinking Satan was angry again and looking for someone to take out his anger on. Any pair of red eyes made him believe he was back in the lab with Asmodeus.
Izuku took a deep breath, hugging his plush spider tighter. It couldn't have been her. The last time he saw Doctor Asmodeus, he had put a hole through her stomach and left her to bleed. He had been an assassin for the Nine Circles of Hell long enough to know that the hit had been lethal. There was absolutely no way she survived.
“But what if she did?” The small voice in the back of his head whispered persistently.
He shook his head, trying to silence that doubt. He had to believe she was gone. The alternative was too terrifying to consider.
“She's gone. I'm just imagining things,” he repeated it over and over, like a mantra.
Shaking his head, Izuku got up from the bed and glanced at the clock. It was just after noon—considering how late he’d gone to sleep, he found it surprisingly early. Stretching his limbs, he felt the lingering tension ease slightly. His spider limbs extended with his arms, scratching the ceiling, but he paid it no mind.
There was no reason to linger in bed now. Maybe he could visit the library? He wondered if Hitoshi would be there today.
After a quick shower, Izuku dressed in casual clothes. The chill in the air prompted him to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a green hoodie. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; the dark circles under his eyes had faded a bit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept like that. Feeling a little better, he grabbed his wallet, slipped on his shoes, and jumped out the window, his spider limbs easily absorbing the fall.
(As he walked away, he just missed the slight rumble coming from the condemned building.)
The city bustled with its usual midday activity as Izuku made his way to the library. A few people stared, but he forced himself to ignore them. Yes, he had eight metallic spider legs on his back; he was well aware of that. People could be so rude to those with mutation quirks.
Fortunately, as he neared the library, he encountered mostly familiar faces—people used to seeing him frequent the area—so they paid him little mind. He really hated when people stared.
Entering the library, a wave of calm washed over him. The familiar scent of books and the quiet atmosphere always brought him peace. He scanned the shelves, but Hitoshi wasn’t around. Undeterred, Izuku headed to his usual spot, picked up a book, and let his mind wander into its pages. The outside world faded away, leaving only the comforting cocoon of words and stories.
------------------------------------------------------------
Despite the late hour past noon, both of Hitoshi's dads were still in bed when he left. The raid from the previous night had evidently exhausted them. It wasn't the first time this had happened, so Hitoshi quietly decided to leave the house and let them sleep undisturbed. His dad needed all the rest he could get.
Making his way to the familiar library, the quiet ambiance drew Hitoshi in like a second home. It had become his second favorite spot; nothing could beat the cozy cat café near his house, with its soft purrs and playful kittens.
Pushing open the heavy doors, he stepped inside, feeling the calm wash over him. The usual patrons were in their usual spots. Hitoshi didn't know their names, but he took to calling them by the books they always seemed to have in hand.
Romance sat near a window, absorbed in Me Before You. Fantasy had her face buried in Throne of Glass. Mystery was sprawled on a bean bag, engrossed in another Sherlock Holmes book. Sci-Fi was perched on the mezzanine, reading Pandora's Star. And, of course, Horror was absorbed in another Stephen King novel, Misery this time.
Well, “Horror” was someone Hitoshi knew by name. With a grin, Hitoshi approached and sat next to him.
“Hey, Izuku,” Hitoshi called, chuckling when the boy jerked in surprise, though his spider limbs remained calm. He had come a long way since the day months ago when Izuku almost poked Hitoshi's eye out.
“Hey, Hitoshi,” Izuku replied, his voice more relaxed than usual today. It must be a good day for him.
“Wasn't expecting to see you today. Dad and Pops are still sleeping.” Hitoshi said with a smile.
“Yeah, couldn't sleep anymore,” Izuku confessed, scratching the back of his head. “To be honest, I can't remember the last time I slept that much.”
Hitoshi felt a pang of sympathy. He was accustomed to insomnia, but he knew Izuku's sleep troubles stemmed from nightmares and deep-seated trauma. Izuku didn't share much about his past, but what little Hitoshi knew was enough to understand its horrors.
“I'm glad for you,” Hitoshi said sincerely, smiling. “And I'm relieved everything went well yesterday.”
Izuku looked surprised. “You know about the raid?”
“Yeah, Dad’s a hero. Did I never mention that?” Hitoshi raised an eyebrow, surprised he hadn’t shared this with Izuku.
Izuku blinked, absorbing the information. “No, you didn’t,” he replied, a bit stunned. “It makes sense now, but you never actually told me.”
Hitoshi chuckled. “Guess it never came up. Yeah, Eraserhead is my dad, so I tend to hear about these things.”
“Eraserhead is your dad?” Izuku’s eyes widened. “So THAT’S how he found me that time. You told him!”
“In my defense, I had no idea you were the vigilante Dad always talked about,” Hitoshi said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just met a boy who raised all the red flags in my mind and mentioned it to Dad.”
Izuku narrowed his eyes for a moment before breaking into a smile. “I guess I can't blame you for that one.”
“Good, because I don't regret it.” Hitoshi smiled back. “I don't know much about your history, but you worry me a lot.”
“Sorry about that,” Izuku sighed. “I've been betrayed too many times to trust adults now. I promised myself I would never trust anyone again…”
Hitoshi sighed, sensing the weight of Izuku's words. He didn’t know much about his friend’s past, but it was clear that it was darker than his own.
“I lived in foster care until about a year ago,” Hitoshi said softly. “My quirk is called Brainwashing, and a lot of people think it's villainous. Foster care isn't kind to people like me.” Like us, he wanted to add but held back. “I’ve been muzzled, starved, and beaten by the adults who should have cared for me.”
Izuku listened intently, sympathy in his gaze. “I'm really sorry you had to go through that, Hitoshi. No one deserves to be treated like that.”
Hitoshi smiled softly in return. “One day, Dad and Pops showed up. Apparently, they had been wanting to adopt for a while, but they thought they couldn't handle a baby. They were looking for someone older when found me—bruised, locked in a closet, and muzzled— in one of the foster homes they visited. Pops was furious. He arrested my foster parents on the spot while Dad took the muzzle off and comforted me.” He chuckled at the memory. “Dad absolutely sucks at comforting people, but he gives great hugs.”
Izuku smiled at Hitoshi's story, though a hint of longing flickered in his eyes. “It sounds like they really saved you.”
“They did, but I didn't believe it at first,” Hitoshi replied, looking up with a smile. “For the first few months, I thought it was all a trick. I kept waiting for them to show their true colors. I couldn't sleep, barely ate, and absolutely refused to talk. But they never rushed me. They were just patient. I didn’t understand it.”
“ I get it. ‘Adults aren't like that. What’s the catch?’” Izuku quoted, glancing at his scarred arms. “‘When are they going to hurt me?’ You can’t help but think.”
Hitoshi nodded, pointing at him. “Exactly! I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to turn on me when I least expected it. But it never happened.” He ran a hand over his cheeks, where he knew the scars from the muzzle were still hidden beneath makeup. “It’s hard to believe in kindness when all you've ever known is cruelty…”
“How…” Izuku looked down, his shoulders shaking slightly. “How did you do it? How did you know you could trust them? How could you be sure they wouldn’t betray you?”
Hitoshi took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words. “I guess it was a process. They didn’t just tell me they cared; they showed me in small ways. It was the little things—making my favorite meals, letting me pick the movies we watched, just sitting with me when I didn’t feel like talking.”
Izuku listened intently, his expression revealing both vulnerability and a hint of skepticism. “But what if it had all been an act?”
“That was the hardest part,” Hitoshi admitted, his gaze steady. “I had to take a leap of faith. I tested them.” He met Izuku’s eyes directly. “One night, I snapped at them. I was terrified they would be angry, but instead, they stayed calm. They talked to me gently, even when I was screaming at them to drop the act.” His voice softened, recalling the moment. “Once I calmed down, they hugged me and promised it wasn’t an act—that they really cared. That was when the seeds of trust were sown.”
Hitoshi remembered the warmth of that embrace, the way his dad had held him tightly, while his pops reassured him that it was okay to feel angry, to feel scared. “They showed me that real love isn’t just about saying the right words; it’s about being there when it counts. That was the difference between them and everyone else. They didn’t just say they cared—they proved it.”
Izuku looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing. “I tried to do that... But they kept betraying me. I found a hero. I begged for help. He sent me back to them... I want to believe Present Mic is different, but what if he betrays me too?”
Hitoshi reached out, placing a reassuring hand over Izuku's. “Sometimes, trusting someone means risking that hurt again,” he said softly. “I know not even all the assurances in the world will be enough to get rid of the doubt, but for whatever it’s worth, I’m sure Dad would kill Mic if he ever hurt you.”
Izuku giggled, a lightness spreading through him. “Eraserhead murdering Present Mic? I can totally see that happening. I’m pretty sure he’s just waiting for an excuse.”
Hitoshi smirked, joining in the laughter. “Oh, absolutely. I can already picture it: ‘Your subscription to life is over, Mic.’” He deadpanned the line, and they both chuckled at the absurdity, the humor lifting the weight of their earlier conversation.
But then Hitoshi's expression shifted, becoming more earnest. “But in all seriousness, Izuku,” he said, his tone steady, “I know how hard it is to trust. Only you can take the first step.”
Izuku nodded softly, his thoughtful gaze drifting down to their intertwined hands. “Yeah... I guess you're right.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m not ready yet, but... I want to trust him.” He looked back at Hitoshi, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, Hitoshi. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Hitoshi felt a warmth blossom in his chest at that smile. It was infectious, illuminating the space between them and momentarily dispelling the heaviness of their discussion. In that instant, he was grateful that it wasn’t his dad who was about to adopt Izuku; he was seeing Izuku in a way that felt far more personal. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside.
Izuku was just starting to let people in. He definitely wasn’t ready for anything romantic. For now, Hitoshi was more than happy to be the friend Izuku needed.
“So... What were you reading?” Hitoshi asked, shifting the topic to lighter ground.
Izuku grinned and launched into an animated explanation of Misery’s plot, his enthusiasm radiating from him as he detailed the tension and suspense of Stephen King's novel. His hands moved energetically, punctuating key moments as he recounted the harrowing twists and turns, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Hitoshi listened intently, captivated by Izuku’s passion. He couldn’t help but wonder how Izuku could enjoy horror stories so much, given everything he’d been through. Maybe, to him, real life was scarier than anything fiction could conjure. The thought made Hitoshi’s heart ache a little, but he couldn’t deny the joy on Izuku’s face.
------------------------------------------------------------
As much as Naomasa wanted a day off after the raid last night, it wasn't possible. Duty called, and he needed to interrogate the criminals they had captured and, hopefully, get to the bottom of this mess.
By the time he woke up, groggily shaking off the remnants of sleep, it was already past 3 PM. He sighed heavily, knowing he had a long day ahead. After a quick shower and a hurried breakfast, he dressed in his usual attire and made his way to the precinct.
To his surprise, though, once he got to the precinct, he found all the officers running around like headless chickens, and three ambulances parked with the EMTs rushing in.
“What in the world happened here?” Naomasa muttered to himself, quickening his pace.
As he stepped inside, the usually orderly precinct was in chaos. Officers were shouting instructions, and the tension in the air was palpable. Naomasa quickly spotted Sansa directing traffic.
“Sansa! What's going on?” Naomasa called out as he approached.
Sansa turned to him, his fur disheveled and eyes wide with stress. “Detective. The prisoners... They were all in the holding cells, but this morning we found them all dead.”
Naomasa's heart skipped a beat. “All of them? How?”
“We don't know yet. The cameras have been destroyed. The IT team is working on recovering the recordings,” Sansa replied, his voice strained. “But as for the criminals... It was brutal.”
Naomasa felt a chill run down his spine. “Brutal? What exactly happened to them?”
Sansa hesitated for a moment, then gestured for Naomasa to follow him. “It's better if you see for yourself.”
They walked through the chaos, weaving past officers and EMTs. When they reached the holding cells, Naomasa was met with a grisly sight. The bodies were mutilated, their limbs twisted and torn in unnatural ways. Blood spattered the walls and floor, creating a scene of utter carnage.
Naomasa's detective instincts took over. He crouched down, examining the bodies closely. An EMT and a coroner were already there, scrutinizing the horrific scene.
The coroner, a stern-looking woman called Dr. Shimizu, glanced up as Naomasa approached. “Detective Tsukauchi, we've never seen anything like this,” she said, her voice steady despite the gruesome sight. “The injuries are...extreme. We're still trying to determine the exact cause of death, but so far, it seems all the wounds came from the same source—likely a knife.” She pointed to the body. “The wounds all appear to have been inflicted from below. There are no signs of a struggle, but they attempted to escape. Many were struck in the back, suggesting they were fleeing. The positioning of the bodies indicates they were trying to squeeze through the bars.”
Dr. Shimizu looked thoughtful, her brow furrowed as she examined the evidence. “Judging by the angle and position of the wounds, I would estimate the attacker was no taller than a ten-year-old child. Yet, the force and precision of the strikes suggest someone with a lot of strength and skill.”
Naomasa's brow furrowed in concern. “You think a child could have done this?”
Dr. Shimizu shook her head. “No, not a child. But possibly someone very short—perhaps someone with dwarfism, or even a shrinking quirk. It's a possibility we can’t ignore.”
Naomasa glanced around, spotting a vent grate in the floor. If it was someone small, they could have entered through there, but...
“Even if the cameras weren't working, there were supposed to be guards watching the cells. How could no one see anything?” Naomasa asked Sansa.
“We found the guards unconscious when it was time to swap shifts,” Sansa explained. “It seems the water was drugged. Everyone in the precinct passed out.”
“This is getting more complicated by the second…” Naomasa sighed, frustration creeping in. “Let’s try—”
“Officer!” A younger man wearing round glasses burst in. “We managed to recover the recordings!”
Naomasa felt a surge of hope. “You did? Show me.”
The young man hurried over to a nearby monitor, quickly pulling up the footage. The screen flickered to life, revealing grainy black-and-white images of the holding cells. Naomasa leaned in closer, eyes scanning the frames for any sign of movement.
Suddenly, the vent grate clattered down, and a small figure dropped into the room, a kitchen knife in hand. The figure immediately approached the camera, cutting the recording just a second later.
“Go back a few seconds,” Naomasa ordered.
The technician complied, rewinding the footage. As the screen replayed, Naomasa’s focus sharpened. The small figure moved with uncanny swiftness, gliding across the floor. Naomasa squinted, trying to discern more details. He noted how stiffly the figure moved.
“Pause it!” he barked, and the video froze on the small assailant just before they reached the camera. “Zoom in,” Naomasa instructed.
The image enlarged, revealing a child-sized figure, its plastic-like face adorned with big, round, unblinking eyes and a perpetual smile. The knife was poised menacingly in its grip.
“This doesn’t look human,” Sansa said, narrowing his eyes.
“No, it doesn’t,” Naomasa nodded, a sense of dread creeping over him. “It looks like a doll.”
The situation was growing more complicated by the second. Not only they had just lost their only lead on the Trigger-G case, but they also were facing a puppet master capable of controlling killer dolls. The worst part was that they had absolutely no clues at the moment.
Looks like Naomasa won’t be getting that day off anytime soon.
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
To Shouta’s infinite frustration, the Hell’s Gate case was soon archived, left to gather dust in the precinct’s cold case files. Despite every effort, they had absolutely nothing to go on—no clues, no witnesses, no physical evidence. Just bodies, all brutally murdered by a faceless, intangible force. How do you even begin to track down a killer who doesn’t need to be physically present to kill?
The closest they’d come to a lead had been when they combed through the quirk registration database and stumbled upon a quirk called "Puppeteer." It allowed the user to control inanimate objects from a distance, a promising match. However, that lead quickly crumbled. The quirk belonged to a seven-year-old girl—who had been killed two years ago in a hate crime. There was no way it could have been her.
With nothing left to go on, the case was archived for the foreseeable future, something Shouta absolutely hated. Every fiber of his being rebelled against shelving it. Not just because it was their only lead to the Trigger-G supplier, but because it felt like a personal failure—especially when it came to Spider Brat.
Shouta sighed, running a hand over his face as he leaned back in his chair. He'd promised himself he would at least give the kid some closure, even if it couldn’t undo all the years the boy had suffered because of Trigger. If he could ensure that no one else would endure the same torment, it might bring the boy some small comfort. But he couldn't even offer that now.
The image of the kid’s haunted eyes flashed through his mind, and a knot tightened in Shouta’s chest. He’d come to care about the kid, despite the walls Spider Brat kept around himself. Shouta had seem glimpses of the kid under it. It showed on the way he cared about the people.
How the vigilante would always spare time to comfort a crying child that was about to be attacked. How he always stayed with the victims of muggings until the police arrived. The way he would be particularly vicious when dealing with drug dealers and child abusers.
As much as Spider Brat had tried to harden his heart, Shouta could see under the mask. He was good child, and he had more potential in pinky finger than all of Shouta’s class this year combined.
The boy was strong, but that strength came from surviving things no one his age should ever have to face. And now Shouta had to tell him that they had nothing. That the monsters responsible for spreading Trigger-G were still out there, and they had no way of stopping them.
Shouta closed his eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted to fix this, to bring the people responsible to justice, if only to show that wonderful kid that not all adults would betray him. But in the end, it felt like just another failure. And Shouta didn’t know how much more disappointment the kid could take.
With a resigned sigh, Shouta glanced at the clock—it was already past 10 PM. He had agreed to meet with Zashi and the kid at midnight. Time was slipping away, and the weight of the conversation ahead settled heavily on his shoulders. He knew this wouldn’t be easy.
As much as Shouta wanted to spare the boy from more heartache, he couldn’t bring himself to lie or sugarcoat the truth. Both he and Zashi had promised to share everything they learned from the interrogation. That promise was part of the fragile trust they’d managed to build with the kid, and breaking it wasn’t an option.
------------------------------------------------------------
Hizashi was a bundle of nerves, and for good reason.
They had just met with Izuku on their usual rooftop—a refuge for their late-night conversations, a place shrouded in silence and safety, far removed from the world that had caused the boy so much pain. But tonight, the atmosphere felt thick and oppressive, as if the very air around them was laden with unspoken words.
Shouta had taken on the task of delivering the hard truth. As expected, Izuku hadn’t reacted with anger; instead, a heavy silence settled over them, amplifying the tension. Hizashi watched as hurt flickered in the boy's eyes, his gaze dropping, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. Even the spider legs on his back drooped, lifeless against the rooftop.
“So... there’s no lead?” Izuku's voice barely broke through the stillness, a whisper filled with disbelief. “The drug... You still have no idea if she—” He halted mid-sentence, taking a shaky breath. “You don’t know who’s supplying it?”
Shouta sighed, his expression softening in the face of the boy's pain. “No, Kid. We don’t. We’ve hit a dead end. The case has been archived for now, but we’re not giving up. We’ll keep looking. We’ll find out who’s behind this.”
A flicker of anger ignited in Izuku’s eyes. Suddenly, his spider legs sprang to life, coiling defensively, like a creature poised to strike. “An entire precinct,” he repeated, his voice tinged with frustration and disbelief. “And not a single person saw anything? Is the police really that useless?”
What could Hizashi possibly say in response? Any justification he attempted would only come across as hollow excuses, and that thought left him feeling helpless.
“Little Listener…” Hizashi began softly, searching for the right words.
“I trusted you!” Izuku’s voice cut through the night, sharper than before, anger boiling over. “Both of you! I thought you could actually do something!” His spider legs lashed out, slamming into the concrete with enough force to crack the surface. “Was it all just a lie!?”
Hizashi’s heart clenched at the accusation, guilt tightening around his throat. He took a step forward, reaching out, but hesitated, unsure if Izuku would allow him to get close.
“No, it wasn’t a lie,” Hizashi said, his voice trembling slightly. “We haven’t given up on you. I swear, we’re still fighting for you, I—” He caught himself, stopping short before he uttered Izuku's name aloud.
“WORDS ARE WORTHLESS!” Izuku yelled, tears streaming down his face. He turned away, spider legs coiling tightly, ready to leap from the rooftop.
“Wait, Iz— Listener.” Hizashi stepped forward instinctively, only to freeze as a spider leg brushed against his cheek, cutting him.
Stunned, he brought a hand to his face and felt the warm trickle of blood from the shallow wound. Looking up, he saw a storm of emotions on Izuku's face: frustration, anger, but beneath it all, a flicker of shame and guilt. Without another word, Izuku jumped off the roof, leaving Hizashi standing there, heart heavy and voice trapped in his throat.
Hizashi stood there, frozen in place, watching as Izuku leaped away into the night. A single tear slipped down his cheek, mingling with the blood from the cut on his face. The sting barely registered; Hizashi knew that Izuku was the one truly hurting right now.
It felt as if all the months they had spent building trust had shattered in an instant. Each shared secret, every moment of laughter, all those gestures of support now felt like they had turned to dust. How could he even begin to mend this? Was it even possible to fix what had just been broken?
“Zashi…” Shouta’s voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts, a reassuring hand resting gently on his shoulder.
“Shouta…” Hizashi sobbed softly, his voice quivering with despair. “What do we do?”
Shouta hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t know…” he sighed, the weight of uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. “Maybe we should give him space, but…”
“I’m afraid of what he might do,” Hizashi interrupted, worry thickening his voice. “I’ve never seen him like that, Shouta. He was so angry and hurt. He’s lashed out before, but he’s never hit me.”
Shouta sighed, his gaze directed toward the spot where Izuku had vanished. “You know where he lives, right?” he asked, looking down at Hizashi. “Go check on him. Something tells me he’ll need you.”
“But he said—” Hizashi started to protest.
“Words are worthless,” Shouta cut him off firmly. “You have to show him. He might be angry now, but I don’t think he wants to be alone.”
Hizashi looked into Shouta’s eyes, the gravity of the situation settling heavily in his chest. “You think he’ll really want to see me?”
Shouta nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. “You’ve been there for him before. Just show up. Even if he pushes you away, just being there might help.”
With a shaky breath, Hizashi wiped the tears from his eyes and squared his shoulders, determination settling in. “You’re right. I have to try.” He took a deep breath and got up.
Just as he was about to leave, he felt a rumbled coming from the floor, his eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen.
------------------------------------------------------------
Izuku felt horrible. He hadn’t felt that bad, since the day he was forced to kill for the first time.
As he sat on his bed, anger and frustration simmered beneath the surface, a potent mix of betrayal and despair. He had trusted them—trusted that they would be able to do something, anything, to help him. He had poured his heart out, sharing every piece of information he could grasp, each shred of knowledge clutched like a lifeline. But once again, they had failed him.
Every. Fucking. Time. No matter how hard he tried to believe, he ended up facing nothing but disappointment. Each time he opened up, each time he extended his hand, he was met with empty promises and broken hopes.
Yet, beneath all that anger and frustration, a different feeling was creeping in—guilt.
Eraserhead and Present Mic had been nothing but kind to him. They had helped him, shared information, and even brought him food. Present Mic had trusted him enough to share his civilian name, a gesture that had meant more than he could say.
Izuku knew they had tried their best. It wasn’t their fault that they had hit a dead end. What right did he have to act like it was? Unlike everyone else in his past, they at least cared enough to make an effort. They hadn’t abandoned him like so many others had.
Sitting on his bed, he hugged his plush spider—Present Mic’s thoughtful gift—as tears streamed down his cheeks, falling freely like a waterfall. A thought gnawed at him: he had messed everything up. He was certain he had ruined it all. If Mic hadn’t given up before, he would surely do so now. Izuku couldn’t shake the fear that he would finally realize how worthless Izuku was. That he wasn't worth the trouble.
“I'm sorry,” he sobbed, burying his face into the soft fabric of the plushie. “I'm sorry... Please, don’t abandon me.”
Izuku lay down on his bed, clutching the soaked plushie tightly against his chest, tears still streaming down his face as exhaustion began to catch up with him. The weight of his emotions felt unbearable, a tidal wave of sorrow that threatened to drown him. He closed his eyes, wishing for just a moment of peace, but then the floor began to shake.
At first, it was a subtle tremor, something he almost dismissed as a figment of his imagination. But the vibrations grew stronger, rattling the walls and windows of the abandoned building. Izuku's eyes snapped open, his heart racing.
What was happening?
In his exhausted state, it took him a few crucial seconds to realize it was an earthquake. The realization sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, sharpening his senses amidst the overwhelming haze of despair. He felt the plushie slip from his grip as he struggled to sit up, panic coursing through him.
He heard the distant sound of buildings collapsing nearby. Of course, the whole block had already been abandoned due to a previous earthquake. There was no way this building would survive another one. He needed to leave. He needed to—
Instinct took over. Izuku leapt out of the window, his spider legs extending in a burst of motion, bracing for the fall. The world outside rushed toward him, a chaotic blur of debris and dust.
As he hit the ground, his legs absorbed the impact, propelling him forward. He skidded across the cracked pavement, his heart pounding as he glanced back at the building. The tremors worsened, and with a deafening roar, part of the structure collapsed, sending a cloud of dust and debris into the air.
Izuku forced himself to focus, dodging fallen bricks and shattered glass as he raced down the street. The chaos around him amplified his fear, but he pushed through it, driven by the instinct to survive.
Just as he managed to leave the immediate vicinity of the collapsing building, he witnessed several others starting to buckle and fall apart like precarious Jenga towers, each crash sending a fresh wave of dust swirling into the air.
His breath quickened as he sprinted down the street, adrenaline fueling his legs. Debris cut into his bare feet as he ran, but he ignored the pain. It felt familiar, reminiscent of all the times he had tried to escape from villains. Except this time, he was trying to outrun nature itself.
The chaos couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of minutes, yet it felt like hours. Once the tremors stopped, Izuku found himself standing in the middle the ruins of what had once been his home.
“It's all gone,” he muttered to himself, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
Izuku never had a much. This was everything he had. And now, it was all gone...
As Izuku surveyed the fallen building, he noticed something that caught his eye—a black cloth peeking out from under some debris. Using his spider legs as leverage, he lifted the rubble, and his heart dropped as he recognized the familiar shape.
His eyes widened at the sight of the spider plushie, now completely dusty, the stuffing spilling from several gashes, and three legs missing.
“It's all gone…” Izuku repeated, his voice trembling as he grabbed the plushie. He pressed it tightly against his chest, collapsing onto his knees.
Overwhelmed, he let the tears flow freely once more, mourning not just the loss of his home, but the pieces of himself that felt irretrievably lost in the chaos.
------------------------------------------------------------
As soon as the tremor stopped, Hizashi ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The earthquake hadn’t been that severe—most people probably barely noticed it happening. But Izuku lived in an abandoned building within a condemned block, a place where the structures were already on the verge of collapse, even without factoring in another earthquake.
Hizashi kicked himself for hesitating. Why hadn’t he gone after Izuku the moment the kid ran away? What if he was trapped under the rubble? What if he was—
NO! Hizashi pushed those thoughts aside, forcing himself to focus on getting to Izuku as quickly as possible. Why couldn’t he have a speed quirk? All he could do was run, and every second felt like an eternity as he raced down the street, his heart pounding in his chest.
When he reached the abandoned block, the scene matched his worst fears. Most of the buildings had crumbled, the ground littered with debris. A thick cloud of dust hung in the air, making it hard to breathe and see what lay ahead. But Hizashi didn’t slow down. He desperately searched for a familiar metallic glint or a tuft of green hair amidst the chaos.
“IZUKU!” he shouted, his voice nearly swallowed by the dust and echoes of destruction.
Navigating through the wreckage, his heart raced as he pushed aside fallen bricks and splintered wood. The air was thick with dust, settling in his lungs, but he pressed on, determination fueling his every step.
“IZUKU!” he called again, trying to mask the rising panic in his voice. Each moment that passed felt like a lifetime, the fear of what he might find looming heavy over him.
Just as he was about to start pulling rubble or maybe call Thirteen for help, he caught sight of something amidst the ruins—a flash of green. Hizashi rushed forward, heart pounding as he pushed aside a broken beam and collapsed wall fragments. His breath hitched when he finally saw Izuku.
The boy was kneeling on the ground, clutching a tattered plush spider to his chest. In any other situation, Hizashi's heart at finding out that the kid actually kept his gift all this time. But now, seeing tears streamed down Izuku's face, Hizashi felt a swell of conflicting emotions. He was relieved that he found him relatively safe, but all the sadness in his eyes were like a stab on Hizashi's heart. Why couldn't the world just give Izuku a break?
Hizashi approached slowly, trying not to scare him, but Izuku didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. He seemed lost in shock, his eyes distant and unfocused.
“Izuku,” Hizashi whispered softly, kneeling beside him and carefully reaching out a hand.
But Izuku remained unresponsive, his fingers clinging to the plushie as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.
“Hizashi-san,” Izuku started, his gaze still locked on the destruction in front of him. “It's all gone…”
Hizashi’s heart ached at the sight of Izuku’s shattered expression. The boy’s voice was barely a whisper, and Hizashi felt a wave of helplessness wash over him.
“It wasn't much... But it was everything I had…” Izuku continued, his voice trembling. “The only place I was safe... It was mine... The only place where no one betrayed me…” His breath hitched as he started sobbing. “I can't do this again, Hizashi-san... Why does this keep happening to me? Why can't I have anything? How come, no matter what I do, it's always the same?”
Hizashi wasn't sure what to say to the kid. How could he possibly comfort him after everything? This was cruel. It was as if his life were some kind of sick joke, with the kid as the punchline.
“Izu—” Before Hizashi could finish, he felt a small—too small—body crash into him.
“I'm tired, Hizashi-san…” The boy sobbed into Hizashi's coat. “I'm tired of the pain. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of fighting.”
In that moment, Hizashi wrapped his arms around Izuku, pulling him close. The boy's frame trembled against him, each sob hitting Hizashi like a dagger to the heart. He could feel Izuku’s desperation, his grief, and the weight of everything he had lost.
“Izuku…” Hizashi called, his voice impossibly soft. “Can you give me one more chance? Can you put your trust in me, just one more time?” It felt like he was asking the kid for something impossible, but he needed to try.
“I'm tired…” Izuku repeated, and for a moment, Hizashi thought he would be denied. But then, Izuku's arms tightened around Hizashi's shoulders. “I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of distrust. Maybe I'm making a mistake, but…” He looked up at Hizashi, his eyes bloodshot from all the crying. “Hizashi-san... Please... Help me.”
Oh, those words. Hizashi had yearned to hear them for so long. The kid was finally reaching out, offering a small, fragile web of trust, and it felt like a glimmer of light breaking through the darkness that had surrounded them both. Hizashi vowed to himself that he wouldn’t waste this chance.
“Of course, I will,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within him.
Izuku's heart was pounding in his little ribcage, a symphony of hope and fear. He was taking a leap of faith, and it was clear that he was terrified of trusting someone again. Hizashi tightened his embrace, in that moment, the warmth of Hizashi's embrace wrapped around him like a blanket, shielding him from the world’s coldness.
There was still a lot to do, but that was okay. Izuku had finally taken the first, and hardest step. Now it was time for the adults to start pulling their weight. Hizashi made a silent vow, determination solidifying in his heart: he would ensure that Izuku found a happy home, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
As they knelt in the rubble, surrounded by the remnants of what once was, Hizashi felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. He could almost see the path ahead—difficult, yes, but bright.
Notes:
A little push was needed for Izuku to finally take the leap of faith.
Chapter Text
“Trust.”
Such a small word, and yet, to Izuku, it was utterly worthless.
He’d lived his entire life without it, a concept so foreign it might as well have been a fairytale. When was the last time he truly trusted someone? Had he ever?
The more he thought about it, the more certain he became: he hadn’t. Not once. Not ever.
Even before the villains Izuku realized trust had never been part of his life.
Hisashi made no effort to hide his hatred. He loomed over Izuku like a storm, his disapproval and disgust rolling off him in waves. He hadn’t cared for Izuku; he barely tolerated his existence. Izuku still remembered how it felt to have fire breathed on his back.
Inko… she was different. She wasn’t cruel, not like Hisashi, but her apathy had been its own kind of pain. Neglectful at best, she never lifted a finger to stop Hisashi. She never stood in the way of his anger. She never looked at Izuku with anything but indifference. She was no mother. She never was.
Even before everything took a turn for the worse, trust wasn’t something Izuku had for either of his parents.
And outside of them? There was no one.
He never had friends. Izuku thought that, maybe once—so long ago it felt like a dream—he had met someone his own age. A boy, the son of one of Inko’s friends, maybe? But he couldn’t remember clearly. His world back then had been so small, confined within the four walls of his house. Hisashi and Inko rarely let him leave.
Even before his quirk fully manifested, he could count on one hand the number of times he had interacted with anyone outside of his parents.
And then the villains came.
Trust? He certainly hadn’t trusted any of them. How could he?
No, what he felt for them wasn’t trust. It was fear.
Every single second of every single day, Izuku feared for his life. The villains were cruel, merciless, and relentless in their attempts to break him. They stripped him of everything—his freedom, his childhood, his innocence.
But even in his darkest moments, there was something that scared him far more than their punishments ever could.
It was the times he almost trusted them.
There had been moments—fleeting, awful moments—when the villains had gotten too close. When they would throw the smallest scraps of kindness his way.
When Lucifer got him a book after a successful mission.
The first time Mamon gave him something that didn’t look like expired hospital food.
When Satan would talk about music.
The times Belfegor decided to take a nap instead of keeping an eye on Izuku like she was supposed to, thus leaving him with some free time.
The times when Asmodeus treated his wounds after Beelzebub went too far. The times she praised him for surviving another one of her experiments. The times she called him her masterpiece.
Those times almost made him think, maybe… maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe I can survive if I just do what they want. Maybe I can belong.
That terrified him.
If the villains had been just a little kinder, just a little less cruel, they might have succeeded in turning him into the weapon they wanted. The perfect assassin, ready to carry any of their wishes.
In a twisted way, Izuku was almost grateful for how harsh they had been. Their cruelty had ensured that he would never want to become like them. It kept him fighting, resisting, refusing to give them what they wanted, even if it meant enduring more pain.
But it came at a cost.
Trust was no longer just foreign—it was impossible.
Or, at least, that’s what he thought.
Izuku was used to betrayals. He had learned the hard way, over and over again.
Kobra. A snake in every sense of the word. He had donned the mask of a hero, all smiles and promises, while secretly conducting deals with Lilith. In his own words "just business." Kobra was the first hero to betray Izuku, and that lesson left a scar deeper than any physical wound.
Death Arms. The so-called hero who folded like wet paper at the sight of Mamon. The moment the villain appeared, Death Arms dropped to his kness and groveled at Mamon’s feet, begging for his life. Wasn’t he supposed to fight villains? To protect people? Instead, he had watched as Izuku was dragged away.
Rock Lock. He had been the worst. Rock Lock had promised to help. He’d looked Izuku in the eye when Izuku asked to help, and said he'd help. And Izuku had believed him. Trusted him. Only for Rock Lock to go back on his word the moment Mamon appeared, just like the others. He still had the nerve to look guilty as he handed Izuku back to the villains. Izuku still had mixed feelings about having spared his life years later.
After that, Izuku had stopped believing in heroes.
He had learned his lesson well. Heroes were liars. Cowards. Fraudulent idols who would throw a child to the wolves if it meant saving their own skin.
So, Izuku swore to himself: never again. Never again would he trust anyone. Especially not a hero.
Trust was the most worthless thing in the world.
So when had that changed?
Was it when he told Eraserhead about his past with the villains, hoping that it might help take down Trigger-G? Had it been when Hizashi, even though he was against Izuku taking part in the raid, still respected Izuku’s wishes? Or when Izuku had shared his real name—his real name—with Hizashi, a small act of vulnerability he never thought he would allow himself?
Maybe it had been when he found himself talking with Hitoshi over ice cream about books, his guarded heart beginning to open up in the simplest of moments. Or when Hizashi had given him a hug—the first real hug he’d ever received in his life, a moment of warmth he hadn’t thought possible.
Maybe it had been the first time he went on patrol with Present Mic, feeling the awkwardness of being around someone who wasn’t afraid of him, someone who wanted to be near him. Or when Hizashi gave him the spider plushie as a peace offering after that misunderstanding.
But no, it wasn’t any of those things.
The seeds of trust had been planted long before, when an Underground Hero—someone who was just supposed to catch Izuku and throw him in prison—had shown him a different side of the world. Instead of trying to arrest him, Eraserhead had started bringing him food, treating him like a person, talking to him about cats. That had been the moment. That had been when the walls started to crack, when the smallest bit of trust began to grow, despite Izuku’s best efforts to push it away.
And even though Izuku had tried so hard to resist, to keep his heart closed off, those seeds had sprouted. And Present Mic? He had cultivated those fragile roots, slowly, gently, giving Izuku a chance to see what it was like to trust again. To feel what it meant to have someone who cared.
Maybe... Maybe the little kid who dreamed about being a hero wasn't really dead as Izuku thought. Maybe he did deserve to be saved too. And maybe he finally found the hero that would save him.
By now, Izuku was too tired of running in circles. He was ready to take one last leap of faith, and to trust Hizashi would catch him.
------------------------------------------------------------
The first light of dawn filtered through the ruins of the neighborhood as Izuku's sobs gradually subsided. The boy was clearly exhausted after everything that happened, and fighting to stay awake. Hizashi’s arms were still wrapped around the small child, holding him as if he could protect him from the world that had been so cruel for so long.
Izuku’s small, trembling body slowly relaxed against Hizashi’s chest, the warmth of the older hero’s embrace providing the comfort he’d never known he needed. Hizashi wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew it had been a long night. Yet their work was just beginning.
Izuku had taken a monumental step by allowing himself this sliver of trust, but Hizashi knew better than to rush him. It was like handling glass—one wrong move, and everything could shatter.
Still, he couldn’t keep them here. Izuku needed food, a bath, and a proper bed. But more than that, he needed a home. A real home.
Hizashi adjusted his grip slightly, crouching down to lift the boy fully into his arms. "I think it’s time we got you somewhere safe, yeah?" His voice was soft, almost coaxing.
Izuku stirred, his head resting heavily on Hizashi’s shoulder. For a moment, the boy didn’t respond, his body limp with exhaustion. Still, he tried to push himself away from Hizashi's grip, “I can walk. I’m... heavy.”
Hizashi blinked, surprised. Heavy? The kid was barely more than skin and bones. “Don’t be silly,” he said with as he started lifting the sleepy boy. “You weigh, what, fifty pounds? That’s nothing I can’t—Oh boy, you’re heavy.”
Izuku let out a groggy giggle as he felt Hizashi struggle to lift him, muffled against Hizashi’s shoulder. “Actually,” he muttered, his words barely above a whisper, “my bones are made of pure mercury. That... plus the spider legs... I weigh over 300 pounds.”
Hizashi froze mid-step, his eyes wide. “Three hundred—?!” He caught himself before his voice got too loud and glanced down at the boy, who was now grinning faintly, his spider legs folding neatly against his back.
“See?” Izuku said, his tone light with humor despite the rasp in his voice. “I told you I could walk.”
Hizashi let out a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he resumed walking, adjusting his grip as if to make a point. “Kid, I wouldn’t be much of a hero if I couldn’t handle a little weight. You ever seen what I lug around on my neck every day? My Directional Speaker isn’t exactly lightweight, either!”
Izuku snorted quietly, his giggle breaking the tension that had hung heavy in the air. It was such a small thing—a laugh—but it made Hizashi’s heart swell. After everything the boy had been through, he could still laugh. He could still smile.
“Actually,” Izuku murmured after a moment, resting his head more comfortably against Hizashi’s shoulder, “I always wanted to ask about that. How is that thing practical in a fight?”
Hizashi couldn’t help the amused grin spreading across his face. "Oh, it’s not," he admitted with a dramatic sigh. “It’s a total pain in the neck—literally. I’ve probably spent more money on neck massages than I have on costume repairs.”
Izuku giggled again, his laughter softer now, like he was slowly drifting off to sleep. “Then why even use it?”
Hizashi’s grin softened into something gentler, his voice quieter as he replied, “Because it’s a necessary evil. Some quirks just don’t play nice without the right gear, ya dig? My quirk’s powerful, but it’s hard to control. The Directional Speaker makes sure I don’t accidentally blow out someone’s eardrums—or my own—every time I use it.”
“I guess the last part is less of a problem now.” Izuku hummed thoughtfully, his eyes half-closed.
“Yeah, fair enough.” Hizashi nodded. “I hate how it happened, but this new super hearing is starting to grow on me.”
“Silver linings, I guess,” Izuku sighed, his tone wistful. A pause hung between them, thick with unspoken emotions, before Izuku continued softly, “I... I absolutely hate what they did to me, but... I don’t think I’d have survived without it. If they hadn’t forced my quirk to evolve, I’d probably be dead.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “It’s weird, you know? Everything started with my quirk. My dad... He called me a freak because of my second set of eyes. Then came the venom, and ‘freak’ turned into ‘villain.’ If it wasn’t for my quirk, maybe my parents would’ve loved me. Maybe... everything would’ve been different.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all the things Izuku had never said before. Hizashi felt his throat tighten, but he didn’t interrupt. He just held the boy closer, letting him say everything he needed to.
“I should hate my quirk,” Izuku whispered. “But I never did. I hate everything they did to me. I hate the things they made me do. But... my quirk? It’s still a part of me. It’s weird, but... I don’t hate it.”
Hizashi tried to think of something—anything—to say in response to everything he just heard. But as he opened his mouth, he stopped. The soft, even breaths against his shoulder told him all he needed to know. Izuku had fallen asleep in his arms, the tension in his small, trembling frame finally giving way to the exhaustion that had been clawing at him all night.
This was the first time Hizashi had seen the boy asleep.
There was something so vulnerable about it, so painfully fragile. Izuku looked so peaceful like this. Looking at him now, Hizashi came to realize just how guarded he was all the time. Izuku never let his guard down, or at least never that Hizashi had seen. The closest was the time Hizashi had caught him dancing and singing on that rooftop, but even then, the kid wasn't this relaxed.
The trek back to his apartment was slow, but Hizashi didn’t mind. He walked deliberately, his steps careful to avoid any jostling that might wake Izuku. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the strain in his arms as the minutes ticked by. As light as Izuku looked, his earlier words weren’t an exaggeration—he really was heavy. Hizashi could feel the pull of each step in his shoulders and arms, and he knew he’d be sore in the morning.
But he didn’t care.
By the time Hizashi reached his apartment, and managed to open the door without droping either Izuku or his keys, his arms were painfully sore. He quickly took Izuku to the guests bedroom and lied the boy on the bed. The spider legs made it quite awkward, and Hizashi had to lie him on his belly.
For a moment Hizashi ran a finger through one of the metal-looking apendages. It was a strange feeling, metalic, cool to the touch, and quite heavy. The texture was smooth, almost glossy, and slightly rubbery. This explained how they were so flexible- Hizashi had seem Izuku bending those limbs in ways that shouldn't be possible.
He couldn’t help but marvel at the strangeness of it all. Mercury, at this temperature, was supposed to be liquid. And yet, Izuku’s legs—and by extension, his bones—were clearly solid. There had to be something more at play here. Perhaps it wasn’t pure mercury after all, but some kind of alloy?
Quirks always fascinated Hizashi. He might play on the happy, dumb, persona for the cameras, but he was far from that. He was one of the Nedzu's few personal students, after all. He loved puzzles, and this one would stay on his mind until he could solve it.
But that could wait. Hizashi wouldn't even dream of saying or suggesting anything to Izuku that could even remotely remind him of the things he went through with the Nine Circles of Hell. He had no doubt that Izuku had a lot of problems.
Hizashi was no therapist, but he could easily guess the boy suffered at the very least of PTSD, Survivor's guilt, and Depression. It was very likely he had many other problems as well. The next days would no doubt feel like treking over a minefield as Hizashi would have to learn Izuku's triggers while trying his best not to mess too much. It was going to take time, patience, and no small amount of effort.
Well, no one ever said that being a hero would be easy. Hizashi knew exactly what he was signing on when he first got into UA, and he never regreted it for even a single second.
Shaking his head, Hizashi carefully left the room, his footsteps light as he closed the door behind him. The quiet click of the knob reverberated in the stillness of the apartmen. He lingered in the hallway for a moment, his mind still processing everything that had happened. Izuku was safe—for now. But there was so much to do. So many steps still ahead.
His stomach growled, breaking through his thoughts, reminding him of the time. He glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see it was already 6 AM. Time had slipped away faster than he expected. He wanted to collapse into bed and sleep for hours, but he knew better. Izuku would be hungry when he woke up, and certainly wouldn’t ask for food. He had to be ready for that.
Sighing, Hizashi pushed the exhaustion aside for a moment. He would make breakfast first—something simple, something comforting. The kitchen could wait for his own needs; Izuku’s came first.
And then there was something else—something he’d been putting off for too long. Hizashi needed to call Nedzu. It was time to use that leave his boss had been pushing him to take for months. Honestly, Hizashi had enough hours built up that he could take a sabbatical if he wanted. As much as he’d deny it, he was a workaholic. But this wasn’t just about rest; it was about Izuku. He’d been through enough hell to last a lifetime. Hizashi wasn’t about to let him face the world alone anymore.
But before all of that, there was one last call to make.
Allowing himself a brief moment of stillness, Hizashi sat down on the couch and pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen for a second. He dialed a number he knew by heart, one that had been a constant source of support in the past. The phone rang a few times before a voice picked up on the other end.
“Hey, Shou. I found him...”
------------------------------------------------------------
Many Underground Hero rookies tend to complain about the job, especially in the beginning.
Underground heroics aren’t exactly the career choice that most aspiring heroes dream of. It’s a grueling, often thankless line of work that comes with little recognition or glamour. Unlike their more celebrated counterparts, these heroes toil behind the scenes, far from the flashy headlines, in the shadows where their efforts often go unnoticed. It’s all about the quiet, invisible work—the kind that shields citizens in ways that no one will ever applaud or even acknowledge.
Over 70% of those who end up in the underground are pushed into it. It’s not a choice for most. They might have quirks that don’t fit the public image—abilities too dangerous to control, too subtle to be of use in the spotlight, or too unpredictable to be part of a glamorous hero agency. Others may have fallen from grace in the public eye, dragged down by scandals or media backlashes. Heroes are like anyone else—fallible—and when the media turns on them, it doesn’t take long before they’re driven into the shadows.
A smaller portion of heroes find their true calling underground. These are the ones who don’t mind being out of the spotlight, who see the underground as a place to make a real difference without the crushing weight of fame. Even fewer still, though, are those who actively choose this path from the start—heroes who dream of working behind the scenes, who embrace the lack of recognition as an essential part of their mission.
But no matter how you look at it, the underground is tough. The pay is far below what limelight heroes earn, and the lack of fame often means fewer resources and little to no public support. The Hero Public Safety Commission (HPSC) barely acknowledges their existence, often treating underground heroes as expendable. Their missions are more dangerous, and their sacrifices are greater. With no safety net, it’s a job that requires constant vigilance and, sometimes, more than a little self-sacrifice.
For rookies, it’s often too much. Many burn out quickly, unable to withstand the isolation, the lack of recognition, and the relentless pressure. The harsh reality of the underground hits hard, and before long, some are washed out, their dreams of heroism shattered.
If you asked Password, though, he'd tell you that those rookies were just a bunch of softies. At least they had the backing of big Underground Hero Agencies. That was more than what he ever had.
Password, as a freelancer, was as alone as it gets in the underground. No agency, no support team—just him and his license. Every mistake, every bit of collateral damage, came out of his own pocket. There was no safety net, no second chances. No team to back him up or hold him together when things went south.
The truth was, the only difference between him and a vigilante was that license. That one little piece of paper kept him from being arrested for the very crimes he fought against. But, to be honest, that was all he really needed. The freedom it offered was why he chose this path—he didn’t have to answer to anyone, didn’t have to deal with bureaucracy or the red tape that came with being part of an agency. He could make his own decisions, follow his own instincts, and work how and when he saw fit.
For Password, that freedom was worth all the sacrifices. He worked alone, but it was by choice. And in a world full of rules and restrictions, that kind of freedom was everything.
Case in point, he was currently investigating an allegedly abandoned cloth factory. One of his contacts had tipped him off about some suspicious activity in the area, and it didn’t take much to convince Password to check it out.
For most heroes, especially those working for larger agencies, something like this would be mired in bureaucracy. There'd be forms to fill out, approval processes to navigate, and permissions to request before they could even step foot inside the building. The risk of getting caught in endless red tape was all too real—waiting for a green light that might never come. But Password wasn’t most heroes.
As a freelancer, he had the freedom to bypass all of that. No agency, no supervisors, no need to wait for clearance. If he caught wind of something off, he could just go. No need to explain, no need to justify. He was the one in charge of his own operations, and that gave him a kind of power most heroes could only dream of. The independence was his greatest asset, allowing him to cut through all the distractions and get straight to the heart of the problem.
Of course, there were still things that required paperwork—warrants and whatnot. But that didn’t change the fact that he was able to move faster than most heroes, who were bogged down by the rules of larger organizations. He could strike when the moment was right, and that made all the difference.
That was why, as he approached the factory, he didn’t need anyone’s permission. He just needed his instincts. And right now, they were telling him something was off.
The factory had been abandoned for years, a forgotten relic of its once-thriving past. Since the owner went bankrupt, no one had bothered to show interest in buying the place. The rusted gates, broken windows, and peeling paint were the only signs of its history. It had long since fallen into disrepair, a hollow shell of what it once was—neglected and ignored by all but those with reason to look deeper.
But someone had tipped off Password. Something shady was happening in this forsaken place, and he’d come to check it out. He wasn’t the strongest hero—not by a long shot—but his quirk was perfectly suited for this kind of work.
A simple telekinesis quirk. Weak by most standards, with only a two-meter range. Most people would dismiss it as insignificant—something that wouldn’t make much of a difference in a fight or in most heroic situations. But to Password, it was the perfect tool. It wasn’t about lifting cars or hurling enemies through walls. It was about precision, finesse. A subtle telekinetic pull on the right lock, the quiet snap of a door opening, the deft manipulation of tools into place. To him, it was far more efficient than any lockpick could ever be.
As Password stepped into the factory, his instincts flared to life. Every nerve in his body screamed that something was wrong. The silence wasn’t the kind that came from disuse, the kind that made a place feel abandoned. It was too quiet. Too clean. There wasn’t even the faint scurry of rats that should’ve called the place home.
Something was off.
His boots made almost no sound as he moved deeper into the factory. Despite the age of the building, the place felt unnervingly well-kept. There were still machines running in the distance, low whirs and mechanical hums that didn’t belong in an abandoned warehouse. The place wasn’t empty—it was being used.
Password’s mind worked quickly, scanning every detail. His quirk flared to life as he moved closer to one of the machines, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the strange patterns on the floor, almost as if someone had been careful to avoid leaving too much evidence. He took a few steps further and noticed more traces—a faint, chemical smell in the air, something foreign, something that didn’t belong in a textile factory.
Instinctively, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small vial, quickly taking a sample of the substance near one of the machines. It a vibrant, almost unnatural blue. Whatever it was, it was important. Some kind of drug, maybe?
As he continued, he eventually found an old locked door, its metal frame weathered by years of neglect, but the lock was pristine, almost too pristine. It stood out like a sore thumb in the otherwise decaying environment, and Password’s instincts screamed that this was the place he needed to be. He approached it cautiously, his mind already working through the possibilities.
With a quick glance around, he made sure no one was in sight. Then, without a second thought, his quirk kicked into gear. His telekinetic power wrapped around the lock, applying just enough pressure to manipulate the mechanism. There was a soft click, almost inaudible, as the lock popped open.
Password pushed the door slightly, just enough to peek inside. He flickered the lights on, and almost jumped in surprise at what he saw there. Shelves upon shelves, filled with the creepiest dolls he'd ever seem in his life. They were far too realistic, almost like they weren't dolls, but actual mounted humans.
Steeling his nerves, Password stepped inside. He was no stranger to the unsettling, but this—this was something else entirely.
In the center of the room sat a desk, a computer resting on top. Ignoring the unnerving dolls, Password made his way to it and switched it on. As the computer powered up, Password couldn't stop himself from glancing at the creepy dolls every once in a while. He could swear that he saw one move at the corner of his vision, but when he looked, they were exactly like he last saw them.
A jingle told him that the computer finished powering on.
Password leaned over the desk, his fingers brushing the keyboard. The sound of his boots tapping against the cold floor was the only thing breaking the eerie silence in the room. His eyes flickered to the dolls again. They were arranged in unsettlingly precise positions, each one more lifelike than the last. It wasn’t just the way they were crafted—their eyes seemed too... knowing. Too aware. But that could just be his nerves getting the better of him. He’d seen strange things before.
Focusing back on the computer, Password clicked the mouse, and to his surprise, there was no login needed. Like the owner didn't even think they needed to bother with security. Well, this made his work easier.
Password’s gaze locked onto the computer screen as he clicked the mouse, expecting some kind of login prompt. To his surprise, none appeared. It was wide open—no security, no barriers. Whoever had used this system clearly hadn’t felt the need for precautions. Well, that certainly made his job easier.
He scanned the files quickly, and one folder immediately caught his eye: Trigger-G . Password’s heart skipped a beat. He knew all too well about Trigger—the infamous drug that enhanced quirks at a horrific cost. But Trigger-G ? That was something new. A variant, perhaps? The thought made his stomach churn as he clicked into the folder.
The files were a twisted collection of data. What started as just a vague sense of unease quickly turned into full-blown horror as he read on. The drug, Trigger-G , was capable of permanently enhancing a person’s quirk. There was a list—hundreds of names, ages, dates of death. And beneath them, gruesome footnotes, most of them impersonal, clinical, as if the people listed were no more than numbers on a spreadsheet.
But one name stood out. A name that made his blood run cold: Belial .
Password’s breath hitched as his eyes lingered on the file. He couldn’t look away. He wanted to shut the whole thing down, walk away, pretend he’d never seen any of it. But he couldn’t. He was already too far in.
The first entry he read under Belial made his stomach turn.
Subject ID: Belial. Age: 4. A child. Four years old. The notes described a process that was as clinical as it was monstrous— quasi-permanent quirk enhancement through the use of Trigger-G . The notes listed the child’s quirk adaptability and regenerative resilience as the reason he was deemed suitable for the experiment. Password’s throat tightened. This wasn’t just a kid being experimented on. This was a child who had been broken and turned into a test subject.
He scrolled through more files, each more grotesque than the last. There were detailed records of Belial’s “training,” but the word barely scratched the surface. Training wasn’t the right term. This was systematic torture. Forced overuse of his quirk. Isolation. Injections of chemicals—among them, mercury, to mutate and forcefully enhance the quirk’s abilities. The words on the screen made his skin crawl. Subject’s survival attributed to enhanced toxin resistance due to quirk properties . As if the fact that the child had endured such inhumane treatment was nothing more than a stroke of luck.
The pages turned to logs detailing the child’s continued suffering—behavioral conditioning to suppress emotional responses, controlled exposure to trauma, each note describing the twisted efforts to break a child into submission. Password’s heart pounded, each click of the mouse sending a fresh wave of dread through him.
Then his eyes landed on something that stopped him cold: a photograph. He clicked on it, his breath catching in his throat. The image was grainy, but there was no mistaking the small, terrified child in the picture. Belial . No older than six, sitting in a sterile room, limbs bound in crude restraints. The dirt on his face, the tears streaking his cheeks, and the fresh bruises covering his body spoke volumes about what had been done to him. His wide, frightened green eyes stared directly into the camera, a mixture of fear and resignation. The photo was dated seven years ago.
Password clicked through the files in a daze. The next photo was taken three years ago, the boy older now, about ten. But the pain in his eyes was still there—just masked beneath a cold, emotionless mask. The child’s body was covered in scars, old and new—Lichtenberg figures, cuts, bruises, and even what appeared to be bite marks. The most disturbing thing of all? The boy had metallic spider legs protruding from his back. Eight legs, all gleaming with a sinister metallic sheen.
The filename for this photo was simple: success .
Password’s hands trembled as he scrolled down. The next file was an audio log. He hesitated but clicked it anyway.
“Log 1135: Belial escaped.” The voice was smooth, almost languid, yet there was an undercurrent of pain, like she was struggling to breath. “Truly my magnum opus. That child exceeded even my most ambitious expectations. Lilith thought her conditioning would be enough to control him. She paid for her arrogance.”
There was a pause, the crackling of fire echoing faintly in the background.
“The Nine Circles of Hell are no more. Belial eradicated them all—every single one. How marvelous the sight must have been.” The voice chuckled darkly before it devolved into a coughing fit. “The child’s going through a rebellious phase now. I’ll need to find a new sponsor for my experiments, but that’s just a minor setback. I’ll let him go for now. He’ll come back. Sooner or later. Asmodeus , out.”
Password froze. The name Asmodeus hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d heard whispers about the underground figure— Asmodeus , the mad scientist behind horrific experiments. But this? This was beyond anything he had imagined.
His eyes landed on the last file—surveillance photos. Grainy, but unmistakable. There, in the pictures, was the boy— Belial . Now older, unmistakably green-haired, the same metallic legs still attached to his back. The photos were taken over several years—sometimes during the day, sometimes at night—but always showing the boy unaware of the camera’s presence.
The final image made his heart stop.
Belial was dressed in a crude vigilante outfit, standing beside a familiar figure: Eraserhead .
Password’s mind raced. No, it couldn’t be. That vigilante Eraserhead had been looking for years... and now it turned out the boy was Belial ? This was the child who’d escaped, the one Eraserhead had been tracking for so long?
The realization hit him like a freight train. The boy didn’t know he was still being watched. He didn’t know he was being hunted.
“Shit. I need to—” Before he could finish his thought, the lights suddenly went out.
Password’s heart pounded in his chest as the faint sound of shuffling echoed through the room, too soft to pinpoint in the oppressive darkness. His fingers fumbled for his utility belt, desperately reaching for his lantern. The air around him felt thick, suffocating, as his instincts screamed that something was wrong. His breath came in ragged gasps, the only sound in the room besides the eerie silence and the racing of his thoughts.
Before he could find the lantern, the lights flickered, sputtering back to life. His eyes darted around the room, heart sinking as he saw the dolls.
Every. Single. One.
They were staring directly at him.
A cold shiver crawled down Password’s spine as he locked eyes with the unnerving figures. Their expressionless faces remained the same, yet their eyes—those lifeless, glassy eyes—seemed to follow his every movement. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening, but his mind was focused. He had to finish this. He couldn't leave without the files.
With a trembling hand, Password reached for a flash drive from his belt and plugged it into the computer. He didn’t dare waste time, his fingers working with swift urgency to copy every file. His instincts screamed at him to run, to escape, but the truth had to be exposed. He had to get these files to someone who could do something about this nightmare.
The process felt like an eternity, each second dragging on as he waited for the data to transfer. His palms were clammy, his heart racing in his chest, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted. The dolls—still unmoving, still eerily silent—seemed to be watching him.
Finally, the transfer was complete. Password snatched the flash drive from the computer, heart pounding. Without another thought, he turned and rushed toward the exit, his footsteps quick and steady. But when his hand hit the door handle, a sickening realization froze him in place.
The door was locked.
His pulse spiked as he saw the electronic lock on the inside. He tried, but it was something he couldn’t opem with his quirk. Panic began to claw at him as he turned and rushed toward the window, but it, too, was locked. The glass was armored, reinforced beyond his ability to break.
His mind raced— no, no, no . He had to get out. He had to—
“Let’s play a game?”
The voice was high-pitched, almost childlike, and it sent a jolt of terror through him. The lights flickered again and went out, plunging him into total darkness.
“One of the dolls here has the keycard for the door,” the voice continued, its tone almost sing-song. “Find it, and you can go. Fail... and you'll join us!”
As the lights blinked back on, Password’s eyes shot to the dolls. They were no longer sitting in their previous spots. Now, they were all on the floor, arranged in a chilling semicircle, staring at him. The empty, glassy eyes followed him with every step he took.
With trembling hands, Password moved toward the nearest doll, his breath shallow, his mind screaming for an answer. He didn’t want to play this twisted game. He didn’t have a choice. His fingers shook as he moved the doll, checking under it for the keycard. Instead, he found a note tucked underneath.
“Wrong. Try again.”
His stomach churned. Panic was quickly giving way to dread, but he couldn't stop. He had to keep going. He moved to the next doll, his heart racing. His mind screamed at him that time was running out.
Password’s hands shook uncontrollably as he flipped through the dolls, his movements growing more frantic with each passing second. The lifeless faces seemed to mock him, their glassy eyes never leaving his, as though they were waiting for him to make a mistake. The notes that accompanied each failed search were cruel, taunting him with their simplicity and sharpness.
“Wrong. Try again.”
“Not here. Don’t waste time.”
“Nope. Better luck next time.”
His chest tightened, his heart pounding so loudly he thought it might drown out everything else. He was running out of time—each doll was just a cold, empty shell, the same as the last. The floor was scattered with them, the semicircle now a claustrophobic cage of glass eyes and silent judgment. The more he searched, the more the idea began to creep into his mind: Was this even a game he could win? The sickening thought that the whole thing was rigged twisted in his gut. Whoever was behind this didn’t want him to escape. They wanted him to suffer.
Sweat dripped from his palms, the flash drive still clenched in his hand, the only thing he had left to hold onto. His breath was coming in shallow gasps now, his pulse pounding in his ears like the relentless ticking of a clock. Every second that passed felt like a countdown, each doll, each note, only adding to the pressure.
The search was becoming unbearable. His mind raced through every possibility, but none of it made sense. What if the keycard was hidden somewhere else? What if the game was rigged from the start? No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He had to find it. He had to escape.
His eyes flicked back to the dolls, his fingers moving faster, jerking them aside with trembling hands. But then—something changed. The lights flickered.
The room fell into darkness.
A chill ran through his spine, and then, a giggle.
It was a soft, high-pitched sound, almost innocent in its maliciousness. The giggle echoed around the room, sending his heart into overdrive. The silence that followed was thick with dread, the kind of stillness that made every second feel like an eternity.
“Looks like you failed,” the voice purred, the words sweet but dripping with malice.
Before Password could even process the words, the sound of movement sliced through the air. Something—someone—was coming for him.
He barely had a chance to react before a figure lunged from the darkness, moving faster than he could anticipate. His body jerked back, but it was too late. Something—someone—was on top of him.
------------------------------------------------------------
In a dimly lit room, a woman sat with an air of casual amusement, her white hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. She held a delicate cup of tea in one hand, its steam curling in lazy spirals as she sipped slowly, her sharp red eyes never leaving the television screen. The chaos playing out in front of her was met with nothing more than a bored, almost disinterested gaze, the sounds of distortion and muffled screams filling the room as the scene on the screen escalated.
The monitor showed a pitch-black room, save for the faint glow of a single bulb hanging above, its light casting eerie shadows across the space. The sounds of struggle—harsh, guttural breaths and the sound of blades cutting through flesh—sounded distorted and distant, like the warped echoes of some horrific dream.
She sipped her tea, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile as she watched. The sounds of violence slowly faded into an oppressive silence, leaving the room heavy with stillness. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and a small doll waddled in, its movements jerky and mechanical. Covered in blood, its lifeless eyes hollow and staring, its body clutching a bloodied flash drive in one hand and a vial of blue liquid in the other.
The woman barely reacted, setting her cup down as she took both items from the doll, her fingers delicately brushing against the bloodstained surfaces. She placed them on the table beside her, her gaze lingering on the flash drive for a moment before patting the doll on the head. It jumped down from her lap, its movements stiff, and scampered out of the room as quickly as it had come.
“How boring,” a high-pitched voice mused from a couch at the corner of the room. “I expected a little more from a hero.”
The woman chuckled softly, not even bothering to look at the source of the voice. “Heroes are useless, dear,” she replied, her voice laced with condescension. “They always fall for the trap. So easy.” She shook her head, her red eyes gleaming as she studied the flash drive with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. “I hope you didn't go too far. It's hard to get a hero, you know?”
The voice brightened, an edge of excitement creeping into its tone. “Are we getting a new brother?”
“If the body is still usable,” the woman answered, amusement twinkling in her eyes as she regarded the bloodied items on the table.
“Yay! New brother!” The voice cheered, its enthusiasm childlike and unsettling.
The woman shook her head, finishing her tea with a slow, deliberate sip. She rose from her seat, her movement fluid and purposeful. As she walked toward the door, her crop top caught the light, exposing a large hole in her stomach area, stretching all the way through her torso, as if something sharp had pierced her from one side to the other. The hole was clean, almost surgical, yet no blood dripped from it, as though the wound was a long-accepted part of her.
As she moved, something small and agile jumped onto her back, clinging to her with surprising strength. The figure resembled a doll at first glance, but unlike the others, its eyes seemed alive and aware, and its grin never wavered, stretching across its face in a perpetual expression of gleeful malice.
The woman chuckled darkly, her steps slow and measured as she walked through the doorway.
Notes:
Anyone remember Password? I've only used this OC hero once before. A shame I had to kill him :(
Chapter Text
Izuku woke up—not with a start, not with a gasp or a jolt. His breath was steady, his muscles relaxed, as if, for once, his body had allowed itself to rest without fear. No echoes of screaming voices clawed at the edges of his mind, no ghosts of past sins forcing him to relive every terrible thing he had done.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he simply… opened his eyes.
When was the last time he slept like this? Truly slept, without the constant weight of exhaustion pressing down on his bones? He couldn't remember. Maybe he never had.
His head rolled to the side, taking in his surroundings with a slow, deliberate gaze. The bed beneath him was soft—unfamiliar, but not in a way that set his nerves on edge. It wasn’t the lumpy, moth-eaten mattress of his old hideout. The air smelled clean, lacking the usual damp, metallic scent of rust and rot that had become his norm.
The walls weren’t cracked concrete, scarred by time and violence. Instead, they were smooth, painted in dark, muted pastel tones. Untouched. Unbroken. It was strange how much that detail stood out to him. Four walls, sturdy and whole, enclosing him in a space that felt… safe.
Safe.
He exhaled slowly, turning his gaze toward the window. Heavy black curtains covered most of it, but small slivers of sunlight peeked through the gaps, casting faint lines of gold across the floor. A clock on the wall ticked steadily, the sound soft but distinct in the quiet room. The time read a little past 11 AM.
Huh.
Izuku blinked. He didn’t think he had ever slept this late. He was always up before dawn, whether out of necessity or because his nightmares didn’t let him sleep long enough to make it matter. The idea of waking up naturally, without fear clawing at his throat, felt… foreign. Almost wrong.
He frowned slightly as the memories of the previous day started coming back.
His shelter—his only home, if he could even call it that—was gone, buried beneath rubble and dust. His mind raced, piecing together the fragmented memories of last night. The fight. The earthquake. The buildings collapsing. And then—
Hizashi.
Izuku's lips parted slightly as everything clicked into place. Oh… this must be Hizashi's place.
He glanced around again, noting the careful arrangement of furniture, the lack of clutter, the way the space felt lived-in but not suffocating.
Am I in a guest bedroom?
The thought lingered, curling around the edges of his mind like an unfamiliar warmth.
For the first time in years, he had woken up somewhere that wasn’t cold, broken, or haunted by the ghosts of his past.
He wasn’t sure what to think of this just yet.
After a few more seconds of stillness, Izuku finally stirred. With a soft exhale, he pushed himself up from his stomach—his spider-like legs a necessary inconvenience when it came to sleep—and shifted carefully onto his hands and knees. The extra limbs on his back twitched slightly, adjusting instinctively as he climbed down from the bed with practiced ease.
His bare feet met the warm carpet beneath him, and he paused. He couldn't remember ever having felt something so soft between his toes before. For a brief moment, he simply stood there, absorbing the sensation of the unfamiliar comfort in an unfamiliar room.
The walls around him, painted in muted tones, felt like a distant memory in comparison to the cold, grim places he was used to. It was almost too easy to forget himself here, and yet, that feeling of unease tugged at him.
His gaze swept across the room, landing on a chair with folded clothes and a note resting on the bedside table.
With just a second of hesitation, he reached for it and unfolded the paper, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface.
Hey, little listener ! I hope you slept well! So, you probably noticed the clothes there. They're for you. They’re probably too big for you, but that’s all I have, unfortunately. You can just make holes on the hoodie for your legs, don’t worry about it. We can get something that actually fits you later!
There’s a bathroom connected to the bedroom – the door on the left. I’m sure you must be feeling like taking a long bath. Don’t worry about the hot water! Once you feel like leaving the room, I'll probably be in the living room or the kitchen. But no pressure. Take as much time as you need.
Izuku read through the note twice, the words so simple, yet they stirred something warm and unfamiliar inside him. It was a kindness, untainted by obligation, that tugged at his heart. A small part of him hesitated, conflicted, the old instincts screaming that this warmth—this peace—couldn't possibly be real. Not for someone like him.
But the simplicity of the note kept him grounded. There was no manipulation here. No promises of something in return. Just kindness.
Izuku clenched his fists around the paper, feeling it crumple in his grip. He could still feel the weight of his past, the battle between his instincts and what his heart wanted. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t stay in this cage of self-doubt.
Shaking his head, he forced his mind to quiet. This wasn’t the time to lose himself in fear.
With a slow, steadying breath, Izuku grabbed the clothes from the chair. They were definitely too big for him, but for now, they would have to do. Without another moment’s hesitation, he moved toward the bathroom the note had mentioned.
His clothes were caked with filth, and his hair was tangled with dust and debris from the collapsed building. He could definitely use a good washing right now.
------------------------------------------------------------
Hizashi hummed a light, upbeat tune to himself as he stirred the eggs and bacon in the pan, the sizzle filling the kitchen. His nap had stretched a little longer than he'd originally planned, but it seemed like Izuku hadn’t woken up yet. He smiled softly, glancing toward the closed bedroom door.
The poor kid must have been completely exhausted, and honestly, Hizashi was just glad he was sleeping. He doubted Izuku got much sleep. Hizashi might have not had many chances to see Izuku in any place with light, but he'd have to be blind to miss those eyebags that would put even Shouta's to shame.
He shook his head with a sigh as he focused back on the food. He didn't want Izuku's first homecooked meal to be burnt eggs, after all. Maybe it was a little late for breakfast, but in Hizashi's opinion, it's never late for eggs and bacon.
As he stirred, the soft creak of the bedroom door caught his attention. There were no footsteps, but Hizashi didn’t need to hear them. He was more than used to Izuku’s silent movements by now. He could almost feel the presence of the kid behind him, even without looking.
Carefully, Hizashi lowered the heat and kept his movements deliberate, slowly turning to face him. Sure enough, there stood Izuku, frozen at the threshold of the kitchen. His messy green hair was still damp from the bath, and the oversized clothes hung awkwardly off his frame. Hizashi had to force himself not to coo at how adorable Izuku looked in that massive hoodie that almost reached his knees. It made him look so small, so vulnerable.
“Morning, little listener,” Hizashi greeted warmly, trying to keep his voice light and casual. “Food’s almost ready. You feeling hungry?”
Izuku didn’t immediately answer, but after a beat, he gave a soft, almost imperceptible nod. Hizashi’s smile widened.
“Great! You can sit anywhere you want to!” he said, gesturing toward the table before he went back to watching the food. “So, did you sleep well?”
Hizashi heard the soft shuffle of movement—no footsteps, just that barely-there sound that always came with Izuku’s hesitation. He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t turn or react. Instead, he let the moment breathe, keeping his focus on the pan in front of him, acting as if he hadn’t noticed at all.
A few quiet seconds passed before Izuku finally spoke. His voice was softer than Hizashi expected, like he wasn’t used to speaking first. The words were faint, nearly swallowed by the ambient sounds of the kitchen, but Hizashi’s sharp hearing caught them with ease.
“I slept fine…” A pause. Then, even quieter, as if he were speaking more to himself than anyone else: “Can’t remember ever sleeping this well.” Then he added, barely above a whisper—hesitant, guilty— “Sorry for dirtying the bed.”
Hizashi’s grip on the spatula tightened slightly before he forced himself to relax. He kept his voice light, casual. “Don’t worry about the bed, little listener,” he said easily, flipping the eggs one last time. “It’s a bed. It’s meant to be slept in, not put on display.” He glanced over his shoulder with a small smile. “And hey, it’s just a little dust. A quick change of the sheets, and it’s good as new.”
There was no verbal reply, but the faint rustle of fabric told him enough—Izuku had probably nodded. Hizashi didn’t push for anything more.
Satisfied with the eggs, he turned off the stove, moving with an easy, practiced rhythm as he plated the food. When he finally turned, he caught sight of Izuku sitting on the floor, near the table but not at it.
Those sharp green eyes were watching him, still carrying that familiar wariness, but there was something else, too—something softer. A quiet openness that hadn’t been there before. It tugged at something deep in Hizashi’s chest, but he didn’t comment on it.
Instead, he just smiled and walked over, setting the plate down carefully. “Here you go. You can eat at the table if you want, or…” He gestured vaguely to the floor with a grin. “Stay there. No rush.”
Izuku glanced at the table, hesitating. He looked almost... embarrassed. “Chairs…” he muttered, shifting slightly before one of his spider-like limbs twitched behind him. “Don’t like me very much.”
Hizashi chuckled, catching the quiet humor in Izuku’s tone. “Fair enough,” he said with an easy shrug. “I’ve got some stools lying around if that’d work better?”
Izuku blinked, like the idea of using a stool hadn’t even crossed his mind. His gaze flickered to the table again, then back to Hizashi, uncertainty clouding his expression. A long pause stretched between them, one of those moments where Izuku seemed locked in a quiet debate with himself.
Eventually, he gave a small shake of his head. "I'm fine here," he murmured.
Hizashi didn’t push. He could tell this wasn’t really about preference—it was about not wanting to be a bother. But now wasn’t the time to force Izuku into accepting kindness before he was ready. Patience was the name of the game, and despite how he might come across, Hizashi had plenty of it.
“You got it,” he said easily, grabbing a plate for himself. As he moved, he let his tone lighten, playful as ever. “Y'know, Shouta always said the wood here is surprisingly comfy. Of course, he’s usually wrapped up in that hideous yellow sleeping bag of his, so I don’t think his opinion counts.”
Instead of taking a chair himself, Hizashi plopped down on the floor next to Izuku—not too close to overwhelm, but just near enough to feel there . Present. A steady warmth without pressure.
He grinned. “Have you ever seen that thing? I swear he picked it just to make my eyes bleed. I think he took one look at it and went, ‘Ah yes, this is the ugliest thing in existence. My friends will hate it. I must have it.’ He’s petty like that, ya dig?”
Hizashi kept the lightheartedness in his tone, making sure to let the conversation unfold naturally, giving Izuku space without drawing attention to his hesitation. He didn’t push. Instead, he acted as though everything was perfectly normal—because for Izuku, normal had never included something as simple as sitting down for a meal without fear.
“He says it’s for practicality, but c’mon, let’s be real,” Hizashi continued, his voice teasing. “He’s just in it for the shock factor. Every year, without fail, on the first day of class, he rolls up all wrapped up in that hideous thing. The students always look horrified, but Shouta? He just lays there like it's no big deal. He acts all serious about it, claims it’s ‘logical,’ but let me tell you... he's a total drama queen.”
Izuku's gaze softened, his lips twitching as if he wanted to smile, though the expression didn’t quite reach his face. Hizashi noticed the shift, his grin widening just a little. Even if the kid wasn’t ready to speak yet, he was definitely listening.
A few more moments passed before Izuku picked up his fork, hesitating for just a second before taking a tentative bite of the food. The second the flavor hit his tongue, Hizashi could see it—a flash of pure surprise. His eyes went wide, and even though he tried to hide it, the shock was unmistakable.
Izuku winced for a brief moment, his sensitive eyes squinting from the brightness, then he quickly shut them again, but that didn’t lessen the surprise written on his face. He didn’t stop though. He took another bite, and with each one, his reaction became more evident. By the third bite, Hizashi noticed the tears forming in the corners of Izuku’s eyes.
“I’ve never had anything like this…” Izuku mumbled softly, barely above a whisper, as he took another bite, savoring the taste. “It’s... so good. Is food supposed to taste this good?”
Hizashi’s heart gave a little twist. His smile faltered just for a moment. He didn’t even know what to say. If he were being honest, the eggs were a little bland, the seasoning a bit off. He’d missed the mark on the salt, but Izuku was eating it like it was the most exquisite thing he’d ever tasted. He was sure some of the meals he brought for Izuku in the past tasted a lot better than this, but he had a feeling that Izuku wasn’t just talking about the taste.
Hizashi watched quietly as Izuku ate, taking note of the way his spider limbs seemed to relax with every bite. It was subtle, a shift in their usual stiffness, but there was something fluid in their movements now, something that wasn’t there before, like the metal was turning liquid. Hizashi had never seen the appendages behaving like that. They were always stiff, tense. Hizashi always thought this was just how they were. After all, they were made of solid metal. But looking at those limbs now, they felt a lot more natural this way.
He blinked and looked closer, a realization settling over him—he had never really seen Izuku fully relaxed before. Not truly. There were moments, fleeting ones, when the kid would let his guard down just enough for Hizashi to catch a glimpse of the boy beneath the layers, but those moments were rare, and the cracks in the mask would close just as quickly as they appeared.
Izuku was a damn good actor. He’d always been, in a way that made Hizashi wonder if the kid even knew it himself. Maybe he’d been wearing that mask for so long, trying to survive, that he’d started to believe that was who he really was. The walls, the guardedness—everything about Izuku screamed survival instinct, but at the same time, it made Hizashi's heart ache.
Had Izuku ever known what it was like to just... be? To not have to keep pretending, to not feel like he had to be something or someone else to make it through?
It was bittersweet. Something so simple as a homecooked breakfast—something Hizashi could take for granted—was an entire world of luxury to Izuku. A world he’d never had access to before. Hizashi found himself cursing the universe, wishing he could erase everything that had led Izuku here, everything that had made him feel so undeserving of even the smallest comforts.
But there was a fire burning in him now. Determination. He would do whatever it took to ensure Izuku would never shed a tear for anything other than happiness. Hizashi didn't care what hoops he had to jump through, how many legal loopholes he had to find, as long as he could promise this kid a life full of kindness, comfort, and love.
Because Izuku is worth all the love in his heart. He’s the only one who can’t see it yet.
Chapter 23
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku could almost pretend things were fine.
Sitting here, in this unfamiliar but oddly warm home, eating a meal cooked just for him, he could almost trick himself into believing he was just a normal boy having breakfast. Almost.
But reality always had a way of creeping in.
Because no matter how much he wanted to trust Hizashi—how much he had decided to take that leap of faith—he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Hizashi was a hero. A pro, with power and influence, but not above the law. And Izuku… Izuku had done things that heroes weren’t supposed to forgive.
He wasn’t naïve enough to think that he could just exist here without consequence. There would be questions. He would have to tell his story. The police, the authorities—someone would demand the truth. And when that happened, when every ugly piece of his past was dragged into the light, he knew exactly what would come next.
Even in the best-case scenario—on the off chance that they didn’t label him a villain—there would still be consequences.
His fingers clenched around the fork.
No matter how much he pretended, no matter how much he wanted to believe this could last… he was scared.
Because deep down, beneath the mask he had carefully built over the years, beneath the strength he had forced himself to wield, he was still that same scared little kid his parents had sold to the villains.
He had run for so long, fought for so long, survived for so long…
It was time to stop running.
It was time to finally let the past catch up to him.
And if Tartarus was waiting for him on the other side, then so be it.
At least then, he would finally be getting what he deserved. Maybe that was his chance to atone for his sins.
“So... When is the police coming?" Izuku asked softly as he pushed his now empty plate away.
From the corner of his vision, Izuku saw Hizashi freeze, a look of horror spreading across his face. The tension in the air thickened.
“Little Listener, I won't—”
But before Hizashi could finish, Izuku cut him off, his words rushing out in a tight, strained voice.
“I know! I know you won’t just have me arrested. If you wanted to... you would have done it a long time ago. But…” He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat, his chest tightening with a knot he couldn’t shake. He forced himself to take a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. His vision blurred slightly, but he refused to let the tears fall. He wouldn’t let them see his weakness. “I know how things work, Hizashi. You can't just hide me forever. The authorities will have to be involved. I'll have to talk... I'll have to tell them everything.”
The silence that followed felt heavy, almost suffocating. Izuku could feel Hizashi’s gaze on him, the weight of the unspoken understanding settling between them. He knew Hizashi was pondering his words, trying to find a way around it, trying to find a solution where he wouldn’t have to face the consequences of his past. But no matter how much the hero wanted to deny it, Izuku knew he was right.
And despite the brave face he was putting on, Izuku was sure Hizashi could see right through him. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
Izuku couldn’t bring himself to look up, his eyes glued to the floor, afraid of what he might see in Hizashi’s expression. But then, a small shuffle broke the quiet, and before he knew it, a hand appeared in his line of sight, gently resting over his own.
He lifted his head slightly, and to his surprise, Hizashi was kneeling in front of him, his face soft with concern. His smile wasn’t the usual bright, teasing one that Izuku was used to. Hizashi's eyes held concern, but there was no judgment, just a warmth that Izuku couldn't quite comprehend.
“You're right, Little Listener,” Hizashi said, his voice gentle. “I wanted to protect you from that. I wanted to shield you from facing everything that’s happened. But... I can't do that.” He closed his hand over Izuku’s, his grip firm yet comforting. “However... we’ll do this at your pace. Nothing will happen until you’re ready.”
Izuku took a shaky breath, the weight of Hizashi’s words settling in his chest. He couldn’t say he felt ready—he didn’t know if he ever would—but there was something reassuring about Hizashi’s promise. He didn’t have to do it alone. He didn’t have to rush.
“Tsukauchi,” Izuku said softly, his voice a little quieter than before. “I’ll talk to him.”
He had never interacted with the detective, but Hizashi and Eraserhead trusted him. That, at least meant something.
“Alright, Little Listener,” Hizashi replied, his voice low with concern. “I can give him a call, and we can schedule an interview for—”
“Now,” Izuku interrupted, his voice more forceful than he intended. “Or... as soon as he can. Please... I just want to be done with this.”
Hizashi hesitated, worry creasing his brow, but after a few moments, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll call him. I’m sure he won’t mind coming here.”
Izuku nodded, grateful but still nervous about what would come next.
With a reassuring smile, Hizashi stood up, walking toward the other room to make the call. Izuku was left sitting there, feeling the weight of the moment but also, for the first time in a long while, the faintest flicker of hope.
------------------------------------------------------------
Summer break had dragged on for Hitoshi, just like every other one before it. Not that he expected anything else. When your quirk is labeled "villainous" by pretty much everyone you meet, it’s hard to make friends. People saw his ability to control minds as dangerous, as something to fear, and it wasn't like there were many people who were eager to break down that wall.
So, he spent most of his time holed up in his room, either reading or gaming. That was, of course, when his dad wasn’t pushing him to train. Not that he minded the training. Hitoshi had asked his dad, Eraserhead, to help him become a hero, and his dad took that request seriously. He never did anything halfway, and Hitoshi could feel himself improving.
But today? Today was a break. No training. His dad wasn't in the mood, and neither was he. Not after hearing about what happened last night.
Izuku had lost his home in an earthquake. Hitoshi's stomach twisted just thinking about it. His first— and only —friend had gone through something terrifying, and though Uncle Zashi had called earlier to assure him that Izuku was safe and staying at his place, Hitoshi couldn’t relax until he saw his friend with his own eyes.
He sat in his room, the faint sound of Animal Crossing coming from his Switch, but his mind was elsewhere. He heard the sound of a phone ringing in the living room and then his dad's voice, muffled but familiar. Hitoshi paused the game and listened for a moment, trying to pick up on what was being said, but it was too quiet to make out.
With a sigh, he put his Switch aside and stood up. He had a feeling he knew what this was about, and he wasn’t about to just sit in his room, pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.
As he entered the living room, he saw his dad passing the phone to pops, who brought it to his ear with an eyebrow raised.
“Hey, Zashi, what do you—” He paused, his eyes widening in surprise. “He wants to do it now? There’s no need to rush him.” He glanced over at Dad, and the two shared a brief look. “Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Hitoshi already had a hunch about what was happening, and the moment his dad hung up the phone, he turned to look at him expectantly.
“Are you going to talk to him?” Hitoshi asked, his voice quiet but full of intent.
Pops met his gaze and saw the look on his face. The frown that had creased his brow moments ago softened, and a reluctant sigh escaped him.
“Yes, Zashi said he wants me to meet with Spider, but—”
“I’m going too!” Hitoshi interrupted, not willing to let his dad finish. His words were firm, an undeniable resolve in his tone.
Pops looked at him, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and reluctant understanding. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a slow sigh.
“Hitoshi…” Pops began, his voice heavy with warning. “This isn’t just a casual visit. It’s an official case. I can’t just—”
“I know, Pops,” Hitoshi interrupted, sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care “I just need to see for myself that Iz-” He caught himself before he could blurt out Izuku’s name. Only Hitoshi and Uncle Zashi knew his real name so far. Of course, he was sure both his Dads knew that Hitoshi knew, but they never pushed him to tell them. “That Greenie is okay. Please.”
He could feel his heart racing as silence hung in the air, but he he wasn’t done just yet. To put the final nail in the coffin, Hitoshi brought out the big guns- his Kitten eyes. It worked best on Dad, and the eyebags from barely sleeping last night definitely made the move a little less effective, but it still worked as intended.
“I won’t get in the way,” Hitoshi continued, his voice steady. “I won’t make this harder for anyone. If he doesn’t want me there, I’ll wait in another room. I just… I just need to see him.”
The moment Pops glanced away, locking eyes with Dad, Hitoshi knew he had won.
“Fine,” Pops relented, his tone still heavy but resigned. “You can come.”
Hitoshi barely had time to feel the rush of relief before Dad’s voice cut in, firm and unyielding.
“You will listen to everything Nao says,” Dad stated, his voice the same as when they were training—precise, no room for argument. “If the kid doesn’t want you in the room, you’ll step out. No arguments. No trying to eavesdrop. This isn’t up for debate, Hitoshi.”
The way Dad spoke, with that certain finality, left no room for negotiation. Hitoshi nodded, his expression serious.
“This might be the only chance we have to help him,” Dad continued, his gaze sharp and intense. “If we break his trust, even by accident, we won’t get it back.”
Hitoshi swallowed hard. He understood what his dad was implying. He knew that Izuku trusted him more than most others—probably because, like him, Hitoshi wasn’t an adult. He wasn’t a professional hero or a figure of authority. He could relate to some of what Izuku had gone through, even if he could never fully understand it.
But that didn’t matter now.
Hitoshi wasn’t about to let fear hold him back from helping his friend. He’d heard enough from Izuku to know that the kid had been through far more than Hitoshi could even imagine. And though he was almost afraid to truly find out all the details, he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
How could he claim he wanted to be a hero someday if he was too scared to help his best friend when it counted most?
“Go get dressed, we leave in ten.” Hitoshi didn’t need to be told twice.
He spun on his heel and bolted toward his room. He quickly yanked a hoodie over his head, tossing aside his old one, and grabbed the pair of jeans that were just a bit more presentable than the ones he’d been lounging in. In a blur of movement, he pulled them on, making sure they were on right—he didn’t have time to worry about how they fit perfectly.
Within moments, he was back in the living room, ready to go, his nerves still buzzing with the thought of seeing Izuku.
Notes:
So, this chapter was a little shorter than the previous ones. But I felt like this was a good place to finish it.
Next chapter will finally have Izuku opening about his past, as well as few other details that I didn't show in the flashbacks.
Chapter 24
Notes:
You thought I wouldn't post today, didn't you? I did too.
Sorry for the late chapter. I didn't have much time to write this week, so if this chapter looks a little rushed, it's because I did rush it to finish in time.
Chapter Text
Hizashi pretended not to notice how Izuku’s body went rigid the moment the knock echoed through the apartment. The kid had gotten good—way too good—at hiding his reactions, his expression a perfect mask of calm. But Hizashi had learned that the true signs weren’t in Izuku’s face.
They were in the limbs.
The spider limbs on his back twitched the instant the sound hit the air. They didn’t move erratically, but they shifted—rising, angling in a way that made it clear they were ready to react. It wasn’t quite an attack posture, but it was close—tense and coiled, as if Izuku’s instincts were screaming at him to prepare for danger. A silent warning that Izuku himself probably didn’t even register.
Hizashi kept his movements slow and casual, careful not to escalate the tension. He didn’t glance at the spider limbs or Izuku directly. Instead, he gave a soft smile, keeping his tone light as he gestured toward the door.
"It must be Tsukauchi," Hizashi said, his voice warm as he stood up from the couch. "I'm gonna answer the door. You wanna come with? Or would you rather stay here?"
Izuku’s eyes flickered toward the window, a brief, silent evaluation of escape, before he blinked, visibly trying to relax. Slowly, his tense posture softened, though the spider limbs still hovered with a barely contained energy. It was subtle, but Hizashi knew.
"I’ll stay," Izuku replied quietly.
"You got it!" Hizashi flashed him a playful grin and a pair of finger guns. "Sit tight, it’ll only be a minute, and then we can get this show on the road."
He spun around dramatically, nearly losing his balance and almost faceplanting on the carpet. He caught himself just in time, holding a hand out with exaggerated flair.
"I’m fine!" Hizashi called out loudly, earning a tiny, reluctant giggle from Izuku.
Score.
With a grin, he made his way to the door, his steps light, trying to keep the mood easy. Even though he knew what was about to come would be hard on everyone.
Especially for Izuku.
As Hizashi reached the door, he paused, his fingers hovering over the doorknob. For a moment, he let the silence stretch, breathing in slowly, steadying himself. The uncertainty weighed heavier than he wanted to admit, but he couldn’t afford to back down now.
He knew Naomasa would be on their side, no matter what they learned today. But that didn’t mean the upcoming conversation would be easy. No matter how much Hizashi tried to prepare himself, the thought of what he was about to learn about Izuku's past made his stomach twist.
Just the scraps of information Izuku had shared before painted a picture that not even Hizashi’s worst nightmares could hold a candle to. And Hizashi knew that the full story would be much worse.
There was a small part of him that didn’t want to face it, that wanted to stay in the dark. Ignorance is bliss, after all.
But Hizashi couldn’t allow himself that luxury. As a hero, he had taken on the responsibility of knowing, of understanding, and of helping. But more than that—because of Izuku, for Izuku—he couldn’t be ignorant. He had to know everything, no matter how painful, because that was the only way he could protect him.
He owed it to the kid, to the one who was placing a fragile, trembling trust in him despite every reason not to.
With a sharp breath, Hizashi pushed those thoughts aside, forcing a smile back onto his face and opened the door.
The door swung open with its usual quiet creak, and there was the detective of the hour, the ever-iconic Hat Man himself: Naomasa Tsukauchi. Hat and trench coat in place, like always. Hizashi still had no idea if it was the same coat every time or if Nao had a whole closet full of identical ones. He’d asked often enough, but Nao had never given him a real answer. Just smirked like it was a state secret.
The real surprise, though, stood beside him.
Hizashi blinked at the smaller figure next to the detective. Mini-Eraserhead himself, looking determined and far too serious for a kid his age. Hizashi probably should’ve expected this. Knowing how close the boys had gotten—and how stubborn Hitoshi could be when something mattered to him—it made perfect sense in hindsight.
“Hey, Nao. Hello, Hito,” Hizashi greeted warmly, shaking Naomasa’s hand before pulling his honorary nephew into a hug and ruffling his unruly hair.
Hitoshi groaned and half-heartedly tried to swat him off. “Uncle Zashi…”
“Oh, hush. You love it,” Hizashi teased, not missing the way Hitoshi leaned into the hug despite the complaints. “Didn’t think you’d tag along.”
“I had to,” Hitoshi said, his voice softer now. “I need to see Greenie. I won’t get in the way, I swear. I just…” He grabbed Hizashi’s sleeve, fingers curling in with quiet desperation. “I had to come, Uncle.”
Hizashi’s smile faded into something gentler as he reached up to run a hand through the boy’s hair again, this time without teasing.
“We’ll see how he reacts, okay?” he said kindly. “Come on in.”
He stepped aside and let them in, closing the door behind them as they slipped off their shoes. The trio made their way toward the living room, where Izuku still sat on the floor exactly as Hizashi had left him—tense, small, braced for impact.
Izuku’s eyes widened the moment he saw Hitoshi, his gaze locking onto him like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Hitoshi froze for a heartbeat, just short of breaking into a full sprint, then visibly checked himself and walked forward instead—steady, deliberate, careful not to overwhelm.
He didn’t even glance at the sharp, flexed limbs protruding from Izuku’s back. If anything, he walked right into their range like he didn’t notice or didn’t care. And when he stopped in front of Izuku, it was with calm confidence.
“Hitoshi?” Izuku asked, voice small and trembling.
Hitoshi kneeled down in front of him, his movements slow, careful—like someone who’d learned how to navigate fear without making it worse. Gently, he lifted his hands and cupped Izuku’s cheeks, turning his face this way and that, inspecting him silently for any signs of hurt.
Izuku didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He let it happen, eyes glistening.
“Hey, Greenie,” Hitoshi murmured once he was done, his hands still resting lightly on Izuku’s face.
“Hey, Hitoshi,” Izuku replied with a watery laugh as the tears finally spilled over.
Hitoshi didn’t wait. He pulled him into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around him, and Izuku buried himself into it, clutching back just as fiercely.
Naomasa let out a quiet gasp behind them—not at the hug, but at what followed.
The spider limbs on Izuku’s back, still taut and defensive until that moment, slowly lowered and softened. Then they reached forward, curling around Hitoshi like extra arms—pulling him in, holding him close.
It was so very heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time to watch.
------------------------------------------------------------
Half an hour later, everyone was gathered in the living room, the air thick with quiet anticipation. Izuku had stepped away briefly, excusing himself without explanation. None of them tried to stop him.
When he returned, he was holding something close to his chest—a tattered, dust-covered plush spider. Its fabric was frayed, several legs missing, and deep gashes ran across its body. It looked like it had barely survived whatever hell Izuku had escaped from.
Much like its owner.
Izuku clutched the toy like it was the only anchor he had, then quietly lowered himself to the floor. He didn’t sit with them. He chose the far side of the room, several feet of space and silence stretching between him and the others.
His spider limbs extended slowly, deliberately, fanning out like tripwires—measuring, warning. Not threatening, but alert. Controlled, yet coiled.
Testing the perimeter.
“Okay,” Izuku said, voice low and steady, though his hands trembled slightly as he crossed his legs. “This is how this will work.”
He looked at each of them, eyes sharp with determination beneath the fear.
“No matter what I say, or do… no one gets close.” His grip on the plush spider tightened until his knuckles went white. “I can’t promise I won’t lash out. And if I do… I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He paused, swallowed hard, and added more softly, “So please. Just stay back.”
A heavy quiet followed Izuku’s words—one that didn’t ask for confirmation, didn’t press for more. Just acceptance.
Everyone nodded again. Silent promises not to speak, not to move, not to reach across the invisible line Izuku had drawn in the carpet.
Hitoshi looked like it hurt to stay still, like every instinct in him screamed to be beside his friend. But he didn’t move. And Izuku’s tense posture eased just slightly in gratitude.
Tsukauchi’s voice was calm, measured, as he leaned slightly forward and clicked the recorder to life. The little red light blinked on, soft and steady.
“This is Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa,” he began. “The date is February 12th, 2XXX. I’m here with Yamada Hizashi, pro hero Present Mic, and Shinsou Hitoshi to interview the former vigilante Spider Br—”
“Izuku.” The word cut clean and fast.
Tsukauchi looked up, brows raising slightly.
Izuku’s voice was quiet, but firm. “My name… is Midoriya Izuku.”
A beat passed, the silence letting the name settle in the air like a challenge.
Tsukauchi gave a small nod. “With Midoriya Izuku,” he continued smoothly. “For legal purposes, I’m required to disclose my Quirk: Lie Detection. It’s a passive quirk that I cannot turn it off. Do you consent to me using it during this interview to confirm your statements?”
Izuku gave a small, almost mechanical nod, but then seemed to realize the record wouldn’t get the movement and corrected it with words.
“Yes. I consent.”
Tsukauchi pressed a button, logging the verbal confirmation, and nodded. “Then we can begin. If you’d like, I can ask questions. Or you can speak freely. Whatever feels easier for you.”
Izuku didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned the room, going to each person present. Tsukauchi. Hizashi. Hitoshi. Back to the battered plush in his arms.
He drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly as he hugged the toy tighter to his chest. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but there was steel behind it.
“I’ll talk,” he said. “Please… don’t interrupt. I don’t know if I can keep going if I stop.”
Everyone nodded again.
And then, the room fell into stillness.
Waiting.
Izuku’s voice was quiet but steady as he began, the words slipping out in a way that sounded practiced, like he had told this story to himself a thousand times.
“I guess you could say it all started when I was born.” He paused, one of his spider legs reaching out with a fluid, unnatural grace, flicking the light switch on the wall to turn it off. The room dimmed slightly. “I was normal for the most part, except for…” He hesitated, and then the second pair of eyes opened on his face, glowing with a sickly, toxic green. “This.”
Hizashi’s face remained calm—he’d known about the second pair of eyes, had seen them before. But Hitoshi and Tsukauchi both visibly recoiled, their breaths catching at the sight of the glowing pupils.
Izuku noticed their reactions but didn’t comment. His focus was on the plush spider still clutched tightly in his hands, his voice steady but filled with the weight of memories that still hurt.
“My parents were always adamant about being a ‘normal family,’” he continued, his voice barely wavering. “So, you can imagine they weren’t very happy when they learned their son was ‘a freak with four eyes.’” There was a tremor in his voice now, but it was controlled. Just barely. “I don’t have many memories of my early childhood, but there are a few things I remember. My father… he’d try to tape my upper eyes closed. And I always wore hats, beanies, anything to hide them. But as I got older… I guess they realized it would be impossible to hide something like this.”
His eyes didn’t meet anyone else's. He stared at the ground, his fingers tightening around the plush spider. “So instead, they decided to hide me. They started locking me in my room. I couldn’t even leave to eat. They put a hatch in the door, and that’s how they’d give me food. And if it was just that… but over time, my father started to get… angrier.”
Izuku paused again, his throat tight as the words he’d been holding back came rushing to the surface. His voice was a little quieter now, but no less resolute. “He hit me for the first time when I was three.”
The room seemed to freeze for a moment. Izuku’s words hung in the air, heavy and raw.
“I… don’t remember much about the first time,” Izuku said, his voice thick, each word weighed down by memory. “I was so small. I didn’t even understand why he was angry.”
He closed his eyes, green pupils flickering faintly in the dim light.
“But I remember the sound. Just a sharp crack—he backhanded me across the face. Then he muttered something about how I just couldn’t be normal . That I’d ruin everything. That they couldn’t have a useless villain for a son.”
Izuku’s voice tightened.
“It took years before I understood what that meant.”
He swallowed hard, the silence stretching before he continued.
“My mother… wasn’t violent. Not in the way my father was. She never yelled. Never raised a hand. But she was worse.”
His fingers clenched tighter around the plush spider.
“I could handle my father's anger. It was loud, ugly—but it made sense. My mother, though... she would smile. She’d call me ‘sweetie’ in the softest voice. But her eyes… they looked at me like I was something rotting. Something filthy.”
His gaze stayed low, but his voice grew clearer, more focused.
“She was a snake. To everyone else, she was this perfect, doting wife. She loved being admired. Took pride in it. Her image meant everything to her.”
He laughed bitterly—humorless, hollow.
“And I… I didn’t fit. I was a stain. An embarrassment. She was the one who suggested they lock me away. Said it would be better for everyone.”
A breath.
“Our neighbors never even knew I existed. I don’t think I do exist—not on paper, anyway. I don’t think they ever registered me.”
“I used to wonder…” Izuku’s voice cracked, the words straining under the weight of old pain. “I used to wonder why they couldn’t love me.”
He paused, eyes distant as if seeing something that wasn’t in front of him, his fingers tightening on the plush spider. His voice grew quieter, softer, but every syllable echoed like a confession.
“I’d sit by the window in my room, behind the curtains, watching the world outside. There was a park near our house. I’d watch the families. Dads playing catch with their sons, moms brushing their daughters’ hair… laughing together.”
His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a slight tremor in his hands as they gripped the plush tighter.
“I’d watch them, and I’d wonder... Why can't they love me? What did I do? Why am I so... wrong? Why couldn’t I just be like them?” He inhaled sharply, the sob threatening to break free, but he pressed it back, swallowing the hurt.
He straightened his back, pulling himself together for just a moment, before his voice dropped, raw and cracked.
“Then, my fourth birthday came. And everything got worse.”
The words stung in the air, the weight of them sinking deep in the silence. Izuku’s lips parted slightly as if the memory still clawed at him.
His chest hitched, and he let out a strangled sob that he could not hold back. His mouth opened, but it wasn’t just the words that came out—it was his fangs. The sharp points gleamed, unnatural against the fragile expression he tried to mask them with.
“I was born with four eyes, but that wasn’t my Quirk. Just a mutation,” he muttered, the words coming out like a confession, bitter and foreign to him. His hand trembled as he reached for the cup on the coffee table in front of him. His fingers curled around it, like it was a weapon he could not put down.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted the cup to his lips, his gaze flicking back to the others for a split second—each of them wide-eyed with silent concern. Then, without hesitation, he pressed his finger to the back of his mouth, finding the pressure point that had become second nature to him.
The liquid that came out was thick and semi-transparent, a sickly yellowish tint, almost glowing in the dim light. It oozed from the tip of his fangs, a soft squelch of liquid that made the air in the room grow heavier. Izuku lowered the cup slightly, a strange calm settling over his face as he stared at the venom dripping into it.
“My real Quirk,” he said quietly, “is called Venom.”
He raised the cup to his eyes, the liquid swirling inside like a deadly secret.
“One drop of this… can kill an adult in five minutes,” he continued, his voice distant as if he was talking about someone else, about something that had no hold over him anymore. “A higher dose? Seconds.”
Without another word, Izuku downed the cup, the venom sliding down his throat. The others gasped, their faces a mix of shock and horror, but he didn’t flinch. The burn that flared briefly in his throat was barely a sensation to him anymore. It was nothing compared to the years of carrying it inside him, nothing compared to the constant threat that was part of who he was now.
He placed the empty cup back on the table, his fingers still trembling but controlled. The room was silent except for the soft sound of his breathing, steady, unyielding.
He glanced up, eyes cold yet heavy with all the things left unsaid. “Just my eyes were enough. But after my Quirk… after that, my father was... livid.” His voice wavered, the rawness in it not lost on anyone. “He beat me so much, I thought I was going to die.”
Izuku’s eyes fluttered, a slight wince breaking through the wall he had put up, but he forced himself to keep going.
“I think he would’ve killed me, if it weren’t for my mother,” he whispered, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She was more worried about the neighbors hearing than about anything that was happening to me.”
He swallowed, shaking his head, as though trying to shed the weight of it.
“Instead, they decided to do something else. They called someone,” Izuku’s voice was steady, but the faint tremor in his fingers betrayed him. “I didn’t know who at the time. But in the days that followed, everything changed. They seemed... happy. They even let me sit at the table with them. I could eat with them. Watch TV. For a moment... I thought, maybe... maybe they had finally accepted me. That we could finally be a family.”
His words hung in the air, bittersweet and fragile. A fleeting hope that quickly vanished. His green eyes darkened, his expression tightening.
“But it didn’t last long.”
The tension in the room thickened, as though the air itself was holding its breath. Izuku’s body was rigid, his spider legs twitching involuntarily. His fingers gripped the plushie even tighter, the fabric of it twisting beneath his hands.
“Someone came to our door,” he said, his voice low, cold, the anger creeping in. “A man I had never seen before. He handed my father a briefcase. A briefcase full of money.” His chest rose with a shaky breath, and the words that followed came out as a whisper, barely audible, but cutting through the room like a blade. “Then... my mother told me to go with them. They sold me.”
There was no trace of sadness in his voice, no hint of despair. Izuku had long since come to terms with that moment. The only emotion left was the raw sting of betrayal, the bitter taste of a memory that had never truly gone away. The anger in his voice burned brighter now, as did the pain that he refused to bury any longer.
“They said they’d train me,” Izuku continued, his eyes glinting with a mixture of rage and resigned coldness. “That with my Quirk, I could be perfect for them. The perfect assassin.”
His voice hardened as he spoke, like the edges of his words were carved from ice. “That was when the hell really started.”
He exhaled sharply, the breath leaving him in a hiss, before he removed his glove. The motion was deliberate, the reveal not just of his hand, but of the scar that would never fade.
Izuku held out his left hand, palm up, and the room fell into a stunned silence.
The brand was seared into his skin, the marking unmistakable. A symbol of suffering, of power, of ownership. His hand, once innocent, now bore the mark of a nightmare.
“The Nine Circles of Hell,” Izuku said quietly, his voice barely a whisper, but every word weighed with the cruelty of his past. “And that was just the beginning.”
Izuku’s gaze flicked from one face to the next. Hizashi, Hitoshi, and Tsukauchi were all staring at him, their faces pale—almost sickly in color. It was as if a chill had settled over the room, thickening the air.
He paused, his confusion deepening, and then he spoke. “Do you need a pause?” he asked, his tone gentle, though there was no hint of the gravity that was causing the others to react so...strangely. It was just the beginning, after all.
“Do we...?” Hitoshi’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, his attempt to stay composed falling spectacularly. His gaze flickered nervously to Izuku, before looking away. “Do you need a pause, Izuku?”
Izuku blinked, an expression of bewilderment crossing his face. He wasn’t sure what they meant. Why would he need a pause? He hadn't even gotten to the most painful parts yet. He hadn’t mentioned how he was branded, Mammon’s training, Lilith’s Quirk, Leviathan’s illusions, Beelzebub’s punishments, Belphegor's nightmares, Satan's anger, Asmodeus’s experiments. Or worse of all. How the first book Lucifer ever gave him ended up being Fifty Shades of Gray.
“Why would I?” Izuku asked, the tilt of his head growing more pronounced as his spider-like limb twitched, scratching at his scalp in confusion. “I haven't even gotten to the hard part yet.”
The words left his mouth like they were the most casual thing in the world. But as soon as he said them, the faces of the three adults around him turned even paler, a greenish tinge creeping across their features.
Huh, maybe Izuku underestimated just how messed up his past was. He really hoped they could handle the rest.
Chapter 25
Notes:
CW: A lot of mentions of torture, and abuse. Izuku talks a lot about his past here.
Proceed with caution.
Chapter Text
Telling his story felt like opening Pandora’s Box.
Izuku hadn’t realized how much he was holding inside—how tightly he’d locked the memories away, how deeply he had buried them beneath layers of survival instinct and numb routine. He always thought he didn’t have much to say, that the past was just… the past. But the moment he opened his mouth, it all came pouring out, unstoppable.
He told them everything. Not gradually. Not gently. Right from the beginning—he dove in headfirst.
He told them about the first night. The night he lost his name. The night they took his identity and seared a new one into his skin. The brand burned into the back of his left hand—the symbol of the Nine Circles of Hell. The moment they stopped seeing him as a child and started using him as a tool.
He lifted his hand as he spoke, fingers trembling slightly as the scarred flesh caught the light. It hadn’t faded, not even a little. It never would.
“They talked about it like I was livestock about to be branded,” Izuku murmured, voice flat, his tone too calm for the words he was saying. “She talked about where to mark me.”
He explained how the mark wasn’t just symbolic. It was the key to everything—the center of Lilith’s control. Every member of the Nine Circles wore it. The inner circle wore theirs like badges of honor, concealed in elegant tattoos or ritualistic scars.
But not him. Not the ones like him.
“She almost branded my forehead, but she settled on my left hand in the end,” he said simply. “Where everyone could see. Because I wasn’t a member. I wasn’t family. I was property.”
For a second, he felt the burning on the back of his hand. He could still feel the pain sometimes. Like the searing iron was still pressed against his hand.
He fell quiet for a moment, just long enough for the others to shift uncomfortably on the couch. Then he spoke again.
“That was Lilith’s Quirk,” he said. “As long as you have her mark, you can’t disobey her. Not really. You can try. You can fight it. But the pain... it doesn’t stop. It builds and builds, until your body gives in—even if your mind hasn’t. Then... it’s like watching someone else take over your body, and you’re just a passenger in your own head.”
He clenched his hand into a fist, then forced it to relax. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.
“I didn’t understand it at first. Not until the first test.”
He swallowed, lips pressed tight for a beat before he continued.
“They brought me into a room. Just a white room with a chair and a table. No windows. There were three people inside—tied up, kneeling, blindfolded.”
He didn’t blink as he spoke, his voice steady, almost clinical.
“They handed me a gun. Said I had to kill one. If I did, they’d let the other two go.”
He paused. The silence pressed in around them like a vice.
“I couldn’t do it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’d never even held a real gun before. I didn’t want to be a killer. I wanted to be a hero. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t even lift it properly.”
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. It had no humor in it.
“That’s when she used it. Her Quirk. She forced me to bite two of them. I didn’t know what my venom did yet. I didn’t understand. But then they started screaming. I remember their faces.”
His throat tightened, but he kept going. The words were too heavy now to stop.
“She made me choose again. Said I would kill the last one. Either pull the trigger… or let them die slowly from the venom.” He looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “I pulled the trigger. Not because I wanted to. Not because I was brave. Just because I couldn’t listen to the screaming anymore. I didn’t want to be the reason for anyone else to scream like that.”
As Izuku looked up, he finally took in their expressions.
Hitoshi looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe—his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and glassy. Horror etched itself into every line of his face.
Hizashi was doing a better job masking his reaction, but the unnatural pallor of his skin betrayed his real feelings. As did the way he was gripping his knees too tightly.
Tsukauchi looked like he was a second away from running to the bathroom to throw up. For a veteran detective who’d spent years staring down the darkest parts of humanity, who’d seen scenes the average person couldn’t imagine—that said everything.
But Izuku didn’t stop.
He couldn’t stop.
If he paused, even for a second, the words might catch in his throat and never come out again. So he kept going.
“The next step,” he said quietly, “was Mammon’s training. He called it Pain Tolerance training.”
He let that hang in the air, watching as the words settled like a weight on their shoulders. His tone was almost detached now, not from a lack of emotion, but from too much. The numbness was the only way he could keep speaking.
“But it wasn’t training. It was torture. And he liked electricity the most.”
His fingers curled around the fabric of the plush in his lap again, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white.
“I got really good at recognizing the sound of a taser charging up. I’d hear it and brace before it even touched me. That didn’t help much, though.” He didn’t flinch. Not as he remembered. Not even when he said the next part.
“If I cried, it got worse. If I screamed, it got worse. If I passed out, they’d wake me up and start again. It took two weeks before I stopped crying.” His voice dropped lower. “I wasn’t even five yet.”
No one spoke. No one could. The silence in the room felt like a vacuum, sucking the warmth out of the air.
“Next,” Izuku continued, “I met Lucifer.”
Even now, just saying the name sent an uncomfortable ripple down his spine. He shifted, the claws of his spider-limb tapping once against the floor in reflex.
“He was… different from the others. Calm. Polished. Extravagant. He didn’t yell. Didn’t hit me. He smiled a lot. Told me I was special. Said I was pretty.” Izuku’s lip curled ever so slightly, the disgust returning in full force. “He’d call me ‘darling’ or ‘cutie.’ He’d rub my cheek, or touch my hair. Compliment how my eyes looked in the light. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat.” He didn’t look at them now. Couldn’t. “I knew what he wanted. What he was trying to set up.”
He held his breath for a beat, then exhaled shakily.
“In a twisted way… Mammon saved me.” It felt wrong to say it. But it was the truth.
“Not because he cared about me. But because he was possessive. Like his namesake, he was greedy. What was his, was his. And I was his. And Lucifer didn’t mess with Mammon’s things. No one did.” His fingers were trembling now. He didn’t care.
He took a deep breath before continuing.
“I didn’t interact much with Belphegor or Satan,” Izuku said quietly, his fingers now idly toying with the seam of his sleeve. “Out of all of them… they were the easiest to deal with. I guess.”
He said it like it was a strange thing to admit—that people like them could be considered “easy” by comparison. But it was the truth.
“Belphegor mostly slept,” he continued, his voice almost too soft. “That was her thing. Her quirk let her enter dreams. She could control them. She really liked causing nightmares.”
His eyes flicked to the side, distant, as if recalling the vivid nightmares she planted in others.
“She liked to sit in the corner of a room and nap. But if she wasn’t sleeping, it was because she wanted someone else to be. She got mad if no one was dreaming—said she needed entertainment.” He paused. “I learned early on: never fall asleep when she was awake.”
A faint shiver ran through him, almost unnoticeable.
“She crawled into my dreams once,” he added, voice even quieter. “Just once. I couldn’t sleep for three days after that. No matter what they tried to drug me with. I still don’t remember what she showed me… but I woke up screaming so loud that Mammon hit me just to shut me up.” His hand stilled.
“Satan was worse.” He didn’t elaborate at first. His gaze dropped to the floor.
“He was calm, at first glance. Not like Lucifer. Lucifer was extravagant. Flamboyant. Satan rarely talked. But it was a trick.”
Izuku’s voice turned bitter.
“He wasn’t calm. He was a bomb with a broken timer. You never knew when he’d explode—never knew what would set him off. You could walk past him and breathe wrong, and suddenly he’d be throwing knives at your head. Or worse.” He took a breath through his nose. A controlled inhale, like he was re-centering himself. “It was like walking through a room full of glass. No matter how careful you were, you’d end up bleeding.”
There was silence again. Heavy, oppressive. The adults around him didn’t dare interrupt.
“He didn’t even need to use his quirk to be scary,” Izuku said after a moment. “But when he used. When Satan was really angry… even Mammon stepped back.”
His voice dropped to a murmur.
“I saw him snap a man’s spine for spilling tea on his coat.” He didn’t flinch. Not even as he said it. “Just picked him up and bent him in half. Like it was nothing. Then went right back to humming and reading his book like it never happened.”
Izuku finally looked up again. “Compared to the others, they barely even looked at me. And I still remember them more than I want to.”
He shook his head.
“Beelzebub…” The name left Izuku’s mouth in a whisper, barely more than a breath. But the way his body reacted spoke volumes—his shoulders tensed, and his fingers clamped tightly around his upper right arm, nails digging into old scar tissue.
“He was…” Izuku paused, swallowing. “He was a cannibal.” The words hung in the air like a toxin. “He liked the taste of human flesh. Loved it. And the others were more than happy to send my to him whenever I ‘missbehaved.’ He was… quite through with his punishments.”
Izuku shivered at the memories.
“I met him after my first escape attempt. I almost made it out. Almost.” Izuku scoffed. “But a hero, of all things, was the one who sent me back. The corrupt bastard.” He spat the words with more venom than even his quirk would be able to make. “The villains had him in their pockets. ‘Just business’ he said,” he sighed. “Once Mammon took back, he sent me straight to Beelzebub.”
Izuku didn’t describe what Beelzebub did that night. He didn’t need to. The way his body curled in on itself, the way his voice became empty and far away—it said enough.
He didn’t let the silence settle long. He couldn’t. The weight of it was unbearable.
“Beelzebub and Lucifer were best friends,” he continued, his tone going flat. “I guess monsters like that… they just find each other. Gravitate toward each other.” His jaw clenched. “They always worked in pairs when there were… young ones. A very common tactic the Nine Circles of Hell used was to go after the families of the people who owed them. Mostly the children. Lucifer would have his fun with them. And when he was done…” Izuku’s eyes didn’t move. He just stared ahead, unblinking. “…Beelzebub took what was left.”
He grit his teeth, so hard his jaw trembled. But still, no tears came.
He forced himself to breathe. Once. Then again.
He didn’t continue. He didn’t want to remember the things he saw those two do. He didn’t want to remember how close it came to be him. Once more, being Mammons’ was a blessing in disguise. At least he had some standards.
Before he could think harder on it, he changed the subject.
“There was also Leviathan.” It was the best he could manage right now. “They could turn into anyone,” he said, his voice now tinged with exhaustion. “Anyone they’d seen. Exact voice, appearance. Everything. Didn’t even need to be human.”
He glanced down at the floor, eyes flicking like they were tracking something invisible.
“They liked messing with me. Thought it was funny. Their favorite game was showing up as All Might. Pretending he was there to save me.
His lips curled into something bitter—somewhere between a smile and a snarl.
“They did it over and over again. Watching me break every time. The first few times, few for it.” His spider-legs twitched. “By the sixth time, I stopped reacting at all.” He tilted his head slightly, as if observing some distant, dead part of himself. “Didn’t matter if it might have been real. It wasn’t worth the hope.”
Izuku fell into silence. It stretched long—long enough that the air in the room grew heavy again. Like they were approaching a cliff’s edge.
There was one more name.
He didn’t want to say it. The words clung to his throat like thorns, catching on old wounds. But he had to.
His voice, when it came, was softer than before. Fragile. Like something made of cracked glass.
“…The last one was Doctor Asmodeus.” Just saying her name made his breath hitch. “She was… the one I spent the most time with. Besides Mammon.”
A tremor threaded through his words. Fear—not the kind that made you scream or run, but the kind that settled deep, coiled in the bones.
“She was insane,” he said. “Not angry like Satan. Not cruel like Beelzebub. Not manipulative like Lilith. Just… truly, deeply insane.”
He swallowed hard.
“She liked dolls,” he said, voice brittle. “But not the kind you buy in stores. She made her own. Out of people.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Anyone she found pretty. She’d turn them into dolls. ‘To preserve their beauty forever’ she’d say. She kept them in her lab, all lined up on shelves or slumped in chairs, staring. Always staring.”
Izuku’s breathing quickened for just a second before he forced it still.
“I’ve been in that lab more times than I can count. Every time I stepped inside, I wondered if that would be the day she’d add me to her collection.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But I survived.”
He ran a hand along the cold metal of his spider limbs, fingertips brushing the segmented joints like they were a familiar comfort.
“She was the one who ran all the experiments on me. Testing the Trigger-G formula. Injecting mercury into my veins. Using my own venom to push my Quirk further. I remember the time my bones liquefied—literally melted.” His voice didn’t crack. It was too hollow for that now. “Then the mercury in my blood replaced it. Every single bone in my body, then more. This—” he gestured to his spider legs, the jagged, inhuman silhouette of them glinting in the dim light “—this was the final evolution.”
Izuku flexed the limbs, the motion smooth and eerily natural. Like they were just another part of him now. Because they were.
“After that, her work changed. I wasn’t just an experiment anymore—I was a resource. I was the only one who survived her tests, and she needed to know how. So she harvested from me.” He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was listening to echoes only he could hear. “Blood, tissue, bone, She even took my liver once. It didn’t matter how close I came to death. She could heal me with her quirk. She called it Cinderella .”
Izuku read the fairy tale once. It was really ironic, and oddly fitting for Asmodeus, to distort such a story.
“She could return a person to a ‘beautiful’ state. That’s what she called it. But her idea of beauty…” Izuku reached up, fingers brushing over the smooth, unmarked skin of his face. “She thought my scars were beautiful. But she liked my face clean. Which is why...” He waved a hand in front of his face. “But you felt everything. Her Quirk didn’t just rewind your body. It made you feel the pain again. Every cut, every break, every burn. All over again.”
He traced a line up his forearm, where skin had been flayed and healed more times than he could count.
“I got used to it. Eventually. After a year, I stopped crying. After two, I stopped reacting at all.”
Izuku’s voice had grown quieter. Not numb—just… distant. Like he was reaching into a part of himself he’d buried long ago, and brushing off the dust for the first time.
“The worst part,” he began, his words dragging with the weight of something he didn’t want to admit, “was that she wasn’t cruel.”
His eyes stayed on the floor, unfocused. “Not like the others.” He rubbed his arms as if trying to scrub off the memory, but it clung too deep. “If anything… she was kind to me.”
That sentence alone was enough to make Hizashi twitch and Hitoshi inhale sharply, but Izuku didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care.
“She liked me,” he said, and then quickly corrected, “Not as a person. Not as Izuku. I don’t think she even knew my real name. Like everyone, she only ever called Bellial. But she saw me as her masterpiece. Her perfect little experiment. Her greatest success.”
He shook his head slowly, eyes still far away.
“She praised me. Every time I survived something that should’ve killed me, she smiled. Said I was ‘resilient,’ ‘beautiful,’ ‘exquisite.’ And the first real gift I ever got from any of them…” His breath caught slightly, and he closed his eyes. “…was a blanket. Just a plain, soft blanket. She gave it to me after one of her worst experiments. I don’t know why she did it. Maybe she just didn’t want me dying before the next round.”
His hands gripped the edges of the couch.
“But to me? Back then?” A hollow laugh escaped him. “It meant everything.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Izuku admitted, voice edged with shame:
“For a while… I actually thought of her as an ally.” He finally looked up, eyes shining—not with tears, but with raw, cracked emotion. “I wanted her to like me. I started listening to everything she said. I wanted to survive—not just because I didn’t want to die—but because I wanted to please her. To hear her say I was good. Useful.”
He clenched his jaw, and for the first time, his hands trembled.
“I came so close… to believing she cared. To believing I mattered to her.” Then his voice dropped, low and bitter: “If that night hadn’t happened… I think I would’ve cracked. Sooner or later, I would’ve stopped resisting. Stopped thinking. Just done whatever she asked. I would have become the perfect assassin they wanted me to be.”
Izuku knew, better than anyone, how close he came to giving in. He didn’t want to admit, but it was the truth.
After a minute of silence, once it was clear Izuku wouldn’t continue on his own, the Detective finally broke the silence.
“What happened that night?” Tsukauchi asked softly, hesitantly. It was clear he didn’t want to know, but he needed to.
Izuku didn’t answer right away. He stared at the floor, at his hands, anywhere but them. Then, with a quiet inhale, he began.
“I was ten. Maybe just turned eleven,” he said. “I’d already been working for them as an assassin for three years. At that point… I didn’t hesitate anymore. Resisting wasn’t worth it. I’d tried escaping three times, and every time… I ran into a hero.” He let those words settle. “Every time, they saw me. Begging. Bleeding. Terrified. And every time, they handed me back. One was corrupt. Two were cowards.”
Hizashi muttered something under his breath. Tsukauchi paled. Hitoshi didn’t move.
“The punishment for trying to run wasn’t something you forgot,” Izuku continued. “So I stopped trying. I stopped hoping. That was the only way to survive.”
His fingers clenched in his lap, knuckles pale.
“Leviathan had become my… handler, I guess. Babysitter, really. They made sure I followed orders. Didn’t get any funny ideas.” He paused, eyes flicking up just for a second. “That night, my mission was simple: kill a hero. Someone poking around where they shouldn’t. Normally, I wouldn’t have cared. But when I saw who it was…”
He laughed, bitter and small. “It was the third one. The third hero who’d sent me back. The last time I ever tried escaping. I was… thrilled, honestly. Giddy. I thought, ‘Finally. I get to make them feel what I felt.’”
He looked down, ashamed, but he didn’t stop.
“I set the trap. I ambushed them. I was one second away from striking the killing blow—then they dropped something. A photo. Of their family. A kid… same age as me. Maybe younger.” He shook his head, mouth drawn tight. “I lost it. That bastard had a kid. And he still sent me back. Still let me suffer. I almost killed him anyway. But I couldn’t. I let him go.”
The room was deathly quiet. Not even the hum of the ceiling light dared to interrupt. “Leviathan had been watching, of course. Always watching. They laughed. Taunted me. And I knew what was waiting. I figured… maybe this time, they’d finally kill me.”
Izuku’s fingers twitched. Something dark shimmered behind his eyes. “Then I snapped.”
His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t harden. It was almost casual—calm in the way only someone who’s completely detached from the horror of it could be.
“They trained me to be a killer. Even now, I can think of a hundred ways to kill someone just with the things lying around in this room. Killing them ? It was easy. They didn’t expect it. They thought I was broken. Tame.”
His lips curled into a small, almost manic smile.
“It was cathartic. The moment they fell, I realized—‘Oh. They can die, too.’” His hand drifted up to his chest, tapping where his heart beat steady beneath. “That’s when I made the choice. I thought, ‘By the end of tonight… I’ll be free.’” He looked up. Met Tsukauchi’s eyes. “Or dead.”
Izuku took a deep breath. It trembled in his chest.
“The rest of the night… was a blur. I think I had a psychotic breakdown. I went back to the base. And I hunted them. One by one.”
His voice had changed. It wasn’t calm anymore. There was something feverish in it. Almost… gleeful.
“Satan was first. He was strong. But my venom was stronger. He screamed in anger when I bit him. I remember that.” He laughed—quiet, cracked, unstable. “But he died before he could do anything.”
“Belphegor was next. She was asleep. Never even woke up. Just... slipped away. Peaceful.” His spider legs twitched and scraped against the floor, one of them tapping rapidly.
“Beelzebub was next. Fitting, right? I bit him. Just like he did to me. Then I waited. Let him feel it. Let him rot. ” Izuku gripped his own hair, knuckles white. A grin stretched across his face, all teeth and shadow.
“Lucifer came in looking for him. He saw the body and ran. I chased him. Room to room. Like a game of hide and seek. Then I cornered him. In my very room. ” He giggled, high and sharp. Tsukauchi looked like he was holding back vomit. “I killed him there. He never really got to do anything to me, but it still felt good.”
The room had gone silent, suffocating in the weight of his words.
“Then Mammon. God, I was excited for him. I knew exactly how to get him—just had to destroy his toys. His treasures. Greedy bastard couldn’t stand it.” Izuku’s fingers flexed like claws. “He attacked me. I killed him with his own taser. The one he always used on me. Guess what? He wasn’t nearly as resistant to electricity as I was.”
His spider legs jabbed the ground, clicking. Fast. Erratic.
“Lilith was the most dangerous. One word from her… and I’d stop. But I figured it out.” He pointed to his ears. “Her quirk only works if you can hear her.” His grin widened into something unnatural. “So I pierced my eardrums . Couldn’t hear a thing. Just her mouth moving. She caved in quite easily once she realized her quirk wouldn’t work.”
He leaned forward, eyes burning.
“I asked her who else they’d send after me. Who else knew. And you know what she said?” A spider limb slammed into the floor, cracking the tile beneath it. “My parents. Inko and Hisashi. They were the first Lucifer and Satan. That’s how they knew her. That’s how they got in. They sold me to the very people they once worked with.”
His voice was breaking now, trembling with rage and betrayal.
“They were so afraid of having a ‘villain son.’ Because they were afraid they’d be found out.”
Silence. No one dared speak. No one dared move.
“I killed her,” Izuku said, quieter now. “Then I went to Asmodeus. Made her fix my ears first. Then I stabbed her in the stomach and left her to bleed. Set the place on fire. Let it all burn.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. “Outside, I ran into the first hero. The one who was dealing with the villains. The one who handed me back. So I killed him too.”
His voice softened.
“Then I went after my parents. I found them. I killed them. I don’t remember if they begged. I don’t care.” He blinked, slower now. The manic edge was fading. Guilt crept into his expression. “On the way out… I met one more hero. The second one who sent me back.” He looked up, eyes distant. “He didn’t even remember me. Didn’t even recognize my face,” he exhaled. “I killed him, too.” Then, quieter still— “…I regret that one. He wasn’t evil. Just a coward. If I’d been a little more sane that night… I think I would’ve let him go.”
“But it was too late,” Izuku whispered.
His voice was thin now, frayed at the edges, like a thread pulled too tight for too long. He wasn’t looking at any of them. His eyes stared past the floor—past the room—past the now.
“I left after that. Found an old, abandoned building… been living there ever since.” He rubbed his arms, suddenly small in his own skin. Cold. “I started going out at night. Patrolling. Helping people.”
The words came out quieter. He wasn’t confessing anymore—he was remembering. “I thought… maybe if I saved enough people… it’d help. The guilt. The nightmares. That maybe, just maybe, it’d balance the scale.”
A bitter smile tugged at his lips, quick and painful.
“I thought about ending it. More than once.” He paused. The next words tasted like ash. “But I was too much of a coward.”
Silence pressed down like a weight. No one spoke. No one could.
“So I kept going,” Izuku whispered. “One night after the next. Helping strangers. Stopping muggers. Pulling people out of fires. Like maybe… if I did enough good, the bad would matter less.” He closed his eyes. “That’s how I met Eraserhead. And later Hizashi.”
Finally, his gaze lifted. Not to meet theirs—just up, toward the ceiling. Like he was trying to convince himself that this part mattered more.
“And the rest…” A breath. “You already know.”
Izuku's spider legs sagged, limp and lifeless, the last traces of manic energy bleeding out of him. The weight of the truth—the memories, the guilt, the fear—pressed against his spine, pulling his shoulders forward, dragging his gaze to the floor.
He didn’t look up.
He couldn’t.
He didn’t want to see their faces.
Then he heard it. Soft footsteps. Nearing.
Before he could react, two pairs of arms wrapped around him at once.
His eyes shot open in shock.
Hizashi and Hitoshi were on either side of him, holding him tightly, like if they let go, he might fall apart.
“What are you doing?” Izuku asked, stunned. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? What I did? I’m a monster.”
Hizashi’s arms tightened around him.
“You’re not,” he said, voice shaking—but firm. “You’re not.”
Izuku tried to pull away, panic rising, but Hitoshi didn’t let go either. His arms were trembling, but he held on with everything he had.
“You were—no, you are—a child, Izuku,” Hizashi said. “Nothing that happened was your fault. You did things, yes. Things you regret. But to blame you for that? That would be victim blaming. Because that’s what you are, Izuku.” He reached up, gently cupping the back of Izuku’s head. “You’re not a monster. You’re a victim.”
Izuku’s breath hitched.
Then Hitoshi spoke, voice low and steady despite the tears in his eyes.
“A monster wouldn’t have talked to me.” His grip didn’t loosen. “A monster wouldn’t have recommended books to me. Wouldn’t have walked me to the station just because it wasn’t safe. Wouldn’t have ranted for hours about how bad some stories were, or how good others could be if the characters made one different choice.” His voice cracked. “You’re not a monster, Izuku. You’re my best friend. You matter. You deserve to be saved too.”
At those words, something inside Izuku shattered—the heavy chains wrapped tight around his heart snapping for the first time in years. The scared, broken child he had locked away so deep, the one he buried beneath layers of pain and guilt, stirred.
A fragile flicker of hope—long buried—ignited in that darkness.
A soft, shaky sob escaped his throat.
Hesitantly, he lifted his trembling arms and wrapped them around Hizashi and Hitoshi. He held on tightly—so tightly it hurt—but neither of them flinched or pulled away.
“I just wanted to be a hero...” Izuku sobbed, voice cracking with the weight of his confession. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. I remember them—all of them. I see them almost every night, in my dreams. I didn’t want to... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He buried his face in their shoulders.
“I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want to go back. Please... please don’t send me back.”
Izuku didn’t hear their voices. He didn’t even notice the gentle rocking of their bodies, or the quiet reassurances whispered into his hair.
All he knew was the release — sobbing freely, without restraint, without fear.
For the first time, maybe ever, tears fell, and he didn’t fear he’d be punished for them. Somewhere, deep inside himself, the small seed of hope that had grown neglected for so long, started to grow.
Chapter 26
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Once Izuku had finally calmed down, it only took a few quiet minutes for him to finish the rest of his story. The years he'd spent alone in that crumbling, abandoned building—fending for himself in the shadows—were shockingly mundane compared to everything else he had endured.
And somehow, that hurt even more.
To think the safest Izuku had ever been… was when he was basically homeless. Not under any roof. He never had a home. Always alone, because being alone meant he was finally out of reach.
Hizashi stood silently in the doorway, watching as Izuku and Hitoshi lay side by side on the bed. Izuku hadn't let go of Hitoshi since the breakdown, and it didn’t seem like Hitoshi had any intention of letting go either.
The moment his story ended, Izuku had collapsed from sheer exhaustion. He hadn’t even protested when Hitoshi guided him—half-carrying, half-dragging—to the guest room. Or, rather, Izuku’s room now. Hizashi was already making plans to decorate it with Izuku.
Izuku fell asleep within minutes of lying down, curled tightly around Hitoshi. Even his spider limbs had wrapped protectively around the boy, twitching faintly now and then, their usual rigid metallic sheen softened into something almost fluid. Hizashi watched, quietly amazed at how those limbs seemed to shift with Izuku’s emotions—quicksilver armor that melted when he finally felt safe.
Carefully, Hizashi pulled the door closed behind him, leaving the boys in peace. Then, without a word, he turned and headed for the kitchen.
As soon as Hizashi stepped into the kitchen, the sharp scent of black coffee hit him like a wall. Naomasa was already there, hunched over a chipped mug like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His fingers pressed hard against his temples, working slow, exhausted circles into his skull.
Hizashi didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
He made his way to the counter, grabbed his favorite mug—a blindingly cheerful yellow thing with a winking smiley face—and poured himself a cup. Plenty of cream. Way too much sugar. Because unlike some people, Hizashi had good taste.
He slid into the seat next to Naomasa with a long, weary exhale. For a while, neither of them said a word. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was the kind that settled in when two people had heard far, far too much.
Naomasa finally broke it.
“I get why you didn’t want to share,” he said, voice rough and low. “That was…” He paused, searching for a word and coming up short. “Calling it ‘fucked up’ feels like an insult to actual fucked-up things.”
Hizashi took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the warmth settle somewhere deep in his chest. “I didn’t even know most of it. He’s always been tight-lipped about his past. But every now and then… something would slip out.” His fingers tightened around the mug. “The first time he showed me the mark… He was so scared, Nao. I’ve never seen a kid look like that. Like he thought just showing it would get him hurt. Or worse.”
He swallowed hard. “That was the first time he ran from me. I don’t think I would’ve found him if Hitoshi hadn’t come across him by pure chance.”
Naomasa let out a breath through his nose, something between a sigh and a sad laugh. “I’m proud of him. Really. I know once we’re home, he’s gonna break. He’s going to have nightmares—hell, we’re all going to have nightmares—but the way he handled today…”
“He’ll make one hell of a hero,” Hizashi said, a spark of pride flickering in his voice. “Might even take Shouta’s title as King of the Underground.”
Naomasa snorted. “Don’t let Eraser hear you say that.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure he does,” Hizashi grinned faintly. “He could use the motivation.”
The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t quite so heavy. They sipped their coffee side by side, letting the moment breathe.
But eventually, reality crept back in.
“What happens now?” Hizashi asked quietly.
Naomasa didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was slow, thoughtful. “I’ll do everything I can to get him a clean file. What he did under the villains—none of that can be pinned on him. He was brainwashed, trained to follow orders. Conditioned. And what happened afterward…” He hesitated. “He said it himself. Psychotic breakdown. That’s defensible. We can make it work.”
He took a long drink from his mug, then added grimly, “But we’ve still got one big problem.”
“Spider Brat,” Hizashi said, finishing the thought without missing a beat.
“Vigilantism is still illegal,” Naomasa confirmed. “Doesn’t matter how justified he is, or how many lives he’s saved. It’s still breaking the law. If we’re going to clear his name, he can’t keep going out like this.”
Hizashi’s jaw clenched. “Vigilantism is the only thing he has, Nao. It’s his anchor. It’s what’s keeping him alive.”
They fell into silence again, this one taut with quiet tension.
“How old is he, anyway?” Naomasa finally asked. “Seems younger than Hitoshi.”
Hizashi didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was with a sigh.
“They’re both thirteen,” he said. “Izuku’s just… small. Probably from the malnourishment. That, and his bones. He weighs over 300 pounds, you know that?”
Naomasa raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
Hizashi nodded. “Heavy bones from the quirk. Constant stress on an underfed body.”
Naomasa leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. “We’re gonna need to call in Chiyo. He’ll need long-term care, and she’s probably the only one he won’t panic around.”
“Yeah. Definitely not sending him to a hospital,” Hizashi agreed with a visible shiver. “Not before he gets lots of therapy.”
Naomasa nodded, his eyes drifting toward the hallway where the guest bedroom door remained shut.
“I need to head back,” he said quietly, holding up the recorder that now contained everything. Everything Izuku had finally let out. “He gave me permission to share it with Shouta. And… he needs to hear it. Sooner rather than later.”
Hizashi glanced toward the hallway too, then looked back with a frown. “What about Hitoshi? Should I wake him?”
“No.” Naomasa shook his head. “Actually… I was hoping he could stay the night. I don’t think it’s a good idea to separate those two right now. Besides…”
Hizashi’s brow lifted slightly, but he was already nodding.
“If Hitoshi’s around, Shouta won’t let himself fall apart,” Hizashi guessed.
Naomasa gave a tired sigh. “Exactly. He’ll try to be strong for him. But he’s not. He won’t be. Not after hearing all of that.”
His fingers tightened slightly around the recorder. “Shouta needs space to break, even just a little. I need him to hear this with no masks, no distractions. Just truth.”
“I get it. I got closer to Izuku, but Shouta was there first. He’s just as attached as I am,” Hizashi said softly, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of Hitoshi. He still has clothes here from the last time he stayed over. Don’t worry about him.”
Naomasa offered a tired but grateful smile. “Thanks, Zashi.”
He drained the last of his coffee and stood, his body moving slower than usual, weighed down by the night’s revelations.
“Tomorrow, I’ll start talking with Nedzu,” he added as he grabbed his coat. “There’s a lot we’ll have to figure out—legally, politically, and morally. But I don’t care how hard it gets.” He turned back toward Hizashi, face set with rare steel. “I’m not letting that boy be failed again.”
Hizashi watched him for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. Because he’s finally starting to believe he’s worth saving.”
Naomasa didn’t trust himself to respond to that. He simply gave one last nod before stepping out the door and into the quiet night.
------------------------------------------------------------
Hitoshi’s arm had gone numb hours ago from the tight grip Izuku held on him, even in sleep. For such a small boy, Izuku was deceptively strong — refusing to let go, as if loosening meant losing something precious.
But Hitoshi wasn’t focused on the numbness.
His gaze was fixed, almost mesmerized, on Izuku’s face. Maybe it was the closeness — the warmth of Izuku’s breath, barely stirring the skin on his cheek — or maybe it was how relaxed Izuku looked, softer and more at peace than Hitoshi had ever seen.
Without thinking, Hitoshi lifted the arm Izuku wasn’t gripping and began threading his fingers through the dark strands of Izuku’s hair. The movement was slow and tentative. Izuku’s hair was surprisingly fluffy despite the clear lack of care. He could only imagine how it would feel after one of Hizashi’s legendary care routines.
Izuku shifted slightly, and the grip on Hitoshi’s other arm loosened enough for blood to return with a welcome warmth.
“Cute,” Hitoshi muttered before he realized what he’d said, cheeks flushing hot.
Yes. His friend was undeniably cute. Adorable in the little moments — when he laughed, or when he got worked up over a bad book. But now was hardly the time for such thoughts.
Turning his head away in an attempt to will away his blush, something caught his eye.
A twitch — subtle, at the corner of his vision.
Hitoshi froze.
He carefully craned his neck behind Izuku and his breath caught.
The silver spider limbs, usually sharp and rigid like blades, were moving gently — not striking out or tense, but swaying with a fluid grace. They stopped a little after Hitoshi’s fingers stopped moving.
Curiosity pushed him to resume running his fingers through Izuku’s hair, slower now, even more tentative as he watched how the limbs reacted.
As Izuku relaxed more under Hitoshi’s touch, the limbs seemed to melt, folding in on themselves, retracting slowly until they slipped back beneath Izuku’s shirt and vanished.
Astonished, Hitoshi gently rolled Izuku onto his side and looked at his back.
Through the holes in Izuku’s shirt, he caught glimpses of pale skin marked by faint scars. And then he noticed something else—small, glinting spots. Gently, he touched one, feeling a cool, smooth bump beneath his fingertips.
Izuku had never mentioned being able to retract his spider limbs. And honestly, Hitoshi wasn’t sure Izuku even knew himself.
But it made sense. His quirk wasn’t sentient, exactly—but the limbs moved with instinct, the most primal kind, always protecting Izuku. They first manifested when Izuku was near death and, despite Izuku’s own complicated feelings regarding his own quirk, they had protected him ever since.
Maybe the reason Izuku had never been able to retract them before— hadn’t even known it was possible— was because he’d never felt safe enough.
That thought made Hitoshi’s heart skip.
Because if he was right…
Izuku was finally feeling safe enough to lower every guard—even the ones he didn’t know he had.
------------------------------------------------------------
Shouta didn’t cry easily.
Part of it was learned from his own past— fosters never liked when he cried, so at some point, he stopped altogether— a habit he never completely unlearned. It was a good asset on his field, though. An Underground hero couldn’t afford to wear his emotions on his sleeve. It was discipline. It was survival.
But there was another reason, less obvious but just as cruel: his quirk left his eyes chronically dry, making even the simplest act of shedding tears a grueling struggle.
Still, one thing always broke through his defenses—cases involving children.
Especially those times when he arrived too late.
That was the cruel irony of being a hero: knowing there were lives you simply couldn’t save.
Shouta had found too many—tiny bodies still warm but fading fast, snuffed out before their time. He haunted those memories, replaying them endlessly. If only he’d been a minute earlier. A second faster. Maybe he could’ve saved one more.
In those unbearable moments, he’d silently hold their small hands, tears finally escaping down his cheeks as he waited for the police.
And when he caught the villain responsible… well, let’s just say he’d come dangerously close to losing his license for excessive force more than once.
Thankfully, Nedzu had the best lawyers—and when it came to abusers, he was just as, if not more ruthless as Shouta.
Despite the cold, strict teacher facade Shouta showed his students, he cared. Far too much. His harshness wasn’t cruelty—it was preparation. He couldn’t let them walk blindly into a world far less glamorous than the media made it seem.
Because heroics weren't glorious.
It was harsh. It was cruel.
And as the recording Naomasa played finally ended, Shouta was once again reminded.
Some people learned that lesson far too early.
Shouta let out a slow, shaky breath, rubbing at his eyes like he could scrub the tears away. But they kept coming—silent, steady, unrelenting. He didn’t bother wiping them anymore.
“He wasn’t even five,” he repeated, voice barely audible. “He was barely a toddler, Nao. Just a baby.”
Naomasa didn’t reply. What could he say? There wasn’t a word strong enough to hold the weight of that truth. So he just squeezed Shouta’s hand again, grounding him with the only comfort he could offer.
“I was already a pro by then,” Shouta whispered. “Already patrolling. Already fighting villains. And while I was out there, that kid—he was being broken down to pieces. Turned into... into something he was never meant to be.”
His jaw clenched, shoulders taut as a bowstring. “We’ve been looking for monsters in the streets, Nao. And somehow, we let that go unnoticed under our own noses.”
“Don’t do that,” Naomasa said gently. “You can’t take responsibility for this alone.”
“Then who should?!” Shouta snapped, voice raw but low. “Who else is supposed to take it, if not the ones who could have done something?!”
“Then it’s my fault too, Shouta!” Naomasa snapped back. “We’ve been investigating the Nine Circles of Hell for years, and had no clues. We never suspected they’d have even the police in their pockets. Their influence ran deeper than even most of the Yakuza from the past.” He put both hands on Shouta’s shoulders and shook him. “I know you feel guilty about not saving him. But there’s nothing you could have done. It’s. Not. Your. Fault.”
Silence followed. Thick. Suffocating.
And then, finally, Shouta looked away and took another breath—deep and forced—pulling himself back from the edge. There was no point in spiraling. Not now. Not when Izuku needed him more than ever.
That’s when it hit him.
“Asmodeus,” he muttered, voice dropping into something sharper, colder. It wasn’t grief anymore—it was calculation, steel laced with fury. “She’s the only one Izuku didn’t confirm dead.”
Naomasa blinked, stunned by the shift. “Shou... he stabbed her through the gut and left her in a building fire. There’s no way she made it.”
“She had a healing quirk,” Shouta said grimly.
“One she couldn’t use on herself,” Naomasa argued.
“But she had something else.” Shouta locked eyes with him. “Think about it.”
It took Naomasa a moment. He replayed the recording in his head, went over the scattered reports, the case files, the fragments of the experiments. Then—
“The drug,” he breathed, eyes widening. “If she had a dose… and managed to inject herself…”
“She was obsessed,” Shouta growled. “With the drug, and with Izuku. She probably knew him better than anyone else. You think she wouldn’t plan for something like that? Izuku said she was close to perfecting the formula. If it worked, if it forced a quirk evolution—”
“She could’ve escaped,” Naomasa finished, breath catching. “It’s a slim chance, but... not impossible.”
“And if she’s still alive…” Shouta’s face darkened. “She’ll come back for him. Her ‘magnum opus.’”
“And he’s the key to perfecting the drug for good…” Naomasa cursed under his breath, already reaching for his phone. “This changes everything. We need to put extra surveillance on the house. I’ll call for a security detail to—”
“No,” Shouta interrupted. “We do this quietly. No big moves. If we panic, we tip our hand. If she’s alive, she’s probably watching.”
Naomasa lowered his phone slowly. “Then what do we do?”
Shouta stared at the empty wall across from him for a long moment before answering.
“We make it official,” he said. “We bring him under protection. Full witness protocol.”
“Witness protection?” Naomasa repeated, eyebrows raised.
Shouta nodded. “He needs a new name, a new file. A clean slate. One we control.”
“Technically,” Naomasa said, his tone dry, “we’d be giving him his first name. The kid doesn’t exist on any legal database. There’s no birth certificate. No ID. No record.”
“Then we fix that,” Shouta said firmly. “We give him what he’s never had. A real life.”
Naomasa exhaled slowly. “Do you think he’ll go along with it?”
Shouta’s voice softened, just a bit. “He’s terrified of going back. He won’t fight it. Not if we do it right. Not if he knows he’s safe. We just need to be honest with him. No matter what, no lies.”
Naomasa stood, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll need Nedzu’s sign-off. And I’ll have to pull strings with the Ministry.”
“You’ll get it done,” Shouta said without hesitation.
Naomasa gave him a look. “Since when are you so optimistic?”
“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be. But I know how capable you are.” Shouta shrugged, though his eyes still carried a storm. “Besides, I’m not letting anyone take him again.”
There was a pause.
Then Naomasa gave a small, tired smile. “God help the poor bastard who tries.”
“I’m more than willing to fight god for him.” Shouta replied, a feral smile on his face.
Notes:
So, the thing with Izuku's spider limbs being retractable was something I had planned since the beggining of this fic. Mostly for one reason.
The legs make cuddling a lot harder.
That's it. That's my reason.Izuku still has a long way to go before he's able to control when he has the legs out, but eventually he will. Sorry if you wanted the legs to be a permanent mutation.
Chapter 27
Notes:
CW: Brief mentions of scars.
Better safe than sorry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 27
It wasn’t often Izuku felt like a little kid.
He had been basically an adult since before he should have even known the word—minding himself around monsters, scavenging. Surviving. Even when he lived with his parents, he had never been allowed to be a child. There hadn’t been room.
But standing at the gates of UA, he never felt smaller.
He knew the school from pamphlets and the occasional TV shot through the window of a convenience store, but pictures didn’t prepare him. The building loomed so huge he felt like an ant.
Izuku knew he was short. It wasn’t something he was hung on. On the ocean of problems in his life, his height just didn’t matter enough to pout about. But he was sure even All Might would look like an ant in this place.
However, that wasn’t the only reason he felt small.
As they walked inside, Izuku clung to Hizashi’s hand like a lifeline. His spider limbs were taut at his back, half-raised in a reflex he couldn’t quite turn off—ready to lunge at the first hint of danger. Logically he knew Hizashi wouldn’t knowingly bring him somewhere unsafe, but instinct didn’t read logic. Every part of him screamed that he was an intruder in another predator’s den and that he should run.
But he couldn’t. He was here for a reason.
It had been about two weeks since he’d moved in with Hizashi, and progress had been slow—drainingly, painfully slow. Izuku spent most days folded into his room the guest room: in the corner beneath the open window—always open, in case he needed a route of escape—or hiding under the bed. Hitoshi brought him books, and that was how the hours passed; he only emerged when Hizashi called him to eat.
Hizashi had been unbelievably patient. He never barged into the room without permission. He never tried to drag Izuku out or force conversation. More than once Izuku would hear Hizashi sitting against the locked door, talking softly about nothing—about the smallest, most ordinary things—and the sound of his voice would soothe the aftermath of a bad dream. The hero’s presence was a kind of shelter.
Izuku knew he couldn’t live like that forever, which is why, when Hizashi suggested the UA visit, he agreed—because he also knew Hizashi wouldn’t push him past what he could bear.
They were here for two things. First: a checkup with Recovery Girl. The idea of a doctor made his skin crawl, but Hizashi promised they would go slow; Izuku could leave whenever it got too much.
Second: Hizashi needed to speak with Principal Nedzu about something—about Izuku. He didn’t press for details. Hizashi had promised he would tell him everything when the time was right, and for once Izuku let himself trust that promise.
Trusting Hizashi was becoming easier and easier as the time passed, and that scared Izuku.
It felt like both hours and only a handful of seconds had passed when Izuku finally found himself in front of U.A.’s infirmary doors
His chest felt tight, his lungs working too fast, as though the air here had somehow thickened. His palm was clammy against Hizashi’s, grip locked so tight he could feel his own skin blanch. He knew he was probably hurting Hizashi—could see the faint purpling on the hero’s knuckles—but Hizashi didn’t flinch, didn’t wince, didn’t pull away.
Izuku expected a knock. What he didn’t expect was Hizashi kneeling down to meet his eye level, still holding his hand, offering a warm, reassuring smile.
“Look, Izuku,” he said softly. “I want you to know I’m proud of you. You’re being brave right now.”
Izuku didn’t feel brave. He felt like he’d been hollowed out and filled with nerves. If Hizashi let go for a second, he knew the panic would come crashing in.
“I know you’re scared, and that’s fine.” Hizashi reached up with his free hand and brushed under Izuku’s cheek. That touch made him realize he was crying. “Bravery isn’t not being afraid. Bravery is moving forward even when you are.”
Something small, relieved, and ridiculous escaped him—a giggle that sounded like a hiccup.
“That was so cheesy. Where’d you hear that? A truck bumper?” he asked.
“Hey,” Hizashi grinned. “Fortune cookie. Very reliable source.”
“That’s even worse.” Izuku laughed, wiping at his face. “But… thanks.”
Hizashi stood, squeezing his hand once more. “Ready, Little Listener?”
“No,” Izuku said honestly.
“But let’s go anyway,” he added, because some kind of forward motion felt necessary.
Hizashi’s knuckles had barely touched the door before a soft, seasoned voice called from the other side. “Come in.”
Despite how soft it was, the sound made Izuku flinch. He immediately ducked behind Hizashi’s side, spider-limbs twitching faintly like they wanted to anchor themselves to the floor. Hizashi didn’t comment. He just pushed the door open at an easy pace and guided them inside.
The smell hit first.
Sterile. Sharp. The sting of antiseptic and bleach coiled in Izuku’s lungs, and his breath caught.
“Admiring my collection, sweetheart?”
The voice wasn’t here, not really, but it might as well have been. His muscles locked, his chest constricted, and for an awful second he swore he could feel restraints digging into his wrists. The lab. He was back in the lab! He needed to —
Pressure. Gentle circles rubbed into the back of his hand, tugging him out of the spiral. Hizashi’s hand. Hizashi’s warmth.
"If you start having unpleasant memories," Hizashi had told him this morning, "focus on what’s different. That’s how you remind yourself you’re not there."
Izuku forced his head up. Forced his eyes open.
And he saw the differences.
This room was bright—but not the blinding glare of overhead lights. Here, sunlight streamed in through wide windows, warm against pale floors. Asmodeus’s lab had never allowed daylight in.
The antiseptic was here, yes. The bleach too. But no copper tang. No smell of old blood soaked into the tiles. She always kept her lab clean, but she never cared for the smell of blood— maybe she even liked it. Her lab always smelled like old blood under all the bleach.
Here… here there was something else layered over the bleach. A faint, sharp-sweet scent. Lemons. Maybe disinfectant. Maybe just a room freshener someone thought would soften the edges.
Izuku’s shoulders eased a fraction when he saw there were no shelves filled with creepy dolls staring at him. The room was cool, but not inhumanly cold—nothing like the chill of Asmodeus’s laboratory.
The infirmary itself was practical and tidy. A work desk with a swiveling chair sat against one wall, two examination beds lined up neatly, and a couple of visitor chairs. Medicinal posters covered the remaining walls, the cheery diagrams and instructions softening the room’s function.
It wasn’t the lab. He wasn’t back there.
Then his eyes found the woman in the office chair.
She was small—smaller even than Izuku—her gray hair swept into a neat bun. She wasn’t wearing a hero costume or a lab coat; she’d come in plain, comfortable clothes. Her face was a map of soft lines, and her eyes met his with a calm, warm smile that felt safe in a way he hadn’t expected.
Izuku wasn’t sure how long it took for him to calm down, but the old lady didn’t comment on it.
“Hello, dear. You must be Izuku,” she said gently.
Izuku nodded, barely trusting his voice.
Hizashi walked a little forward, offering a quick explanation. “I asked her not to come in hero gear,” he said. “Thought it might help. Chiyo’s very good with kids.”
The woman stood, but she didn’t step into his space. She kept a careful distance—giving Izuku room, watching him for signs he was comfortable.
“You can call me Chiyo, dearie,” she said, voice like a warm blanket. “Thank you for coming. I know this must be frightening.”
Izuku nodded again, moving on autopilot. Admitting fear to Hizashi had felt possible; saying it to a stranger was harder, but the way Chiyo looked at him made the thought manageable.
“Before we start,” Chiyo added, tilting her head kindly, “would you like the room warmer or cooler? Whatever makes you more comfortable.”
Once again Izuku glanced at Hizashi, somewhere between asking for permission and begging for reassurance. Hizashi met his eyes and gave him a small, steady smile and a slow nod.
Izuku turned back to Chiyo. “A little warmer, please,” he said.
Chiyo nodded and reached for the thermostat, dialing the temperature up a few degrees. The change was gentle but immediate; warmth seeped into the room and something inside Izuku loosened. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Chiyo folded her hands on her lap and spoke in the same soft, even voice. “Before we begin, I’ll explain what we’ll do. Today I’d like to make a few observations—nothing invasive. No tests you’re not ready for. We won’t do anything without your say-so. Understand?”
Izuku found Hizashi’s encouraging smile again and mouthed a quiet, “Yeah.”
Chiyo’s expression warmed. “If at any point you feel uncomfortable, or need a break, we stop. No questions asked. You’re in control here, Izuku.”
Izuku gave another shy nod at her words. It was hard to believe she actually meant those words, though. “Control” wasn’t something he ever had in his life.
Chiyo offered him a warm little smile that never felt clinical or hungry—nothing like Asmodeus’s predatory grins. She looked at him like a person, not a specimen.
“Why don’t we start simple?” she suggested. “Sit wherever feels safest.”
Izuku blinked, scanning the room. The examination chairs always sat wrong against his back; the beds felt too exposed. After a moment he lowered himself to the floor, cross-legged, close to Hizashi. Chiyo didn’t bat an eye—she simply continued, calm and steady, while Hizashi eased down beside him.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll ask a few easy questions to begin. If anything feels bad to answer, you can say ‘pass’ and we stop. Deal?”
Izuku nodded once.
“Now, I haven’t seen everything,” Chiyo went on gently, “but I understand you have a number of scars.” Izuku tightened. He wasn’t ashamed—he’d never hidden them—but the reminder still stung. Chiyo’s tone softened. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, dear. Scars don’t mean you’re broken. Many people—Hizashi included—carry them.”
Izuku glanced up. Hizashi gave him a small, encouraging nod.
“She’s right, Little Listener,” Hizashi said. “I’ve got my share, too. Eraserhead does as well. If you want, I’ll show you later.”
Chiyo folded her hands. “The reason I ask is practical: I need to know whether you’re feeling ongoing pain. Scars and poorly healed wounds can leave lingering discomfort or altered sensation.”
Izuku hesitated, rolling a thumb over his knuckles. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “Asmodeus could… change things. She liked how the scars looked, so she left some. I don’t think they hurt now—aside from what she did when she worked on me. But…” He lifted one spider limb and traced a fingertip along the cool, metallic surface. “After my bones changed, everything felt crushed. My arms and legs ached for days. I don’t know if it stopped, or if I just stopped noticing.”
Chiyo’s expression remained kind. “Okay. I’ll ask a few clarifying questions to help us figure that out, alright?”
Izuku swallowed and nodded.
“Do you ever feel numb?” she asked. “Like you expect to feel something—hot, cold, pressure—but barely do?”
He frowned, thinking. “I don’t feel much in my upper arms. Punches and stabs usually only leave superficial marks, and I have a very high pain tolerance.” He let out a humorless little laugh. “That was part of their training.”
“Do you have good range of motion? Any stiffness?” Chiyo followed.
Izuku wasn’t sure—he’d never compared himself to other people. He looked up at Hizashi, asking the question without words.
Hizashi answered quietly. “The spider limbs are incredibly agile—very precise. But Izuku himself moves a bit stiffly. I notice it in his shoulders and arms, and a little in his knees. He’s good at getting out of the way, but sometimes he ends up taking hits instead of dodging—if the attacker even gives him the chance.”
Chiyo nodded, taking it in. “Alright. I need to see a few things. Can you raise your arms for me—both, as high as you can?”
Izuku froze, his spider limbs tensing reflexively, coiling like springs ready to strike. Hizashi’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, grounding him, anchoring him to a place where no one would hurt him.
With a trembling breath, he started to raise his arms, only to frown as he realized he couldn’t lift them much beyond shoulder height. Pain radiated through his muscles and bones—a dull, stubborn ache he hadn’t fully registered before.
Chiyo demonstrated a few gentle movements, slowly rotating her wrists, bending forward, stretching arms above her head. She asked him to mirror her motions. Izuku tried, grimacing, twisting and stretching, and quickly realized how stiff he had become. Had it always been like this? He had never noticed, never allowed himself the luxury to notice.
“Alright,” Chiyo said softly, “you can say no, but can I touch you? I need to check something.”
Izuku’s chest tightened. Touch. That was dangerous. Touch hurt. He can’t… He can’t… He…
A reassuring hand on his shoulder made him freeze mid-thought. He looked up to see Hizashi, smiling gently, though worry shadowed his eyes. Right. Hizashi was here. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. He was safe. He had to believe that.
With a slow, trembling breath, Izuku got up. Painfully, hesitantly, he peeled off his hoodie, then his shirt, exposing his chest and arms. Every motion sent a shiver through him.
Chiyo’s face remained composed, but even she couldn’t completely hide the subtle wince as she took in the extent of his scars: the cuts, burns, lichtenberg patterns, and the deep, jagged bite mark on his right arm from Beelzebub’s punishments.
His skin stretched taut over his ribs, revealing how skinny he was. For so many years he had survived on one meal a day, and it showed. Even now, with food plentiful, he still struggled to eat more than breakfast and dinner, and even that was too much sometimes. Lunch was a meal he always skipped.
Chiyo approached slowly, her movements deliberate and careful. Izuku felt his spider limbs twitch behind him, ready to spring—but he forced himself to relax as Hizashi rubbed his back in a gentle, grounding rhythm.
“Open your arms for me, dearie,” Chiyo said softly, her voice calm and steady. “If you want to stop, just say it, and I will.
Izuku flinched, his body stiffening as Chiyo’s hands moved over his arms, pressing lightly where his muscles should have been. Every motion was deliberate, slow, and careful—no sudden shifts, no hidden pressures. When she reached his chest, she handled him like fragile glass, careful not to cause even a hint of discomfort.
After a few moments, she stepped back and nodded at him. Relief flooded Izuku, and he let out a shaky breath as Hizashi helped him pull his clothes back on, smoothing the hoodie over his scarred arms. Once he was settled, Chiyo began to explain.
“Your muscles are most likely strained and never healed properly,” she said gently. “It’s what happens when someone tries to lift more weight than their body can handle. In your case, your bones are… heavier than they should be for your frame. Your body is under constant stress, partly because it’s always trying to heal itself, while your quirk keeps reinjuring it.”
Izuku didn’t need to hear it to know it was true. His sudden mutations had been brutal on his body, and he had long suspected the strain—but hearing it aloud was still a hard pill to swallow.
“Is there anything we can do?” Hizashi asked.
“Lots of physical therapy,” Chiyo replied. “I can prescribe a few painkill—”
“No pills!” Izuku practically screamed, startling even himself. “Please. No pills. No drugs!”
Hizashi’s hand pressed firmly to his shoulder, grounding him. “Hey, hey,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay, Izuku. We won’t force you to do anything. You’re safe. We’ll work with you.”
It took a few minutes, but Hizashi’s calm presence helped Izuku’s panic ebb enough for him to listen to Chiyo again.
“The painkillers would help manage discomfort, but they aren’t strictly necessary,” Chiyo continued. “What I do recommend is support for your body—something to help carry your weight until you can build enough healthy muscle to handle it. An exoskeleton would be ideal. It will reduce strain on your bones and muscles, letting your body recover without constant reinjury.”
Izuku frowned and looked down at his hands. He didn’t like the idea—he hated the thought of needing help, hated being dependent on something—but deep down, he knew she was right.
“H-how would that work?” he asked hesitantly, voice barely above a whisper.
“Your best option is going to be Higari—Power Loader, I mean,” Chiyo explained, her voice calm, steady. “He’s primarily a support engineer for heroes, but he’s also incredibly skilled at creating medical support gear. He designed Hizashi’s hearing aids, even Ectoplasm’s prosthetics. He can make something that helps support your weight without being restrictive or intrusive.”
Izuku hesitated, then looked up at Hizashi and shrugged slightly. He didn’t know this engineer, but he trusted Hizashi’s judgment completely.
Hizashi smiled and gave him an encouraging nod. “We’ll pay him a visit sometime soon.”
Chiyo continued, her tone matter-of-fact but gentle. “Other than that, there’s not much I can do here. What you need now is rest and recuperation. Once you’re ready, I can recommend a few specialists to help with your recovery, but for now… this will have to suffice.”
Izuku blinked as Chiyo’s lips unexpectedly brushed the back of his hand. A wave of warmth and calm spread through him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the constant ache in his body dulled, receding into something manageable. His limbs felt heavy in the best way, like he could finally let go. His eyes fluttered closed.
He barely had time to wonder what kind of quirk could cause that sensation before he felt Hizashi there, gently lifting him in his arms and carrying him toward the bed. Izuku let himself be held, trusting completely as his body finally gave in to the exhaustion and relief.
------------------------------------------------------------
Hizashi lingered by the bed, watching the slow, even rise and fall of Izuku’s chest. Without the constant stress and pain in his face, he looked so young. It was hard to believe he was the same age as Hitoshi. The retracted spider legs made him seem even smaller, fragile in a way Hizashi hated seeing.
“I guess we can assume the constant pain was another reason he could never retract them before,” Chiyo said quietly from behind him. She was already bent over her desk, pen scratching steadily as she filled out notes for Izuku’s file.
Hizashi clenched his fists at his sides. “To be so used to pain that he didn’t even realize he was in it...” His voice was low, rough. “I swear, Chiyo. If that doctor isn’t really dead, I might just finish the job myself.”
Chiyo gave a soft hum, not condemning the thought. “I imagine you wouldn’t be the only one.” Her gaze softened as she looked toward Izuku. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not qualified to handle damage at this level. My quirk can only do so much for him before it becomes harmful. He needs specialized care. And therapy. A lot of therapy.”
“I know,” Hizashi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it took me months to earn his trust—after Shouta spent years laying the groundwork. Getting him to open up to a stranger won’t be easy.”
“I think you underestimate how much he already leans on you,” Chiyo countered gently. “He kept looking to you for reassurance whenever he was scared or just unsure of something. You calmed him when he panicked with just a touch. He’s placing all his trust in you.”
Hizashi’s usual easy grin was nowhere to be found. “I’ll never betray that trust.” His voice was firm, serious. “I’ll try to convince him... but it might take time.”
“As it should,” Chiyo agreed. “The exoskeleton will help him, and he needs to avoid straining himself. Once his body isn’t under constant stress, I can speed the healing process. In a few months, he might be ready for physical therapy.” She glanced at Hizashi. “You said he’s having trouble eating?”
“Yeah,” Hizashi admitted, running a hand through his hair. “He forces himself through breakfast and dinner, but even then he gets sick. He never eats lunch. The few times he tried, he ended up throwing it all up.”
Chiyo jotted another note, her brow furrowed. “Not surprising, given how long he’s lived on minimal food. I wouldn’t be shocked if the weight of his bones has put strain on his organs, too. Once he’s comfortable enough, we’ll need to run tests to be sure.” She sighed. “I’ll draft a meal plan for him. For now, focus on light meals, more frequently. And—” she gave a wry smile “—as much as I hate to say it, those jelly pouches Shouta is in love with might be necessary too.
Hizashi grimaced at the idea. Jelly Pouches weren't exactly the worst thing someone could eat(drink?), but that didn't mean they were healthy either. They were mostly made to be a snack underground heroes could take during patrols to keep up their energy, and they were packed with nutrients. But also, tons of chemicals.
He gave a hesitant nod. “I’ll stock up. He can snack on them between meals, but I’m not letting him live on the things.”
“Heavens, no,” Chiyo chuckled. “If you tried, I’d give you the beating of a lifetime. But small portions, frequent intake—that’s the goal. Especially once his body starts healing the damage. His body will need fuel.”
Well, as long as the kid got actual food and didn’t live just on those jelly pouches like Shouta did. As much as Hizashi (platonically) loved his best friend, he knew Shouta might not be the best influence. Especially to someone like Izuku.
Hizashi checked the time, lips pressing into a thin line.
“You still need to speak with Nedzu, don’t you?” Chiyo asked, catching the glance. “Go. He should still sleep for a few more hours. And if he wakes before you’re back, I’ll call immediately.”
Hizashi hesitated, then leaned down, gently brushing a strand of hair from Izuku’s face. “Sleep well, Little Listener. You’ve earned it.” He leaned in and kissed Izuku’s forehead.
Only then did he straighten and head for the door, his usual bounce absent, replaced with a heavy determination.
Notes:
Well, that was a lot of BS. I guess it's easy to tell I have no idea how the recovery process for someone in Izuku's situation would be.
Hope you guys had fun, anyway.
Pages Navigation
Hydraposeidon on Chapter 1 Sat 08 Jul 2023 08:38PM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 1 Sat 08 Jul 2023 09:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
RavensphirSeltos on Chapter 1 Sat 08 Jul 2023 08:51PM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 1 Sat 08 Jul 2023 09:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
Wolfie61 on Chapter 1 Sun 03 Mar 2024 10:50AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 1 Sun 03 Mar 2024 04:20PM UTC
Comment Actions
Wolfie61 on Chapter 1 Wed 06 Mar 2024 06:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
LonelyGiant on Chapter 1 Sat 08 Jul 2023 09:30PM UTC
Comment Actions
TarynMcT on Chapter 1 Sat 08 Jul 2023 09:36PM UTC
Comment Actions
PurpleLilacS (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 10 Jul 2023 04:06AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 1 Mon 10 Jul 2023 04:44AM UTC
Comment Actions
Joker (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 12 Jul 2023 12:01AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 1 Sat 22 Jul 2023 09:42PM UTC
Comment Actions
Todwk1 on Chapter 1 Wed 29 May 2024 04:57PM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 1 Tue 04 Jun 2024 05:29PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 04 Jun 2024 05:29PM UTC
Comment Actions
otis (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 22 Jul 2024 07:38AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 1 Tue 23 Jul 2024 07:01PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 23 Jul 2024 07:01PM UTC
Comment Actions
BonBonBlue on Chapter 1 Wed 24 Jul 2024 12:37PM UTC
Comment Actions
Marmite_is_Hell on Chapter 1 Sun 18 Aug 2024 02:19AM UTC
Comment Actions
defeat on Chapter 2 Sun 23 Jul 2023 01:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 2 Sat 29 Jul 2023 09:54PM UTC
Comment Actions
Tia_Lee on Chapter 2 Sun 23 Jul 2023 02:52AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 2 Sat 29 Jul 2023 09:55PM UTC
Comment Actions
RavensphirSeltos on Chapter 2 Sun 23 Jul 2023 07:06AM UTC
Comment Actions
Account Deleted on Chapter 2 Sun 23 Jul 2023 07:15PM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 2 Sat 29 Jul 2023 09:58PM UTC
Comment Actions
Mrs. Stories (Guest) on Chapter 2 Fri 04 Aug 2023 08:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
defeat on Chapter 3 Sun 06 Aug 2023 01:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 3 Thu 10 Aug 2023 12:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
RavensphirSeltos on Chapter 3 Sun 06 Aug 2023 01:47AM UTC
Comment Actions
OnlyRoomForHope on Chapter 3 Sun 06 Aug 2023 04:10PM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 3 Thu 10 Aug 2023 12:11AM UTC
Comment Actions
TarynMcT on Chapter 3 Sun 06 Aug 2023 01:51AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 3 Thu 10 Aug 2023 12:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
Mrs. Stories (Guest) on Chapter 3 Sun 06 Aug 2023 10:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 3 Thu 10 Aug 2023 12:13AM UTC
Comment Actions
Mrs. Stories (Guest) on Chapter 3 Thu 10 Aug 2023 03:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
Holy_Chalice342 on Chapter 3 Fri 11 Aug 2023 04:06AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 3 Fri 11 Aug 2023 03:05PM UTC
Comment Actions
MiRizz on Chapter 3 Thu 17 Aug 2023 08:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 3 Wed 23 Aug 2023 11:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
SonoThe_Weirdo02 on Chapter 3 Sun 14 Jan 2024 01:07AM UTC
Comment Actions
StallKing on Chapter 3 Mon 15 Jan 2024 02:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation