MHA: Absolute Telekinesis-Chapter 50: [48] Fakes

(Stain POV – Hosu City, Alleyways)

"Hero Killer!" The brat screams as he charges, eyes bloodshot with rage.

I stare at the kid—no, at the fake—with utter disgust.

'Another one drunk on delusion.'

He leaps in recklessly, aiming a wild kick straight for my head. I jump above it easily.

'That was meant to kill,' I note, completely unimpressed. 'Yet he lacks skill to follow through.'

"Ingenium's... brother...?" I murmur, as I'm filling above him. His eyes widen, shocked by such a simple dodge. Pathetic.

"I used him to spread the message..." I say as I bring my foot down. It slams into his arm, the spikes on my boots tearing into his arm and skinking deep into his flesh. The fake barely reacts in time.

He stumbles from the force, but otherwise remains frozen, either in shock, or fear.

'He's got no instincts or reflexes. Just a bunch noise and blind rage.'

"...But you. You're..." I drive my other foot down, stomping his head into the ground. Blood spatters as the alley rings with the impact.

"...So weak," I finish and spin my blade lazily between my fingers. It settles with the tip down—and I stab it into his other arm without hesitation.

"AAARGH!" he howls.

I don't flinch.

"Both you... and your brother... are weak," I mutter, rocking the blade slowly as though carving this truth into his flesh.

"It's because you're posers," I say coldly, pressing my boot harder against his skull, grinding it into the stone.

Real heroes don't fall so easily. Real heroes don't scream like this. Real heroes don't bleed this easily.

'All Might wouldn't. So you must be a fake.'

"Shut up, evildoer!" he spits.

The title makes my eye twitch.

'Evildoer...?' I resist the urge to slice his tongue out. 'I'm a savior. A cleansing flame. A necessary purge for this rotting society.'

"The damage you did to his spinal cord means he'll probably be crippled for life!" he shouts, like it's some kind of righteous condemnation.

I stop listening. The words are noise. Weak excuses from weak people who worship weak symbols.

"He's a great hero who inspired my dreams!" he cries.

'Dreams? Then you're worse than weak. You're infected. You maggots multiply and continue to rot our society with your fake ideals.'

"I'll kill you for what you did!" he screams again.

'Enough.'

"Save him first," I cut in, tilting my head toward the hero I was working on before this interruption.

That shuts him up. His eyes widening as they fall on the unconscious fake hero.

You call yourself a hero—but while the city burns... while people scream for help—you run here for vengeance?

You ignored the fallen. You ignored the chaos. You came here to satisfy yourself.

You wield your power to avenge. To punish. To hurt.

'And you call me the villain?' I scoff internally.

"Forget about yourself for a second and try saving others," I say, voice flat, words sharp. "Don't wield your power for your own sake."

'Even if your power is useless. Even if you're trash.'

"Because getting trapped by your own hate..." I lean in, watching him flinch, "...and acting out of self-interest makes you the furthest thing from a hero."

'That's what separates real heroes from these pests.'

I wrench my blade free with a squelch, the metal soaked in red. Without hesitation, I lick the blood clean, and my quirk activates.

He stiffens as his body becomes paralyzed. 'Good.'

"That's why... you have to die."

My blade rises—and descends. Deep into his thigh.

His pathetic screams echo through the alley.

"I broke your brother's spine," I mutter. "And now, I'll destroy your legs."

'There is no mercy for fakes.'

His eyes widen in raw terror as I swing my arm slice. His muscles and bone part with sickening ease as his leg is flung into the air

'Finally... maybe now he understands.'

But it's too late. Regret is worthless after judgment has begun.

I raise my blade again, and sever his other leg. His blood now pours freely from the wounds, painting the stones beneath us crimson.

'He won't last two minutes... There's no point in continuing.'

Let him lie there in the filth.

Let him understand the truth as his life bleeds away—

"Fakes like you deserve to suffer."

I lift my foot off the faker's head, his blood smearing the sole of my boot. Even now, his eyes still yearn for vengeance.

'Useless.'

I turn, ready to finish off the half-dead pro behind me—when I hear it.

A rush of air.

My instincts flare and I spin on reflex, just in time to see a green blur flying toward me.

'It's too late to dodge.'

I swing my sword at it—a clean horizontal cut meant to split it in half—but it ducks low at the last second and my blade whistles past empty air as we pass each other.

I turn to face it.

'A new brat.'

I narrow my eyes at the boy standing before me in a ridiculous green bunny-eared costume, fists raised, legs trembling.

Another insect playing hero.

"Another one..." I mutter under my breath, irritated.

'Is he like the other? Is he another fraud who plays dress-up and screams about his pathetic dreams?'

My grip tightens on the hilt of my sword.

'No matter. I'll cull as many as needed. I'll carve the rot out of this society one fake at a time.'

But then—

'Something's off.'

I study him.

He looks weak and scrawny. The fear is clear in his eyes as every muscle in his body is tensed.

And yet... he stands.

Despite the fear.

He steps forward—not toward me—but between me and the bleeding fake, protecting him.

I watch.

He glances at the fake again and again. Positioning himself defensively.

I wait, letting them speak. Silently observing and judging his worth.

His first instinct... wasn't revenge for his dying friend.

He told the other to call for help using his phone since he's crippled now.

'Of course, the fool refused, spouting nonsense about how I'm his to kill.'

He prioritized the dying. Prioritised trying to save people.

Unlike the last one. That fool still burns with the desire for vengeance, even as his body bleeds out.

'Pathetic.'

"A friend shows up and says, 'I'm here to save you!'" I begin, my voice even and cold. "A good line, for sure."

The green brat tenses.

"But it's my duty to kill those two. And if we're forced to fight..." I meet his eyes as my voice hardening with resolve. "The weaker of us will be culled."

I see it now—he's terrified. His legs tremble as I direct my will to kill if he chooses to oppose me.

"So," I ask, stepping forward, blade glinting in the dim light, "What now?"

He hesitates.

'He's out of time.' The faker behind him is nearly dead, his blood forming a dark pool beneath him.

But the boy doesn't move.

Why?

'Did he already call for help?' If so, I need to end this quickly.

No more waiting.

I launch forward, blade in hand.

He seems shocked at the sudden action, but unlike the last, he doesn't freeze, but charges towards me as well.

Green lightning crackles across his limbs as he moves.

'He's fast... but not enough that I can't follow.'

He's distracted. Concerned about those fakes.

'A fatal mistake.'

I slash toward him, a clean strike, then draw a knife from my belt for a follow-up as he dives under my legs—slithering pest.

I swing my blade back in a wide arc—but he's already in the air.

He throws a punch, directly hitting the back of my head from above as my gaze is forcefully shifted to the ground.

But it doesn't matter.

I grin.

'Checkmate.'

I lick the knife that managed to nick him. Barely a scratch. But it's more than enough.

His body locks up midair as my quirk activates.

He hits the ground hard, paralyzed.

I approach, slow and deliberate. Blade loose in my grip.

"You lack power," I say quietly. There's no malice in it.

"But... you tracked my movements... Exploited my blind spot... Had a plan."

I glance down at him.

Even in fear, he fought with clarity, bravery and strategy.

I turn towards the bleeding fake who's barely conscious now.

'Should've killed you quicker,' I curse internally. 'All that yapping grated on my nerves.'

I thought he'd see the error of his ways as he died... but he's beyond redemption.

I reach him and raise my sword again, gleaming with righteous intent.

"So many fools out there are nothing but talk..." I say. "But you..." I glance over my shoulder at the paralyzed green boy.

"You're worth keeping alive."

He might never reach All Might's level. But he has something most of them lack...

'The heart of a true hero.'

My eyes harden as I return my attention to the one who doesn't.

'There's no place for scum like this in the world.'

I bring my sword down in a clean, merciless arc.

(Kata POV – Hosu Streets, Before The Attack)

The city hums with life. Pedestrians wander home. Cars honk lazily. Laughter mingles with footsteps as the sun begins its slow descent beneath the horizon.

I walk beside Rumi, who strides like she owns the pavement beneath her feet.

And honestly? She kind of does.

Children squeal in delight the moment they recognize her. Phone cameras flash to take pictures and recordings. Shouts ring across the street like a chant.

"Mirko! Over here!"

"Can I get a selfie?!"

"Y-you're so cool! Please kick me!"

Rumi flashes a grin and the crowd erupts in cheer. She strikes a pose, signs a kid's shirt, and lifts another onto her shoulder. Her energy is magnetic, attracting everyone nearby.

I watch from the side, curious.

'Is this going to happen the entire walk...?'

It probably is.

'It's troublesome.' I sigh internally. 'I prefer peace.'

Still, I don't interrupt her. Not because I care for the crowd... but because I enjoy the view.

She's smiling.

Not that usual wild, bloodthirsty grins, nor the cocky, I'll-break-your-teeth smirks I'm used to.

It's cheerful and content.

'She likes this... being seen, admired and celebrated.'

And she's earned it. Beneath the battle-hungry lunatic is someone who's saved more lives than most.

'Although, I can't say I relate.'

To me, admiration is fleeting, shallow and temporary.

'One day, these same people will turn on the heroes who fought hard to protect them. And when that day comes, those who lived for their praise will abandon them in return.'

I glance up. Tall buildings frame the clear, clean sky.

It's peaceful.

'I'll protect the ones I care about. Everyone else? It depends on their luck.'

I sense it before I see it. Faint distortions in the fabric of space.

"It's starting," I say aloud.

Rumi glances over, confused. "What're you talking ab—"

Then it happens.

The air rips.

Black fog tears open the air like jagged wounds. Portals bloom in rapid succession: above us, behind parked cars, between buildings. Even in the sky.

And then they step out.

Nomu.

Dozens of them. And more stream out each second.

Screams erupt around us as panic spreads.

Far off, an explosion rattles the skyline.

Mirko's cheerful smile vanishes—replaced by a feral one.

"Heh. About time something interesting happened," she growls, crouching low as civilians stampede past.

"How many should I leave for you?" I ask, calm.

'I'd like to go all out, but it wouldn't be polite to steal all the fun.'

"Tch. Just don't get in my way, brat!" She barks and rockets forward, blurring into motion, and knees a Nomu mid-portal. Its skull detonates, collapsing inward before it can even scream.

Blood fans out as she laughs.

'There's the Rumi I know.'

My gaze flicks to the nearest portal.

'Kurogiri... his quirk can get annoying. I'll deal with him when I find him.'

But first—

I study the way space folds. The portal isn't a door. Space is like fabric. You pull on that fabric until the point you want to connect overlap, and then you punch a hole through it.

One Nomu is still half-phased between two locations.

'So that's how it works. I'll experiment later.'

For now—

A hulking Nomu charges a nearby family. Its sledgehammer-like arms swing back for a killing blow.

I don't hesitate.

I lock onto its molecules.

In an instant, every atom grinds to a halt. The Nomu freezes mid-motion—then its body is torn apart as internal water expands. It immediately transforms into a deformed ice sculpture. It fractures, then—

It shatters.

A cloud of sparkling dust is all that remains.

'It's less messy if I do it this way.'

The family stares in shock before stumbling into motion, running again.

Mirko slams a second Nomu into a wall with a roundhouse kick, caving in its chest. She laughs like crazy. "Now we're talkin'!"

Another Nomu leaps towards her. She spins mid-air and snaps her leg through its neck. The body drops to the ground, twitching, but doesn't get back up.

I float upward, hovering above the chaos.

More Nomu pour out of portals like roaches from a broken pipe.

Flames begin to swirl at my fingertips.

'...Am I becoming a Todoroki knockoff?'

I snuff the fire.

'No matter.' I sigh. 'Either way...'

"They're cooked." I declare with finality.

I extend a hand as electricity arcs wildly across my arm, a faint buzzing filling the air... then it erupts from my fingertip as a bolt of condensed carnage.

The lightning strikes dead-center in a crowd of Nomu with a deafening CRACK, detonating on impact. Arcs chain across their bodies as flesh is seared, muscles twitch and burn, and then—

They collapse, smoke curling from their ruined bodies.

Mirko lands beneath me, drenched in blood, but still grinning.

"You're brutal," she laughs approvingly.

"I prefer the term efficient," I correct mildly. "I'll support from above. Keep up."

She bares her teeth. "You better."

We move like clockwork.

She charges down the street, while I fly overhead, launching Nomu into her path like bowling pins for her to wreck. She shatters them without slowing—every kick a small-scale demolition.

I hunt the ones hiding in alleys, on rooftops, or just too far off her path—crushing, flaying, and vaporizing any that enter my radar.

'It feels less like a battle... and more like a game.'

An explosion blooms in the distance and a skyscraper groans as part of its structure collapses.

A steel beam plummets—straight toward a trapped group of civilians.

Mirko is already moving—but I'm faster.

I snatch the falling beam mid-air, twisting its momentum, and fire it like a railgun into a Nomu charging her from behind.

It hits with a sickening THWACK, impaling the Nomu and pinning it to the asphalt like a bug.

She glances back and grins. "Thanks, partner."

I raise a brow. "So now I'm your partner? Not a brat?"

She shoots me a glare. "Keep talkin' and you'll be thrashed next."

I smile faintly. "Sure thing... partner."

Two maniacs—one in the sky, one on the ground—carve a path of destruction through the invading horde of Nomu, leaving a trail of destruction and bodies in their wake.