Further Beyond (MHA/Exalted)
- Thread starter FixerUpper
- Start date
- Crossover
nmWarden
Webcomic Glutton
- Location
- Texas
Gang Orca made sure Izuku knows that a Hero must use their best judgment rather than go with the flow. All-Might is ensuring Izuku pays attention to the fundamentals. Bakugou (accidentally) ensured that Izuku deeply knows the power of words: Bakugou is no longer bullying him and Bakugou is getting the chance to become a hero. Tells Maki is building Izuku's confidence in half a dozen different ways.
How will these lessons affect this Isana v Izuku "fight?" I believe that one of Izuku's victory conditions will be to get Isana talking. We could learn about how the CRC is connected to canon villain groups. If this situation could turn incredibly dark... The best thing Izuku could do would be to lead Isana out of the building, since he is clearly capable of collapsing it, putting more lives at risk. He's a more visible target out in the open. And Izuku has been specifically training his mobility. I'm curious how Izuku will use his powers to enhance those lessons (and whether we might see a chat with his predecessor).
Also Isana just hurt a handicapped researcher. One competent and hard-working enough to be called "one of the good ones" by any racist with a lick of sense. A coward, through and through.
How will these lessons affect this Isana v Izuku "fight?" I believe that one of Izuku's victory conditions will be to get Isana talking. We could learn about how the CRC is connected to canon villain groups. If this situation could turn incredibly dark... The best thing Izuku could do would be to lead Isana out of the building, since he is clearly capable of collapsing it, putting more lives at risk. He's a more visible target out in the open. And Izuku has been specifically training his mobility. I'm curious how Izuku will use his powers to enhance those lessons (and whether we might see a chat with his predecessor).
Also Isana just hurt a handicapped researcher. One competent and hard-working enough to be called "one of the good ones" by any racist with a lick of sense. A coward, through and through.
- Location
- South of North
While I'm not terribly fond of the 'Give Frodo a Lightsaber, Give Sauron the Deathstar,' I have to admit it really is gratifying that the author isn't just letting Izuku trounce the entirety of the setting and giving him appropriately shounen challenges in line with his increased power levels and abilities.
I really hope we get a fast update on this, I want to see how epic Izuku gets with a real fight for the first time as an Exalted with One for All.
Edit: Also, assuming Izuku survives this, I think someone's going to get a letter of recommendation for UA.
I really hope we get a fast update on this, I want to see how epic Izuku gets with a real fight for the first time as an Exalted with One for All.
Edit: Also, assuming Izuku survives this, I think someone's going to get a letter of recommendation for UA.
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Hyacinthium
Writing about sad cannibals as we speak.
- Location
- Bedroom
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm also really digging how Izuku is both obviously improving while fumbling. There's a sense of realism in him not... Well, getting that he's exalted. Honestly who would? No one knows what the hell an exalt is in the setting. At least not anyone immediately available. Izuku has no way of doing what a player would, minmaxing every detail, and curing all ails in a matter of months.
Plus that gets old over time. I'm enjoying the slower fumbly rise to power lol. It's fun to see stuff like him accidentallying the tentacles, or making a web of clues like a the madlad he is.
Izuku trying to figure out his quirk is hilariously endearing too. This whole fic is just endearing.
- Location
- Little Rock, AR
Technically everyone. It's super intuitive. They were designed to hit the ground running in a genocidal super war against God.
ADeshantis
King on the Chromium Throne
- Location
- United states
Zeniths are the only ones who actually are guaranteed to know what exactly is going on. Everyone else just kinda starts glowing gold and doing shit better.
serra2
Himouto! Sylvanas-chan
And by "technically everyone", you mean "technically everyone in Creatiomn, a setting where the Gods and things that made the Gods exist and are known, where prayer has actually, measurable effects, and where magic Kung-fu powers totally exist."
Hyacinthium
Writing about sad cannibals as we speak.
- Location
- Bedroom
- Pronouns
- He/Him
And yet we aren't in Creation and I've legitimately never seen, in ten years, anyone play or write a freshly exalted person as intuitively knowing they need to fight a genocidal war against god. Get obscenely powerful sure. Get long term boring sure.
Godocidal? No.
Look. You seem to despise the direction, storytelling, and maybe even the thematic elements of this story. Why are you still reading it when the writer clearly doesn't want to do the classic SV hyper minmax optimization cliche?
I'm going to be blunt. You're massively overreacting and reading more from the statement than is actually there. At no point was it stated that an exalt knows the exaltation was created to fight the Primordials. All that was said is that because the exaltation was created in preparation for said war that it is intuitive (easy) to learn how to use the abilities the exaltation gives them.
Hyacinthium
Writing about sad cannibals as we speak.
- Location
- Bedroom
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Not overreacting, just autistic so I read their message as literal. Please don't overreact to a comment I made while feeling bored. You're putting way more meaning, attatchment, and subtext to my post then there actually is. I was perhaps too verbose or hyperbolic, but I'd hesitate to call that massive or overreacting. That person has done nothing but complain about the fic for quite a few updates now. I was genuinely asking why they're still here, because I'm confused at this point.
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I feel like I should step in to say let's all stay calm, but it looks like we're all good so good job everyone!
For the record, I'm assuming Larekko's comments are just slightly facetious because of how extreme they are. I'm not sure why someone who would hate this fic would leave a comment on every update, so I'm taking it as a positive sign that they're still here despite preferring a different style of Exalted story. I'm flattered I already have a defense though, it means I'm doing something even right-er.
More right.
Anyway, if you've ever listened to Neil Gaiman talk about criticism he approaches it from the angle of 'if the reader feels something is wrong there, they're almost always right - but if they tell you how to fix things, they're almost always wrong because then you're writing their story, not yours.'
That being said, I'm probably not going to change up Midoriya's fumble-fingered nature and there are enough reasons that I feel justified in that decision. You can tell me later if I was right or wrong in making it. ;3
For the record, I'm assuming Larekko's comments are just slightly facetious because of how extreme they are. I'm not sure why someone who would hate this fic would leave a comment on every update, so I'm taking it as a positive sign that they're still here despite preferring a different style of Exalted story. I'm flattered I already have a defense though, it means I'm doing something even right-er.
More right.
Anyway, if you've ever listened to Neil Gaiman talk about criticism he approaches it from the angle of 'if the reader feels something is wrong there, they're almost always right - but if they tell you how to fix things, they're almost always wrong because then you're writing their story, not yours.'
That being said, I'm probably not going to change up Midoriya's fumble-fingered nature and there are enough reasons that I feel justified in that decision. You can tell me later if I was right or wrong in making it. ;3
- Location
- Little Rock, AR
Fumbling is pain. But the incremental inches to the right idea are a joy. Honestly the big spill on it was a mistake helps.
Though it is getting to my threshold of wishing ill for the dumb dumbs. Specifically izuku realising he can be a super doctor way too late to actually fix allmight.
Speeking. Something that bothered me. Sure we can get past the whole not getting motes and everything. But he went through a lot of his caste skills without much to show for when dipping in on the investigating and the helping showed massive results.
Also he thinks his quirk is electromagnetism. Mostly cause the hard sun rays I guess but he has actually been able to do anything with it but glow and has been showing accelerated skill aquisition.
How come this idea persist? I mean izuku was no genius and with his sheer lack of confidence you'd think he'd doubt and realize it that way. Or start studying his power and trip occult. Or start need gaming and write a dissertation.
In-universe the reasoning is quite simple: there's no reason not to apply Occam's razor to the explanations. There's nothing that Midoriya has done that needs to be explained using farfetched 'maybe aliens did it' type explanations. In a world full of superpowers, people aren't really going to blink when it turns out that your quirk that you thought could do one thing can in fact do other things. We've already established that they know it can do some physical augmentation, to then say 'well, maybe it can improve reflexes, brain function, etc.' is not such a big leap.
But, uh, the following update will probably render most complaints moot? idk, tis' a maybe.
Speaking of which, it's ready, but I've got some time-critical other things that need to be done, if anyone is willing to volunteer to delete the ridiculous spaces between paragraphs I'll send it to you and you can send it back to me and we can then all get it a little earlier.
Yes, this is pretty damn lazy. I apologize. =3=;
But, uh, the following update will probably render most complaints moot? idk, tis' a maybe.
Speaking of which, it's ready, but I've got some time-critical other things that need to be done, if anyone is willing to volunteer to delete the ridiculous spaces between paragraphs I'll send it to you and you can send it back to me and we can then all get it a little earlier.
Yes, this is pretty damn lazy. I apologize. =3=;
- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
If it's just deleting spaces between paragraphs and not more serious editing work you can PM it and I can send it back.
Chapter Seven: Midoriya vs The Curator
There was no grandstanding.
The Curator – Isana – took a step forward, the pouring water behind him slowly tapering off, raised his arm, and said:
"Then die."
A bullet smashed into Midoriya's barrier. For a moment it seemed to fight the light from his quirk, metal sparking and hissing as it drilled its way through – then, without thinking, Midoriya reached out and slapped it away.
The bullet clanged as it hit the ground, metal steaming.
If he stopped to think, it would have been too late - but he was already in motion.
Electricity crackled and the world seemed to jump towards him, his footsteps leaving fading contrails of light in his wake. Devastation in the form of crushed workbenches, torn costumes and scattered concrete guns cleared a path between him and his foe.
Isana moved too, but compared to All Might, or even Tekka Maki, he seemed to be working in a world of slow seconds, barrel of the handgun waving languidly through the air, tracking him as his feet ate up the distance between them, another shot fired, and it sparked as it skipped off the bottom of Midoriya's palm, embedding itself in the ground below.
One, two, three-
Another bullet, but this one too high for the hero going low, a miss.
Now.
The whale's tail emerged, exiting from the backside of the villain's voluminous white coat. But if there was one thing that Midoriya had noticed from watching all those Youtube videos it was that Isana did not like using it as a tail – he would not turn around, not to give himself a paltry few feet meters of range. He thought of it as an extra limb, not a tail.
But it wasn't. And that vanity came at a cost.
The tail came at him again, broader than three men stacked one on top of another and heavy as two dozen, the sort of super move that could sweep a street clear of not only people, but cars and trucks.
Any normal hero wouldn't stand a chance.
Midoriya leapt, vaulting over it like the bar at a high jump, the tip of one fluke brushing a fold in his jumper hard enough to tear it, nearly sending him off course, before his feet hit the ground a heartbeat later.
If Isana had turned around, maybe he would have had enough range of motion to merely switch the direction of his tail slap and flick him away, but as it was, he'd overextended. And while the man was skilled, he wasn't so skilled that he could arbitrarily defy the laws of his own biology.
An eye widened. The gun barked again, so slow Midoriya could see the plume of light as it went off, see the bullet itself fly towards him.
Fist surrounded with golden fire, Midoriya pushed off the ground with his toes, wind roaring in his face, his speed such that the air behind him seemed to break, lights and delicate equipment shattering, leaving him a shining golden comet flying through the dark, light reflecting off the puddled water like a million little mirrors.
The bullet cut a crimson line across his side as his fist hit Isana full in the face. The bone-white mask shattered, odd barnacle-like growths toppling away, but even before the consequences of his first blow could tell, he had already delivered a second to the man's midriff a twist of his energy multiplying the impact fivefold so that it literally lifted the villain off his feet.
The gun clattered to the ground at about the same instant as Isana's boots did, ripples and small waves forming as he skid backward through the puddle.
Wheezing, Isana stumbled, falling to a knee. One hand covered his face, where the mask had been.
Midoriya breathed out. He felt – he felt cold and tired, suddenly, his bones a dull ache, clawing for his attention. Slowly, he picked up one of the many concrete guns littering the ground.
Aiming, he pulled the trigger.
The gun went 'click'.
"Why," Isana's voice was no longer dismissive, no longer contained, hoarse with pain and emotion emotion, the hand covering his face seeming to fumble and shake, "why do you animals always, always, always insist on getting in the way?"
Frantically, Midoriya checked the weapon, the was safety off, the expanding concrete foam cartridge set properly, the- his heart leapt up into his throat. The casing had been cracked letting in air, to prevent the gun from jamming the automatic features would-
He let the concrete gun fall and dove for another.
Isana was prideful, but it was the sort of pride that came from being a perfectionist. If he'd invaded Gang Orca's HQ, the alarms would have been cut, security circumvented, inside knowledge of the layout all to his benefit.
There were probably even Rejectionists, prowling the higher levels, attacking the few people still here.
Help wouldn't be coming.
He had to finish this before-
Isana raised his head, a manic glint in his eyes and Midoriya grabbed the second concrete gun, flicking off the safety, checking the cartridge, slamming it back into place – it had been jarred loose! - but he was slow, too slow, and hope died, stillborn, in his throat.
Isana's face wasn't right. Half was human. The other half… was like looking at a thing made of shadow, the boxy head of a monster lying at the bottom of some deep-sea abyss.
"You don't understand," Isana said, "You are perfect already. But those of us – those of us who are sick with this – this, abnormality, there's a cure."
Midoriya took a hesitant step back. Isana was growing now, his body rippling, white coat ripping as he grew, frighteningly, impossibly large, mouth full of shark-like teeth, clawed, too-long arms like something out of an Aliens movie slamming into, cracking the ground.
He fired, for all the good that it did. The fast-acting, fast-expanding piece of goop that could normally force a villain to stay prone didn't even manage to cover an entire tooth.
"HERE," the mouth as big as a barn said, breath like the sea thrown into a furnace, tongue dark as night, "LET ME SHOW YOU THE PRICE."
-------
Run.
A careless hand that could have upended bleachers in a stadium whipped through the room, knocking aside the few workstations and projects not already overturned by his tail.
Run.
Igarashi was still down, hair matted by blood, Midoriya scooped him up awkwardly and felt the burn in his muscles and body, a sealion was not small.
Run.
The elevator was behind Isana – of course it was, and so were the stairs.
Isana was more a force of nature than a man at this point, and didn't flop around like a whale might, but somehow… crawled, like a salamander, if a salamander's weight could be measured in tons and rattled like rolling thunder, the word crawled unequal to the sheer, breathtaking magnitude that was his rampage, breaking through the concrete with every step, the great big slabs that had been poured into its foundation flipping upwards where they didn't crack.
Run.
He jumped, feet finding purchase on an overturned workbench as the spot he was just standing was smashed into dust, Igarashi on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.
"I don't understand!" he called, not daring to break stride as he thought furiously.
In reply, Isana let out a keening wail.
It probably should have made him fall over, but for some reason, it had little effect. Midoriya bit the inside of his lips, confused, but kept moving.
Run.
There was the hole in the ceiling.
And what was he going to do, just jump up there? That had to be three storie – he ducked, the wind of Isana's enormous hand's passage ruffling his hair, before slamming into the wall, cratering it.
He was forced to jump again, twelve feet in an instant, feet skipping off an enormous knuckle as the hand went past again, this time lower, the sound it made as it brushed the ground like a broom the size of a house, trying to catch him on the ground.
"GIVE THAT ANIMAL TO ME."
"Stop calling him an," he stamped his foot, light flaring around him, brighter for just a second as the floor beneath him popped open, a concrete slab flipping over, before he spun and kicked it at Isana as if it were a soccer ball, "animal!"
It slammed into Isana's open palm. The villain made a fist and it crumbled like a piece of dry toast.
"His name," Midoriya panted, "is Igarashi."
In reply, Isana's hands plunged into the ground, dirt and concrete fountaining out between his fingers as he lifted both up.
"I DON'T CARE."
Then, he began to throw.
Concrete slabs the size of a man, broken workbenches, dirt, it all went flying, a barrage of missiles that could have flattened a castle wall.
Midoriya's eyes went wide.
On his shoulder, Igarashi chose the worst moment to stir. "Wh-"
He dropped him.
"Ow!"
He took a deep breath and bent his knees slightly. His arms came up, fists up at eye height. Palms out or fists up, it wouldn't make a difference, not here, in front of the hurricane.
"Don't worry, sir. I'm here."
"Midoriya-"
Like rain, the rocks fell.
He breathed out. Just like All Might had shown him: all he had to do was hit the mitts.
Step into the hurricane.
And punch.
Concrete shattered before him, metal bent, wood exploded. Debris built up like a palisade, each inch added to the wall, taken out of his bloody and bloodier knuckles, the occasional missile getting through, carving furrows through his clothes and scratching his rock-hard skin.
"Midoriya," Igarashi breathed, stunned.
The awe came too soon – and too late.
Fingers as broad as a sofa encircled him, pulling him up and away until he was staring at eye level with a watery eye the size of a car.
"YOU INSIGNIFICANT INSECT."
Midoriya's stomach shot upwards as he hit the ground, the awful crunch signalling his bones breaking despite the use of his barrier.
"WHAT," he went up, a half dozen meters in the space of a second, his body like a ragdoll in the hands of a child, then back down, the impact making a new crater in the ground and leaving his face a bloody mess, a sheet of it dripping down his face like a mask, staining his clothes, "A USELESS," up, then down, "QUIRK."
Midoriya whimpered.
Isana squeezed once more, and the boy screamed, finally, his bones and joints creaking and popping, then felt nothing: the enormous hand had opened. He fell, and landed in the dirt.
He did not get up.
Above, someone was speaking, in a voice like a storm, but Midoriya could barely hear anything, something about light and control.
The world was pain.
Finally, mercifully, it went away.
-------
When Midoriya opened his eyes, he saw the mountain again. There was something he needed to be doing, but he couldn't think of what it was right now.
He looked up. The mountain was different – well, maybe. He did not stand at the peak, but at its base. If he craned his head up he might be able to make out the beginning of its snow-shrouded and cloud-capped top where he had once stood, grasping pebbles.
The city at its base was a bewildering mix of architectural styles, some familiar, others unutterably foreign, dirt roads leading to gleaming glass canals, tent cities crammed next to golden spires of future tech, all of it achingly, puzzlingly nostalgic.
There was a man, sitting in front of him.
It took him a moment to realize he was a man, so still did he sit and so oddly fitting he was, a giant of a man, two meters tall, with coffee colored skin and a flame red hair and beard, dressed oddly in a combination of armor and workman leathers, a toolbelt across his waist, a hammer made of white stone by his side and bracers with a golden bird of prey motif etched into them wrapped around his forearms.
He smiled and patted the cobblestones next to him.
'It is time we spoke.'
Um.
"Sure?" said Midoriya, taking a seat.
'I am dead,' the man said. 'Or so I am told.'
"Oh."
'If I am honest, I do not much feel like a ghost.'
"Right," said Midoriya, who knew that was true, but couldn't quite think of one.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment or two, watching the silent city. Every now and then, he could have sworn that someone moved within it, but no, it was just the wind, making an awning flutter, the play of light against the sparkle of glass or gold.
'In life I believed I was worthy to rule and protect mortal kind. Now that I have passed on… I find that I do not know anymore.'
"Were you, um, like a politician?" Midoriya asked, though the word he wanted to say was 'king'.
'Nay. I was but a mere smith. When the plaguehounds came and drought with them, I could do no more than toil at the forge in service of my village, praying to the Sun for deliverance from the wretched heat.'
He shook his head.
'My prayers were granted for all the good they did.'
So many questions, of which the most important was:
"Did you, um, save them?"
The man looked up, staring into the sun. 'I saved what was left.'
"Then – then I think you did the right thing," Midoriya felt his eyes burn, rubbed them. "I tried to save three people, and I – I only saved one. From a car. I have – I have the power of All Might, why can't I-"
The redhaired man shook his head.
'That mighty flame you carry,' he tapped a finger on Midoriya's chest. 'It is not what you believe it to be. It can act like a source of strength, yes, but its greater purpose is to forge memories into mirrors. This very city and I myself are but two such expressions of its puissance.'
"There are others?"
'Those heroes of the flame itself are friendly enough, if not yet truly awake, but those of the sun...' his expression darkened, 'for all their power and breadth of experience, they lack the drive to see justice done.'
The word reminded him. He stood bolt upright.
"Mr. Igarashi! I need to save-" He felt something, like a needle, shoved into arm, then another and another, spikes of ghostly pain hammering into him. He froze, tendons standing out on his neck as he tried suppress it. "Grk!"
'The waking world beckons.'
A broad, callused palm covered his eyes, the heat of it enough to dull the pain.
'I cannot help you, not truly. But I can show you the way.'
Something whispered, a susurrus of half-formed somethings on the wind, more impressions than words.
'It is taught differently, in different places, but they all lead to the same source. I had no formal schooling in which to ground that which I know. All I can tell you is this: the world was born of flame and dust.'
His palm became hotter, so hot it was close to burning now. Behind his eyelids, Midoriya could see the birth of a world, something – not from nothing, no, something distilled, born within empyreal chaos.
'The world itself is shaped through the essence of thought and will. If you let it shape you, it will allow you to shape it.'
Midoriya felt it. It was – it wasn't something he could understand, it was something alien, being forced into his mind, burning through his thoughts, but at the same time, it was something basic too, the glue holding the universe together.
The fragile epiphany shattered. His head felt fit to burst, like using the entirety of One for All, but in his mind. He clutched his head, fingers circling the rough-hewn hand around his eyes. "I can't-"
'You must. It is a price you must pay. You are not yet ready. You have set foot on the path, and you are willing, but you lack the knowledge, lack the skill. To master even one working would be a miracle beyond your ken.'
"Please-"
'This is the only gift so easily passed on for it was one of those who stand upon the mountain that made it possible.'
Midoriya felt the world invert, then twist his consciousness fleeing inwards.
He saw an army, marching upon the backdrop of a red-gold dusk, creeping forward upon silver, alien sands that flowed like quicksilver, and trees that grew the wrong way up and whose shimmering bark grew warped and malignant reflections of what trespassed through their woods.
He saw mountains so tall and so cold that the air would freeze in your lungs before you reached the mid-point, of peaks and cliffs crawling with armies of the dead entombed within carapaces of discarded armor wielding blades of ice.
He saw a beast, so large that its head was half buried in a cloudburst, lightning forking from its colossal limbs, its fur spun out of a gold-black metal that crackled with contained energy bleeding viridian ichor.
He heard it die, its last, desperate howl somehow growing larger and more furious as a mercurial silver blade tore out its seventh and final heart, its death cry splitting the sky, clouds parting like a torn garment, spilling their tears on the ground below.
The hand fell away.
Midoriya blinked.
'You have it now.'
Midoriya looked to the redhaired man and saw him grow faint and wispy. "You-"
'I will… recover. There is no time – you must make a choice.'
It wasn't even a choice, not really.
"I will save Mr. Igarashi."
'Even should it mean your death?'
He was without hesitation.
"Yes."
A wistful look flitted over the man's craggy features. 'In time, you may learn to regret that choice. But I cannot fault your resolve. It is a worthy sacrifice as any. More, perhaps, than most. Seek me later – I will give you what help that I can.'
Steel grey eyes stared into his own.
'It is time now. Wake up.'
-------
Midoriya woke, jerking awake with a small cry.
Water dripped onto his hand. He tried to move it, and found he couldn't.
Not a surprise.
He couldn't even open his eyes: they had swollen shut, but somehow, the pain wasn't important right now. Despite the length of the dream, not much time had passed.
Above him, Isana still raged.
"AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN. YOU HIDE BEHIND YOUR BETTERS AND FORCE ME TO DESTROY THEM."
"You should have sent an invitation, I would have come," Igarashi blustered.
Slowly, ponderously, Isana dragged himself forward.
"I AM HERE NOW."
"Nothing is ever your fault, Isana," Igarashi said, and Midoriya could make out the distant sound of the sealion scrambling backwards, claws clattering against concrete. "I wonder why that is. What a charmed life you must lead!"
"I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. THE BOY YET LIVES-"
Midoriya groaned as something heavy crashed into him, cushioned by the light of his quirk.
"-AND YOU SEEK TO DISTRACT ME."
"NO!" Igarashi roared, and there was the low, odd sound of a sealion's call in his voice. "He's but a pup, a child! Don't hurt him! You have me. You've won! Just kill me and leave."
"YOU WERE THE ONE, WEREN'T YOU?"
"The one?"
"THE ONE WHO SENT KUZO AFTER US LIKE A PACK OF HUNTING HOUNDS. NO ONE ELSE HAS A SINGLE SOLITARY BRAIN CELL. NO ONE BUT YOU."
"You do me too much honor," Igarashi spat. "You were spotted in town in the company of hoodlums. It wasn't hard to put together after that."
"SOMEHOW, I DOUBT THAT."
Something – a desk from the sound of it – crashed onto Midoriya and this time he did cry out.
"WHAT A FEEBLE, USELESS QUIRK. NOT BRIGHT ENOUGH TO BLIND, NOR STRONG ENOUGH FOR HERO WORK. IT'S A MIRACLE HE HELD OUT FOR AS LONG AS HE DID."
Above them the lights from aquarium floor flickered and failed, leaving Midoriya the sole source of light in the room.
"Please, Isana, stop."
"HE CAN'T CONTROL IT AT ALL, CAN HE? ALL IT DOES IS LET ME KNOW," another thing crashed into the pile, "WHEN IT BECOMES POINTLESS TO TORTURE HIM."
"What do you want, Isana?" and Igarashi's voice, normally so composed and precise it bordered on silly, was pathetic with desperation.
Automatic generators whirred and kicked into life – and almost immediately died.
"A CURE IS COMING. BUT THIS WORLD WILL NOT ACCEPT IT."
Something smashed in the dark, a careless crunch of metal and wood.
Igarashi yelped.
"WITH ENOUGH TERROR, ENOUGH ANGER, ENOUGH PAIN EVEN ANIMALS WILL ACCEPT IT. YOU JUST NEED TO BE… TRAINED."
For three blocks, the electricity went out. Cars lost power and stalled, phones died, watches ticked and didn't tock. A commercial drone crashed into a garbage can, its rotors spinning to a slow halt.
Midoriya opened his mouth.
"…thank you, Mr. Igarashi," he whispered. "Please… put on… a mask… and close… your ears…"
It was just a whisper but the sound of it rumbled like distant thunder.
Isana turned.
Midoriya opened his mouth wider. Streamers of energy escaped, forming matrices of light that appeared like and winked out like books opening and closing.
It was just an echo, a memory fuzzy with a hundred thousand inconsistencies, a dreamlike thing, far removed reality.
But that did not make it not true.
Midoriya opened his mouth wider still and what emerged from his throat was not sound, but force, so concentrated it tore his throat to shreds on the way out, air like sandpaper snarling and howling as it wrenched itself free.
It smote Isana dead on.
Then it exploded.
Every window, every computer monitor, every coffee mug and glass beaker and aquarium tank in the building shattered. Glass windows crazed for blocks, while the foundations of neighboring buildings cracked, old wounds growing larger. The sound could be heard across the city, setting babies a-wail, a thunderclap that made cars ring with alarm and birds take flight.
The villain fell, blood fountaining out of his eyes and ears.
Behind him, Igarashi quivered, knocked senseless by the impossible noise, but with a mask firmly in place.
Midoriya closed his mouth and lay his head down.
Finally, he could rest.
He dreamed no dreams.
---------
Author's Notes: Next update might take a little bit, but I did want this out as fast as I could manage while still being good enough to satisfy my inner reader if not inner author. Don't be too surprised if this chapter gets another coat of polish or two in the future.
The Curator – Isana – took a step forward, the pouring water behind him slowly tapering off, raised his arm, and said:
"Then die."
A bullet smashed into Midoriya's barrier. For a moment it seemed to fight the light from his quirk, metal sparking and hissing as it drilled its way through – then, without thinking, Midoriya reached out and slapped it away.
The bullet clanged as it hit the ground, metal steaming.
If he stopped to think, it would have been too late - but he was already in motion.
Electricity crackled and the world seemed to jump towards him, his footsteps leaving fading contrails of light in his wake. Devastation in the form of crushed workbenches, torn costumes and scattered concrete guns cleared a path between him and his foe.
Isana moved too, but compared to All Might, or even Tekka Maki, he seemed to be working in a world of slow seconds, barrel of the handgun waving languidly through the air, tracking him as his feet ate up the distance between them, another shot fired, and it sparked as it skipped off the bottom of Midoriya's palm, embedding itself in the ground below.
One, two, three-
Another bullet, but this one too high for the hero going low, a miss.
Now.
The whale's tail emerged, exiting from the backside of the villain's voluminous white coat. But if there was one thing that Midoriya had noticed from watching all those Youtube videos it was that Isana did not like using it as a tail – he would not turn around, not to give himself a paltry few feet meters of range. He thought of it as an extra limb, not a tail.
But it wasn't. And that vanity came at a cost.
The tail came at him again, broader than three men stacked one on top of another and heavy as two dozen, the sort of super move that could sweep a street clear of not only people, but cars and trucks.
Any normal hero wouldn't stand a chance.
Midoriya leapt, vaulting over it like the bar at a high jump, the tip of one fluke brushing a fold in his jumper hard enough to tear it, nearly sending him off course, before his feet hit the ground a heartbeat later.
If Isana had turned around, maybe he would have had enough range of motion to merely switch the direction of his tail slap and flick him away, but as it was, he'd overextended. And while the man was skilled, he wasn't so skilled that he could arbitrarily defy the laws of his own biology.
An eye widened. The gun barked again, so slow Midoriya could see the plume of light as it went off, see the bullet itself fly towards him.
Fist surrounded with golden fire, Midoriya pushed off the ground with his toes, wind roaring in his face, his speed such that the air behind him seemed to break, lights and delicate equipment shattering, leaving him a shining golden comet flying through the dark, light reflecting off the puddled water like a million little mirrors.
The bullet cut a crimson line across his side as his fist hit Isana full in the face. The bone-white mask shattered, odd barnacle-like growths toppling away, but even before the consequences of his first blow could tell, he had already delivered a second to the man's midriff a twist of his energy multiplying the impact fivefold so that it literally lifted the villain off his feet.
The gun clattered to the ground at about the same instant as Isana's boots did, ripples and small waves forming as he skid backward through the puddle.
Wheezing, Isana stumbled, falling to a knee. One hand covered his face, where the mask had been.
Midoriya breathed out. He felt – he felt cold and tired, suddenly, his bones a dull ache, clawing for his attention. Slowly, he picked up one of the many concrete guns littering the ground.
Aiming, he pulled the trigger.
The gun went 'click'.
"Why," Isana's voice was no longer dismissive, no longer contained, hoarse with pain and emotion emotion, the hand covering his face seeming to fumble and shake, "why do you animals always, always, always insist on getting in the way?"
Frantically, Midoriya checked the weapon, the was safety off, the expanding concrete foam cartridge set properly, the- his heart leapt up into his throat. The casing had been cracked letting in air, to prevent the gun from jamming the automatic features would-
He let the concrete gun fall and dove for another.
Isana was prideful, but it was the sort of pride that came from being a perfectionist. If he'd invaded Gang Orca's HQ, the alarms would have been cut, security circumvented, inside knowledge of the layout all to his benefit.
There were probably even Rejectionists, prowling the higher levels, attacking the few people still here.
Help wouldn't be coming.
He had to finish this before-
Isana raised his head, a manic glint in his eyes and Midoriya grabbed the second concrete gun, flicking off the safety, checking the cartridge, slamming it back into place – it had been jarred loose! - but he was slow, too slow, and hope died, stillborn, in his throat.
Isana's face wasn't right. Half was human. The other half… was like looking at a thing made of shadow, the boxy head of a monster lying at the bottom of some deep-sea abyss.
"You don't understand," Isana said, "You are perfect already. But those of us – those of us who are sick with this – this, abnormality, there's a cure."
Midoriya took a hesitant step back. Isana was growing now, his body rippling, white coat ripping as he grew, frighteningly, impossibly large, mouth full of shark-like teeth, clawed, too-long arms like something out of an Aliens movie slamming into, cracking the ground.
He fired, for all the good that it did. The fast-acting, fast-expanding piece of goop that could normally force a villain to stay prone didn't even manage to cover an entire tooth.
"HERE," the mouth as big as a barn said, breath like the sea thrown into a furnace, tongue dark as night, "LET ME SHOW YOU THE PRICE."
-------
Run.
A careless hand that could have upended bleachers in a stadium whipped through the room, knocking aside the few workstations and projects not already overturned by his tail.
Run.
Igarashi was still down, hair matted by blood, Midoriya scooped him up awkwardly and felt the burn in his muscles and body, a sealion was not small.
Run.
The elevator was behind Isana – of course it was, and so were the stairs.
Isana was more a force of nature than a man at this point, and didn't flop around like a whale might, but somehow… crawled, like a salamander, if a salamander's weight could be measured in tons and rattled like rolling thunder, the word crawled unequal to the sheer, breathtaking magnitude that was his rampage, breaking through the concrete with every step, the great big slabs that had been poured into its foundation flipping upwards where they didn't crack.
Run.
He jumped, feet finding purchase on an overturned workbench as the spot he was just standing was smashed into dust, Igarashi on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.
"I don't understand!" he called, not daring to break stride as he thought furiously.
In reply, Isana let out a keening wail.
It probably should have made him fall over, but for some reason, it had little effect. Midoriya bit the inside of his lips, confused, but kept moving.
Run.
There was the hole in the ceiling.
And what was he going to do, just jump up there? That had to be three storie – he ducked, the wind of Isana's enormous hand's passage ruffling his hair, before slamming into the wall, cratering it.
He was forced to jump again, twelve feet in an instant, feet skipping off an enormous knuckle as the hand went past again, this time lower, the sound it made as it brushed the ground like a broom the size of a house, trying to catch him on the ground.
"GIVE THAT ANIMAL TO ME."
"Stop calling him an," he stamped his foot, light flaring around him, brighter for just a second as the floor beneath him popped open, a concrete slab flipping over, before he spun and kicked it at Isana as if it were a soccer ball, "animal!"
It slammed into Isana's open palm. The villain made a fist and it crumbled like a piece of dry toast.
"His name," Midoriya panted, "is Igarashi."
In reply, Isana's hands plunged into the ground, dirt and concrete fountaining out between his fingers as he lifted both up.
"I DON'T CARE."
Then, he began to throw.
Concrete slabs the size of a man, broken workbenches, dirt, it all went flying, a barrage of missiles that could have flattened a castle wall.
Midoriya's eyes went wide.
On his shoulder, Igarashi chose the worst moment to stir. "Wh-"
He dropped him.
"Ow!"
He took a deep breath and bent his knees slightly. His arms came up, fists up at eye height. Palms out or fists up, it wouldn't make a difference, not here, in front of the hurricane.
"Don't worry, sir. I'm here."
"Midoriya-"
Like rain, the rocks fell.
He breathed out. Just like All Might had shown him: all he had to do was hit the mitts.
Step into the hurricane.
And punch.
Concrete shattered before him, metal bent, wood exploded. Debris built up like a palisade, each inch added to the wall, taken out of his bloody and bloodier knuckles, the occasional missile getting through, carving furrows through his clothes and scratching his rock-hard skin.
"Midoriya," Igarashi breathed, stunned.
The awe came too soon – and too late.
Fingers as broad as a sofa encircled him, pulling him up and away until he was staring at eye level with a watery eye the size of a car.
"YOU INSIGNIFICANT INSECT."
Midoriya's stomach shot upwards as he hit the ground, the awful crunch signalling his bones breaking despite the use of his barrier.
"WHAT," he went up, a half dozen meters in the space of a second, his body like a ragdoll in the hands of a child, then back down, the impact making a new crater in the ground and leaving his face a bloody mess, a sheet of it dripping down his face like a mask, staining his clothes, "A USELESS," up, then down, "QUIRK."
Midoriya whimpered.
Isana squeezed once more, and the boy screamed, finally, his bones and joints creaking and popping, then felt nothing: the enormous hand had opened. He fell, and landed in the dirt.
He did not get up.
Above, someone was speaking, in a voice like a storm, but Midoriya could barely hear anything, something about light and control.
The world was pain.
Finally, mercifully, it went away.
-------
When Midoriya opened his eyes, he saw the mountain again. There was something he needed to be doing, but he couldn't think of what it was right now.
He looked up. The mountain was different – well, maybe. He did not stand at the peak, but at its base. If he craned his head up he might be able to make out the beginning of its snow-shrouded and cloud-capped top where he had once stood, grasping pebbles.
The city at its base was a bewildering mix of architectural styles, some familiar, others unutterably foreign, dirt roads leading to gleaming glass canals, tent cities crammed next to golden spires of future tech, all of it achingly, puzzlingly nostalgic.
There was a man, sitting in front of him.
It took him a moment to realize he was a man, so still did he sit and so oddly fitting he was, a giant of a man, two meters tall, with coffee colored skin and a flame red hair and beard, dressed oddly in a combination of armor and workman leathers, a toolbelt across his waist, a hammer made of white stone by his side and bracers with a golden bird of prey motif etched into them wrapped around his forearms.
He smiled and patted the cobblestones next to him.
'It is time we spoke.'
Um.
"Sure?" said Midoriya, taking a seat.
'I am dead,' the man said. 'Or so I am told.'
"Oh."
'If I am honest, I do not much feel like a ghost.'
"Right," said Midoriya, who knew that was true, but couldn't quite think of one.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment or two, watching the silent city. Every now and then, he could have sworn that someone moved within it, but no, it was just the wind, making an awning flutter, the play of light against the sparkle of glass or gold.
'In life I believed I was worthy to rule and protect mortal kind. Now that I have passed on… I find that I do not know anymore.'
"Were you, um, like a politician?" Midoriya asked, though the word he wanted to say was 'king'.
'Nay. I was but a mere smith. When the plaguehounds came and drought with them, I could do no more than toil at the forge in service of my village, praying to the Sun for deliverance from the wretched heat.'
He shook his head.
'My prayers were granted for all the good they did.'
So many questions, of which the most important was:
"Did you, um, save them?"
The man looked up, staring into the sun. 'I saved what was left.'
"Then – then I think you did the right thing," Midoriya felt his eyes burn, rubbed them. "I tried to save three people, and I – I only saved one. From a car. I have – I have the power of All Might, why can't I-"
The redhaired man shook his head.
'That mighty flame you carry,' he tapped a finger on Midoriya's chest. 'It is not what you believe it to be. It can act like a source of strength, yes, but its greater purpose is to forge memories into mirrors. This very city and I myself are but two such expressions of its puissance.'
"There are others?"
'Those heroes of the flame itself are friendly enough, if not yet truly awake, but those of the sun...' his expression darkened, 'for all their power and breadth of experience, they lack the drive to see justice done.'
The word reminded him. He stood bolt upright.
"Mr. Igarashi! I need to save-" He felt something, like a needle, shoved into arm, then another and another, spikes of ghostly pain hammering into him. He froze, tendons standing out on his neck as he tried suppress it. "Grk!"
'The waking world beckons.'
A broad, callused palm covered his eyes, the heat of it enough to dull the pain.
'I cannot help you, not truly. But I can show you the way.'
Something whispered, a susurrus of half-formed somethings on the wind, more impressions than words.
'It is taught differently, in different places, but they all lead to the same source. I had no formal schooling in which to ground that which I know. All I can tell you is this: the world was born of flame and dust.'
His palm became hotter, so hot it was close to burning now. Behind his eyelids, Midoriya could see the birth of a world, something – not from nothing, no, something distilled, born within empyreal chaos.
'The world itself is shaped through the essence of thought and will. If you let it shape you, it will allow you to shape it.'
Midoriya felt it. It was – it wasn't something he could understand, it was something alien, being forced into his mind, burning through his thoughts, but at the same time, it was something basic too, the glue holding the universe together.
The fragile epiphany shattered. His head felt fit to burst, like using the entirety of One for All, but in his mind. He clutched his head, fingers circling the rough-hewn hand around his eyes. "I can't-"
'You must. It is a price you must pay. You are not yet ready. You have set foot on the path, and you are willing, but you lack the knowledge, lack the skill. To master even one working would be a miracle beyond your ken.'
"Please-"
'This is the only gift so easily passed on for it was one of those who stand upon the mountain that made it possible.'
Midoriya felt the world invert, then twist his consciousness fleeing inwards.
He saw an army, marching upon the backdrop of a red-gold dusk, creeping forward upon silver, alien sands that flowed like quicksilver, and trees that grew the wrong way up and whose shimmering bark grew warped and malignant reflections of what trespassed through their woods.
He saw mountains so tall and so cold that the air would freeze in your lungs before you reached the mid-point, of peaks and cliffs crawling with armies of the dead entombed within carapaces of discarded armor wielding blades of ice.
He saw a beast, so large that its head was half buried in a cloudburst, lightning forking from its colossal limbs, its fur spun out of a gold-black metal that crackled with contained energy bleeding viridian ichor.
He heard it die, its last, desperate howl somehow growing larger and more furious as a mercurial silver blade tore out its seventh and final heart, its death cry splitting the sky, clouds parting like a torn garment, spilling their tears on the ground below.
The hand fell away.
Midoriya blinked.
'You have it now.'
Midoriya looked to the redhaired man and saw him grow faint and wispy. "You-"
'I will… recover. There is no time – you must make a choice.'
It wasn't even a choice, not really.
"I will save Mr. Igarashi."
'Even should it mean your death?'
He was without hesitation.
"Yes."
A wistful look flitted over the man's craggy features. 'In time, you may learn to regret that choice. But I cannot fault your resolve. It is a worthy sacrifice as any. More, perhaps, than most. Seek me later – I will give you what help that I can.'
Steel grey eyes stared into his own.
'It is time now. Wake up.'
-------
Midoriya woke, jerking awake with a small cry.
Water dripped onto his hand. He tried to move it, and found he couldn't.
Not a surprise.
He couldn't even open his eyes: they had swollen shut, but somehow, the pain wasn't important right now. Despite the length of the dream, not much time had passed.
Above him, Isana still raged.
"AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN. YOU HIDE BEHIND YOUR BETTERS AND FORCE ME TO DESTROY THEM."
"You should have sent an invitation, I would have come," Igarashi blustered.
Slowly, ponderously, Isana dragged himself forward.
"I AM HERE NOW."
"Nothing is ever your fault, Isana," Igarashi said, and Midoriya could make out the distant sound of the sealion scrambling backwards, claws clattering against concrete. "I wonder why that is. What a charmed life you must lead!"
"I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. THE BOY YET LIVES-"
Midoriya groaned as something heavy crashed into him, cushioned by the light of his quirk.
"-AND YOU SEEK TO DISTRACT ME."
"NO!" Igarashi roared, and there was the low, odd sound of a sealion's call in his voice. "He's but a pup, a child! Don't hurt him! You have me. You've won! Just kill me and leave."
"YOU WERE THE ONE, WEREN'T YOU?"
"The one?"
"THE ONE WHO SENT KUZO AFTER US LIKE A PACK OF HUNTING HOUNDS. NO ONE ELSE HAS A SINGLE SOLITARY BRAIN CELL. NO ONE BUT YOU."
"You do me too much honor," Igarashi spat. "You were spotted in town in the company of hoodlums. It wasn't hard to put together after that."
"SOMEHOW, I DOUBT THAT."
Something – a desk from the sound of it – crashed onto Midoriya and this time he did cry out.
"WHAT A FEEBLE, USELESS QUIRK. NOT BRIGHT ENOUGH TO BLIND, NOR STRONG ENOUGH FOR HERO WORK. IT'S A MIRACLE HE HELD OUT FOR AS LONG AS HE DID."
Above them the lights from aquarium floor flickered and failed, leaving Midoriya the sole source of light in the room.
"Please, Isana, stop."
"HE CAN'T CONTROL IT AT ALL, CAN HE? ALL IT DOES IS LET ME KNOW," another thing crashed into the pile, "WHEN IT BECOMES POINTLESS TO TORTURE HIM."
"What do you want, Isana?" and Igarashi's voice, normally so composed and precise it bordered on silly, was pathetic with desperation.
Automatic generators whirred and kicked into life – and almost immediately died.
"A CURE IS COMING. BUT THIS WORLD WILL NOT ACCEPT IT."
Something smashed in the dark, a careless crunch of metal and wood.
Igarashi yelped.
"WITH ENOUGH TERROR, ENOUGH ANGER, ENOUGH PAIN EVEN ANIMALS WILL ACCEPT IT. YOU JUST NEED TO BE… TRAINED."
For three blocks, the electricity went out. Cars lost power and stalled, phones died, watches ticked and didn't tock. A commercial drone crashed into a garbage can, its rotors spinning to a slow halt.
Midoriya opened his mouth.
"…thank you, Mr. Igarashi," he whispered. "Please… put on… a mask… and close… your ears…"
It was just a whisper but the sound of it rumbled like distant thunder.
Isana turned.
Midoriya opened his mouth wider. Streamers of energy escaped, forming matrices of light that appeared like and winked out like books opening and closing.
It was just an echo, a memory fuzzy with a hundred thousand inconsistencies, a dreamlike thing, far removed reality.
But that did not make it not true.
Midoriya opened his mouth wider still and what emerged from his throat was not sound, but force, so concentrated it tore his throat to shreds on the way out, air like sandpaper snarling and howling as it wrenched itself free.
It smote Isana dead on.
Then it exploded.
Every window, every computer monitor, every coffee mug and glass beaker and aquarium tank in the building shattered. Glass windows crazed for blocks, while the foundations of neighboring buildings cracked, old wounds growing larger. The sound could be heard across the city, setting babies a-wail, a thunderclap that made cars ring with alarm and birds take flight.
The villain fell, blood fountaining out of his eyes and ears.
Behind him, Igarashi quivered, knocked senseless by the impossible noise, but with a mask firmly in place.
Midoriya closed his mouth and lay his head down.
Finally, he could rest.
He dreamed no dreams.
---------
Author's Notes: Next update might take a little bit, but I did want this out as fast as I could manage while still being good enough to satisfy my inner reader if not inner author. Don't be too surprised if this chapter gets another coat of polish or two in the future.
Which parts? If it's the last scene, don't worry, Midoriya doesn't quite understand it either and it'll get explained, if it's the punchy-punch part at the beginning, I'm going to have to rethink some things.
I kiiiiind of wanted this to be friendly to people who don't do Exalted.
Ah, the death cry of Likike when the River of Torment became the Silent Wind, the Demon-Wracking Shout. Or perhaps it is the death cry of some other being on a reread. For I doubt that the Villain was of the first circle let alone any greater.
- Location
- france
I believe it was Martial Art.
More precisely, Silver-Voiced Nightingale style.
nmWarden
Webcomic Glutton
- Location
- Texas
Until we have a better name, I dub this charm Sonic Belch. No need to thank me.
As for Izuku's Exalted predecessor... I'm imagining Alexander the Great/Iskandar/Rider from Fate Zero. Obviously with very different body language. This predecessor seems to have a thousand-thousand reasons to thoroughly quash any of his own smiles and laughter. Which I'd reckon is reasonably common for any Solar exalted that manages true self-reflection. Introspection.
I have a theory I'd like y'all to consider. Essence, that great and terrible force Izuku was just confronted with, is not good. Not Good like an angel. It is neutral. Just like a natural disasters is neutral to the pain and suffering of humans it tramples. I'd compare it to Luck.
As for Izuku's Exalted predecessor... I'm imagining Alexander the Great/Iskandar/Rider from Fate Zero. Obviously with very different body language. This predecessor seems to have a thousand-thousand reasons to thoroughly quash any of his own smiles and laughter. Which I'd reckon is reasonably common for any Solar exalted that manages true self-reflection. Introspection.
I have a theory I'd like y'all to consider. Essence, that great and terrible force Izuku was just confronted with, is not good. Not Good like an angel. It is neutral. Just like a natural disasters is neutral to the pain and suffering of humans it tramples. I'd compare it to Luck.
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Dopplerdee
Accident Prone(Yes the caps are necessary)
- Location
- Happy Place
- Pronouns
- She/Her
considering Izukus Caste and the talk of Sacrifice i think that was Sorcery.
Sorcery requires a Journey and a Sacrifice(and maybe another thing i dont remember) to learn.
It looks like his sacrifice was giving up his choice to live or die and putting it to chance.
Sorcery requires a Journey and a Sacrifice(and maybe another thing i dont remember) to learn.
It looks like his sacrifice was giving up his choice to live or die and putting it to chance.
At least thats what I think.
- Location
- NYC
yeah i thought this was re: the salinan working
but otoh this charm from Silver-Voiced Nightingale style fits the bill
Resounding Songbirds Cry
Throwing his head back and closing his eyes, the Silver-Voiced Nightingale shrieks an awful cry. Glass and crystal shatters spectacularly, as metal warps and blood pours from people's ears.
but otoh this charm from Silver-Voiced Nightingale style fits the bill
Resounding Songbirds Cry
Throwing his head back and closing his eyes, the Silver-Voiced Nightingale shrieks an awful cry. Glass and crystal shatters spectacularly, as metal warps and blood pours from people's ears.
I love this so much. Too much. The constant mourning notion you emphasize with the exalted portions contrasts so very well with the high-energy upbeat shonen super hero stuff.
I can think of a thousand ways for your glorious, tragic mistake to come to fruition, and every chapter brings us an inch closer without collapsing the wave.
You've reproduced the themes of BNHA well while peppering it with my favorite setting, so thanks for writing this.
I can think of a thousand ways for your glorious, tragic mistake to come to fruition, and every chapter brings us an inch closer without collapsing the wave.
You've reproduced the themes of BNHA well while peppering it with my favorite setting, so thanks for writing this.
- Location
- Austria
That's true tho, exaltation selects for Greatness, not basic human decency.