-Rain of Sins-
-Phantoms Dance: Ch 6-
The President of the United States of America was not a politician.
It was a strange statement, one that almost seemed nonsensical out of context.
“The President of the United States of America is not a politician.”
And yet it was true… it was , damnit!
“The President of the United States of America is not a politician.” Frank Roosevelt repeated under his breath like a mantra.
He stared at himself in the restroom mirror, water dripping from his face as he hunched over the sink. The wrinkles of age creasing his cheeks and forehead, his already graying hair gaining a root of white.
“I am not a politician.” He repeated to the man in the mirror, one so so much older than he had been just three years ago- the chains of unspeakable stress dragging him down ever faster towards the abyss.
“...not a politician.” He whispered.
It was important to remember. His forbearer had been a politician, swinging into office on a wave of lavish claims and completely unreachable goals that promised people everything that they could never have. Oh, it wasn’t malicious, the man had truly believed he could turn the world on a dime, but he got into office and started stirring things up.
Rule number one of public office: no one likes when you change things.
He had pissed off far too many powerful people on every side of the board, and had been shamed and disgraced, forced to resign in shame.
Thus Frank, the vice president and overlooked tag along to the populist, was sworn in as acting president. But narcissists don’t like to share, and Frank had never been a “real” VP with any influence. He was a bureaucrat, a pencil pusher, an accountant, someone to count the numbers and keep track of the papers.
The President of the United States of America was not a politician.
Politicians made grand speeches, they made promises, they encouraged the nation and riled them to act.
Frank was a tired, aging man, who had been allowed to take over because the senate knew he wouldn’t rock the boat.
He let out a weary sigh, and the deep bags under his eyes seemed to gain ground against the almost sickly pale skin of his face.
“I Have A Dream.” The TV hanging on the wall of the Whitehouse restroom voiced, showing a man who could rival All Might in size standing at a political rally. “That one day, every person in this nation will control their OWN destiny! A land of the TRULY free, dammit! A nation of ACTION, not words. Ruled by STRENGTH, not committee. Where the law changes to suit the individual, not the other way around! Where power and justice are back where they belong: in the hands of the people! Where every man is free to think -- to act -- for himself! Fuck all these limp-dick lawyers and chicken-shit bureaucrats! ”
The crowd cheered loudly, and Frank’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the sink. He ducked his head and clenched his teeth, trying to block out the crowd's jubilus reaction to the blatant jab at him.
“ Fuck this 24/7 Internet spew of trivia and celebrity bullshit! Fuck the media! Fuck all of it! In my new America, people will die and kill for what they BELIEVE! Not for money, not for oil! Not for what they're told is right. Every man will be free to fight his own wars! ”
The crowd erupted in standing ovation and rabid cheers as Senator Steven Armstrong finished his speech, which caused Frank to deflate slightly.
“...I’m not a politician.” He muttered as he leaned forward, his eyes closed and the top of his forehead resting against the glass. “...Just one more year.”
Just one more year, and then he would lose the election. He’d lose the election and someone else could take over- someone smarter, someone more ambitious, someone more suited for the role. Just one more year, and then he could retire from office with some semblance of dignity, and get out of the spotlight. Just one more year and then no more pressure, no more protests calling for his head about things he couldn’t control, no more death threats from the people whose livelihood he was giving his everything to keep safe.
But that was still a year away, and until then he would do the best he could.
Frank pushed himself off the sink with a light huff and straightened himself out, brushing off his shoulder, and redoing his tie.
He was the leader of the single wealthiest and most powerful nation in the world, damnit! It didn’t matter what people called him. Benchwarmer president or not, he was still the president! So what if the senate approved of him just because they wanted someone who wouldn’t rock the boat? What he did was still his choice!
And if he thought that what the country needed was someone to keep the boat steady and focus on stability then, God willing, that’s what he’d do!
He steeled his nerves, forcefully grabbed all the doubt and negativity and shoved it down as far as possible. And as he made his way towards the restroom door, no one would suspect that the man who exited had been on the cusp of a nervous breakdown, just minutes before.
Slowly he made his way down the grand hallways of the Second White House. Perhaps they were made to be awe inspiring, and glorious, but now their towering marble archways and empty corridors seemed cold and lonely. On the walls the many paintings of his forefathers, better men than he could ever be, stared past his fragile mask and saw him for who he truly was.
The weight was suffocating as it slowly pressed on his chest.
They had signed their names on a document to secure the future prosperity of their children, fully knowing what the consequences would be if they were to be caught by the British, what the sentence would be for treason against the crown. Many had died with their heads held high for what they believed in.
What would they think if they could see him today? If they could see the pale mockery that their nation had twisted itself into? Would they be disgusted with him, furious at his failures? Or would they just smile gently at him in sad understanding, with nothing else to say.
Abraham Lincoln had given everything he possibly could to keep the nation together, pushing through sickness, the loss of his son, and in the end, his only reward was a bullet.
John Kennedy stood in defiance to a world divided between East and West, and was directly responsible for putting the first human footprints on the moon.
Theodore Roosevelt, a man with a personality larger than his statue on mount Rushmore, the trust buster who had broken the largest monopolies in history, and who had volunteered to fight on the trenches in world war one. He had been preparing to willingly march into the bloodiest war ever seen, before the current president at the time forbade him.
The hallway stretched on and on, paradoxically huge but claustrophobic, seemingly unending as he stumbled down the pristine red carpet that ran down its center.
Benjamin Franklin.
Dwight Eisenhower.
Men who had built the first modern democracy, who had dared to dream the dream of liberty in a world of Empires, stood shoulder to shoulder with the leaders who had fought and bled to keep that dream alive. To keep the light on the hill lit.
Harry Truman.
Thomas Jefferson.
John Adams.
He was practically running now, desperate to escape the gaze of his predecessors.
The hallway opened up into an enormous circular room that stretched up almost 55 feet into the air, and had a domed roof that had been meticulously hand painted down to the finest detail.
There, upon the ceiling was Him.
Washington. George Washington, the myth, the legend, the father of America. The man who emerged victorious against the most powerful Empire in human history. The man so beloved that a statue of him stands in London itself out of respect.
The general, who stood defiant in the face of impossible odds, who remained determined after losing defeat after defeat to the largest army in the world, who stayed and continued to fight even as his men deserted him left and right in the freezing depths of winter. His army swept from New York and New Jersey by the redcoats, only to return across the icy Delaware, and against all odds deliver a glorious victory at Trenton.
The myth, who willingly returned to the battlefield to save a dying British commander, who had his horse shot out from under him twice in one battle but kept going, who was recorded walking from the smoke unharmed even as his coat was riddled with no less than four bullet holes.
The modern Cincinnatus who willingly stepped down from presidency after only just two terms, despite the objections of the whole nation, to assure the nation would stay a republic, not a dictatorship.
George Washington, painted sitting atop the throne of Olympus, above the Ancient Greek gods, looked down upon Frank.
The father, the president, the general, the myth, the god, stared down at the accountant with unblinking eyes, and found him wanting.
Frank froze under the gaze, the weight on his chest crashed down upon him a hundred times heavier than before. He was stuck, he couldn’t move from under the piercing eyes, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t form words, he couldn’t apologize for letting the country devolve into such a state! He couldn’t take back the fact he had dirtied the presidential office by simply sitting in it, he couldn't breathe, he was a fraud! It hadn't even been him that was elected, he was just supposed to be the Vice President! He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t brEaT H e!
The emergency exit on the side of the building flung open as the president stumbled out of it, gasping for air.
His lungs burned, and his throat stung as he desperately heaved in gulps of the freezing nighttime Fall air. It was almost disorientating, going from such a claustrophobic environment, to the wide open outdoors, but he barely had two seconds to rest before his surroundings rushed back in to crush him.
“MR PRESIDENT! MR PRESIDENT!”
A wave of bodies mobbed around him, camera flashed blinding him, and microphones were shoved at him.
“MR PRESIDENT, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THE RECENT VILLAIN ATTACK ON THE SOUTHERN BORDER? SAN WE INSURE OUR CITIZENS SAFETY FROM CENTRAL AMERICA’S CHAOS?”
“IS IT TRUE GOVERNOR ALAMO WANTS TO REPLACE HEROES WITH HIS TEXAS RANGERS?”
“WHAT DOES THE WHITE HOUSE HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THE RECENT MUSCOVIAN ELECTIONS?”
“WHAT’S YOUR OPINION ON TEXAS’ GEATER FIREARMS ACT?”
“MR PRESIDENT, CAN YOU GIVE US YOUR OPINION ON THE HOLLYWOOD SCANDALS INVOLVING JOHNNY'S DIVORCE?”
“MR PRESIDENT, WHAT’S YOUR STATEMENT ON THE RECENT TRADE AGREEMENT BETWEEN JAPAN AND AUSTRALIA?”
“MISS JOVESKA MERELS HAS A QUIRK THAT CAUSES HER TO AGE TWICE AS FAST AS A NORMAL PERSON, SHE LOOKS AND CLAIMS TO BE 30 DESPITE BEING 15, IN YOUR OPINION, IS SHE AN ADULT?”
“ARE THE RUMORS TRUE THAT THE PURCHASE OF GREENLAND HAS BEEN CANCELED?
Frank grimaced and half up his hands to block the constant white flashes, but even when he closed his eyes the echoes of the lights still burned his eyes. “Please, give me some space, I can’t-“
“SOMEONE MADE AI RENDERS OF YOU HARASSING AN ASSISTANT, DO THESE HAVE ANY BEARING ON REALITY?”
“THE NATIONS BUDGETARY DEFICIT THIS YEAR IS UNPRECEDENTED! HOW CAN YOU JUSTIFY THAT?”
“I-I didn’t approve that budget! The senate has total control of drafting and approving the national budget. I objected, but they overrode my veto-“
“SO YOU’RE SAYING YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING TO SAVE THE ECONOMY?”
“No, I didn’t say-“
“HOW CAN YOU FEEL JUSTIFIED BEING PAID IF YOU CAN’T EVEN RUN THE COUNTRY?”
Frank stepped backwards, fumbling for the door, and hoping to the Lord that the emergency exit hadn’t auto locked behind him. But the reporters were ravenous, pushing forwards and pressing him against the wall.
“ I’m sorry. ” He whispered to his forefathers, to the true presidents.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The office was supposed to be respected, to be the face of the nation that mediated between the parties of the senate and brought the nation together. In the past, reporters wouldn’t have been let anywhere near the gates of the White House, let alone in its garden.
The presidency had been turned into a clown booth long before his time, and had been legally hand tied with paperwork by the senate into being a mostly powerless scapegoat, ever since the quirk collapse, but still…
He couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed somehow.
He jumped as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and the mob of reporters stepped back in awe.
“That’s enough, everyone! ” The Hero Star and Stripe boomed as she stepped forward and held her hands out to block him off from the crowd. “ The president and I have important matters to discuss, so we need to get going now.”
The shining blond star of a Hero waved them off with a beaming smile, and the previously insatiable crowd obeyed without hesitation. Five seconds ago they had been crushing the president further and further against the wall, frothing at the mouth for content, without listening to a word he was saying. Now they were walking away while whispering to each other like schoolgirls, pointing in awe at Star, and waving happily at her as they left.
She was a Hero. THE Hero of America. She was respected.
Frank Roosevelt, President of The United States of America, was not.
A weight settled in his soul, and he could feel the heavy stare of Washington burn into him.
“C’mon Frank.” Cathleen said as she gently nudged him on the arm. “Let’s get back inside.”
She reached out with one arm, and the reinforced emergency exit, which was built to withstand a point blank explosion, willingly opened itself under the slightest influence of her quirk.
-Rain of Sins-
The room Frank entered was the exact same as it had been the last hundred times he’d been in it.
Buried deep under the whitehouse, under layers and layers of reinforced concrete and steel, far away from any cameras or microphones that could be hacked, was a small conference room.
It had an oval oak table, with three chairs around it, and a pile of heavy manila folders in front of each seat.
And… that was it.
There were no windows, the walls were unpainted, and the room was lit by only a single LED light in the center of the ceiling.
“Mr President, thank you for coming today.” The man seated at the far end of the table greeted without even looking up from the documents he was sorting through- all of which were marked with a big [CLASSIFIED] stamp on the top.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
This was the Director of the Northern American Intelligence Center- the most powerful intelligence agency in the entire world, formed from the battered corpses of the old CIA, FBI, Department of Homeland Security, and Canadian SIS, during the worst of the quirk collapse.
The man was wearing a finely pressed suit, gloves, a pair of black sunglasses, and had dark hair, but Frank couldn’t give you any more than that even if he wanted to.
Just like every time he saw the man, Frank concentrated on his face, burning the picture into his memory, but the moment he looked away the image slipped from his mind, as if it were made of oil.
Frank couldn’t remember the Director’s face, he didn’t know the Director’s name, he didn’t know what all they got up to overseas, he didn’t even know if the man was loyal to him or to the self aggrandizing fools in congress.
But he was honest to Frank whenever they talked, and even when that was coming from the most suspicious and illusive man in the world, it still made Frank trust him more than any politician.
“It’s good to see you again, Director.” Frank said as he took a seat.
“And it’s good to see you in good health again, sir.” The Director said without an announcement of emotion.
The man paused flipping through his papers at the sound of a chair creaking nearly past its breaking point. He tilted his head up to stare at Star in a way that expressed he was unhappy with her being here, without actually having to say the unprofessional words.
“I assume that the Vice President is currently too occupied to make it to today’s meeting?”
“Yes.” Frank swallowed, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “But he has told me that he should be able to make it next week.”
The Director hummed but thankfully didn’t mention just how many times the exact same excuse had been made.
With a regretful sigh, Frank looked over to the seat Star was in, and the plastic nameplate sitting in front of it.
Vice President Richard Nixon
When he’d been made president Frank had done what he believed to be the right thing. He selected his VP based off of past work experience, and previous achievements, in a pure meritocratic selection process.
The government needed to be full of capable men and women who could properly steer a nation! It didn’t need more yesmen shoved into positions they didn’t deserve based only on things like nepotism!
…Things like loyalty .
“The President of the United States of America is not a politician.”
The words haunted him.
“I suppose we should get started.” The Director said, pushing all the papers into a pile. “Since the last time we met two weeks ago, the world stage has shifted, and in some ways has gotten even more dangerous.”
“If you would look at the documents labeled under the tag Europa .” He picked up a folder marked Eu4-51, and motioned for them to do the same. “We’ll start with some good news, for once.
“Over the past year, a jingoist faction in the French Commune’s union council has been gaining support in reigniting a war with the German Confederation over Alsace Lorraine. As you know the region is de jure an international neutral zone, as settled in the armistice a decade ago, but the Germans hold de facto control over a significant northern chunk of the land, which has been… unhelpful in calming tensions.”
The director paused to take a sip of water.
“However, chairmen Étienne Leclerc, head of the national miner’s union, decided to be useful for once in his life, and committed suicide off his balcony just last night. He was the vocal figurehead of the pro war faction, and without him they’ve lost most of their steam.”
“A highly convenient suicide for you.” Star scowled at him in disgust. “Are you sure it wasn’t assisted in any way? I’m sure you would have had teams close enough to collect evidence.”
“Of course not, Leclerc was in a high stress environment, working a highly taxing job, in which he was dealing with the paranoia and intrigue of political bureaucracy, and had to consistently bear the weight of being a danger to his nation’s sovereignty. Suicide in under such conditions is highly likely.” The Director’s eyes might have been hidden, but Star could feel his glare burning into her skin. “I would be careful if I were you. You’re currently not too far away from fitting all those conditions yourself.”
“What’s this about Muscovy that I’m reading?” Frank asked, trying to pull the conversation away from dangerous waters.
“The Muscovian Kingdom had its elections last week, which were highly controversial, with plenty of evidence that someone had attempted the sloppiest voter fraud campaign I’ve ever seen.” The Director answered, thankfully letting Frank steer them back on track. “A few days after that a far right monarchist group stormed the Kremlin and shot the president. Thankfully international pressure convinced them to step down from the coup on the compromise that the US would oversee another election and stop anyone from rigging it.”
“So what’s the problem?” Star asked. “It sounds like things worked out.”
“The problem is that the group got enough prestige from pulling it off that they actually won the vote. The guy they elected needs to be in a mental asylum. He’s clinically insane.” The Director sighed and pinched his nose. “Sergey Taboritsky has very publicly stated that his quirk somehow told him that Tsarevich Alexey Nikolayevich, a child of the old Tsar who died in 1917 , is somehow still alive somewhere in Siberia… And unfortunately there’s not any nearby balconies for him to conveniently jump off of.”
“Again.” Star asked. “What’s the problem? Democracy may be messy at times, but it is the will of the people.”
“The man wants to lead a war past the ural mountains to finally reclaim the frozen wasteland of Siberia, the frozen wasteland where the last quirk warlords still exist, and something that has failed every time it has been attempted.”
“I’ll ask again, and I want a real answer this time.” Star growled. “What’s the problem with any of this?”
“Omsk.” Frank whispered in realization, causing Star to look at him in confusion.
“Who’s Omsk?”
“It’s an old Russian city.” The Director answered while looking at Frank in annoyance that he brought it up in front of the Hero. “There’s an old pre-collapse military base there that managed to hold the city and the surrounding area off from warlords, and set up a military junta. They’re violently isolationist, but have been willing to work with us. Their collaboration was vital in ensuring no quirk warlords got ahold of nuclear weaponry in the Siberian area, during Russia’s eastern collapse.”
“Muskovy gathered everything west of the Urals, Omsk gathered everything to the east of them.” Frank simplified. “A Muskovian crusade into Siberia brings the last two remaining stockpiles of ancient Soviet nukes into direct conflict. Which would be bad.”
“So the NAIC has been in contact with a secret hermit state with nukes.” Star grumbled, clearly upset that she hadn’t been told this before. “I don’t suppose there's anyone else you’re secretly in contact with?”
“Oh, there’s plenty.” The Director smiled, taking joy in watching Star’s scowl deepen. “But the HPSC in particular has been very beneficial as of late. We’ve always kept close ties with the organization, ever since the NAIC helped them expand into a more… active role several decades ago, and that has finally borne great fruit here in the last month.
“The political situation in Japan is currently in a state of upheaval. Between the appearance of a new high threat faction known as the ‘League of Villains’, blatant attacks on highly public events, a mass uptick in violent crime, a loss of trust in the ability of the system to protect its citizens, and the recent highly controversial security bill, which has given the HPSC a dangerous amount of power, it’s been chaotic.
“Political parties that made up the cornerstones of the system have fallen apart. Dozens of new political parties with one or two seats make up almost a third of the parliament and make building a solid support base nearly impossible. Men and women who previously had sat resolutely side by side and voted with the same color ties, now argue violently with one another, while political enemies who have spent their entire lives sabotaging one another are meeting behind closed doors to make plans.
“Mass public fear has allowed extremist factions to gain unprecedented ground, and it's causing problems. The Communists have formed a voting wall, and have wrapped the socialists and several smaller left leaning parties into it, they’re voting ‘No’ on everything that hits the floor, no matter what it is, until their increasingly outrageous demands are met- and it’s making it near impossible to get anything through, let alone something controversial enough to fix actually something. They’ve already voted down several resolutions that could have helped.
“Meanwhile on the far right a hodgepodge group of Nationalists, quasi-Fascists, and hardline conservatives are starting to get very vocal about their discontent with the situation, and how nothing is getting done. If you listen to them, the story is that the only people that have had any effect against the rising Villain tide is the HSPC, and they want to divert more resources towards non-Hero security measures.”
The Director paused as he read that and glanced at Frank. “You know, I quite like that idea personally.”
“I’m sure you would.” Star growled.
“Regardless.” The Director continued. “The HPSC has kept the government stable, but has informed me that they don’t believe the situation will improve until their new Villain is brought to heel. This Sovereign of Sin has been wreaking havoc with quirk suppressing technology, and is currently the highest ranked Villain active in Japan- second highest at large, behind All for One.”
“All Might said that man is dead.” Star said resolutely, her voice as firm as stone. “That means he is dead.”
“Our observation drone was destroyed during the fight, and our satellite imagery was blocked by the dust storm. We did not confirm KIA, and the Japanese government never provided any evidence except for the eyewitness testimony of a single, emotionally compromised individual, who was delirious from blood loss.” The director replied, completely monotone, like he was reading from a script. “Until we are given final proof, the NAIC will keep his status as “Missing” and continue to act with appropriate caution and suspicion on the subject.”
A slap echoed in the small barren room as the Director dropped the folder he’d been holding onto the table.
“Now, since we’re in Asia, we might as well discuss what’s been happening between the warring Chinese states. Ever since All for One destabilized the region-”
The Director froze, his hand shooting up to his earpiece.
“I’m sorry, repeat that.” He said to no one in the room.
“Director?” Frank asked. “Is everything alright?”
But the suited man ignored him, instead bolting up fast enough to knock his chair back.
“Follow the procedures, but other than that, don’t touch anything !” He shouted into his earpiece as he ran out of the room. “I’m on my way now.”
Star watched him go with narrowed eyes. “Something happened.”
“Maybe, maybe not. He could just be overreacting to something a subordinate did.” Frank sighed. “He doesn’t like it when things happen that he doesn't know about.”
He glanced over to Star and cracked a small smile.
“Since we were on the topic of Japan, I should probably tell you- I sent a presidential complaint.”
“...You shouldn’t have done that, Frank.” Star sighed, but couldn’t help the smile on her face at the news. “You’re just going to cause a diplomatic incident. But thanks.”
“Oh it’s not just me, I have the signatures of Britain, Germany, the East African Federation, and plenty more, all stamped on the bottom. All Might is registered as an American Hero as well, he’s licensed here in the States, and more than that, he’s recognized as the top ranked Hero in the world by independent international commissions. Japan had no right to give his title to Endeavor without consulting anyone else.”
“Oh Frank, what am I going to do with you? This is why you’re bad at politics.” Star chuckled and poked him lightly in the chest. “Because you have a good heart.”
President Frank smiled, a spark of pride igniting in his gut for the first time in years, but before he could respond the door to the room slammed open.
“Mr president!” A member of the secret service with an NAIC badge on his suit panted as he leaned against the doorframe. “There’s been an attack in Tokyo! We have shockwave readings equivalent to a low yield ICBM! All Might is injured!”
The moment the word ‘injured’ left the man's mouth, the entire building shook.
Frank looked up to see that the layers and layers of defenses packed tight enough to survive a nuclear blast had a straight tunnel ripped through them from where Star and Stripe had jumped through them in one go.
Frank sighed as that small spark of pride was brutally snuffed out under the humiliating weight of reality.
“Send a message to the Prime Minister. Tell him that we’re prepared to give any help that we can, and that the forces of every US military base on Japanese soil are available on a moment's notice if he needs it.”
The President of America, the man who was supposed to defend democracy, reduced to sending a letter, while real Heroes raced to help.
-Rain of Sins-
Three sets of feet thundered down partially destroyed hallways as Bakugo, Ibara, and Shoto raced to find help. Find their teachers, find some Heroes, find anyone that they could grab and loop back with to help the other half of their group that they had left behind.
The hallway curved left slightly, then opened up into a stairway which the three eagerly began climbing.
A sign on the wall they passed uselessly informed them that it led up to the upper floors, up to the majority of the fighting, up to where the most people who could help would be.
…What it didn’t tell them was that it also led directly into the path of the most wanted man in Japan.
The students cleared the stairs, into a trashed lobby room on the second floor of the building, with a large window to their backs, and skidded to a stop in shock.
The Sovereign of Sin, and Kuin at his side, who had been looking for stairs heading downwards, stared at the trio in shock.
Red eyes met green.
Bakugo’s eyes widened.
Emerald eyes, mossy hair, a light splattering of freckles just barely visible above the villain’s mask.
“IZU-”
“Kuin! Middle! Now! ”
The bee didn’t hesitate, and she certainly didn’t question her master. The moment the command was issued, she blitzed forward, her genetically modified legs and wings slamming her into Bakugo with a heavy thud and enough momentum to carry them both backwards and out the window.
“Bakugo!” Ibara shouted, her vines beginning to shoot after her classmate, before she was tackled to the ground by Shoto, knocking her out of the way of a syringe shot.
“ You !” Ibara narrowed her eyes at Izuku from her spot under Shoto. “You’re that scientist from the USJ!”
“I am. I'm surprised you remember that.”
“Didn’t you say you were lost, back at the USJ?” Shoto asked.
“Back then? Yes, I suppose I was lost, in many ways.” Izuku spread his arms out to the sides, palms upturned. “But now I am found.” He paused as his eyes caught upon the golden cross necklace around Ibara’s neck, and they twinkled with mirth. “For he who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life will find it.”
That got a reaction. A vine shot forward, smashing into where Izuku had been standing.
“Mathew 10:39, intentionally taken out of context and with the most important words omitted.” Ibara hissed at him. “You dare twist the holy scripture, to turn the words of my father against me?!”
“I figured it was a good way to piss you off.” Izuku shrugged. “I’ve never actually read the thing, but verses do tend to pop up occasionally, and I have an Eidetic memory.”
“Then you should remember that we beat your League of Villains into a retreat back then.” Shoto frowned as he pulled Ibara to her feet, and they took fighting stances.
“Those thugs aren't mine. The fact I have to associate with them at all feels like a tasteless joke by the universe at my expense.”
Izuku slowly back stepped, hopefully in a way that seemed more “evil pacing” than trying to get more room between them.
A big part of the reason he hadn’t used his body’s “quirk capacity” for combat quirks was because the whole idea was to have other things do most of the fighting for him.
He wasn’t that great in frontal combat, mediocre at best really, he had beginner training, and relied heavily on his equipment.
These were two UA recommendation students, the cream of the crop. Granted they were only first years, but they also outnumbered him two to one.
Meanwhile the Crows were scattered, Charybdis was fighting All Might, Kuin was busy with the biggest threat, and Jeremy was off doing who knows what.
“Not exactly terrible odds, but the whole point in making an army and kaiju was so I didn’t have to play fair.” Izuku grumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said you have terrible odds.” Izuku said as he inspected his gauntlet’s claws, trying to act unconcerned while he repeatedly sent out a ‘where the fuck is everyone?!’ message to his network, through his spine. “I mean really. I’m the most wanted Villain in Japan, and you two are just first years, what could you ever hope to accomplish here?”
“Strike you down!” Ibara shouted, her hair coiling like vipers about to strike.
“Stall you until Heroes arrive?” Shoto offered.
“Maybe if you’re lucky.” Izuku’s eyes flashed green, and the air around him began filling with a thick black fog as the pumps in his gauntlets and the tanks on his back whirred to life. “But odds are, you won’t be. Step aside.”
Ibara’s eyes went wide as she saw the Entropy gas.
“It’s you!” She shouted. “You were the one behind the quirk erasing gas!”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Entropy is quirk suppressing , not quirk erasing… not yet.”
“Yet?”
“Yes. Yet.” Izuku raised an eyebrow. “I’m a scientist dear, the most gluttonous profession in Humanity’s history. Stopping at ‘good enough’ isn’t exactly what we do, and I have plans- terrifyingly beautiful plans that will finally pull our world out of stagnation, and into a new era of discovery!” He spread his arms wide in presentation. “Quirks will finally be brought under our control, the quirk singularity disaster that society has blindly been marching towards will be averted, and we will have a boost in prosperity and standard of living unseen since the industrial revolution.”
“Q-Quirks?” The Christian stared at him flabbergasted. “You’re trying to control quirks?”
“No. I have succeeded in controlling quirks.”
“You’re working with forces outside your comprehension!”
“On the contrary, I think I’m the only person in the world who actually does understand what it is I’m working with.”
“That’s what they all say.” Ibara sneered at him. “Pride is the original sin, the gate to all others. It is a slow and insidious killer, and has killed more men than any weapon of war. It is the siren’s song that lures men off the edge of the cliff by convincing them so thoroughly that they can fly without wings.”
“Well I can see why the gays are always pissed of at you religious lot.” Izuku snarked with a roll of his eyes. “That’s kind of their whole shtick, they used to celebrate a month for it and everything.”
“YOU’RE PLAYING GOD!”
“Actually, I’m not.” Izuku stood just a slight bit taller, and looked at her smugly. “I’m playing Human.”
Ibara’s eyes widened, and you could've heard a pin drop in the silence.
“...What?”
“Oh, come on. Think about it for even a passing moment. Quirks are supposedly the next stage in Humanities evolution, but that doesn’t make a single lick of sense. Evolution happens over centuries of selective Darwinism that weeds out bad traits and distributes good ones through survival of the fittest. Evolution doesn’t mean randomly popping out a child that glows, and blending animal genes into humans without crossbreeding.
“The only possible explanation is that quirks were created by pre-collapse humanity, likely as some sort of super soldier project. The technology required for it would be something out of science fiction, but considering how much we lost during the collapse, it’s not an impossible stretch by any means.” He pointed a clawed finger at her. “You have no right to quote the gospel at the morality of my research, not when you yourself are a product of it!”
Ibara stared at him, her eyes wide in horror as she processed the words.
“If what you’re saying is true-” Shoto stepped in front of his mentally reeling friend. “The same research you’re pursuing is what caused the quirk collapse.”
Izuku paused, genuinely considering the statement for a time.
“...Well.” The Sovereign of Sin scoffed. “Then I can hardly do any more damage than what’s already been done, now can I?”
-Chapter End-
Uh oh… Star and Stripe is getting involved ahead of time.
(Also why is it “Star and Stripe” the American moto is “Stars and Stripes” the flag has 50 stars and 13 striped, it needs to be plural. As an American it gives me OCD looking at her name, even though I don’t even have OCD.)
Also worldbuilding yaaaay! The world literally collapsed, and cannon has given us NOTHING on how it rebuilt itself, other than the fact that the USA still exists and is a military power. It won’t have a huge effect on the story, but I will occasionally be exploring the possibilities of that world in the background completely for my own selfish sake because I like geopolitics and maps.
Also I thought it would be interesting to see Japan’s current situation from the lens of an outsider.
*Sips Hot Chocolate*
And Izuku reveals quirks are artificial! In quite possibly the least suprisy-suprise to anyone who stopped to think about it.
Ida has engines in his legs. Human machinery. He grew metal. That is not natural evolution.
So either Ibara needs to write a new book of the Bible about how Jesus decided to give people quirks, or Humanity made them.
…
Or… maybe, what if the history channel was onto something? What if the Ancient Aliens show was right!?
(They’re not)
Regardless, Izuku was already a Villain, but I'd say pursuing research that previously ended the world puts his another step closer to AfO's level.
*Sips Hot Chocolate*
New fic is out. Gilded Green, it’s been fun to write, and people seem to like it.
The premise is that the populations are flipped. Quirkless are the mass majority, and quirked people are the minority, which has a lot of little knock on effects, like the quirk collapse not happening, or AfO never being as powerful because he had way fewer quirks to pick from.
If you like ROS, you should read it while you wait for the next chapter.
Oooooooor you could always join the Discord? We have over 200 members, with a retarded amount of shitty memes, and I was recently convinced to add a “Monster Girl Appreciation” chat.
https://discord.gg/Hy7g6UqGQd