A Tale of Pain and Vengeance

Chapter 1 Whisper's of the Past

Quirks...

Such a fantastic thing! Little kids go crazy at the prospect of having a good quirk. It's basically a superpower or special ability that any person can have, but each varies from person to person.

Stretchy limbs, flight, animal-like characteristics—you name it—it's probably a Quirk.

Many people from a young age want to be one thing, and that's a hero. Ever since All Might's debut, more and more of the youth in the world strive to be like him. Well, I can't blame them; he's the greatest hero in Japan.

Strong, brave, and always smiling, he is the epitome of what being a hero means.

Many dream to be like him; some fail, while others pick up their torch and continue that harsh journey of reaching his status.

Unfortunately, not everyone is equal in this world. Life is a cruel mistress; for every four people with quirks, there's one who doesn't. There's a name for people without a special power to make them unique.

Quirkless..

They make it sound like a disease, like we're some kind of plague on the world. In a sense, I guess they were right.

You're either born lucky enough to be blessed with a power or you get your face shoved in the shit pile that is reality. Corruption spreads through the world like cancer, be it the Hero Committee, the Police Force, or educational institutions. It's everywhere.

-~-

A young man can be seen standing in a dimly lit room, the walls adorned with hauntingly familiar family photos. His eyes look wide in terror. A soft, mournful wind whispered through the room, carrying the scent of iron. He couldn't escape this feeling of dread, and as he turned, the room shifted.

A large lump formed in his throat as he stared at the gruesome sight that his family had encountered. Their faces, frozen in horror and despair, haunted him from every corner. His legs begin to feel weak as they give out from underneath him. He falls to the floor in a heap and stares at the sight before him.

His little sister's doll lay abandoned on the blood-stained carpet, a chilling reminder of innocence lost. Leo tried to scream and cry out, but his voice failed him, and the room remained silent except for the relentless whispers that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. The whisper's fragments, like fragments of a broken memory, are impossible to decipher.

The quiet sound of voices was drawing him in. Slowly, Leo stands up, compelled by an inexplicable force. The sound of glass crunching under his feet as he got closer. There he found a shattered family portrait; the glass cracked and fragmented all over the carpet below. His eyes travel the portrait to see his mother's warm smile, his father's reassuring gaze, his little sister's playful laughter, and his little brother smiling in joy—all etched into the photograph, forever trapped in time.

As Leo reached out to touch the portrait, it crumbled to dust in his hands. The whispers grew louder, now forming words, though still too cryptic to grasp. It was as if the past itself was trying to communicate with him.

Then, a cold presence enveloped him, and he turned to find a figure cloaked in shadows, their faces concealed. They beckoned him closer, causing Leo to hesitate, his heart hammering away. Despite his fear, there was an almost familiar air that hung around the shadow figure.

"Why didn't you save us, Leo?" A torrent of voices said at once, his eyes widening at this.

"W-What?" He croaked out, and the figure took a step closer to him.