The Force Of Nature

Kyoki no tatakai part 1

The Restless Night

Inko Midoriya sat at the edge of her bed, staring into the darkened room. The soft hum of the city outside did little to soothe her. Sleep eluded her once again, her mind trapped in a ceaseless loop of memories: the attack on her home, the horrors inflicted on her child, and the sheer incomprehensibility of their lives now.

The detectives. Their questions. Their doubts. Their veiled accusations.

Her hands clenched into fists as she thought of Nakamura, his obsession and audacity. She despised them—not just for their invasive inquiries, but for the threat they posed to her family. Her body trembled with rage, her breathing sharp and shallow.

She loved Izuku with every fiber of her being, but tonight, that love was twisted by a storm of bitterness and contempt. Why couldn't the world just leave them alone?

Her mind wandered into a violent fantasy. She imagined tearing down the oppressive forces trying to cage them—eliminating those who sought to disrupt their fragile peace. A sharp spike of adrenaline coursed through her, and her quirk, still raw and unrefined, stirred within her subconscious.

The Creation

Unbeknownst to her, the depth of her malice and frustration began to take shape. In the far recesses of her mind, her quirk latched onto the fantasy, feeding on her thoughts and emotions.

In the shadows of her room, a faint, ghostly outline materialized. It grew darker and more defined with every passing moment until a boy stood at the foot of her bed.

He was no older than ten, with pale, translucent skin that glimmered faintly in the darkness. His form was lithe and wiry, clad in a black, skin-tight jumpsuit that seemed to absorb the light around him. His hollow eyes glowed a dull white, and his smile was an eerie, crooked thing.

Without a sound, the boy tilted his head, as though listening to some inaudible command. Then he turned and vanished into the night.

The First Strike

The precinct buzzed with the quiet chaos of late-night activity. Phones rang intermittently, officers scribbled down reports, and the faint aroma of stale coffee hung in the air.

Officer Matsuda yawned as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. It had been a long day, and the tension surrounding the Midoriya case had left him more drained than usual.

The front door swung open with a creak, and Matsuda glanced up lazily. A boy stood in the entrance, silhouetted against the dim light outside. His face was partially obscured, but something about him sent a shiver down Matsuda's spine.

"Hey, kid," Matsuda called out. "What are you doing here? It's late—"

Before he could finish, the boy moved. He was impossibly fast, appearing in front of Matsuda in the blink of an eye. The officer barely had time to register the blur before the boy jabbed a hand forward, striking Matsuda square in the chest.

The force was devastating. Matsuda's torso erupted, his flesh disintegrating into a gory explosion that left nothing but a skeleton. The lifeless remains slammed into the wall behind him, leaving a grotesque smear of blood and viscera.

The room fell silent as the other officers froze, their expressions shifting from confusion to horror.

"W-What the hell?" one of them stammered, reaching for his gun.

But the boy was already moving again.

A Symphony of Carnage

The boy tore through the precinct like a whirlwind of death, his movements fluid and inhumanly precise. Each strike was devastatingly lethal, reducing his targets to little more than mangled remnants of their former selves.