Chapter 60: Dealing With Devils
Every muscle in his body seizes. His stomach tries to force its way out of his mouth. The world darkens and begins to spin. He feels his knees give out, and he collapses on all fours. His heart hammers in his chest, frantic like his mind. His breathing turns ragged. He dry-heaves, fighting back bile. "He… he…" It's impossible to say. Every second he thinks about it, the walls close in even more. He can feel himself start to suffocate. The room is suddenly too small for him to breathe, and every shred of his instincts tries to get him to claw his way out. But he can't move.
Fear—vile, ugly, and oppressive—seeps into his chest from his mind and settles into his gut. He's paralyzed, frozen solid like a statue. Or a corpse. The stench of blood and guts fills his nostrils, stinging his eyes. He tastes the coppery liquid in the back of his throat. Not even the bitter taste of vomit washes it away. He's trapped by his own sensory system, his body refusing to move no matter how much he begs for it to run. Memories that aren't his start to flow, indistinguishable from each other.
"Oh, brother dear. I still love you. But I can't let you run around. You've given me no choice."
"A pity. I really was curious. Oh, well, I guess the secret will die with you."
"Any last words?"
"How does that scar feel? Does it remind you of your master? He died crying, you know. He died thinking that I was going to kill you and end this foolish legacy. He was right in the end."
"How pathetic. You think you're strong enough to stand up to me? I am All for One! The strongest being to ever live. You are nothing but an ant for me to squash."
"Your master put up a better fight than this."
"A pity. I'll have to kill him next time."
"Do you know what your master felt as she died? Fear. Pain. Grief. Despair. I dragged it out, making sure she knew just how poorly she chose when her master offered the Quirk to her. I practically dissected her! It's remarkably hard to keep a human body alive without the lungs or heart, but, with my expertise, I managed. Oh, how she begged for anesthesia."
He feels himself start to break. A tidal wave of nine generations worth of pain slams into him, and he can barely cling to who he is. It's exhausting, and he feels him start to cry. But something else stirs, a beacon in the storm. Light rises from the inky depths, and They whisper in his ear.
"Rest all that you need."
"Get back up stronger than ever."
"Don't waste this power, boy."
"You are safe. You are strong."
"Don't get scared. Get angry and get revenge!"
"There's no shame in sensible cowardice."
"Go ahead and cry, kiddo. It'll make you feel better, but get back up once you're done."
"Whenever you're scared or nervous about a fight, put on a smile! You'll trick your opponent into thinking you're in control, and you'll start to think everything's okay!"
The storm wears itself down, and he slowly pulls himself back together. He breathes, deep and even. His pulse is still wicked fast, and adrenaline still screams through his veins. Fear sits in his stomach, dark and thick like swamp water. But he can bear it. Shakily, he stands. He brushes off his front and swallows. He's thirsty, and he feels like he's aged twenty years in two minutes. But he's alive. And so is All for One.
The thought almost makes him crumble again, but he holds fast. That monster had already broken him down twice. If he's really going to face him one day, then he can't let him rule his mind. So he takes the scared little kid deep inside of him—the one that's always been the source of the whispers of self-doubt and fear—and shoves it away. He's in control. The him right now, who's one of U.A's top students, who's saved lives and brought hope to those in need—that's who's in charge, calmly, and grabs the detective by the arm.
"Grab the files. Let's go."
Danger Sense runs wild as Izuku leads Tsukauchi out the door. His mind is still screaming at a million miles an hour, and One for All is desperately trying to pick up on anything that might be a threat. But there's nothing, and once the Quirk is sure they're safe for the time being, the anger comes. Izuku keeps an iron grip on the power. He has to, otherwise the whole lower level would be ripped to shreds by Blackwhip. One for All wants to destroy All for One in particular, but right now? With decades of peace and freedom from its greatest enemy robbed from it in an instant? It isn't picky about venting its rage.
"We need to call All Might," Tsukauchi says, remarkably calm, though Izuku didn't have to be a doctor or anything to know that the man's pulse is elevated beyond anything resembling his normal resting heart rate. "He needs to know."
"All Might is patrolling right now," Izuku grits out, struggling against his Quirk. "There's no way for us to contact him. We just need to get out of here and somewhere safe and secure. But where?"
"UA," Tsukauchi says, stopping in front of the door to the interrogation chamber. Nervously, he starts to tap his foot. "Nedzu has an emergency beacon, just for him. We'll call your principal, have him activate the signal, and drive over."
"Flying is faster," Izuku says. Tsukauchi shakes his head.
"Too suspicious. If he sees you flying away from where his henchmen are being held with one of All Might's friends who's carrying an armful of sensitive files… we may as well post something on the internet announcing his existence to the world. I'll drive us."
"We'll need to pick up Gran Torino, then," Izuku says, watching as the final door starts to unlock. "He needs to know, too. How fast can you drive?"
"I've got sirens and flashes, so as fast as we need." Tsukauchi steps to the side of the door as it swings open, tossing Izuku the files with a nod. Izuku frantically hides the files behind his back, unsure if he needs to hide them. "Sir, I will not be conducting my interrogation," he addresses the guard. "Please take us up."
"You're supposed to be extracting vital information," the guard says. "You better have a damn good reason for this."
"I believe I need more time to analyze the data," Tsukauchi says smoothly. "In fact"—he reaches out a hand and Izuku hands him the files back—"I'll be taking these with me. Locked in the squad car, of course, and with a hero escort." The guard looks at Tsukauchi and then at Izuku. They both hold firm, cool and confident in their lie.
"Fine," the guard says. "But the other four have to leave too. I'm not having them loiter in my prison."
The elevator ride up is a mixture of tense suspicion and awkward sadness. Mic dabs tears away from his eyes, and Midnight rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. Ingenium stares blankly at Aizawa, his thousand-yard stare keeping all his thoughts away from prying eyes. Aizawa, however, looks at Izuku with marked interest. Of course, Izuku can't tell exactly what the man looks like—doing so would mean looking at him—but he knows he's being looked at like a piece of prey. Probably as a distraction from Aizawa's feelings, but that's a small comfort. His homeroom teacher knows something's up, and Izuku can't do anything to dispute it.
The elevator stops, dings, and opens. There's already another squad of guards lining the path out, and the one who rode with them in the elevator joins the ranks. Izuku and Tsukauchi walk out before the older heroes and quickly make for the exit. A handful of guards follow, keeping close and holding their guns tight. Once they're through the minimum-security section, the check-out process takes a short while. They all pick up a few items they couldn't take in, and the warden takes them to the gate.
"I can give you the escort, Detective," Aizawa says, already walking to Tsukauchi's car.
"Respectfully, Eraser, I would prefer Midoriya for this," Tsukauchi says, blocking the other man from getting any closer to the vehicle. "You… that was a rough few minutes, and you're tired. All of you are. I suggest that you take some time off and rest. Your student will do a fine job of keeping me safe—not that I'm in any danger!" he quickly adds. "It's just procedure. One person cannot transport physical copies of sensitive files alone. There's little risk for us, though, and I'll take us through crowded areas with lots of heroes."
"Fine," Aizawa grunts. "But both of you better check in when you get to the station."
"We will," Izuku says, catching Aizawa's eye. "I'll call you as soon as we get to the police station. I'll make sure nothing happens on the way there."
Izuku and Tsukauchi wave goodbye to the teachers as they pull out of the prison parking lot. As soon as everyone's out of sight, the detective floors it. There are no cars around, but the sirens start to go off anyway. Izuku watches as the needle of the speedometer goes above one hundred fifty kilometers. "Aizawa is going to have questions," Izuku says, feeling the engine of the car change gears and rev up even more.
Tsukauchi's knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "One thing at a time." He signals right and hooks a turn, barely dipping below one hundred before picking up speed again. "Worry about him later. There's bigger fish to fry right now."
"Yeah," Izuku says, nervously looking out the window. He lets One for All bubble to the surface, keeping it on a tight leash but taking the warmth of the lighting as a sort of security blanket. "Is this what it was like? Back then, when he was around?"
"You mean were we scared out of our minds and living in constant fear?"
"That, yeah."
"No." Tsukauchi takes a turn into a highway ramp and merges at a hundred and forty kilometers an hour. The small number of cars on the road change lanes to avoid him, and there are a few rude gestures to be spotted through the windows. "I came in late to the party—two years before the fight—but we had tabs on him. Nighteye was great at that. Even if we didn't know the specifics, we knew something. Addresses, laundering fronts, suspects. Now, though?" Tsukauchi laughs humorlessly. "We don't have a clue. We know he's kidnapping people for experiments, and we have two of his men. But behind that, there's nothing. We don't know what condition he's in, how deep his pockets are, who's under his thumb, or even why exactly he's hiding. That's why I'm scared, Midoriya. I just don't know."
Izuku swallows. "We need to call Nedzu."
"Yeah, definitely."
Izuku dials with his gloves on, not wanting to have them off in the event of an attack. Nedzu picks up on the second ring, and Izuku doesn't even let him get a word in before he yells, "All for One is alive!" into the mic.
"Who?" Nedzu asks, and Izuku almost chucks his phone out of the window, but there's a click on the other end of the line. "For the future, the code for a switch to a secure line is 'Care for some raspberry tea'."
"Understood, sir," Izuku says, "but you heard me, right?"
"I did. Are you sure about it?"
"Completely. Detective Tsukauchi is, too. He's here with me."
"Hello!" the detective calls, passing a flashy-looking sports car. "Can't talk now; my eyes are on the road."
"I thought I heard sirens," Nedzu comments. "But is there a shred of doubt in your mind, Midoriya?"
"Not one. We have files and hard evidence to prove it."
"Oh dear," Nedzu says. "And Yagi's on patrol…"
"Tsukauchi says you have a beacon."
"I do. I'm on my way to hit it right now. Do you know where Torino is?"
"The gym," Izuku says, turning to the detective. "Head for Musutafu; we'll pick him up."
"I'd caution you against taking the main road. You're on the highway, correct?"
"How—"
"It's fairly easy to track a phone. But there's a villain attack on the main highway to—"
Up ahead on the road, a massive explosion goes off, the cartoonish mushroom cloud blowing to the side and sending concrete flying. Izuku swears something foul.
"I take it you found it."
"Yeah," Izuku says, getting a little queasy as Tsukauchi slams on the breaks. "I can deal with it quick."
"Heroes are already in response."
"I don't like the way you said that, sir," Izuku says, opening the door as the car slows to a halt.
"They're not strong enough to deal with the villain."
"Am I?"
"Possibly."
"Then I'll fight. It's my duty to the people, and their lives matter just as much as our meeting. I'm giving you to Tsukauchi now. Detective!"
The last thing Izuku catches from Nedzu is a stern "Be careful!" as he tosses the phone back into the car. The detective catches it and wishes him luck as he backs up and tries to find a way around the disaster. Izuku takes a deep breath and calls for his power.
"You're mad," he says, taking to the air for a visual on the source of the explosion. Deep inside of him, One for All snarls. "Yeah, I get you. I'm… I'm still scared out of my mind, but I'm mad, too. I'm mad that I have to deal with him, I'm mad that I'm not strong enough yet, and I'm mad that I can't go one day without getting into trouble." Izuku takes a deep, shuddering breath. From up above, he catches sight of a hulking villain smashing apart the highway and batting aside heroes. "We're both in luck, though. Someone's volunteered to be our punching bag." One for All screams in glee, and Izuku grins as he starts to dive down. There are no news crews on the scene, but his feral snarl will be burned into the memories of those watching.
"Bismarck Smash!" Izuku screams, throwing out two whips to bind the villain's arms and pulling with all his might. His feet slam into the back of their neck, breaking their stance and sending them crashing into the already broken pavement. Izuku wastes no time in tying their hands together and screaming at the other pros around him to get the civilians to safety. But the villain isn't done yet.
"A new challenger!" the villain exclaims, standing up and straining against Blackwhip. Izuku struggles to keep a hold as the villain's skin starts to warp and peel, pink fibers spilling out of them. "Show me your blood!"
Izuku drops Blackwhip and pushes off the villain's back just as his enemy starts to spin. He files through the air, carefully controlling his trajectory. A single strand pulls him back to the ground, right in front of the villain. They're a large, blond male, approximately thirty years of age. They're smiling, and Izuku feels his guts twist when he sees a red stain on the villain's pants leg.
"Ooh, you're a young one," the villain says. A writhing mass of pink and red breaks through the surface of the skin on his right arm, enveloping the appendage in a form of body armor. "But you're quick and strong, too. I'm gonna have fun killing you!"
The villain starts to charge, and a million things run through Izuku's head at once. The man is strong and has some form of resistance to attacks. His Quirk is either a transformative or an emitter, one that gives him supernatural strength. But how much? Izuku can't fight someone dangerous like this without a proper read on their abilities. Making a move based on faulty information will get him killed. So he charges too.
They meet in the middle, sending a shockwave through the air and ground around them. Izuku braces himself against the mass of tendons and muscle fibers, screaming as every ounce of him pushes. But forty percent isn't enough. The villain pushes him back, screaming in joy. He ups the power level to forty-five percent and wraps his body up in Blackwhip, but it barely slows his loss of ground. Realizing he's outclassed in terms of strength, Izuku ducks. The villain stumbles forwards, and Izuku dives between his legs. Spinning, he sends them off balance, and they crash into the floor. And then he starts to fly.
There's no way he can out-brute this villain. Their Quirk is simply better at generating force than his upper limit with One for All, and Izuku hasn't seen how good they are at hand-to-hand combat, which means that he's at an even greater disadvantage in a head-to-head clash. But he's never once relied on raw power to get the job done. Below him trails the villain, swinging back and forth like a pendulum as Izuku climbs higher and higher. When the air starts to turn cold, and the oxygen thins, Izuku spins. The villain whips around him, over his head, again and again at insane speeds. With one final spin, Izuku lets him go, and he flies higher into the sky.
"Milwaukee Air Force!"
His gauntlets slide down, cupping around his fists as Izuku pulls his arms down and punches upwards. Twin columns of air burst into existence, spiraling right into the villain. They slam into him, one to his stomach and the other to his head. Izuku doesn't let up. He keeps punching, aiming for wherever the villain doesn't have his Quirk activated. The crotch, the throat, the ribs, the gut, the feet, the hands, the eyes. Months of diligent practice and the occasional aiming lesson with Snipe pay off. But his wind isn't quite strong enough to bring the villain down. However, it is enough to stun the man enough for Izuku to close the distance.
And close the distance he does. Izuku knees the man across the jaw, flipping over his head and slamming his fists into the spot between his shoulder blades. Muscle fibers spasm as the villain instinctively lets his Quirk loose. Recognizing the danger, Izuku kicks himself away. The villain starts to fall, picking up speed. Izuku watches him for a moment, waiting. When the time is right, he goes into a dive, passing the villain and attaching a whip to the man's foot. He stops dead, and the line pulls taught.
There's a snap in the air as all the energy the villain built up in his fall slams into his body. The man dangles, limp. Calmly, though his heart is racing, Izuku pulls him up and checks his pulse. It's a grave mistake.
"Die!"
The man grabs Izuku's wrist, nearly crushing it in his grip. Izuku cries out as he's decked right in the face. Blood splatters, and a sickening crack breaks his nose. He and the villain start to fall, with Izuku being used as a shield for the wind. And the ground. Izuku fights as the pavement grows closer and closer. He digs his elbow into the man's stomach, but the impact is absorbed. Once and only once he's sure there's no way for him to break free, Izuku goes to his last resort.
The villain is strong and tough. But his Quirk is the generation of muscle fibers. They're great for absorbing blunt impact and shrugging off his punches. But they're not strong enough to ward off penetrating attacks like the strand of Blackwhip Izuku shoves through the man's torso and out the other side.
"What did you—"
Izuku breaks free, but the whip stays. The villain's eyes widen as he looks down at the black tendril buried in him right above his hip. Izuku cocks his fist back and channels One for All into his arm. It'll hurt, and no one will be happy with him, but this villain is too dangerous to warrant anything other than complete security in his imprisonment.
"Smash!"
At one hundred percent, Izuku hits him in the cheek. It's absorbed by the muscle fibers, but not nearly enough. The man goes limp, and a nasty bruise forms. Sighing in relief, Izuku wraps him in a net of Blackwhip. One for All takes care of his arm on its own, gingerly cocooning it in darkness. Izuku pops one of the capsules off his belt. He takes the gauze in his unbroken hand and presses it to the villain's body. He makes sure it sticks there and wraps it around to the exit wound. The blood is already clotting—probably a product of the man's Quirk—but he still has to act fast. He adds a few more layers of bandages and secures them with a clip. Then he starts to descend, waving his broken hand to the news helicopter that has appeared from somewhere. With all the adrenaline, he hadn't noticed.
He really starts to feel the absence of the adrenaline when his feet touch the ground. Pain shoots up his arm, and the wrist on his unbroken hand aches. A ring of heroes forms around him, and medics take the villain. A few cops put restraints on the man, and he's loaded up into a transport van with medical equipment.
"How's the arm, kid?" a hero asks. Izuku shrugs and tries to hide how it hurts his arm.
"Fine. Just sore," Izuku lies. He looks around at the pros and sees their worry. "Lucky I was around, huh? Is everyone alright?"
"They're worried about my wife," the same hero says. He has a red full-body suit with a mask. It's hard to tell what he's feeling, but Izuku can guess that it's not good. "You should get that looked at."
"I'm going to UA right now," Izuku says, holding his broken arm close to his body. "Recovery Girl will look at it. And I'm kinda in a hurry."
"Alright. I…" The man looks away for a moment. He looks at the heroes around him. "... You probably saved our lives. All of us. We're not strong. Every single one of us working together wouldn't have been enough to stop him. You actually stepped in right as he was about to… well, you know."
"Y-yeah," Izuku says, thinking of the stain on the villain's pants. "I'm happy I could help."
"Me too. Take care of yourself, you hear?"
"I will."
The man nods. "Bye."
Izuku walks back to the patrol car, almost in a daze. Detective Tsukauchi greets him, leaning against the hood. "There's no way for us to drive there."
Izuku stares at the car and then at the ruined highway behind him. "I need police or official hero permission to use my Quirk for non-combat or rescue purposes."
"The paperwork is going to be a pain."
"We need to get to UA."
"... I'll put my seatbelt on. Eraserhead gave you a call, by the way."
"Don't tell me. Please."
"He's not happy."
"Of course he's not. Oh, and we still need to pick up Gran."
"Nedzu has that covered."
"That's one good thing, at least."
The flight to U.A is painful but short. Izuku is greeted by Snipe on the front lawn, who takes him right to Recovery Girl. He gets a quick lecture and a kiss on the cheek. It makes him exhausted, but the fatigue clears his mind, in a weird way. Nedzu fetches him and Tsukauchi from the medical wing and leads them to an elevator, different from the one Izuku took when he tested Danger Sense. It drops, and no one dares to make a sound.
"All Might," Izuku says as soon as the doors open. His mentor stands from his seat in a plush-looking recliner and pulls him in for a hug.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Er, no, I'm not, but… yeah," Izuku says, pulling away. "Are you okay?"
"Not in the slightest," All Might admits. He looks up and over Izuku's head at the detective and Nedzu. Izuku nods to Gran, who's behind All Might in another chair. There's no visible response. "I suppose we better get everyone up to speed."
"That would be best," Nedzu agrees. "There's tea, but I don't think anyone's in the mood. I will, however, get the fireplace going."
"Fireplace?" Izuku asks. Nedzu simply hits a button on his watch, and the far wall opens up to a roaring fire. It brings some much-needed warmth to the cold, concrete room. Izuku sits on a chair beside All Might and tries to relax.
"The first thing you should all know is that this is the only room where our plans for dealing with him are to be discussed," Nedzu says. "Because we're not dealing with Midoriya's secret getting out to regular villains anymore. We're going to be planning a war from now on. Our moves must be kept secret."
"We don't have enough bodies for a war," Tsukauchi says. "It's just us, isn't it?"
"I haven't heard from my old contacts in a while," All Might says. His eyes bore into the fireplace, dead and lifeless. "That's… it should've been the first sign. But, Detective, you said there's even more proof?"
Tsukauchi clears his throat. "Yes. Shall I?"
"The sooner the better," Gran Torino says, also staring into the fire.
"Right." Tsukauchi launches into a summary of the evidence he has in the files, and recounts the way Shirakumo Oboro spoke through Kurogiri's body. As he does, he hands out a file to everyone else. Izuku gets the one on all the medical equipment seized from the warehouses, All Might gets the one on Kurogiri, Nedzu the one on Sensei, and Gran gets one Izuku knows he and Tsukauchi haven't looked at yet.
"... But I don't know what to make of it. Human experimentation isn't out of his ballpark, but to this extent?" Tsukauchi shakes his head. "I just don't know."
"Well, he's injured, right?" Izuku says. "He has to be. You thought he was dead. He had his brain caved in. Maybe that has something to do with it?"
"Quirks put strain on the mind," Nedzu says.
"So he can't handle all the powers he has anymore. He has to make those things," Izuku says. "That's a positive. But also a negative. He's not as powerful, but he'll have more units to work with."
"Dividing and conquering will be easier," All Might agrees, "but there'll be more work than last time. I'm still worried about how he managed to survive and how he hid it from us."
"He must have an in with the funeral and medical industry," Tsukauchi says. "Embalming liquid was found in one of his bases, and so were life support machines."
"I'll get to work following the paper trails," Nedzu says. "We know where his body went according to official documents. I'll start with the cremation service and the EMTs responsible for taking him to the hospital."
"I'll pull some police-exclusive files. His old fronts aren't around, but I bet there's ties to new ones," Tsukauchi says. "Remember Yogi Hardware? What's to say there's not a Banjee Brewing Company out there?"
"Yogi Hardware?" Izuku asks.
"One of All for One's schemes," All Might says distantly. "He opened a chain of stores with a similar name to mine around the time I went to America. I came back to Japan to find a Yogi Hardware store on every corner, the mascot of which was a grizzly bear with my hair."
"That's…" Izuku trails off.
"A roundabout way of messing with me," All Might says. "All for One is petty and good at getting in your head. There might be a Madoriya Milkshake shop opening up soon."
"Let's not dwell on that for now," Nedzu says. "We need to keep planning. Torino, would you be able to check in on some of All for One's former employees?"
Gran stares deep into the fire. He looks down at the file in his hands and takes a deep breath. He closes the folder and throws it into the fire.
"Sora—"
"Gra—"
"Tor—"
"Shut up, all of you," Gran snaps. "Toshinori, do you realize what's happening right now?"
"N—"
"Don't answer. You're probably wrong anyway. We're currently in a race with that bastard, if the rest of you didn't realize. He's trying to pool all his resources together and get them set for something. My guess is that it's for an attack, or an attempt on Toshinori's life. Every day he grows stronger, and every day…" Gran turns to All Might.
"I grow weaker," All Might says. "But Izuku grows stronger."
"So? It's still one less One for All wielder for him to deal with. He'll try to get you first and then the boy. You know how he's all about cycles and patterns."
"So what do we do?" Izuku asks. "We're not just sitting here, but only gathering info isn't enough if you're right. We need to move."
"Well—"
"I'm not going to America," Izuku interrupts. "Sorry, I… I'm scared, but this is my home. My friends, my mom, my life… I can't leave. And… as foolish as it is, I don't want to run from him. That would be like admitting defeat, and the last thing I want is to lose to All for One before I even see him."
"You won't be leaving the country," All Might says. "UA is secure enough. In fact, Nedzu, could you take care of Izuku's mom?"
"A house will go on sale today, a block from the gate to the school," Nedzu says. "She'll be able to pay cash for it."
"Perfect. You and your mom won't have to relocate. But I…" All Might turns to Gran. "Do you think Chiyo is still willing to operate?"
"She won't be happy," Gran warns.
"But she'll do it."
"What do you mean by 'operate'?" Izuku asks. "Are you going to get some kind of surgery?"
"Yes," All Might says, tapping his injured side. "It's the operation I put off after facing All for One the first time. The healing process would've taken months, and I didn't want to waste time. But now? I'll take it for a better shot at fighting him and his forces on a level field."
"You'll destabilize the country," Nedzu says.
All Might shrugs. "I'll be quiet about it. Not that it'll help. In my opinion, it's still worth the risk to get some of my strength back."
"I'll be out there while you're not," Izuku says. "It won't be the same, but One for All will still be saving lives. It will, right?"
"We won't keep you locked up," Gran says. "It wouldn't work if we tried. But we do need someone to take you."
"What?"
"Sorahiko will be busy with checking in on All for One's old men. Nedzu has to deal with digging up old files. Tsukauchi has police work. And I have to heal." All Might laces his fingers over his lap. "We can't train you personally anymore. I'll need to find a spot to rest, and I won't have a hero form at all, otherwise I'd take you on as a sidekick."
"You're welcome at UA," Nedzu says. "Teach a class or two as Yagi Toshinori. You'll be close to Midoriya but safe and secure."
"Wouldn't he try to kill you?" Izuku asks. "You won't be able to fight back."
All Might laughs hollowly. "All for One won't kill me because I can't fight back. He hates me. More now than he did before, almost definitely. He wants the satisfaction of killing me at full power so he can lord over all of my achievements and claim that you'll fall just as easily. Slitting my throat as I sleep won't do anything for him."
"Alright," Izuku says, finding a sort of morbid understanding in the sentiment. "That… okay. But I don't know what you mean by finding someone to take me. I have Ingenium."
"Idaten was a great place for you to get a feel for patrol again," Nedzu says. "However, it's not a place where you could grow at the rate we need."
"When the day comes, you and I will fight him together," All Might says. "I need you to be ready for it as soon as possible."
"So I'll need to find a good agency. Somewhere with lots of strong heroes, a history of dealing with difficult villains, a demanding schedule, and a powerful, experienced top pro," Izuku lists. "I… there's a few places like that, but one in particular…"
The five of them talk late into the night, refining the details of their plan. As they prepare an application for Izuku to take to the top hero agencies in the country, the DNA test results of one Shimura Tenko burn to a crisp.
[x]
Desmond lights a cigar and takes a puff, looking at the dreary sea beyond. Waves crash against the craggy rocks, and showers of spray reach for his boots. He taps some ash off the end and inhales the air. The smell is more of a home to him than the cottage at his back is, and he longs to swim. But a quick dip won't feed his appetite. The waters here are too shallow and too well-monitored for his type of fun. So he takes another hit from his cigar, and the tobacco eases his need for the sea.
"It was so simple to find you, and yet remarkably hard."
Desmond doesn't turn, nor does he jump. He does, however, commend the speaker for their skill at stealth. The cobbles leading up to his vantage point are loose and uneven, and he's usually very good at keeping track of his surroundings.
"I'm no' special," Desmond says, taking another puff and turning to face his uninvited guest. "'M just an old man living out the rest of his days. And you…" Desmond trails off and raises his eyebrows. "Yer a kid with shite English. Get off me land, eh?"
The kid laughs. It's high-pitched and scratchy. Almost ear-piercing, really, and his greasy hair and beady red eyes do little to make him more pleasing to the eye. "I'll stay right here, thank you," he says, scratching his neck. Desmond looks him over and sees a finger sticking out of the boy's pocket. He doesn't react visibly, but he gets ready to shift, just in case. "Anyways, you weren't hiding that hard for a man of your caliber."
"Most alcoholics pushing sixty don't try to hide very hard, yes," Desmond says, and the kid laughs again.
"No, no… I mean for a man of your power level and infamy." He spreads his arms wide. "This used to be yours, you know."
"Still is. I own the deed for the soil yer gettin' on them god-awful sneakers."
"Sure. But the seas aren't yours anymore."
"I don' know what yer talking about."
"Oh? But every person I asked about you pointed me here. To the lair of the Scottish Cyclops."
Desmond's left cheek twitches against his eyepatch. "I see the kids in town still have shite nicknames."
"Yes, they are quite derogatory. I wonder how they'd react if they knew who you really are."
"You're goin' to have ta stop beating around the bush, boy," Desmond says, spitting into the dirt. "I've been a lot of things in m'life."
"Fine." The boy slips his hands into his pockets in a peculiar manner. Weirdly, he keeps his pinkies out of them. "Tell me why the Great Red Whale is rotting in a shack in northern Ireland."
Desmond scoffs. "Yer a Jap, ain't ya? I can tell from the Engrish accent. And it's right fucking obvious why. That damned All Might of yours 'sa reason." He puts his cigar out on the leg of his pants and chucks the remains on the ground. "How the fuck did you even piece it together, anyhow?"
"You never died," the boy says. "There were no reports of you being defeated. You hid. It's obvious that you'd be alone since no one reasonable would want to live with the terror of the Atlantic. It was just a matter of finding the right town and the right eye injury."
"Lotsa people got missin' eyes."
"And how many have a triangle cut into the flesh around their socket? That scar you took the day you brought down Scotland's oil rigs is quite distinct."
"If yer talkin' ta me, you know why I ain't givin' you what you want."
"I would never dream of taking from you," the boy says, taking a step forward. "I only wanted to see what one of the greatest looked like."
"You wanna play villain, don't ya?"
"Oh, I've done more than play already." The boy takes another step. "I'm wanted in ten countries by eight aliases."
"Congrats. When I was twenty-two, I brought world trade to a halt for nine days."
"Yes, yes, you old-timers love preaching down to us." The boy continues to move forward, cool and cocky like all twenty-somethings are when their balls get too big for their own good. "But I think you'd benefit from listening to the younger generation speak," the boy says, and suddenly they're centimeters away. Desmond glares, spits on the boy's shoes, and swings.
The boy ducks, but Desmond tackles him, laying him into the dirt and cobbles and decking him across the face. The boy doesn't even fight back, but he grunts in pain as Desmond wraps his hands around his throat and starts to strangle him.
"Where tha' fuck did ye learn that name, eh? Who're you and what do ya want?"
The kid wheezes, and his hands grab onto Desmond's wrists. But his pinkies don't touch, and he smiles. "G-got you," he spits out, though his words slur and carry an even heavier accent than before.
"The fuck are y—"
The ground opens up, but the earth stays put. A massive black and purple hole appears under the boy, smoky yet cold. Gravity kicks in, and Desmond falls. There's a brief moment of unnerving cold and darkness, but soon the sea breeze and overcast sky return. The boy cackles in glee and spins mid-air so Desmond has his back to the waves. Eyes wide, Desmond tries to break free. But the boy grabs his shirt, and the cloth disintegrates.
"Use it," the boy says, not bothering to stifle his laughter. "Show me your power!"
Left with no other choice, Desmond takes a deep breath and fully shifts for the first time in twenty years. The air around him heats up, merging with his flesh and bones. His skull warps, and his legs mesh together. His eyes spread apart, and his field of view changes. He can no longer see to the left. The air becomes painful to be in—he feels wrong, unsafe, unwanted—but the sea below beckons, and Desmond twists mid-air and dives.
A forty-meter, immeasurably heavy sperm whale crashes into the waves of the North Atlantic, stirring up waves thirty meters high in sixty-meter deep water. The rust-brown color sticks out in the icy grey waters, and a crest of water from his blowhole does little to hide Desmond's position.
"Impressive. Amazing, even," he hears the boy say as he starts to swim for deeper water. "But mine's better."
Suddenly, there's a burning, searing pain in his left eye. The boy has somehow managed to reach his eye and touched it, and Desmond can feel it dry out and crumble. He screams in pain, but it comes out as a deep moan. He shrinks down, shedding his blubber as he tries to swim in human form. But another one of the portals catches him, and he washes up on land with a groan.
"M'eye. M'fuckin' eye! I'll kill you, you bastard! I'll fuckin' lop yer damned hands off and eat them as the whale!"
"Take care of his eye before he dies."
Someone or something plunges a knife into his socket while two others hold his arms down. With surgical precision, Desmond's milky white eyeball pops out of his head and into the sand below. Someone holds a wad of cloth over his eye socket, and he watches the blind eye finish crumbling into dust.
"Much better, no? You still can't see, but at least you can get a fake." The bastard kneels before him and looks at him with calculating eyes.
"'Sat what you planned? Take m'fuckin' eye and offer a fake? Shove a stick up yer arse and fuck off to hell."
"I can offer you much more than a fake eye. You said that you quit your crusade because of All Might. Well, he won't be a problem for much longer."
"You can' kill 'im. He's unbeatable."
"Maybe he was back in your day, when he could've taken a vacation to Britain and killed you with one punch. But he's old now. Broken down and taking an extended vacation."
"An' so am I," Desmond spits. "'M fifty-eight. I ain't fast. I ain't as strong as I was. I'm half-blind and I'm lame in one leg. And I'd never work for the likes of you!"
"Oh?" The boy stands and crosses his arms. "You won't work for me? I think you'd better hear my offer first, before you pass on the opportunity of a lifetime."
"I haven't a choice," Desmond says, straining against the two young men who hold his arms in place.
"You want the ocean to be yours. You wouldn't risk hiding by it if you weren't. But All Might and the world governments would kill you the minute they spotted your back surfacing for air. Like I said earlier, All Might isn't a problem anymore. He'll be dead within the year."
"And the government?" Desmond asks. "Scotland and Ireland have got massive navies, and I don' fancy my chances against their modern depth charges."
"That's where I can help you." The boy turns and points out to sea. "That's north, correct?"
"You're a fucking idiot."
"It is," the boy says, ignoring Desmond. "You see, a thousand or so kilometers that way, there's a country called Iceland."
"Ooh, ye passed geography class. Do ye want me to take you out for ice cream? So we can celebrate you havin' a brain in that skull o' yours?"
"Iceland is weak. Militarily, and in terms of heroes. They're also one of the countries where the Quirkless are the majority. Their government is also limited. It makes them a perfect target."
"You're planning an invasion."
"I'm planning a coup."
"Yer daft. Iceland is small, yes, but it's still a country. The military will put up a fight and call for aid, and the people? Them Icelanders carry guns 'cause they don't have Quirks. You go knockin' on doors looking for politicians in hiding and you'll get a nine-millimeter shoved up your nose."
"That's the beauty of it. I'm not planning an invasion.I'm going to bring the heads of state under my thumb. The military will go with it, and the people? They'll barely tell the difference. I'll be king, and no one will be the wiser. And you? You'll get to swim in Iceland's waters as much as you'd like."
"For what cost?"
"Two years of service, starting the day you swim my men to Reykjavik. You'll have a few months off while I build my forces, and after that, you'll follow me to Japan. But once I'm done with you, you're free. The Atlantic will be your home again."
"You'll need more than your warper, doctor, self, and two goons to do it," Desmond says. "You'll need a whole fucking army."
The boy smiles, creepy and wide. "Let him stand."
Desmond gets up shakily, shoulder-bumping the men that restrained him. He looks over his shoulder and freezes. At least a hundred people stand on the beach, milling about in tents and around a small fire. Every single one of them is clearly battle-hardened and strong. And no two look alike. Mutants are the most common, and they're a varied lot, but the amount of different colors and sizes of people is uncanny after spending so much time in a small Irish town.
"Not quite an army," the boy says, "but enough to topple a government. What do you say?"
"Well, no is hardly the right answer, now, is it?"
The boy laughs, and so do his men. Desmond spits into his hand and holds it out. The boy takes it with two fingers, light and delicate like he's holding a rose. "Shigaraki Tomura."
"Desmond Doss."
The sun sets, obscured by dark clouds. The wind howls and screams, blowing in from the north. It appears that Mother Nature herself knows of their little deal. Desmond smiles and scoops up some saltwater in his hands. He splashes it on his face. The Red Leviathan will return. He can feel it.