The Want To Go Home

Ch11, Forbidden Forest, Forbidden Tools

Warning: Self-harm warning, also warning for usual violence. Not really necessary at this point, but this chap has the most self-harm shown and referenced so far. SO you know, just a warning. Also, how are y'all? I've been busy, but I wrote nearly half of this chapter in one sitting due to the fact I've been busy. And thank you all for your kind words!

Answers to questions that have been asked!

Izuku is, in fact, getting stronger faster than the average hunter. He has been gaining levels quicker than an average hunter, which at the moment does not make him insanely OP but definitely will lead to an incredible power curve by the end of the Yharnam Ark.

There was a person who disliked how I'm portraying Inko so far. And I do want to make this clear that this is an AU. People are a lot less kind to Izuku... obviously, their tolerance of what they deem impure is at 11, and their violence is also at 11. That, however, is not to say all people are totally worse; Inko was at a crossroads. Care for her son and be ridiculed by coworkers and friends or "act" like she didn't care about him. Sometimes, as some people know, an act can swiftly become a person fully when they forget who they actually are. I am not villainizing Inko; I am, however, showing a path that in a world just slightly worse, even kind people can be turned into villains.

After those sadder questions, here is one. I might... MIGHT let Izuku make a minigun cannon. BUT ONLY BECAUSE THAT THREAD IS WAY TOO BIG TO BE NORMAL!!

Where was I for so long? The combination of school starting up, work, and my school's marching band program took 6 out of my seven afternoons a week for a long time, but the band has ended! So I have cleared up most of my days!

Anyway, how have all your days/ nights been? I have been busy myself. ONTO THE STORY! Thank you for reading ^-^

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The tough grass of the forbidden forest crunched heartily under Izuku's boots. The new whip, shining brightly in the moonlight, paired only with the fluorescent green of his eyes that peered out at the cowering hunting mob. The sweet smell of moonflower and blood blooms wafted out from the young hunter as he strode towards his marks. The Mob readied their weapons of choice in opposition to the hunter that stepped with a fierce gate, one of their ranks rushed in, their pitchfork going wide, then being reduced to spare parts as in mere moments the reaper's whip eviscerated the man. While their minds were shrouded in the veil provided by the Beasthood and fear, some remembered the old stories. Stories that told of the hunters of old and regaled them in their exploits. Specifically, a hunter that strode out into the night and finished beasts without missing a step.

Step.

The two with shields, the ones that were supposed to hold the front, were shredded before the eyes of the rest, entrails and blood showering the battlefield, the fires burning on either side of the hunter shadowed their face leaving only the silhouette of death.

Step.

The oil bearers hesitated for a moment at the horrifying sight in front of them, only to have a silver streak slice their heads off. And in moments, the axemen, who were rushing to take the hunter down, were shredded into ribbons, gurgling screams of the pain, their last call.

Step.

The fencers, the most veteran of the hunting mob charged, were the last to stand in front of the frightening beast. Only to have their scimitars turned on them, their blades being hooked by the whip and flung into their bodies; They followed their compatriots. Their bodies fall into the damp soil saturated with oil, the creeping flames of their campfires spreading out and swallowing them.