Chapter 2: The King of the Masquerade
After Izuku finished talking into his soul, he finally opened his eyes.
As he opened his eyes, he noticed that instead of waking to a dark, cold sky, his eyes were staring at the warm morning sun.
"Was that all just a dream?" The four-armed boy thought to himself. "Maybe I was hallucinating. I did eat spoiled meat after all."
He touched his stomach, surprised to feel only hunger, no sign of the sickness that should have followed eating rancid food. "I guess my immunity to poisons carried on. Even the brat never got sick after eating my cursed finger."
The cursed child then touched his face and noticed that his cheek was dripping red.
As he touched his cheek, Izuku lamented that, "This is the same spot where that idiot cut me. I guess Wasuke really is in my soul. Time in the soul does work differently than time in the real world. It took one real-life day for the brat to get relieved, but only took 0.2 seconds for the conversation between me and Mahito. But if he is in my body, where the hell is h–"
"YOU'RE FINALLY UP!" a voice bellowed from below. Izuku looked down to see the mouth on his stomach stretched into a furious scowl.
"Jeez, Izuku. Don't tell me you're still mad about me slashing you." The four-armed boy's glare was his only answer. "Speaking of my quirk, have you tried using your cursed energy yet?"
Izuku, after hearing his brother's request, turned his head looking for something to crush around the alley and found a brick to his right side.
Izuku then picked up the brick with his lower right arm and concentrated all of his cursed energy into his lower fist.
As he closed his eyes, blue energy started to form into his hand.
The four-armed boy kept on focusing on breaking the brick, cracks started to form around the brick every second, until 12 seconds later.
CRACK
Izuku finally completely closed his fist, as dust seeped from the open parts of his hand, landing on the floor.
"WOW! That was... sad." The mouth replied, a look of disappointment on his face.
"Your right, it was pathetic."
"Huh?"
"For a normal child, this would be impressive. But my body is as strong as a normal teenager due to our unique circumstances. An average sorcerer that age would have done it in half the time. It was pathetic."
"I thought that you were the strongest sorcerer alive, Izuku." The mouth on Izuku's stomach commented while smirking. "I didn't think that someone so strong and feared could be so weak."
"Shut it, brat." Izuku snarled, "It's probably due to how different quirks are from cursed energy. With cursed energy, 80% of your potential comes from your innate technique which comes from your genetics. Most of the time, the sorcerer with the strongest technique always wins even if the other opponent is more experienced. If you're a sorcerer, if you have a powerful technique, you will always be powerful but if you have a weak technique you will always be weak."
"However, with quirks it's different." The four armed boy continued. "Even though some quirks are more useless than others, quirks from birth all start out weak. If someone with an average quirk trained and someone with a strong quirk didn't, the average person actually has a chance to be the stronger quirk in a fight. However, with cursed energy, Gojo with just his birth alone caused curses to have to get stronger due to his presence. Even seasoned assassins were too scared to kill him because of his power even when he was a kid."
"Now then." As Izuku stands up facing the alley wall. "Since my cursed energy output is so weak now, let's see how strong my slashes are."
Izuku closes his eyes and fills his upper right hand with cursed energy. He then opens his eyes and swings his arm shouting out "DISMANTLE!"
However, to his surprise, not a single scratch was on the wall.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!" Wasuke laughed from his older brother's stomach. "YOUR A FUCKING IDIOT! Did you seriously forget that only I can use the slash?! You really are an idiot—"
THUMP
"OOWWW. What the hell was that for?!"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU LET ME USE YOUR SLASHES?!" Izuku screamed down to his stomach.
"Because you didn't give me control!"
"Huh?"
"You didn't give me control of your arm!" Wasuke explained, his voice filled with exasperation. "Even if shrine resides in our body, we can only use shrine with my soul. Since I didn't have control of our arm, I wasn't able to fire a dismantle with just my mouth. If you want to be able to use your cursed technique, you are going to have to let me use one of your arms for a sec."
Izuku looks down at his brother, closes his eyes and then signs. "Fine Wasuke, but as soon as you fire your dismantle I am taking back my arm."
Izuku then looks into his soul and temporarily cuts his lower left arm from his connection. The second he does, Wasuke is able to move the arm.
"WOW!" Wasuke exclaimed, moving the lower left arm. "It is so nice to be able to stretch in the real world again!" He put the arm back down. "Now then, let me show you how a real master gets to work." He took a deep breath. "DISMANTLE!"
SLASH
As Wasuke slashes his arm, a small scratch the size of a brick appears on the wall.
"Wow." Izuku says with a smirk. "I didn't think that the great Wasuke's slashes were so pathetic."
"SHUT IT IZUKU! YOU KNOW MY SLASHES ARE THIS SMALL BECAUSE OF MY LACK OF CURSED ENERGY!"
As Izuku smirks down triumphantly at his brother, he notices that his stomach is starting to rumble.
"URRGGGG! Why are we so hungry?!" Wasuke laments, his voice filled with frustration. Izuku then realizes that Wasuke probably is more affected by hunger due to him being on his stomach.
"Well," Izuku says. "I haven't eaten anything since last night. We need to go get something to eat."
"And how are we going to do that? We're flat-out broke."
"It's simple," Izuku said. "We're going to steal the money."
"SERIOUSLY?" Wasuke yelled. "After all that talk about selfless heroes , you're going to break the law just because your stomach is rumbling?"
"We are broke and we need food to survive. Hell, we even need more food than an average 5 year old due to our quirks. I may only be as strong as a teenager now, but with cursed energy, I am definitely stronger than an average person."
Wasuke's mouth then shifted to an angry expression. "Then if you steal, I am not going to help you."
"What?"
"You heard me. I am not going to help you. We're supposed to be selfless heroes. What kind of selfless hero steals money from helpless civilians?"
"Then if you're not going to help, I will just steal the money by myself."
"Then I will just start screaming as soon as you steal something. I bet it will be hard to get away if your mouth was yelling 'HELP! HELP! I JUST STOLE MONEY FROM A HELPLESS LADY BECAUSE I AM SUCH A HUGE DICK' the whole time." Wasuke then smugly smirks.
"Then I will just take control of your mouth," Izuku threatened.
"If you really were going to do that, you would have done that already."
"...damn. This must be how the brat felt like having me in his body." Izuku lamented. "Fine. We wouldn't steal from anyone."
"Thank god. I didn't want to go to jail due to you being a colossal dumbass."
"But we still need to eat something." As the four-armed boy looked at his upper left hand.
Izuku then slowly but painfully scratched himself with his upper right hand in a grotesque fashion from his hand all the way to his elbow.
"WHAT THE HELL MAN." Wasuke screams. "THAT FUCKING HURTS."
Izuku after he scratches his hand focuses his cursed energy as blood trickles down to the floor. Suddenly, steam appears on his arm and after five seconds his arm is completely healed.
"At least I can still use reversed cursed technique in order to heal myself."
"That's good and all, but WHY THE HELL DID YOU CUT OUR ARM FOR?!"
"To test how good my healing was."
"YEAH BUT WERE NOT HURT RIGHT NOW YOU ASSHOLE!"
"We're going to be."
"What do you mean 'We're going to be–"
CRUNCH
"FUUCCCCKKK!"
As Wasuke screams in pain, Izuku bites a piece of his arm off and then chews it.
"WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?"
"If we're not going to steal from anyone, we're going to have to eat something; especially if we have to eat more than any normal person." Izuku then swallows the piece in his stomach. "Then that something is going to be our arm." Izuku then takes another bite out of his upper left hand.
"But do we have to result to cannibalism?" Wasuke asks with his mouth looking like it's going to puke.
"If you want to be a selfless hero, then you're going to have to make selfless sacrifices." Izuku comes up another bit from his arm. "Plus, it's good way to train my reversed cursed technique."
Izuku then lets Wasuke take control of his lower right arm. "Get something to eat. I know you are hungry."
Wasuke then takes a deep breath saying that "This is going to be a rough lifetime."
2 Weeks Later at 8:45 pm
It has been two weeks since Izuku and Wasuke were kicked out of their mother's house. They have spent most of their time in the streets training their cursed energy by punching already damaged walls, jumping and sprinting from alley to alley, and finally meditating in order to gain more cursed energy efficiently. With this training, Izuku is now as strong as an average martial artist using both his enhanced body and cursed energy. Even if this progress is minimal due to how long quirks take to mature in power, it is still progress none the less. Izuku also trained his reverse cursed technique by using it to self-cannibalize for food. Since Wasuke didn't want to steal from innocent people and Izuku was too proud of a person to beg for money, the twins had to eat their own arms for food and come out of the alleys to drink the city's public water at the water fountains. This morbid practice had honed their healing abilities, reducing the time it took to fully regenerate their arms from two minutes down to one minute and forty seconds.
When not training or killing bugs and rodents for fun, Izuku roamed the streets of Musutafu, a walking contradiction in his grimy clothes and with his unsettling gaze. He studied the city's underbelly, mapping out escape routes and potential threats while searching for a way out of his homeless existence.
As the boy was doing his nightly rounds while stomping on some ants, he heard a scream come from one of the alley ways.
"What do you think that was?" Wasuke's voice questioned from the mouth on Izuku's stomach. Izuku's lower two eyes, which he had begrudgingly given Wasuke to help scout, glanced up at his twin.
"I don't know. Let's find out." Izuku scanned the buildings, spotting a fire escape eight feet away. He channeled cursed energy into his legs and leapt, clearing the distance in a single, powerful bound. A second jump took him to the roof, and from there he moved with silent speed, jumping from rooftop to rooftop until he found the alley the scream had come from.
"Please gentlemen, let's just have a friendly chat." A man against a wall side with a permanent, cynical smirk on his face. Even though he looked like he was in his thirties, he looked like a man who had been carved from a block of city grime—thin, with a sharp, angular face and a mop of wild, unkempt blond hair that seemed to defy gravity. The most striking thing about him, however, was his eyes, which were almost always half-lidded, giving him a perpetually bored and unimpressed expression. He was dressed in a simple dark suit, a sharp contrast to the chaotic world he operated in, and wore a pair of small, circular sunglasses perched on his nose. He had gloved hands, which were in the air in a sarcastic way.
"Enough with the games! Where the hell is our money Giran!" A tiger man roared out to the man as he put his hand against the wall, trapping Giran. The tiger man's face, broad and scarred, was dominated by a jagged mark that ran from his brow to his jaw, a brutal souvenir from a past fight. He was built like a brick wall, his massive frame straining the seams of a grimy tank top, and his arms were as thick as tree trunks. He looked to be a man of a few words, but of brute force, and the low, guttural growl directed at the suited man showed that no one could dare cross his path.
"You should listen to the man, you crooked teeth bastard." As blue electricity sparked down his hand. "Unless you want to get fried HAHAHAHAHA!" Unlike his hulking partner, This thug was all wired energy, a lean and twitchy figure with a wild shock of hair that seemed to stand on end. His eyes were wide, and a manic grin was perpetually plastered on his face. His quirk was a simple yet effective one: the ability to generate and release powerful bursts of electricity from his hands. He looked arrogant and prone to fits of insanity, a live wire ready to blow, and his laugh was a high-pitched, mocking sound that promised a world of hurt.
"What should we do Izuku?" The mouth on Izuku's stomach said with a worried expression.
"We wait." Izuku stated coldly. "As soon as those two kill him, we'll kill the thugs and take all their money."
"WHAT?! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SUGGESTING THAT?!" Wasuke shot back. "We can't just let that man die, and we can't kill the other two!"
"Why not? All of them are clearly villains or at least work with the black market. If they die, then wouldn't it be a good thing?"
"Because heroes don't kill, you idiot! I've told you this a million times," Wasuke insisted, his mouth twisting in a furious scowl.
"Yuji killed."
"The only people that Yuji killed were Eso, Kechizu, and Mahito's disfigured transformations, which were all more curse than human. He even tried to save you but you killed yourself before he even had the chance because you were to much of a pride asshole to admit that Yuji won." Wasuke continued on to explain. "Curses only nature is to kill people, that is why sorcerers had to exorcize them. People have the ability to change; that's why we can't kill them."
Izuku then signed. "Fine. I will not kill them. But if the guy with glasses has nothing of value, I'm taking his money."
As the two thugs kept arguing with Giran, suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the rooftop against the night sky.
CRASH
Izuku landed with a large crack on the ground, on top of the tiger man, the sound swallowed by the alley's dense air. The landing itself, a testament to his ingrained control, was all it took. The tiger thug, standing directly in his descent path, collapsed instantly, the air knocked from his lungs by a pressure wave he couldn't even perceive. He didn't even have time to scream before he was out cold. With just one quick move, Izuku's biggest physical challenge was taken down in an instance.
The second thug froze, his eyes wide with shock. He watched as the four-year-old with four arms appeared out of nowhere. The alley's air began to crackle as blue light sparked from his hands.
"Y-you… you're a monster!" the man stammered, raising his hands. A surge of electricity arced between them, illuminating his panicked face.
Izuku simply sighed, a sound of profound boredom. A faint blue glow—invisible to the naked eye—began to coat his skin. The thug, blinded by rage and fear, lunged forward, thrusting his electrified hands. Izuku ducked low, letting the bolts sing harmlessly over his head before the man swung a clumsy haymaker.
Izuku's eyes, all four of them, were impassive. He shifted his weight, rotating on the balls of his feet, and slipped inside the man's guard. He drove his upper left hand into the man's elbow, the force of the strike enhanced by the cursed energy flowing beneath his skin. The thug cried out in pain as the joint dislocated. He reeled back, clutching his arm, but before he could recover, Izuku was already moving. He moved his upper right arm with blinding speed, a blur of motion that a normal human eye could not follow. He landed a precise chop to the side of the man's neck. The thug's eyes rolled back in his head as his muscles went slack, the lightning on his body fizzling out in a final, weak hiss. He slumped against the grimy alley wall and slid into an unconscious heap.
Izuku looked down at the two unconscious men, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Unlike most people, Izuku was used to fighting in new bodies so he knew that the fight wouldn't be much of a challenge. He still hoped for a better fight, a true challenge to his strength. He sighed again and looked at the suited man, who was clapping his hands with glee.
"I'm impressed." Said Giran with a snarky smile. "I never thought that someone as young as you could be able to take on two adults."
"Shut it." Izuku said as he searched both of the thugs' wallets. Combined they had fifteen thousand yen in their wallets.
"Is that any way for you to speak to your elders?" Giran then began to look into his pocket to light a cigarette
Izuku, after he collected the money, started to walk up to Giran. "Name me one reason why I shouldn't knock you out and steal your money?"
"Unlike those buffoons, I have something worth far more than a couple of thousand yen."
"Like what?"
"Tell me," As Giran finally lights up his cigarette. "Have you ever heard of Underground Masquerade?"
30 Minutes Later
"I thought the Underground Masquerade was shut down three years ago," Izuku said, staring at the passing blur of Musutafu from the train window. Giran sat beside him, lighting another cigarette.
"You're pretty knowledgeable for a kid," the broker commented. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Four."
Giran choked on a puff of smoke. "You're only fouir?! How long have you even had your Quirk? How do you even remember the Masquerade?"
"We're getting off topic, Giran."
"Sorry, kid," Giran chuckled, exhaling smoke. "It's just not often you see a four-year-old take down two thugs. All Might might have captured all the fighters in Osaka, but that hasn't killed the Masquerade. It's too profitable. High-paying bettors and black market dealers like me love it. It's practically impossible to make money from normal crime anymore, but the Masquerade is the safest place for criminals to make a quick buck. You either bet on the fighters, sponsor the fighters, or you provide them with support items to help them win."
"And you want to sponsor me?" Izuku's four eyes narrowed in anger. "Why in the hell would I fight in a death pit for you?"
"Because you have to," Giran replied, his voice losing its playful edge. "I can tell you're homeless just by looking at you, and you were scouring those goons for cash. But I can tell something else about you—you love to fight. You took down two experienced thugs in a second. I also saw how you looked after the fight. You were disappointed, wanting more. This fight club is perfect for both of us. You get to enjoy fighting and get paid, while I earn a cut by providing support and sponsoring you."
"Are you seriously listening to this guy?!" a frustrated voice snapped but whispered from a mouth on the side of his face. Izuku had ordered him to keep a low profile to keep Giran from learning all of their secrets, but Wasuke's temper got the better of him. "You were the one who said this could be a trap!"
Izuku knew Wasuke was right. It could very well be a trap. However, Giran was also right about something else. They had made no real progress in the past two weeks, only getting stronger. Izuku wanted, no, needed, a real fight. The two thugs had left him with an unsatisfied desire to fight, to destroy. Besides, even if this were a trap, his powerful Quirk would make escape easy.
"Fine then," Izuku said, looking directly at Giran. "I agree to fight for you in the Masquerade. When's my first fight?"
"Hold on, kid. We need to land in Hosu first," Giran said with a grin. "Besides, you can't fight in those rags. You'll embarrass me. Let's get you a costume first."
Hosu City at 10:00 pm
After their arrival in Hosu, Giran and Izuku went straight to one of the broker's safe houses to find Izuku a proper costume.
As Izuku sifted through a pile of what looked like discarded theater costumes, hand brushed against a peculiar fabric. It was coarse but surprisingly well-made. He pulled it out and held it up. It was a black kimono, but a closer inspection revealed subtle, intricate red patterns woven into the fabric. The patterns seemed to writhe and coil, mimicking the cursed tattoos that covered his own body.
Accompanying the kimono was a red hood, its color so deep it was almost black in the dim light. Attached to the hood was a gruesome, red Oni mask, its features contorted into a terrifying snarl. The mask was more than just a decoration; it was a perfect replica of a Japanese folklore monster, a demon so terrifying that it could freeze men in fear.
He held the ensemble in his hands, feeling a strange connection to it. It was both a disguise and a statement. It would hide his monstrous features, but at the same time, it would embrace the monstrous nature of his past. It was the perfect outfit for a reborn demon to wear.
As Izuku was admiring the mask, Giran approached from behind. "Well, you have a good eye, kid. That's probably the only piece of clothing here that would fit your size." He pointed to a door on the other side of the room. "As soon as you put it on, we're leaving."
Izuku went to change and found that the costume fit him perfectly. The kimono covered his tattoos, his extra mouth, and his second pair of arms. His pink hair was hidden by the red hood, and his four eyes were still able to see clearly through the mask's eye holes.
When Izuku emerged, Giran clapped, congratulating him on his new look. "Why are you still holding onto those rags?" he asked, pointing at Izuku's old, dirty clothes. "I can provide you with new ones after you win."
Izuku looked down at the clothes. Besides his red shoes, they were the last things his mother, Inko, had given him. He sighed and threw them into a nearby trash can. He wasn't Izuku Midoriya anymore.
After leaving the safe house, they arrived at a private parking garage at 10:45 pm next to a hotel called The Unveiled Inn. As they approached the entrance, two guards stepped out from the shadows.
"Sorry, can't do that," one of the guards replied. "Unless you have a parking pass, you're not allowed. We could fight, but what's the price of that?"
Giran lit a cigarette and gave his calm answer. "A life."
The guards looked at each other, nodded, and stepped aside, allowing them to enter.
Inside the garage, another set of guards stood watch in front of an elevator. Unlike the first two, these were much more direct.
"Why do you wear a mask?" one asked.
Giran gave his response. "To show my true face."
As the two guards separate from each other, Giran and Izuku head into the elevator. Giran entered a code of numbers into the floor selection however Wasuke formed an eyeball on Izuku's hand in order to see the code. Giran entered the codel—78475#—and the elevator began to descend. As they went down, the muffled sound of a crowd grew louder, morphing into a chaotic roar. The air grew thick and heavy, carrying the smells of sweat, stale beer, and the metallic tang of fresh blood.
Then, the elevator doors opened.
Izuku found himself in a vast, subterranean chamber carved from what looked like a derelict subway station. The entire space was a chaotic, dizzying amphitheater. A single, powerful spotlight illuminated the central fighting pit below. It wasn't a ring with ropes but a simple, blood-spattered concrete circle with no rules, no boundaries. A low, metal fence separated the fighters from the ravenous crowd.
Around the pit, the bleachers were packed with a rogues' gallery of society's outcasts: brokers in sharp suits, thugs roaring with excitement, and faces filled with greed, desperation, or pure bloodlust.
At the center of it all, two figures moved in a blur of motion, Quirks flaring to life—one a cascade of ice shards, the other a series of sharp, vibrating strikes. This was the Underground Masquerade, a place where Quirks were not tools for heroism but weapons of entertainment. It was a place where strength was the only currency, and for Izuku, it felt both familiar and strangely new.
As Izuku and Giran walked to a table, a man in a red suit looked like he was writing something down. As Izuku approached, he was surprised. The man lifted his head, and Izuku was staring at his own reflection. Where a face should have been, a sleek, black DSLR camera body sat on his neck. A wide, polished lens acted as his singular eye, and small red lights flickered on a miniature LCD screen where his chin would be.
Giran greeted him with a casual tone. "Hey, Kiroku, long time no see."
The camera's lens immediately responded, focusing on Giran. "Giran, what are you doing back here? Are you here to sign up a new fighter? Are you sure you want to do this? The last guy you sponsored pissed his pants after his equipment failed and passed out."
"That last guy was a pushover," Giran said. "This kid has a lot more fighting spirit. Plus, he's not even using any support items."
"Well, if you want to lose more money, that's not my problem." Kiroku's lens swiveled to Izuku. "How soon do you want him to fight?"
"Yesterday."
"Are you sure? This fighter hasn't lost at all this month. The kid could get himself killed."
"He needs the money and is willing to fight anyone for it," Giran stated calmly.
"Alright then." Kiroku looked down at his papers. "What's the kid's name?"
Giran's hand went to his forehead. "Damn, all this time, and I never asked you." He looked back at Izuku. "So, kid, what's your name?"
Izuku hadn't thought about giving himself a name. He wouldn't give his real name to Giran, but what should he name himself? Then he realized the answer was obvious. He was trying to go by a new name, but he could still use his old title.
He looked at Giran and answered. "Ryomen Sukuna."
Giran's eyes widened. "The chieftain from the Hida province? Why the hell would you want to be named after him?"
"It suits me," Izuku replied simply.
"Okay," Kiroku's lens focused on the paper as he wrote the name down. "Your first fight is at 11:20. Don't die."
The Masquerade waiting room at 11:18
Izuku sat motionless in the chair, his eyes closed. On the outside, he was a picture of perfect stillness, a statue of black and red waiting for the call to war.
But inside the four-armed boy's soul, Izuku and Wasuke were locked in a quiet, simmering argument that had been raging for hours.
"Izuku, this is a bad idea," Wasuke pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. "We're in way over our heads. You heard that camera guy; we could die in this fight. And what if the heroes show up? They busted the last Masquerade three years ago. What's stopping them from doing it again?"
"What other choice do we have, Wasuke?" Izuku's voice was a flat, cold reply. "We could run, but Giran already has a bad reputation here. If we run, he's going to hunt us down for embarrassing him. We also need this money. We've been on the streets for two weeks with nothing to show for it. Yes, it's illegal, but it's the only way to make a living without hurting someone in the process."
Just as their endless back-and-forth reached a stalemate, the door opened. A woman in a dark uniform and a simple mask entered the room. Her voice was flat and professional.
"Ryomen Sukuna," she announced. "You're up."
Without a word, Izuku stood, his entire being focused on the door. He felt Wasuke sigh of defeat inside, but he ignored it. The time for talking was over.
As Izuku waited at his entrance of the subterranean arena, all he could smell in the air was booze and blood. A low roar spread in the arena into a deafening crescendo as a single, blinding spotlight fell upon the fighting pit. The concrete ring, scarred with the history of countless brutal battles, was ready. A voice, amplified by crackling speakers, boomed through the chamber.
"Ladies and gentlemen! In this corner, a man whose skin is a fortress and whose power is a storm! He has taken down every single opponent with the ferocity of a wild beast! He is the champion of the Underground Masquerade! Standing at a terrifying six feet, four inches and weighing in at a colossal 350 pounds of pure rage, give it up for the one, the only... GLADIGATOR!"
A deep, guttural roar answered the call as a massive figure emerged from a dark tunnel. He was a colossal alligator man, his thick hide covered in brutal, makeshift armor that resembled a beast of myth. He held a hammer and an axe, both of which hummed with a dangerous, blue energy. He stomped toward the pit, each step shaking the ground, his eyes burning with an unholy fire as the crowd roared his name. He was the king of this pit, and every ounce of him radiated a ferocious confidence.
The announcer's voice cut through the chaos once more. "And in the opposing corner, a new challenger. A newcoming rookie who's eager to get at the champ. He may look small, but we have been told that this boy's power is that of a demon! Weighing in at only 90 pounds of pure, bone-breaking muscles, coming to the ring now… RYOMEN SUKUNA!"
A collective gasp went through the crowd as a small figure appeared from the opposite tunnel. He didn't stomp or swagger. He simply walked, his black kimono fluttering with each silent step. The red hood was drawn, casting a shadow over his face, and the gruesome, grinning Oni mask concealed his features completely. There was no wild cheering for him, only a chilling silence as he entered the pit, a stark contrast to his opponent's thunderous arrival. He was an anomaly, a whisper of death in a world of roars.
The two fighters stood at opposite ends of the pit, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. One, a beast of raw power and brute strength, the other, a chilling enigma shrouded in mystery.
The crowd in the bleachers, a rogues' gallery of society's dregs, howled at the reptilian man. "Gladigator! Gladigator!" The sound was a guttural chorus of anticipation expecting him to win.
Izuku, in his black kimono and red oni mask, stood utterly still. He was a small, unassuming figure, a mere child against a titan. Two of his arms were loose at his sides, his stance relaxed. He felt the cold disgust of the crowd's expectations, their hunger for violence. He had seen this before, countless times in his past life. This was not a fight for honor or principle. This was a slaughter for entertainment.
"Are you scared, little one?" Gladigator boomed, his voice a gravelly roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the pit. He slammed his hammer against the concrete floor, sending a spiderweb of cracks across the ground and a shockwave of raw force that sent a shiver through Izuku's feet.
Izuku said nothing as the announcer yelled "GOOOOOO!"
Izuku started the fight by vanishing in the air. He moved with a speed that defied his small size, a blur of motion fueled by the cursed energy flowing through his veins. He didn't use his innate technique; he didn't even consider it. This was about physical combat. He appeared behind Gladigator, a fist, no, two fists, slamming into the back of his knee. The blow carried the force of a battering ram, but it was like striking a mountain. It barely made the monster stumble.
"You runt!" Gladigator roared, spinning around and swinging his hammer. The blow was blindingly fast for a creature his size, but Izuku was faster. He ducked under the swing and drove a palm strike into the gator's sternum. The blow would have shattered a normal man's ribs, but it simply bounced off Gladigator's thick, scaly hide. A look of bored disinterest flickered in Izuku's four eyes.
"His hide is tougher than it looks", he thought, his mind already calculating. "And the armor absorbs the rest. Simple physical strikes won't work".
Izuku continued his barrage of non-lethal strikes. He moved like a ghost, a flurry of kicks and jabs, each one enhanced by cursed energy, landing on Gladigator's legs, torso, and arms. A normal opponent would have been crippled in seconds, but Gladigator just laughed, his thick, reptilian skin barely bruised. This was a test of endurance, and Izuku knew he was at a severe disadvantage. The gator man simply didn't tire.
"Quick stinging me you little pest!" Gladigator bellowed, slamming his hammer down again. This time, a blinding bolt of blue lightning shot out, arcing across the pit. Izuku saw it coming and with a grunt, he channeled cursed energy into his arms in order to block. The lightning struck with a deafening crack, Izuku's arms were burned with parts of his kimono ripped and the force of the blast sent him skidding back across the concrete floor, dazing Izuku for just a split second.
It was all the opening Gladigator needed. He charged forward, his massive hammer swinging at Izuku sending him flying in the air.
The crowd roared, sensing the end of the fight. Gladigator raised his hammer high, ready to end it. Izuku, struggling to his feet with shaky arms, knew his physical attacks were useless. Inside his soul, a boiling torrent of cursed energy raged, but he couldn't unleash it. His true power was tied to Wasuke.
"Wasuke!" Izuku urged, his voice strained.
A new mouth formed under the mask on Izuku's chin. "Changed your mind about running away, you. moron?!" Wasuke's voice was sharp with irony.
"Shut it. My punches do nothing. I need you to use our slashes."
Wasuke took control of Izuku's right arm, focused energy into his arm armed slashing at his aggressor.
SLASH
But the slash merely glanced off Gladigator's thick hide.
"Was that your Quirk?!" Gladigator roared, raising his hammer. "Pathetic!"
He lunged with a roll, but Izuku nimbly dodged. Gladigator's hammer slammed into the concrete where he had been moments before.
"Stop being a coward, brat!" Gladigator bellowed, giving chase.
"IT'S NO USE!" Wasuke yelled as Izuku sprinted away. "I told you my slashes are weak right now! Without cursed energy, they're as worthless as tits on a boar hog!"
A thought struck Izuku, and he came to a sudden halt, turning to face the enraged gator.
"Why the hell did you stop?! Do you want us to get killed?!"
"Wasuke," Izuku said calmly. "You said your slashes are weak without cursed energy, right?"
"YEAH! WHAT'S YOUR POINT?!"
"When I was reborn on this earth, I chose to embrace the curse of twins instead of disregarding it entirely," Izuku explained. "What if, instead of one of us taking control, we both control our body at the same time while using our quirks?"
Wasuke was silent. Izuku had never wanted him to have control of their body, and it had taken two weeks just to convince him to manifest eyes and mouths. They had never even attempted to share control of a limb.
"Izuku, are you insane?! We've never tried this before!"
"Battle is the best way to improve," Izuku stated. "Unless you want to die, this is our only option."
Gladigator, seeing them stop, sneered. "Finally growing a pair? Fine. Since you're not a coward anymore, I'll give you one free shot. Not like it'll do you any good." He stood still, exposing his chest as a show of his invincibility.
This was their chance. Izuku and Wasuke both focused their energy into Izuku's right arm. After channeling their power, they shouted in unison, "DISMANTLE!"
SLASH
A single, impossibly fast dismantle shot from Izuku's palm. It struck Gladigator's armor with a sound like tearing steel. A perfect, thin line appeared across the gator's chest, and a trickle of blood seeped through the crack. The armor was pierced. Surprised that Izuku was actually able to hurt him, Gladigator roared in defiance, his eyes burning with a blinding rage.
He hit Izuku to the side with his hammer, slamming him against the concrete, but the boy's body felt like a stone. Izuku was already moving, his tactics changed in an instant. The moment his feet touched the ground, he was gone, a phantom flitting in and out of the gator's vision. Izuku no longer used blunt strikes. He used the incantation to create a series of quick, precise dismantles that left shallow cuts on Gladigator's legs, arms, and neck. Each dismantle was a thin, perfect line, so precise that the crowd didn't even notice them at first. Gladigator's roars of rage became more frequent. He swung his hammer and axe with wild fury, tearing up the concrete, but Izuku was a ghost, a blur of motion that was always just out of reach.
The small cuts began to add up, a spiderweb of red lines forming all over the gator man's body. His movements, once so deceptively quick, were now sluggish and clumsy as the multiple cuts bled and his thick blood coated the ground. He bellowed in frustration, slamming his hammer into the concrete, sending a shockwave of raw force across the pit. Izuku's feet barely left the ground as he jumped, a burst of cursed energy enhancing his leap just enough to clear the rippling shockwave.
Tired from Izuku's hit-and-run tactics, Gladigator slammed his axe into the concrete and let it fall, taking a staggering step back and lowering his hammer to his side. The gator man's chest heaved with exaggerated, gasping breaths, his roars replaced by hoarse, wheezing grunts. He looked defeated, his massive body slumped and his eyes no longer filled with rage, but with a weary exhaustion.
Izuku, sensing an opening, darted in. He moved in a direct line, his instincts telling him that this was the moment to finish the fight.
But as he closed the distance, a cunning, predatory grin stretched across Gladigator's face. The exhaustion was a lie. With a guttural bellow, he brought his free fist crashing down onto the concrete floor. The impact was deafening, sending a powerful concussive tremor that ripped through the ground. The force rippled outward, not just shaking the pit but violently rattling Izuku's bones. The boy's senses were momentarily scrambled, and his feet lost their grip on the shuddering concrete.
It was all the opening Gladigator needed. He charged forward, his remaining hand seizing Izuku by the throat and lifting him into the air. The grip tightened, Gladigator's knuckles turning white as he snarled.
"Time to die you little monster!"
But even as Izuku's limbs went limp, Wasuke's mouth on his stomach opened, a look of grim determination was hidden inside of Izuku's kimono. As Izuku's hidden lower left arm began to move, surging with cursed energy, ready to unleash its true, destructive power as Wasuke said an incantation.
"Scale of the Dragon, Recoil, Twin Meteors."
Both of the twins say together, "DISMANTlE!"
The final, powerful attack erupted, not a thin cut, but a wide, all-encompassing slash that tore through Gladigator's armor and scales, carving a deep gash from his shoulder to his hip. The alligator man froze, his eyes wide in disbelief as his grip on Izuku went slack. A torrent of blood erupted from the wound, and with a final, choked gasp, Gladigator slumped to the ground, unconscious.
A stunned silence fell over the arena. The roar that had accompanied Gladigator's charge died in a collective, choked gasp as his massive body hit the ground with a sickening thud. The betting brokers froze, their hands hovering over betting slips, and the thugs in the bleachers sat motionless, their mouths agape. They had just watched their champion—the fearsome, undefeated Gladigator—fall to a small, masked child.
Then, the silence shattered. A collective roar of exhilaration erupted from the crowd. They weren't angry; they were thrilled. The old champion had been toppled, and a new, mysterious force had emerged. Cheering, shouts of "Sukuna! Sukuna!" and a storm of applause rained down from the bleachers.
But the excitement quickly soured into something darker.
"Finish him!" a gruff voice roared from the front row.
"Kill him! Kill him!" another joined in, the chant spreading like a virus through the crowd. Hands pounded on the metal railings, demanding blood. They had seen a new kind of power, and they wanted to see it taken to its bloody conclusion.
Izuku was about to leave. The fight was over, and all he wanted was his money. He had turned his back on the unconscious body of Gladigator, already a ghost walking away from the scene of the crime.
But as he took a step toward the edge of the pit, a single, cold thought cut through the detached silence of his mind. He looked over his shoulder at the fallen champion, and the sight of the still-heaving chest ignited a quiet, ruthless fury.
He's still breathing.
With a horrifying speed that the crowd's drunken minds couldn't follow, Izuku pivoted. His two arms shot out, not in a practiced form of a trained fighter, but in the raw, brutal form of a feral beast. He was back on top of the unconscious Gladigator in a blink, his fists descending like twin hammers.
The sickening thud, thud, thud of his punches echoed through the stunned arena, each blow filled with enough force to break apart a brick wall. Izuku's mind was a blur of pure rage and instinct. His cursed nature, suppressed for so long, screamed for him to finish the job, to extinguish the life that still clung to the gator man's body.
But as his upper left fist drew back for the final, killing blow, a new voice tore open on Izuku's chest. It wasn't the calm voice of Wasuke this time, but a scream of pure, unadulterated terror.
"IZUKU, SNAP OUT IT!" Wasuke's voice echoed, a primal cry from the depths of their shared soul.
Izuku's body froze mid-swing. The murderous rage that had consumed him vanished, replaced by a cold, numbing shock. His fists, poised to end a life, trembled. He stared down at the battered, bloody face of the unconscious Gladigator, the face of a man he had just almost beaten to death for no reason. And without a word, Izuku turned his back on the screaming, bloodthirsty crowd and walked away from the unconscious champion, leaving a trail of furious silence in his wake.
12:10 on the Streets of Hosu
"Good job, kid." Giran's voice was a low murmur as he counted a thick stack of yen. "I didn't think you'd actually beat Gladigator." He looked up, a satisfied smile on his face.
Izuku watched him with a blank expression. He hadn't said a word since they left the Masquerade, not even when Giran handed him a new pair of black sweatpants and a loose-fitting hoodie.
"You made us a hell of a lot of cash today," Giran said, handing the pink-haired boy a massive stack of bills. "Most of the bettors expected Gladigator to kill you, so we got a hell of a payout." He pointed down the alleyway. "Be at my safe house at 9:30 every night for the next fight. Spend that money smartly; you earned it." With a final nod, Giran disappeared into the darkness, leaving Izuku alone.
Left to himself, Izuku began counting the money. The total came out to 750,000 yen. With this, he could finally get off the streets and into a cheap apartment. It was a fortune.
"I'm glad you're happy for yourself," Wasuke said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Wasuke, I already told you, I didn't mean to almost kill him—"
"That's pretty hard to believe," Wasuke's mouth on Izuku's chest snarled. "One second, you were about to let him go, and the next, you just snapped and tried to beat him to death."
Izuku sighed, running a hand over his face. "Look, I couldn't help it. It's because of my cursed nature."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"My cursed nature," Izuku explained patiently. "You said it yourself—curses exist to kill humans. And because of how quirks work, I'm just like them. My quirk makes me want to hurt and kill every living thing in my way. Why do you think I was killing ants and rodents all the time? It wasn't just because I was bored. It was because I needed to find a way to vent my killing intent."
Wasuke fell silent. Izuku's lower eyes looked up at his brother with a mix of guilt and understanding. Wasuke hadn't known Izuku's quirk came with such malicious intent. It made him feel bad for getting angry, but it also presented a problem. How could they become heroes if one of them wanted to kill all the time? Then, an idea came to Wasuke.
"Fine then," Wasuke said, his voice firm. "Let's make a Binding Vow."
"What?" Izuku asked, his expression unreadable.
"You heard me," Wasuke snapped. "Here's the deal: you stop feeling so murder-happy in exchange for giving up ten percent of your power a day. And you can't kill anyone at all."
"Wasuke, why would I agree to that?" Izuku scoffed. "If I agree, I'll be giving up a tenth of my strength every single day just so I don't feel like killing someone."
"WE CAN'T BE HEROES IF YOU ACCIDENTALLY MURDER SOMEONE!" Wasuke shot back.
"Sometimes people need to die, Wasuke. I was a prime example. If Yuji and the other sorcerers hadn't killed me, I would've killed millions of people by the time they stopped me. And that doesn't even factor in what I could have done with the Merger."
"Fine then," Wasuke conceded, irritation in his voice. "How would you do the Vow?"
"Simple," Izuku stated. "I'll keep the same conditions you made. But I'll add one more: if we decide someone has to die for the safety of humanity, I can reclaim all the cursed energy we've stored to defeat them."
Wasuke's mouth fell open. "Wow. That is a way better Vow than mine."
"I am the King of Binding Vows, after all."
"Alright, you bastard," Wasuke said with a final nod. "Let's make the vow."
"Fine," Izuku agreed. "But if we ever need to use the vow, you are not allowed to argue with me."