Chapter 404 - 6-9

[Volume 1 – Chapter 6: Expectations Versus Reality]

Combat was something that Izuku never truly excelled in. This was a facet of life that he simply did not care for, so one might wonder why he decided to become a Vigilante if he wasn't good at fighting.

The answer was quite simple: He wished to be better.

It was not out of arrogance that he desired to get better, either. Rather, his penchant for learning extended to physical education as well, and understanding how to fight would allow him to get a better understanding of how humanity as a whole functioned.

It was one of the many reasons why, when he got the free time to, he watch the recorded battles that heroes got into. It was to study how the human body functioned. How its muscles would bend and contort to get the optimal angle for an attack.

Truly, the human body fascinated Izuku more than anything else.

So, when Stendhal launched an attack at Izuku, an upward slash that cleaved up through his chin all the way out of his frontal cortex, he had to admit that he was frustrated that he didn't see it coming. Stendhal had moved like a blur, and struck even harder than he could've possibly imagined.

It was clear to Izuku that he had gotten way in over his head.

As Stendhal flicked the blood off of his blade and re-sheathed it, Izuku could feel the condescending glare emanating off of him. "Now, die, for your foolish mistake."

As Izuku hit the ground, hitting the cement with a light thud, mulling over his blunder, blinking as his face repaired itself, he was left to figure out how Stendhal moved as fast as he did. Was it pure training, or was it something else?

What was it that made Stendhal so fast? Izuku needed to find out—he desired to know more about him, his curiosity overtaking his common sense. But, before he could get up, he could already hear Stendhal retreating….

No.

He wasn't getting away that easily. Not when Izuku had become interested in knowing more.

Leaping up from his prone stance, before jumping into the air and hovering slightly above Stendhal's head, Izuku delivered a devastating spin-kick to Stendhal, sending him flying down from the roof of the building they were standing atop of down into the streets below, leaving a small crack in the asphalt.

As Stendhal slowly stood up, rubbing the side of his head, confusion quickly filled his mind as he looked around to see who had been responsible for such an attack, only to realize it had been the same individual who he had just cleaved into the face of with his blade.

"What…? But how?" Stendhal thought, confusion giving way to frustration as he stared into the fractured pale blue Oni-mask. Now that he could see underneath the mask, even if it was only slightly, he bore witness to an unnerving looking eye—pointed, glaring, and vacant of any real emotion outside of annoyance and curiosity. As if what Stendhal had done was nothing more than a brief obstacle to him.

It was made even more confusing, when there was the noticeable lack of a wound on the admittedly young-looking individuals face. As if his blade had never struck true.

"If that won't wound him, then perhaps this will," Stendhal thought, cool, calm, and collected. Gripping his katana, Stendhal assumed a more offensive stance, as the individual wordlessly charged forward. Noticeably, his tanto was nowhere to be seen. That meant that he left it on the roof—a rookie mistake, but a mistake that Stendhal planned on capitalizing on.

As the individual cleared the distance between themselves and him, Stendhal lunged forward, using his open stance as an opening. Unsheathing his blade and shrinking the gap in less than a second, Stendhal narrowed his eyes underneath the mask, honing in on his target, before thrusting his blade through the young man's chest twice in rapid succession, puncturing both lungs in the process. "Fifth Form: Pulse Fang." 

Blood spewed from the wounds and from Izuku's mouth as he staggered back, clutching his chest whilst the wounds healed. But Stendhal didn't let up. He kept going, not wanting to lose his momentum, performing the same attack he had done on the larger villain from earlier, with eight precise slashing strikes aimed at Izuku body. "First Form: Hack N' Slash!" 

The overwhelming series of slashes carved into Izuku's flesh, a hiss reverberating from his lips, blood coating the street as Stendhal kicked Izuku in the stomach, sending him to the ground. Stendhal watched him fall, blood flowing from his wounds as gravity took its course, before he fell onto the road with a sharp thud.

Stendhal stared down at the Yukata-wearing boy, his eyes narrowing under his mask. He watched as the slash wounds began to close up. If he hadn't already believed that the young vigilante had a regeneration Quirk, than this more than proved it.

"That means, given enough time, he'll get back up and start hunting me again…" Stendhal thought, scowling. "But, just because he can, doesn't mean I'll let him." 

"Stay down, if you know what's good for you. I haven't the time, nor the want to battle fledgling like you." Stendhal paused, humming. "Your Quirk gives you regenerative capabilities; that's the only explanation for you to still be alive. It is a shame that it is wasted on someone like you."

Stendhal raised his sword in the air, pointed the tip of his blade right where Izuku's heart would be located, before plunging the blade down. Izuku choked, blood spilling out of his mouth as it leaked from under his mask.

Without fanfare, Stendhal removed the blade from the young man's chest, staring down at the body. It no longer moved. Perfectly still, as all dead things should be. He waited one second, then two, and after three seconds passed with no sign of moving, Stendhal relaxed. "Good. One less nuisance to deal with later."

And then, after sheathing his blade, and without bothering to stick around, Stendhal leapt away, using the surrounding signage to boost himself up to the nearby rooftops. He still had a villain that needed killing, after all.

But as he left, he couldn't help but feel… off.

Something was truly wrong about that boy. Something dark, and whatever it was, Stendhal didn't want to encounter it again. Not that he believed he'd have to. After all, he stabbed the boy in the heart, so there was no way he could come back.

Right?

"Of course. What am I thinking? That boy is dead, and better for it. This world… this cruel, hollow world would eat him up and spit him out. That boy lacked true conviction, and so I did him a mercy," Stendhal thought, troubled by his thoughts all the while.

[XXXX]

Knuckleduster, otherwise known as Iwao Oguro, was just having one of those days. His day job's paycheque was late, there were no good villains to fight, and to make matters worse? His daughter was still missing, his wife was still in a coma, and everything just wasn't making for a good day.

Walking down the streets of Naruhata, he was itching for a fight—a good fight, not a crappy one. The only good one he had as of recent was against that large fellow a few days back.

That fight… that was a real fight. He was dreaming of having another fight like that, and hopefully, it was soon.

Granted, he didn't want it to be too soon. He was still trying to get over being rattled by the last big guy—the rock looking dude. He heard that the cops were calling this pop-up villains "Instant Villains" or something to that effect.

It made sense, seeing as how "instant" they'd pop up. Iwao also knew that it was the trigger that was causing it, specifically the variant known as Ideo Trigger. It was a very potent, dangerous kind of trigger that not only enhanced one's Quirk, it blinded their sensibilities, making it difficult for them to think rationally.

He had seen totally perfect and normal lives ruined by it. Much like any other kind of drug, it was insanely addictive. While he had never seen an overdose before, he had heard horror stories from doctors at the hospital his wife was staying at. How the affected individual's Quirk goes haywire, and they have no choice but to kill the person in order to save the lives others.

It was tragic—horrifically so. It was why Iwao hated it so much. He never understood why anybody would use Ideo Trigger, or any kind of Trigger, for that matter. It was dangerous, and at a young age schools warned about its uses and the danger it represented.

"Bah, people are stupid… But the people who sell it even worse. Making victims out of clueless kids or those easily tricked. Worse than scum," Iwao thought, adjusting his mask. His reason for being back on the streets was because he had finished visiting his wife in the hospital, and it had filled him with a sense of frustration that he needed to unleash on some stupid villain.

That was his only reason for being out again.

Although, he also couldn't lie to himself. He was worried about Pop Step and Crawler. They were just kids after all—or, well, Pop Step was. Crawler was basically an adult, but even then, he acted like a kid, so he still counted.

"I wonder how Crawler and Pop Step are doing…. They better not've gotten into any—"

Iwao's train of thought halted as he stopped dead in his tracks. During his time as vigilante, he had seen a lot of messed up, terrible things. He had seen murders, he had seen kidnappings, he had even stopped a couple of in-progress rapes.

But what he saw, sprawled out on the side of the road, while not anything new, had made his blood turn cold.

Rule Number 1 about Iwao: Never hurt children around him—he was a father, for crying out loud, so that was your own funeral if you wanted to be that dumb.

Rule Number 2 about Iwao: If you challenge him to a fight, ya better make sure that you know what you're doing, or you're going to lose a couple of teeth.

And finally; Rule Number 3 about Iwao: If he ever caught the person who attacked, brutalized, or murdered a child, he would find them, and he would kill them.

What he saw in the side of the road was Moonscent, laying in a fool of his own blood. Iwao knew that Moonscent had been a child—no adult that small and a voice that immature would throw themselves into this line of work, that and with every other factor lining up, he had long ago deduced that Moonscent was, at most, a middle schooler.

So, to see Moonscent in a puddle of his own blood was worrisome, and it set off all of his parental instincts.

Without saying a word, Iwao ran over to Moonscent, stopped everything that he was doing, and inspected the young kid without doing too much. He still had a pulse—a faint one, but a pulse. He didn't appear to have any wounds, but the corners of his mouth that were bleeding told him otherwise. His mask was cut, which revealed a very child-like face underneath, which all but confirmed his suspicions.

"Who the fuck would do this to a kid?!" Iwao cursed mentally, picking up Moonscent carefully. His first thought was to take him to the hospital, but that most likely wasn't a good idea. After all, Moonscent was a notorious vigilante, and he was known for wearing that exact mask and yukata.

But, even still… What was more important? The kid surviving? Or his street cred?

The answer was blindingly obvious.

Iwao booked it.

Frankly, he was being stupid—he knew it, but that didn't change a damn thing. Iwao knew some basic first aid, but given that the kid didn't have any external injuries, that meant he probably had internal injuries. Which meant that the only people who could help would be trained professionals.

However, just as he turned the corner, Iwao had to do a double take, before not only was the kid no longer in his arms, but behind him, he heard the sound of feet touching the ground. Sharply looking over his shoulder, Iwao saw Moonscent, standing, cracking his neck from side to side as he wiped at his the sides of his mouth.

"Damnit. I've lost him…" Moonscent grumbled as Iwao scowled.

"Oi! Kid, the hell! You're injured, what are—"

"No, I'm not," Moonscent interrupted, turning to face Iwao. "Although, I appreciate the concern."

"The hell?" Iwao thought, confusion taking over his mind. "The hell you aren't! You had blood—"

"I'm aware I was bleeding. However, my healing factor is the most potent there is. My wounds are fully healed. While I am ashamed that I lost my target, it won't happen again. Although, I was massively outclassed. I knew Stendhal was strong, but—"

"Stendhal? Who the hell is that?" Iwao butted in, crossing his arms. Moonscent looked over to Iwao, his one eye narrowed.

"A serial killer masking as a vigilante. He wields a katana and has several throwing knives on his person. Knuckleduster. I am aware you are strong, but do not go after him. His Quirk paralyzes those who's blood his tongue comes into contact with. He is my prey, and no one else's," Moonscent spat as Iwao tilted his chin up, his expression one of disappointment.

"Kid. That's no way to think. You wanna help the weak?"

"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, I do."

"Then don't go calling people "prey," for one. For two, if that Stendhal asshat is what did that to you, you ain't anywhere near his level. Throwing yourself at a wall won't break it. Ya gotta know what yer doin', first," Iwao stated bluntly as Moonscent looked down at his right hand.

He seemed… frustrated. But, that was only natural. Kids always believed themselves to be invincible—and this kid was pretty damn near close to that. If he could recover from internal injuries like that, he must've gained some kind of god complex.

The best thing for him right now was to break it. But, at the same time, he didn't want to pummel Moonscent into the dirt to get his point across. "Ya need to train."

"I figured. That's the only next logical step…" Moonscent said, before looking back at Iwao, nodding. "Thank you. Your words, blunt as they might have been, were kind. I'll be taking my leave now."

In a blur of motion, Moonscent was gone, although Iwao had seen him leap into the air and atop another rooftop. He frowned, bordering on scowling. Something wasn't right with that boy. He didn't know what, but whatever it was, it almost seemed… inhuman.

No kid, not even one with a hyperintelligence Quirk, spoke like that. No kid's voice sounded that mature. Especially one so young—at least, from what he could garner based on what was underneath the boy's mask.

Something wasn't adding up.

Iwao never was the conspiracy theorist type, and he never would be—not unless that conspiracy made sense—but Iwao had a feeling that Moonscent was more than what he let on.

And what that something more was had to have been dangerous.

[XXXX]

Kuin Hachisuka had to admit, out of all the people that she had the fortune of running into, Stendhal and Moonscent were not the ones that she had expected. But, all the same, the more people fighting one another and causing havoc, the better.

Sitting atop one of the many skyscrapers within Naruhata, Kuin adjusted her eyepatch, a buzzing noise murmuring just underneath. The current body she was possessing belonged to a runaway—she didn't bother to recall her name, Tamao or something along those lines. It really didn't matter. Just a face and a body that she could live vicariously through.

This body, in particular, had short orangish-brown hair, cream coloured skin, and had visibly sharp teeth. The clothing choice, though, Kuin could make on her own. Therefore, she wore dark green and white Varsity Jacket, underneath which she wore a white button-up shirt, a short pale skirt, and yellow and black striped stalkings, with brown slip-on shoes—her favourite attire, primarily because it allowed her to lure in unsuspecting morons to turn into Instant Villains.

Although, right now, the person who she had the most interest in had to be Moonscent. She had been watching him from afar during his battle with Stendhal, and, much like Number Six, had a regeneration Quirk of some kind. One that seemed to allow him to avoid death, if having been stabbed in the heart wouldn't kill him.

Although, it also seemed to give him enhanced strength and speed. Her first initial thought was that he had multiple Quirks, but she quickly dismissed the notion. All For One would have mentioned something about a recent experiment, and tell them that he had sent reinforcements to the area. Ergo, he couldn't have multiple Quirks.

That meant that there was something more to Moonscent.

Something that Kuin desperately needed to know.

"Wonder what that Quirk could do under the effects of Trigger," Kuin mused, smiling. Of course, he wasn't the only one who she was interested in. There were others, but if she could get him alone and secluded, inject him with Ideo Trigger, and watch the chaos ensue afterward?

That…

That would be interesting.

Standing up, Kuin cracked her neck from side to side, easing the strain that she gained from looking down all evening. She had already made up her mind. This week, she would learn more about Moonscent. Tomorrow, she'd have one of her bees follow him around out of sight, find where he lived, and find his school, and during it, inject him with Ideo Trigger, just to cause havoc.

Besides, it was in schools where the best tragedies could happen.

As she walked down the stairs along the side of the building, Kuin couldn't help but giggle.

Yes, truly, this was ingenious.

And the best part…?

Nothing would be traced back to her! Nothing at all!

That was why Kuin loved causing havoc like this. She loved making people hurt, loved causing problems, and most importantly of all, loved to watch people die.

Humans…

Humans were nothing but insects.

Humans ruined the natural order of things, so it was only fair to kill them for fun. To cause them as much pain and suffering as possible.

Kuin was a direct result of humanities hubris—an experiment to give animals Quirks. This was all self-inflicted. Even if the others who were apart of the experiments wanted nothing to do with her, including that damned Chimera, she would make everyone pay attention to her.

After she was done toying with Moonscent, she would destroy Naruhata.

She would make sure that Naruhata would be a message to humanity.

And that message would be clear as day….

You're all weak.

[Volume 1 – Chapter 7: The Annoying Buzz of an Insect]

It had been well over three weeks since Izuku had gone to Naruhata. In that time, he had taken Knuckledusters words to heart. If he wanted any chance to fight Stendhal, he needed to know how to fight. He needed to get a grip on basic combat skills, but also street and performative.

There was just one problem.

His mother couldn't afford to send him to any of the martial arts schools, and his wages as a Mangaka wasn't earning him nearly enough to afford a monthly membership at any martial arts school.

So, he improvised.

He watched videos online, and practiced in parks. He would practice combos on trees, do physical exercise following a calisthenics routine, while also using the money he made as a Mangaka to pay for a monthly gym membership, because those were significantly cheaper than any martial arts school.

His only problem was not knowing how to test out his newfound capabilities. Not without going out again as Moonscent. He wanted to—he had been behind on his hunt for Stendhal, but for all he knew, Stendhal could've already been dealt with, which would sour his mood.

That being said, it wasn't as if he was all out of options to test his strength.

Izuku knew one person who would love nothing more than to fight him.

Currently, it was after school. Nakime had already gone home, which gave him the excuse to linger around after the bell.

Aldera allowed students to be on campus grounds for up to two hours after school. A lot of students didn't take advantage of it, but Izuku had in the past. Just like his previous school, he had a mental map of every facility, every room, and every knook and cranny.

Aldera, to him, was easy to navigate. As if looking at the back of his hand.

He also had a habit of noting every habit of those who he had labeled as "interest individuals." The list was a very small one, but it consisted of three people. Nakime, Haneyama—aka Pop Step—and Bakugo.

Nakime always left school the first second she got.

Haneyama stuck around in the theater area to practice her routine.

But, the most important one for his current uses, was Bakugo's.

Bakugo lingered around the front gates with his friends, read as cronies, so that they could go to the arcade in downtown Musutafu, which bordered on two cities—Hosu and Tokyo.

That was where Izuku was headed right now.

As he did, the wind blowing harshly—a sign of an incoming storm—Izuku couldn't help but feel as if doing what he was about to do was a bit of a meat-headed idea.

Izuku never really played into the "humiliating Bakugo" card often. In fact, he never did outside of intellectual disputes.

His reasoning for it was rather simple. Izuku would be the brains, and Bakugo would be the brawn.

Izuku was never one for combat.

But, his want to hunt Stendhal necessitated that he needed to get better.

And who else better than to "help" would be the same person who he had convinced that he had been weak.

Before Izuku even got within six meters of Bakugo, he turned to sharply glare at him. His annoyance was palpable, his shoulders tense, and his right palm already crackling with sparks.

Good.

That was a good sign.

"Oi, the hell do ya want, freak?" Bakugo barked, his glare intensifying, not that it bothered Izuku much. Staring blankly, Izuku adjusted his collar slightly—it had been annoying him—before speaking.

"Bakugo. I wish to spar."

Bakugo stared at him as if he had gone insane, balking all the while. "The fuck? You? The scrawny freak? You wanna spar?" As Bakugo continued, he scoffed, brushing Izuku's request, as if insulted. "Fuck outta here with that bullshit. Me? Spar with you? No thanks," Bakugo spat, turning his back on Izuku.

"Well, there goes plan A. Time for plan B," Izuku thought dryly, frowning. "What's the matter, Bakugo? Afraid that you actually might lose?"

To that, Bakugo slowly looked over his shoulder, his eyes gaining a bloodshot tinge to them, his lips upturning into a slight snarl. "Excuse the fuck outta you. The hell did you just say?"

Izuku smirked. Good. He wanted that reaction from him. That meant he fell for the bait. Technically, he was stooping to Bakugo's low right now, but he wanted to try out his new capabilities on a moving target. What better way to do that then to the one guy who had spent most of his life bullying him?

"I said: Are you, the great Katsuki Bakugo, afraid of losing to, as you put it, "the scrawny freak." Because that is what this seems like to me," Izuku replied, his voice calm, never once wavering as Bakugo snarled.

"Oh, that's it! You're dead!"

Bakugo moved faster than Izuku had initially expected, but he was able to make up for that by knowing what it was that Bakugo always liked to do first when it came to fighting.

And that was thrusting forward with his right hand to pop an explosion in his victims face.

Izuku side stepped the attack, got in extremely close to where Izuku's fingers were barely even an inch away, and then, he struck at speeds that most people couldn't possibly keep up with. The speed and force of the blow was enough to leave tiny shockwave impressions across Bakugo's clothes and skin, making him spit up saliva all over the ground, staggering back as he began to wheeze.

"The One Inch Punch…" Izuku thought, but he refused to let up. Giving Bakugo a chance would simply mess things up. So, Izuku capitalized on his moment of weakness, lunged forward, and instead of going for a punch, keeping his momentum, Izuku did a spinning round kick. The sides of his shoes slammed into Bakugo's arm and knocked him over.

Bakugo groaned and snarled, slowly coming to his feet. "YOU SHITTY FREAK!" Bakugo roared, snapping forward as he palmed Izuku in the stomach, followed by a point blank explosion. Izuku was sent flying into the brick fence around the courtyard permiter from the force of the blow, the brickwork cracking under pressure. Bakugo lunged for him, but Izuku was smart enough, and able to recover fast enough, to dodge to avoid the follow up explosion.

As he slipped to the right, he kicked Bakugo's feet out from under him, causing him to face plant into the fence, before Izuku grabbed him by the hair, pulled him back, and flipped him over his shoulder to land on the grass. Then, with a definitive stomp to the chest, Izuku held him there as Bakugo squirmed. "Stay down."

But, of course, because this was Bakugo, he refused to back down. Launching an explosion upward that Izuku narrowly dodged out of the way of by dashing to the right, he caught a right hook to the face, followed by a delayed explosion that sent him to the ground just as Bakugo was getting up.

The small burn on his face rapidly began to heal, as Bakugo sneered, looming over him in such a way that his entire face seemed to be covered in shadow, his eyes seemingly glowing red, and his sneer reflecting razor sharp teeth—like a monster staring down its next meal.

"Fucking freak, thinking you can step to me! Who the fuck do you think you are, you wannabe loser," Bakugo snarled, and only then, when Bakugo was done spewing his repugnant garbage, did Izuku use his position to kick upward and send Bakugo backward, giving him enough space to stand.

"Shit!" Bakugo spat, blood leaking from his lower lip. "You asshole! You busted my lip!" Bakugo growled, staring at Izuku, who… seemed to be fine. Bakugo blinked, confused. How? How could he be fine? Didn't he just sling an explosion at his face?

He knew how powerful his explosions were, especially from that range. That should've left at least a bruise.

But…

There was nothing.

"I think that will be all," Izuku said, brushing off his sleeves, rolling his shoulder. "Thank you, Bakugo. I learnt a lot from this," and as Izuku said that, he brushed past Bakugo, hands in his pockets as all Bakugo could do was stare.

What the hell was even that?

No, seriously? What the hell was that?

Since when could that freak heal from his injuries?

Or… Maybe, come to think of it, he had never seen a single bruise on him since the day he had met him.

Not a scratch, not a scrape, not a bruise, not a thing.

"What the hell…?" 

Bakugo needed to know more, but, he honestly didn't know how he was going to get that information. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask the freak.

Maybe, he'd just jump the bastard at some point.

Yeah, that would work.

Off in the distance, standing across the opposite side of the street, lurking in an alleyway, Kuin had a smile stretching across her face.

She had been stalking Moonscent since she came to Musutafu, and had learned quite a lot. He was boring, constantly studied, and was a Mangaka. His Quirk seemed to have a mix of regeneration, some kind of strength enhancer, and enhanced defensive capabilities. She had also seen him drink blood, and only blood, meaning that his Quirk was blood related.

She had seen all of those kinds of Quirks on the effects of trigger. They got stronger, healed faster, and some even died as a result due to Quirk Overload.

But that explosion Quirk from that dusty blond boy…

"That would be so much cooler~!" Kuin thought, an excited buzzing noise rumbling underneath her eyepatch. She'd have to wait, though. Lunch time would be the best chance she'd get, so tomorrow. Tonight, though, she had other plans. Rokuro wanted her to look into something for The Villain Factory, so tonight, she'd have to wait to unleash anything big.

Stendhal was also busy, too. He had decided to head to Esuha to hunt down a few villains before he went after his next assigned target. Something came up, apparently, and he deemed it more important.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter, just as long as chaos rips across Japan, I don't care," Kuin said before giggling. She was half tempted to send out a Trigger Bee to jab that explosion guy mid fight, but he wanted him to be in a bigger place with more people before she did that.

After all, the most casualties was what made for the best "Instant Villain" as the police were now calling them.

"Instant Villains…. What a tacky name," Kuin thought as she slinked back into the alleyway, frowning. The media always found a way to suck out the creativity of her ideas. "Oh well, at least it isn't something lame like Pop-Up Villains." 

And as she walked into the alleyway, she had failed to notice that Izuku had been staring in that direction the whole time, eyes narrowed. He had never seen that girl before, and for her to be staring at the direction of the school…

"Suspicious…" 

Izuku knew immediately that whoever that girl was, she was a threat. A threat that he, at some point, would need to tackle.

But, for right now, he was content to leave her to her own devices. The bite of Moonscent's blade would evade her for now.

For now, he was focused on Stendhal, more than anyone else.

Stendhal would be his first, and only kill.

He knew the saying that "after the first, you can't stop" but Izuku had enough self control to avoid slipping into the same trap that Stendhal fell into.

And so, Izuku walked away, making his way back to his apartment. He had ordered a new Tanto online with a false I.D., and it should arrive soon. His mother had gone to Jaku City for a business meeting, so she wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

Which meant that it was time for Moonscent to come back to the streets of Naruhata.

[XXXX]

Naruhata at night wasn't particularly any different from any other city. Just like any other city, crime rate spiked, but that wasn't against the norm. Soga Kugizaki had seen his fair share of crime—he had committed some as well. Sometimes robbed, other times he did more… questionable things. Shakedowns, for the most part. Scaring and threatening someone into doing something bad if they didn't hand over cash.

That Pop-Step chick was one of them. All he wanted was a couple thousand yen to buy a couple smokes. He was never serious about what he said he was going to do.

He wasn't a freak.

He wasn't like all those other punks.

His friends, Rapt and Moyoyuru. They weren't like that either. They were just a couple of strung-up youths looking for a quick paycheque.

They weren't freaks either.

Maybe it was because of his standoffish demeanour that he knew full well that people saw him differently. Saw him as a villain. His appearance didn't help matters either. His spiked, dyed hair, his clothing, his smoking habit….

It was why when he was walking to meet up with that chick who gave them that drug, Trigger, for the second time that month he was going there to finish business.

Permanently.

She got his friends hurt.

She got them into trouble.

She got them beat up.

She was going to pay dearly for that.

Soga checked his phone, frowning. This was the meeting location, and the chick wasn't here yet. His eyes narrowed, and just as he was about to ditch the place, a pair of footsteps echoed out from behind him. Soga looked over his shoulder, scowling.

There she was. Ginger hair, pale skin, dark brown eyes and that obnoxious outfit.

"Oh? You're friends aren't here? I thought you said all of you were going to show up," The Chick said, her voice sickly sweet, like honey on bread.

"They ain't a part of this no more," Soga spat, his eyes narrowed in a glare. "You got a lotta nerve actually showin' up, ya know that?"

"Why's that?" The chick said as Soga sneered.

"You said that shit wasn't gonna 'cause problems. Just give us a boost. You neva said it would 'cause us to lose our wits," Soga spat as The Chick scoffed.

"It's an experimental drug. Forgive me for not knowing what would happen. Besides, that batch was faulty," The Chick replied cooly, before a smirk took up her visage. "Say, have you heard the rumours?"

"Hmn?"

"There's a serial killer on the loose. He's been taking down crooks left and right, and since you guys were on the news labeled as a part of the whole Instant Villains trend happening, he might just come after ya next!" The Chick said, putting on a face of faux worry, something that Soga saw through instantly. "You should tell them! That scary psycho's gonna come after ya," then, a viscous smirk took up her visage. "And you're gonna need what I got to help you outta this mess."

Soga's sneer was so filled with rage that he could barely contain himself. Several veins popped out on his forehead, threatening to burst as he glared daggers at The Chick. "Then I'll deal with 'em myself. Without that shitty drug. I only came here to end things. I'm done with this shit."

"Oh? Is that so?" The Chick said, a curious hint to her voice. "Huh. That's crummy. Though, I guess you wanting to protect your friends is a true sign of decency. Maybe you aren't that bad after all…"

"Enough," a quiet, clipped tone of voice rippled throughout the alleyway as Soga's eyes widened. There, standing behind The Chick, was a man in a red mask and jumpsuit get-up, with fold-out knives lining his chest, alongside a katana on his back, the blade gleaming in the moonlight, reflecting a crimson hue along the edge. "This charade has gone on long enough. You hide behind falsehoods, and for it I will cut you down."

"Soga~! You sure you don't want my help?" The Chick said, her tone venomous. This was a trap. He should've figured it was. Why the hell didn't he put two and two together!

"Bah, piss off!" Soga spat, thin blade-like claws ejecting from his knuckles. "I'll take you both on, without that shitty drug!"

"Bor~ing," The Chick said in a sing-song tone of voice, putting both hands behind her back. "You're no fun Soga. Forcing my hand like this… Oh well, guess I gotta make things interesting. You don't mind, do ya, Stendhal?"

The masked murderer, Stendhal, said nothing. He simply got into a position where he could strike at Soga with his blade, and Soga knew at that moment that he was screwed. He had seen people who knew how to fight—how to properly fight—and Soga knew full well that he wasn't like that. But Stendhal? He knew what he was doing.

Panic filled Soga's eyes, his expression turning from stone-cold seriousness to fear as he took a step back. The Chick grinned as a horde of strange looking bees flew out of nowhere. "Time to make things interesting."

A wave of bees with syringe bottoms flew out toward Soga. He covered his face, protecting his eyes with both of his arms, waiting for them to attack.

But nothing came.

The only sound that followed was the sound of a blade slicing through the air.

A gasp of shock fell out of The Chick's face as Stendhal muttered something. Soga opened his eyes, and looked in front of him. A small, child-size individual adorned in a black yukata with floral patterns stood in front of him, wearing a red oni mask over his face. The boy's hair was tied into bun with two sticks keeping it in place, and in his right hand was a tanto.

All around him were dead bees, sliced in half with eerie precision. Though his expression was masked, the bloodlust oozing off of him was more than enough to send chills down Soga's spine. For someone so young to have that kind of aura…

"To think, now you target civilians Stendhal. Disgusting," the boy said, his voice dripping with malice.

"You… I pierced your heart. You should not be alive," Stendhal said matter-of-factly as the boy tilted his head.

"You stabbed a heart. But what about my six others?" The boy replied, flicking his tanto free of any insect guts. "I already alerted my contact that you're here, and they're bringing their friends, too. One of which includes Knuckleduster. Tell me something, do you wish to deal with four, potentially five people at once? Or will you take my offer of temporary mercy?"

"You…" The Chick hissed, glaring at the boy with nothing but contempt. "I thought you were cool, Moonscent."

"Moonscent? This brat's Moonscent?" Soga though, confusion swirling in his mind as Moonscent turned his attention to her.

"I am not talking to you, trash. I suggest you move along," Moonscent spat as The Chick sneered.

"Fine, I'll take two for the price of one," The Chick spat as more bees swarmed toward Soga and Moonscent. Moonscent used his Tanto to cleave through dozens of the bees in an instant, but even he wasn't able to keep up with the sheer amount of them all at once. Eventually, a few slipped by and stung both Moonscent and Soga.

For Moonscent, once the drug entered his body, it raced toward his brain trying to find a Quirk Factor to amplify. Only for a sea of strange, blackened blood cells to race toward the drug and demolish it within seconds.

When the drug did nothing for Moonscent, Kuin was taken aback. "There should've been an effect by now. But… nothing happened to him," Kuin thought, her expression laced with confusion, before turning to look at Soga, which was when her expression turned into sadistic glee. "Oh well, at least I got one of them~!"

Moonscent looked over his shoulder, flicking the bee off the side of his exposed face, before looking up at the mass of skin and quills behind him. Soga let out a roar of fury, which in turn culminated in Kuin laughing.

"Have fun, you three~! I'm gonna bounce before anything else happens~!"

And then, she was gone, stepping onto a few bees and flying off. Moonscent glared at Stendhal, readying his Tanto as he gripped the hilt of his blade.

"You truly are an odd one, Moonscent," Stendhal said, inhaling as he spoke. "First, you mention you have multiple hearts…. Then, a drug that is meant to boost someone's Quirk Factor has no affect on you…. It makes me wonder… Just what are you?" 

Moonscent sneered underneath his mask. He had no idea how long it would take for his back-up to arrive. He could hear Soga's ragged and furious breathing behind him. He was moments away from charging like a wild animal.

"You're name is Soga, yes?"

"Yeah," Soga growled. He seemed to have control. Good.

"Then let us dispatch of this filth," Moonscent said, raising his tanto. "Back up will arrive soon, but until then, it is just the two of us."

"Whatever. This bastard is mine!" Soga roared as Stendhal huffed.

"So, you reveal your true colours. Fine by me. Then it's time to die!" Stendhal declared, as they all lunged at one another.

[Volume 1 – Chapter 8: Seething, Bloodcurdling Rage]

When Stendhal lunged forward, he did not target Moonscent. He targeted the one named Soga. He reasoned that once he dealt with Soga, then Moonscent would be next.

But he made a critical error in not targeting Moonscent.

The moment Stendhal prepared to slash at Soga, Moonscent interjected himself between Soga and the strike, his tanto rising to cross blades with Stendhal's katana. Whereas before the strike would have sent Moonscent flying like it had in their first encounter, Moonscent matched Stendhal in physical strength, perfectly blocking the blow.

"What?" 

It should not have been possible.

There was no way for someone so young to match the physical strength of an adult. Not even in a society of Quirks.

As sparks flashed between the clash of blades, Stendhal had barely any time to react to the massive, razor-sharp quill covered fist that Soga threw his way. If Stendhal moved his blade, his hand would be gone. So, he took the punch head on, the fist slamming into Stendhal's mask as it sent him flying.

Stendhal flew through the air, flipping uncontrollably before landing on the ground, tumbling along the pavement before skidding to a halt near the end of the alleyway. His head throbbed in pain as he growled under his breath before collecting himself.

For as strong as he was, he wasn't particularly durable. He was what some might call a "glass canon." Able to dish out damage but unable to take it very well. That being said, he was not going to allow the brute—who was currently charging at him with reckless abandon—to do that again.

Steadying his blade, Stendhal calmed his breathing, before adjusting his stance with his blade, the pummel just inches away from his right shoulder. As Soga drew closer, and just as he was three feet away, Stendhal struck.

"Blood Breathing – Second form: Vein Splitter!" Stendhal thought, lunging forward with a thrusting motion. The tip of the blade caught within Soga's right bicep, and as it did, Stendhal sliced diagonally across his arm and down from the top right side of his chest down to his abdomen, blood spewing like a fountain.

Soga roared in pain, echoing out into the night sky as Stendhal smirked underneath his mask. A wound like that would be fatal, even to someone with Trigger in their system.

But even still, he did not forget about Moonscent.

Quickly turning on his heel, he blocked another strike from Moonscent's tanto—a piercing attack that was aimed for his throat. "Quite bloodthirsty aren't we?" Stendhal said, his tone mocking. Moonscent said nothing in reply, and just before Stendhal could say another word, Moonscent used the friction from his impact of Stendhal's blade to flip backwards, and have the heel of his foot come into contact with the top of Stendhal's head.

Stendhal barely had the chance to register the impact to avoid slamming into the ground mask first. Using the force of the blow and the direction of where it was taking him, Stendhal rolled like a ball and repositioned himself behind Moonscent, who, when he landed, quickly turned and blocked another strike.

"In the last three weeks you've clearly improved," Stendhal commented as the two exchanged blows with their blades, sparks flying from each impact, but with Stendhal having the upper hand, pushing Moonscent back with each strike. "Alas, it will afford you nothing."

On the next strike of their blades, Stendhal found an opening, smirked under his mask, and adjusting himself accordingly, Stendhal took the opportunity. "Blood Breathing – Fourth form: Arterial Reap!"

Slashing his katana downward toward the upper right hand-side of Moonscent's body, he purposely missed to force Moonscent to prepare a block, before rising his blade back upward, carving into the lower left-hand side of his body, severing the Iliac, gastric, before finally diverting to the brachial arteries, all in one fluid motion.

Much like what happened to Soga, blood spewed like a fountain. Unlike what happened to Soga, who was starting to stand up, glaring daggers at Stendhal, Moonscent kicked Stendhal in the stomach, sending him backward a few feet as the cut healed over in the time it took to blink.

Blood stained Stendhal's blade—Moonscent's blood—as the aforementioned boy charged forward. He considered using his Quirk, but decided against it. He did not need his Quirk to best a pre-pubescent child. Beneath the mask, Stendhal could sense the killing intent coming off of him. Most people fell to arterial reap, but Moonscent and his pesky regeneration was proving to be difficult.

Stendhal thought back to what he said about having multiple hearts—or at the very least alluded to having multiple hearts. Most mutation based Quirks didn't cause that drastic of a mutation. But, then again, if the rumours of Quirks becoming stronger every generation was true, then it made sense…. Up until that Trigger Bee did nothing to him.

He still hadn't an answer to the question he asked Moonscent.

What was he?

Was he even human?

"Nonsense," Stendhal thought, steadying his blade as he blocked a downward slash from Moonscent. "What else could he be?" Stendhal reasoned, continuing to block strike after strike as Soga finally regained his composure and rushed forward, flanking Stendhal's right. Stendhal quickly disengaged from Moonscent to attack Soga, only for Moonscent to finally land a blow.

Moonscent's tanto lodged itself just under Stendhal's upper most switch blade, piercing just above his lung as Stendhal hissed. The blow distracted Stendhal as Soga slammed his right fist into Stendhal's stomach, claws included, piercing his intestines as the force of the bunch of was enough to send Stendhal flying out of the alleyway and into the empty street proper.

Stendhal collected himself, steadying his breathing. From the scrolls of his ancestors, alongside learning about Breathing Techniques and how to create ones own, on top of that, there was the technique known as Total Concentration Breathing, which hastened blood flow and increased ones physical capabilities.

Stendhal hadn't used it yet, but considering his wounds, and considering the fact that he was losing, he needed the extra boost in power. That, and with the threat of back-up coming for those two, he knew that if he didn't dispatch of them things were only going to get worse.

As Stendhal breathed deep, he immediately felt the effects as his veins surged, his heart beat accelerated, and much like the effects of adrenaline, he felt the pain from the two wounds he had gained bleed away into the back of his mind.

Just as Moonscent and Soga walked out of the alleyway to meet Stendhal in the street, Stendhal lunged forward, cracking the pavement underneath his feet. He targeted Moonscent first, seeing as he was the most important threat at the moment.

Stendhal had been moving so fast that neither Soga nor Moonscent could react. Mid-lunge, Stendhal prepared his blade. This move was only used when in desperate need to end a battle. If stabbing his heart would not kill Moonscent, then severing his head would have to do.

And so, without a single note of hesitation, Stendhal readied his katana, and using his blurring speed, mere feet away from Moonscent, he unleashed it.

"BLOOD BREATHING – EIGHT FORM: FINAL HEMORRHAGE!"

The scene played out in his mind like a painting. Blood seemingly channelled all around Stendhal's blade, coating it, surrounding it in pure crimson, as with a single, solitary horizontal slash, Stendhal's blade carved through Moonscent's neck, severing his head from his body.

Soga's eyes widened.

Moonscent's expression of horror was masked by the face of an oni overlapping his.

And just as Stendhal landed the attack, Pop-Step stood on the edge of the building, hands covering her mouth, eyes wide with horror and disgust. She was the first between herself, Crawler, and Knuckleduster to arrive.

And it had been too late.

Stendhal paid the new arrival no mind as Moonscent's body crumbled to the ground like a ragdoll, his tanto skidding across the pavement. His attention then shifted over to Soga, narrowing his eyes as he ducked under a sloppy right hook.

Continuing his momentum, Stendhal followed up his last attack with another as Soga prepared a block, only for Stendhal to sneak behind him in the blink of an eye, and upon seeing how exposed his back was, struck like a serpent eager for pray.

"Blood Breathing – Seventh Form: Vascular Coil!" 

Stendhal thrust his blade into Soga's back, piercing through his chest and stabbing his diaphragm, ripping the blade out and kicking Soga to the ground as a pool of blood began to spill around him. The entire time, Stendhal kept his composure.

Two dead bodies.

Two villains scratched off the list. One his true target, and another that had stuck his nose in a place it didn't belong.

But, Stendhal knew that this was not going to be the end.

He flicked his blade clean of the blood and side-stepped the incoming attack from above. A flash of black and pink registered in his eyes as he steadied his blade as a familiar sight took up his vision. The skimpy attire was recognizable to anyone familiar with the street performer, even as lame as it appeared.

"Pop-Step…" Stendhal hissed. "You do not belong here. Leave while you can, or you shall be next."

"You killed a kid! A literal child!" Pop-Step raged, clenching her right hand into a fist. "You'll pay for that!"

"Then you can join him!" Stendhal roared, lunging forward faster than Pop-Step could react, eyes wide as Stendhal readied his blade. Just moments before he performed the first form of Blood Breathing, something knocked into his legs, nearly sweeping him off his feet as he did a back flip.

"I admired you, ya know," Crawler said, disappointment coating his words. "To think you were a killer… but I won't let you hurt anyone else! That's what a hero is supposed to do!" Crawler shouted, keeping low to the ground as Stendhal narrowed his eyes underneath his mask.

"Then you should know the importance of ridding the world of trash like those two. Villains. You two… you are pure of heart. Turn back, now. Or else I'll will be made to force my hand," Stendhal tried to reason, but it was no use, as Crawler surged forward, as well as Pop-Step, who leapt into the air.

A pincer attack.

A wise choice.

Too bad it hardly mattered.

Just leaping back to gain some distance, Stendhal waited for the perfect moment to unleash a move perfect for this exact kind of attack. Readying his blade in front of him in a sideway stance, just as both of them got within his metaphorical crosshairs, Stendhal surged forward in a leaping motion as he begun to spin his blade at blinding speeds—like that of a propeller on a plane as he mentally exclaimed the attack's name.

"Blood Breathing – Sixth Form: Blood Petal Scatter!" 

And just like a propeller blade, the attack carved and tore through Pop-Step and Crawler, drawing a significant amount of blood that even most adults would find debilitating. It caused Pop-Step to tumble to her side, hitting a light post and halting her in totality as Crawler flew backward, slamming into the wall of a nearby building, crashing into the side of it with a cry of pain.

Stendhal skidded to a halt, standing tall over the four bodies that were now in front of him. He glanced over at Pop-Step, her breathing slow and shallow. A non-threat. He then cast his attention to Crawler, who, despite the various gashes, slices, and cuts, came to his feet.

Blood leaked from him like a leaky pipe. Determination gleamed in his eyes, and in that determination, Stendhal saw the look of a true hero in his eyes.

It was sad, really.

"You don't know when to give up. Look around you, Crawler. An ocean of blood separates us. I have yet to even use my Quirk. Do you truly think that you can take me on, knowing that?" Stendhal questioned, cocking an eyebrow underneath his mask. "Go on. Save yourself. Leave these fools to their fates. You needn't trouble yourself anymore."

"That… is not acceptable!" Crawler shouted, getting into a fighting stance. "Just because I don't have a license… Does not mean I won't stop a villain like you!"

"He has conviction, and an ample amount," Stendhal mused, steadying his blade. "You truly are admirable, Crawler. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Haimawari Koichi!"

"Chizome Akaguro," Akaguro replied, readying himself. "Haimawari. I shall remember your name. Now, come!"

Haimawari got low to the ground as Akaguro lunged forward. The two charged at one another, and just as Haimawari came close, he got out of his lowered, speeding stance, and surged upward, elbowing Akaguro in the stomach, causing the wound in his gut to tear open more—not that he would've been aware of that—causing Akaguro to cough up blood, losing his focus and interrupting his Total Concentration Breathing.

The force of the impact caused him to stagger backward. He quickly gathered his wits, continued his Total Concentration Breathing, and blocked another charging attack with the flat of his blade. Koichi slugged punch after punch, each sloppier than the last as the adrenaline began to leave his body.

This last stand… Akaguro knew full well it was out of pure desperation.

Haimawari's blood still stained his blade.

He could, if he wanted to, use Blood Curdle and offer him mercy.

But no.

Akaguro knew that if he did that, all that would do would taint Haimawari and turn him into a vengeance seeker. It would ruin his heroic spirit and turn him into another villain.

Akaguro was The Villain Killer, not The Villain Maker.

As the two exchanged blows, Akaguro felt pity for Haimawari. It was in that pity that he decided to end things as quickly as he could. An opening appeared, and when it did, Akaguro capitalized on it.

"Blood Breathing – Fifth Form: Pulse Fang." 

With two, scarily accurate thrusts of his katana, Akaguro pierced both lungs of Koichi Haimawari. When Koichi fell to the ground, gasping for breath, Akaguro did not feel triumph.

He did not feel the thrill of victory.

He did not feel good about himself.

He felt…

He felt awful.

In Haimawari, he saw himself. Akaguro saw before him someone who wanted to be a hero, but could not do so due to restrictions and a seemingly weak, or in his case, taboo Quirk.

But just as he killed that past version of himself, Akaguro readied to do the same for Haimawari.

"Koichi Haimawari. I grant you reprieve from your life of suffering. You will be known for what you were: a true hero. One who died in the line of action."

And just as Akaguro was about to pierced Koichi's neck, Akaguro narrowly avoided a punch from a massive, brass knuckle adorned black gloved hand.

"Yer wrong, jackass," A heavy, anger fueled voice rumbled from in front of Akaguro as his eyes narrowed underneath his mask. "'Cause I'm here, and I ain't gonna let ya kill my students!"

Standing before him, dressed in a dark green military-style jacket, black muscle shirt and sand-brown cargo jeans with a mask covering his face, Knuckleduster stood, a confident yet furious smirk taking up the uncovered portion of his face as the bandana mask covered the upper-half.

"Another one? Those two then, Pop-Step and Haimawari… They must've been the first wave of back-up. That makes Knuckleduster the last…" Akaguro reasoned, adjusting the stance of his blade.

"Knuckleduster… Truly, I do not wish to fight you. You follow the path of justice just as Haimawari did. We share a common goal—"

"Like hell we do," Knuckleduster spat, teeth gnashing. "I'm an ally of justice. You're just a crazed butcher pretending to be!"

"Hmm… I see. Another who refuses to see reason… However, perhaps it is I who cannot see the truth?" Akaguro murmured, readying himself. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am merely pretending. But what I do know, Knuckleduster, is that you cannot walk away from this alive."

"Then I guess I just gotta give ya a knuckle sandwich!" Knuckleduster shouted as the two charged toward one another. Knuckleduster threw a blindingly fast jab, and had Akaguro not been using Total Concentration Breathing, he would've gotten hit. But, thanks to his use of the breathing technique, he was able to slip past the punch, and counter it.

"Blood Breathing – First Form: Hack n' Slash!" 

Akaguro unleashed eight slashes in varying directions, all of which were blocked by Knuckleduster's forearms, blood seeping from the gashes. But Knuckleduster did not relent. He surged forward, ducking to the left to avoid a horizontal slash—a ninth strike meant to cut his jugular—and sent a right hook aimed for the side of Akaguro's face mask.

Akaguro reared back, the punch grazing his mask and scratching it, leaving a line just above where his nose would've been as Akaguro leapt back, giving himself distance. Distance that was quickly closed by Knuckleduster, who unleashed a flurry of punches, all of which Akaguro used his katana to block.

Had Akaguro's katana been a regular blade, it would have shattered.

But Akaguro's katana was anything but normal.

Akaguro's katana was made out of a legendary metal forged to withstand blows that would wipe out whole cities in a single go.

Knuckledusters expression changed from contempt and rage to battle lust-filled glee. Being the ravaging barbarian he was, Knuckleduster enjoyed a fight when someone could keep up with him and not backdown.

But, at the same time, his students were bleeding out, and from the looks of things, one was already dead—even if he didn't consider Moonscent a true student of his, he had given him the advice to train. Clearly, it either wasn't enough or he didn't train at all.

But either way, he wasn't going to let anyone else die.

So, Knuckleduster switched things up.

Knuckleduster stamped forward with enough force to shake the ground, causing Akaguro to falter briefly, and with the opening given, Knuckleduster surged his right fist forward, aiming to punch Akaguro in the face…!

Only…

"Blood Breathing – Seventh Form: Vascular Coil!"Akaguro roared, slipped past the blow like a snake and slashed just below Knuckledusters bicep, cutting his brachial artery as blood spewed from the wound, coating his blade.

Knuckleduster went to turn and punch Akaguro, only for Akaguro to lick the blood on his blade, and upon doing so, Knuckleduster felt a surge of something race through his body, causing him to collapse in the practical ocean of blood, most of which had dried up due to exposure to the air.

Akaguro stared down at Knuckleduster, sweat building on his forehead and face. Even while using Total Concentration Breathing, he knew that if he continued for any longer, he would eventually tire, and once he did, the fight would be over.

It was why he did something as dishonorable as using his Quirk.

Akaguro only ever used his Quirk on those who he hunted. He never used it in a setting where he had truly met his match. For that, he typically only used Blood Breathing. But, due to his condition worsening, he knew that he couldn't fight for much longer.

"It's over, Knuckleduster. You are paralyzed, and will be that way for several minutes. You have lost," Akaguro said, reverence in his tone of voice. In the distance, he could hear sirens. The police and an ambulance no-doubt had been called.

In other words, that meant he needed to flee.

"You… bastard…! Cheating like that…" Knuckleduster spat as Akaguro frowned.

"For what it's worth, I feel the same. We will meet again, Knuckleduster. Fair—"

Before he could finish his sentence, however, a black blur slammed a boot-covered foot in Akaguro's face. Akaguro was once again sent flying backward, slamming into a wall as he cupped his mask, dizziness taking up his visage.

"What the…?" Knuckleduster muttered as Akaguro could not believe his eyes.

It was impossible.

It was beyond unrealistic.

It should not have been…!

And yet, he could not deny the truth.

Standing in front of Knuckleduster, Moonscent stood, oni mask covering his face, tanto in hand.

"How?!" Akaguro shouted as Moonscent hummed.

"Truly? I do not know. But what I do know is this, Stendhal. This ends here and now," Moonscent spat as Akaguro sneered underneath his mask.

This could not have been happening. He decapitated Moonscent. He watched as his head flung off his shoulders. He should not be alive!

And yet, reality spat in his face as he was forced to accept that Moonscent was still alive.

Was his regeneration really that powerful?

Or…

Was there something else at play here?

Whatever the case was, Akaguro did not know, nor did he care.

"No. We will continue this later, Moonscent. By far, you are the most intriguing individual here. You survived two things that should have killed any regular human. Clearly, you are not like us. No human being should have survived that," Akaguro said, his voice starting to shake.

The pain of his wounds were starting to get to him, even through Total Concentration Breathing.

He needed to leave.

"Before I go, Moonscent. I ask you one question. I expect an answer when we next meet," Akaguro said, before levelling his sword in Moonscent's direction. "What are you? Because it is clear to me you are not human."

And then, just as Moonscent was about to lunge forward, Akaguro leapt backward, jumping off of a sign, and onto a nearby rooftop, before fleeing the scene, leaving Moonscent, Knuckleduster, Soga, Crawler, and Pop-step to their own devices.

Before Moonscent could do anything, though, a figure emerged from the shadows. They wore a black tracksuit, had a large grey scarf around their neck, had piercing black eyes, and stubble on their chin. Along his waist was a utility belt, and his expression was one of curiosity and concern.

"Saw the tail end of that… You've got a lot of explaining to do, Knuckleduster. But first, I'll talk to the police and first responders," Pro Hero Eraserhead said as multiple police cars and two ambulances pulled up to the scene.

[Volume 1 – Chapter 9: What Is It To Be Human?]

Izuku was never one to ignore a question, no matter how uncomfortable the answer might have been. But, as he sat in a hospital bed for the second time in his life, the light of the moon once again shining down on him from an open window, he did not know what to do.

His fight with Stendhal once again showed him just how weak he was.

Once again, Stendhal cut him down.

Once again, Stendhal had bested him.

Once again, he had failed to kill Stendhal.

Izuku Midoriya hated failure.

The mere concept of failure made his blood boil like nothing else had before. Whether it be failure on his part, or failure of others around him.

The fact that five decently skilled individuals could not best one man had ate away at Izuku since the moment he had arrived here. Was the gap in their skill simply that wide?

Looking back on the fight, the fighting style that Stendhal had used seemed eerily familiar to him. Izuku knew not why that was the case, but the flow of Stendhal's blade had reminded him of something. What that something was, Izuku did not know.

Just like those drawings he did back when he was little, of mid-industrial revolution Tokyo wroth in battle between a monster and several swordsman, he was plagued by a memory that made very little sense for him to have.

Memories of swordsmen with unique battle arts.

Memories of a boy with spikey black hair, a dual coloured haori, one half yellow and green and the other half pure red, underneath which was a black uniform. The boy swung a sword that flowed eerily similar to that of Stendhal, except less violent and more relaxed.

And then, he was pulled out of the memory when his head re-attached to the base of his neck, and he flung back into action the moment he saw Stendhal looming over Knuckleduster.

Which brought him to now. Maskless, dressed in a hospital gown with his Yukata being taken, and with a handcuff on his wrist attached to the hospital bed. A handcuff that, if he strained hard enough against, he could more than likely snap the chain of, but he decided against it.

He requested that his mother not be called, which thankfully Eraserhead granted his wish, but that didn't mean he was going to be able to explain to his mother why he wasn't at home in bed.

Maybe he could lie and say he had been out on a walk?

No… a walk that lasted several hours in the middle of the night wasn't going to cut it.

Not to mention, he wasn't alone in the hospital room.

Sitting across from him was Pop-Step, bandaged from the neck down. She was unconscious for the time being, and next to her was someone else that Izuku did not recognize. Short cut brown hair, a bland face with light brown eyes, and also unconscious with a breathing mask on his face.

Next to Izuku was a turquoise-haired man with tanned skin. He too had a breathing mask over his face, and much like everyone else, he was unconscious.

Knuckleduster was being kept in a different room, where the police and Eraserhead were interrogating him.

The silence gave Izuku time to think on the question that Stendhal had asked him.

"What am I?" Izuku narrowed his eyes as he looked at one of his hands, claws gleaming in the light of the hospital room.

As much as he wanted to disagree with Stendhal, he couldn't help but feel that he had been right.

Humans could not survive being decapitated.

Humans did not have multiple hearts.

Humans did not have multiple brains.

Even in a world of Quirks, Izuku was not normal in the slightest.

So, if Izuku was not human, then what was he?

His mother was human.

His father, while a scumbag, was also human.

So how could he not be human?

Stendhal got away. That meant that he would no doubt run into him again, and Stendhal demanded an answer from Izuku when they next met.

But, if Izuku did not know what he was, then how could he give Stendhal an answer?

His stomach grumbled, and when it did, a wave of frustration washed over him. He had yet to have his bag of blood today. That meant that when he got home, he'd need to have two. One for yesterday and one for today, seeing was it 2:30 in the morning.

Izuku was at a loss for what to do. Frustration began to settle in his mind as he curled his uncuffed hand into and out of a fist multiple times, watching how his veins flexed, assessing how his claws barely scraped his skin, and how utterly frustrating this entire situation was.

He was only pulled out of his thoughts when the sound of footsteps drew closer to his bed, and when he looked up, he was greeted with Eraserhead standing at the left hand side of his bed. His left hand was in his pants pocket, and his other hand was at his side. The look in his eye reminded him of a tired, overworked office worker, but lurking deep within was both disappointment, curiosity, and interest.

"Well, kid. Seeing as you're the only conscious one here, and seeing as Knuckleduster doesn't want to talk, I guess all I'm left with is you," Eraserhead began, pinching the bridge of his nose, seemingly at his wits end. "For the record, seeing as you're a minor below the age of fifteen, you aren't in any trouble. At most, you'll be left with a warning, and no, I won't tell your mother. Man of my word."

Izuku nodded in acknowledgement, before looking back down at his hand, staring at his claws once more, then looking back at Eraserhead. "Will the others be in trouble?"

"That entirely depends on your testimony. Speaking of… Tsukauchi, c'mere," Eraserhead called out toward the doorway as a man dressed in a tan overcoat and a matching tan fedora entered into the hospital room. In his right hand was a notepad, and in his left was a pen. He had a tired look on his face, and his eyes also reflected that of frustration.

The man, Tsukauchi, took one glance at Izuku, and frowned. "We're going to take the word of this child?"

"This child was also there. In fact, he was the one who's head re-attached itself. Remember?" Eraserhead said as Tsukauchi blinked, then looked back at Izuku incredulously.

"Wait a second… You? You're the infamous Moonscent?"

"Yes, he is, and because he's a minor below the age of fifteen, there's nothing that we can do about it," Eraserhead added as Tsukauchi's frown deepened.

"You're kidding…" Tsukauchi deadpanned, before sighing. "Well, the laws the law I suppose, but this will go on your record, young man."

"I understand."

"Good. Now, from the moment you arrived on the scene, explain everything," Tsukauchi instructed, and that was exactly what Izuku did. From the moment he showed up, to the moment Stendhal departed, Izuku recounted everything, and did so while attempting to frame everyone, excluding the strange girl and Stendhal, in a positive light.

By the time Izuku finished, it was already nearing four in the morning. Tsukauchi looked at the notes, then back to Izuku and then over to Eraserhead, before sighing. "Yeah, that checks out. According to all eye-witnesses it's exactly as he explained it."

"So you've got a vendetta against this Stendhal guy. Why?" Eraserhead asked as Izuku narrowed his eyes.

"He spits in the face of vigilantes across Japan. He claims to stand for justice, but kills everyone he comes across. At least with most level-headed vigilantes like my cohorts, we report the people who we capture to the police. While we may not be licensed, at the very least we do not kill," Izuku replied, anger leaking into his tone as Tsukauchi frowned.

"And yet, even then, it's still illegal. It doesn't matter what your reasoning is," Tsukauchi stated as Izuku narrowed his eyes. "That being said, you are right. This Stendhal figure seems like he's going to be a problem. But, from here on out, you're to stay out of this."

"With all due respect, he cut off. My. Head. I am not going to sit here and let him get away with embarrassing me in such a way," Izuku spat, glaring at Tsukauchi, who met his glare with equal measure.

"I will not allow a child to endanger themselves, regardless of reason. You're lucky to be alive! It doesn't matter how powerful your regeneration Quirk is, or if you were under the effects of Trigger or not, whatever the case may be, if you run into him again, and he does that again, you could very well die!" Tsukauchi admonished, glancing over at Eraserhead, who hummed in agreement.

"Exactly. Without official hero back up, you would very easily get hurt, or worse," Eraserhead said as Tsukauchi blinked at him, before a look of realization took up his visage.

"Aizawa… Don't you dare!"

"Hm?" Eraserhead glanced at Tsukauchi, raising an eyebrow. "What? I said nothing," Eraserhead continued, crossing his arms. "Besides, I'm not going to put someone so young in that kind of danger. It would be entirely illogical and completely irrational."

"Uh-huh…" Tsukauchi grumbled, side-eyeing Eraserhead before leveling a stern glare at Izuku. "I mean it. If I find out that you go after Stendhal again, I will put you in a holding cell for a full day. You got it?" and with a huff, Tsukauchi left the hospital room whereas Eraserhead lingered for a few moments before following after him, but not before scoffing.

"Not that he can do that without heavy reprimand…"

Izuku heard that as Eraserhead left. Frankly, he couldn't tell whether or not Eraserhead was encouraging him or just being flippant. But either way, it felt as if he was trying to railroad Izuku into encountering Stendhal again.

Not that it mattered what either of them thought.

Stendhal was his.

He would not rest until Stendhal met his end by Izuku's hands.

This was no longer about right or wrong.

This was no longer about justice and the mishandling of justice.

This was personal.

And once something became personal to Izuku, he never let go until it was over.

[XXXX]

Kuin was not in a great mood.

Ever since her run in with Moonscent and Soga, she had been hung up on by the fact that Moonscent wasn't even in the least bit affected by her Trigger Bee.

No change in his physical appearance.

No difference in his regeneration.

No nothing.

She had observed the fight from a distance between the group of vigilantes and Stendhal, so she would know. As brutal and as bloody as it was, it didn't seem all that out of the ordinary.

Sure, Soga had changed—that much was obvious.

But Moonscent?

Nope.

Nadda.

Zip, zilch, zero.

And that was what frustrated her, beyond anything else.

In her time of using Trigger to create Instant Villains all across Japan, this had been the first time—aside from the odd Quirkless individual that she accidently stung—that nothing happened.

With Quirkless people, it made sense. They had no Quirk Factor to target. But, it was clear that Moonscent had a Quirk.

So then, why didn't it work?

When Stendhal decapitated Moonscent, she was a little peeved that, at the time, she assumed he had died. But when his head was reattached by muscle strands that snapped forward toward his neck, needless to say, Kuin interest, and frustration, with Moonscent had doubled—nay, tripled.

It was clear to her that Moonscent was not human. After all, no Quirk functioned like that—not even Rokuro's regeneration acted like that, and it was a direct copy of The Boogeyman's one for one, and his was the best in the business.

Of course, Kuin kept that tid bit of information for herself. She didn't want to spoil the surprise when and if Rokuro ran into Moonscent.

Which led Kuin to lingering around where she was now.

"So, you don't think he's human?" Kuin asked, standing behind Stendhal—Akaguro, same difference really—who was busy wrapping bandages around his waist. A bright red stain had formed around the center mass of the bandage wrap, as Akaguro huffed.

"It's obvious. No human can survive having their head cut off. Not even you could keep your host alive if that happened. You would need a new one," Akaguro said, grunting as he tightened the bandage around his waist.

"Well, we can agree on that…" Kuin said, rubbing at her neck, a bit of uneasy whirling up within as she looked over her shoulder and out the window. "I'm surprised you bested Knuckleduster. By all accounts, he should've beat you. He's faster, stronger, and more durable than you. How?"

"It's a family secret. Just because we're partners does not mean I am going to hand over familial secrets. Now, unless you have nothing else better to do, buzz off you annoying insect," Akaguro spat as Kuin feigned offence.

"Bah! I'll have you know "buzz off" is basically a slur!"

"Buzz. Off," Akaguro repeated, raising the tip of his katana at Kuin's left eye, mere inches away from the hair that was hiding her real form.

"Alright, jeez, you're such a party pooper!" Kuin complained, huffing as she turned her back on Akaguro, stuffing her hands in her pockets, a scowl taking up her visage as she walked. When she exited the apartment building that Akaguro lived in, Kuin began to walk down the street, grumbling as she dipped into an alleyway.

The backstreets were the best way to get around in Naruhata. Nothing particularly happened at night, even as dusk turned to dawn. The city only really woke up around five in the morning, and right now, it was just bordering on 4:30.

She knew she had about five more trigger bees left before she needed to refill, but even then, that wouldn't be enough for anything fun. For someone with low blood pressure, it took two to get a decent effect. More if she wanted something really interesting.

Rokuro wasn't going to be around for a few days. The Boogeyman wanted to speak to him about something important, meaning that not only was she out of supplies till then, but she needed to keep on the downlow.

Kuin knew just how relentless Moonscent could be.

Word in the underground was that if Moonscent wanted your head, he'd have it. One way or another.

Sure, Moonscent wasn't a killer. But that didn't mean he wasn't above mutilation. Many fellow villains lost limbs when they ran into Moonscent. Someone who she had a particularly close friendship when she was within a different body lost both his hands and one of his legs.

Then again, said individual was pretty ruthless, so she guessed it wasn't undeserved. But, it's as they say, there are some fates worse than death, and she'd say being crippled would be one of them.

Don't get her wrong, she had zero care for this body. It was just another skin suit. But that didn't mean the pain didn't transfer to her.

Kuin was attached to her flesh suit's brain, meaning any pain waves that went off transferred to her, and vice versa. She knew that the moment Moonscent was done with Stendhal, and now that Moonscent knew what her flesh suit's face looked like, she would be next.

That meant that she could lurk around Aldera without being spotted.

At least, not physically.

"Well, I could just have a few of my children fly about… It's not like he'll know the difference between my regular bees and natural bees…" Kuin reasoned, smirking. She loved it when she had genius ideas—even if it was just basic reasoning.

It wasn't like she was akin to The Rat. She was just a bee given a Quirk, not made hyper-intelligent and further increased that intelligence by being given an intelligence Quirk.

In a way, she envied Nedzu.

He got it easy, in her opinion.

Her entire hive was experimented with, not just herself. Technically, she could replaced at any time, but the consciousness would remain the same.

At the end of the day, Kuin Hachisuka was just a face to a name. Just how she lived within human shells, the Queen Bee could be different each time, and her mind would still wind up being the same.

Say what one will about The Boogeyman's doctor and his team, but they were extremely smart, and just about the only humans who she respected—which wasn't exactly a good thing, because the more she respected someone the more she wanted to be them. Too bad they were smelly old men.

Up ahead, there was an apartment building that Kuin had taken up residence. It was where she was switch hosts and leave the ones she was done with to either rot or she'd have her children eat.

Kuin specifically lived on the fifth floor, and no one else was any wiser, primarily because the only smell that came out of the apartment was the smell of honey.

After all, bees were just that.

Bees.

And bees made honey.

Honey smelt sweet. Which covered up the smell of death and decay.

One day, she would spread her bees so far spread that all of Japan would be one massive hive~!

And, better yet, she would have the boogeyman under her control.

She would be unstoppable!

"What do you guys think?" Kuin spoke out to the pair of corpses that sat at the table, propped up by a few bees taking residence within, rocking their heads back and forth in agreement. A dark chuckle escaped Kuin's lips. "Well, of course you agree. What child doesn't agree with their parents?"

Although, there was the issue of Moonscent.

But he wasn't important. He was a fun prospect to mess with, but as a real threat? He wasn't much.

Besides, what exactly could some pathetic, small child do to her?

That, and she knew exactly who Moonscent was.

Izuku Midoriya. That was the true identity of Moonscent. The only thing she needed now was to find out where he lived, and that wouldn't be too difficult to do.

So, really, if he tried anything?

She'd simply find where he lived and kill his family in their sleep and steal everything as an act of revenge. 

[XXXX]

"Oh, my sweet baby boy!" Inko cried out as Izuku tried to push away from the overbearingness of his mother. "I was so worried!" Inko cried, squeezing Izuku tighter as Eraserhead stood in their doorway, leaning against the frame, his expression neutral.

Inko had been drop-dead petrified when she couldn't find Izuku anywhere in the house. She called the local precinct, but all they were useful for was further worrying her about him being potentially kidnapped.

That was why she was relieved to have Eraserhead show up with her precious baby boy in hand, who looked more annoyed than anything. "Thank you so much, Eraserhead! Oh, how can I repay you? Do you want money? I can give you some food, too? You look tired, if you really need a place to lay your head I can—"

"It's fine, appreciate the offer but I'm busy," Eraserhead interrupted, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of his face. He glanced over at Izuku, a smirk on his face. "You've got quite the caring mom, problem child."

"Where was he, anyway?" Inko asked, keeping Izuku close as Eraserhead adjusted himself, standing up straight as he fixed his scarf.

"Naruhata."

"NARUHATA?!" Inko exclaimed, looking over to Izuku with wide eyes. "Izuku?! How did you get over there!"

"I walked."

"You walked?!"

"Yes."

"Anyway," Eraserhead said, getting Inko's attention again. "We found him poking and prodding at a crime scene. He didn't tamper with anything, but we did give him a warning. That aside, you need to keep a closer eye on your kid."

"Yes, sir. I won't let it happen again," Inko said, before looking at Izuku with a disappointed look in her eyes. "Come on Izuku. I know you're smarter than this."

Izuku said nothing, his expression one of pure neutrality as Eraserhead sighed.

"Well, if that's all, I've got to go back on patrol. Have a good rest of your evening," and with that, Eraserhead left, closing the door behind him, leaving Inko and Izuku by themselves. After a few more seconds passed, Inko let go of Izuku, stood up, and crossed her arms.

"No more running off at night."

"Mom—"

"No. I mean it. Once it hits 10:00 PM, you're not to leave home. If you do, I'll take away all your books and you'll lose TV privileges for a month. Do you understand me, young man?"

Izuku grumbled, saying nothing. For a moment, Inko felt bad.

Izuku was a naturally curious boy. He tended to get lost in thought, so it wasn't all that farfetched to say that he walked from Musutafu to Naruhata. Even if it was a few hours away, he had been away for a while.

But even still, for him to have said nothing about leaving when he did. It was incredibly irresponsible. Izuku never usually did something like that.

Not unless he was hiding something.

"Izuku. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"No."

"Izuku," Inko gained a sternness to her tone, but if Izuku was hiding something, he wasn't giving any leeway. "If I were to search your room, would I find anything I shouldn't."

"No."

"Even if I were to go and do that right now?"

"Yes."

Inko shook her head, and went to Izuku's room. She half expected him to stop her, but all he did was walk over to the fridge and grab a blood bag. She supposed he hadn't had any today.

When Inko entered Izuku's room, it was just as it had been every other time that she had been in there. Bookshelf filled with books and journals, a dresser filled with nothing but various clothing. His closest was mostly empty save for a few boxes filled with paper and rough drafts for his manga, and it wasn't as if his laptop could be checked seeing as it was still being repaired at the technology store in the inner city.

Inko even went the extra mile and checked underneath his bed, having used her Quirk to do so. She had been using it on increasingly heavier things to see if she could get it to lift heavier stuff. She was starting to get back pain and she didn't want to have to bend over as much as she used to.

She searched the entire room from ceiling to floor, and found nothing unordinary. When she walked out of his bedroom, she walked past him, staring at his phone with a glare in his eye. Using her Quirk, Inko took his phone from his hand, breaking him out of his stupor to find that she was re-reading over messages.

Nakime: Yo, dude, I've been trying 2 reach u 4 ever! 

Izuku: Apologies. I had my phone shut off. 

Nakime: Were u on 1 of ur "walks"? 

Izuku: When you put it like that it sounds like

I'm doing something criminal. 

Nakime: …

Nakime: Well, it feels like it. 

Nakime: Where were u anyway?

Izuku: [Typing….] 

"Can I have my phone back, mom?" Izuku asked as Inko sighed. Reluctantly, she handed Izuku his phone, staring at her with that same neutral gaze that always had on, before looking back at his phone to continue talking to Nakime.

Inko shook her head and walked to her bedroom, got changed into sleepwear, and sat on the edge of her bed as she stared at the floor, her mind wondering to places that they hadn't since Izuku had been a tyke.

A part of Inko was frustrated with how… placid he seemed.

Izuku had always been emotionally stunted. While she would never admit it to anyone, she had always been creeped out by it. That wasn't to say it changed anything between her and her son, but when she saw more parents with their kids, their kids are smiling, laughing, running around and having fun.

But Izuku?

Izuku wasn't like that.

Izuku stayed indoors most of the time, and on the odd occasion that he did leave the house—outside of going to school—it was hanging out with that troublesome Nakime girl.

Then, of course, his tendency to never sleep.

Most children—scratch that, most people slept at least eight hours a day. Those that didn't either had an energy Quirk that kept them awake longer, and even then, they still had to sleep.

Ever since Izuku was an infant, he had never closed his eyes to sleep. At first, the nurses at the hospital thought it was some kind of injury in his brain, which was when they discovered the multiple hearts and brains.

That was what the doctors chalked up his unwillingness to sleep to. Because of the amount of brains and hearts in his body, to them, the amount of circulation and refreshing of his blood and the constant firing of neurons had to have been the reason behind him not sleeping.

In other words, he never ran out of energy.

Inko knew that her little Izuku was never going to be normal. But a part of her wish he would just pretend to be.

Then again, Izuku had gone on record saying that he hated pretending to be something he wasn't.

Which… was odd, because whenever Izuku went to the store with her he would always hang around the girls section of clothing isles. Always asking for girl clothing on top of boy clothing. Inko had asked him about it before, but Izuku never gave her an answer.

For a while, Inko was worried that her son might've actually been a daughter trapped in the body of a boy—worried that Izuku might have been Transgender.

Not that Inko would have been upset with that, but the mental anguish of that put on a person was bad enough as is. Inko knew someone who was Transgender, but they took their life in high school due to all the bullying and the less-than-accepting nature of their parents.

And so, Izuku had numerous styles of clothing, both boy and girl, and he would interchange between them from time to time while at home and only sometimes in public, but never at school.

Worries and concerns aside, it only further went to show just how not normal Izuku was. That wasn't even mentioning the successful Manga he had been writing since he was nine years old. Sure, it wasn't making a lot of money, but it didn't need to. The fact that he had a foothold in the manga industry in such a competitive market—and in the romance genre of all genre's—was insane to her.

She was proud of Izuku.

But, in the same breath, she was also concerned.

Inko had finally gotten an answer out of her estranged family. It took them six years to finally respond, but they did by way of letter.

To make a very lengthy letter short, no one in their families history had ever had the same type of Quirk as Izuku.

No one, but a man by the name of Muzan Kibutsuji.

But, there was just one small problem….

Muzan Kibutsuji was not only long dead, but had been dead since the Taisho Era, an era before that of Quirks were even thought to exist, which either meant that this Muzan Kibutsuji was the first human to ever have a Quirk, or her family was lying to her.

Furthermore, her family refused to explain any further details regarding Muzan, saying he was a forbidden topic in the clan, but that if she were smart, that she would find some way to put down Izuku before, and she was quoting them directly, "he becomes a danger to all of humanity."

Needless to say she tore up the letter and kept the pieces in the trash.

The utter gall of her family to tell her that her child was going to be a danger?! After they abandoned her, now they were trying to control her life? It made her want to scream!

But, she ignored it.

She ignored them just as much as they ignored her.

Besides, the idea of her son being some kind of emanant threat to humanity was not only unreasonable, but completely insane. Sure, Izuku might not have been normal, but he wasn't some super villain lying in wait.

Not her son.

Her son was good.

Her son would never even think of hurting someone.

…Right?

With that concerning thought, Inko laid her head down on the pillows, closed her eyes, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.