I could see the questioning look on his mien crystalline clear as day. His knit eyebrows above worn, reddish and squinted eyes between the matted strands of dark hair as his lips pinched regrettably gave me all the knowledge I'd needed. This wasn't rehearsed, nor was it a joke. This was a training session with my father who'd never accept an interruption during a class, not even if his life depended on it. A minute swirl of twilight-dyed fairy-floss mass was bobbing in the air, expanding tuft by tuft with each extending vessel of it's dark-purple fibres. It was pitch black and misty, like a black hole was shredded to pieces and one of them willed their way to Earth to wreak havoc upon our class because it purely could. Along the edges a disordered, violet trim grew on the murk, taking up the majority of coloured area, then morphing and shrinking and growing again, like the only DNA the nucleus held inside this organism was to trick our eyes with illusions and repeat. Then get bigger. From our wary positions taken under the checkered arch and between the two pillars of the U.S.J. entrance gate, we saw something clean-cut and more realistic compared to the fuzz blurring and transitioning before our eyes. It slowly peeled from the unstable membrane, fingers emerging and tearing away from the skin of fog with jagged and bitten nails. The character slowly but surely developed in the haze, a face had peeled itself out, shaggy, loosely wavy hair the colour of a dulled, grey sky clambered around its dry and creased face, clambered around... Around a hand positioned on the middle of the face, awfully dead and grim and pale, held on by some indiscernible force. The hand applied to the face was holding it in every crevice for a secure grip, and between the index and middle finger was a wide, bulging eye. From my angle a red glimpse shot through from a glint of sunlight, piercing the retinas and illuminating the iris. The man either had eyes a similar shade of red to Kacchan or a quirk gifting tapeta lucidum.
He was either a villain interrupting our lesson with cruel intentions, or very lost.
The latter didn't seem the case as he didn't pause in his actions, rather doing the opposite and stepping through the gas mass.
"HUDDLE UP AND DON'T MOVE!" my Dad shouted at us as the first figure appeared and more started emerging from behind, each showing from the depth of fog and wading out at us. They all looked different, some wearing gas masks and wielding cleavers and more blade assortments such as strengthened usuba and sharp nakiri bochos, others in tight suits with snakes for hair and anomalous headgear. Humanoid, animal or monster, each of them shared the same maniacal and joyous grin. "THIRTEEN!! PROTECT THE STUDENTS." Some of us had figured it out, these weren't dummies nor hired actors, not hired by our school at least. Majority were standing confused, Thirteen was ushering us backwards, where the villains couldn't touch us.
"What the heck's that!? More battle robots? Like during the entran-" Kirishima was part of the confused.
"Do they look like robots?" we took more steps back as the murk widened for bigger enemies to enter, the smell of death following close behind and turning the central plaza to a death valley.
"DON'T MOVE, THOSE ARE..." we stared in awe as more brutes flooded through hell's gates, too many to count and too many to counter, "VILLAINS." the word was spat like a gross taste in Dad's mouth, a grotesque aftertaste evident in the way our noses upturned ,and cheeks paled. The shuffle of feet assortments and sounds of grumbling thugs was all we could hear as our fields of visions were overtaken with ugly snarls and grimaces or unhinged laughs and undoubtedly gleeful smiles.
"Thirteen..." A glum voice unnaturally deep echoed around us, heads turning round to spot the owner, but none came forward and claimed the dismal chords, "And Eraser Head, is it...?" my Father unearthed his goggles from the depths of his capture weapon, placing them snug upon his eyes and shifting to a battle-ready stance. "According to the staff schedule I received the other day... All Might is supposed to be here..." directly in front of us was where the voice came clearest, the centre of fog and mist where two golden smudges ruined the purple and black pattern. They were spread like eyes and morphed around other clumps of miasma to wobbled and warbled lines and streaks of golden yellows.
YOU ARE READING
This Ain't Good
Fanfiction[[ officially discontinued, final chapter for more]] Midoriya Izuku, a struggling teenager with too many voices in his head and not enough friends outside of it, has to sneak through his schooling at the prestigious Yuuei and try stay out of trouble...
