Can We Be Heroes?

Chapter 12. Ambers and Flames

Dabi knew better than anyone the cruelty of a world obsessed with quirks. A society that placed worth solely on a person’s abilities wasn’t just flawed; it was ruthless. He’d seen it firsthand, lived through it and endured all of its brutality in ways very few could imagine.

How is someone supposed to find purpose, he thought, in a world that only cared about power? A world where quirks determined a person’s worth—where the strong were celebrated, and the weak were discarded, barely noticed at all.

To most, quirks were a gift, a marvel of genetic evolution. But to Dabi, quirks were little more than chains—ensnaring people in the expectations of others, binding them to lives dictated by society’s narrow standards.

He’d learned that the hard way. Growing up, Dabi had seen how his father, Enji Todoroki otherwise known as Endeavor had treated quirks as the ultimate mark of value. Endeavor’s obsession wasn’t just a drive for power; it was a consuming ambition of surpassing his rival, one that left no room for empathy, compassion, or love. It didn’t matter who you were; it mattered only what you could do. And in a family molded by his father’s relentless pursuit of strength and dominance, Dabi’s worth was measured by the potential of his quirk alone.

What was the purpose of living in such a world where people were celebrated or cast aside based on the whim of genetic luck? What was the point of finding meaning when society only valued power and control? To Dabi, the answer was clear: there was no purpose—not in the way society saw it and so he had carved his own path, outside of society’s judgment, beyond the reach of his father’s expectations... not that it would matter to him since the man believe that he was dead but Dabi still planned on shedding any and all illusion of a world governed by fairness.

The fire inside him, the very quirk he’d once been pushed to master, had become a reminder of everything he despised about his father and about society itself. The scars that marred his body were more than just marks from training or the struggles of his youth—they were symbols of his hatred, his rage, his rejection of a world that valued quirks over humanity.

Dabi embraced the chaos, the darkness, finding his own meaning in the ashes of society’s obsession. If society wanted to burn those it deemed unworthy, then he would gladly become the flame that would consume them all till there was nothing left.

Dabi’s blue flames danced against the darkness, illuminating the narrow alleyway in an eerie glow sticks as the night grew darker. His target—a man whose quirk had given him just enough confidence to cross paths with the League of Villains—was running, well trying to. His footsteps echoed against the cracked pavement making Dabi groan as he knew the man’s desperation was pointless. There was no escape form a raging flame.

The graft skinned villian's flames roared to life as he surged forward, closing the distance with a predatory grace. The searing heat and the acrid smell of burning filled the air, overwhelming any last hope of escape. The man stumbled, his breaths ragged and panicked, before he turned to face the villain, his face twisted with fear.

“Please,” the man gasped, raising his hands defensively. “I—I didn’t mean to cross you. I didn’t know…”

Dabi tilted his head, a smirk curling on his lips as he stared down at his prey. The man’s excuses were pathetic, empty words that meant nothing to him. Dabi had seen it all before—the cowardice, the desperate pleas, the hollow promises. They were just noise, meaningless in the grand scheme of things. His cyan flames crackled around him, flaring brighter with every step he took toward his cornered target.

“Didn’t know?” Dabi sneered, his voice low, laced with contempt. “You had no problem being a spy for the enemies, did you? You wanted it both ways… and now you’ve got it.”