The final bell of Aldera Junior High rang with the same hollow tone it always had, but today it felt like a funeral march.
Izuku Midoriya stuffed the last of his notebooks into his yellow backpack, movements mechanical and practiced. Around him, classmates chattered about high schools, entrance exams, futures that stretched bright and endless before them. He kept his head down, made himself small—a skill he'd perfected over fourteen years of being quirkless.
"Oi, Deku."
Izuku's hands stilled on his bag's zipper. He didn't need to look up to know who stood in the doorway, blocking the light. Katsuki Bakugo's voice had been the soundtrack to most of his worst memories.
"Yeah, Kacchan?" The old nickname slipped out automatically, a habit from childhood that neither of them had broken despite everything.
Bakugo's lips curled into something that might have been a smile on anyone else. On him, it looked predatory. "You're really gonna try for UA, aren't you? Even after—" He gestured vaguely at Izuku's everything. "All this."
The classroom had gone quiet. It always did when Bakugo decided to remind everyone of the hierarchy.
"I... I have to try." Izuku's voice came out smaller than he wanted. "Even if the chances are—"
"Zero." Bakugo shoved his hands in his pockets, casual cruelty wrapped in a bored tone. "Your chances are zero, Deku. You know what? If you really want a quirk that bad, maybe you should take a swan dive off the roof and pray you'll get one in your next life."
The words hit like physical blows. Izuku's breath caught in his throat, fingers white-knuckled on his bag strap.
Bakugo's friends laughed—sharp, uncomfortable sounds that said they knew it had gone too far but wouldn't say anything. They never did.
"Something to think about." Bakugo's shoulder clipped Izuku's as he passed, small sparks crackling from his palms. A reminder, a threat, a promise. Then he was gone, taking his entourage with him, leaving Izuku standing alone in the empty classroom.
Take a swan dive off the roof.
The words echoed in the silence. Izuku told himself it was just Bakugo being Bakugo. Told himself it didn't mean anything. Told himself a lot of things as he gathered his bag and left through the back stairs, taking a different route home because he couldn't stand the thought of running into anyone else today.
He didn't notice the shambling figure in the shadows until it was too late.
The afternoon sun painted everything gold as Izuku walked the unfamiliar streets, lost in thought and self-recrimination. His notebook was already open, pen moving across the page as he analyzed the day's quirk observations. The habits of hero analysis died hard, even when—
Especially when they were all he had.
The manhole cover exploded upward with a sound like thunder.
Izuku stumbled back as green sludge erupted from the sewers, forming into a vaguely humanoid shape with eyes that gleamed with manic hunger. "A meat suit! Finally! Don't worry, kid—I'll only borrow your body for a bit!"
The sludge lunged. Izuku's mind went blank with terror, body frozen as that viscous mass reached for him—
THOOM.
The impact of the landing shook the street. Debris and dust exploded outward in a perfect circle, and standing in the center of it, one fist planted on the ground and the other holding a struggling sludge villain in a plastic bottle, was—
"I AM HERE!"
All Might. The Symbol of Peace. The Number One Hero. The hero.
Izuku's legs gave out. He hit the pavement hard, staring up at the impossible figure before him, brain struggling to process that this was real, this was happening, All Might had just saved him—
"Fear not, young man!" All Might's voice boomed with the confidence of someone who'd never known defeat. "You're safe now! Sorry about that—this fellow slipped away from me earlier. Can't have villains running amok, after all! HAHAHA!"
The laugh was infectious, larger than life. Izuku felt tears burning his eyes.
"Thank you," he managed, voice cracking. "Thank you so much, I—"
But All Might was already turning away, preparing to launch himself into the sky with the captured villain. In a moment of pure desperation, of needing just five more seconds with his hero, Izuku's body moved on instinct.
His hand closed around All Might's leg just as the man jumped.
The world became a blur of wind and velocity and terror as they rocketed skyward. Izuku screamed, both hands locked onto All Might's leg in a death grip while the ground fell away below them. The plastic bottle containing the sludge villain tumbled from All Might's grip, lost in their wake.
Neither of them noticed.
They landed on a rooftop with another ground-shaking impact. Izuku collapsed onto the concrete, gasping, every muscle trembling from the adrenaline. All Might stood over him, and for the first time, Izuku saw something other than confidence in that legendary face.
Irritation.
"That was incredibly dangerous, young man! You could have been killed! What were you thinking—"
POOF.
Smoke exploded around All Might. When it cleared, the Symbol of Peace was gone. In his place stood a skeletal man with hollow eyes and a shock of blonde hair, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Izuku stared. His brain stuttered, trying to reconcile the impossible image before him.
"I..." The man—All Might, but not—coughed wetly into his hand. "I'm afraid I used up my power for the day. Don't tell anyone what you saw here, kid. The Symbol of Peace can't afford to look weak."
The words should have been comforting. A shared secret with his hero. Instead, they felt like a door slamming shut.
Izuku's hands clenched into fists. "Can I... can I still be a hero? Even without a quirk?"
The question hung in the air between them. All Might's expression shifted—pity mixing with something harder. Something honest.
"No." The word was gentle but absolute. "I'm sorry, kid, but no. Pro heroes risk their lives every day. Without a quirk, you'd just be throwing your life away. Perhaps you should pursue a different career path—the police force is always looking for—"
All Might kept talking, but Izuku had stopped listening. The rooftop, the city, the hero before him—it all faded into white noise. The ringing in his ears grew louder, drowning out everything else.
Without a quirk, you'd just be throwing your life away.
Take a swan dive off the roof.
Throwing your life away.
Swan dive.
All Might's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression shifted to something urgent. "I have to go. There's an incident—" He looked at Izuku one more time, something like regret crossing his gaunt features. "I'm sorry. I really am."
Then he was gone, vanishing down the roof access stairs in a flutter of his oversized suit, leaving Izuku alone with the sky and the city sprawled out below.
The news helicopter appeared moments later, camera zooming in on the explosion of green sludge and blonde hair in the shopping district below. Izuku watched the screen on the nearby billboard with detached clarity as the sludge villain—the one that had fallen—engulfed a struggling student.
Blonde hair. Red eyes. Explosions crackling weakly against viscous green.
Bakugo.
Heroes gathered at the scene, but none could approach. The villain was too adaptable, too fluid. They needed someone who could handle it, needed—
All Might burst onto the scene in his muscled form, having found enough strength for one more transformation. His punch displaced enough air to create a localized storm, blasting the sludge villain apart and freeing Bakugo in a single devastating strike.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Heroes praised Bakugo's resilience. All Might's laugh echoed through the speakers, confident and unshakeable.
He'll save Bakugo, Izuku thought distantly. But I can never be saved.
The irony sat heavy in his chest, cold and final.
He stood up. Walked to the edge of the roof. The wind tugged at his uniform, whipped his green hair around his face. From up here, the fall looked almost peaceful.
Take a swan dive off the roof.
You'd just be throwing your life away.
Izuku closed his eyes. Took a breath. And stepped forward.
Falling felt like floating.
The wind screamed past his ears, but inside his head, everything had gone quiet. Peaceful. The regret he'd expected didn't come. Just a strange sense of relief that it would all be over soon—the bullying, the pitying looks, the crushing weight of impossible dreams.
The ground rushed up to meet him.
Impact—
And then nothing.
Not nothing.
Darkness so absolute it had texture, weight, presence. Izuku floated in it—or stood in it, or existed in it. His body felt distant, a memory rather than a reality. He tried to move and found he could, drifting through the void like smoke.
Then he saw the light.
It came from below, or above, or perhaps from all directions at once. A soft, pulsing glow that drew him forward with inexorable pull. As he approached, the darkness gave way to something else.
A chamber.
Stone walls that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it stretched impossibly high, lost in shadow. The floor beneath him—when had there become a floor?—was obsidian, polished to a mirror shine. And in the center of the vast space sat an octagonal table carved from something that looked like bone but felt like starlight.
Seven thrones surrounded it. And sitting in those thrones...
Izuku's breath caught. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, kept sliding away from complete comprehension like water off glass.
The figure on the first throne blazed with light that hurt to perceive, crowned in radiance that felt like judgment incarnate. Pride.
The second throne held a mass of scarred muscle and burning eyes, barely contained rage given form. Wrath.
The third shifted and changed even as he looked at it, never satisfied with any shape it took. Envy.
The fourth was beauty weaponized, gender flowing like water, features perfect in a way that felt dangerous. Lust.
The fifth had eyes like gold coins and fingers too long, calculating and eternally hungry. Greed.
The sixth possessed an impossibly wide maw that chewed on nothing, insatiable and grotesque. Gluttony.
The seventh was barely visible, wrapped in exhaustion and darkness. Sloth.
And before him, at the eighth side of the table, stood an empty space. His space.
"Welcome, vessel." Seven voices spoke as one, layered and harmonizing in ways that shouldn't be possible. "Welcome to Hel."
Izuku tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't come. He wasn't sure he still had a voice here.
Pride leaned forward, light intensifying. "Do you know where you are, child?"
"Do you know what you are?" Wrath's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"Do you know what we offer?" Envy whispered, shape settling briefly into something almost human.
Izuku shook his head—or thought he did. Everything felt fluid here, disconnected.
Lust smiled, and the expression was simultaneously comforting and terrifying. "You are dying, sweet child. Or perhaps you've already died. The distinction matters little now."
"Your soul cracked open," Greed continued, fingers steepling. "The moment of ultimate despair—when all hope dies and darkness fills the void. That is when we can enter."
"We are Sin," Gluttony said around its endless chewing. "The seven faces of humanity's shadow. And you, Izuku Midoriya, have been chosen as our vessel."
"Not chosen," Sloth murmured, barely moving. "Selected. By fate. By despair. By the universe's dark humor."
"We do not ask permission," Pride stated, absolute and final. "You are already ours. Have been since the moment you fell. The question is whether you accept what you've become."
Izuku found his voice at last. "I... I don't understand."
"You wished for power," Wrath said, smoke curling from between clenched teeth. "To be a hero. To matter. We heard that wish in your final moments."
"We can give you strength beyond measure," Envy added, form flickering. "The power to stand equal with any hero, any villain."
"But power has a price," Lust purred. "We will share your body, your mind. Each of us brings gifts and curses in equal measure."
"You'll never be quirkless again," Greed stated flatly. "But you'll also never be fully human. Not anymore."
"You will carry our weight," Gluttony continued. "Our hungers, our needs, our natures. They will become yours."
"Sleep when we demand it," Sloth mumbled. "Rage when Wrath commands. Desire what Lust decrees."
"But you will be strong," Pride finished, and the word echoed through the chamber with the weight of prophecy. "Stronger than those who cast you down. Stronger than the hero who abandoned you. Strong enough to make them all look up and see you."
Izuku's hands—did he have hands here?—trembled. "What if I refuse?"
Silence. Then, as one, all seven began to laugh. The sound was terrible and beautiful, mocking and sympathetic, cruel and kind.
"Refuse?" Pride's light intensified until Izuku had to look away. "Child, you already accepted. The moment you stepped off that roof, you made your choice."
"We are your second chance," Wrath growled. "Your resurrection."
"Your rebirth," Envy whispered.
"Your transformation," Lust breathed.
"Your fortune," Greed calculated.
"Your feast," Gluttony chomped.
"Your rest," Sloth sighed.
"Your Pride," Pride declared.
The chamber began to dissolve, darkness creeping in from the edges. Izuku felt himself being pulled backward, away from the table, away from the thrones.
"Return to the world of the living, Vessel of Sin," the seven voices chorused. "Return and show them what they created when they broke you."
"Wait!" Izuku called out. "What do I—how do I—"
"You'll understand," they said as the darkness swallowed him whole. "In time. You'll understand everything."
Then there was nothing but void.
Beeping.
Steady, rhythmic, mechanical beeping.
Izuku's eyes cracked open to harsh fluorescent light. His mouth tasted like copper and antiseptic. Every muscle in his body felt simultaneously weak and impossibly strong, like he'd been compressed and then released.
"Oh!" A gasp to his left. "Oh thank god, oh thank god, you're awake!"
Inko Midoriya's face swam into view, tear-streaked and exhausted. She grabbed his hand with both of hers, squeezing hard enough to hurt. "Three days, Izuku. Three days you've been unconscious. The doctors said—they said you should have been—"
She couldn't finish. Just pressed his hand to her wet cheek and sobbed.
Izuku blinked, trying to process. Three days. He'd been dead—or dying—or something for three days. And his mother had been here the whole time, waiting, hoping...
His eyes drifted around the hospital room. It looked like an All Might shrine had exploded. Posters covered the walls, figures lined every available surface, even the flowers were arranged in red, white, and blue. A note sat on the side table in shaky handwriting: I'm sorry. —A.M.
All Might had been here. Had left this. Felt guilty.
Something hot and caustic rose in Izuku's chest. His hand clenched into a fist, muscles responding with strength that felt foreign and right simultaneously.
"Where..." His voice came out rough. "Where did all this come from?"
"A man brought it," Inko sniffled, wiping her eyes. "Tall, very thin, said he knew you. He looked so sad, Izuku. Everyone's been so worried—"
Izuku stopped listening. His eyes fixed on the All Might figure closest to him—the Symbol of Peace, mid-laugh, one fist raised triumphantly.
Without a quirk, you'd just be throwing your life away.
His fingers closed around the figure's neck.
Perhaps you should pursue a different career path.
He squeezed.
The plastic cracked. Then shattered. Pieces scattered across the white sheets like confetti.
"Izuku?" Inko's voice, uncertain.
He grabbed the next figure. The next poster. Systematically, methodically, with cold fury burning in his veins, Izuku began destroying everything All Might had left behind. Paper tore. Plastic splintered. The merchandised smile of the Symbol of Peace looked up at him from the floor, still confident, still perfect, still lying.
"Izuku, what are you—"
The door opened. A nurse poked her head in, took one look at the scene, and froze. "What's going on? How is he even—"
But Izuku barely registered her presence. He was drowning in it—the rage, the betrayal, the absolute wrongness of everything. All Might had told him to die slowly. Bakugo had told him to die quickly. And when he'd taken their advice, something had answered.
Something was answering still, whispering in the back of his mind with seven different voices.
Good, Wrath purred. Let it out.
Show them, Pride commanded. Show them what they created.
"Izuku!" Inko's arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him into a desperate embrace. "Baby, please, you're scaring me. What's wrong? What happened?"
The rage faltered. Her warmth, her genuine terror for him, cut through the fury like a blade. Izuku sagged in her grip, All Might poster falling from his fingers.
"I—" His voice cracked. "Mom, I—"
Then he was crying, great heaving sobs that shook his entire frame. Inko held him tighter, rocking slightly, murmuring soothing nonsense while he fell apart in her arms. Around them, destroyed merchandise littered the floor like the corpse of broken dreams.
The nurse had vanished, probably to get a doctor. Izuku didn't care. Let them come. Let them see what their Symbol of Peace had done.
"It's okay," Inko whispered, hand stroking his hair. "Whatever it is, it's okay. You're alive. You're here. That's all that matters."
But it wasn't okay. And Izuku knew, with absolute certainty, that nothing would be okay ever again.
He was different now. Changed. Reborn.
And somewhere deep inside, in a chamber of darkness and throne of sins, seven entities smiled.
The examination took two hours.
Izuku sat on the hospital bed in a paper gown while doctors ran every test they could think of. Blood work. Bone density scans. Neurological assessments. Quirk factor analysis. All of it came back the same.
Impossible.
"There's no sign of the fall," the head doctor said, staring at the charts like they'd personally offended him. "No fractures, no internal bleeding, no head trauma. In fact, your body composition is..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I've never seen readings like this. Peak physical condition across the board. Your muscle density, bone strength, cardiovascular system—it's like you've been training for years."
The nurse from earlier stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching Izuku with an expression he couldn't quite read. Every time their eyes met, she looked away quickly, color rising in her cheeks.
Interesting, Lust murmured in the back of his mind. She feels it. They all will.
"What about my quirk?" Izuku asked quietly. His mother sat beside him, still holding his hand like he might disappear if she let go.
The doctor pulled up another screen. "That's the strangest part. Your quirk factor was dormant before—completely inactive, matching someone quirkless. But now..." He gestured to the display. "Now it's not just active, it's saturated. Whatever awakened is powerful. We just can't determine what it does from the scan alone."
"Awakened," Inko breathed. "My baby got a quirk?"
"It appears so." The doctor looked at Izuku with something between concern and fascination. "Though I've never heard of spontaneous quirk awakening after the age of four, especially not in someone previously confirmed quirkless. And certainly not accompanied by..." He gestured vaguely at Izuku's everything.
"Accompanied by what?" Izuku pressed.
The doctor hesitated. "You fell from a three-story building, Izuku. You should be dead. Instead, you're healthier than any fifteen-year-old I've ever examined. Whatever your quirk is, it saved your life and enhanced your body in the process. That's not normal quirk behavior."
Nothing about you is normal anymore, Pride stated matter-of-factly.
Izuku said nothing. Let them wonder. Let them theorize. The truth was impossible anyway.
"Can I go home?" he asked finally.
The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse. "I'd prefer to keep you for observation, but... honestly, there's nothing medically wrong with you. If your mother agrees—"
"Yes," Inko said immediately. "Yes, we're going home. Right now."
She signed papers. Received instructions for follow-up appointments Izuku knew they'd never attend. Through it all, the nurse watched from the corner, that strange expression never leaving her face. As they left, Izuku caught her eye one last time.
She flushed deep red and turned away.
They'll all react like that now, Lust whispered, pleased. Men, women, everyone. A gift and a curse, dear vessel. Welcome to your new existence.
Izuku pulled his jacket tighter and followed his mother into the hallway, leaving the confused medical staff behind. Somewhere in the hospital corridors, an All Might poster smiled down at passing patients.
Izuku didn't look at it.
He was done looking at heroes.
The apartment felt smaller than Izuku remembered. Inko hovered, offering tea, snacks, anything to keep him close and safe. He accepted it all numbly, still processing everything that had happened.
You need to meditate, Sloth murmured drowsily. Access Hel properly. Understand what you've become.
"I'm going to lie down," Izuku said, extracting himself from his mother's concern. "I'm... tired."
"Of course, baby. Of course." Inko kissed his forehead. "Call if you need anything. Anything at all."
Izuku closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, finally alone. The room looked exactly as he'd left it three days ago—hero posters on the walls, analysis notebooks stacked on the desk, All Might figurines on the shelves.
He looked at them and felt nothing.
Time to begin, Pride stated. Sit. Focus. Return to us.
Izuku sat cross-legged on his bed, closed his eyes, and reached inward. The darkness came easier this time, welcoming him like an old friend. And when he opened his eyes again, he stood in Hel, before the octagonal table and seven thrones.
"Welcome back, vessel," they said as one. "Now your true education begins."
Izuku looked at each of them in turn—Pride, Wrath, Envy, Lust, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth. His new reality. His new power. His new curse.
"Teach me," he said.
And they smiled.
Outside, in the real world, Inko passed by her son's room and paused. He sat perfectly still, eyes closed, barely breathing. But something about his expression made her shiver.
He looked like someone else entirely.
She told herself it was just the stress of the accident. The trauma. He'd be back to normal soon.
Deep down, she knew better.
Her son had fallen from a building and survived. But the boy who'd fallen wasn't the same one who'd woken up.
Inko pressed her hand to the door and whispered a prayer to whatever was listening.
Inside Hel, seven sins heard her plea and laughed.