Plus Ultra

'The reputation of a hero is more important than their deeds. Hawkmoon is considered a hero in Europe whilst her ally, Master Railroad, is reviled. They fought in many of the same conflicts. The only difference is that it was Master Railroad who forced Stormwind to surrender. Stormwind who is considered a hero and liberator in Europe, and its staunchest defender. Is it any wonder then, that Master Railroad is one of Europe's greatest enemies, and his acts in service to the UN led to the European Union walking away from the UN? To be called a hero is simply a matter of reputation, not your deeds.'

—Excerpt from 'The Effect of Heroics' by Saruhiko Ando.

"All I've ever wanted to do is save people. Life is precious, and I love life. Maybe it makes me a fool, but I won't stop trying. I'd rather fail than give up before even trying."

Kurogiri watches Hisashi's son tell his story to a reporter, listening intently to the words of a foolish boy. When the interview ends, Kurogiri turns to face Sensei.

"And you think this boy can be an ally? After all he's said?"

There is a note of derision to his voice, one that Sensei undoubtedly picks up on. There are few people who have the audacity to insult this man in any way. Kurogiri is one.

"And what did he say?" Sensei asks, amused. "That Hokkaido is a problem that needs to be fixed. That he, the institute he goes to, and the industry he works for have failed. That he wants to change society in his image. What difference is there between us and him besides the final vision of society and the methods employed?"

"That fact that he's a hero and will oppose us."

"Really now? And when did he stop any crimes in Hokkaido? We were monitoring him every step of the way and he left our public agents alone. He didn't act on the criminal information we fed him at the soup kitchen. He may not know it is the League which keeps Hokkaido afloat, but he recognises the lesser evil. And if permitting lesser evils leads to a greater good, then he will be an ally."

"I doubt his moral compass will allow that."

"Everyone does, at first. But it starts with one step. He's already taken the first step and in time he will take another. Every time he sees something wrong with the world, he'll seek to change it. And if we show him the lesser evils, he'll permit them so long as it leads to eventual good. And, given enough time, he will commit the lesser evil himself. Humans are predictable like that."

"I hope you're right."

"I rarely am wrong these days."

Kurogiri huffs. "The same way you weren't wrong about how easily you would win against All Might? I very distinctly remember saving you after you underestimated his resilience."

"Wisdom is simply learning from your experiences," Sensei says, lacking the malevolence Kurogiri expects after a comment like that. "I had never lost before then. I had broken him and thought him dead. I didn't expect the hidden reservoir of strength he had left considering every detection quirk I had told me he was dead." Sensei leans forward. "One For All stockpiles quirks. I suspect one of the wielder's had a quirk like that. But, enough of that. Go meet Tomura's guests and acquire whatever they need. It should be interesting to see what he makes of them."

With a sigh, he opens a warp gate and heads to the base Tomura has taken over in the last few days when he isn't spending all day researching or speaking to Giran.

The base is lit well which makes it easy for Kurogiri to take in everyone.

Tomura looks strange in his large black jacket, more menacing and older at the same time. Stranger perhaps, because he now wears a mask that covers the lower half of his face instead of the hands Sensei destroyed as punishment.

"Kurogiri," Tomura says curtly, "you're just in time. Meet the Vanguard Action Squad."

He doesn't know many of them. Outside of Muscular and Moonfish, none of them has shown up on the news. He knows Dabi by way of their threat assessments and Toga by way of the many corpses she has left behind.

It is the reptilian mutant that gives him the greatest pause. The man dresses in a manner reminiscent to Stain: combat vest and a long crimson scarf, a dozen knives on his person, and an eye mask identical to the hero-killer.

Kurogiri dislikes him immediately, not least of which because he's a clear Stain fanatic. No, they've been watching Spinner for a long time and wrote off any potential he might have as a villain. Too honourable and noble to join their order.

Quite honestly, he was under the impression that Spinner was a vigilante.

"He'll be our transport and get whatever equipment you need."

Kurogiri bows shallowly. "As you say."

"We'll be launching a raid in a few days. Don't get caught and don't do anything to draw attention to yourselves."

"I'll kill whoever I want until then," Muscular growls, flexing his massive arms. "Don't tell me what to do."

Tomura cocks his head, as confused as a king would be at an ant screaming defiance.

"Kurogiri."

He creates a warp gate instantly, placing it around the villain's neck. It happens in the blink of an eye, faster than most of them can process.

"If I give the order, he'll close that gate," Tomura says to their shocked audience. "Doesn't matter how strong or fast you think you are. So, when I tell you not to cause problems, I expect you to listen. Is that understood?"

Muscular grins a bloodthirsty grin, a smile that has seen death and left orphans in its wake. It is cruel and sadistic and perfectly fitting for this giant man.

"Good," the man rumbles, still as a statue. "If you aren't strong enough to kill me then you aren't worth following."

He waits until Tomura nods before dissipating the warp gate. The tension in the room very slowly bleeds off. The tiny wisps of blue flame vanish from Dabi's arm. Spinner returns to his crouch. Moonfish's long teeth retract and he stops looming in his dark corner.

The people in this room are dangerous, nothing compared to the threats Kurogiri regularly deals with, but worthy of consideration. And in such an enclosed space, any fight would end badly.

He observes them as Tomura details the nature of his plan. He would sigh if not for the people with them because the plan is absurdly stupid, unlikely to succeed without extensive modification. He's not certain how accepting Tomura will be of any changes he makes.

"Twice, you are capable of creating more than one clone at a time, right?" Tomura asks though it's more a threat than anything else.

The villain looks to Tomura. "Fuck no." Then he glances at Kurogiri, apprehensive. "Sure."

It leaves Kurogiri sour that he's being used as a threat to coerce one of their allies.

Afterwards, he creates warp gates wherever they wish to be dropped off and collects the list of equipment each of them requires. Some are simple products he'll have a low-level agent deal with. Others, like the complicated weapon Spinner requires, will need to be fabricated. Thankfully, with their acquisition of the Detnerat Group, it'll be a trivial task.

The most confusing is the one the teenage boy, Mustard, asks for.

"This is military grade hardware," Kurogiri says. "The guns I understand, but this is military grade hardware."

The kid shrugs. "Plan and anticipate your enemy's movements. The Tenets of Combat taught me that." The boy grins. "They'll be the ultimate escape route. So long as we have them aimed at their bases, we can always escape with the threat of using them."

When did kids get this cynical?

Kurogiri should say no. Mutual destruction is always a terrible plan liable to go wrong in an instant. And yet, there is a cockiness to Mustard's grin that can only come from youth. He's so young it hurts Kurogiri that they're letting him make this choice.

And children have always been his weakness. Most importantly, Sensei gave the order to acquire whatever the Vanguard needs.

"All right," he says after a beat of silence. "I'll get them for you."

He isn't sure what will come from this decision. Ultimately, he can only hope that the consequences don't burn them all.

When that is done and he has procurement orders sent, Kurogiri returns to the bar.

"I would have helped you acquire and organise them," Kurogiri says, handing Tomura a glass of whiskey. "Recruiting Muscular was a dangerous proposition. He very well—"

"Shut up." Kurogiri falls silent, confused at the sudden hostility. "The Vanguard is mine. Not yours. Not Sensei's. Mine."

"The League is yours to inherit. I am loyal to you."

Tomura chuckles bitterly. "Are you?"

"Yes. I've served Sensei faithfully, but I went against the strongest man alive because you asked for it. I would suffer any pain for you."

"Then why did you let him take my hands?"

"Because you needed to be punished," Kurogiri snaps, startling them with his loss of control. "We've let you do as you pleased. You never worried about the consequences. I was supposed to raise you, but I never taught you that basic lesson."

"You're not my father," Tomura snarls. "And you won't ever be him."

It is a simple fact. One that hurts almost as much as the pain of thinking of his daughter. She may be dead and gone, but her memory haunts him.

He stares at Tomura for a long moment.

"You're right, I'm not your father," Kurogir says quietly. "But I was the one there for every nightmare. I was the one who made sure you slept through every thunderstorm. I was the one who bandaged your wounds and taught you everything you know. I bought you your first game."

He takes a step forward and places his mist hand on Tomura's shoulder.

The boy isn't his son and can never be that. They do not share the same blood or even the same interests. No, they are bound together by the plans of an ancient man. There should be nothing but a cordial working relationship at best.

But emotion makes a fool of logic.

Still, Kurogiri will always consider him a son.

"I don't care if you hate me or see me like some piece to discard. I would die for you. Not your goals. Not your ideals. Not your plans. I'd die for you, the boy I raised and the man he's becoming."

-TDB-

Shouto Todoroki sees the world differently now. His left eye shows the world normally in blues and reds and yellows. He sees it in shades of green: the dark green of Izuku's hair as his head bobs with whatever point he makes; the bright green of his eyes that always see the best in people; that odd shade of electrified seafoam that comes whenever he uses All Might's quirk.

It is his right eye, pitch black and altered by the godflame, that sees much more.

Midoriya sits on his desk, saying something about heroes that Shouto pays little attention to. He is bright and warm and kind in his left eye.

When he looks with his right eye, Izuku is a creature larger than the universe, a being of true dark sitting on an infernal throne outside of time, dread monsters above the laws of entropy and time and energy singing a songthatwillsunderalllife in the worship of their master.

It gives him a headache to pay attention to these two conflicting views. He understands now more than ever what Dark Shadow meant by calling Izuku anathema to real life, the life underneath their yellow sun and ruled by the forward arrow of time, and true dark, the beings in the deepest layers of the abyss that operate on sword logic and ruined throne worlds.

He stops seeing with his right eye, and the world returns to normal. Or, at least normal enough. He closes his left eye and the world is blurry to the right. More so now than after the Stain fight. It's not to the point that he can't make out details, but a part of him knows he won't be able to see the real world in a few months out of that eye.

"And that's why Stormwind vs. Hero is a stupid question. That's just a destructive draw that doesn't help anyone." Izuku gestures, almost smacking Shouto in the face.

Shouto pulls the hand disconcertingly close to his face to the surface of the table. He places his own above Izuku's as his friend—and that feels wrong, almost too little to describe everything between them—keeps on emphasising his point with his free hand.

Izuku's hand is slightly warmer than room temperature and littered with many tiny scars. Shouto traces a simple circle with his index finger against the expanse of Izuku's skin, letting his voice wash over him. There aren't many sounds more pleasant than his voice as he explains something he enjoys but they all revolve around Izuku in some form: the sound of his joyous laughter; the silence that comes only when he is vulnerable and terrified of everything around him; the simple way he says 'I would die for those I love' and the resounding echo of his promises made manifest.

A tingling down the back of his neck makes him realise someone is observing him. He glances to the right and sees… Tsuyu, he concludes. And the moment he notices her attention, he notices Kirishima and Uraraka watching him, and not paying any true attention to Izuku as he continues his rant about the ridiculousness of something or other.

"What?" he asks, voice not rising above a monotone.

Izuku stops speaking and looks to him immediately, the hand beneath Shouto's tensing with his worry. No one else would notice the mild distress.

"You two are pretty close," Ochaco says with a smile that's equal parts gentle and sharp as a blade. It draws the attention of everyone else in the class.

Izuku cocks his head, confused as ever. "Why wouldn't we be?" he asks as though being close to Shouto is the same as breathing.

"Right, but it's been what? Two, maybe three weeks since the Festival?"

Months for Shouto and Izuku but she will never understand that. Or, at least, he hopes she never does. There's a part of him that's long gone mad, a part of him that's weak and simpering. He burnt that part of himself on the pyre of his grief and sanctified it through hellfire and entropic ice. It had left someone strong and resilient.

"I heard the most interesting thing from Ojiro," Uraraka continues.

"I told you she'd find out," Izuku whines piteously.

Shouto tunes them out. They aren't that important to him. Maybe if Iida were here, he'd have more interest. They aren't his friends in the same way Iida is. There is no shared violence between them.

"I think we've established that Midoriya just picks up strays whenever he likes," Kirishima says fondly.

Shouto levels only a tiny bit of his attention to his classmate standing with his arms crossed. "I'm not a stray."

"Whatever. So what's the story with you giving an interview?" Kirishima asks.

"Well, I guess it's because…"

Shouto stops paying attention. He already knows the answer even without being told. There isn't much about Izuku he doesn't know and if it were important, he'd find out eventually. Instead, he just takes comfort in the indisputable fact that Izuku is here and nothing can change that.

"Hey, Momo, do you have a spare pen?" Jirou asks and for some reason that draws his attention.

He's not sure if they've spoken and he's taken care to ignore her. Not out of malice, but simply because they have no reason to talk. And Jirou returns the courtesy.

"Sure." Yaoyorozu raises her hand. There is a

sparkle /Heat to create the image/

and /of smouldering dreams/

the world /burning in effigy to draw/

stops. /the spark of Creation/

That light is not simply a unique property of her quirk.

This is the first time he has been near her quirk since the abyss and bonded the first flame to his soul. And right now, with the world standing still, she draws on that eternal flame to power her ability. It is a tiny spark, a small portion that was he outside he would never have noticed, but looking at it in action, he knows her ability intimately. The godflame is creation and destruction in equal measure, and she wields a tiny fragment of that creation.

He blinks and time resumes. Nothing has changed about the world. Yaoyorozu has a pen that she passes to Jirou, created from nothing but a dream and power.

No one notices that Yaoyorozu has stolen fire from the gods and uses it as she pleases.

He stares at her, unsure if he saw right. Even with his right eye, he can't see anything unusual about her soul. It isn't much different from any normal human.

It makes him wonder if she possibly could have bonded with the godflame had things been different, a queen instead of a king. More than that, he wonders what will happen if he binds a sliver of infernal fire to her soul.

Maybe later, he decides, because it sounds too intimate to do without express permission.

"Hey, Shouto." He blinks and looks to… Ojiro? "Please don't be like Shinsou and stare at her all day. Just ask her out."

He cocks his head, confused.

"What?" he asks in his usual monotone because he completely lacks the context to understand that statement.

"Huh, didn't know you could even like people like that," Asui adds. "Thought you were a frigid guy. Guess that fire is there for a reason."

He glances to Izuku who is engrossed in his conversation with Kirishima. Looks back to his classmates speaking to him as though they are friends, as though they move in the same social circle.

Instead of bothering with them, he simply grunts in annoyance. There, that will get them to leave him alone.

Izuku flicks him on the forehead, not turning around. "Play nice."

That sets Asui and Ojiro off. Both laugh as though they have any right to mock him.

"You're like a dog that needs to be trained," Asui says. "Midoriya really does pick up strays."

Fumikage—when did I start calling him that—enters the room and immediately Shouto can tell something is wrong. He looks only slightly past the real with his right eye and sees the flows of energy in him, shaped so much like chains. Except, when they last spoke there were only two. One to Dark Shadow—Old Bark, the godflame in his soul supplies—and the second for his dragon—Watatsumi.

Now, though, he sees dozens of thick chains of energy.

Shouto looks closer, letting the godflame burn away the barriers between reality and the unreal. He sees Tokoyami's soul in its entirety.

It is a massive expanse, equal parts the dark that suffuses Izuku and the searing heat of the godflame within Shouto. In the centre is a massive throne—the will of the slave king—upon which Fumiikage sits, surveying the legions of creatures chained to his throne and dragging it across the Disparity between light and dark. There is an egg held by this manifestation of Fumikage Tokoyami, ready to hatch new creatures to add to his horde.

He thinks back on Dark Shadow's words perhaps only a month ago, the claim that they were gods. Young, yes, but gods none the less. Even the forest of ancient trees, floating in the abyss on their long pilgrimage, claimed something similar.

The difference in strength between them is still great. Right now, should it come down to abyssal powers, he can still face off against Fumikage. But he knows that Fumikage hasn't truly settled into his powers. It is different from Izuku who rejects his nature, unintentionally weakening himself. This is simply a matter of time before Fumikage stands equal to them. Perhaps he may even surpass them.

He looks further and sees spectres of possible futures. Each possibly is like a sun, bright and luminous. Each atom of each sun is a pattern of events, links and connections between people and the cascading effect of their actions.

He parses through those futures, searching for one where Fumikage is happy.

It's hard, impossible really. He can't see Fumikage's future any more than he can Izuku's. But of them are beyond date and destiny, creating and collapsing an infinite number of possibilities with every decision they make.

But there are patterns to the collapsing stars, common threads that he can follow related to the people around them.

There is no pattern that ends with Fumikage happy at UA.

Shouto can stop it happening. But he understands the importance of freedom, even if it first comes with pain.

I'm sorry. It'll hurt for a long time before it gets better.

He glances at Izuku who is still distracted. I hope you understand.

"Kaminari, shut the fuck up," Sero hisses loud enough that everyone focuses on it.

Shouto tries to figure out the situation: Iida looks tense enough to punch someone even if he isn't looking at the two; Sero has Kaminari in a headlock with one arm and the other covers his mouth; Uraraka with a frankly terrifying smile.

"I'm just saying that—"

"Kaminari, it would be a good idea to keep quiet," Uraraka says calmly, as though her smile doesn't promise pain.

"I'm just saying—"

"He killed my brother," Iida interrupts, standing quick enough that his chair falls. "And you think you have any right to say that when I'm here. He was killing people."

So were we, Shouto thinks but does not say. There's a hierarchy of people he will side with. Fumikage and Izuku are at the top, followed by Iida.

"I'm not saying he was doing any good, but the way things were handled wasn't right."

"He's going to rot in prison like he deserves."

Izuku sighs.

"Hey, Iida, sit down," Izuku says sharply. "You have every right to be angry and hate Stain. No one's ever going to say you don't. But you tried to kill him—"

"Izuku," Shouto interrupts.

"No, fuck that. You know what you were trying, Iida, and that invalidates the reasons behind it. There was no good from what you were doing."

"He's in prison—"

"Without a trial," Izuku shouts, silencing the class. "Branding people villains and sentencing them to life in prison solves nothing. That's what Hinata Ononoki said and she was the biggest proponent to following the letter of the law. And we haven't even done that. We're doing everything wrong and we're gonna get more Stains if we don't change."

"And do what, destroy hero society?"

"Stain had a point," Izuku says, uncaring of the shock permeating the room. "I get where he's coming from."

"Midoriya, I usually agree with you but this time you're wrong," Kirishima says. "Maybe the fame's getting to you."

Shouto glares at Kirishima. Izuku hates media attention and being in the spotlight.

"When was the last time any of you went to Hokkaido or Shikoku?" Izuku waits a long moment for no one to raise their hands. "I spent three days in Hokkaido. I spent three days volunteering at a hospital, at a soup kitchen, at a mental ward. There was no one there to save because there were no villains. Heroes save people, sure, but it doesn't change much for someone down in the dirt."

"That doesn't mean he had a point."

"He did, and that's what pisses me off the most. His point wasn't that heroes were a problem. His point was that all of us, you, me, our family and neighbours, all of us perpetuate a simple problem. We don't help those in need."

"We're here because we want to be heroes and we want to save people. You're the one who said doctors and firemen are heroes as well." Kirishima's arms are crossed as he says that and he looks unimpressed.

"And they are. But when was the last time you heard about the underfunded hospitals in Hokkaido on the news or the rampant poverty in the region? People are surviving on subsidies that barely help, and no one gives a shit. No, all we care about is that Endeavour solved another case or Gang Orca dropped a rank, and let's not lie, it's because he's not a photogenic mutant. I'm part of the problem. I've got so much hero merch that I may have a genuine spending problem."

Izuku is standing, pacing with nervous energy. He seems giddy, exuberant, and ready to give his life for a stranger in a distant land.

"I'm not saying heroes have to go or anything so stupid, but we need to be better," Izuku continues. "Most of All Might's salary goes to campaigning for demilitarisation in Shikoku. I want to be a hero, that's never gonna change. But I don't want to be a hero if it means forgetting everyone else. Heroes save everyone in front of them, but they don't help the people they can't see. That's all Stain was fighting against. His methods were wrong and his actions can't be justified, but maybe if I start helping people, and all of you do the same, maybe we can make it so another Stain doesn't exist."

"That doesn't bring my brother back."

Izuku smiles sadly. "No, it doesn't. And I'm not asking you to forgive him or stop being angry. I'm just asking you to be a good hero so that no one else loses someone the same way you did."

Against his will, Shouto feels a smile grace his face. This is Izuku at his best, arguing for people to try and be better. Not the Izuku fighting for his life or making deals with monsters. None of those is as true as this person right here.

This is the Izuku willing to lay down his life for anyone.

Of course, that's exactly when Aizawa enters the class. The man looks slightly less tired than usual.

"I don't know if I even want to know," Aizawa says. "But you all have exams."

"The fuck exams are you talking about?" Bakugou roars.

Shouto makes a sound of confusion. He hadn't realised Bakugou was even in the room.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? If you fail these exams you don't get to go for the camp trip."

"Fucking what? Did you forget to tell us shit about these and now you're trying to cram it in like you planned it all along? Fuck you."

"Thank you for the colourful language, Bakugou. Now be a good student and shut up so the rest of us can forget about you."

Shouto only pays attention when he must change to his hero uniform, the same he wore during the internship. It's been repaired and remains just as functional as he likes it. No ridiculous cape like Izuku's or ostentatious cloak like Fumikage's.

His matchup is against Nezu. He will stand alone against the principal whilst his classmates are placed in groups of three.

Shouto looks at Nezu dispassionately. He understands why they've matched him against his principal. He opens his right eye once more and sees the shadows of what may come.

And finds himself disappointed.

This isn't a fight for his survival or even a fight to determine the future of the universe. This is just part of some petty scheme or other, something so far beneath the list of concerns that it is frankly sickening. He's spent months fighting gods and nightmares and has fought the famed hero-killer without worry for his life. This is nothing compared to either.

With a heavy sigh, he enters the fray and battles his principal.

And wins.

-TDB-

Fumikage Tokoyami stands in the centre of the rotunda, gazing dispassionately at the marble columns and the tiered floors. It is a sign of UA's wealth and power, from the granite columns to the solid wood panels. The ceiling is domed and plated with copper that's been corroded and turned a pleasing shade of green. For most other institutions and even government bodies, this would be their seat of power.

UA uses it merely as a destructible training ground.

He knows Hero Memorial Academy is just as opulent. In the very centre of the campus is a building of gleaming archways and glass spires and the stone walls Zimbabwean monuments are so famous for. This resplendent achievement of architecture and ingenuity exists for the sole purpose of housing the bodies of the titular Hero, whose death ended an entire Age of Heroics, and her lover Legion when they were struck down by poison at their wedding. They and the twenty family members who died are protected by the eternal vigil of a dozen soldiers.

This display of power by UA is not subtle and he knows it for what it is. It creates the impression of power and casual wealth to visitors and students. And after what he has seen battling in the shadows, Fumikage is not impressed. This is not strength but weakness, the fear of one day being toppled and fading away into obscurity.

The pouches strapped to his belt seem to weigh heavily. He fiddles with them, fingers obscured by the voluminous cloak draped over his shoulder. Modifying a hero costume isn't against school rules, and most can be attributed to style, but the goggles are too high-tech to be anything but a major modification, the pouches with the dark and light pellet directly affect his fighting style, and the interior of his cloak is a brilliant white.

A part of him knows that he will be called to answer for those changes, to speak the truth of what he did during his internship. The people he worked with and the deaths he witnessed, and some he willingly allowed to die by Dark Shadow's claws or Watatsumi's fire.

That is if Asui hasn't betrayed that final trust and already told the school.

The announcement for the test echoes across the rotunda. He prepares himself for the fight to come.

White smoke surrounds the space and dozens of copies of Ectoplasm surround him. He can't pick out the real Ectoplasm from the group but he's faced creatures that can clone themselves.

With the World Walker's aid, he is more suited to deal with numbers than ever before.

"As a courtesy," thirty voices say at once, "I'll warn you that I have no intention of moderating my strength. Do you understand?"

Fumikage nods once, a dozen white pellets in his hand. "I understand—"

Before the last syllable has left his lips, four of the clones pounce. They close the distance rapidly, graceful despite their peg legs.

Fumikage nearly fails to throw the white pellets on the ground before a peg leg clips him in the shoulder. The force rattles his arm and pushes him back just as a bright light fills the room.

His goggles filter the light and he dashes to the side before they can reorganise. Instinct screams at him and he ducks one of the clones and weaves to the right.

From the way it is moving, it is still blinded. But when he takes a step, the clone tracks the motion and closes the gap.

Is he tracking my sounds? Fumikage wonders just as he's kicked in the chest.

The force lifts him off his feet. He draws the black pellets and throws them to the ground before retreating.

He sprints through the doorway to the side, footsteps echoing loudly. He understands now just how insidious this place is. No matter where he goes, Ectoplasm will always be able to track him. Every corridor amplifies his every sound.

There are multiple ways to enter any space, like the three doors leading to different corridors, the staircase giving access both above and below. And, were ectoplasm capable of it, he could break through the walls.

He keeps running, never staying in one position whilst he thinks of a way to win. Ectoplasm is a hard counter to his abilities and everyone with a brain saw that during the Sports Festival. Single target combat is his strength, not crowd control.

A dozen clones appear before him. Dark Shadow, he calls, expecting his companion to respond immediately.

The demon stays silent.

His eyes widen as the clones cross the gap. Fumikage curses mentally and searches his soul for something appropriate for this.

Five threads of darkness streak through the air. At the end of each streak, a hound of quicksilver appears. The hunting pack bounds forward, leaving shimmers of twisted time behind them. Ectoplasm's clones pause at the sigh of these new creatures and five fall before diamond-hard claws.

These are hounds that hunt in the angles of time and the newest of his horde. These five are only a small part of the pack howling in his soul.

He throws another set of white pellets down the hallway. The bright flashes blind the clones and let the hounds tear through the clones with impunity. They do not see through something as mundane as electromagnetic radiation, but through the trails of golden time all living creatures bound to the laws of entropy leave behind.

When the white hallway is empty, he leans against the wall, breathing heavily. He rubs the spot where Ectoplasm's leg struck his chest, grateful that the armour plate took the brunt of the blow. Otherwise, he might not be able to stand.

The five hounds stand at attention before him. Like normal dogs, these hounds have fur made of long shards off-white crystal cold to the touch above their quicksilver bodies. They have empty pits where there should be eyes, a darkness that is disconcerting in the real world. Their fangs look like diamonds but are sharp as any blade in a maw that drips an acidic liquid that eats through the marble floor.

He pushes off the wall after having rested for twenty seconds. There's a set of stairs and he rushes towards them, the hounds running ahead of him. He summons five more and sends them the opposite direction to serve as a distraction and hopefully serve to confuse Ectoplasm.

They don't last long.

Fumikage shudders as he feels his hounds lose to Ectoplasm, their immaterial forms returning to his soul.

He's good, Fumikage acknowledges.

He reaches a balcony overlooking the central space of the rotunda, breathing hard from the sprint up multiple flights of stairs. For a moment, he thinks himself safe.

Then, like clockwork, the hounds all snap to attention just as a mob of clones jumps over the balcony railing, landing in their midst.

A clone weaves through the hounds, darting with the agility of a ballerina on speed enhancing drugs, whilst the others battle the hounds. Fumikage backs away as the clone flips forward over one hound, kicks off another—and in the process sends it straight into another—and lands cleanly past his protectors.

He considers summoning more of the hounds before a peg-leg whacks him in the face. Fumikage stumbles black, bleeding from the nose and mouth. His ears rings and white spots dance in his vision.

He throws a weak punch blindly, operating on instinct alone. A vice-like grip clamps around his wrist and pulls him forward. A knee to the torso stuns him, the pain tearing past whatever barriers he built against the pain.

He doesn't see the hound that leaps on the clones back and rakes long claws against its back until it pops. Through the haze of pain, and through the bond he shares with the pack, he gets the impression of danger/master and attack/kill/protect that they operate on.

Mostly, though, he lists to the side without Ectoplasm's grip on his arm. He slips over the edge and falls.

His eyes widen. There is nothing to catch him should he hit the ground. And from this height, that means serious injury, perhaps even death.

Dark Shadow.

No.

He curses in frustration then calls upon Watatsumi despite the pain. The dragon awakens. Its arms materialise and impale one of the walls, slowing him down.

Why will you not aid me? He throws down an entire pouch worth of black pellets and lets the darkness fill the space.

Because you took away my will. You took away what made me an individual. I am not yours to do with as you please.

He can sense the hounds tracking down Ectoplasm's clones through the dark cloud. The fights are vicious and short-lived. Ectoplasms defeated clones disappear in a burst of white whilst his hounds return to his soul in an explosion of darkness.

That's exactly what you became when you called me slaveking, he snaps.

Leave me be.

Vile traitor.

Fumikage puts the traitor out of his mind as a new clone rises, this one the size of a colossus. It crushes the remaining pack with its foot.

"Fuck me."

The colossus sweeps its arm and picks Fumikage in its grasp. Its grip is unyielding and threatens to crush him with contemptuous ease.

"Do you surrender?" the real Ectoplasm asks from his place on the ground right in the centre of the rotunda. He hasn't moved from his original spot. It simply means he hasn't been threatened by Fumikage this entire time.

And that makes him angry. A fire within his soul burns with his rage. The very idea that he hasn't progressed, that a retired and crippled pro hero who spends his time teaching can beat him with ease, turns his vision a shade of vivid red.

"No," he shouts.

Deep in his soul is an egg from the abyss, a gift from Maya, Izanami of the Royal Guard, and sometimes Agonist. It has been incubating, the creatures inside gestating with the protection of his soul and waiting for a catalyst to hatch.

His rage is that catalyst.

It is a single egg, but the shell is made of layers upon layers of glass unshattering. Each layer is another egg in another dimension.

When the egg breaks, it is a thousand eggs breaking in the same metaphysical space. It is not one crow that rises from the shattered egg but a thousand more. All they have ever known is Fumikage and his rage. They rise to the surface of his soul, not once needing to be commanded.

And when they are at the barrier between his infinite soul, an endless world of chains and slavery, he unleashes them upon the mortal world.

He opens his mouth and roars in anger, a portal appearing at the end of his beak. A flock of angry crows appears, growing larger and larger and larger. They fly on wings with feathers of glass unshattering. Their tail feathers ending in gold chains that jangle and sing a single crystal-clear note: a ringing sound that encompasses the rage of the slaveking. It is not a pleasant sound, but it is the truest sound in the room.

The flock of crows tears through the giant clone with talons better suited to feast on dread beasts and undying gods. Against a giant made from mere mortality, they are disappointed in the ease of the task.

When the clone is dead, Fumikage falls to the ground and lands roughly on his knees. With a single command, the flock returns to his soul. All but one bird which chooses to stay. He extends his arm and it alights there gently, careful not to scratch him with sharp talons.

The bird has three glowing green eyes like those of a Hive god and long horns that twist and coil like cruel spires reaching towards a desolate future.

"Are we done?" he asks a stunned Ectoplasm.

The man cocks his head. "I suppose we are. I accept defeat."

It turns its head to look at Ectoplasm. Then, it opens its mouth and screeches. The sound warps the air, exultation and warning at once. The sound hits him right in the bones and all the way down to the marrow.

The sound makes him smile.

-TDB-

Izuku Midoriya stands in an open field against his opponent. There is no place to hide or run. No, all he can do is fight and hopefully win.

Win against All Might.

Even he doesn't have delusions of that happening. Not unless All Might is hobbled, which he is, and moderating his skills, which he hopefully is.

"My boy, I suggest you come at me with everything you have. I am stronger than you imagine."

Izuku isn't sure what happened to his mentor but something is different. There is a strength to him that he lacked. No, it's more like he can bring to bear more of his strength than usual.

"Bring it," he says with a bloodthirsty grin.

The battle begins.

Izuku isn't like All Might. He lacks the innate physical prowess to wield his quirk like his mentor. He may never have the power to punch as hard as his mentor.

But that's fine. He's not as fast in a straight line. But, when the distance is zeroed, all that matters is turning faster. And Izuku is just the slightest bit faster to turn.

The moment the battle begins, Izuku darts forward, a blur to normal eyes. All Might dodges his first kick and simply tanks his punch.

When All Might punches with enough force to crush a truck, Izuku kicks the hand aside just a tad. Just enough for him to scramble to the side.

Just enough for him to pirouette with the momentum and kick low and hard.

He isn't trained to use his fists like All Might. Taekwondo is the foundation of his fighting. Striking with his feet feels so much more natural than his fists.

And his legs are naturally stronger than his arms. They can take a tiny fraction of One For All more than his arms can.

Shadows rise and pull All Might back. He breaks the bond but the stumble is enough for Izuku to capitalise on. He kicks All Might's knee and jumps to the side before his mentor can respond.

All Might flicks his finger and a shockwave of force knocks Izuku off his feet. The move is unexpected because he's never seen All Might use it. No, it's the same move he used against Shouto at the sports festival.

He lands on his back and rolls with the momentum. Just in time to see All Might bringing his fist down in a mighty blow.

He jumps off All Might's arm and flips in the air. With the momentum, he brings his leg down in a mighty axe kick.

All Might blocks the blow with crossed arms, not showing any signs of difficulty. Disheartening, but he never expected to overpower someone as strong as All Might. The chasm in strength and speed and experience is one nearly impossible to shatter.

Any monument can be defeated. If he has no weakness then create it.

He blinks and hides his grin. Mikumo is right, All Might has no weaknesses. So Izuku will force one.

With that, he resumes the fight with renewed determination.

When All Might moves to grab him and pin him down, Izuku darts like an eel around the move, twisting around his mentor. He pauses only to slam his foot in All Might's knee before getting out of range.

Every blow he can land is on that one knee. Oh, certainly All Might is careful to protect it, but focusing his defence on one side leaves tiny opening Izuku attacks. And Izuku punishes each opening with a crushing blow, drawing as much of One For All as he can.

The blows are blocked in general, but sometimes he can sneak an attack to that knee if he moves fast enough. As their fight progresses, Izuku moves faster and faster, settling into a rhythm that he controls.

His kick is high and All Might blocks it with one arm easily. That's fine. He crooks his leg at the knee, trapping the arm, and brings it down.

With his guard low, Izuku twists with the momentum and slams his knee in his mentor's face. All Might's head moves an inch.

Maybe less.

He knows All Might is toying with him. There's no way he can win. This man is a monument to strength.

Still, Izuku summons a rod of darkness and slams it against his mentor's knee once more. All Might's eyebrow twitches. Maybe in annoyance.

Weakness, Mikumo answers as Izuku takes a blow to the side. It cracks a few ribs, but Izuku has suffered through worse.

He isn't Katsuki who thrives on instinct. No, he needs to think things through a dozen moves in advance. Except, he knows that's one of his great weaknesses.

Izuku lets go and stops thinking. His body knows what to do. Thinking is just another barrier it must break before sending instructions to his body.

He makes a shield of darkness, an impenetrable fortress.

All Might shatters it with a single blow, his fist seemingly coated in steel for a moment.

Izuku ignores the oddness. He only needed the shield to distract All Might for half a second.

Green lightning and eight generations of power crystallise. He moves faster than ever before and moves to stand beside his mentor, leg raised in a kick he has seen once and attempted a thousand times over.

It is a simple back kick, the striking action performed with the heel. Nothing special taken out of context. And yet, with his mind blank like this, he performs it the same way Jin showed him months ago.

The world splits.

He's attacking All Might from one side while he attacks from the other at the same time he's attacking from behind him. Three blows performed so fast that they may as well be done at the same time.

Third stance Hwechook, Mikumo whispers, amazed as All Might stumbles back, dazed.

Izuku doesn't share that amazement. This is the first time All Might's knee is completely exposed.

He spins, generating momentum. With every ounce of power he can draw, Izuku kicks All Might's knee.

His mentor stumbles to the side, defence broken completely.

He's already moving to finish this fight. He makes a spear of true dark, the inky malevolence of his kingdom, and prepares his final blow.

He thrusts the spear forward.

You can do this, brother, Mikumo says proudly.

All Might's back is unprotected. The man lists to the side, off balance from the last two attacks. This is his chance. Every skill he has learnt, every lesson he has been taught, all the experience from all the battles crystallises into one perfect victory.

There is pain. There is darkness. Then there is light.

Izuku looks around slowly. It's been a long time since he's been here. His body is walking down a narrow passage. As always, he reaches out and to the rainbow light. Like water, they part around his finger. He looks forward and sees the eyes, bright as any fire.

Except, this time there is only one. One being watches him. Just from seeing him, Izuku can tell he is the first. And he will be the last.

You did not save us, the voice says, loud as a burning forest.

He reaches out against the darkness. "I tried," he says.

You will never be a hero.

The darkness wraps around the last figure and drags it away. Its burning eyes watch Izuku with emotions he can't decipher.

He has won.

And then Izuku is falling hard and fast to the darkness. He reaches out to the being just before it is destroyed by someone wrapped in darkness and wielding a green bolt.

Izuku wakes slowly, his head pounding. He winces, trying his best to recall any part of that dream. Like mist, it slips through his grasp, leaving him with the vague sense that something monumental has happened.

It takes him a moment to master his migraine and look around. He isn't in the field any longer. No, he's on All Might's back.

"Good job," All Might says without looking back. "You've improved a lot."

Izuku blinks away the last spots in his vision. "I lost?"

All Might sets him down and stops Izuku from stumbling.

His mentor grins and it hurts more than anything. "Your plan was good but you shouldn't have gone after my knee again. I simulated being off-balance and vulnerable. You should have gone for the final blow instead."

He swallows. "I see."

"Hold your head high, my boy. You have improved greatly."

"Right," he says, forcing a bright grin.

When All Might is gone, he lets the tears fall. He cries silently, not making a single sound. It isn't fair. What has all the suffering been for if he still loses this easily? Victory was his by right.

"I was so fucking close."

That was cruel, brother. He stole that victory you rightfully earned.

"Then why the fuck did I lose? Tell me why I'm not strong enough."

You're stronger than you know. You've killed gods and made blasphemous worlds. No matter what, I am proud of you.

-TDB-

Shouta Aizawa is tired from his evaluation of Yaoyorozu, Jirou and Bakugou. But he is also proud. The three have come a long way and work well together. Bakuguo most of all surprises him as he never expected his most unruly student to listen to any plan.

And yet he listened and executed the plan perfectly. And when the plan failed, he gave Jirou and Yaoyorozu the time they needed to escape and win the exam.

He's taken the right lessons, Shouta thinks. He'll be a good hero if he keeps on growing like this.

Shouta is glad he counselled Bakugou to take Edgeshot's internship instead of Best Jeanist. He respects Jeanist for his technical competency, but more than anything, Bakugou needs someone to cultivate patience and precision. Edgeshot has done just that, filing down Bakugou's reckless attacks and tempering them.

His door opens. Shouta looks up and sees a tired looking Fumikage.

"Aizawa-sensei, I have to speak with you."

Shouta stares at the boy in the threshold of his office. There's something off about the way he stands, too tense as though expecting a fight. His hands are clenched in fists that he can see through his trousers, and his red eyes seem to smoulder with tightly controlled rage.

He looks nothing like the boy from before the internships.

No, it was just before the Sports Festival that he started changing.

Shouta gestures for the other chair. If he can help it, then he refuses to lose another student.

"Thank you," Tokoyami says, settling into the chair. He sits ramrod straight.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I believe you are aware my quirk has shown… developments, ever since the festival."

"Which you chose to keep secret," Shouta reminds in light reprimand. "I didn't pursue it afterwards due to the fallout of the event. I'm glad you chose to come here personally after your exam. There is, however, a reason that we require notice of quirk drift. Especially in cases that, from all accounts, involve fire matching those of Shikoku."

The boy shifts. "The contents of that interview were to remain sealed."

"You're my student. I wasn't going to simply ignore it."

"That is not the point. That's a subversion of the law, of due process. What lesson do you seek to inspire in me if you so flagrantly disregard the law?"

"Tokoyami," he says in reprimand.

The boy sighs.

"In truth, my quirk is not Dark Shadow. It never was. Dark Shadow was simply the only manifestation I was capable of. My quirk lets me… create constructs. Those arms you saw during the festival were the same."

"Don't lie to me. Don't feed me some stupid story. Tell the truth or say nothing."

Tokoyami inclines his head, accepting of the reprimand. "I apologise."

"As you should."

"My quirk is similar to Izuku's."

A sudden chill runs down his spine. There are too many ways that statement can be taken. He understands the superficial connection where Midoriya manipulates shadows, Tokoyami has a creature made of it. But the fear he feels in his bones, and the memory of the walking nightmare, make him hesitant to take it superficially.

"Explain."

"By what means. You made me sign an NDA. I could hardly speak to Midoriya of his own quirk."

Shouto stares at the boy, eyes hard as steel. "When we're talking about a quirk like that then you can ignore it."

"Ignore the law for answers. I suppose that is nothing special." There is a bitterness to his words. "I will alleviate your immediate concern. I haven't perished by any means nor do I intend to test the limits of my mortality."

He lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "And you will never. Understood?"

"But where Izuku controls shadows, I can control nightmares made real. Everything you have seen is because of that."

"And why didn't you tell us immediately."

Tokoyami shrugs. "Because I did not trust you. Because I needed to find answers on my own."

"You should have come to us."

"And how would you have helped me?" Fumikage's eyes are cold as he stands. "You know nothing of this matter. If you did, I would be able to tell immediately."

"Do you think I wouldn't try to help you?"

The boy shrugs. "I can't say. Help comes from the strangest place. I suppose I came only to tell you the truth. My purpose is accomplished."

That leaves Aizawa feeling hollow, a cold pit settling in his chest.

Fumikage stops at his door. "Sensei, if you had to choose between my life and that of my entire class, what would you choose?"

"I wouldn't. That question represents a false moral dichotomy. Sometimes you can't save everyone, but you don't go into a situation expecting to sacrifice someone."

"Of all people, I thought you would understand." He sounds so disappointed. "Sensei, if it came down to it, I would sacrifice myself for the many."

"Self-sacrifice is not the same as willing consigning others to death."

Tokoyami raises his left hand. "A thousand lives here." He raises the other. "A dozen lives there." He closes his right hand, the one with the few. "I know what choice I would make. And I would sleep well at night knowing the right choice was made."

The boy from the Battle Trial, scared and lost and questioning his ideals, is now gone. There is nothing but cold logic and burning rage. He's seen those eyes before. The cold ruthless calculus reminds him most of Nezu. But that rage, it reminds him too much of Bakugou at his worst.

"That's not what it means to be a hero," he says harshly. "And if you think that way, I'd rather expel you than let you go on."

"Expulsion isn't a fear I hold. Not any longer. I saw people die. I saw people I couldn't save. If I had been less hesitant, if I had been willing to sacrifice one, then perhaps a dozen more would be alive."

"You weren't ever supposed to be put in a situation like that. Hawks wouldn't have let you make that choice."

Tokoyami shakes his head. "Hawks never had a say in the matter."

"He was supposed to watch over you."

"I never met Hawks."

Shouta blinks in confusion, a certain dread creeping in on him. "He would have told us if you didn't go for your internship."

He watches the boy finger the clasp of his cloak, nervous almost. Except, there's a level of deliberation to the action.

"Only if he knew I accepted in the first place."

"What did you do?"

The boy flicks the latch on his cape. One side falls down his side, long cascades of dark material flowing over his back to reveal a white interior. The white is pristine and may be a perfect white, not something close to white, but the purest of whites.

It is the same shade he has seen the Emperor wear, the same shade the man known as Itinerant wore to warn him away from the Midoriya home. It is the same white that Hisashi Atakani wore when he came and threatened UA with ruination.

He sees a boy willing to sacrifice others without remorse, dressed in the perfect white silks of monsters, and proud to do so. He sees a student burning with rage and righteous indignation.

He sees a student indoctrinated by the imperial family, so far into their grasp that he can't see the chains around his neck. He sees a boy proud to work with a group that sank an island. A group that took part in the Purge, the same Purge that saw his mother die.

Shouta sees a student he has failed utterly and completely.

Cracking their indoctrination is impossible given three weeks, he remembers Nezu saying, remembers Nezu admitting to failure.

"I saw the truth and could no longer stand back."

"There is no good that can come from being their dog," Shouta says tiredly, so fucking tired of it all.

Why, you idiot, why?

"You saw what became of Midoriya. I assure you, I've seen worse. And I'm willing to sacrifice myself to protect people."

He has made so many mistakes in the past, most of them with his students. He failed Nagisa and Rei and the rest of his class two years ago.

And now, because of his trust, he has made another mistake. He trusted Fumikage to tell the truth, trusted him not to do anything stupid. Trusted in his honour and nobility. Trusted him to make the right decisions or to seek help if he didn't know what the decision was.

And now that trust has been betrayed.

"They're a paramilitary organisation that operates as they please. Every crime, every atrocity they've committed, will be your crimes and your atrocities. I hope you're proud of your decision."

Closing his heart to the pain is difficult. Students are children and they are always his responsibility to raise. But he can only do so much when they aren't in his sight. He can give them tools and lessons, but it is always up to them to choose what they take from them.

"No, but—"

"Because you're expelled."

Fumikage's eyes are wide, equal parts shock and terror and childlike confusion. It is a sight he has seen with every expelled student. It never stops hurting.

"But—"

"You made your choice. Live with the consequences."

He thinks of the millions who died in Taiwan, the recordings of their final moments a collective scar on the Japanese psyche. He thinks of the chaos from the anti-quirk riots of his childhood, of that year of fear and terror and warfare.

Most of all, he thinks of his mother, long gone and burnt in black flames.