Fallen Angel

Cold As Hell

(A/N: This story will be MUCH darker than most, if not all of, my previous stories. You have been warned...)

Death... A concept we all know is the only known certainty in this world. You never know when you will die or how it will happen, at least... not until it's too late...

A boy stood over a known sex offender. The man below him was dead. The boy goes by 'The Angel of Death'.

No one knows if he is real, or a rumor. If he's a vigilante or a villain. Hell, they don't know if he's human or if he's the grim reaper himself.

He's known to kill criminals of all kinds. Anything from attempted robbery to human trafficking. The Angel of Death will find you.

The only reason anyone even thinks he exists, is because he has spared a few people. People who have valid reasons for crimes-

"I killed in self defense!"

"Please my family is starving! I needed money for food!"

"I lost control of my quirk from suppressing it!"

These were a few examples of what The Angel of Death's spared victims have said and proved. The Angel of Death was no fool though-

He knew if the person was lying, he always knows-

"I needed that money!"

"10 billion yen?"

"Y-yes?"

"No you didn't."

The villain was trembling in fear. The Angel of Death had come for him, and he knew he was dead. The criminal took off running, hoping to at least survive the night.

The Angel of Death stood there. Unfazed by the running criminal. The boy simply climbed a rooftop. He ran and hopped over the city's rooftops.

The criminal took a deep breath. He believed he was finally in the clear. He turned to leave the alleyway and go home, only to be met with a knife to the gut.

The criminal gasped in shock and pain, as he collapsed. The Angel of Death was relentless, stabbing and slashing until the man was dead.

The Angel of Death walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night...

At a lone apartment at 3 am. A sixteen year old teen opens the window, sneaking in, hoping not to wake his neighbors. The boy sighed, as he took off his hood and walked over to a mirror.

In his reflection, he sees himself in a blood soaked black hoodie and dark navy jeans. Fingerless gloves, were worn on his hands. He had black combat boots and a face mask.

He pulled down his face mask, and he could see his freckles. As he gazed upon himself, his cold, calculated eyes scanned for any injuries.

The boy, seeing no injuries, changed into a green hoodie, blue shorts, and red shoes. He put away his gear, gloves, boots, and bloody clothes.

The boy looked over at a Bookshelf. Every single shelf held a notebook with a number on it #1 to #35. His analysis on every pro hero, villain, or vigilante he knows of.

The greenette grabbed one of the older notebooks. #14 he finished not long after a meeting with his former hero- 'You can't be a hero without a quirk...'

The greenette growled at the memory, as he opened to the signed page. He looked at the signature, then to the corner, where 'Izuku Midoriya' was written.

He'd stopped signing his notes, after he started this life. He sighed once more, and put the notebook away. It had been two years since he'd given up on his old childish dream.

His mother would hate what he'd become. He knows that. But she's gone, so he couldn't give a damn. He laid on his bed, awake, he looked at his ceiling.

He counted the cracks for the hundredth time. He wanted to sleep, he had work in the morning, after all. But he just couldn't. Call it insomnia, a guilty conscious, or anything in between, he couldn't care less.

This hero society has too many cracks, they must be fixed. Not covered up. Someone has to make an effort, or nothing will be done.

Izuku twisted and turned all throughout the earlier morning. His alarm finally went off. Telling him it was time to go to work. Izuku let out a huff-

"Evil never sleeps," Izuku let out a fait chuckle. "And neither do I..."