Life Of A Soldier And Transmigration

Everything was always the same.

Rest and recover, get sent on a mission, kill people, come back to the compound and then rest and recover.

A constant cycle for as long as I can remember.

Why did I never try and break the cycle? Because...well, I'd say it's because I was scared. I didn't know how to be anything other than a soldier. I was an orphan - I did some digging and discovered my parents were tourists who got caught up in between two territories fighting. I was taken in by a squad of soldiers and brought back to their compound.

That's where the cycle started.

I was raised like a soldier. I knew how to hold a knife and kill someone with it before I could even speak or read.

First off, I was placed into a child soldier army. Rather effective armies when it comes down to cost - there are many children throughout Africa who through one way or another lose their parents. Children are easy to mold, as well. They don't have as many bad habits as fully grown adults do. It makes training them all the easier.

Best of all? There's always more. Put a man and a woman in a tent together and they'll make you a new child. A new soldier. They're easy to produce and when you do lose them? It doesn't cost you. That's why they're so prevalent in certain areas of conflict.

By the age of 8, I'd killed someone.

I was a rather big child, which made me look older than I was, but I was by no means strong enough to go up against older children and adults in direct combat.

Which is why I stayed at a distance. Even with an AK-47, my range was incredible. My innate talent with a gun was soon picked up on and I was made into a ranged combatant.

A normal rifle at first. A cheap old thing that would jam half the time and was barely hanging together. And yet I still proved to be a deadly sniper, taking out key people when and wherever I could.

That got me a better rifle, one with a scope.

At that point, it really wasn't fair for the other side. I was just too good. But, as they say, all is fair in love and war.

So that's how my life went for eight years. Eight years of looking down a scope and killing people. I'd like to say I felt bad about it, but in truth, the only problem I have with it is that I did it under someone else's orders and towards innocent people. There were sometimes, however, when I held no regret when I pulled the trigger.

Men who tried to take advantage of children and women during the fighting. I took a special kind of pleasure in blowing a hole through one of their major arteries - just enough to kill them but not enough for it to be quick.

But for the most part, I have always thought what it would've been like if I was raised by my original parents. I wondered if I had any relatives left. And if I did, what were they like?

Nights on sentry watch were usually spent looking up at the stars and thinking that.

Then a gunshot would sound out and I'd be forcibly removed from my thoughts by my body's instinctive actions of dodging into cover.

As I aged, I began getting bigger, stronger, faster--until it wasn't suicide for me to go head-to-head with the older kids and adults. Which is when I really began to rack up my kill count. Deadly at all ranges, that's what they'd use to describe me. Due to my unusually white hair and light skin tone, I was referred to as the Pale Devil by our enemies...though personally, I dislike the name.

This proficiency at killing was noted by the warlord in charge of us. I was moved from the bog-standard child army and put into a group of assassins/spec ops soldiers reared by the man. They were all around my age and all of them were just as effective as I was at killing.

...How many children had to die just so this warlord could have a death squad? Countless.

I should've put a bullet in his head. Even if I couldn't run away, the dead could've been avenged. Yet, like I said before, I was scared. All I knew was war and combat.

So, I joined this special group. I switched between two roles: the sniper/recon and the breacher. Most of the time I did the recon and then we went forward with the mission and if we needed long range firepower, I could provide that with just about any gun as long as it had a scope. Again, my talent with guns was inhuman, I know.

I was also one of the go to squad members when it came to missions that disallowed the use of guns. Because while I was deadly with a gun, I was just as deadly with a knife. My crazy level of vision is what allowed me to be so good - most things seemed in slow motion to me.

Anyway, this group mainly dealt with killing opposing generals and other high-level members in other warlord's armies. We were a hit squad, mainly. But we also acted as shock troops that would fight on the front lines in important conflicts and sometimes we were dropped in behind enemy lines to mess with enemy logistics and supplies.

This continued for three years, until I was nineteen--or rather, until now.

Sitting down in a ditch, fires and craters surrounding me and a gut filled with bullets.

We'd been led right into an ambush. No doubt because we'd gotten too effective that our so gracious leader had decided we were more trouble than we were worth.

...I should've seen it coming. Stupid of me not to see such an obvious ambush.

Alas, now everyone of my squad are dead. Our leader, my other comrades, my friends...Haah~ This fucking sucks. I guess this is some sort of 'moral of the story' type situation, huh? If it is, the moral of the story is don't be a child soldier underneath a greedy and power hungry warlord. Or at the very least, don't continue working under him after you reach an age where you can safely leave without too much trouble.

I sighed, leaning backward and dropping my rifle to the side. I grunted at the pain that flared up at the movement but I didn't do anything to stop the movement and just relaxed. It was too late for me to do anything to save myself or any of the others.

I fumbled in my pockets for my cigarettes and my lighter and fished them out soon enough, shakily bringing one of the cigarettes up to my lips and holding it there as I lit it up.

Taking a long drag, I closed my eyes and let the fire burning around me and the slight ringing to my ears be the only thing my senses were picking up.

I sighed again, this time expelling a lungful of smoke.

I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky above. It was dusk, so the sun was setting and the stars were just becoming visible in the sky. I'd always liked the sky, the stars, the clouds, the moon and the sun. Day or night, I could look at the sky for hours. I only wish I could've looked at different skies, in different places and under different conditions.

...It'd be great if I could look up at the sky after a hard day's work. Work I wasn't indifferent to but instead proud of. Work where I could brag about what I did.

Chuckling despite the pain of such an action, I lifted my only functioning arm and reached for the stars just as a shooting star went by.

"...If I got another chance, I wonder what I could do with it?" I whispered - more because I couldn't speak any louder than because I wanted to preserve the quiet of the surroundings - and I smiled a weak smile, "I wouldn't mind the chance to become a hero like those Jin used to read about in those comics of his...It'd be pretty fun. More fun than just killing people all day. To actually save people...man, that must be a brilliant feeling," I trailed off, realizing the sky wasn't darkened rapidly but that the edge of my vision was quickly becoming blurred and dark.

I didn't mind killing, which probably meant I was going to Hell. But I never liked it. I'd do it if I had to...but it was never a first option for me. It was usually just the only option I had. Yet I doubt they'd accept that type of reasoning - religion seemed strict and unreasonable like that.

My cigarette fell from my lips but I couldn't find the energy to care. My outstretched hand fell.

My vision had become so dim and dark that I couldn't see anything. The sounds of fire were dying down, replaced by a droning sound of ringing. I couldn't feel my body anymore either.

So, this is death, huh? Kinda feels like going to sleep--

This thought was cut off when feeling suddenly came back to my body--yet that wasn't right. It didn't...feel, like my body. It felt weak, small, unconditioned...and young, like a child's. I instantly felt smaller. Hands and feet too small even if I was an adult with a very below average height, which lead to one conclusion: these were a child's hands and feet.

Yet that springs the question of why do I feel like I'm in a child's body?

Memories popped up in the back of my mind and I felt my(?) heart pumping at full throttle and feelings of fear beginning to settle in the back of my mind. I ignored the fear and looked to the memories.

By doing this, however, I didn't see the fist flying through the air and impacting my cheek, knocking me off my feet and to the ground.

...Weak. What a weak punch.

I looked up--and yep, that's a child, alright. A child looking down at me with a mocking smile. Ash blond hair, red eyes and an utterly annoying face to look at. Annoying in the sense that it's filled with arrogance and a smugness you just wanna...Alright, calm down.

I ran through the memories as quick as I could. This body belongs to a Japanese kid called Izuku Midoriya, he's 8-years-old. The blond kid is his childhood 'friend' Katsuki Bakugo.

This whole fight is coming about because Izuku (or me?) wanted to protect some weak kid from Katsuki's bullying. Even in a normal world, a single kid with zero combat training wouldn't last long against Katsuki and his two cronies...but this world adds another dollop of shit onto the pile.

Quirks. Superpowers, basically. This world has fucking superpowers.

...Man, if this isn't a dream, Jin is probably cursing me from beyond the grave. This is practically his dream. The amount of novels and fanfics he's read with this type of plotline of someone getting reincarnated and placed in a magical/supernatural setting...it's gotta be in the hundreds.

Katsuki has a good Quirk. It allows him to make explosions. Basically makes him a walking bomb. His two cronies have some shitty Quirks that affect useless crap.

But that still puts them against the original Izuku.

Izuku Midoriya...is Quirkless. Part of 20% of the population that don't own some form of Quirk, hence the name Quirkless. Which makes Izuku a prime target for bullies like Katsuki and his friends who see a prime target.

Hm? Pro-Heroes? Now...that's interesting. Saving people--isn't that what I wanted to do? And now I've been somehow sent to a world where that's a possibility.

Quirkless or not, a new body, a new identity...it's a chance I can't pass up on.

Getting back up, I wiped my cheek and somewhat bloody nose, ignoring the pain and leveling a gaze over at Katsuki, "Is that all you've got?" I asked, taunting the blondie across from me. As I suspected, his temper got the best of him and he flung his hand at me, palm side facing me and smoking.

His Quirk, Explosion, is extremely deadly. One hit and I'm pretty sure I'd be out for the count, regardless of my combat experience.

Thankfully that combat experience allows me to avoid such a thing from happening.

This body was slow and weak but I was all too used to fighting as a child. I knew how to bite my cheek and push through the pain and exhaustion, forcing my body to do what I wanted it to. So, I took a step forward and put out my right hand to stop Katsuki's wrist. Gripping it as hard as I could and pulling him toward me as I brought my left elbow toward his face, smashing it against his nose.

I couldn't hit hard enough to break his nose but it definitely hurt him and shook his brain up. Before he could even react, I snaked my left hand around the back of his head and pulled his head down while bringing my knee up, smashing into his nose a second time before planting a second hit with the same knee against his temple.

No permanent damage but he'd be sporting a black eye and one hell of a headache tomorrow or even later today.

He dropped to the ground, unconscious and I looked over at the two much less intimidating opponents. Both of them 'Eek'd at my glare and ran off with their tails between their legs. The kid I'd been protecting - or who Izuku had been protecting - looked at me with stars in his eyes.

He thanked me and ran off, leaving me with an unconscious kid at my feet.

...Ah, how annoying.

I looked through my memories and discovered that I knew where Katsuki lived, so I decided to take him back home. The kid obviously has some issues but is that reason enough to leave him unconscious on the streets at the age of 8? No.

Still, I wouldn't be able to explain his unconscious state to his parents easily by any means. Sighing, I lifted my own fist and slammed it into the side of my face and then did it a second time.

That should swell up enough for my excuse to make sense.

Bending over I picked Katsuki up in a fireman lift. It was a bit much for this body to handle but I figured it could double as some early training.

Izuku originally wanted to be a hero but upon discovering that he was Quirkless, he became completely hopeless and filled with despair. Didn't even bother to take up martial arts classes or anything. Eh, people have different ways of dealing with things. I guess the original Izuku's reaction was the normal one and I'm the weird one for instantly thinking I can turn myself into a Batman-type Hero? Eh, people have different ways of dealing with things.

Regardless, I should begin training this body. Getting it to peak conditioning should be enough to make me a viable threat in a fight even when up against people with Quirks. Well, weak to medium-level Quirks anyway.

...Don't think any amount of training would let me fight that All Might dude.

While thinking about a training regime and a proper diet, I trudged on my way to Katsuki's home, straining my weak body to get the job done.

How long had it been since I was this weak? It's kinda refreshing to be able to do all my training again. I can avoid the hidden/internal injuries this time and make quicker progress. The lack of battles to fight should mean I shouldn't get injured all too much either.

Good.

Some peace and quiet had been on the agenda for a long time, for me. Even if I don't really know how to function under those sorts of circumstances.

Still, I should try and emulate Izuku's previous behavior. I have no illusions that I'll be able to fool his(our?) mother but I'll at least be able to limit her worry. Then I can slowly change my behavior over time and make it seem more natural.

When those thoughts came to an end, I arrived at the house. Breathing heavily, I kept Katsuki balanced on my shoulders and lifted a hand to ring the door bell. It didn't take very long for his mom to come to the door, opening it with a beaming smile, "Hello, Bakugo residence, what do you need?" she asked before looking down and seeing me with Katsuki on my back, "...Midoriya-kun? Why are you carrying my no-good son on your back?"

I gave my best smile - though it no doubt came out somewhat crooked - and answered her.

"Erm, we were messing about and fighting and I ended up knocking Katsuki out. Sorry," I added an apology and tried to look guilty. His mom brought it, I think.

Though her eyes did widen in surprise, "You knocked Katsuki out, Midoriya-kun? Well done. It's not easy for someone without a Quirk to win against someone with one," she complimented me and I actually found my cheeks reddening in embarrassment--I'm weak to compliments, okay? I was starved of normal affections as a child, after all.

Mitsuki, Katsuki's mother, took Katsuki off me and I envied her adult strength for a few seconds before composing myself and bidding farewell to her.

Now I had my biggest hurdle yet - speaking to this body's mother, my new mother, and convincing her that I wasn't some sort of body snatcher...despite that being exactly what I am. Holy shit this is gonna be harder than I thought it was.