Chapter 24: Origins: Bleak Part 1
Izuku's eyes widened when he heard the question from Bleak, his heart almost stopping. The question seemed to repeat in his head. 'Who are you?' And every time it repeated, the teen could also hear new sounds being added into the mix. The loud voices of the two adults who had been here. The sound of flesh connecting to flesh in a violent manner, something he was well accustomed to. The bruises on his body before they became hidden under that white mass. Everything just seemed to bring forth horrible implications that nearly made Izuku vomit. Instead, he pulled out his phone, ready to call for help.
At the sight of the phone, and no doubt reading Izuku's fears and intentions, Bleak tensed before jumping up. "Wait!" he called out, letting go of the book with one hand to make a 'stop' gesture. "I-I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I know who you are. I know I've seen you around. Just…I can't remember your name. I misspoke. I misspoke." Izuku didn't press any of the buttons on his phone; instead looking back at the teen. Despite the weird distortion in the teen's voice, he could clearly make out the frantic panic it held. Honestly, it sounded like he was about to start hyperventilating.
Then, something strange happened. Bleak suddenly jumped, like he had been startled by something else. Looking around, Izuku didn't see anyone else in the alleyway. Heck, he didn't even see a security camera. Then, he noticed that Bleak was staring straight ahead while not moving a muscle. That caused a bead of sweat to roll down Izuku's brow. Was it those people, most likely his parents? Had they come back for some reason? Quickly, Midoriya turned around only to find nothing. Those people, the short fat man and the tall skinny woman, were nowhere to be seen. There wasn't anyone really. Not even a pedestrian walking by. At least, not one that he saw now. Had someone walked by while Bleak was talking, scaring the other teen into thinking his parents had returned?
"Sorry, I know acting like this isn't helping my case," said Bleak suddenly, the white mass on his body quivering and rippling slightly on his shoulders. He was now talking a tad more calmly now, but there was no hiding that he was still scared and nervous. Just hiding it a lot better. "I, uh, have this problem with names. Just takes me a bit to connect the name to the face. But I do know you and I can prove it. Yeah! We first met at the hotel, remember? I was sitting there on the ground listening to music? And then later at the stadium. So, uh, yeah. Mind is working a-ok. No need to call anyone." Bleak then let out a nervous laugh before moving to the wall where he then slowly sank to the floor with his hand covering his face.
For a moment, all Izuku could do was stand there. He could see someone hurting, someone who clearly needed help. Yet, in a weird way, this person reminded Midoriya of himself. He could recall all the times that he had come home, his uniform singed with burn marks or some bruising caused by his run-ins with Kaachan. And he did the exact same thing. He would dismiss them whenever his mom brought it up, trying her best to get him to open up. How he would make up lies or try to side-step the problem. So, being on the other side of it all, it was a little weird.
But that also meant that he knew what would happen if he pressed the issue. Bleak would either clam up or try to leave. When it was Midoriya, he would have just gone to his room, saying he had homework that needed to be done. But with Bleak? The guy could make a run for it, heading back to his hotel room or something.
Thankfully, Izuku wasn't out of ideas.
-Flashback-
"Today we will be doing a quick rundown on how to talk to victims," said Vlad King as he stood at the front of the room, a marker in hand as he wrote on the board.
It was several days after Toga had joined their class, the U.A. Sports Festival being right around the corner. While All Might was more than willing to let them use their heroic lessons with him as a free period to prepare, Vlad King felt differently. Why? As their homeroom teacher explained, shortly after the Festival they would be heading out on their very first internships. Thus, it was best to make sure they had the bare minimum of knowledge to aid the heroes they would be spending time with. Sure, the likelihood that they would be using something like this during that time was low. But when they saw the heroes doing this sort of stuff, they would have a better context and would be able to come back with more questions.
"Most of the time, you will be engaging with them after the danger is over," continued Vlad King as he continued to write an outline on the board. "Remember, what comes after is just as important as the actual event itself. Sometimes its even more important as the victims of a villain attack have just had their lives changed forever. As such, we need to be available for them until the police come onto the scene. We need to show that we are there for them. With that said, not everyone is cut out for this. So, when you go pro, it will be important to either have a licensed mental health specialist on staff or a sidekick who can back you up.
"Now, there isn't a single cut and dry method to interacting with these types of people as it will be determined by the situation. Most of the time, what happened to them will have been sudden and, when it is over, they will either show relief and/or gratitude for saving them or will still be in shock.
"But the worst are the ones who have suffered over a longer period of time," said Vlad King, as he moved over to an empty side of the board. "One of the hardest in this category of victims is the ones who are still suffering before the villain is defeated. We're talking about victims of abuse, domestic violence, bullying, and so forth. Now, your first instinct will be to go and deal with the problem directly. That is one impulse you shouldn't act on."
"Why not?" asked Shiozaki. "If someone is suffering and we see it, would it not be a grave sin to leave them to such a cruel fate?"
"Good question," replied Vlad King as he turned, looking at the vine-haired girl to give her a nod. "The answer is pretty simple: all you have at that moment is a suspicion. It's not like your typical villain who smashes his fist into an ATM and begins pulling out wads of cash in the middle of the street. You see the crime, there are witnesses, and there is evidence. However, the type of victim that we are describing here is a bit more complex as you could be wrong. Allow me to give you an example: you are out on patrol and you spot a father yelling at his son. The boy is clutching his arm in pain with tears running down his face. You assume that the father broke the son's arm and go to arrest him based on this. Then the truth comes out that the boy broke his arm when trying to build a tree fort in a tree that his father told him not to and did so without any supervision, causing the father to leave work early to take his son to the hospital. It might be the wrong time to be yelling at the son, but emotions were running high. In the end, all this gets you is a massive lawsuit while having your status as a hero called into question."
"I see," said Shiozaki, her face looking a little red with embarrassment. "Then what would be the appropriate course to take? If I saw something like what you described?"
"A father yelling at a son with a broken arm?" asked Vlad King, clearly seeking clarification. When Shiozaki nodded, the man cleared his throat. "Well, in this scenario, you have a justification for approaching the father. You can start by telling him that he is being too loud for a public space and disturbing the peace. Then, if he calms down, you can then move to the son. Talk to him, asking what happened. Bend down so that you can get a good look at him while looking for other signs of injuries. If you don't see anything else but are still worried, then you can offer to escort them to the hospital and, once there, bring your concerns to the doctors. From there, you can coordinate with the police and the doctors."
"And don't forget that not all people facing abuse show it," added Toga, causing Izuku ti turn and look at the shape-shifting vampire girl. "I went years being told how I was wrong, that I was a monster and told I needed to suppress my quirk. Told how I needed to change my way of thinking to be more 'normal'. And it had been going on for so long that none of the 'normal friends' that my parents approved of thought anything was wrong with me. I was just a nice girl from a good family." Izuku stared at Toga, shocked by the latest bomb he had heard. He was aware of some of Toga's past, but this was the first time she had spoken about the people in her past who weren't related to her. It seemed like in their effort to make their daughter appear more 'normal' they had also screened her friends. Or maybe they had looked in on her class and told her who she needed to make an effort to befriend?
"Yes," said Vlad King with a heavy sigh, gaining everyone's attention. "Right now, there are people out there suffering without any signs that something is wrong. A husband who terrifies his wife, terrorizing her without ever lifting a finger while making her feel like she deserves it. Parents who tell their children that they are a monster because of their quirk and need to accept that they are monsters or have to hide it. Teenagers who convince the 'outsider' of the class that he or she has no worth, mocking and berating them to the point where it escalates to suicide baiting. And that is just to name a handful. Victims who have been suffering for a prolonged amount of time to the point where it has become the norm."
Upon hearing that, the class was silent while Izuku and Toga exchanged looks of understanding. They both knew that they were like the people Vlad had just talked about. Izuku had been bullied for years, had explosions blasted in his face with enough force that it sent him sailing across the room as well as having his existence mocked. Toga being told that she was a monster due to the nature of her quirk and the urges it gave her, while her family isolated her from people like her grandfather, whom, from what she had said, she was close to. Both of them suffered in silence.
As for the rest of the class, Izuku felt certain that this news wasn't sitting well with them. Not because they were blissfully unaware of what was happening. After all, they had met Toga and had probably seen bullying going on in their middle schools. If Izuku had to guess, because of the number of heroes that were out there and that the media tended to focus more on the flashier side of heroes, they believed that things that bad were a rarity. That heroes were out there, instantly solving the problems of abuse when they saw it. Now, the truth was sinking in.
"Now, how do we interact with these types of victims?" continued Vlad King, gaining everyone's attention. "One is the method that I already described. Approach the victim, examine what you can, and then report your suspicions to either the police or the hospital. After that, its mostly out of the hero's hands. What happens next will be determined by the amount of evidence the hero was able to spot, though it will most likely result in child services keeping an eye on the home or a police visit. And, unfortunately, there are times when those visits occur too late." At that, Vlad King paused, allowing the weight of his words to be felt.
Then, Shishida raised his hand. "Sir Vlad King, is there any way for a hero to expedite this process or act instantly?" he asked. The question caused Izuku to hold his breath, heart thumping loudly in his chest. If there was a way he could act instantly, Midoriya wanted to know. The idea of a hero leaving someone behind who was suffering went against the core of his heroic beliefs.
"Yes, there is," said Vlad King with a nod, his words causing Izuku to relax briefly before refocusing on listening to the man. "The victim needs to say that they need help. That they are being abused or something to that effect. If they do that, then the hero is allowed to take a more proactive approach. For example, you can take the victim to the police station, hospital, or your agency if you have one. There, they can talk to the police and other heroes, giving a full statement. Now, unless a quirk is involved, it will still take time. But you will be separating the victim from the abuser while a full investigation is taking place. If a quirk is involved and there is evidence to back it up, well, that's when the hero gets to take on the abuser personally."
Then, Vlad King let out a sigh.
"Now, this is where the second method of interacting with victims of abuse comes in," he said. "Far too often, these people don't want to step forward. They fear their tormentor far too much. They don't think that the heroes and police can do anything, given how well respected and/or rich their family is. They have grown a sick attachment to their abuser. They think that they are the problem and the abuser is trying to help them. They're ashamed by what has happened to them and would rather suffer than allowing what has happened to them to get out to the public. The list goes on. Now there are times when it becomes too much for them, either fearing for their lives or they can't take it anymore, and they do try to reach out. But, not every victim of abuse will be like that.
"So, how do we help them? You need to talk with them," stated Vlad King. "Now, we are going to have a class dedicated to this sort of interaction later in the year with Hound Dog. But, for right now, I will give you all some pointers. The last thing you should do is rush into it. You need to build a connection first. Get them to trust you before easing in on your concerns. And make sure you are as gentle as possible, informing them that this is their choice. Now, on to other types of victims."
-End Flashback-
As Izuku recalled all of this, he gulped. It wasn't a lot, but he did have the barest bones of a blueprint for how he should proceed. The question was: could he do it without messing up?
Nervously, the Japanese teen moved to sit down next to Bleak. An act that caused the other teen to flinch. A sight that caused the teen to mentally freak out as he didn't know if he had screwed up already or not. Was he too close? Should he have acted if he could sit down? Well, at the very least, Bleak was still sitting there and hadn't scooted away or taken off. So maybe he hadn't completely screwed up?
For several long moments, Izuku wondered how he was to proceed. Yes, he had connected with Itsuka, Pony, Toga, and even Melissa, but those were just things that had happened. Heck, when he had first met Shishida and Tetsutetsu, they had started it and done most of the talking. And after their first meeting, things just sort of flowed naturally. So one would think that he should be able to do the same here. After all, they were both the same age and going to hero schools. However, whether it was because the situation was far less casual or he was feeling awkward in this moment after everything he had seen and heard, Izuku was drawing a blank. Should he ask Bleak if he liked heroes? He was on I-Island after all and was in his own country's hero course. Or was talking about something like that not a good idea, given what he had heard those people saying? Talk about quirks? That's something he liked to talk about…though not everyone was as into them as he was.
'I can't just sit here forever,' thought Izuku as he gulped. 'I need to pull the trigger and say something. Who knows? Maybe an awkward start will help break the tension?' With that, Izuku turned to look at Bleak. But, before he could say anything, he noticed the book that Bleak was holding. It was an old paperback book. From what he could see, the pages had yellowed a bit, and the spine looked like it was on its last leg from constant reading. And while Bleak had other books in a bag lying near him, the way he held it close to his chest made it feel like it wasn't a recent purchase.
"That book," began Izuku, keeping his eyes on the object in question. As he spoke, he could tell that Bleak had straightened up a bit via his peripheral vision. "What's it about?"
"M-My book?" echoed Bleak, holding the book out a bit. Now Izuku could see the cover. On it were three figures standing there with some pillars behind them along with dense trees. The middle figure was a half naked woman with purplish skin, long flowing hair, glowing eyes, and pointed ears. Below here with two men who also looked like purple elves. One had a blindfold covering his eyes, black hair tied in a ponytail, and had on a leather outfit that left his arms (which were covered in tattoos) exposed. The other male elf had green hair and a beard, his chest exposed as he only wore a cloak. And while it was hard to tell due to how old the book was, Izuku thought he could make out some leaves on his outfit.
"Yeah," said Izuku with a nod before looking up at Bleak's face. Or, rather, the substance covering his face. "I'm a little curious."
"You really want to know!?!" exclaimed Bleak, his personality doing a complete one-eighty. Like he had been waiting for ages for someone to talk to about the book. "It's called War of the Ancients Achieve, which basically means it's three books in one! It's based on these old games from about two hundred years ago called Warcraft and this is the best! It's basically about these three people from the present being pulled back in time due to a magical anomaly caused by the leader of the Bronze Dragonflight, who is the Aspect of Time. They soon discover that they are only days away from a point in their world's history where the Burning Legion, that's an army of demons that lays waste to every world they come across, first tries to invade Azeroth and they are being aided by the Queen of the Night Elves and her Highborn. Not only that, but its also the time when the great black dragon, who is the Aspect of the Earth, goes mad and becomes Deathwing! It's got everything. Love triangles, magic spells, warriors fighting against impossible odds, and dragons of all types. It's so amazing!"
"Wow," replied Izuku, his eyes lighting up a bit. Partly because the book did sound interesting, and partly because of the passion that Bleak was using to describe it. The American teen had become heavily animated, gesturing with his arms whenever he spoke. In fact, he spoke so passionately that Izuku was sure that if he could see the other teens' eyes there would be stars in them.
In fact, the passion that Bleak had for this book reminded of his own passion for heroes and quirks. Wait, did he sound like that whenever he talked about those things?
"Uh, it's weird seeing this from the other side,' he thought.
Then, for the first time, Albion spoke. A book where dragons have powers that allow them to control time itself? Control the earth itself? This intrigues me. Clearly this human has good taste. Ask him if there was a great white dragon who dominated this Deathwing in the end.
"But that's not even the best part of this series," continued Bleak, his voice becoming more excited as he held the book in both hands. "There is this one character who stands out: Broxigar. Or Brox as he prefers people call him. An old Orc warrior. His story is just so…amazing. He stands, shoulder to shoulder, with mages who wield the arcane, druids who can reshape nature, dragons, and other such forces. Not because he also has some superpower or quirk like we have today. No, he's just an old, skilled warrior with a good axe and years of experience under his belt. It's probably because of him that my grandfather first read this book to me when I moved in with him. Because he thought I could relate to him being-"
In an instant, Bleak's body tensed as his words hung in the air. For a moment, it was like the substance covering his body hardened and locked the other teen in place. At the same time, Izuku just stared at him wide-eyed. Then, slowly, Bleak slunk back into a sitting position with the book on his lap.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," said Izuku after a couple more seconds passed. "I admit I am curious, but if it's too uncomfortable for you, then I won't pressure." As he said this, Izuku hoped that it was the right thing to say as he was beginning to get an idea of what was going on.
"I…guess it wouldn't hurt since you saw and heard all that with my parents," said Bleak, sounding a little defeated. "But, just…just don't tell anyone I told you this. The last thing I need is it getting back to them. I want to tell someone…but I'm afraid that my school will…and they'll…"
"I promise," said Izuku, planning on keeping that promise. Bleak's parents would be the last people he would ever go to. The police or I-Island security, on the other hand, were an entirely different matter. Heck, he might even give Vlad King a call just to ask for advice. He would have spoken to All Might, but he was a little hesitant on speaking to the man, given their last conversation and what the man had asked him to do.
With that, Bleak took a breath. No doubt steadying himself while Izuku got comfortable. Perhaps the teen was doing this because Izuku had heard and seen so much already that he might as well spill his secrets. Or it might be because Izuku lived in Japan and Bleak assumed there would be nothing the green-haired teen could do. Perhaps it was both. But it was clear that there was something big that Bleak needed to get off his chest.
"When I was four, my parents gave me up," began Bleak, already shocking Izuku as he had not expected this. "See, my parents have always put a lot of stock on appearances. I remember there was this one time we went to have dinner with another family who just had a baby and, while they were polite while we were there, the entire car ride home, they criticized the family for how messy their home was. Honestly, it made me uncomfortable hearing some of the things they were saying all over a few things being out of place. Well, apparently, they didn't want me around since they felt that I messed up their image. Didn't want the neighbors judging them poorly. It's only because of my grandparents that they didn't send me as far away as they could."
Izuku felt his breath tremble at what he was hearing. Bleak's parents gave him up at the age of four? Did that mean that-
"I still remember walking into my grandparents' home," continued Bleak, a fondness appearing in his voice. "Everywhere you looked, the walls were covered in books of all sizes and colors. Some were bright, while there were others that looked dark and dusty. You could never escape that scent that made you feel like you were in the library. Even when Grandma was cooking up her cabbage stew with these giant pepper balls in it." At that, Bleak chuckled. "Anyways, after I was settled in, Grandpa took me to the living room and pulled out this very book. Whenever he read it, he gave each of the characters their own voices. I can still remember them. Rhonin gave off this teacher vibe while sounding nervous. Krasus sounded like an old wizard. And Brox? He had this gruff, serious voice."
Bleak then paused, seeming to give himself a moment as he placed a hand on the book's cover.
"This book taught me what a real hero is. Especially Brox," continued Bleak. "Brox was everything I wanted to be. When we first met him, he was suffering. He had lost all his friends in a previous battle, holding the lines against wave after wave of demons. But despite completing the mission he was given, Brox only felt shame at being the only one not to die. He believed that he hadn't fought hard enough because, if he had, he would have died as well along with his friends."
"Sounds like he had survivor's guilt," interrupted Izuku, remembering a previous lesson from Vlad King.
"Yeah, that's what my grandpa told me when I asked him why Brox felt like that," agreed Bleak, not bothered by the interruption. "Thankfully, no one else blamed him. He was celebrated, even having Warchief Thrall talking to him personally and telling him that no one believed that he hadn't fought with all his might. It didn't help. But despite how he felt about still being alive, he would never dishonor himself further by bringing a blade to his own neck. No, he wanted to have one more battle. To fight one last time, giving it everything he had, and be taken down. That's why he went on a mission, taking on a younger warrior who died when they were sucked through a time portal.
"Now, in the ancient past, he was captured by the native Night Elves and later freed. Then, the demons came. And Brox was excited because it had finally happened. A battle where he could reclaim his honor, to die in glorious combat. The only problem was that he was too skilled. Even though he temped his opponents at every turn, hoping to guide their blades to his neck, the old warrior was too strong. Too skilled. And those that failed to kill him were left as nameless bodies on the battlefield."
Bleak then took a pause.
"I cried when Brox realized how wrong he was," he said. "It was just so…I don't have words to describe how it made me feel. It wasn't because he got called out for his behavior again and that was the time when their words finally sank in. No, it was because while he was fighting to die he saw so many people around him fighting to live. Then, he began to realize that if he got his wish then they would be without a skilled warrior. One who knew the demons far better than the Night Elves. So, he confessed all of this to Tyrande, a Night Elf Priestess whom he respected. Still, even after that, he still had his fears. He was an old warrior; despite all he could do it paled in comparison to what his allies could do with their magic. There would be no more songs sung of his great deeds.
"Then, near the end, with demons coming out of a massive portal, Brox knew what he had to do. His friends needed time to figure out a way of closing it. He couldn't help with magic or anything like that. But there was a way to give them the time they needed. So he jumped into the portal." Bleak's tone suddenly became more excited and looked like he was fighting not to stand. "There he was, a lone warrior fighting demons all by himself until he was standing on a small mountain of their corpses! Not a single one got past him, his blood singing with joy. Soon, the demons actually backed away, feeling true fear for the first time. And then…the leader of the Burning Legion came." Bleak's excitement dimmed, tempered with sorrow. But Izuku could still hear the passion in the distorted words that Bleak said. "It took one of the biggest bads of the Warcraft Universe to finally end Brox's life. And before he passed on to see his friends in the next life, Brox did the unthinkable at the time: He left a small scratch on Sargeras. And it was because of that scratch that eventually led to his failed invasion."
Bleak then paused, holding the book against his chest. "Brox became my hero," he said. "He was strong. Strong enough to fight demons who were larger and stronger than himself, but also strong enough to admit to others when he had been a fool and ask for forgiveness. But he could also be gentle, using those same hands that snapped the necks of demons to gently kiss the hand of a Priestess in respect. He did it all without fancy magic; just him, his skills, and a fancy axe. Yeah, the axe was magical, but it didn't send out waves of destruction or anything. It was just made of wood, shaped with druid magic with the blessings of a demi-god. It was just good. And he never stopped fighting. He's part of the reason why I wanted to be a quirkless hero."
Upon hearing that, Izuku let out a shocked gasp. He had suspected something like that when he heard that Bleak's parents had abandoned him at the age of four. The age when your quirk was supposed to appear. But Bleak had a quirk, right? Or was it a Sacred Gear of some kind?
No , came Albion's voice in Izuku's head. I do not sense the presence of one on him. Nor do I recognize this white substance covering his body.
But, while Albion spoke, Izuku noticed something was off. Somehow, beads of sweat were rolling down Bleak's entire body. His body had also stiffened up, now sitting perfectly straight against the wall.
"But you have a quirk," Izuku said lowly.
"Yes, well, ah," began Bleak, as he slowly turned his head to look at Izuku. The movement was stiff, so much so that the Japanese teen thought the action sounded more like a heavy table scraping against the floor. And when he spoke, the panic was back, along with a hint of embarrassment. "When I said that, I really did think I was quirkless. I'm a bit of a late bloomer. I didn't get my quirk until I was eight." Upon hearing that, Izuku nodded. It was uncommon for people to get their quirks that late, but not unheard of. Still, he noticed that Bleak had let out a sigh of relief when Midoriya nodded.
"When the family heard I finally got my quirk, that's when my parents wanted me back," continued Bleak after a moment. "I guess I was now good enough for them. My Grandpa tried to tell them no, and my aunts and uncles were against it, but with my Grandma passing away the year before and the the law on their side, there really wasn't anything he could do. He…He died a year after that. When he did, my parents just sold off nearly everything he owned, calling the books worthless. This was the only one I was able to save." Bleak then paused, making a motion like he was wiping away a tear that could have been underneath that substance. "My Grandpa loved stories. So, I decided that I would live the most exciting life I could. I would become a hero, going on all sorts of adventures and saving people. Kind of like a lot of the stories we used to read together. That way, if I got to see him again in the afterlife, I could tell him my story. It's the least I can do."
Izuku found himself holding his breath for a moment, his eyes becoming downcast, when he heard this. This reason for wanting to become a hero was something he honestly didn't know how to respond to. Everyone he knew had their reasons for wanting to become a hero. Bakugo just wanted to prove he was the best while he just wanted to be more like All Might by reassuring people with his presence. He had heard others talk about standing up to bullies and just doing good. But all of those reasons all happened while they were alive. This was the first time he had ever heard someone talk about what he planned to do when his life was over.
'Well, I suppose it is possible,' thought Izuku as he went to bit the tip of his thumb. 'I mean, my soul was bonded with an ancient dragon due to a Sacred Gear. And U.A. is unknowingly employing a devil. So I guess-' Suddenly, Izuku's eyes went wide and nearly bit the top of this thumb off. 'Wait, if devils are real that means Hell is real too! Same goes for Heaven! Does this mean there's an afterlife?!? Why am I only now wondering about the religious implications?!?'
Right now, it's a rabbit hole you don't want to go down, commented Albion. Upon hearing that, Izuku paused for a brief second before letting out a sigh. The ancient white dragon was right. If he did start thinking about that right now, he would probably be spending the next several hours focused on asking Albion all sorts of questions and freaking out. Which would no doubt get in the way of what he was trying to do right now.
"So," Izuku began awkwardly while mentally shoving his afterlife pondering in his mental 'questions for later box'. "About your parents. When you moved back in with them, was it…"
"Hard? Difficult?" supplied Bleak with a sigh, his tone becoming slightly darker. "I'd say it was more uncomfortable than anything else. One moment I'm living with my Grandpa, and the next I'm in a living room with two new sisters, a brother, and my parents. All of them were nothing more than strangers since they never visited Grandpa. Never even saw them at Grandma's funeral." Bleak then let out another sigh. "To be honest, I tried to make the most of it, but I felt like I was constantly walking on eggshells. Every time we went out to do anything I felt like I was being watched. And if I did anything that even slightly embarrassed them, I was pulled out of sight. As for my siblings…Emily is just a spoiled brat. She's the youngest and the one my parents baby the most. Sarrah is ok. She's a talented artist so we have at least something in common. Then there is Will. He's a year younger than me and my parents' pride and joy. Always comes home with A+'s on all his schoolwork, played in football and wrestling, popular. He's like the golden standard of what one of their children should be like.
"And then there's me, suddenly in charge and the 'role model' for those three. I should always know better, never make mistakes because I'm the oldest. It was…stressful living with them. Part of that was because I was afraid they would kick me out again if I screwed up big time. That I would be sent to some boarding school, military school, or just tossed out on the street. Not like they never brought it up the idea when they were angrier than usual with me. That they would send me somewhere that would straighten me up." Bleak then shook his head. "When I found out the best Hero School in my state was also a boarding school, it really motivated me."
"Hmm. I always wondered what other Hero School entrance exams were like," commented Izuku, genuinely curious on this. As Bleak turned to look at him, an embarrassed blush dusted the freckled teen's face. "When I took my exam for U.A, I thought for sure I failed. I passed the written section, but the practical was a different matter."
"What was it like?" asked Bleak.
"We were sent to various mock cities and told to destroy robots," said Izuku simply before looking down at his left hand. "Basically, the robots represented villains, and each different type of robot represented a different value to earn villain points. The problem was that when I went into the exam, I didn't know if my quirk would work on robots. And when I did discover that I could, ah, sort of wasted some time when a new aspect of my quirk popped up. So when I left, I was already making plans to get into another school and then see if there was any way I could eventually transfer to U.A. The only reason I got in was because of rescue points. Basically, those were given based on how you helped others. So, with both of those combined, I managed to get second place overall."
For a moment, Bleak was silent. He seemed to stare at the wall in front of him. Then…
"That seems…pretty straightforward," he said, sounding a little disappointed. But, despite that, Izuku felt a little excited as he leaned closer.
"What was your entrance exam like?" he asked. "I'd love to learn more about other hero schools. Especially those in a different country? Are they all the same in the USA?"
"Ah, well, I don't know if they were all like mine," began Bleak.
-Flashback-
"Alright boys! We're here!" declared Bleak's father excitedly. As the car shifted into park within the large parking garage in Detroit, Bleak watched as his brother, Will Wrouble, nearly lunged out of his seat. Despite being a year younger than him, Will was the taller of the two, standing a good foot and a half taller with his body seeming to bulge with muscles. The younger brother's light brown hair was cut short, the sides buzzed, while the top looked like rows of curled back spikes. Altogether, he looked like a young quarterback ready to take home a trophy.
As for Andrew, the teen stayed in his seat for a moment longer as he slowly closed his copy of The Complete Works of H.P. Lovecraft that he had been reading to calm his nerves. The older brother was shorter than most people, barely reaching past five feet tall with something more akin to a sprinter's build. Slender, but you could see the muscles. His darker brown hair was kept in a short comb-over, something he had had since he was little, as he never cared for fashion in any sense. That and it was the same style his grandfather used.
Now out of the car, Andrew spotted another teen walking with their parents. No doubt heading to the same entrance exam as they were. The teen had been a few steps behind their parents, talking on the phone before casually glancing over in the Wrouble's direction. More specifically, at Bleak. At once, the teen moved closer to their parents in a way that felt like they would be used as human shields.
An action that didn't go unnoticed by Will, who let out a hearty laugh before slapping his older brother's back. Hard.
"Dude, you really got to do something about your face," commented Will as he continued to laugh and slapped his brother on the back. So much so that it began to sting. "Try smiling more. You look like you're ready to lunge over there and start beating everyone to a bloody pulp!"
Andrew said nothing as he waited out the stinging pain in his back, glancing at his brother in annoyance. Yeah, he had heard that a million times for the last several years. That he looked angry all the time. That he seemed like he was ready to explode and all it would take was one wrong move before he would just punch someone in the face. It had made getting the family pictures taken a real challenge as even people with quirks that made you smile found him a tough nut to crack.
But that was how he was on the outside. On the inside, well…
'Ok, I'm…I'm here,' thought Bleak. 'Oh God I feel like my heart is going to explode right out of my chest. Not ready for this, not at all. Why, why, why? Just calm down. You can do this. I just need to calm down.'
That was what was going on in Bleak's mind now that the novel he had been reading could no longer distract him. His heart was pounding much faster, while an odd feeling began to swell around within his gut. His uneasy feeling making parts of his body grow colder.
This feeling only seemed to grow worse as they made their way out of the garage, heading towards in the direction that would take them to the Renaissance Conference Center. Once inside, they followed the signs leading them up escalator after escalator until they reached where the elevators were. With each new floor they rose, the feelings within Andrew grew until they reached their peak. Thankfully, he never felt sick in these situations. Just an overwhelming desire to get back into a more familiar setting.
Eventually, the three found the place they were looking for. A set of closed double doors could be seen, one on the right and one on the left, that would take them into the large conference rooms. And in the middle of the walkway leading up to them was a single folding table with several neatly stacked piles of papers. The man sitting behind it barely looked up, asking for their names and I.D.'s in a bored tone. Once those things were given, their names were checked off of a list before being told to wait.
For several minutes, Bleak stood there as the feeling within began to settle somewhat as he got used to this new location. Once or twice, he glanced over the railing, noting how very high up they were, before shrugging it off. Then, when one of the doors opened to allow an applicant to leave, Bleak's name was called.
Leaving his brother, who was waiting for his name to be called, as well as his father behind, Bleak quickly made his way towards the door. Sadly for him, that uneasy feeling returned with a vengeance as soon as he crossed the threshold, the doors closing behind him. The room itself was no larger than a classroom, able to fit maybe twenty or so people. At the opposite end of the room was a folding table, with a man seated behind it as he typed away on his laptop. Though he did so in a manner that Bleak thought he might damage it. The man had the appearance of a gym teacher, a whistle dangling around his neck while wearing a tracksuit with the jacket open to reveal a white shirt underneath that looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks. His blond hair was cut short and flat, while the man's expression seemed to be on a permanent sneer.
"Well?" barked the man whom Bleak would just refer to as the gym teacher. "Get to your seat! I haven't got all day to waste on you!"
The man's tone was harsh, containing more venom than a cobra. Bleak flinched slightly, his uneasiness already at its max. But he complied as he made his way to sit across for the man, noticing as he did a plastic trash can next to the table full of folders. Some even stained with coffee. As Andrew sat down in the hard plastic chair, he caught the unmistakable scent of cigarettes coming from this man. Judging by that, as well as the bouncing of the man's leg and the fact that he was reaching out to an empty spot on the table as if to grab something small, it was clear that this guy was a heavy smoker. No doubt it had been some time since his last fix.
After a moment, the man finally looked up at Bleak. He seemed to give the teen a look over, his lips curling in obvious disdain while also showing off a bit of his yellowed teeth.
"Let's see who we're wasting our time with this time," growled the gym teacher as he went to reach for what the teen assumed was his file. The man seemed to know which folder he needed, pulling one out with little care if the others fell to the ground. He glanced down at it, eyes skimming the page as he spoke with clear disinterest. "Andrew Wrouble. Age fourteen. Will turn fifteen in September. Quirk: Bio Armor. No record of attending a private heroic middle school. Public Middle School education with a GPA of 3.8 and scored the same on the written exam. Just barely passable to even apply. What else do you have here? Boy Scouts? Can't believe such an organization is still around. Sports, long distance runner in track and…wrestling?"
The man looked up from the folder to eye Andrew again for a brief moment before looking back at the document.
"Either lying about that or lightweight," said the gym teacher dismissively. Bleak bristled at the comment yet kept his cool. Hopefully, this was all being done to see if they could get a rise out of him. To see how easily he could be baited into doing something stupid.
When the man was done, he closed the folder before producing a sheet of paper which was placed in front of Andrew.
"Our standards really have fallen," said the man. "If it were up to me, you wouldn't have been worth considering with this lackluster file. So, how about you do one smart thing today and walk out that door. Hero life isn't easy, and I can already tell that you're not cut out for it."
Andrew looked at him. While he did get nervous when going to an unfamiliar place as well as talking to new people, he could hold his own. He wasn't the type of person who crumbled under a few insults. At least, not anymore. Not after living with the harsh words that his family told him. So he managed to lock eyes with the condescending man before imagining what Brox would do in this situation. The old Orc would have risen to the challenge, though hopefully without pulling out his axe and decapitating this person for insulting his honor. No, Brox would have let his actions show what kind of warrior he was, just like what he had done with all his Night Elf commanders. So, after taking a breath to steady his nerves and irritation, Bleak spoke for the first time in this meeting, revealing that his voice was deeper than what most would expect for someone of his size.
"Seems like an awful waste of a trip," he said, wishing he could have thought of something more witty. Damn it. How do real heroes and the characters in his books do it so well?
"Fine," grumbled the man with an unimpressed look on his face before roughly pushing the paper forward. "Read and pick. Just make it quick."
Sighing, Bleak picked up the sheet and began to read what he was being asked to do for the practical. In this part of the entrance exam, hero student hopefuls got to choose between three different scenarios to deal with: a traffic accident, a bank robbery, and a hostage situation. Each of these situations had to be dealt with in fifteen minutes, and if you finished early, you could try to do another with the remaining time. Along with giving a brief description of what was being asked, there was also a success rate.
After reading each one carefully, Bleak placed the paper back on the table.
"I'd like to take the hostage scenario," he said.
"Ok, another car accident with-" Began the gym teacher, who was about to write something down but stopped before the pen touched the paper, his condescending look being replaced with shock. He glanced at the teen, then at the paper, before looking back at the teen.
"Are you sure you read this?" asked the gym teacher, a meaty finger pressing down on the paper that Bleak had just been reading.
"I did, yes," answered Bleak.
"Did you miss the part where it said that there is only a five percent chance that you will succeed?" demanded the gym teacher. "The other two have a ninety percent chance of success."
Andrew allowed himself another sigh before deciding how he wanted to answer this. Though he did his best to remain calm, there was a slight edge to his voice. "You seem pretty certain that no matter what I do, I'm going to fail. If that's the case, then I might as well go down in a blaze of glory."
The man just shook his head, showing that he wasn't impressed.
"Just don't go whining to your parents when you fail," said the gym teacher. He then handed the teen a slip of paper before telling him to make his way down the main floor and to wait.
-x-
Thankfully, the ride over to the Guardian Building on Griswold Street had been a pleasant one. Helped greatly by the fact that his driver had been friendly, asking how his day was going as well as other generic questions in a kind tone. Bleak felt himself relaxing quicker than normal, the man's pleasantness doing wonders to wash away the taste from that gym teacher. Well, if he were a gym teacher.
As they rode down the streets, Bleak saw several other student hopefuls taking their exams right there on the streets. Parts of the city had been rented and closed by the school, with small car pileups in various parts of the streets, along with shattered bank windows. These areas had been taped off, police and heroes keeping watch of excited parents as well as local onlookers.
'Will's probably heading to one of those spots now,' thought Bleak as he sighed mentally, his thoughts moving to his brother. Will had exited his room shortly after he had, a large grin on his face and a swagger in his step. After telling their father everything was all set, the larger teen had leaned down to the older brother's ear.
"You should have seen the hottie they set me up with," stated Will, his tone suggesting he thought he thought Bleak wanted to know all the details. "Just damn! Not just easy on the eyes but super nice. Bet if I were a few years older she would have been all over me! HA! Better show them what I can do."
Just remembering that nearly made Bleak groan aloud, crouching down in his seat while his hands covered his face in embarrassment.
Soon enough, the car came to a stop in front of a massive skyscraper. Looking up at the main body, he remembered what the document had said, and he could believe that it was over thirty-six stories high! For his part, he had to move to the top portion of the building containing a spire, which gave it an additional four stories. His hostage was reported to be at the very top. Robotic villains were stationed within the brick building, their exact numbers unknown as well as the types of weapons they had. He could only pass this exam if he managed to get to the hostage and return them to the ground before time ran out. A second later, and he failed. He would also fail in the hostage got seriously injured by the robotic villains or if he himself got knocked out by their weapons.
Yeah, he could see why this exam was so hard to pass. Not only was he facing an unknown number of foes with very limited time, but he also had to navigate a large building without knowing the layout. Meaning he would be running blind.
'No doubt most people who try this end up rushing headfirst with their quirks activated,' thought Bleak. 'It's a bad move as all the robots would have to do is shoot the hostage and its game over. That or they simply get overwhelmed by the sheer firepower of enemies that could appear anywhere.'
Now out of the vehicle, Bleak was told to stand on a red line across the street from the Guardian Building. That would serve as both the start and finish line for the exam. Also, he was not allowed to activate his quirk until the exam started.
Not like that mattered much since about a minute after they finished explaining this the test started. Releasing a breath, Bleak felt his quirk at work as a white substance began emerging from every pore in his body. It moved quickly, connecting with each other as it took on the texture of flesh as it clung tightly to his body like a second layer of skin. His fingers became more claw-like while several black veins appeared on random parts of his body. His head was also completely covered in this mass, with a red visor covering his eyes. Though if one looked closer, they would see that it has the same segmented eyes like a fly. At the same time, a 'plate' formed in the area in front of where the teen's mouth should have been. As a final touch, four long webbed spikes shot out of Andrew's back to form an organic cape.
As the few people around him let out a gasp of shock and horror, Bleak sped towards the building with a speed that was clearly above what an average person was capable of. But, rather than heading straight through the front doors, he instead went to a side of the building while the white mass covering his hands turned into long tendrils. Once he was on the desired side, Andrew shifted the bio armor on his legs upwards towards the tentacles to stretch them as long as possible. With them now able to reach up to the fifth-story window, Bleak latched on to two before swiftly retracting the mass with such force that it was like he had slingshot himself! The force of this move propelled him a floor and a half above his original reach, tendrils reaching upwards quickly before gravity could pull him back down to earth. Over and over this continued, the wind seeming to grow in strength. The people below, their voices were becoming more distant. A part of him wanted to check the time, only for Bleak to shake his head at that. He would not waste precious seconds on that. If the exam was over, they would let him know.
Eventually, the teen reached the spire where there was enough room for him to walk around before moving up those final four floors. Cautiously, Bleak peeked from his vantage point. This turned out to be a good move on his part, as one of the robots was patrolling the outdoor area. In appearance, it looked like the classic Robocop from those old pre-quirk movies. Just replacing the fleshy lower mouth with steel.
Slowly, quietly, Bleak crawled up to the platform while its back was turned. In an instant, the end of both his tendrils pulled back to cover his body more while the tips changed form. They became flatter and wider until they looked like the blades of a curved guillotine blade. That or a double-sided axe. Focusing on the back of the knees, Bleak thrusted his arms forward, causing his arms to stretch out at a shocking speed. Both blades cut through the metal like how a hot knife cuts through butter. As they retracted, the teen lunged forward towards his falling foe. The machine tried to turn around in mid-air; however, Bleak's hands took hold of its back as well as its weapon's wrist. For a moment, he held it there before spotting a small red button on its neck, pressing it to deactivate the machine.
With the machine dispatched, Bleak reformed his arms into tentacles once again before making his way up to the top floor. One by one, he peered through the windows, looking for the target as well as any robots. In one window, he did spot another Robocop-like robot, gun pointed at the door, ready to shoot anyone who might try to enter. Thankfully, the hostage was not in this room.
After the fourth try, the teen found something that shocked him. It was the hostage, but it wasn't what he had been expecting. He had thought that it would be something like a robot dog or a mannequin or something like that. Something that wasn't a living, breathing human being that could get seriously hurt if anything went wrong. But, that's exactly what Bleak saw. There, sitting patiently in a corner, was a man either in his sixties or seventies. The man wore a dusty, black suit with golden chains coming out of his pockets. Lying next to him was an old, gnarled cane with an old-fashioned clock embedded in the wood.
'Ok, this might complicate things,' he thought as he fought back a groan, instead moving his quick towards the widow. At once the white mass began to stretch itself, finding whatever cracks it could find before slipping through them. Slowly, far too slow for Bleak's liking, he began to process of finding an opening. Sure, he was wasting time doing it this way. But when he thought about what would happen should he just smash the glass, making a lot of noise and alerting the entire floor that he was here…yeah, that would no doubt waste even more time.
Eventually, Bleak managed to open the window from the inside. As it did, the old man inside let out a gasp. Andrew appeared in the window, his form on full display before the hostage whose eyes widened. Thinking quickly, Bleak brought a finger up to where his mouth should be to make a 'shh' motion. Thankfully, the old man seemed to get the message for he nodded yet still looked at the teen as though he were a demon come for his soul.
"Hello," whispered Bleak, speaking lightly to make sure he couldn't be heard beyond the room, the teen voice distorted thanks to his quirk. Hoping that hearing it would calm the man down, Bleak moved careful to the side of the hostage. Thankfully, the elder man did not back away nor did he make a sound.
"I'm here to rescue you," continued the hero hopeful. "Would you mind telling me your name?"
"Robstone," gasped the man. "Charles Robstone."
"Ok, Mr. Robstone," said Bleak with a nod. "I'm going to get you out of here. Are you hurt anywhere?"
"M-My leg," replied Robstone, gesturing to the appendage. "It hurts to move it."
Bleak mentally screamed a curse at this. On the outside, it looked perfectly fine. But one thing the Scouts had taught him was that just because it looked fine didn't mean it was. It could have been sprained, fractured, or even slightly broken. More than likely, the exam was throwing him another curve as they wanted to see how well he dealt with this situation. So the teen glanced around but as he expected, he couldn't find anything that he could use to secure the leg. Meaning he would have to do something he really didn't want to.
"I need to touch you," Bleak whispered quickly. "Will that be alright?"
After Robstone nodded, Bleak's hand gently touched the man's knee. As soon as he made contact, the milky white mass on his arm flowed downward, leaving parts of his arm bare. It wrapped around the elder's leg to hold it in place. While at first it still held that fleshy appearance, that changed as soon as Andrew took his hand away. At once, the mass began to harden as it became more like a cast.
With that finished, Bleak helped the man to his feet. Carefully, the pair man their way to the window, Robstone clutching at his cane with one hand. But, as soon as they were at the ledge, the door to the room swung open. Bleak didn't even bother looking to see how many robots there were, instantly reaching for his organic cape and raising it in front of the pair while moving more of his quirk into the webbing. Shots were fired, the sound nearly deafening in the small room, but none of their rounds pierced the barrier he had created. However, like this, it was next to impossible to fight. The only thing they could do was to move backwards to the still open window.
"C-Can you fly?" asked Robstone once they were at the edge.
"No," replied Bleak simply. Smirking underneath his bio-armored mask, he leaned back, allowing them to fall out the window before free-falling downward. Bleak even pushed against the wall so that they would hit the ground. Robstone let out a scream as the biomass began to wrap around his mid section, the ground coming closer to them with every second.
"But I can glide," continued Bleak. As he said this, Bleak's cape extended itself on its own to its fullest. With careful skill, the teen began slowly turning upward and to the side, allowing him to slow their descent without too much backlash.
By the time the two made contact with the ground, Bleak noticed additional people were there. Several men and women dressed in various heroic attire with tablets in hand, some typing away on tablets while others just stood there staring at the screens. All of their faces were blank and neutral save for one. That gym teacher guy was there as well, looking down at his wristwatch while having a smug expression on his face that he didn't bother to hide.
"Well, would you look at that," said the gym teacher. "Managed to complete the course in one piece. Pity you're three seconds over. Better luck at a different school."
Hearing that caused the teen's eyes to widen, his heart sinking as the man walked over with a stride in his step. As if he was savoring every moment of anguish the boy was feeling.
"That's enough, Deadweight," said Mr. Robstone in a no nonsense tone as he looked at the now named gym teacher. As for Bleak, he looked at the man in slight confusion. The elder man noticed this, only to give him a reassuring smile before gesturing to the makeshift cast on his leg. Nodding, Bleak reached down to touch it, causing the mass to spring back to life before returning to his body.
"Thank you, young man," said Mr. Robstone, his tone both professional and kind. "Now, as for your performance-"
"Sir. Three. Seconds," hissed Deadweight through gritted teeth, veins appearing in his neck while his face seemed to be gaining a reddish hue.
"While it was a bit sloppy in some parts, you did remarkably well," continued Robstone as if he had never heard Deadweight. "You showed a remarkable proficiency with your quirk. Though there was a bit of a fumble when interacting with your hostage, you were able to recover. Good job asking if I was hurt. Most students, when they reach me, are more focused on their time, trying to hurry and get me out."
"It's, ah, something I learned in the Scouts," mumbled Bleak, suddenly feeling embarrassed. How long had it been since he had been praised like this?
"Even throwing in that 'injured leg' bit, you proceeded in a manner to ensure that no other damage would be done to my person," added Mr. Robstone with a nod. "Very good job. Yes, very good. To top it all off, barely any collateral damage was done to the building. High marks."
"But sir!" yelled Deadweight, no longer bothering to keep quiet. "Even with all that, he still went over the time limit, making all his 'good work' completely void!"
The man gave Deadweight a look that screamed 'knock it off or else'. The younger man remained quiet, but threw up his hands in a fed-up manner before stomping off. If that bothered the elder, he didn't show it as he turned his attention to the other heroes present.
"Is there anyone else who has anything to add?" asked Robstone. It took a few moments, the longest few moments of Andrew's life, as they began shaking their heads one after another. Then, when it was over, Mr. Robstone extended his hand. "Three seconds is such a minor thing to turn away one with as much potential as yourself. As the Principal of Detroit Mercy School of Heroics, I welcome you. And I look forward to seeing how you shall grow."
With that, Bleak slowly took the man's hand.
-End Flashback-