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A Deal with the Deku

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Izuku has been pushed down for as long as he’s been alive. To be fair, he is six years old, so he really hasn’t been alive for very long, but it’s true, just the same. It’s been two years since he was diagnosed as Quirkless and it’s been one since Kacchan turned on him. It’s been six months since Kacchan started beating him up and it’s been exactly five minutes since the last time he did.

Brushing some of the dust and dirt off his pants and shirt, he grabs his bag from under the slide - he’s been hiding it there since Kacchan almost set his bag on fire - and swings it over his shoulders. He slinks out of the playground and the clock outside the nearby café reads 4:30 back at him. His mom must be really worried about him, even though their school is a block from their house. 

(He wanted to ask her to pick him up so he wouldn’t be bullied anymore, but he knows she’s busy. She does have to take care of him, after all. Deku, useless Deku, eating her food and being a waste of space. She never does, calling it a waste of time, but Izuku knows she loves him. She loves him, right?)

In his daze, he forgets to turn when he reaches his street and he continues to walk. Store after store, street after street, block after block, he walks and walks until he can’t walk anymore. He has no clue where he is, so he glances around at his surroundings. He’s at a garbage dump and there’s a sign to his right that says where he is. He squints at it, trying to read the original writing under the graffiti over it. Da-dagoba? Dagobah Beach?

The graffiti reads a few words he doesn’t understand, along with a few he does. He’s not sure why the sign is telling him to go away and beware, but he ignores it. For the other words, he tries to spell out but his mouth seems not to want to cooperate. They look like gibberish to him, a nonsensical mix of consonants with no vowels. They don’t look like words to him, so he concludes that they’re probably a different language, like French? German?

He shakes off the eerie feeling that the weird language instilled in him, and he looks back at the mess in front of him. This is a beach?

Izuku walks to the first mountain of garbage, the one nearest to the entrance. He wades through the trash, not having anything else to do. He’s lost, he’ll admit that, but maybe there’s something of value here. Something that’ll prove that he’s not worthless, that Deku’s not worthless. Grabbing anything that his little hands can hold onto, he pushes the garbage to the side, slowly but surely making a dent in the mound. Covered in small cuts from the sharp objects that he’s picked up, his hands drip blood onto the rusty metal, but he feels no pain. 

The only thoughts going through his head right now are bitter ones. “I need to be useful. I need to be useful, useful, not useless, not Deku.” 

The sun starts to set around him and he’s starting to feel the blood loss, with the cuts now extending up to his elbows. By now, his t-shirt is torn up into little pieces, the sleeves having as many cuts and tears as his arms currently do. The wounds burn and a small part of him wonders if this is how he dies. Dead in a trash heap. Just like how a Deku should be. Is this where he belongs?

(A bigger part of him whispers that he should just stay here, that he should relieve Mama of the burden he puts on her. He’s not useful, he doesn’t have a Quirk.)

He reaches the sand, having torn the trash mountain in two from the top. It wasn’t very high to begin with, but as his feet touch the sand, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He plops down on the beach, grabbing a handful of sand and watching the individual grains seep through the cracks in his hands. The cuts in his palms leave the sand speckled with blood and from the speed at which he’s bleeding, he’s fairly sure he’s cut an artery.

He kicks his legs out to relax and very nearly almost screams in pain when his shoes make contact with a hard object. (Thankfully, the object wasn’t sharp, or else he wouldn’t have feet anymore.) He sticks his arm out and grabs the object that almost broke his foot. It’s an ornate box, as black as the night itself. There’s a lock on the box, but it seems like it’s been worn down from the elements and just from time itself, if the snapped shackle is any indication of such.

This is worth something, right? He picks it up and when he turns it upside down to see the bottom, a small black book falls out. The book is as pitch black as the box it came in, with certain pages sticking in and out, special small tags attached to three pages. 

He turns to the first marked page, only a few pages from the beginning. He feels the temperature around him fall by a few degrees, but he chalks it up to the sun setting. It’s written in the same type of gibberish as the words on the sign were and it’s illegible to him, so he turns to the next marked page.

This page, unlike the first one, is relatively deep into the book. There’s no writing on this page, but it’s covered in squiggles and drawings, all of one person. Well, Izuku thinks it’s a person. The man has two horns protruding from his head and claws on his hands. A barbed tail sweeps behind him and there’s a pair of wings stretching from his back. There are two drawings of the man: one in good lighting, where the man is seen with ruby red skin, and another in darkness, with the eyes and grin being the only noticeable things. He looks familiar and Izuku stares at the picture for a while, wondering where he’s seen this man before.

The last marked page is the last page in the entire book and Izuku notes that there’s a page number in the bottom corner. It reads ‘666’ back at him and this page is covered in a glossy sheen, compared to the worn and tattered paper the rest of the book is made of. This page is written in Japanese, and Izuku looks through the paragraph. 


To whomever this may concern, if you wish for power and revenge, there is a way for you. Ever felt like you’ve been betrayed? That you’ve been written off? That you’ve been beaten into the ground, your hopes and dreams crushed? Only I, and this book can save you. All others have lost hope in you, haven’t they? And why blame them? You’re useless, weak, a sinner, impure. Why would angels stop to help you? They are free and good. You are not .

(As the paragraph goes on, Izuku finds himself nodding, first in determination, then in resignation. Why would they help him? They have Quirks and are strong. Why would they help a useless Deku, like him?)

Draw this sigil, this pentagram in your own blood and you will find what you desire. 


There’s another sentence under the writing, but it’s written in the same scrawl and language as the other text, so Izuku disregards it.

Izuku looks at the book, then at his bleeding hands, then back at the book. Can’t hurt to try, right?

He flattens the sand around him, careful not to bump into any of the garbage, lest it all fall on top of him. He draws out where blood is supposed to be in the sand, and his cuts leave a small trail of blood where he puts his hands down. He grabs the previous bloody sand and sprawls it out in the design, reducing the amount of blood he needs. He’s not sure if it needs to be fresh, but he thinks it’ll be fine.

As he’s about to finish the final line, he steps back to look at the sigil. It’s a wide circle, with a five point star drawn inside. He drips the last line together and as soon as the star is intact, it lights up a vibrant red. Izuku sways where he stands, partly from the energy coming from the circle, but mostly from the blood loss.

Sorry Mom, I don’t think I’ll make it back. It was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it? Don’t miss me.

The last thing he sees before passing out is a tall man with a maroon cape rising out of the red light, before rushing to his side. It’s funny that only at death’s door, does someone actually care for him.




You’ll just be returning to me. You’ll be coming home. You belong where I am, where no light reaches. You belong in Hell. You’ll join your friends, you will, YOU WILL. After all, nobody cares for you like I do. Nobody loves you like I do. Nobody will give up anything for you, not like I do. I am your only, so you must be my only. You must be mine, and mine alone. So you must kill for me.

- Final words on Page 666 of Izuku’s Shadow Booklet , written in a mysterious language.




Mephistopheles didn’t expect to be called to the surface world. He’d told his previous owner to throw his box into the sea, so he’d never have to corrupt another soul again. He’s made the same mistake by selling his own soul to the Devil, and he’d warned every person since then not to take the deal. In fact, deals with the Devil have been dropping these days, what with the new Quirks and all that. 

He can’t stay any longer on this plane, the miasma calling his demon side back to hell. He’d normally ask the person who summoned him to reconsider, but the boy is unconscious and the demon part of him can’t go back unless he brings the boy with him. Not doing so would kill him, but bringing the boy - the boy, he’s only five or six! - would doom him to a sinful life.

His selfless side tries to break free, but he is a demon at the end of the day, so he scoops up the small boy’s body into his arms and walks back into the fading light. 

It shuts behind him as he crosses the border between the worlds and he sighs as the world around him begins to shift and swirl until all the colours are mixed into a grey background around him. One more life to the darkness. He hopes that the boy had a good reason for this. He better.

He takes one of his claws and digs it into the palm of his hand. The blood wells up and he smears it on a few of the boy’s biggest injuries, the cuts sealing up almost immediately. The boy is at least a little part-demon now, but Mephistopheles shrugs, assuming that the boy knew of the consequences of summoning a demon, meaning he can’t be at fault. The boy must have known, right? It’s written in Daemonics, meaning he can read it, so of course the boy can read it too.

He stills at that, before looking at the boy. The boy is human. Was human.

Ugh, Faustus is going to kill him again.




Izuku wakes up in someone’s arms. The figure seems to have not noticed him yet and he’s too lethargic to do much. He also has a headache from his senses. His eyes are sharper than usual and the increased sight, along with his new sense of smell and hearing, are giving him hell. 

The figure stops at a huge wooden door, painted half black and half white. The white side is covered in scratch marks, while the black side is immaculate. The man uses one hand to carve another gash into the white half of the door and the door swings open immediately after. He hears commotion on the other side of the door, and it only gets louder once the door is open. The figure takes a few steps in and everything goes silent. Izuku uses this opportunity to peek over the figure’s arms. He wriggles a bit and the figure looks down at him, their beady eyes glinting like two pieces of coal.

“Hush, wait.” And Izuku does.

The figure walks up to the staircase, their footsteps echoing in the now silent banquet hall. From Izuku’s peephole, he can see a red man sitting on a huge opulent throne, with horns and claws and wings and fangs.

The figure shoots him a little smile, before ushering him up the stairs. He can feel every pair of eyes on him and he has to resist the urge to curl in onto himself. He gets to the top of the stairs and the man sitting on the throne smiles at him. It’s not a happy smile, or even a sad smile, like the ones he sometimes has, no. It’s a scary smile, a vicious one, like how a predator greets its prey on the field.

“Well, hello there, little boy.” The shadowy figure smirks, their razor-sharp smile glinting in the low lighting. He crosses their hands together, their claws clicking against each other, with the sound being the only constant in the endless chaos surrounding them.

“H-hello.” A six year old Izuku says, looking the shadowy man in the eye. The shadow man scares him, but Mama always said not to be rude to strangers and the man hasn’t done anything bad yet. 

“Why did you summon this...filth, human.” The man says, scoffing at the figure at the bottom of the stairs. It’s worded more as a statement than a question and Izuku tries to find the words to respond.

“I got lost and I found a beach covered in trash. I cleared some of it, I cut myself a few times and I found the box. I drew the thing, and now I’m here.” Izuku glances at his cuts, some of which are slowly stitching together in front of his very eyes. He looks back at the man. “I’m lost.”

The man laughs loudly, the sound echoing through the chamber. Everybody else stays silent. “No, my dear disciple, no, my-” The man stops as he thinks of a word, clicking his claw on his chin. “-child, you’re right where you belong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will take care of you, I will give you power.” The man says, not phased by the boy’s questions.

“But I’m useless, a useless Deku! I’m weak.” Izuku replies, looking at the floor.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t look down anymore, you’re one of us now.” He says, the ‘s’ sound in us being elongated,  “I can give you all you seek, if only you follow me.”

“See, this here, can give you what you desire.” The man says, gesturing to a luminescent orb with one sharp claw. “So how about it?” The man’s eyes narrow to little crescents, his red irises staring at Izuku. Coupled with his almost feral grin and his general appearance, to Izuku, he looks like a demon, like the Devil.

“How would you like to have a Quirk?”

Izuku gasps at that, in excitement or in shock, he’s not quite sure. “Really? You’ll give me a Quirk?”

The man chuckles at that, grabbing onto Izuku’s chin with a clawed hand. He pulls the boy closer to him and whispers in his ear.

“Of course, son. Sinners stick together.”




Izuku is deposited on his doorstep a few hours after he summons Mephistopheles, right as the sun is setting. Well, that ‘few hours’, that’s in human realm time, at least. His stay in Hell (he learns that’s the name of the place after a few days) lasts one year. In this one year, he learns how to use his new power, learns that maybe sinners and demons might be nicer than angels and saints, learns how to use glamour to disguise himself as a person. 

He spends most of his time down in Hell learning about the people there, and their stories of how they fell from grace. Belphegor was condemned for curiosity. Gusion was shot down for defying an oracle with his visions. Orias fell because he interfered with the stars and their visions, telling people how he could decipher them. And as Izuku listens to more and more stories, he comes to realize that maybe angels are the real demons and that maybe he, a sinner and someone fallen. Maybe he can be great.

He no longer thinks of himself as useless. One might say that his superiority complex rivals even Bakugou now, although that’s not really hard. Being raised by demons will do that to you. He enters the house, no longer a six year old in his mind, though he never really was. He walks into the house, his mom nowhere to be seen. He finds a note on the table: a sentence saying she was never coming back. It mentions that she’d had enough of a Quirkless kid and that while she’d pay for the apartment, it didn’t change the fact that she’d hope he’d rot in hell.

Oh, if she knew.

A baby crow from the cages in Hell perches itself on his shoulder. It chirps at him and he chirps back. Living in Hell made him learn how to read, write, understand and speak both Daemonics and Crowlish, so he can understand what the crow’s saying.

“Your mom leave?”

“Yeah, my mom’s gone.” Izuku twitters, before looking back at the empty apartment. “On the plus side, there’s nobody else here, so you guys can live with me now.”

At that, three more crows poke their heads out of his hair. “Really?”

“Yeah, not like anybody’s going to tell you to leave. Just keep clean and don’t leave feathers everywhere.”

They fly into the room, setting up a nest above their kitchen cabinets, while Izuku dumps the contents of his tattered backpack onto the couch. He’ll check on that later. He walks to his mother’s previous room and looks at the door for a while. He uses magic to lock the door shut - permanently. The door fuses with the door frame and Izuku walks back to where the baby crows are crowding. The first one was a dark black, colored like a normal crow, but the other three are a bit different.

One of them is a bloody red, with its feathers catching alight after they fall off, and another is snow white, with its plume freezing any surface it comes into contact with after it’s removed. Mephi (yes, he calls Mephistopheles Mephi) gave him the black, white and red ones, but the last one is from Dad himself. It’s a green color, the color of Izuku’s hair. He’d asked Dad for it to be exposed to his magic, so it would turn into the emerald in front of him. It’d act as his last reminder to his old life once he’d switched to his new identity. 

Speaking of Dad, he’d been busy these past few weeks in Hell, preparing for Izuku to come back to the human realm. The Devil’s really not scary once you get to know him, but that might be because he adopted Izuku as his son and even demons have familial ties.

He adjusts his glamour a bit, removing the color disguise on his hair, leaving only the style of his new longer hair. His horns and claws - of course - are still hidden. He doesn’t need invasive questions. His face smooths over a bit, removing the freckles he was once proud of. His eyes turn crimson and become more slanted and angry. He notes that he’s starting to look like a red-haired Bakugou. He looks in a mirror and makes an agreeable sound when he looks almost nothing like Izuku did.

For sinners are damned, and Izuku is a sinner. Sinners have fallen from grace, not allowed anything, let alone being allowed to be a hero. His Dad wasn’t happy about that, but he’d agreed, as long as he’d stick to his original goal. (His Dad also told him to take his name, and Izuku hadn’t seen a reason to disagree.) Sinners are hunted and killed, and he has a mission.

For Midoriya Izuku is dead now, and in his place, stands a demon and an imposter. 

In his place stands Akatani Mikumo.

Chapter Text

Quirks are a part of a human’s soul, the first one coming from a dying angel blessing a child at its birth. The glowing child shocked humanity to its very core, awaking a previously dormant thirst for power. This caused early 21st century humans to worship (and fear) Quirks, almost fervently. To counterbalance this wave (and make sure Heaven could not control society via Quirks), demons released what was within Pandora’s box (stolen during the First Holy War), the evils inside mutating into what current human society sees as “evil or flawed” Quirks. 

Examples of such include: 

  • Wrath mutating into rudimentary super-strength Quirks, though the transformations needed to use it are gruesome. (See page 672 for Muscular, one of the most infamous humans to have this type of Quirk.)
  • Envy becoming Quirks that affect other Quirks. A notable example of this type is the Accipere family, one of the most influential demonic families, in which members have the ability to copy or even steal other demons’ abilities. (See page 147.)
  • Pride evolving into Quirks that affect people’s opinions and thoughts. They can be as simple as seduction Quirks to being able to manipulate people’s emotions. (See page 719 for Puppeteer, a Golden Age villain that would convince heroes to fight other heroes using their Quirk.)

These first cursed individuals turned to villainy to survive, doing what they needed to do while being hunted and persecuted. Thus, the fight between good and evil, between Heaven and Hell, slowly changed. Instead of angels invading Hell and demons climbing to Heaven, they chose to have Quirk-based warfare, using humans as puppets to advance their goals.

The Second Holy War erupted (around a century ago) and started over Quirk marriages. Angels thought it was morally wrong, but it strengthened pure Quirks by combining good Quirks to make better ones. Demons believed that it disadvantaged them, forcing their Quirks to compete with stronger ones, bred to beat corrupted Quirks.

Quirk marriages were often forced, and many of these children went underground, taking Deals to either get rid of their Quirks (or get rid of their families). The demons were happy to accept, merging this magic with their own, allowing corrupted Quirks to become less unsavoury. The angels, naturally, were not happy, with Quirk magic being the only parts of each type of magic that can be used by others. (Demonic Quirks can be harnessed by Angels and vice-versa.) 

It culminated in the angels storming the gates of Hell, breaking into the treasury, releasing many forbidden hexes. One such spell, a Duke’s curse, was able to remove a demon’s powers and it turned out that this curse impacted Quirks of any type. This caused the Quirk Hysteria of 2158, causing widespread panic, raising the newborn Quirkless rate from 10% to almost 35%, halting the war in its tracks, forcing angels and demons to work together to undo what they released.

This also led to a prevalence in Quirkism - discrimination against Quirkless and weak-Quirked individuals, along with “evil” Quirks - with humans afraid to lose what they thought of as theirs, the powers bestowed to them by higher powers, and people wrongly believing themselves greater than the gods.

- An excerpt from “The Entire History of Angels and Demons: Quirk Edition”




He gets back to the kitchen and grabs the needle attached to his waist at all times. Pricking his finger a bit, he draws out a small transportation spell on a nearby piece of paper. (Dried blood is so hard to get off counters, you would not BELIEVE .) Out of the red shimmer comes a paper bag filled with food and Izu- no, Izuku’s dead now, Mikumo sends a small thanks to whichever demon packed it. He's starving! (Yeah, technically he can survive without food, but where's the fun in that?) 

He puts his still dripping finger into a bowl nearby to collect the blood for future uses. He's a half-demon so he can’t die, but he can definitely pass out from exhaustion. Plus, he's still technically a kid, and they don't have a lot of blood to begin with.

After eating, he turns his attention back to the crows, who are now chirping next to the backpack he brought back from Hell. It's probably because they sense the familiar energy, the miasma, slowly fading away. It’s probably like losing an arm, having the miasma they’ve had around them their entire lives suddenly disappear.

He can sense it too, but not as strongly. Despite everything, he's still half-human. It's what demons need to survive, it's their nutrition. He'd normally need it too if he was a full demon, but his human side can take the energy from food to keep him alive. It's why full demons can't survive in the mortal plane. There’s simply no sustenance for them here. They can last a full day at most before having to retreat back to Hell to recuperate, sometimes for a week. And besides, the only reason that they ever come to the human world is to collect souls.

(The fact that Mikumo was the first child in one hundred years to make a Deal with the Devil probably explains why Dad adopted him to begin with. He’s a walking soul collector, able to stay in the human world for as long as needed. He’s not stupid, he knows he’s useful, but if being useful means that the few people who’ve treated him with respect continue to do so, he has no problems being their tool.)

He grabs the stuff he dumped on the couch and meticulously lays it out on the kitchen counter. There are a few spellbooks, most talking about sealing a Deal, but there's one that's about familiar summonings and bindings and Mikumo thinks he'll start with that one. He grabs the tome, bound by worn out grey leather with the words “Summoning for Halves” inked in Daemonics on the thick cover.

He flips to the page his summoning teacher had dog-eared (what, do you think Hell doesn’t have school?), the one about binding already existing animals. The book states that it has to be a magical animal, and while normally this would be an issue, Mikumo knows that his crows are byproducts of one of the lesser demons. As in, that demon literally produces crows from their hands. Besides, even if they weren't, he knows that his crows are extremely loyal, even without a binding from a summon.

The only reason why he's even binding them is because it'll make them - and by extension, him - stronger. They'll grow to his age and seven year old crows are much stronger than newborn ones. They'll also live until he dies - which will be...never, because he's a half-demon. If he gets mortally wounded, he just gets sent to Hell where he'll have to face a very angry Dad. The crows will just get sent there as well and the next time he has to go down to Hell, he'll just pick them up.

He opens their closet to look for a blanket. He has no qualms about drawing on the floor, but he doesn't have the time to wash the blood off if he stains the wood. (He's also not sure if this spell is an ignition spell and he has no plans of burning his new house down just yet.) He pulls out a thick blanket and inspects it. It's one of his oldest blankets, one with All Might's face plastered over it. He inwardly scoffs; he used to be this obsessed? 

Whatever, the past is in the past.

He grabs the bowl filled up halfway with his blood and dips his finger into it to start drawing, staining All Might's face a bloody red. This sigil is made up of two triangles layer on top of each other , forming a six-point star. With a circle in the center and another one surrounding the entire spell, he's done the basic groundwork. He scribbles in the Daemonics where they're supposed to be and laughs when he reads it. Really, one of the phrases needed is Do No Harm ? He knows from personal experiences that an attack from a familiar hurts like hell, so that's a lie.

He chirps at the crows. "Stand in the middle of the circle please."

They all turn towards him and tweet. "Why? Is a ritual?"

Mikumo nods, before picking up the green one and the white one. "Yup, if you're not going to move by yourselves, I'll have to move for you."

The other two birds take off and he deposits the two in his hands in the middle of the circle, where the red one and the black one meet them. With all four birds in the innermost circle, he looks back at the page and frowns. It's written in Daemonics, but the spell was obviously meant for a human to use. After all, he's supposed to take the Daemonic text and translate it into his native language, or else it won't work. That's dumb. A demon wouldn't know Japanese and a human wouldn't know Daemonics.

This seems a little fishy. Well, it’s not like he has any other options. He casts the spell, reciting the words written in the book.

As soon as Mikumo says the last word, he sees the circle light up in green, black, white and red light. He can feel the energy draining off him and he sways where he stands. He pushes through it, if only for his new familiars. Stopping in the middle of a familiar process can temporarily, or in some cases, permanently screw up the familiar. From growing another head, to violently exploding, the unbound magic in the familiar has to go somewhere. He really should have done them one at a time, to save energy. He got too cocky.

As the light fades, Mikumo falls to the ground, panting. He's utterly exhausted but it was worth it for the power spike he's about to get. The four birds are no longer babies but are each now the size of a table lamp. They aren't limited to earthly growth patterns, considering they grew up in the miasma of Hell and that they were force aged via the familiar link.

He stands up, looking at the birds. How is Mikumo going to carry them? They're probably really heavy as well and they sure as hell won't fit into his hair anymore. As if on command, the red one disappears in a poof of smoke. He feels something fly into his hair and when he fishes it out, it's the red crow, back to the size it originally was, the size of a jar.

Oh, right, the mental bond between familiars and their summoner. They're crows so they won't send any of their feelings and commands over the link unless it's for a specific mission that he's assigned them, but they can hear every word that he thinks and every command that he orders.

Taking a step forward, he almost collapses from the strain and a mental check shows him exactly what he already knew: his demon side is running out of energy. 

Sighing, he takes the few more steps required to shrug on what else was sitting in his bag: a tattered, but magically infused robe. The spell on it is an old yet simplistic one, lost to the annals of time. His demon history teacher (ugh, Ronove was a bore ) had told him that the magic was stolen in the Second Holy War, snatched from a fallen Seraphim’s back. Demons can’t cast angelic spells, lest they start to burn, and vice versa, making the cape more than a hundred years old.  

Anyways, think of it as a simple levitation spell, the demonic version of which would be a weight-enhancing spell, increasing gravity on the subject. Maybe Pondus (page 328 of Izuku’s Shadow Booklet) will do the trick? He’ll have to try it out later.

Any other demon wouldn't need such a device, but evidently, he's not any other demon. Seeing as he's a human turned half-demon, he only got the practical aspects of demons: razor sharp horns, a tail for balance and claws able to cut through steel. Yeah, none of that cool stuff. No red irises and black sclera, no fangs, and no wings. Basically, he can't fly like other demons, AND his unglamoured skin looks like he was badly sunburnt, being a constant light red. Not the most scary thing, if you ask him.

He buckles the top button together and the spell kicks into place. He puts his hood on, the fabric having two holes where his horns would be. The clothing is made of tanned leather, stained a pitch black. The inside of the hood is a wine red, pairing nicely with his gloves of the same color. They're fingerless, so he has easy access to blood should he need it. There's also a pair of boots with a little heel, to make him seem more intimidating. Underneath the robe, all he has on is his civilian clothing, so he changes into his Hellish clothing: a completely red bloody tunic that used to be white (he couldn't get the stains out) and a pair of black leggings (for mobility). There’s also a small leather bag he carries with him, just for some extra storage.

Once satisfied by the complete outfit, he warps to a place he knows will be filled with people raring to make a deal at this time: a seedy alleyway.

The alley materializes in front of him and he has to blink a few times to clear the dark spots from his eyes. (Turns out teleportation spells have a nasty side effect of blinding people, ugh.) The moon is already half way up in the sky and Mikumo scowls. He doesn't have a lot of time, he needs to completely stock up and that'll take quite a while, considering that three-fourths of the energy he gets is sent back to Hell, per his contract.

Time to make a Deal.




Page 328

Pondus: Weight

This spell has the effect of causing the unfortunate subject to be crushed into the ground, their gravity tripling or even quadrupling, depending on the user’s skill with the ability.  Can be lethal if the user is skilled enough with it,  is mostly used as a containment tool. Classified as a Medium Difficulty Spell, the effects can be made into a potion, although few users have had the expertise and experience with the spell to do so, seeing as the spell Fortis Pondus is a stronger and more lethal version. Requires 5 point touch.

Casting: Incantation

( A drawing of the effects is seen underneath.)


Page 329

Angel Equivalent: *Unknown Name* 

The angel equivalent of Pondus seems to be a simple weight-lifting spell. It cuts the subject’s weight in half, or even three or four times, depending on the user. There have been angels who have used this spell to completely remove their gravity, although the spell they use is suspected to be the stronger version of this one. Just as Pondus has Fortis Pondus, so does this spell have a stronger version. There seem to be few noticeable side effects of this spell, apart from a bit of nausea. Seems to require 5 point contact, much like Fortis.

 Stronger Angel Equivalent: *Unknown Name* 

Same as the one above, but likely stronger. It seems to be able to nullify gravity entirely, creating a sphere of zero-gravity surrounding the target, though even the most skilled users seem to experience nausea with prolonged use or use on extremely heavy or large objects. (Has a limit of the number of objects that can be affected at once as well.) Observed via a Seraphim using it to lift a boulder to prevent it from crushing a city during the Second Holy War. Seems to require 5 point contact, much like Fortis Pondus. (Not confirmed.)

- Spells on Pages 328 and 329 of Izuku’s Shadow Booklet , written in a mysterious language.




He jumps onto the nearby roof, searching for his -  for lack of a better word - prey. He needs to find someone down on their luck, someone who’ll need his help. He chose to warp to a nearby alleyway, just because he doesn’t have the energy to teleport to a different city right now. He’ll change his hunting ground next time, so as to not rouse suspicion from the authorities. He doesn’t need humans trying to harness his power or steal his Shadow Booklet

Well, not like they can. It’s bound to him and he can summon it to his hand at will. Sure, he could register that as his Quirk, but how would he explain the crows? Or the rest of his powers. Most people don’t believe in a God or a Devil anymore, but that doesn’t mean that people won’t realize, given enough time.

As he passes a block or two, he finds what he’s looking for: an unsuspecting person. The man looks to be in his thirties, with dull grey eyes and a mustache. Around him are three boys, all showing off their Quirks. Mikumo sneers at them and once he gets close enough to hear what they’re saying, he’s appalled, old memories coming back to him.

“Quirkless scum like you has nothing on us!”

“Yeah, what a weakass.”

“Pssh, the cripple here can’t do anything without a Quirk.”

Mikumo holds down his temper and slowly floats down to the ground, his cape doing the work for him. His feet make a small click when he lands and the boys turn to look at him. They flare their Quirks up again, one with a shittier version of his claws, another with a bubble Quirk. The last person, the one standing proud and tall in the middle - he must be the leader - has glowing crimson eyes that reminds Mikumo of Mephi’s disapproving look. 

(Ugh, even in the human realm, he can’t escape Mephi’s presence.)

“Oh, who’re you? A hero wannabe? Get lost.” The leader says, eyes flashing on and off as he talks. “We’re first year UA students, you and whatever shitty Quirk you’ve got can’t possibly compare.”

UA students tormenting a citizen. Huh. He’s never thought of himself as a vindictive person, but he supposes he can make an exception, just this time. As someone without a Quirk, he’s about to put these kids in their place.

“Oh, please, I could beat all of you without even lifting a finger.” And Mikumo isn’t bluffing, his newly upgraded familiars could easily take out these ’heroes’ in training.

They scowl at him and he can hear a faint growling from the one with the claws. An animal transformation Quirk, then? That seems fitting for an asshole to have, seems like something that Dad would give out as the terms of a Deal.

(He’ll have to ask Dad for a copy for his own Deals.)

The clawed one bursts towards him, ready to strike, before he slams into an air wall and hits his head on the hard concrete. Mikumo mentally thanks the parting gift that Foras gave him: three magically infused stones with protection runes carved into them, before pulling out his own claws.

Taunting the boys, Mikumo draws out his own claws and waves his hands in the air, much like jazz hands. “Oh, looks like I win!” He knows he’s not supposed to taunt enemies, lest he underestimate them, but it’s his first deal, let him have his fun.

The other boys stare at his claws and then their friend, now unconscious on the dirty ground. Mikumo shoots them a look and they wisely choose to grab their friend and flee. Mikumo looks back at the man after the boys leave, injured boy in tow. He’s cowering in fear on the ground and Mikumo resists the urge to scoff at him. Sure, he pities the man because he knows what it’s like, but he’s disgusted by the fact that the man didn’t do anything. He could have done anything, trained so that he wouldn’t be such an easy target, anything.

Ugh, humans.

But that doesn’t matter right now. Mikumo needs energy and with the stunt he just pulled with his claws, he’s really running on empty now. “Do you desire power?”

The man looks up from where he’s sitting, awe clear in his eyes. “I do, but I’m Quirkless. You got a fine Quirk there, you’ll make it big, but me, no.”

The half-demon mentally rolls his eyes at the man. Just giving up to your fate like that. Is this what he was like as a human? Oh, Izuku really was weak, wasn’t he? (It’s no wonder why Izuku got replaced.)

The man takes Mikumo’s silence as anger and quickly cowers back into his corner. Barely a whisper comes out when he speaks again. “Can you help me?”

Mikumo smiles back at the man, though he’s pretty sure it looks less friendly and more intimidating than he intends it to be. “Sure I can. All you have to do is make a Deal with me.”

He pulls out the power orb that he’d been given to make Deals. “How would you like to have a Quirk?” He chuckles at the irony of the situation. The Quirkless boy giving Quirks to other people, with the same words that he was offered. Besides, Mikumo’s powers don’t count as a Quirk. He’s just a different life form now. This man, however, will not be becoming someone like him, no, that’s not allowed. He’ll be getting an actual Quirk.

“Yes, yes, please!” 

“The terms of the contract are as follows: you get a decent Quirk for five years, a useless Quirk for half of your full original lifespan, or a strong Quirk for two years.” When Mikumo sees that the man is about to speak up, probably to agree immediately, he silences the man with a glare. He hates people (and demons) who interrupt him, especially if what they wanted to say is stupid. “The payment will be that after the time with your Quirk is up, your soul will be mine for the taking. There’s also a deposit of half your soul at the time of signing the contract, to ensure you don’t run. Just a few emotions as a pre-payment of sorts.”

(Emotions like empathy and kindness, but the man doesn’t need to know that. Most people who take the strong or even the decent Quirk go on rampages and murder sprees, but that’s of no concern to him. He won’t gain or lose anything from it, but Dad will be happy, so frankly, he doesn’t care. I mean, why would he? He took a Deal as well, just a slightly different one. Doesn’t mean the payment changed a whole lot.)

“Yes, I’ll take anything!”

“Well? Which option will you pick?”

The man’s mouth snaps shut and he looks like he’s deep in thought. After what seems like an eternity, he speaks up again. “I want the strong Quirk. I want revenge on those pests.”

Mikumo grins under his hood. A Deal sealed is more energy for him. With a flick of his wrist, a glowing scroll and quill appears next to them, the floating parchment practically radiating glamour energy. It’s meant to mask the demonic energy coming off the Deal, so that humans don’t suspect anything wrong. 

The man grabs the quill and signs the scroll, not even reading it and Mikumo sighs. Why do none of these humans ever read the Deals that a demon gives them? They’re signing their lives away and none of them even blink an eye.

The scroll snaps shut and Mikumo grabs it out of the air, slipping it into his satchel. It’s not a lot, considering it’s a Quirkless person’s soul (Quirks are an extension of one’s soul), but it feels like a lot to him. The orb’s linked with his soul, so he can feel the moment when one of the Quirks stored inside disappears. He sees the man’s hands light up a dim white for only a moment and he raises an eyebrow.

Extreme fire manipulation, huh? It’s like Endeavor’s Quirk, but even stronger. (The man doesn’t have the resistance to fire that Endeavor does though.) The black and red flames will melt anything in sight, even the user. No amount of flame retardant will put these flames out. They are flames from the Sixth Circle of Hell, after all. Hellflame is stronger than any mortal could dream of.

He pulls the orb of energy back towards himself once he feels the Quirk settle in the man’s body. As he walks away, the man calls to him. “Wait, what are you? What do I call you?”

Mikumo stops, never turning back to the man. His eyes shine from the street lights overhead and he feels his horns start to poke through his glamour. He lets his glamour go for a second, reverting his skin to its original reddish color, allowing his horns to poke through the holes in the hood. His claws are already out, so nothing changes there, but his pupils sharpen a bit, much like a cat’s. He hears the man gasp and he stays silent for a few seconds to draw out the suspense.

“You can call me Deku.” 

He chuckles, the sound of laughter breaking the fragile silence. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t cha think?”