Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Many, many aeons ago, from the void of nothingness, came the goddess of Creation. She named herself Momo and she draped herself in her long, black, flowing hair. Her eyes were black and her skin was pale in the darkness. But, in the vast nothingness, she began to feel lonely. So one day, she created herself a companion god to be her husband. The god of Life, Izuku, whose skin was a rich, warm brown, and his hair and eyes a brilliant forest green. The two of them fell in love and created Nemuri.”

“The goddess of love?”

“That’s right. After her, came the god of darkness: Fumikage, and the god of light: Yuuga. But Momo and Izuku soon realised that their children could not thrive in the abyss, that they needed something else to live to the fullest as gods. So Izuku, in a show of love and dedication to his family, carved a piece of flesh from his shoulder–”

“Eww!”

“– And gave it to his wife so that she could create a place for them to live. From Izuku’s flesh, Momo created the Earth. To honour her husband's sacrifice and bring further comfort for their children, Momo cut a section of her hair and wove it into the sky, so that it might cradle the Earth. The sky was where Yuuga, the shining sun, could rise during the day, and Fumikage, the glittering night, could rise when his sibling slept.

“From there, more and more gods were created. Eijiro, god of mountains. Katsuki, god of volcanoes. Hanzo the ocean, Oboro the clouds. Ibara, goddess of the undergrowth, and Koji, creator of animals. Hizashi, god of sound formed as a voice in the wind, carried by the strength of Inasa, and became a deity of stories, weaving tales and singing as he went.

“All sorts of gods and goddesses settled on the Earth. Momo and Izuku were pleased with their efforts and they, too, settled down. One day, they sat on a river’s edge. Momo took wet clay between her fingers and sculpted them into beings similar to the gods but inherently different. Izuku then breathed life into them. These beings were smaller, easily damaged, and without deific domains or sources of power, but that made them no less important. These beings were dubbed ‘humans’, and they lived among the gods.”

“Humans used to live with the gods?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d we stop?”

“Because, eventually, a monster cut from the same cloth as Momo and Izuku, the demon lord of annihilation became jealous. Hazai was hidden away from the gods for all those years because his presence brought destruction and imbalance. He wanted to take what the other gods had and destroy it.”

“Oh no!”

“What happened next?”

“A war began, between the gods and the creations of Hazai; monsters of every kind imaginable. Homes were crushed and gods and humans alike were heavily injured. Destruction and chaos reigned before Momo created Izuku a blade of the strongest material. Izuku fought Hazai head-on until Hazai was forced to flee. A part of the Demon Lord fell into the ocean, cut from his body by Izuku’s blade. Sea foam formed from his blood and from it, came Shōta. Shōta was a serene, if not a bit grumpy, god of death and mortality.

“In order to bridge the gap between gods and demons, and end the war, Izuku welcomed Shōta onto land. Their union produced Hitoshi, the god of sleep, dreams, and madness; and Eri, the goddess of time and mortal fate. The presence of these new gods caused the humans to lose their immortality. They could no longer live among the gods. The gods retreated into the heavens, woven by Momo. A new realm was created for the newer gods and for the souls of deceased mortals to travel to after death; the shadowed heavens, the underworld, underneath the Earth.

“But, due to the separation of mortals and gods, the world became unbalanced. The divinity of the earth was threatened by the damage caused by Hazai and the mortality of the humans. This is the reason we are suffering droughts and disasters. The gods cannot help us because the balance is at stake. They do their best, but there is little they can do. And because of the imbalance, more and more monsters of Hazai have tried to continue where he left off.”

Mirio frowned and his little brother, Mikumo, looked sad.

“This is why your father and I want you to train and become strong. So that if you ever face a monster, you will be able to win and you will not have to see Lord Shōta before your time.” Their mother, Inko, explained, twirling a finger in her black hair.

A look of determination took over Mirio’s expression and he straightened up. “We’ll be the best heroes ever! We’ll be so strong!”

Mikumo beamed up at his older brother, admiration shining in his green eyes as the candlelight danced in his irises. “Yeah! We’ll be the best!”

Inko giggled at their enthusiasm, but the boys could tell she was weary. “Now, my little heroes must go to bed now. Strong boys need their rest.”

“Like how we need to eat veggies to grow big?” Mikumo asked, and Mirio scrunched up his face at the reminder.

“Yes,” Inko said, kissing her oldest son on his small nose, “just like that.”

Mirio grumbled. “I don’t like veggies, though.”

A deep chuckle came from the doorway, where the boys’ father stood. “No one does, son. But we must eat them anyway.”

Mikumo and Mirio giggled as Inko sighed in exasperation. “I like veggies, Oto-san!” Mikumo piped up, making his parents smile.

“Well, kid, you and your mother might just be the only ones!” Toshinori teased, ruffling Mikumo’s black curls.

“Enough about vegetables.” Inko playfully scolded. “It’s bedtime.”

The four of them said their goodnights, before Inko blew out the candle on the table between the beds and she and her husband left.

Mikumo wiggled into a comfortable spot underneath his blanket and closed his eyes. It wasn’t long until Mirio let out a dramatic sigh and flopped on his own bed.

“Do you think the monsters will come for us?” Mirio asked.

“I dunno.” Mikumo whispered back.

A period of silence ensued and the six year old relaxed, thinking that he could finally sleep.

“What kind of monsters are there, do you think?” The eight year old continued. “Oka-san said that there were ones of every kind imagi- imaginable. How many is that?”

“I dunno.” Mikumo repeated.

“Do–”

“Onii-san, please, I want to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

“Goodnight, Kumo-chan.”

Silence.

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

Mikumo hummed as his mother poked and prodded at his shoulder. The mark on his shoulder had gotten bigger since he’d last paid attention to it. It had never caused him any discomfort but he had no explanation as to how or why it formed. His mother was the most concerned about it, his brother a close second. His father, meanwhile, said that as long as it didn’t bother Mikumo, it wasn’t something to distress over too much.

Of course, he was supposed to be taking note of its growth, having stretched down to his mid-bicep from his upper shoulder. It was also a rather strange shape but there was no more of an explanation for that as there was for its existence. Mikumo would never tell this, but the mark brought him some strange sense of comfort. He couldn’t explain it, hence why he never told, but it felt as though it tied him to something he held dear.

So for the meanwhile, Mikumo heeded his father’s advice.

They were taking a break from training for the moment, the heat of the day having reached a sweltering high. His family all sat under a patch of trees by the river, or – in his brother and father’s case – in the river to cool off. His mother had brought them a woven basket of bread and fruits. They’d had a good harvest this season.

“When I went into town to sell our extra batches, Sasaki told me that the droughts will be ending soon.” Inko said.

Mikumo hummed. “The prophet?”

Mirio perked up. “That’s good, right? Not that we’ve really had much of a problem with food supplies, but it won’t be so scarce for everyone else.”

“Yes, that is excellent news. I wonder what has happened with the gods to allow such a development.” Toshinori pondered, splashing his face with freshwater.

“Lord Izuku is a merciful god.”

Inko laid out a cloth over the grass and placed their food atop it. Mirio and Toshinori stepped out of the river and sat next to the other two.

“May the food we have, the food we eat, the food we share, be blessed by the great god, Izuku. May we continue to be healthy in these times of suffering; may we stand strong against any struggle that comes our direction, with the blessing of our gods guiding our way.”

Mikumo closed his eyes as his mother continued to pray. He floated away in the mist of his thoughts, the sound of his mother’s voice anchoring him to the Earth. Eventually she closed the prayer and humbly received the meal.

“Itadakimasu.” They chorused, then began eating.

Mikumo always enjoyed prayer time. He felt closer with his family and it always left him feeling rejuvenated even before he’d eaten anything. He sent his own prayer off to the gods, hoping for the safety and protection of his family against any monsters that might find them.

The number of monsters that were encroaching on mortal towns and villages was increasing at an alarming rate. Even if the drought was due to die down, monsters were still a large threat. But, he supposed, that was what he and Mirio were being trained to take care of. There was word on the street that a hero from across the sea was going to be called in to take out the so-called “disintegrator”. The one they call the Son of Hazai; Tomura.

_______________________________

Mikumo had been having dreams.

That wasn’t too crazy. Everyone had dreams, thanks to Lord Hitoshi.

No, the thing was, Mikumo was having dreams about the gods. That was a bad omen and a half, and not just because the gods always seemed to be distressed whenever he saw them.

He saw the creation goddess, highest among immortals, being comforted by Lord Shōta and Lady Nemuri. He saw Volatile Katsuki of the volcanoes and Steadfast Eijiro of the mountains, both stiff and irritable. Minor gods and goddesses of nature and its elements were restless. Lady Eri had taken the form of a child, her brother, weaver of dreams, soothing her with his melodic voice. Enji, the wrathful, warbringer, watched intently from the heavens.

Mikumo knew that he and Mirio would be up next to fight Tomura, since their father couldn’t fight due to a past injury. The brothers were the best heroes in the surrounding lands. The warrior they brought in from overseas, the one who went by Cathleen Bate, fell to the Demon Son’s hand. There was little hope for the outcome. Mikumo and Mirio were young after all, Mirio only fresh out of childhood.

Mikumo could only pray that his brother survived, even if he did not.

_______________________________

The curly haired teen stumbled. He dug the point of his sword into the soil and leaned on the handle to keep himself upright. He could hear Mirio shouting but his ears were ringing. His bronze blood dripped down his arm, curled around his midsection, landing in a puddle on the Earth.

The young hero, whose dark hair gleamed viridian in the sunlight, fell to his knees before his vanquished enemy. The Son of the Destroyer had finally been slain.

The blood raining from his body shimmered as it hit the ground. The injury on his stomach was reminiscent of his father’s.

Tomura’s body broke down, a crumbling pile of blackened gravel.

The brother of Mirio fell onto his side as the blond hero reached him.

“Mikumo, please, stay with me, Oka-san is on the way. She’ll heal you! Mikumo! Please, stay awake, don’t fall asleep! You’re going to be okay! Please!” The teen of eighteen years begged his younger brother.

Mirio stuttered to a fault upon seeing the single bead of golden blood gather at the edge of the hero’s wound.

A smile broke out on the young face below him.

Izuku could see them again. His wife leaned down to hug him tightly, sobbing into his hair; his husband gripping his hand in a way that nearly cut off his ichor circulation. His children; the embodiment of love, the day and the night, the dreams of mortals and the fate that awaits them.

He rose from the position he laid in, gracefully guiding his wife to ease upwards and planting a kiss on her temple. “Hello, my loves.” He greeted them all softly.

“We thought you were going to die.” Momo whispered, trembling.

Suddenly Izuku got a lap full of Eri, whose small arms latched around his neck. “I saw it! I saw you die! I couldn’t see you come back!” His daughter wailed.

“Oh, Eri…” Izuku briefly relinquished his hold on his spouses to envelop her in a warm embrace. “You can only see the fate of mortals. My godhood was restored when my life ended. I’m sorry that my fate caused you such pain to witness, my dear.”

Shōta’s hands clutched at his forearm and the death god leaned to rest his forehead on Izuku’s right shoulder, right against his scar. “I felt you die.” His usually stoic husband said faintly.

Izuku had nothing to say. He leaned over to rest his forehead on Shōta’s shoulder. Fumikage and Yuuga had circled around them and now shook gently where they leaned against his back. Nemuri, his radiant daughter, had a hand on his knee, valiantly trying to reign in her tears. Hitoshi held his half-sister’s hand, his other hand placed on Eri’s small back. The purple haired god of sleep had dark circles under his eyes.

“There is no need to fear any longer. I have returned. I am here.” He remained with his family for hours, unmoving from their embraces until Yuuga’s sun had set in the sky. It was then that Katsuki, Eijirou, all of Izuku’s friends, rushed over to them and received reassurance that Izuku had not died a mortal’s death. Izuku basked in the warmth of his family.

If that meant that Izuku had to put up with Katsuki’s threats of death by lava, then so be it.

But while the majority of his being was reuniting with his immortal loved ones, he kept a small portion of himself down in his mortal body.

Mikumo’s eyes opened to see his mortal mother, Inko, bawling.

He sat up in his bed with a fond smile, drawing the attention of his morose brother and grieved father.

“Mikumo! You little shit! Never do something like that ever again!” Mirio yelled, but he couldn’t disguise the relief in his tears.

Mikumo grinned. “Sorry, I had some people I had to see.”

“And who would those be, young man?” Toshinori asked sternly, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand.

Mikumo laughed. It was rather strange being called “young man,” when he was one of the oldest beings in existence. He hesitated a moment, unsure of how to explain his situation to his parents and sibling, but his blessed mother saved him the complication.

“Your immortal family. Right?” Toshinori and Mirio looked at her confused, before understanding bloomed in the older blond’s eyes. “You had to see your godly side.” Inko proposed.

Mirio frowned, looking between the two of them. “Wait, what? Godly side? What are you talking about?”

Mikumo locked eyes with his mortal mother, her irises the same shade as his. Her hair the dark black his used to be. “Yes, mother.”

She and her husband slumped in their chairs.

“I… I’ve had a feeling since the moment I gave birth to you. I knew something was special about you, and as you grew I only received more proof.” Inko admitted, despite knowing that Mikumo already knew.

“Your disconnect with your name, your unending kindness, your way with plants, the mark on your shoulder in the shape of the world,” She listed, “The way your blood was never completely red, the way your hair seemed more green than black…”

He watched his mortal family impassively as his brother seemed to be going through a few stages of shock. His father seemed pensive.

“Your true name is Izuku, isn’t it?”

Izuku smiled.

_______________________________

“When Izuku died a heroic death, he was restored to his full godhood. When he gave his life for the safety and health of the world, the balance was restored. The mortality of humans no longer threatened the divinity of the Earth and the gods were no longer bound to the heavens.

“Izuku, upon returning, gifted his mortal mother and father immortality. Lady Inko is immortalised as the patroness of motherhood and children, her hair now as green as Izuku’s. Lord Toshinori is the patron of fatherhood, teachers and heroes. Mirio went on to become one of our most celebrated heroes, accepting his own immortality after his death.”

The group of children sitting in front of Hizashi “ooh”’d and “wow”’d. They cheered at the conclusion and begged for another story. He beamed and prepared another tale, much smaller than his recently recited epic, but an entertaining one nonetheless. Children always enjoyed listening to the tale of Nedzu’s birth and chase.

Hizashi spied his daughter, Kyoka, goddess of music, and a few of her muses sneaking into the back of the small crowd. Accompanying them was a pair of dark haired children; one with eyes as green as the grass and one with eyes like grey adamantine. Hizashi was half expecting to see an older child with similar black hair but eyes like rubies. Unfortunately Shōta has been rather busy these days.

“Hi, uncle! What story are you telling next?” Mina, goddess of parties (and poison, funnily enough), asked.

Hizashi shuffled in his seat and rubbed his hands together cheekily. “I was thinking of the stories about Lord Nedzu.”

He caught the sparkling amusement in the expressions of the dark haired children. Nedzu’s parents often laughed about how difficult it was to catch him.

And they would continue to do so for as long as their immortal life allowed.