Chapter Text
Hello! It is I the author of the mha/hollow knight story Hollow Hero! Do not worry I haven’t given up on that one! I have only just started this as an outlet so I can focus on that one. So far ch6 has 4800 words and I plan on at least 12 thousand again, just gotta focus and hope schoolwork doesn’t kill me.
Thank You for reading this!
Have a nice day/night and I hope you will consider joining my discord! https://discord.gg/Uu8xBKUkJq
Not beta-read, if you find any confusing ways of wording or misused words (EX: tails and tales) please tell me! I'm also writing this as a love letter to bloodborne itself. So be ready for some graphic scenes!
———————————————————
You all know the story, the story of Izuku Midoriya, do you not?
Whether it be the one where he proves his worth of great power, whether he finds it in himself, or even obtains it through… less than desirable means. He always finds something to do with himself. Villainy, heroism, vigilantism, being the owner of a coffee shop, a father, or even just surviving in the wilderness. These tales have been told. Countless stories of glory and misfortune and all with one central star. Izuku Midoriya, the son of Hisashi and Inko Midoriya, the son of All Might, Eraserhead, and even sometimes Midnight. Quirkless, jobless, passionless, quirked, hero, villain, vigilante.
Ever since the fateful day on top of the tower. Or was it before that? Or after? Was it his hero? His friend? His mother? Which one killed his dream? Did he not deserve happiness? Did he ever get it? Was it robbed by an old friend, blinded by pride and arrogance? Was it his parents that took it? or did he have it all along? Or did a little girl give him it?
I wish I could tell you, but those stories are their own to be told. Their own adventure, but I can tell you this story. A story that starts like most. A story that starts on top of a building, on top of what will be his fall to the bottom of woe.
———————————————————
“A-All Might. I really need to know. Can- Can I be a hero? Without a quirk? C-can I be like you? I-” A strained gulp split his thoughts, “I have a-always wanted to be a hero! L-like you. Always saving people w-with a fearless smile!” the strain of speaking, of the emotions in his voice. The fear, worry, sadness, and many others were held back only by his want. He needs to know the answer. Even if he can already guess.
“I h-have been told all my life that I-I couldn’t be a hero, and I just need to know.” his tirade of emotions came to a screeching halt as the figure of his idol was obscured with a shower of smoke, nearly encompassing the entire roof. From within the fog, he heard a cough, a wet, vicious cough. And from the smoke where All Might once stood was a man, the height of All Might but. But without his muscle mass, the same clothes and height and even the hair, though much like the man his hair slumped over and fell tiredly onto his head.
“W-what! A-a imposter?” The scratch of terror caused the man’s hard gaze to turn to him.
“Imposter?” the man started, his voice like All Mights, but rough from the cough, “I assure you, young man, I am no imposter.” He said, bending down to sit tiredly unto the rough concrete of the building. “Though, recently I have begun to feel like one.” with a cough he continued, “you know how guys like to hold in their stomachs at the pool? It’s kinda like that.”
With the confusing information laid bare he lifted his shirt to show his side, and much to Izuku’s utter disgust and horror, a nasty scar, making a sort of crater in the deflated hero’s side, was laid bare to his eyes. “I got this five years ago, in a fight with a villain. A nasty one at that.”
Izuku racked his brain, five years ago? The only fight all Might had trouble with five years ago was Toxic Chainsaw. But the wound he had was on his arm? So how did he get the massive wound on his side? And better yet how would it be the cause for this… appearance change? Five years is a long time, but to go incredibly anorexic in five years would mean little to no nutrient input.
All Might sat silently watching the boy mutter and theorize for a few minutes before he stopped him. “While you are right about Toxic chainsaw giving me a wound, that crook would never be able to do this to me. More than half my stomach and a lung were removed, so out of fear of what the press would do with the information about the fight, we decided to not make it public. Imagine what the press would do with that information? Much less the villains.” All Might released a tired sigh.
“Look, kid. There is so much fear behind that smile. Do I think you could be a hero? Without a quirk?” All might released his shirt and stood up solemnly, “personally no, even with a quirk it’s a dangerous job, and while the quirkless employment rate might not be high. You might want to look for a different path to be a hero” he said, and while there was a hint of sympathy, the words themself were harsh, “Maybe become a police officer, or an EMT.” and with those final words Izuku was alone. With only the soft drips of his tears and the incoming storm as his company.
———————————————————
The silence of his home used to be eerie, unnerving, and odd to him. But as his mom worked longer and later he soon got used to it.
When he was younger he remembers the warmth and the fun that flooded the home. The laughter and skills gracing the faces of the three residents. Until the doctor shattered that dream. His dad left in a hurry, packing up the moment the doctor’s visit was over and yelling on his way out. But, even if there were two left they at least had each other. But then, nearly four and a half years after his dad left, his mom got her degree in medicine and started working days. And with time, Izuku learned that she didn’t love him either. He expected it to hurt. He expected it to burn like a bruise in his heart and stab whenever he thought about it. But it never did.
The silence of the house meant that his mom hadn’t yet gotten home, or perhaps she had just left. He tried to not let that get to him. Shutting the door he headed to the bathroom. He reeked from the sludge villain and the cold from the rain didn’t help his mood. Stripping down his rancid clothing he headed into the shower and turned it onto the hottest their apartment would give. The ache of the heat helped ground him and distract him from what he was told by All Might.
After his shower, he headed into his room. The hurricane of emotions and the storm seemed to grow worse as his heart grew bitter and angry at the man lining the walls of his room. His smile taunting him and reminding him of the frail man who hid behind it. And suddenly, everything looked wrecked. His breathing was heavy, his hands hurt as his knuckles were bleeding. There were whole littering the walls and the posters shredded into scraps, his figurines, pop vinyl, and a small mountain of other merch were broken and shredded in his blind rage. Slowly calming himself with his breathing he laid down and went to sleep, head dealt with it in the morning.
The morning came slowly as Izuku got up and dressed in his last uniform, the only one without burn marks and rips. Grabbing his bag and an apple from the fridge he left out the front door, just as his mom came up the stairs.
Inko was surprised when she stopped walking and took in her son’s appearance as he walked past her. His hair was a mess, his curls going much longer than she would like, but hair cuts were expensive, his clothes were wrinkled and untidy, but what drew her attention was his eyes, the spark that he had fought for was gone, the burning been dulled into a shade not normal for him. But before she could say anything to him he walked off. She would talk to him when he got home.
For Izuku the walk from his home to school was the norm, random students were stationed on his walk to pester and abuse his timid nature. But to their surprise, he didn’t even flinch when they threatened him. And when a hero battle started in his path he just went on by, not even sparring it a single look.
When Izuku got on campus the sneering and hate only got more violent. Especially when he sat down. “What the fuck?!” the words of both utter confusion and murderous hate silenced the room as Bakugou sat up from his desk. At first, Izuku was confused about what he was angry about until it dawned on him. He didn’t say hello to Kachaan.
With the might of a nuclear bomb and the anger of one Bakugou started his tirade of tired and overused insults at Izuku, and much to both their surprise, it didn’t affect Izuku all that much. The words were lacking there for a better word, bland, stale, old, overused, and overall less than what All Might had told him. And thankfully Bakugou had eventually stopped thanks to the teacher starting the class.
The day had gone slow, Izuku ate on the roof to hide from Bakugou and his followers. And by the end of the day, nothing too bad had happened. And to make that trend continue Izuku packed his bag up in the last minute of class and booked it out the moment the bell rang, sprinting past Bakugou, and heading down the stairs two at a time and right out the office door. But no matter what kind of lead he had on Kachaan he couldn’t run forever, so he headed down ally after ally hoping that he had lost him and made it to the more industrial side of the city.
Tired and out of breath Izuku sat down, taking gulps of air and desperately hoping that he knew where he was. But then the stench from the slime villain appeared. The violating smell of a sewer and trash made his heart stop. Before he could even get up he was grabbed and enveloped in the slime. The thick jelly-like fluid flooded his mouth, burning his throat and choking him.
All he wanted was to go home! His lungs hurt and he felt pain bursting in his insides as the villain laughed at his misery. His vision turned blurry and black around the edges. He just wanted to tell his mom he loved her.
———————————————————
Consciousness washed over him as the sounds of things being moved and vials being moved around. A faint humming and the shuffling of paper appeared by the bed he was in. Suddenly a hot breath of air hit him, “ah yes, while we don't have a record for your condition, you've come to the right place. Yharnam is the home of the blood ministry. you only need to unravel its mystery. But, where's an outsider like you to begin? Easy. Why with a little Yharnam blood of your own!” confusion welled up in Izuku as the man spoke. It was soft and with compassion and sympathy. But he had never heard of a Yharnam, and either way, he should be dead! “You've suffered quite a long journey to get to this great city. At such a young age too. And you should be glad you did.”
The act of opening his eyes was hard but made easier by the prick of a needle entering into his veins, “The blood used in ministration, the blood entering your veins, is the trade of Yharnam.'' A sickly cackle filled the air, “it is a special thing indeed... The only thing that can cure your sickness, your ailment.” Izuku was afraid now, whatever this crazy man was talking about couldn't be safe. And as the man spoke he leaned forward, “Now, let's begin the transfusion. Oh, don't you worry. You'll be as good as new... Like it was all just a bad dream. ...Heh, heh, heheheh …” The man before him wore a large brimmed top hat and ragged ripped victorian style clothes. But what scared him about the man was his ailments, he was sitting upon a wheelchair with fabric covering his eyes and he looked incredibly old with a scruffy long beard and unkempt hair. The room he was in was oddly… rustic? Old wood covered everything and the only light was candles and lanterns. The ‘bed’ he was lying on was a table of sorts. A gurney maybe? And the man spoke of an ailment. But the only sickness he had ever had was the flu. Some considered quirklessness a disease and an ailment.
As Izuku was thinking about his situation the man stuck a vial of a weird yellowy red substance onto the IV rack and connected it to the tube in his arm. He watched the blood-looking liquid flow down the tube; Izuku wanted to fight, but everything was sore, the feeling of the sludge villain still lingered deep in his limbs and no matter how hard he tried to fight he couldn't move. Suddenly the burning of something entered his veins and hit his nerves with a flood of pain. Whatever this ‘blood’ that was going into him was, it wasn't liking him. It felt like his cells were being replaced one by one, melting his body down and rebuilding it over and over. Eventually, the pain spread to the point where he felt like he was going insane.
————
Every few hours the elderly blood minister came back to his patient. Whatever disease ‘Quirkless’ responded by fighting the good blood. The boy had been coughing up blood for nearly three hours. And the only choice he had was to wash out the boy's old blood. He’d done it before, he’d saved many sick by more than tripling the blood dosage but there had always been a trend in his patience that needed Yharnam blood. The younger the patient, the less likely they were to live through the transfusion. Either way, he still had eight hours before the hunt. He might as well try to keep his patient from dying.
By the time the hunt had come about and the moon had begun to rise he had stabilized his green-haired patient. Eighteen blood vials of old blood dilution level three, a sewing needle, and a couple of buckets for bloodletting later and the boy had stopped coughing. Whether he lived past the night was a different story. So with a prayer to the church, the old man grabbed his gun, set up another vial, and left the clinic to Iosefka to man solo, and headed into the night. The hunt had begun. And hopefully, the boy won't have to join.
Iosefka, a kindly woman and the owner of the clinic, feared the worst when the green-haired boy had shown up on her doorstep. He was thin and frail, and his blood was low in everything needed to keep him alive, nutrients, hydration, and it appeared he had been asphyxiated for quite some time. Thankfully with the help of the old minister Henry, she had managed to get him inside and on one of the gurneys. She had left the green-haired lad to Henry while she went to the less critical patients that were still recovering from treatment.
Eventually, after many hours of tirelessly monitoring vitals and careful injections, most of the patients were stable. All except the boy, she had only ever given injections to the old and middle-aged, the youngest was thirty and this boy looked half that. She didn’t watch the bloodletting of the boy, nor when Henry went to go on the hunt with the rest of the men of the city.
To be honest, she should have checked on him more. But he was the only patient in that room, and the others were filled, so she had to either risk twenty patients that did not have the beast plague or lock the door to his room when he changed into one. But eventually, she caught the time to check on him. Nearly fifteen hours of nonstop work and she just wanted to rest, but he was gone. The only trace he was ever there was a letter addressed to an Izuku.