Choking black smoke permeates the air, a black-tipped trail ever-ascending among sparks and debris. Individual glowing embers rise with the heat filled breeze like lanterns, the wandering children of an ever expanding flame. Whatever isn't aflame lies crumpled under broken concrete and ruined asphalt.
Shattered from a monumental earthquake, survivors pile atop the wreckage as if moth to a flame, desperately sifting through the rubble for others. Worried cries, tearful sobs, and distraught screams pierce through the deafening roar of the blaze. Sirens top off this symphony of sadness, their wails continuing endlessly throughout the night.
"Itsuki, over here! Help me move this pillar!" A gruff middle-aged man exclaims. His face is stained with dried blood and dirt, his nose split at the base of his brow, with a scab already forming as he works. Itsuki, a younger man, scrambles over the rubble, small shards of gray rock tumbling down the mountain of concrete with each step. Peering through the gaps underneath the column, Itsuki and the older man find a pair of eyes looking back at them - teeming with fear and desperation. A hand reaches out from under the rubble, clamoring for aid. Crouching down, next to the broken support pillar, the two men grunt as they attempt to lift the column. Broken rebar protrudes from the column as if bone torn through a leg.
The men grimace as they attempt to lift it.
No result.
Both pause to release exhaustive breaths. The hand below them continues to reach through the gaps, frantically grasping onto any free shard of concrete for support.
After a few moments of hesitation, the men slide their hands under the pillar and attempt once again.
Veins push from their foreheads.
Teeth grind.
Their bodies reek of sweat, grime, and blood.
The pillar lifts, inches from the ground. Itsuki's arm shakes. The older man grimaces.
His eyes shut, his face scrunching into a tight ball of wrinkles and folds from concentration.
Suddenly, his eyelids pry themselves open.
Dropping the pillar, his face shifts into an expression of shock, his arms giving in from the weight of the column - it's simply far too heavy to lift.
The column lands where it originally fell.
No result. As the older man staggers away in rage, Itsuki leans towards the hand below the pillar, grasping it firmly as they continue to reach out for some form of savior.
The column shakes.
A small chunk of concrete shifts in place, sliding down the wall of rubble.
The ground as a whole begins to shake.
More and more minuscule pieces of detritus and asphalt tumble to new resting grounds.
Survivors begin to scramble down the summit like cockroaches. Scattering all which ways, the desperate clamor for any hope of protection.
"Aftershock! Everyone, find cover!"
Civilians stampede in their search to find safe ground.
The cacophony of tragedy only grows louder as the cries of the crowd mingle with the throes of the wounded.
Almost as soon as it started, the shaking stops.
Looking to each other, the gathering of civilians turn their eyes to investigate the aftershocks effects.
Instead, they find a lone silhouette, standing tall atop the peak of the rubble, cape billowing behind his shadowed figure.
Seeing this figure, whispers rapidly spread among the crowd.
"A villain? Did he cause this?"
"No, look at his pose, no villain stands like that..."
"If he's a hero he better have something good up his sleeve!"
Motionless, his stance is powerful and dignified. Simply his presence is enough to fill the crowd with hope.
Unbuttoning his cape, the garment slowly trails off to be lost to the wind.
And then,
laughter.
HA-HA-HAW!
With a booming voice, the disastrous chorus of suffering is muted by the hearty laugh of this man. Knocked back by the shock of his unwarranted joy, every eye in the crowd is now locked on this mysterious shadow. With a look of confusion, the crowd simply gazes at the silhouette.
Then, in one sudden burst, the shadow is gone.
A massive sonic boom blasts through the air, shaking the crowd to their core as the wind pressure traverses outwards. A trail of dust and rubble sifts through the air as he dashes from a prior standstill.
Across the piles of rubble and wreckage of destroyed building, each lunge breaks the sound-barrier. With every sub-second movement, the titan digs out another survivor and lays them gently on his back.
One, two, three.
Another eight, nine, ten survivors.
Coupled with every dash, his immense laughter.
HA-HA-HAW!
After only three major lunges, the mysterious hero delivers his payload of survivors to the crowd before turning and rushing back into the blazing wreckage.
With record pace, the entire situation has transformed.
Dash, survivor, dash, survivor.
This man faces no setbacks.
Shock, awe, and then joy slowly spreads across each survivor's face. Where they had once worked for hours, toiling over cracked rubble to find their loved ones, this mysterious hero has instantly turned the tide.
As a woman fumbles to keep her cracked phone in her hands, the man in front of her exclaims in shock.
"Can you see that? He's already saved a hundred people! That's crazy! It hasn't even been ten minutes! That's crazy!"
A-HA-HA-HAW!
Where once it had been distant and muffled, the hearty laugh grows imminently closer. Reaching it's peal, the hero steps over the wreckage of a former bus.
"He's laughing!"
Carrying a dozen more civilians atop both his back and the musculature of his forearms, the unknown hero properly reveals himself to the public.
"It's fine now. Why?"
The man smiles.
"Because I am here."
Adorned in a red and blue leotard, perfectly displaying his defined and immense musculature, he stands nearly twice that of an average man. Two tall, blonde strands of hair spring from the top of his head, resembling a peace sign.
The image of the powerful hero quickly minimizes into a small, highlighted square on top of a bright blue background as a plain-looking reporter commentates.
An eager-eyed teenager watches the special with a box of tissues by his side, tapping his eyes gingerly. Dressed in an oversized peacoat over an all-black school uniform, the puffiness of his eyes matched with the accompanying bags hint that he's been up all night. The green mop atop his head pairs stunningly well with his emerald irises and his face-full of freckles gives him a uniquely boyish charm.
The walls of his room are adorned from head to toe with sparkling All-Might posters, twinkling with enough red, white, and blue to give even the most loyal of Yankee's a toothache, and a special shelf is even assembled to collect All-Might's rarest figurines. In the center, the teen's newly coveted "Limited Edition - All Might Final Fight Deluxe" stands, still in its original box - completely mint.
"And so stood All Might, the greatest hero that ever was. Remembered in this footage of his initial debut, the world remains forever grateful for his sacrifices in the name of peace. This ends tonight's special on the career of the Symbol of Peace, tune in tomorrow for an exclusive interview with Shinya Kamihara, more famously known as Edgebody, one of the many heroes who witnessed All Might's last fight. Later today, the memorial vigil for the tragic death of UA Hero Academy stude-"
The television boots off.
Gently placing the remote down atop his blue comforter and using his free-hand to grab himself another tissue, the teenager prepares himself before releasing a particularly devastating wad into the weak paper.
It tears from the force.
Accidentally coating his hands with his own sadness snot, his emerald eyes widen with shock. Dramatically shaking his hands to force the drippings off his palms, the teen reaches for more tissues. At least he would have it wasn't for a knock at the door.
Turning his head with wide eyes, snot dripping from his nose, his lips have upturned into an exaggerated frown.
"Izuku! We have to head out! Please make sure you're prepared!" A gentle, reassuring voice chimes through the door.
Izuku's pupils dance from left to right as he meticulously analyzes his snot-coated palms, searching for a possible plan.
"O-O-Okay Mom! I'll be right out!" he bleats out while attempting to mask his mucous loaded predicament. Grabbing more tissues, he attempts to coat his hands in the soft paper and wipe them clean. Meeting marginal success, Izuku resorts to wiping the remnants onto the oversized coat.
Waddling off of his bed and towards his desk, he grabs a custom-binded notebook and pushes it neatly into a satchel. Below the notebook, a collection of comic books sits, ranging from American to Japanese print - properly vintage. Throwing the satchel over his shoulder, he steps towards his door.
Opening it, a short figure stands immediately outside of the doorway.
Izuku, without thinking, steps into the hallway and thus directly into his mother. Colliding with his mother, Inko Midoriya, the two tumble onto the ground. Shaking her head to break free from her momentary confusion, the short-statured Inko confusedly finds herself sitting atop her son's back. Dazed but aware, she slowly stands up with support from the wall.
Dressed in a simple black dress and cardigan, her green hair is done up elegantly, despite the recent cowlicks her son has recently introduced. Once again shaking her head, she offers a delicate hand to help her son up.
"Better be more careful next time, Izuku! I've grown more fragile with age! Don't want to risk hurting your mother, do you?" she jokes while helping Izuku up. He blushes as he stumbles to his feet, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
Checking him from head to toe, she stops upon reaching her sons face. Resting a hand on his face, Inko sighs.
"Oh Izuku… You have to be more careful! Don't want you to turn out like...," she looks down before finishing her statement.
"I-It's okay Mom, I'm right here. I'm fine," Izuku softly says in order to calm his mother.
Looking up at Izuku, she gently smiles. "I know, I know…", she says as she nods, "but I'm surprised your fathers coat is so big on you. I thought you'd fill it up by now! 16 years old and still so small!" Inko pinches her son's cheek.
His face flushes red as he blushes.
"I'm not that short!" he exclaims as his mother laughs gleefully.
"Come on, we still have to get going," she says as she turns around.
As the Midoriya family car pulls onto the side of the street, its engine sputtering to a stand-still, Izuku steps out of the grey sedan onto a wet sidewalk. The air is thin and misty and grey, overcast skies cast a shadow across the scene.
With a slight sprinkle of rain drizzling from above, Izuku unbuckles an umbrella.
His mother approaches Izuku, tapping the fob on her keys to lock the tiny grey car. Izuku positions the umbrella to mostly cover his mother, his concern evident; a reaction to his mother's somber expression.
With a tilted head, she steps forward. Her heels click against the slick concrete sidewalk with each step.
Her son follows closely behind, drizzling rain tapping against his shoulders. He walks steadfast through the rain, only mildly flinching, in order to protect his mother and her hair with their umbrella.
Together, the mother-son duo step beyond an ornate archway into a grassy plot.
The two stop, the newest additions to an expansive line leading further into the Musutafu Prefecture Cemetery. Stepping past gravestone after gravestone, Izuku and Inko are left to stand upon reaching their destination.
The dead's friends and family get the most immediate seating, especially due to the number of people attending the event. Scanning the black gravestone, Izuku bows his head.
Katsuki Bakugo.
Born April 20, 2298. Died February 23, 2314.
An old friend.