The Immortal Hero

Izuku Midoriya - The Immortal Ajin

I want to warn everyone right now, ahead of time – This story is dark. Very dark. In this prologue alone, I have references to death, literal death, suicide, and suicidal thinking. If this sort of thing upsets and concerns you, I recommend either reading with caution, or not at all. Just wanted to warn those of you this kind of content might affect.

He hadn't meant to do it.

Wide eyes captured every single detail about the scene in front of him, even though he didn't want to, or even comprehend what he was seeing. Simply, he just stared, absently. Nothing that was currently in front of him was even registering though, at least, not in the way that it should do. Shouldn't he be horrified? Terrified? Sick to his very core? None of that was there. He hurt, but not for them. He felt guilt, like it had hit him over the head with a ton of bricks, but for the most part, he just didn't fee' anything else like that. A huge part of him just didn't want to acknowledge everything before him, just wanted to pretend that it didn't exist, and flee, to somewhere else. To act like none of this had ever happened...

Because he knew it was all his fault.

It had been an accident...

The flames from the apartment that he used to call home lit up the alleyway, making everything tinted in an orange and red afterglow. That was also his fault. Everything was crystal clear, even though it was the dead of night. No illusions or Quirks were hiding the truth here, no matter how much he wanted them to be some trick of the eye, of effect of some sort of Quirk. Everything was on display.

Four dead, savagely torn apart and beaten bloody corpses, were on display for anyone to see.

Limbs were scattered randomly and haphazardly, making it impossible to tell what belonged to whole, with the exception of one person, whom had blue skin as opposed to the normal pigments. One person had a tail, also ripped and tossed against a wall, a splatter of inhumanly green coloured blood indicating where it had hit, and a smear where it had slid down, before hitting the ground. Hands reached up from the seas of ruby red fluid, like a person was struggling for air underneath the surface, drowning seconds before oxygen was returned to their lungs. The other corpses almost look to be little more than flesh, yellow bones jutting out of said flesh, and their metallic weapons, left untouched by 'His' strike. One person, an individual whom had six arms, laid with one of their hands resting above the trigger. A few seconds too short of actually firing the automatic rifle and unloading it into the young boy.

Not that it would have done anything to stop him, or even save the users life. The moment that they had tried to take the life of such a child had been the second they had willingly stepped into their own graveyards, unknowingly as it may be. Their target himself didn't even mean for it to go down like this...

These were four people, who had lives and people who had cared about them. No matter what they were, or what they had tried to do to him, they were still people.... Who had had their own lives to live. They were all sons. Some might have been fathers, brothers, and all were bound to have friends who would miss them, and mourn them. Everyone had someone... At least, most people did...

Now laying as lifeless corpses, right in front of him, their blood literally on his hands, across his face, and soaking into what little remained of his charred clothing, these people had left the people that cared for them behind. And it was his fault.

It was his fault that these people were dead.

He hadn't meant to do it... It had been an accident. He didn't...

"I didn't... I didn't...."

He quietly repeated to himself, hoping that somehow, in some way, he silent whispers would be heard. That somehow, it would make everything better, that everything would just disappear. That he'd wake up in his room, covered with posters of Heroes, and that he could then run and cry about his horrific nightmare to his mother, who would offer him comfort and support. That he could go back to school in the morning, and be bullied for not having a Quirk. That he could go back to pining after the ones he admired, and feel the heartbreak when he would eventually learn that not everyone could become a Hero. It had better than this...