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( my hero academia ) prophecies
Title: prophecies
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Universe: alternate; a Riordanverse AU where Izuku and Bakugou are Roman demigods
Relationships: Izuku Midoriya + Bakugou Katsuki
Summary: Every demigod, young or old, had been summoned forth on a quest that would prove their heroism and cement their place in Camp Jupiter. Izuku Midoriya, son of Mars and thus a son of warfare and strategy, was no exception to the rule - and neither is Bakugou Katsuki, son of Mars and a son of innovation and fire.
Wordcount: 5,648
Notes: Written for the AU Yeah Autumn challenge, and like the previous fic, ended up being too long for a DW comment! These stories really keep getting away from me, but in a good way - and I really love this AU, so I might post some more for it in the future.
Izuku hated prophecies. He hated the inevitability of them all, he hated how often they mentioned him by name or hair color (‘the hero with emerald hair’), and most importantly, he hated how the augurs summoned him via pigeon as if they lived in the 14th century.
Cell phones existed, fortune-tellers. Cell phones with unlimited data plans existed, and homing beacons for monsters be damned, the comforts of modern technology were too convenient. Camp Jupiter could install a hundred cell towers, for all Izuku cared, and they would still thrive.
But he had been summoned by pigeon, and so after dinner, he marched up the stairs to the Senate House to meet the augur. He clutched his favorite plushie - an original, limited-edition All-Might imported straight from Tokyo - in his right hand; his bones filled with dread, with each and every step he took.
He didn’t need an augur to see this day coming. Every demigod, young or old, had been summoned forth on a quest that would prove their heroism and cement their place in Camp Jupiter. Izuku Midoriya, son of Mars and thus a son of warfare and strategy, was no exception to the rule.
As he crossed the threshold, passing through stone-white pillars and sneakers squeaking against marble tiling, he drew a breath and met the augur by the fire. There, the two sacrificed Izuku’s finest All-Might plushie to the gods, slashing it straight down the middle. Izuku ignored the tears streaming down his face - he had to ignore them - as pieces of cotton burst forth, swirling into circles and forming patterns foreign to him.
The augur studied the patterns, leaning over the fire. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the edges of the cauldron, and as he peered back at Izuku, color had left the rest of his body.
His voice was practically trembling as he recited, “Child of Mars, take your fellow of Vulcan’s blood and return to the rising sun.
Learn your inherited power, your divine rights, and bridge them together,
Unite the peoples on both sides and destroy the apathy that the fog has spun,
For only then shall you restore your kindred spirit to his rightful tether.”
By the Rising Sun, Izuku guessed that he would be on the next flight to Narita and thus to Tokyo, but... him and Senator Katsuki Bakugou? His childhood bully? The famed son of Vulcan, the first in three hundred years to wield flame and explosion alike? What good would that do them when they would be strangers in their own motherland?
In kindergarten, back when Tokyo had been home, Bakugou challenged him to a duel. The goal: to uncover the truth behind Izuku’s quirk. The second their fists connected, two symbols had floated over their heads. A golden hammer, forged by orange flame, above Bakugou . . . and a blood-stained spear dangling above Izuku.
Izuku could still remember the fear in Bakugou's eyes, the crackling of the explosion in the kid's palms, and the wildfire that soon engulfed their playground. Worse still, he remembered how his legs had moved faster than his brain, pulling them both to safety. How his brain had kicked into overdrive, running through scenario after scenario to find the one where both he and Bakugou lived. How their moms had taken one look at their bruises and scrapes and embraced them, weeping the whole while.
Those same parents had shipped them to America, preferring to visit them twice a year for their own safety and well-being. Izuku's step-dad visited more often, given his job in the US, but the unspoken line had been drawn in the sand.
“Oh,” was all Izuku could say as he swallowed down his fear and hesitation. “Does Kacchan know?”
The augur grimaced. “If he doesn’t know by now, the entire camp sure will in the next 24 hours.”
As predicted, Camp Jupiter rose to heavy explosions, the smell of oil and burning metal, and worse still, swearing that would've made a sailor blush.
A smart man would've avoided the Senate House. A smarter man would've confirmed his flight details and packed his bags for Narita, but Izuku swallowed his breath and pushed through the double doors to find a young man hunched over a circular loom, twisting and turning threads and metal fibers alike with wooden implements. As he exhaled, puffs of fire escaped his nostrils and lips.
"What do you want, Deku?" The man didn't look up from his loom, twisting the fibers and threads in even tighter. "I'm busy."
"We have a flight in four hours, so we should get going." Izuku stood his ground, folding his arms as he inspected the area. Bits of oil splayed across the hard tile; scraps of metal pushed every which way; and, most surprisingly, the man's hair was drooping, as if he hadn't stopped to put in more hair gel. "Or maybe you didn't hear about the prophecy because you were here all night again, treating the Senate like your workstation."
"And if I did?" The irritation in the young man's voice only heightened. "I don't want to go back. Especially not with you."
"Neither do I, Kacchan, but Apollo's prophecies are never wrong."
He could understand Bakugou’s misgivings. Tokyo wasn't home. Tokyo hadn't been home in ten years. In choosing to go, they would leave the lofty fields behind, the safety of their workbenches, the comfort of Senate House, and the prestige of their titles. Every piece of their identity would disappear, and they would have to start all over again.
They may have Japanese blood in their veins. They may look Japanese, act Japanese, speak Japanese, and hold core Japanese values in their minds and hearts - but they would never again be accepted as Japanese. This, Izuku knew deep in his heart, and Bakugou probably felt the same.
"Let me finish building this,” Bakugou relented, scooting back and holding out one long green-and-silver strand of fabric, about the width of their wrists. The metal fibers shone in the light, betraying the celestial silver inside, and in turn, the hundreds of hours of work he must've put into the creature. "I have a feeling this’ll come in handy."
"Okay." Izuku stepped around piece after piece of metal on his tip-toes, bridging the distance between them. “What’s it supposed to be?”
For the first time in years, Bakugou shot him a soft smile, the one usually reserved for machines, fire, and his (spice-loving) girlfriend. “Our weapons. Hold out your wrist.”
Izuku obeyed, holding out his right wrist. Bakugou tied it tight, locking the strands in place with a metal clasp.
“Now press down on that clasp and tap it twice. Each tap has to be purposeful; put your whole finger into it.”
“Okay.” Izuku did so, stepping back when the clasp and fabric shimmered off his hand and enlarged before his eyes. The fabric unfurled and morphed into a triangular-shaped silver-and-bronze shield, roughly the size of the loom before him. It was his shield. His usual shield, not the temporary ones he had borrowed from the Vulcan kids' armory, but the one that his father had given him for his 14th birthday. “Whoa! Kacchan! What the–”
How had he managed to intertwine the very genetic make-up of a shield into a multicolored friendship bracelet?
Bakugou’s smirk was proud, almost triumphant. “Just wait ’til you see how we’re smuggling your sword past the TSA.”
Eight friendship bracelets later (five for Izuku, including his shield, and three for Bakugou) and one long and uneventful flight into Narita later, Izuku had returned home.
Mom and Bakugou's parents were waiting by the security gate with balloons and outstretched arms. Izuku didn't hesitate to rush into hers, pulling her in close for a warm hug. New stress wrinkles had formed on her face, he noted, and her green hair had bits of grey peeking out, but all of her tension melted away with his touch.
Bakugou’s face was beet-red from something his stepdad said, and sure, his mom was slapping him over the head for some rude comment, but the five of them lapsed back into step as if they had never left. Aunt Mitsuki regaled them with near-encounters of superheroes, while Mom and Uncle Masaru promised them a feast at a local ramen place.
In turn, Izuku and Bakugou told their parents of the prophecy they had to fulfill, and precisely how they would accomplish it. One of the older American demigods had become a pro-hero, and in turn, pulled some strings to enroll them into UA High's entrance exam. They would pass, then they would enroll into UA High, sniff out the demigod, and drag them by the collar back to California.
“We didn’t know we were Roman until I challenged Deku,” Kacchan explained, holding out his hand and cradling a dime-sized ball of fire between his fingertips. The energy crackled and flow, not unlike a miniature explosion. “When then makes me think that the demigod we’re looking for doesn’t know who they really are, and that their heritage is some kind of quirk.”
As the adults nodded, taking in the information, Izuku chimed in with, “So we thought we’d enroll at a hero school and use those connections to find them. Between the Sports Festival and the licensing exams and other various events, that community’s super well-connected.”
Bakugou snapped his fingers, lighting a fire on the edge of his fingertips, “So we're gonna take the entrance exam, pass with flying colors, and find that demigod ASAP.”
“Oh,” Mom had said with a laugh, “And here I thought you two were so keen on attending UA High because All-Might's supposed to start teaching there.”
Bakugou and Izuku exchanged nervous glances before staring back at her. All-Might, the universal Symbol of Peace and the mortal who had managed to beat back Japan’s greatest supervillain with his quirk alone? That All-Might?? He wanted to teach at UA High?!
“That’s certainly a coincidence,” Izuku managed to sputter out, swallowing down his fear.
“The hell?” Bakugou drew in a breath. The sparks in his shaking fingers multiplied by the second, “He’ll sniff us out in an instant.”
“No, he won’t.” Izuku insisted, gripping Bakugou’s shoulders tight. “We’re passing off our powers as quirks, and besides - he probably wants to teach the next generation of heroes. He’ll focus his efforts on whoever he has for his homeroom, and then for whatever subject he ends up teaching. We’ll be fine.”
Bakugou broke free, snarling at Izuku. “Doubtful, fanboy.”
At the next traffic light, Bakugou opened the door and barreled out towards the nearest convenience store. “Don’t follow me!” He held his hands up, flipping off the car with both middle fingers as he stormed off, “I can take care of myself!”
Izuku only had to take one lingering look at Bakugou’s parents before he too tumbled out the door, landing on his feet and sprinting off after his childhood friend.
If Izuku couldn’t recall the last time he wrote a sentence using proper kanji, let alone uttered a complete, coherent sentence to someone besides Mom or Aunt Mitsuki, he was betting Kacchan was worse off – and they were straight in the lion’s den, without the posturing or general appearance of a tourist to alert the general public.
He took a moment to stare at the busy road behind him. Where would Bakugou go, with blood boiling over and sparks of nitroglycerin threatening to blow up? What would calm him down after learning that his childhood hero might blow his cover? The street, on either side, had an arcade, a couple of cafes, a pharmacy, a few convenience stores – a 7-11 flashing above across the street and a familiar, scowling teenager pouring over manga volumes underneath the awning.
“Thank gods,” he murmured, placing a hand above his heart as he turned and rushed into the alleyway. “Give me a minute and –”
Slime trickled down onto his fingers. Izuku glanced up at the dripping, sinister-eyed blob and drew two steps back, bending his knees. Two taps of his friendship bracelets and he could cut through this monster in no time.
“Oh, you’ll make a nice skin!” The monster snarled as it lunged forward. Tendrils extended around Izuku’s legs, pulling him close.
“Nuh-uh!” Izuku gnashed his teeth as he ripped through the fluid, opaque tendrils. He dug in with the center of his fists, pinning the creature up against the side of the alleyway. “Miss me with that garbage, you monster!”
He pulled his arm back, aiming for his friendship bracelet. If only he could tap it like Bakugou showed him…
Okay, think. Even without his bracelet, he had a few options: he could dissolve the monster using his bare fists; he could toss it down the sewer and let the rats feast on it; or he could smash it into pieces with his Texas-shaped shield. All seemed viable, so he recoiled, before pulling his shoulder back and aiming his fist between the monster’s eyes –
SMASH! The monster oozed into one giant, green puddle, struggling to reform, its parts bubbling from the heat beneath him.
Izuku jumped back, drawing in a breath and reaching, finally for his bracelet. One swipe and - and footsteps.
“Never fear, for I am here!” A familiar, booming voice echoed through the alleyway. His heavy footsteps clacked against the bricks below them as he called, drawing out every syllable, “Texas Smash!”
What was left of the monster was tight in the hero’s grip, and Izuku pressed his entire body flat against the wall, desperately trying to avoid the wind. The creature, upon dissolution, was sucked into a soda bottle, and both he and soda bottle were pulled back towards the light.
“Sorry about that,” the voice greeted, still loud and booming.
“Oh no…” Izuku could feel his heart beating far too fast.
He knew that voice anywhere. He had watched, and re-watched, those news clips hundreds of times as a kid, in that space between him thinking he was quirkiness and him growing into his heritage. His breath was growing thin, and he had to struggle to look up into the face of his childhood hero: All-Might, the global Symbol of Peace. Now, of all times and places?
“I didn’t mean to get you caught up in my justicing,” he continued, with a warm, genuine laugh. “Usually, I pay more attention to keeping bystanders safe, but it turns out that this city’s sewer system is really difficult to navigate!”
One, Izuku had it under control just fine, and two - why was he meeting his childhood hero now? Right here?! He squawked, not wanting to rage against his hero but also not wanting to take that assumption lying down, and -
And All-Might kept on speaking. “You were a big help, so thank you!” He held up the soda bottle with a triumphant grin, “I have captured the evil-doer!”
“No, thank you, All-Might!” Izuku grinned, holding out his hand for a handshake. “I’m glad I could help.”
All-Might peered down at Izuku’s hands for a moment, before shaking that hand quickly yet firmly. “Of course. You’re American, aren’t you?”
Izuku blinked back surprise, glancing down at his red sneakers, jeans, faded band t-shirt, and green hoodie. As far as he could tell, this was standard street wear, even if he was in severe need of a change of clothes.
Awkwardly, he had to ask, “What gave me away?”
“Your clothes. You aren’t in uniform, and you’re shaking my hand instead of bowing.” All-Might had switched into accented, yet fluent English, and yet his glittering smile remained as he turned towards the other side of the road. His hands were shaking, despite his stoic posture. “Anyway, I’ve got to take this guy to the police. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Hold on!” If Izuku’s touristing ways were obvious now, he could capitalize on the one piece of memorabilia he had always wanted to own. So he rummaged around for a pen, a piece of paper, something that would give him tangible proof that he had run into his favorite hero. “Autograph something for me, would you? Please?”
As he closed the distance, he gave a deep bow and held out the crumpled piece of paper and the pen, focusing his gaze on the soda bottle and the monster trapped within.
All-Might was fidgeting, his palms sweating, his eyes glancing up towards the sky and the sun overhead - but he took one look at Izuku’s body, at the awkward and rigid bow, and that worry and tension melted.
“Sure thing, kid,” All-Might flourished the pen, signing it in one fluid, practiced stroke, right as Izuku swapped the bottle out for a half-finished water bottle he had kept from the flight.
(Best not to let a mortal hold onto a monster, in case that thing decided to eat off All-Might’s face.)
“Thanks.” Izuku’s gratitude was genuine, despite his irritation. All-Might really was in a hurry. He didn’t have to sign the autograph, yet he did, with a warm smile. “Hey, All-Might… before you go….”
“What is it?”
Now or never, Izuku. He drew in a breath. “What makes someone a hero?”
“A pro must always be ready to risk his life,” he admitted, with a slightly deeper voice than what Izuku was used to, with a shakier, solemn tone. “They also want to save those in need, no matter the cost. Why do you ask?.”
He sounded like Lupa, in that moment, and Izuku felt like he was five years old again, weeping into his arms because he didn’t ask for any of this. He didn’t want to be a demigod; he wanted to be a hero, and if his own childhood hero assumed he was quirkless…
“Oh, um…” Izuku forced himself to look back, to stand tall, just like he had been taught at Camp Jupiter. He may be a hero in a mythological sense, after all the quests and missions he had undertaken, but he wasn’t a hero in the industrial sense. “I want to be a hero when I grow up. My best friend and I, we - once we grew into our powers, we wanted to follow in your footsteps.”
For the first time since they’d met, All-Might cracked a genuine smile, shaking his head fondly.
“Thanks, kid, but if you want to be a hero…” He reached forward, ruffling Izuku’s head, “You don’t need to fight villains like me. I saw you earlier in there, going at it… you were in no shape to fight it. Best to leave it to the pros.”
Wait, did he just - brush off Izuku?!
“Huh?”
“It’s best that you and your friend follow your own path. Study hard, finish school, and do what your parents say, okay?” All-Might was slurring his words together in a lightning-fast tempo, as if he really had to go, but he clarified, as he rose up into the sky, “Oh, and have a good vacation!!!”
Izuku flinched, watching as All-Might disappeared into the clouds and— and his entire body was shifting as he flew behind them. So he was a freaking shapeshifter! An imposter!
Should’ve figured that all that muscle was for show, rather than something that could've been achieved by nature (or the will of the gods). Izuku didn’t wait to crumple the autograph into his pocket.
“Stupid All-Might,” he grumbled as he turned on his heels and rushed back towards the convenience store, and in turn, one of the few people who supported him. “Who’d want to be saved by you, anyway?”
“You took long enough,” Bakugou called, flipping the pages of his manga as Izuku approached.
Izuku grimaced. His stomach was still churning from his meeting with All-Might, but he was going to push that aside. No need to send Bakugou on the warpath, let alone towards the top hero in all of Japan.
So instead, he held up the soda bottle. “I met a monster. Best guess, it’s some kind of sentient Ashi-magari. One of those monsters that impedes your ability to walk by wrapping itself around you?”
Bakugou set his manga between his knees and held out his arm. Obliging, Izuku set the soda bottle into his hands, and scooted down beside him on the street bench. The monster’s beady green eyes peered back at them, hissing and snarling with unusual force.
“I’ve never met one of those before,” Bakugou said, peering into it with a scientist’s unwavering, scrutinizing gaze, “But are you sure it’s a monster and not an supervillain?”
“Pretty sure.” Izuku sighed, leaning back into the bench and resting his arm along the back of it. “It said I’d make a nice skin, and I’ve had enough of skin walkers for a whole lifetime.”
The bottle hissed, squirming and squirming. Bakugou struggled to hold it steady, his brow furrowing as he watched it rock between his fingers.
“It’s gonna blow any second. Hold on while I –”
The soda cap hissed, popping off with a bang as the slime creature slithered through the centimeters-wide opening and unfurled into something three-times the boys’ size. He pulled them with his tendrils, drawing them back into the nearest shopping district.
Izuku sliced down the tendrils again, jumping back into the crowd as a series of explosions burst from Bakugou’s palms.
“Dammit!” Bakugou hissed, holding his arms out wide, bending his elbows, “Come back here and fight like a man, you asshole!”
His explosions missed, landing on buildings and street signs alike, and the entire road went ablaze. People screamed, watching the monster slither further and further back into the thin, narrow shopping district.
“The villain’s got a kid,” One person was whispering behind him.
“Surely All-Might’ll get him,” the other whispered back.
“Yeah!” The crowd was roaring. “All-Might’ll save him!”
Maybe it was the jet-lag, or the numerous cups of coffee Izuku had consumed to keep himself awake during the long flight, but he couldn’t sit still. Not when Bakugou had been the one to suggest that their monster wasn’t an actual monster, but some sort of living, breathing human being.
Heroes of all shapes and sizes swarmed the area, from a mountain-tall lady struggling to put one step before the other to one with wooden arms pulling bystanders away from the fire, and for a moment, Izuku thought they had it under control. They wouldn’t need All-Might. They could nab Bakugou, and they could head home.
Then the debris crumbled beneath Bakugou and monster alike, forcing them to take refuge near another burning building.
All-Might wasn’t coming. Judging from how out of breath he was, from how quickly he wanted to leave Izuku, and how his body had morphed during his upwards trajectory home, something was deeply wrong with him. Either he was an imposter, or he was far from the Symbol of Peace he represented.
As the flames flickered and danced in irregular rings, enclosing Bakugou and the monster, Izuku knew he had to act. No one else would save Bakugou, not even Japan’s mightiest hero, and when the going got rough, the rough shoved through the crowd and rushed straight into the fire.
The whispering crowd and heroes yelled after him, with sentiments like, “You’re crazy!” and “Hey, that kid’s going straight in!” but Izuku paid them zero heed.
Dad always said the best warriors were a little crazy.
“Not you again,” the monster snarled, rushing forward with all its tendrils.
Izuku grinned, baring his teeth and feeling every single muscle in his body tense up as he tapped his friendship bracelet twice in a row. It spawned his favorite sword, one forged from celestial bronze, with a light hilt and three emerald gems embedded along the bottom of the handle. Seizing said sword, Izuku charged forward, slicing off all tendrils in one circular motion. Then he ripped the tendrils around Bakugou’s arms and mouth, again and again, not waiting for them to reform.
Bakugou dropped to his knees, rolling to avoid what remained of the monster’s body.
“Ow!” The monster snarled, blubbering, shifting from large to small, ignoring the wisps of fire drawing nearer and nearer.
“Oh, buddy…” Izuku’s smile was devoid of all emotion as he plunged the sword straight between the monster’s eyes, “There’s more where that came from.”
The monster howled, gushing thick, green fluid and releasing Bakugou from his grasp. Its body melted into a single puddle, growing wider and wider around their feet.
Bakugou stood on his tip-toes as he regained his footing, jumping around the puddle as he rushed towards Izuku. “You idiot!” He lunged forward with his arm, tapping each gem on the blade, “People are watching us, and there’s no mist to protect you!”
“Then who would’ve saved you?” Izuku shouted back, flinching as the sword shimmered back into his friendship bracelet. It wrapped tight around Izuku’s wrist, right as the monster re-formed. “We can’t rely on heroes anymore!”
“About time you realized that!” Bakugou laughed, standing tall with Izuku as he assumed an offensive stance.
If this was how they fell, they could at least enter Elysium with the promise that they tried, and that they died a hero’s death.
“Adulthood’s overrated, anyway,” Bakugou added, as if he could read Izuku’s mind, with a smug, shaky grin. “Let’s get ‘im.”
“And leave the fun for someone else?” All-Might’s deep, booming voice called from behind as he rushed forward.
Bakugou and Izuku stared at him, eyes wide, feet firmly rooted to the uneven ground.
“I underestimated you, kid,” All-Might said to Izuku, “I thought you talked the talk, but you reminded me to practice what I preach. A hero should always be ready to help at the first sign of trouble.”
He rushed forward, gripping most of the re-formed tendrils in his arm and calling, “Detroit Smash!” as he twirled the monster round and round, right until he unleashed it straight into the sky.
As he did, Bakugou peeled forward, throwing one of his infamous explosions right into the center of the monster’s body.
Izuku shot him a quizzical glance, only for Bakugou to whisper in his ear, “It’ll explode when it reaches an altitude of 20,000 feet.”
The wind around them swirled, threatening to pry them off the ground and right into the sky, or - or well, it would have, if All-Might hadn’t grabbed them by the back collar of their shirts. They rippled along with the gusts, standing still only when nothing remained of the battle except debris and fire.
An explosion boomed from overhead, and as the clouds shifted into a gloomy gray sky, bits of sticky, green matter rained down towards the earth.
Right on schedule, Bakugou pulled out an umbrella over all three of them. First the sludge, then raindrops - small and tiny at first, building up into a drizzle, then into an full-on downpour.
Izuku moaned into All-Might’s arm, purposefully avoiding Bakugou’s face.
Bakugou laughed - actually, genuinely laughed - as he stared up at the sky. “Told you.”
The heroes on the scene chewed Izuku out, first for not wearing his uniform (“Shouldn’t you have been in school?”) then for bringing a sword to a battle scene (“Where do you even get that kind of weapon?”), and finally for having a serious death wish (“What if All-Might hadn’t come? How irresponsible are you?”).
Unfortunately for them, Izuku could make out only every third word, and he didn’t bother to parse out what he could. Their scowls and folded arms spoke for themselves.
Bakugou, on the other hand, was praised for his power, (“That's some quirk, kid!”), his ingenuity (“How did you remain so calm?”) and surprisingly, for carrying an umbrella (“It was like you could predict the weather!”).
Once the crowds had dispersed, and the police had corralled everyone to safety, Izuku and Bakugou could finally walk home in peace.
“What did they even say to you?” Bakugou sighed, holding up the umbrella above them. “All I got was how damn good my quirk was, which is funny ‘cause it’s a bold, fat lie. It was all, 'That's some quirk, kid! You trying for UA High's exam next week?'”
“Something about not bringing a sword to a battlefield.” Izuku frowned, thinking back to the last time he had failed to do that. “Mortals have it pretty easy.”
“Yeah, all they gotta do is load up a gun –”
“Kacchan!” Izuku screeched, smacking his friend’s chest, “Not funny!”
Bakugou snorted, his expression growing unnaturally soft and fond, “Oh, I’m always a riot.”
“But I’m serious. You said the Mist wasn't working, right? That's why they could see my sword, which means...”
“We’re in some serious shit,” Bakugou finished for him, drawing in a sharp breath and balling his fists up, pressing his fingernails into the edge of his palm. “Damn. It's gonna be harder to hide who we are.”
As they approached Bakugou’s house, a thin, frail man was standing next to the gate. He wiped blood off his mouth, and his intense blue eyes scrutinized Izuku with a passion that neither of them had seen.
“Uh…” Izuku stared. “Do you need something?”
“Young man,” The stranger began, coughing into his elbow and spewing out more blood. “There’s something I should’ve told you. When you asked me about what makes a great hero.”
Bakugou stared at Izuku, then at the frail man, before holding over his umbrella and making an awkward side-step into his front yard.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” he called, but Izuku had long since stopped paying attention.
This thin, frail man, with loose, baggy clothes that barely fit him, knew what he had told All-Might? His knuckles were bruised, in the same places where All-Might had gripped the monster, and his blood was in the same place he had seen it spewing out of All-Might’s mouth during the battle.
“And what’s that?” Izuku had to ask, taking a cautious step forward. If this man was who Izuku thought he was, something was about to change. “What really makes someone a hero?”
“The resolve to save someone, no matter how exhausted or ill-suited you may be.” The man - All-Might - gave Izuku a tired, yet determined smile. “Watching you try to save your friend with that amount of exhaustion on your face and nothing but a child’s toy… It inspired me to act too. There are stories about heroes, and most have one thing in common: their bodies move before they can even think, almost on their own.”
Like Izuku’s had when he thought about Bakugou, and how no one else would save his friend if he hadn’t -
“Today, that’s what happened to you.”
A sudden feeling of dread washed over Izuku’s bones as he stared up at All-Might. His stomach was churning, his heart was racing a million miles per minute, and every cell, every atom in his body was telling him to run. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t linger any longer. He had to make up some excuse, like being jet-lagged (which was real), or having a prior engagement (with his bed) or, or -
“Young man,” All-Might said, in fluent English, pumping his fist, “I believe that you are worthy of inheriting my power.”
Oh no.
Izuku’s entire body grew rigid, his feet rooted into the concrete, as he drew in a horrified breath.
“Of course,” All-Might continued, with a thoughtful stroke of his chin, “The real work begins now, because you see… my power was inherited to me, like an Olympic Torch and….”
His knees were buckling now. Izuku lurched forward, clutching his head and willing himself to focus on the present. If he was remembering right, the prophecy had told him… the prophecy…
“Child of Mars, take your fellow of Vulcan’s blood and return to the land of the rising sun…” Izuku drew in a breath, continuing, “Learn your inherited powers, your divine rights, and bridge your two worlds…”
Inherited power. Inherited.
All this time, he had figured that his inherited power was one of Mars: a divine blessing, or a prayer that would’ve enveloped him and enhanced his already latent abilities. What if his assumptions had been wrong, and this weird quirk was what Apollo had meant?
“It can’t be…” Izuku murmured, staring down at the ground and running a hand through his hair, “No, but nothing else makes sense, Dad doesn’t give divine blessings anymore and I did sacrifice an All-Might plushie, so maybe this is the universe’s way of giving something back to me, but on the other hand, I don’t know if I need a whole new power and I just….”
“Kid?” All-Might’s voice was frantic as he knelt down. “Are you alright?”
Izuku snapped to attention, peering back at All-Might.
“No,” he admitted, swallowing down his fear, “But you said your power was inherited, right? Passed down to you from generation to generation, growing stronger with each iteration?”
All-Might’s nod was slow, yet decisive.
In that moment, the second line from the prophecy clicked into place, and all Izuku could do was hold out his arm once more.
“In that case,” he said, willing himself to stand tall like a proper child of war, of strategy, of the battlefield, of Rome, and not like the scared kid who wanted to promptly run in the other direction because this couldn’t be happening to him, “Okay. I accept. Teach me everything you’ve got, sensei.”
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Universe: alternate; a Riordanverse AU where Izuku and Bakugou are Roman demigods
Relationships: Izuku Midoriya + Bakugou Katsuki
Summary: Every demigod, young or old, had been summoned forth on a quest that would prove their heroism and cement their place in Camp Jupiter. Izuku Midoriya, son of Mars and thus a son of warfare and strategy, was no exception to the rule - and neither is Bakugou Katsuki, son of Mars and a son of innovation and fire.
Wordcount: 5,648
Notes: Written for the AU Yeah Autumn challenge, and like the previous fic, ended up being too long for a DW comment! These stories really keep getting away from me, but in a good way - and I really love this AU, so I might post some more for it in the future.
Izuku hated prophecies. He hated the inevitability of them all, he hated how often they mentioned him by name or hair color (‘the hero with emerald hair’), and most importantly, he hated how the augurs summoned him via pigeon as if they lived in the 14th century.
Cell phones existed, fortune-tellers. Cell phones with unlimited data plans existed, and homing beacons for monsters be damned, the comforts of modern technology were too convenient. Camp Jupiter could install a hundred cell towers, for all Izuku cared, and they would still thrive.
But he had been summoned by pigeon, and so after dinner, he marched up the stairs to the Senate House to meet the augur. He clutched his favorite plushie - an original, limited-edition All-Might imported straight from Tokyo - in his right hand; his bones filled with dread, with each and every step he took.
He didn’t need an augur to see this day coming. Every demigod, young or old, had been summoned forth on a quest that would prove their heroism and cement their place in Camp Jupiter. Izuku Midoriya, son of Mars and thus a son of warfare and strategy, was no exception to the rule.
As he crossed the threshold, passing through stone-white pillars and sneakers squeaking against marble tiling, he drew a breath and met the augur by the fire. There, the two sacrificed Izuku’s finest All-Might plushie to the gods, slashing it straight down the middle. Izuku ignored the tears streaming down his face - he had to ignore them - as pieces of cotton burst forth, swirling into circles and forming patterns foreign to him.
The augur studied the patterns, leaning over the fire. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the edges of the cauldron, and as he peered back at Izuku, color had left the rest of his body.
His voice was practically trembling as he recited, “Child of Mars, take your fellow of Vulcan’s blood and return to the rising sun.
Learn your inherited power, your divine rights, and bridge them together,
Unite the peoples on both sides and destroy the apathy that the fog has spun,
For only then shall you restore your kindred spirit to his rightful tether.”
By the Rising Sun, Izuku guessed that he would be on the next flight to Narita and thus to Tokyo, but... him and Senator Katsuki Bakugou? His childhood bully? The famed son of Vulcan, the first in three hundred years to wield flame and explosion alike? What good would that do them when they would be strangers in their own motherland?
In kindergarten, back when Tokyo had been home, Bakugou challenged him to a duel. The goal: to uncover the truth behind Izuku’s quirk. The second their fists connected, two symbols had floated over their heads. A golden hammer, forged by orange flame, above Bakugou . . . and a blood-stained spear dangling above Izuku.
Izuku could still remember the fear in Bakugou's eyes, the crackling of the explosion in the kid's palms, and the wildfire that soon engulfed their playground. Worse still, he remembered how his legs had moved faster than his brain, pulling them both to safety. How his brain had kicked into overdrive, running through scenario after scenario to find the one where both he and Bakugou lived. How their moms had taken one look at their bruises and scrapes and embraced them, weeping the whole while.
Those same parents had shipped them to America, preferring to visit them twice a year for their own safety and well-being. Izuku's step-dad visited more often, given his job in the US, but the unspoken line had been drawn in the sand.
“Oh,” was all Izuku could say as he swallowed down his fear and hesitation. “Does Kacchan know?”
The augur grimaced. “If he doesn’t know by now, the entire camp sure will in the next 24 hours.”
As predicted, Camp Jupiter rose to heavy explosions, the smell of oil and burning metal, and worse still, swearing that would've made a sailor blush.
A smart man would've avoided the Senate House. A smarter man would've confirmed his flight details and packed his bags for Narita, but Izuku swallowed his breath and pushed through the double doors to find a young man hunched over a circular loom, twisting and turning threads and metal fibers alike with wooden implements. As he exhaled, puffs of fire escaped his nostrils and lips.
"What do you want, Deku?" The man didn't look up from his loom, twisting the fibers and threads in even tighter. "I'm busy."
"We have a flight in four hours, so we should get going." Izuku stood his ground, folding his arms as he inspected the area. Bits of oil splayed across the hard tile; scraps of metal pushed every which way; and, most surprisingly, the man's hair was drooping, as if he hadn't stopped to put in more hair gel. "Or maybe you didn't hear about the prophecy because you were here all night again, treating the Senate like your workstation."
"And if I did?" The irritation in the young man's voice only heightened. "I don't want to go back. Especially not with you."
"Neither do I, Kacchan, but Apollo's prophecies are never wrong."
He could understand Bakugou’s misgivings. Tokyo wasn't home. Tokyo hadn't been home in ten years. In choosing to go, they would leave the lofty fields behind, the safety of their workbenches, the comfort of Senate House, and the prestige of their titles. Every piece of their identity would disappear, and they would have to start all over again.
They may have Japanese blood in their veins. They may look Japanese, act Japanese, speak Japanese, and hold core Japanese values in their minds and hearts - but they would never again be accepted as Japanese. This, Izuku knew deep in his heart, and Bakugou probably felt the same.
"Let me finish building this,” Bakugou relented, scooting back and holding out one long green-and-silver strand of fabric, about the width of their wrists. The metal fibers shone in the light, betraying the celestial silver inside, and in turn, the hundreds of hours of work he must've put into the creature. "I have a feeling this’ll come in handy."
"Okay." Izuku stepped around piece after piece of metal on his tip-toes, bridging the distance between them. “What’s it supposed to be?”
For the first time in years, Bakugou shot him a soft smile, the one usually reserved for machines, fire, and his (spice-loving) girlfriend. “Our weapons. Hold out your wrist.”
Izuku obeyed, holding out his right wrist. Bakugou tied it tight, locking the strands in place with a metal clasp.
“Now press down on that clasp and tap it twice. Each tap has to be purposeful; put your whole finger into it.”
“Okay.” Izuku did so, stepping back when the clasp and fabric shimmered off his hand and enlarged before his eyes. The fabric unfurled and morphed into a triangular-shaped silver-and-bronze shield, roughly the size of the loom before him. It was his shield. His usual shield, not the temporary ones he had borrowed from the Vulcan kids' armory, but the one that his father had given him for his 14th birthday. “Whoa! Kacchan! What the–”
How had he managed to intertwine the very genetic make-up of a shield into a multicolored friendship bracelet?
Bakugou’s smirk was proud, almost triumphant. “Just wait ’til you see how we’re smuggling your sword past the TSA.”
Eight friendship bracelets later (five for Izuku, including his shield, and three for Bakugou) and one long and uneventful flight into Narita later, Izuku had returned home.
Mom and Bakugou's parents were waiting by the security gate with balloons and outstretched arms. Izuku didn't hesitate to rush into hers, pulling her in close for a warm hug. New stress wrinkles had formed on her face, he noted, and her green hair had bits of grey peeking out, but all of her tension melted away with his touch.
Bakugou’s face was beet-red from something his stepdad said, and sure, his mom was slapping him over the head for some rude comment, but the five of them lapsed back into step as if they had never left. Aunt Mitsuki regaled them with near-encounters of superheroes, while Mom and Uncle Masaru promised them a feast at a local ramen place.
In turn, Izuku and Bakugou told their parents of the prophecy they had to fulfill, and precisely how they would accomplish it. One of the older American demigods had become a pro-hero, and in turn, pulled some strings to enroll them into UA High's entrance exam. They would pass, then they would enroll into UA High, sniff out the demigod, and drag them by the collar back to California.
“We didn’t know we were Roman until I challenged Deku,” Kacchan explained, holding out his hand and cradling a dime-sized ball of fire between his fingertips. The energy crackled and flow, not unlike a miniature explosion. “When then makes me think that the demigod we’re looking for doesn’t know who they really are, and that their heritage is some kind of quirk.”
As the adults nodded, taking in the information, Izuku chimed in with, “So we thought we’d enroll at a hero school and use those connections to find them. Between the Sports Festival and the licensing exams and other various events, that community’s super well-connected.”
Bakugou snapped his fingers, lighting a fire on the edge of his fingertips, “So we're gonna take the entrance exam, pass with flying colors, and find that demigod ASAP.”
“Oh,” Mom had said with a laugh, “And here I thought you two were so keen on attending UA High because All-Might's supposed to start teaching there.”
Bakugou and Izuku exchanged nervous glances before staring back at her. All-Might, the universal Symbol of Peace and the mortal who had managed to beat back Japan’s greatest supervillain with his quirk alone? That All-Might?? He wanted to teach at UA High?!
“That’s certainly a coincidence,” Izuku managed to sputter out, swallowing down his fear.
“The hell?” Bakugou drew in a breath. The sparks in his shaking fingers multiplied by the second, “He’ll sniff us out in an instant.”
“No, he won’t.” Izuku insisted, gripping Bakugou’s shoulders tight. “We’re passing off our powers as quirks, and besides - he probably wants to teach the next generation of heroes. He’ll focus his efforts on whoever he has for his homeroom, and then for whatever subject he ends up teaching. We’ll be fine.”
Bakugou broke free, snarling at Izuku. “Doubtful, fanboy.”
At the next traffic light, Bakugou opened the door and barreled out towards the nearest convenience store. “Don’t follow me!” He held his hands up, flipping off the car with both middle fingers as he stormed off, “I can take care of myself!”
Izuku only had to take one lingering look at Bakugou’s parents before he too tumbled out the door, landing on his feet and sprinting off after his childhood friend.
If Izuku couldn’t recall the last time he wrote a sentence using proper kanji, let alone uttered a complete, coherent sentence to someone besides Mom or Aunt Mitsuki, he was betting Kacchan was worse off – and they were straight in the lion’s den, without the posturing or general appearance of a tourist to alert the general public.
He took a moment to stare at the busy road behind him. Where would Bakugou go, with blood boiling over and sparks of nitroglycerin threatening to blow up? What would calm him down after learning that his childhood hero might blow his cover? The street, on either side, had an arcade, a couple of cafes, a pharmacy, a few convenience stores – a 7-11 flashing above across the street and a familiar, scowling teenager pouring over manga volumes underneath the awning.
“Thank gods,” he murmured, placing a hand above his heart as he turned and rushed into the alleyway. “Give me a minute and –”
Slime trickled down onto his fingers. Izuku glanced up at the dripping, sinister-eyed blob and drew two steps back, bending his knees. Two taps of his friendship bracelets and he could cut through this monster in no time.
“Oh, you’ll make a nice skin!” The monster snarled as it lunged forward. Tendrils extended around Izuku’s legs, pulling him close.
“Nuh-uh!” Izuku gnashed his teeth as he ripped through the fluid, opaque tendrils. He dug in with the center of his fists, pinning the creature up against the side of the alleyway. “Miss me with that garbage, you monster!”
He pulled his arm back, aiming for his friendship bracelet. If only he could tap it like Bakugou showed him…
Okay, think. Even without his bracelet, he had a few options: he could dissolve the monster using his bare fists; he could toss it down the sewer and let the rats feast on it; or he could smash it into pieces with his Texas-shaped shield. All seemed viable, so he recoiled, before pulling his shoulder back and aiming his fist between the monster’s eyes –
SMASH! The monster oozed into one giant, green puddle, struggling to reform, its parts bubbling from the heat beneath him.
Izuku jumped back, drawing in a breath and reaching, finally for his bracelet. One swipe and - and footsteps.
“Never fear, for I am here!” A familiar, booming voice echoed through the alleyway. His heavy footsteps clacked against the bricks below them as he called, drawing out every syllable, “Texas Smash!”
What was left of the monster was tight in the hero’s grip, and Izuku pressed his entire body flat against the wall, desperately trying to avoid the wind. The creature, upon dissolution, was sucked into a soda bottle, and both he and soda bottle were pulled back towards the light.
“Sorry about that,” the voice greeted, still loud and booming.
“Oh no…” Izuku could feel his heart beating far too fast.
He knew that voice anywhere. He had watched, and re-watched, those news clips hundreds of times as a kid, in that space between him thinking he was quirkiness and him growing into his heritage. His breath was growing thin, and he had to struggle to look up into the face of his childhood hero: All-Might, the global Symbol of Peace. Now, of all times and places?
“I didn’t mean to get you caught up in my justicing,” he continued, with a warm, genuine laugh. “Usually, I pay more attention to keeping bystanders safe, but it turns out that this city’s sewer system is really difficult to navigate!”
One, Izuku had it under control just fine, and two - why was he meeting his childhood hero now? Right here?! He squawked, not wanting to rage against his hero but also not wanting to take that assumption lying down, and -
And All-Might kept on speaking. “You were a big help, so thank you!” He held up the soda bottle with a triumphant grin, “I have captured the evil-doer!”
“No, thank you, All-Might!” Izuku grinned, holding out his hand for a handshake. “I’m glad I could help.”
All-Might peered down at Izuku’s hands for a moment, before shaking that hand quickly yet firmly. “Of course. You’re American, aren’t you?”
Izuku blinked back surprise, glancing down at his red sneakers, jeans, faded band t-shirt, and green hoodie. As far as he could tell, this was standard street wear, even if he was in severe need of a change of clothes.
Awkwardly, he had to ask, “What gave me away?”
“Your clothes. You aren’t in uniform, and you’re shaking my hand instead of bowing.” All-Might had switched into accented, yet fluent English, and yet his glittering smile remained as he turned towards the other side of the road. His hands were shaking, despite his stoic posture. “Anyway, I’ve got to take this guy to the police. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Hold on!” If Izuku’s touristing ways were obvious now, he could capitalize on the one piece of memorabilia he had always wanted to own. So he rummaged around for a pen, a piece of paper, something that would give him tangible proof that he had run into his favorite hero. “Autograph something for me, would you? Please?”
As he closed the distance, he gave a deep bow and held out the crumpled piece of paper and the pen, focusing his gaze on the soda bottle and the monster trapped within.
All-Might was fidgeting, his palms sweating, his eyes glancing up towards the sky and the sun overhead - but he took one look at Izuku’s body, at the awkward and rigid bow, and that worry and tension melted.
“Sure thing, kid,” All-Might flourished the pen, signing it in one fluid, practiced stroke, right as Izuku swapped the bottle out for a half-finished water bottle he had kept from the flight.
(Best not to let a mortal hold onto a monster, in case that thing decided to eat off All-Might’s face.)
“Thanks.” Izuku’s gratitude was genuine, despite his irritation. All-Might really was in a hurry. He didn’t have to sign the autograph, yet he did, with a warm smile. “Hey, All-Might… before you go….”
“What is it?”
Now or never, Izuku. He drew in a breath. “What makes someone a hero?”
“A pro must always be ready to risk his life,” he admitted, with a slightly deeper voice than what Izuku was used to, with a shakier, solemn tone. “They also want to save those in need, no matter the cost. Why do you ask?.”
He sounded like Lupa, in that moment, and Izuku felt like he was five years old again, weeping into his arms because he didn’t ask for any of this. He didn’t want to be a demigod; he wanted to be a hero, and if his own childhood hero assumed he was quirkless…
“Oh, um…” Izuku forced himself to look back, to stand tall, just like he had been taught at Camp Jupiter. He may be a hero in a mythological sense, after all the quests and missions he had undertaken, but he wasn’t a hero in the industrial sense. “I want to be a hero when I grow up. My best friend and I, we - once we grew into our powers, we wanted to follow in your footsteps.”
For the first time since they’d met, All-Might cracked a genuine smile, shaking his head fondly.
“Thanks, kid, but if you want to be a hero…” He reached forward, ruffling Izuku’s head, “You don’t need to fight villains like me. I saw you earlier in there, going at it… you were in no shape to fight it. Best to leave it to the pros.”
Wait, did he just - brush off Izuku?!
“Huh?”
“It’s best that you and your friend follow your own path. Study hard, finish school, and do what your parents say, okay?” All-Might was slurring his words together in a lightning-fast tempo, as if he really had to go, but he clarified, as he rose up into the sky, “Oh, and have a good vacation!!!”
Izuku flinched, watching as All-Might disappeared into the clouds and— and his entire body was shifting as he flew behind them. So he was a freaking shapeshifter! An imposter!
Should’ve figured that all that muscle was for show, rather than something that could've been achieved by nature (or the will of the gods). Izuku didn’t wait to crumple the autograph into his pocket.
“Stupid All-Might,” he grumbled as he turned on his heels and rushed back towards the convenience store, and in turn, one of the few people who supported him. “Who’d want to be saved by you, anyway?”
“You took long enough,” Bakugou called, flipping the pages of his manga as Izuku approached.
Izuku grimaced. His stomach was still churning from his meeting with All-Might, but he was going to push that aside. No need to send Bakugou on the warpath, let alone towards the top hero in all of Japan.
So instead, he held up the soda bottle. “I met a monster. Best guess, it’s some kind of sentient Ashi-magari. One of those monsters that impedes your ability to walk by wrapping itself around you?”
Bakugou set his manga between his knees and held out his arm. Obliging, Izuku set the soda bottle into his hands, and scooted down beside him on the street bench. The monster’s beady green eyes peered back at them, hissing and snarling with unusual force.
“I’ve never met one of those before,” Bakugou said, peering into it with a scientist’s unwavering, scrutinizing gaze, “But are you sure it’s a monster and not an supervillain?”
“Pretty sure.” Izuku sighed, leaning back into the bench and resting his arm along the back of it. “It said I’d make a nice skin, and I’ve had enough of skin walkers for a whole lifetime.”
The bottle hissed, squirming and squirming. Bakugou struggled to hold it steady, his brow furrowing as he watched it rock between his fingers.
“It’s gonna blow any second. Hold on while I –”
The soda cap hissed, popping off with a bang as the slime creature slithered through the centimeters-wide opening and unfurled into something three-times the boys’ size. He pulled them with his tendrils, drawing them back into the nearest shopping district.
Izuku sliced down the tendrils again, jumping back into the crowd as a series of explosions burst from Bakugou’s palms.
“Dammit!” Bakugou hissed, holding his arms out wide, bending his elbows, “Come back here and fight like a man, you asshole!”
His explosions missed, landing on buildings and street signs alike, and the entire road went ablaze. People screamed, watching the monster slither further and further back into the thin, narrow shopping district.
“The villain’s got a kid,” One person was whispering behind him.
“Surely All-Might’ll get him,” the other whispered back.
“Yeah!” The crowd was roaring. “All-Might’ll save him!”
Maybe it was the jet-lag, or the numerous cups of coffee Izuku had consumed to keep himself awake during the long flight, but he couldn’t sit still. Not when Bakugou had been the one to suggest that their monster wasn’t an actual monster, but some sort of living, breathing human being.
Heroes of all shapes and sizes swarmed the area, from a mountain-tall lady struggling to put one step before the other to one with wooden arms pulling bystanders away from the fire, and for a moment, Izuku thought they had it under control. They wouldn’t need All-Might. They could nab Bakugou, and they could head home.
Then the debris crumbled beneath Bakugou and monster alike, forcing them to take refuge near another burning building.
All-Might wasn’t coming. Judging from how out of breath he was, from how quickly he wanted to leave Izuku, and how his body had morphed during his upwards trajectory home, something was deeply wrong with him. Either he was an imposter, or he was far from the Symbol of Peace he represented.
As the flames flickered and danced in irregular rings, enclosing Bakugou and the monster, Izuku knew he had to act. No one else would save Bakugou, not even Japan’s mightiest hero, and when the going got rough, the rough shoved through the crowd and rushed straight into the fire.
The whispering crowd and heroes yelled after him, with sentiments like, “You’re crazy!” and “Hey, that kid’s going straight in!” but Izuku paid them zero heed.
Dad always said the best warriors were a little crazy.
“Not you again,” the monster snarled, rushing forward with all its tendrils.
Izuku grinned, baring his teeth and feeling every single muscle in his body tense up as he tapped his friendship bracelet twice in a row. It spawned his favorite sword, one forged from celestial bronze, with a light hilt and three emerald gems embedded along the bottom of the handle. Seizing said sword, Izuku charged forward, slicing off all tendrils in one circular motion. Then he ripped the tendrils around Bakugou’s arms and mouth, again and again, not waiting for them to reform.
Bakugou dropped to his knees, rolling to avoid what remained of the monster’s body.
“Ow!” The monster snarled, blubbering, shifting from large to small, ignoring the wisps of fire drawing nearer and nearer.
“Oh, buddy…” Izuku’s smile was devoid of all emotion as he plunged the sword straight between the monster’s eyes, “There’s more where that came from.”
The monster howled, gushing thick, green fluid and releasing Bakugou from his grasp. Its body melted into a single puddle, growing wider and wider around their feet.
Bakugou stood on his tip-toes as he regained his footing, jumping around the puddle as he rushed towards Izuku. “You idiot!” He lunged forward with his arm, tapping each gem on the blade, “People are watching us, and there’s no mist to protect you!”
“Then who would’ve saved you?” Izuku shouted back, flinching as the sword shimmered back into his friendship bracelet. It wrapped tight around Izuku’s wrist, right as the monster re-formed. “We can’t rely on heroes anymore!”
“About time you realized that!” Bakugou laughed, standing tall with Izuku as he assumed an offensive stance.
If this was how they fell, they could at least enter Elysium with the promise that they tried, and that they died a hero’s death.
“Adulthood’s overrated, anyway,” Bakugou added, as if he could read Izuku’s mind, with a smug, shaky grin. “Let’s get ‘im.”
“And leave the fun for someone else?” All-Might’s deep, booming voice called from behind as he rushed forward.
Bakugou and Izuku stared at him, eyes wide, feet firmly rooted to the uneven ground.
“I underestimated you, kid,” All-Might said to Izuku, “I thought you talked the talk, but you reminded me to practice what I preach. A hero should always be ready to help at the first sign of trouble.”
He rushed forward, gripping most of the re-formed tendrils in his arm and calling, “Detroit Smash!” as he twirled the monster round and round, right until he unleashed it straight into the sky.
As he did, Bakugou peeled forward, throwing one of his infamous explosions right into the center of the monster’s body.
Izuku shot him a quizzical glance, only for Bakugou to whisper in his ear, “It’ll explode when it reaches an altitude of 20,000 feet.”
The wind around them swirled, threatening to pry them off the ground and right into the sky, or - or well, it would have, if All-Might hadn’t grabbed them by the back collar of their shirts. They rippled along with the gusts, standing still only when nothing remained of the battle except debris and fire.
An explosion boomed from overhead, and as the clouds shifted into a gloomy gray sky, bits of sticky, green matter rained down towards the earth.
Right on schedule, Bakugou pulled out an umbrella over all three of them. First the sludge, then raindrops - small and tiny at first, building up into a drizzle, then into an full-on downpour.
Izuku moaned into All-Might’s arm, purposefully avoiding Bakugou’s face.
Bakugou laughed - actually, genuinely laughed - as he stared up at the sky. “Told you.”
The heroes on the scene chewed Izuku out, first for not wearing his uniform (“Shouldn’t you have been in school?”) then for bringing a sword to a battle scene (“Where do you even get that kind of weapon?”), and finally for having a serious death wish (“What if All-Might hadn’t come? How irresponsible are you?”).
Unfortunately for them, Izuku could make out only every third word, and he didn’t bother to parse out what he could. Their scowls and folded arms spoke for themselves.
Bakugou, on the other hand, was praised for his power, (“That's some quirk, kid!”), his ingenuity (“How did you remain so calm?”) and surprisingly, for carrying an umbrella (“It was like you could predict the weather!”).
Once the crowds had dispersed, and the police had corralled everyone to safety, Izuku and Bakugou could finally walk home in peace.
“What did they even say to you?” Bakugou sighed, holding up the umbrella above them. “All I got was how damn good my quirk was, which is funny ‘cause it’s a bold, fat lie. It was all, 'That's some quirk, kid! You trying for UA High's exam next week?'”
“Something about not bringing a sword to a battlefield.” Izuku frowned, thinking back to the last time he had failed to do that. “Mortals have it pretty easy.”
“Yeah, all they gotta do is load up a gun –”
“Kacchan!” Izuku screeched, smacking his friend’s chest, “Not funny!”
Bakugou snorted, his expression growing unnaturally soft and fond, “Oh, I’m always a riot.”
“But I’m serious. You said the Mist wasn't working, right? That's why they could see my sword, which means...”
“We’re in some serious shit,” Bakugou finished for him, drawing in a sharp breath and balling his fists up, pressing his fingernails into the edge of his palm. “Damn. It's gonna be harder to hide who we are.”
As they approached Bakugou’s house, a thin, frail man was standing next to the gate. He wiped blood off his mouth, and his intense blue eyes scrutinized Izuku with a passion that neither of them had seen.
“Uh…” Izuku stared. “Do you need something?”
“Young man,” The stranger began, coughing into his elbow and spewing out more blood. “There’s something I should’ve told you. When you asked me about what makes a great hero.”
Bakugou stared at Izuku, then at the frail man, before holding over his umbrella and making an awkward side-step into his front yard.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” he called, but Izuku had long since stopped paying attention.
This thin, frail man, with loose, baggy clothes that barely fit him, knew what he had told All-Might? His knuckles were bruised, in the same places where All-Might had gripped the monster, and his blood was in the same place he had seen it spewing out of All-Might’s mouth during the battle.
“And what’s that?” Izuku had to ask, taking a cautious step forward. If this man was who Izuku thought he was, something was about to change. “What really makes someone a hero?”
“The resolve to save someone, no matter how exhausted or ill-suited you may be.” The man - All-Might - gave Izuku a tired, yet determined smile. “Watching you try to save your friend with that amount of exhaustion on your face and nothing but a child’s toy… It inspired me to act too. There are stories about heroes, and most have one thing in common: their bodies move before they can even think, almost on their own.”
Like Izuku’s had when he thought about Bakugou, and how no one else would save his friend if he hadn’t -
“Today, that’s what happened to you.”
A sudden feeling of dread washed over Izuku’s bones as he stared up at All-Might. His stomach was churning, his heart was racing a million miles per minute, and every cell, every atom in his body was telling him to run. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t linger any longer. He had to make up some excuse, like being jet-lagged (which was real), or having a prior engagement (with his bed) or, or -
“Young man,” All-Might said, in fluent English, pumping his fist, “I believe that you are worthy of inheriting my power.”
Oh no.
Izuku’s entire body grew rigid, his feet rooted into the concrete, as he drew in a horrified breath.
“Of course,” All-Might continued, with a thoughtful stroke of his chin, “The real work begins now, because you see… my power was inherited to me, like an Olympic Torch and….”
His knees were buckling now. Izuku lurched forward, clutching his head and willing himself to focus on the present. If he was remembering right, the prophecy had told him… the prophecy…
“Child of Mars, take your fellow of Vulcan’s blood and return to the land of the rising sun…” Izuku drew in a breath, continuing, “Learn your inherited powers, your divine rights, and bridge your two worlds…”
Inherited power. Inherited.
All this time, he had figured that his inherited power was one of Mars: a divine blessing, or a prayer that would’ve enveloped him and enhanced his already latent abilities. What if his assumptions had been wrong, and this weird quirk was what Apollo had meant?
“It can’t be…” Izuku murmured, staring down at the ground and running a hand through his hair, “No, but nothing else makes sense, Dad doesn’t give divine blessings anymore and I did sacrifice an All-Might plushie, so maybe this is the universe’s way of giving something back to me, but on the other hand, I don’t know if I need a whole new power and I just….”
“Kid?” All-Might’s voice was frantic as he knelt down. “Are you alright?”
Izuku snapped to attention, peering back at All-Might.
“No,” he admitted, swallowing down his fear, “But you said your power was inherited, right? Passed down to you from generation to generation, growing stronger with each iteration?”
All-Might’s nod was slow, yet decisive.
In that moment, the second line from the prophecy clicked into place, and all Izuku could do was hold out his arm once more.
“In that case,” he said, willing himself to stand tall like a proper child of war, of strategy, of the battlefield, of Rome, and not like the scared kid who wanted to promptly run in the other direction because this couldn’t be happening to him, “Okay. I accept. Teach me everything you’ve got, sensei.”
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"As he crossed the threshold, passing through stone-white pillars and sneakers squeaking against marble tiling, he drew a breath and met the augur by the fire. There, the two sacrificed Izuku’s finest All-Might plushie to the gods, slashing it straight down the middle. Izuku ignored the tears streaming down his face - he had to ignore them - as pieces of cotton burst forth, swirling into circles and forming patterns foreign to him."
it painted such a lovely image in my head. i've definitely said this before, but i will always adore the natural flow of your words! especially during the more action-oriented scenes where it's clear what the characters are up to + the little descriptions you provide to set the scenario as everyone moves onward towards their latest objectives. and the fact that canon events works so well with the au ?? i was so impressed by the unraveling of the prophecy.
this comment: basically me gushing @ you like always.
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I'll be honest, that prophecy took too long to write since I'm nowhere near a poet, but I am enamored with Riordan-verse using rhyme to convey the future
and in Riordan-verse, those prophecies always come true.You are too good and too sweet to me, friend ;; I really, really appreciate it, and lmao as always, if there's something you want to read, lemme know and I'll whip it up.