Instinct

The Hero-Killer sat alone in an empty warehouse, somewhere on the coast near to Tokyo. A whetstone rasped along the edge of an already razor-sharp steel blade, the sound a gentle wail in the darkness of that dark place. Beside him a small box-TV played the news, the feed surprisingly clear despite his use of an archaic antennae to pick up the station's single.

"In other news, four dead in Shizuoka prefecture as of yesterday's casualty report, three of whom were professional heroes." The anchor-woman's voice was smooth, soothing, even delivering such gruesome news as this. "All killings follow the modus-operandi of the Villain known as Stain, whom some of you may know instead as the Hero-Killer."

The man in question frowned to hear his name so brazenly spoken. He had thought himself to be a secret kept by the government and the police, a shadowy boogey-man to be kept hidden from the public for as long as possible. He had yet to go public himself; for now he was reliant on killing minor heroes, slowly drawing the attentions of the masses as he cut down leeches and parasites. Only once he had the whole hero-industry (he scoffed just thinking of such a disgusting institution) in fear could he reveal himself.

But now he was public, at least in part. At least there were no pictures; he had been careful to avoid the attentions of any journalists. Already there were a few online who theorized what he might look like, what his Quirk might be. Some pondered what his goal was, and while some small part of him toyed with the idea of addressing them in the anonymity and security of the world-wide web, he discarded that thought quickly. It wouldn't be safe, no matter how much effort he put into hiding his tracks.

"You're public now." spoke a voice from behind, and Stain blinked when he realized his whetstone was now beside him on the crate, rather than in his hand. When had he put it away?

"Congratulations." the voice continued, dry and quiet. "Perhaps next you'll be famous."

The Hero-Killer, turned, blade outstretched. He cut nothing, because there was nothing there to cut, but his sword did take off the top of the television's antennae. The anchor-woman's voice disappeared, replaced by crackling static, and the Hero-Killer jumped backwards and away from the voice, eyes scanning the warehouse. It was large and open, only a few scattered crates and boxes providing cover.

"Come now, Stain, are we not friends?" the voice sounded faintly bemused, but it was concealed behind that dry facade. "If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead. Isn't that right?"

"Akumono…" Stain's voice was a rasping growl, scratching at the air with claws and teeth. "Come out."

"You know I will not." the voice lost that sound of bemusement, switching now to something more weary. "No matter how much you wish I would. You can't find me, Stain. Nobody sees me, unless I want them to."

Stain licked his lips, sword hand tensing. He could almost taste Akumono's blood, the blood of the voice. Once he tasted it, the man would freeze. The man would be still. And the man would die.

Except that blood was not for him to taste. Akumono had spoken to him many times, but never once had Stain seen him. Stain could not be sure why, but whenever Akumono came to him, he seemed to… detach. Things would happen that he could not recall doing, effects with causes he could not remember. It was likely the nature of the man's Quirk; perhaps that was why he could not see him. Why he never had.

Perhaps he had, and he could not remember.

"What do you want?" It was barely a question, growled as it was, more of a demand spat from Stain's unwilling lips.

"I want a name, Stain, that is all." Akumono said. "One name. Then I will let you go on your way and continue on your futile crusade."

Stain bristled at those words, but he held his temper in check. One wrong move and Akumono could kill him where he stood. Of this he had little doubt; it was simply fact. Akumono was a monster, a ghost. Stain could not kill him. Not as he was now.

"And in return?" Stain asked.

"An address." Akumono replied. "There are men who are quite opposed to your ideals. It would serve you well if they were to die, as it would serve me well if they were too cease operation."

"What name?" Stain did not need to consider the offer; the last time Akumono had given him an address, he had killed two false heroes and three Yakuza bosses. It had been a good night, a night of hunting and of success. Akumono paid well.

"The name of one of your old Vigilante associates." Akumono said. "The Crawler."

Stain spat on the floor. It was a bold declaration that required no words; no. He would not give the boy's name to Akumono. He knew what this monster would want with The Crawler, and he would not give him so much as a single clue. He clutched his sword in both hands, raising it nearer to his head, blade pointing forward.

"I see." Akumono didn't sound the least bit disappointed. "You are strong, Stain. If I were to torture you it would give me nothing. However… the boy cannot know. So I suppose you must die."

Stain blinked, his body tensing, before he released the breath he was holding and relaxed. He needed a sign of presence. A way to know the man was near. Perhaps he had a gun, and would shoot, but why hadn't he done so already? No, Akumono would-

Stain gasped. He had turned a full one-hundred eighty degrees, and there was a searing pain on his back. He could hear chuckling, and turned his head to see something pink disappearing behind a crate. He lunged for it, jumping and swinging, ignoring what he knew to be a cut. Something blocked his sword, something equally strong, something made of steel. A blade. He saw pink again, hair, long for a man, and a dark glare.

"So fast…" Akumono said, standing. Stain slid to a stop, turning and lunging again with a savage strike. Akumono, revealed now to be a man in all black, deflected the blow with his weapon, a strange short spear that looked suspiciously like a cane.

"So very fast…" Stain blinked when he realized he had already cut, his sword concluding the arc as Akumono ducked his strike. Stain lashed out with a spiked boot, but Akumono was dodging backwards already, rolling. His hands came up, and grasped the edge of the barrel, throwing himself over it.

Stain took a long breath, the barrel between them giving both a moment to breathe. Akumono was tall and thin, wearing a suit in all black, from the shirt to the tie to the unbuttoned black jacket. He had long hair, a brilliant pink in colouration, and dark green eyes. It was a strange look, the black and pink clashing furiously, but the killer's aura surrounding Akumono made it hard to laugh.

"You cannot win this fight, Stain." Akumono declared. "I know all about you. I have watched you kill, but this is the first time you have done so much as see my face. You do not know my Quirk, you do not know my-"

"You erase memories." Stain interrupted, eyes narrowing. "That is why I seem to skip through attacks. You can prevent me from remembering my own attacks, and your counters."

Akumono scowled, and Stain nodded once in confirmation. He was right, at least in part. He took a deep breath, steadying his racing heart and breath. He knew the ways of Akumono's Quirk.

"Then you know you cannot-" Stain scoffed, interrupting his opponent mid-sentence.

"I know I cannot predict what you will do." Stain nodded. "I know I cannot hope to plan ahead, not truly. But I can trust in myself, in my skill, even if I cannot wholly know what will strike true. You are fast, Akumono, and strong. But I am faster and stronger still."

"Empty boasts." Akumono spat, glaring at Stain. Stain smiled, a savage animal grin.

"Then why is that fear in your eye?" he asked.

Stain struck first, jumping over the crate, sword singing in the air as it came down with murderous intent. Akumono reacted, raising his spear, trying to deflect the attack. He seemed confident in his skill, his own ability. Stain knew something Akumono did not, however..

He was not boasting before.

Stain blinked and found himself several feet away, a new cut on his shoulder. But he looked at his blade and thrilled for a moment; blood, hot and fresh. He leapt away from any potential counterattack, raising the sword to his face.

He was on the floor now, his leg burning with pain. His sword was gone from his hand, and he could not taste any blood on his tongue. Akumono was standing over, huffing and puffing, sweat running down his face in thick drops from his hairline. His spear was bloody, its tip pointed at Stain's throat. There was a gash in his suit, on his shoulder, where Stain's sword had struck true. Stain swallowed, twisting away, and went for one of the knives on his belt. He found one and threw up in the air, away from himself and Akumono both.

Akumono followed it with his eyes for just a moment, and Stain moved. He tackled the man to the floor, mouth wide open. He was ready to bite, to tear away a chunk of the man's flesh, all for the taste of his blood. He needed Akumono to be stilled. He saw Akumono's eyes flash a deeper green; a sign of Quirk activation?

Pain. Crippling pain, in his stomach and all through his torso. Stain cursed through a mouthful of blood, but realized in an instant that below him Akumono was not moving. He coughed and spat, spewing gore all over the man's face and chest. Akumono's gore. Akumono was frozen, and Stain had won. He reached for a knife, ignoring the spear stuck in his stomach. He would pull it out later. He needed to-

Stain saw black, and a sense of vertigo tore at his insides for a moment. He hit the ground, blood pouring from the wound in his gut. He looked around from where he lay, seeing cold grey walls. An alleyway, somewhere. He did not know for sure. Akumono was gone. His stomach hurt. He had no idea where he was, and he was drenched in blood.

Stain rose to his feet, one hand clamped across his stomach, and staggered into the shadows of the evening.

[X][X][X][X][X]

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu was unimaginably tired. And lost.

It was a very simple ailment, and one he could explain with ease; he had overworked himself again. Not intentionally, of course; Tetsutetsu had learned long ago he rarely had the luxury of messing up on purpose. No, he made one of those classical Tetsutetsu screw-ups where he had decided to go for a jog only to forget his end-marker, meaning he had run halfway across the city before noticing that he didn't recognize any of the buildings around himself.

He had pondered how on earth he was meant to get home, especially with the sky slowly darkening and the locals choosing to mostly ignore his requests for directions. That it took him some fifteen minutes of wandering before he remembered he had a cell-phone likely spoke to his general skills in planning. Tetsutetsu was left with a dilemma, however; he had no idea who to call. His father was busy at work out of town for the weekend, his mother was watching his siblings…

He snapped his fingers. Midoriya. Izuku would definitely have a solution. Maybe his mom would pick Tetsutetsu up? That would be cool. Tetsutetsu texted the boy, before leaning against the wall and letting out a long sigh of relief. Izuku would have his back; Izuku always had his back. It was Izuku's specialty; that and making Natsuki turn really, really bright shades of red. He was pretty good at both.

Tetsutetsu was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't even notice that somebody was emerging from the alleyway beside him until that person coughed, a loud and wet sound that made Tetsutetsu instinctively wince in sympathy. He turned, and saw a man with ragged black hair and entirely too many scars and spikes on his body bent over double, bleeding heavily from several open wounds.

Tetsutetsu was dumb. He would admit that himself if prodded; he knew for a fact he was a little less intelligent than just about everybody around him. But he wasn't an idiot; he knew a bad thing when he saw it. And as a wannabe hero, he reacted accordingly.

"You okay… sir?" he asked, crouching down beside the man. "What happened?"

The man spat up another thick wad of blood and saliva, and Tetsutetsu winced again before putting a gentle hand on the man's uninjured shoulder. He forced himself to remember all the 'rescue tricks' he'd picked up from various interviews with pro-heroes. Be gentle, kind, patient, and never touch them where they were hurt. Tetsutetsu felt the man start to crumble, and caught him in both arms, hefting him upright and tucking him closer to his chest.

"Don't worry, sir, I'll find help!" Tetsutetsu declared. This guy looked sort of like a villain, what with all the red and black and spikes, but Tetsutetsu couldn't just ignore a guy walking out of an alleyway looking like he'd gone nine-and-oh with a combine harvester.

The man made a burbling sound with his mouth, and Tetsutetsu winced as blood spilled all over his tank top, painting the grey material a deep red. But no hero could hesitate at the sight of a little blood (or a lot of blood, he supposed) and therefore he swung the man's limp form up and over his shoulders, grabbing him in a fireman's carry. The man coughed again, but his breathing had slowed slightly and become a little steadier.

"Alright, sir, I'm just gonna go find some help…" Tetsutetsu looked around the empty street, trying to think of somewhere to go. He began walking down the road, before freezing. His phone. An ambulance.

He could call an ambulance. He was an idiot after all, he decided, before reaching into his pocket with his free hand and dialing emergency services. At least, he tried to; he felt the man on top of him shift, and suddenly there was something sharp pressing against his throat.

"No…" the man rasped, coughing up another wad of blood. "Take me… two-four-three Isana… no hospital…"

Tetsutetsu hardened his skin immediately, turning to steel, and dropped the man on the ground. He turned as the man hit the pavement, another cough escaping his throat before he scrambled up to his feet. Tetsutetsu stared; this guy was torn to hell, and he still hefted a massive combat knife in one hand and pointed it at Tetsutetsu.

"You…" the man stared him down with red eyes, and Tetsutetsu froze, fear flooding his veins in spite of his usual bravado. "You are a good… good child…"

The man was still breathing heavily, rasping breaths drawing air in and out of his heaving chest. Tetsutetsu kept his steel up; he wasn't sure how fast this guy was, but no normal person should be able to stand like that, let alone prepare for a fight.

"Worthy… perhaps…" The man's face twisted into a smile, a hideous rictus-grin. "You will live… but… you will not take me…"

Tetsutetsu had heard enough. This guy was planning on killing him, apparently up to a few moments ago. That was bad news enough, let alone the fact that he couldn't bring himself to move. That glare, those crimson eyes… there was something in there, a harshness. It was like ice coating his muscles, freezing himself in place. Tetsutetsu wanted to charge, or run, or at least reply, but all he could do was stand. All he could do was shiver and quake.

The man turned to walk away, and Tetsutetsu collapsed. The sound of metal striking cement was loud in the quiet road, as his knees met the ground. His steel dropped and he was normal again, lungs heaving air into his lungs. He had broken into a cold sweat, and he dropped forward even more and barely caught himself with his hands. He stared at the cement, unable to so much as look up.

He didn't hear his phone go off the first time, nor the second, but on the third he managed to figure out what the curious buzzing sound was and bring the phone to his ear, answering it. Izuku's voice split the silence.

"Is Tetsu okay?" the boy asked, voice gentle. "Izuku and mama are coming now. Where is he exactly?"

Tetsutetsu clambered to his feet, leaning against the wall. The man was gone, the only clue to his passing the small spatterings of blood on the sidewalk. He looked around, trying to recall the street name. He looked at a sign, and blinked twice.

"O-Okina… Okina street…" he said. "I-I'm by… some apartments, I think?"

"Izuku and mama will be there soon." Izuku said, before hanging up.

Tetsutetsu fell to the ground, his legs giving out again, leaving him sitting with his back to the building. He put his phone on the pavement beside him, staring at the building opposite. He was alive. Somehow. He had met a villain, a real villain, a monstrous, terrifying villain… and he had survived. He hadn't even swung a fist. He hadn't fought at all. But he had survived.

Worthy. The man, the villain, he had said those words. The villain thought he was… worthy. What kind of endorsement was that? A pretty crappy one, all things considered. Tetsutetsu swallowed. He stared at the building opposite for a little longer. He didn't feel like moving.

He didn't know if he could.