Vs. Hero Killer, "Hypocrite"

Here we are - the moment of truth.

Night fell fast, dragging a thick, eerie tension over everything. The city still buzzed like usual, but I could feel it - something heavy lurking in the air. Streetlights cast dim yellow pools, stretching weird, jagged shadows across the pavement. This was prime time for darkness and danger to creep out.

Himiko's message had been a sliver of ice against my skin: "I'll be good tonight. No trouble." From her, such a promise was less a comfort and more a threat. There was no time to dissect her meaning. Focus was a weapon, and tonight, I would need every edge I could hone.

Ida and I linked up in a deserted alley near Stain's usual haunt. He got there first, suited up, face set like stone. Determination radiated off him, but those eyes? Flickers of nerves he couldn't hide.

"What's step one?" he asked, voice trembling slightly, though he played it cool.

"Split up, scout for signs. If you spot him, signal me - don't engage solo. Stain's not some punk you can take down easy," I said, keeping my tone sharp to drive the stakes home.

Ida nodded, no pushback. We split, combing the streets. I moved careful, eyes on every shadow, every sketchy passerby. Stain's a cold, calculated killer - he wouldn't slip up obvious, but if he's here tonight, he'd leave a trace.

…

Hosu's narrow alleys drowned in darkness, neon flickers barely cutting through the wet pavement. Sirens wailed in the distance, chaos swallowing the city. Far off, Nomu roars ripped through - like a warning of the destruction already underway. Ida and I bolted toward Stain's rumored spot, each hauling our own motives. But when we got there, the scene hit us like a brick wall.

Stain loomed in the shadows, eyes icy, pinning Native - the hero he'd clamped a hand over, frozen stiff. Blood streaked Native's body, pooling on the cold concrete. Under the faint light, his arm wound still oozed, and Stain licked the fresh red off his blade.

Yup, Bloodcurdle - his Quirk - was live. Native was a sitting duck, helpless in the jaws of a stone-cold psycho.

Gotta wrap this quick, then bounce to back up the others against the Nomu. Longer this drags, worse it gets.

Ida's fists clenched, Engine roaring as he shot toward Stain like an arrow, aiming to end him on the spot.

But Stain's no scrub - ex-Vigilante turned Hero Killer for a reason. With a preternatural grace that defied his hulking frame, he tracked Ida's impossible speed - a movement even my eyes struggled to follow. His katana sliced through the air, a whisper of steel aimed at Ida's face. The helmet took the blow, a screech of metal on metal as it was torn from his head and sent clattering across the alley. A hair's breadth from disaster. Without that, 1-A'd be prepping for their class rep's funeral.

"A kid in a hero costume, huh? Who're you?" Stain growled, sword aimed at Ida, irritation spiking. "Get lost. This ain't a playground."

"The blood-soaked scarf… the arsenal of blades… You're the Hero Killer: Stain," Ida roared back, his eyes burning with a pyre of hatred and resolve. "The bastard who crippled my brother. Did you think I would let you walk away?"

Goddammit. This is spiraling.

"Stain… or should I say Stendhal?" I stepped from the shadows, my own mask concealing my face, my voice laced with mockery. "Quite the rebrand. No wonder the authorities are chasing ghosts." I locked eyes with Ida. "Get Native out of here. Now. Then help the heroes in the city."

"But - "

"No repeats, class rep. I'll hold him here."

In the alley's dim glow, Stain's glare locked on me, unblinking. He didn't strike - not at Ida, not Native - just stood there, breathing steady, sizing me up with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. In that split second, I'd flipped his focus - from a nobody to a real threat.

Ida hesitated, fists balled, face twisted with reluctance, but I couldn't let him fuck this up more.

"NOW!" I snapped, no room for debate.

He gritted his teeth, pissed but moving, hauling Native out fast. He wanted the fight, but with rage clouding his head, staying would've tanked everything.

Stain didn't stop him. Just watched Ida's back fade into the dark.

I clenched my fists, took a deep breath. The air thickened as Stain turned to me. Ida and Native were out of his scope - now I was the target.

"So you know my past?" His voice rasped low, eyes sharp as his blade. "Some no-name punk preaching at me? I was prepared to let you children flee… but you are not as simple as the other one, are you?"

I smirked, stepping forward, letting the light catch half my face for effect. "To be acknowledged by the infamous Hero Killer himself. I'm honored," I shot back, dripping sarcasm. "But I'm not here to preach - I'm here to ENFORCE JUSTICE !!!!"

Stain's brow twitched, piecing it together. He glanced where Ida vanished, then back at me, eyes darkening. "You used that kid's grudge to bait me, then spout that crap? You have no right to the title of 'hero.' You are lower than the dregs of the League."

I shrugged, not denying it. "And you? A lawless creep like you gets to judge who's hero material and dish out your three-cent justice on 'unworthy' ones?" I dropped my voice, biting each word. "You're just a bitter loser mad the world didn't accept your ideals. Pathetic as fuck."

His sword twitched, eyes flaring dangerous. "You're not like those fake heroes… You are manipulative. Deceitful. Your existence in their world is a cancer. You are the one I must eradicate first !!!!!!!"

He didn't wait for a reply. He lunged, a phantom of motion, his blade a silver arc meant to sever my life in a single stroke.

But my Quirk was already active. Against me, he would not see another sunrise.

I hardened the flesh of my hand to the density of tungsten, deflecting the killing blow. Before I could counter, he was already moving, his speed inhuman. A smaller blade appeared in his other hand, tearing through the reinforced fabric of my suit - supposedly slash-proof - and burying itself to the hilt in my gut. He ripped it free with a savage twist as my blood, hot and dark, spilled forth. I instantly metalized the tissue around the wound, staunching the flow, but he was on me again, the katana scything for my throat. I wrenched my head back, teeth clenched as the steel bit deep into my cheek, carving a long, searing gash.

His speed, his ferocity - it was overwhelming. I couldn't keep pace, let alone land a blow. This wasn't a sparring match. This was a dance of death, honed and perfected in the blood of dozens of victims.

He pressed his attack, relentless. Perfect.

This was all part of the calculation, a grim equation I had solved long before Ida ever laid eyes on him tonight. Stain's entire methodology relied on speed, precision, and his Quirk. His collection of blades served one purpose:all built to max out his Quirk. Licking that blood was the trigger. It was a habit so deeply ingrained, it was instinct.

So what happens when that blood is laced with a lethal poison?

Before meeting Ida, I had ingested a clinical LD50 dose of cyanide, swallowing it down with an entire apple, seeds and all. It took nearly thirty agonizing minutes for my body to metabolize and neutralize the immediate effects, my unique physiology adapting, processing, and integrating the toxin into my very bloodstream. The faint scent of bitter almonds clinging to me was the only outward sign. It was a 100% guarantee. If my corpse was ever autopsied, the coroner would find nothing but chewed apple seeds - the toxin's source misattributed.

As if on cue, his patience worn thin by my resilience, he swept his tongue across the length of his katana, savoring the taste of my blood, eager to paralyze me and begin his slow, righteous execution. The moment the muscle touched the steel, his self-proclaimed crusade was over.

He saw the manic grin that split my face and froze, confusion clouding his features. A second later, the poison hit his system like a thunderbolt. His breath hitched. His stance, once so perfectly balanced, faltered.

He knew.

His legs trembled, and he gasped for air that wouldn't come. It was exactly as I had envisioned. His eyes, narrowed with a fury that could curdle blood, promised a thousand painful deaths, but his body had already betrayed him.

"What… did you do?" he snarled, words grinding out rough.

I shrugged, grin holding. "Wondered what'd happen to a guy who licks his victims' blood to trigger his Quirk… if that blood wasn't normal anymore."

He clenched his jaw, dark blood trickling from his mouth. "Cyanide…" he muttered, shock flashing before rage took over. "You pulled that filthy trick?! You're a hundred times worse than those fakes!"

I chuckled, clutching my wound, limping closer, eyes steady on him. "Think I'd play fair with a serial killer? Sorry, pal, I'm not some half-assed, naive hero. And you've been using your Quirk to crush dozens of heroes you crippled and - hypocrite much?" I leaned in, gaze cutting. "Call me scum? Fair. I'm no saint. But at least I'm not a sore loser sulking in the dark, killing for some self-made justice."

He roared, summoning every ounce of strength, gripping his sword and thrusting it at me one last time - like he'd take me down with him - eyes screaming bloody murder. I didn't dodge - couldn't, really. Instead, I snatched his dagger and drove it straight into his throat, ending this shit fast.

Stain howled, eyes bulging from the sudden pain. The blade punched through his neck, blood spraying in arcs, but he didn't drop. He staggered back, letting go of the sword still lodged in me, retreating a few steps - hate and disbelief burning in his stare as I sank to my knees.

"You… you actually did it…" he rasped, breaths ragged, voice breaking as the cyanide chewed him up inside. "Bastard… what kind of monster are you…?"

I wiped blood from my lip, smirking through the exhaustion. "Monster? Sure… what story… doesn't have… a villain… or a bad guy…"

He wobbled, clutching his throat, eyes raging but glinting with some twisted respect. He raised his sword one last time, but his arm gave out. Breaths faded, steps faltered, and he crashed to the cold ground - done.

I crawled closer, heart pounding from pain and a weird thrill, confirming it: no pulse, no breath, no life. I grabbed a handkerchief, soaked up his neck blood, zipped it in a bag, and pocketed it. With the Nomu hand from USJ and this? Future leverage - big time.

No doubt - Stain, terror of the hero world, was dead beside me like a mangled mutt, gone in the most pathetic way possible.

And looks like I'm not far behind.

No way this can happen.

Hell nah. I can't die here. If I toast, it's all for nothing. Himiko would regress, becoming a monster far worse than in the original timeline. That god-awful ending, that final battle…

"Ryuga… what the hell's this…?"

Izuku, Tenya, Shoto, and worst of all, Himiko - they'd shown up to back me. Fuck, I forgot they'd roll in. They looked wrecked, gaping at the mess in front of them.

Everything… blurring… pain's kicking in… cold too…