Chapter Text
Most creatures don't remember how they were born. They simply grew, shedding memories along the way. That was what it meant to be alive–a soul shifted inside a shell until it broke, or what was left of their body withered away.
He was alive. That was new.
The city fell still. Plain. In a flat maze of brick and plaster, constrained by the artifice of society, the presence of life still flowed. Footsteps of strangers passed by distantly, some patterned, others staggered, all fleeing through a hazy darkness.
“Ah.” He tilted his head towards the abyss of the sky, struck still with understanding. “I know this, don’t I? It’s ‘night’.”
Dim as they were, the city lights stretched like an infection, clouding what should have been a dotted sky into a flat sheet of gray.
His hand drifted to his chin, tucking beneath it in thought. “How strange,” he murmured, the silver of one eye shining as he looked up. “...I thought there should be stars.”
Most creatures couldn’t remember how they were born. They just were. Mahito knew that, somehow. What he didn’t know was why.
“Oh,” Mahito murmured, his hand drifting down his throat. He pressed down at the center, feeling the seams of his stitches. “That’s my name, isn’t it? ‘Mahito…”
The sound of his own voice encircled him, the push of his soul pulling the body to its will. His left eye closed as the right looked down, watching his essence flicker. Then, he looked down, watching the walls around him.
Black, squishy bags pressed against his shoulders, crinkling when he moved. Scraps of soggy napkins, greasy paper buckets, and half-eaten scraps of chicken bones fell by his feet. His nose crinkled as he shifted back, scooting up to sit on the bag. His knees pulled towards his chest.
“What kind of graveyard is this?” he asked, crawling over the ledge. “Smells gross.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Mahito tilted his head. His pigtail swayed across his shoulder. “I wonder why I know what that means. ‘Graveyard’...”
His thoughts kept drifting as he poked his head out from the dumpster. His hands gripped the ledge, pulling him up. His arms fell parallel along the opening, leaning against the rusted metal of the dumpster’s mouth. He stared out into what distance he could see.
Narrow brick walls stretched across the alleyway, patches of moss and decay sprouting from the grout. At the farthest end, behind a stack of empty crates and recycling, a moped with a delivery box was stashed away. Somewhere in the distance, a sour voice was screaming.
A pair of footsteps raced forward, each step landing heavier than the last. They staggered on the way.
The vibration in the air set Mahito’s hands still, listening. The start of a smile bloomed on his lips.
“Hurry up,” the first one bleated, the last ‘u’ stretching with an animalistic shake. “We’ve gotta run.”
The second voice clicked back. “What do you think I’m doing, genius? Skipping?”
“Skipping cardio, yes.”
The second voice huffed. “If you’ve got time to be clever, don’t! Let’s find Wani and go!”
“What,” the first one bleated. “You want me to be dumb?”
“Would I need to want that for it to happen? Sounds like you could do dumb all on your own!”
The first person snorted, less like a human than a goat. The sirens built all the more, the lights drawing near at both of their backs. The stranger’s footsteps unified, ducking into the alley.
In unison with the step, Mahito popped right back down. His eyes set just above the mouth of the dumpster, slipping down to watch his entertainment.
The fleeing pair stopped to catch their breath. From their matching black bobs, slitted eye masks, and curly fleece coats, they’d appeared to be in some kind of uniform. The only signs of color on either of them were their eyes, and the brightly colored scarf tied around their neck. The man chuffing like a goat wore a red scarf, and had the eyes to match his sounds. The second, smaller one wore a yellow scarf. Quills protruded from his arms and legs, poking through his jacket. His eyes were pure brown, without any white at all. Between the two of them, they each held one handle to a locked, metal box.
“Let go. I’ll get it,” Red told Yellow. “ Any more lagging, and Detnerat’s gonna notice what’s gone.”
“Wait–” Yellow turned their head, peeking back towards the mouth of the alley. “Where’s Wani?”
Mahito leaned forward in the dumpster. His arms stretched across the side of the bin, settling in to watch. The dumpster creaked. Neither man looked his way. They’d been too busy looking up.
A blur of black scaled down from the rooftop, slipping like a shadow against the brick. She banked across the brick, hopping from one wall to the other, then landed cleanly on the cement. She tossed her wig into the dumpster, her own pale blue hair cascading down her shoulders. Her moss green eyes stared into the dark, multiple layers of her eyelids parting to stare on. The slit of her pupil set so narrowly, the black barely shown at all.
The wig landed on Mahito’s head. He didn’t bother to fix it. Instead, he pulled it down, the bangs hiding his eyes in the dark.
As soon as she landed, the woman grabbed a gun from the holster at her back. Lines of light pulsed across the barrel.
The pitch black of Yellow’s eyes widened behind the mask. “Wani!”
The hand that wasn’t holding her gun raised to her lips. Wani pressed a finger to Yellow’s mouth in a shushing gesture. Yellow nodded back, his black nose twitching nervously.
“Oops,” he shrugged, shaking his quills. “Sorry.”
Wani dropped the finger. She turned to Red. “Loot?”
Red nodded, the tips of his horns shaking through the black wig. “It’s hot, but it’s here.”
“And it’s what I think…?”
“If what you think is Detnerat’s secret stash, yes. Synthetic micro-compressives.”
“And?”
Sirens pulsed in the distance. Lights stretched down the street, alternating colors across the brick. Red stared through the flashes, a smile setting on his face.
“They work.”
Yellow peeked over his shoulder. The quills on his arms started to stand up, rising nervously. He eyed the moped. “Hey, uh. Guys. Shouldn’t we get going? Could be a hero, out there.”
Red planted his foot down. “Sirens aren’t for heroes, dipshit. They’re for cops! Who cares about cops?”
“Maybe I do, since I’m asking about it?”
Red sighed, chuffing back at Yellow. “Like you can’t take someone who won’t use their quirk–”
The barrel of a gun struck between Red and Yellow, forcing both to step back. The reds and blues of the siren glistened off the metal of Wani’s weapon.
“Load it up, Red. Now,” said Wani. Where the others had sounded frantic, hers was barely a breath. “Haul’s mine from here.”
Red dropped the case to the ground. The armored box planted into the ground. Mahito swayed forward in the dumpster, not watching the box, but them.
Red gaped back. “What the fuck, it’s ‘your’ haul? We did this job. You’re the getaway.”
“And I’ll get away.” Wani’s hand drifted across the trigger. She flicked a lever that sent a pulse winding through the wires embedded in the barrel of the gun. The narrow slits of her eyes pointed all the more, the black nearly washing out of them completely. “You won’t carry it like that with a tail. Give up the haul. Keep your lives. Or don’t, and lose both. Your call.”
The quills on Yellow’s arm shot up. He stumbled on his feet, brushing back into the dumpster.
Red lowered his head, his horns pointing straight at Wani. He snorted. “And how’d you know I didn’t take the vials out, first?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Wani grinned, her jagged teeth pointing around the edges of her mouth. “Because you just asked me that instead of running off.”
The tremble through Yellow kept growing. His hand slid across the lid, struggling to find a grip. His upright quills snagged through the weave of Wani’s discarded wig–the same wig that Mahito was currently wearing. Curious, Mahito leaned over the ledge of the dumpster. He bowed at the waist, watching on for some sign that Yellow had noticed him. There wasn’t one.
“There’s no version of this where you don’t lose,” Wani told Red, her teeth gleaming with mockery. “So I’d recommend the loss where you don’t die.”
The barrel of Wani’s gun pointed for Red, straight on. Red stomped his foot into the ground, toe first, scraping at the cement. He pushed both hands along the metal crate, then shoved himself against it, sprinting towards her horns-first as he charged in. “Better that than you winning, you bitch!”
In the time it took most people to blink. Red charged Wani. From the angle his head bucked at, he’d been ready to impale her. He only made it two steps before Wani pulled the trigger.
Where most guns would have had a bullet, Wani’s fired without a sound. A beam of light burned through, cauterizing the wound as it formed. The laser tore through the center of Red’s forehead. Smoke rose from the hole of the gape left in his brain.
In the shock of the pulse, with how quickly it happened, Red’s body still knew to take a step. His boot landed on the ground. Then, the signal stopped. His soul went quiet.
Red plopped into the crates. His empty body sprawled across the empty crates.
The siren kept sounding in the distance, the lights passing by more distantly than before. The help that could have come turned in another direction. It had never been coming here, at all.
Yellow shivered against the dumpster, his whole soul trembling. His blank eyes and black nose glistened with the well of fear. He let out a breath, and the breath turned to a scream.
“Help!”
From the moment they’d waned into this alleyway, all three of these people had been performing a role. Every pretense that they’d worn pushed away in Yellow’s scream. Whatever else his soul might pretend to be, that terror was pure.
Mahito’s body pulsing with a hum through his core. His arms outstretched, dangling limply, striving to solidify as he climbed through the trash to reach the other side.
“Hm…”
The involuntary quivers sent a new shake through the rusted metal dumpster. Mahito shook with it, too. A subtle smile rose through his cheeks as he leaned over the edge to stroke Yellow’s cheek.
“Say that again,” Mahito admired. “The scream.”
Yellow shot up, quills shifting. “What the fuck?!”
Wani raised her gun into the dark. “Who’s there?”
A new burst of light ran through the wires of Wani’s weapon, flashes of blue bouncing off the brick. The dumpster shoved into the brick wall, tipping over in a tumble. Mahito slipped between the gaps, the form of his body cracking as he wove through the falling garbage.
Tattered bags poured out across the pavement, crushed cans and rotting fruit cores falling to their feet. The flood stopped at the dam of Red’s corpse, still blocking the way.
A new pulse of red and blue lights set through the bricks. The siren crept closer, an artificial wailing in the air. Mahito’s body reformed atop the dumpster. His bare feet dangled, swaying casually, as he watched them from the perch.
“That’s not screaming, is it?” asked Mahito. “Screaming was louder. More shrill.”
“Oh my god, shoot it! Shoot it!” Yellow ducked behind Wani, his black eyes gaping.
“That’s a child.”
“How??”
Wani huffed. “You want to shoot it, you shoot it.”
“But I’m not a murderer,” Yellow whimpered, shaking Wani. “You’re the killer! You kill!”
“Fine.” Wani’s fangs curled over her lower lip in a sigh. She cocked her gun, the next wave of energy pushing through the base. She raised both arms, contorting herself to aim over her shoulder.
The next shot pierced straight through Yellow’s mouth. The channeled laser burned through his jaw, then up through his skull.
Yellow’s body stood in shock, the vacant husk unable to recognize that what it should have held had stopped. He flopped back against the dumpster, collapsing. A plume of smoke drifted where the shot had set, brighter blues and reds catching in the steam. Mahito knew he could have moved. Instead, he’d watched with awe as Yellow’s soul flickered out.
“Ugh. So noisy…”
Wani lowered her arms, shifting herself back to face Mahito. The barrel of the gun still smoked against the ground. Slowly, she raised one hand, her arm outstretching for him. Her four fingers bent together, waving back towards herself in a gesture Mahito had never seen before, but knew all the same.
“Come here,” Wani told him.
There was no reason Mahito could think of to listen to her command. There had also been no reason not to. He followed the beckon, stepping off of the dumpster to join her on the ground.
The scales on the woman’s hands scraped through the wig on Mahito’s head, ruffling the artificial strands. The blare of the sirens drew closer as she pet the wig.
“You’ll be a good little hostage, right, kid? Make what happened our secret?” Wani spoke, her voice softer than it had been before. She leaned close, her breath staggering on his cheek. “If you’re out here, then, you know what happens to discarded things.”
Something else drew closer. Through the ground, and the wind, Mahito could feel life shift away. His mismatched eyes set on the stranger, watching with wonder.
“What are you?” Mahito asked, his curiosity rising. His chin rose, his posture setting tall to meet her eyes through the mask.
The slits of Wani’s pupils nearly vanished in the siren’s light. She smiled, her toothy grin barely curling, yet stretching from one ear to the other all the same. “I’m a person,” she told him, clearly. “Just like you, brat. Just like anyone else.”
A footstep clicked ahead. A silhouette struck through the alternating lights, the police sirens parting, the shadow of a man eclipsing them both.
In the time it took to snap, Wani’s gun pointed into Mahito’s head. The warm brim of the barrel wrapped to Mahito’s ear. The sudden brush made him giggle.
“Step back,” Wani sneered towards the shadow. “Pick up the transceiver. Tell the police it’s clear. That, or the kid gets it.”
Mahito tipped his head up, peeking back towards Wani. “Gets what…?” He blinked. “A present?”
Neither Wani or the shadow answered.
“Kneel. Now.” Wani’s words twisted through the points of her teeth. “Right hand down, left hand on the receiver.”
The hero stood still. He wasn’t budging.
A new pulse of light charged through Wani’s gun. The reflection bounced across the crooked dumpster, narrow lights turning through the alleyway. Wani hissed. “Five seconds. I’m not kidding.”
Mahito blinked back. “Why not?”
The hiss through Wani’s teeth spiked into a growl. The current in her soul twisted, her emotions building outside the container of herself. The sight was so striking, Mahito couldn’t dare watch anything else. Her rage, like Yellow’s screaming before, felt pure.
“Fine,” the shadow agreed.
“That’s not the receiver,” Wani snapped, her voice as jagged as her teeth.
The faint thud turned heavy. The man’s shadow bent low, the sirens eclipsing the sound of either breath as the man gave himself away.
“Let go of the child,” the man said, forcing composure where it was wavering inside. “He walks towards me, first. Then, I’ll start the message. I won’t touch the gun.”
A piece of Wani’s gun clicked. The metal grew warmer at his ear. Mahito felt a gust push inside him, knocking on his eardrum.
“And why would I trust a hero?” Wani sneered.
“Because, I haven’t attacked you,” the man reasoned. “Nor have I seen you clearly. I don’t even know your quirk to identify you, miss,” the man replied, still sounding calm, and feeling everything else. He forced a breath. “Now, let the child go.”
“You mean, me?” Mahito chirped. His hand raised, pointing towards himself. “I’m ‘the child’?”
The man nodded slowly, the current in his soul still churning. His face set into a smile, forcing composure where none wanted to be.
The cold, scaled hand of the woman behind him wove out of the wig. Her nails tipped the matted bob, pushing the artificial hair over Mahito’s eyes. Then, she shoved him away.
Mahito’s bare feet rocked on the pavement. He took a single step forward, wavering, alone. Only now, as he stood in the ground, did he notice how much taller their souls were from him.
For the second time, a hand reached out for Mahito, beckoning him. Where, before, Wani had signaled with only fingers, this time, the man offered their whole palm.
Mahito stepped forward, his limbs falling unsteadily beneath him. When he did, the man moved his other hand. He pressed a button at the side of his helmet.
“Tanteitan, reporting. Second sector outside Nagatsuta Station is clear,” he spoke into the mic.”
A static transmission sounded back, projecting from the speakers inside his gear. “Affirmative, Tanteitan. Move to the third sector.”
“Understood. Tanteitan, out.”
The siren muffled, the sound bouncing off the brick. The colors faded out, the reds and blues pulling further away.
“Here, little buddy. Look at me, okay?,” the man called Tanteitan said, sounding calm. “You’re safe, now. I’ve got you.”
Again, Mahito had no reason to listen, and no reason to disobey. Mahito took a step. His own hand followed, mirroring the gesture as his fingers reached back towards the costumed hero. Through Tanteitan’s glove, past his armor, Mahito felt the surface of his soul. For as sturdy as the man kept his smile, the tide of doubt pulled more.
“Why?” Mahito started to ask.
“Because, I’m here. A hero,” Tanteitan tried to assure him, the boast rehearsed for comfort he didn’t have. “That’s why here’s in our name.”
“But your name isn’t hero,” Mahito argued back calmly. “It’s Tanteitan.”
“Right. It’s more like a title.” The man laughed a little, the chuckle pulsing through him nervously, but genuinely. “You’re pretty smart.”
Mahito’s arm stretched a little farther, the rest of him pulling along. His hand brushed the surface of the stranger’s palm, reaching deeper in his soul.
Mahito felt, before he saw, the next thing that happened.
A hole seared through the flesh, then straight through the stomach, of the man kneeling before him as Wani’s laser shot through him. Stray sparks of metal flew through the air, smothered out against the brick.
Tanteitan’s body fell, first. His helmet cracked as his head flopped against his chest. The rest of him collapsed, the empty shell of his body compressing around Mahito. Any essence of his life, and the echo of what had been inside him turned to nothing at all.
The marvel turned to tension as a gust pushed through Mahito’s chest, too. The nip of something that shouldn’t be there crept through the empty space in his soul.
Mahito strained to move. His hand pressed to the open spot of a burn. Where the base of his throat should have been, now, all he saw was a burnt hole.
“Ah–” Mahito sputtered, the sound turning to a whistle as he tried to speak. He thought, when the sound wouldn’t form.
How interesting.
Broken as his form was, Mahito still heard Wani. Her boots squished through the trash. Another beam of blue light pulsed down, her laser gun blinding as it disintegrated the lock off the stolen case, opening the box. She reached inside for a vial, then slipped the tube into her pocket. Then, she looked back.
“Fuck. Dead hero. Now, there’s a vendetta waiting to happen…” She huffed. “Whatever. Once I offload the loot, not like this should get back to me.”
The charred remains of Mahito’s shell weighed down with the armor of a dead man at his back. While the arms around him clutched him, what might have been meant as protection strangled what was left.
The flimsy body he was trapped in burned. Still, Mahito’s essence felt clear. He pressed a hand against the corpse’s armor, feeling what was left behind. The body behind him was larger, sturdier. It made a bigger target, yet, that same target had leverage over something in a shape like Mahito’s own.
Mahito’s hand stretched the width of the gap in his chest. His fingers blocked against his throat, morphing over the space he’d touched until it was large enough to block the airway. His body sealed, his stitches straining, as he willed his soul to grow.
The simple shift of gravity pushed Tanteitan’s corpse down Mahito’s back. The black wig fell from his head as the last piece of himself sealed up. The exposed edge of his brain patched over with flesh, silver blue hair and rosy sutures blocking the path to his brain.
Mahito’s knee set against the ground, matted fur cushioning the landing. He stroked his hand down his chest. His finger setted at a suture on his throat.
“Ah,” he spoke, again, his voice lower than before. “Good. Good. How fortunate, I could learn.”
Mahito felt, before he saw, Wani shoot him again.
The burning blue light seared through Mahito’s shoulder, melting his stitches out of place. No sooner did the hole form than it meshed back together, the form of his body pulling in place.
Mahito’s fingers grew, his form still morphing, as he set a hand across the barrel of her gun. The next shot died against his palm. His skin bubbled, burning, but not breaking.
The narrow slits of Wani’s eyes shone through her mask, dilating so much, they turned almost to nothing. She chucked the gun from her grip, shoving it, and Mahito, deeper into the alley.
The gun rolled off Mahito’s shoulder, bending into the trash. He grabbed her by the neck.
“Don’t you think it’s inconsiderate? Shooting someone before you know their name?” he asked.
A wheeze of “No–” made it out of Wani’s mouth, and not a word more. Mahito pushed down.
“No?” Mahito chuckled, his smile sprouting to match hers. “Well, that’s a good ‘no’ to know.”
Wani’s limbs flailed, straining out to scratch him. Her teeth clashed, her jaw chomping into the air. The essence inside her synchronized with the desperate need to survive.
“Hm. I wonder if this will work,” Mahito murmured, his words falling with his gaze. He stepped closer, his grip constricting at her neck. “If it does, it should suit you.”
The touch of Mahito’s fingers sank under Wani’s skin. The surface of her body bubbled to his fingers, her essence molding to his grip. A vein pulsed at her forehead, her eye sinking into a socket as he willed her to be small.
The mask on her head fell to her neck, and the rest of her clothes dripped towards the floor. The left side, under Mahito’s touch, contorted first, the color draining from her skin. Her neck twisted, her limbs shrinking away, until the form she was in fit in his hand.
The vials in her pocket clinked against the sidewalk. Mahito tossed the shrunken soul into the air. He tipped his head back, catching her on his tongue, then swallowed. Her soul writhed in his throat, panicked, helpless, and pure.
“Hm…” Mahito’s lips pulsed together. “What is it that people say? I could just eat you up?”
A new pulse of the siren flashed through the brick, blue and red lights drawing nearer. Again, Mahito felt before he saw.
A pair of new silhouettes stood at the mouth of the alleyway. Two cops in uniform blocked either side, their own guns pointing into the dark around Mahito. Despite the size of their shadows, he could feel both of the bodies were smaller than his own.
“Drop your weapons!” an officer shouted. “Come out with your hands on your head! No quirks!”
“Drop my weapon?” Mahito repeated, his teeth clenching in his grin. “Oh, that won’t do! I’m the weapon.”
The blue light from the distance switched to red, illuminating new crevices in the alley. Shadows stretched across the bodies of those he hadn’t touched, holes alight through the corpses of victims that weren’t his own.
One of the officers stepped back. His fingers shook, his core quaking as if the earth was rattling beneath him as he reached for the speaker on his vest.
As the man stood still, reaching for himself, Mahito took a step ahead. His hands pulled behind his back, his fingers twisting as he swayed into his step.
“Nagatsuta Station, seventh checkpoint, second sector. Hero down,” the officer raced to speak. “Send backup! Hero down–”
Mahito weaved between the officers, slipping past both in a single step. His arm hooked across the neck of the speaking officer, pushing him to bow. His voice went quiet.
“Now, who are you calling a ‘hero’?” Mahito asked, his own smile steady. His other hand reached out, stroking the shoulder of the second officer with a poke. “I don’t even see a ‘here’.”
Again, Mahito’s fingers sank beneath the bodies of the officers, jabbing straight into their souls. He willed the change to form more quickly, pushing down, compressing their existences to his touch. The speaker on the first officer’s chest started to crackle as the mic fell to the cement.
“Dispatch. Backup is en route,” a voice crackled through the radio. “Confirm, Officer Kaneshiro.”
The policeman's soul shriveled, the body wilting, contracting into itself until nothing was left but the eyes and a grayish lavender lump. Mahito clapped his hands together, cupping both at the center to clasp the human on both sides. Again, he felt the pulse of fear shake through him. Mahito’s eyes closed, breathing in the sensation.
For some reason, he felt right.
“Officer Kaneshiro, report,” the radio buzzed, the speaker growing more frantic. “Officer–”
Mahito stomped down across the radio. The speaker crushed beneath his heel. The shrunken souls twisted in his grip, his mind turning with it.
The remains of the radio still sputtered on the floor. Mahito took a knee beside Wani’s remains. He picked up her coat, then slipped inside her clothing. His arms stretched inside her sleeves, his body twisting and compressing until he was just the right size for it to fit. A stitch popped in his shoulder. He pressed back down. Wani’s gun pulsed by his foot.
“Ah,” Mahito realized, watching the ground. “You meant those were the weapons, didn’t you? How boring. I can’t experiment with those at all.”
Mahito twisted the shrunken forms of the officer’s souls between his fingers. The tail end of their shriveled bodies seemed to twist together, their forms reshaping as he toyed with the surface.
“But, the three of us?” Mahito whispered, his head lowering towards the souls in his hand. “If it’s us, I think we can play.”
Most creatures couldn’t remember how they were born. Mahito assumed he was the exception.