MHA: An Alchemist's Vengeance

Chapter 1: The Beginning and End of Our Lives

In the deepest silences, she could hear the screams. Especially when she was alone. Keigo was on call, and he had insisted that Yurina rest. She had been active for four days, putting out fires left and right. It was his turn to take the reins of protecting Kyushu. Yurina was, nonetheless, reluctant to let go.

She sat on a long grey couch, floor to ceiling windows looking out to the city, glittering in lights. Everything was mute, with the occasional speed racer's car blaring down the street. It was a weekday evening, so less people out partying and less traffic. Less noise to drown out the voices in the back of her head.

Yurina swirled a mug of red wine in her hand. She cradled the mug in her hands, head bowed over it like a gremlin hoarding gold, a white blanket draped on her shoulders like a cape. Her hair was almost done drying from her shower, just an hour ago. She could feel the dampness on her neck. If she was cold, Yurina didn't care.

Keigo would come back when the sun rose. He'd probably find her curled up on the couch and kiss her gently. He'd tease her about her bad breath, flavored with the drying sweetness of port wine, taking her yellow mug –with cat faces all over it –into the sink for a soak. Yurina set her empty mug down. She tried to close her eyes without trembling, focusing on Keigo's red wings outlined in the sunrise, but it was useless. The world inside wasn't being cooperative.

Yurina's eyes drifted to her phone. The date flickered like a ghost. They bled into her eyes as a reminder. She hadn't checked her social media, hadn't turned on the TV, or checked the news. Media outlets liked to cover it still, even after all these years. It had been well over 14 years ago, so why couldn't they all forget? Yurina wrapped the blanket tighter around her. The memories were shattered bits and pieces of red horror. She tried to keep it that way. If it got too clear, then she'd start shaking. And heroes didn't shake.

Yurina tried to lay down, arms hugging a pillow, blanket covering her head. In the fuzzy dark she could see the flames, hear them crackling. But it wasn't the fire that was scary. Fire was just fire; it ate and consumed because that was its only purpose. It was the other people that were the problem. Yurina remembered figures in black, no faces, different quirks that worked in tandem to destroy her family. Yurina remembered the way all the bodies fell like rain during a vicious storm, how the blood ran like paint down the halls. She remembered the smell so vividly that she could taste it. And then there were the hands that grabbed her, jostled her body through the ash and fire. She remembered her screams, her cries for parents that no longer existed, and how their faces were still a memory. She remembered someone shouting her name, and how that name would never be spoken again if she had anything to do with it.

Yurina sat up from the couch. She exhaled shakily, throwing the blanket off her. Taking a few deep breaths, she stood up, crossing the living room to the windows. She walked to a hidden screen with various buttons, hand hovering over a button to open the windows. Next to it was another button to have fortified panes descend down as a nice little security measure. Yurina's hand was still shaking. She tried to steady it with her other hand but found that her body was trembling. Yurina sniffed, eyes glassy. Keigo had insisted she take today off, because he knew what today was. Perhaps he thought she could try to find peace with it. Yurina wasn't sure that would ever happen. She felt too alone, too suffocated. She wanted to lift the windows and smell the outside air. Maybe if she screamed loud enough, Keigo would come flying in. Maybe she could fly out and get back to work. Yurina raised her arm, pressing her palm against the wall, leaning her weight on it. She took a few more deep breaths. Her hands and feet were so cold, they felt numb. She could feel the alcohol and four days of nonstop work settling into her system. She knew she needed rest, but her mind refused.