Chapter 2: Shards of Sunlight

The world had narrowed to the sound of the sea, the crunch of sand under his palms, and the
thundering, impossible drumbeat inside his own chest. Izuku’s breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps
that felt like they were moving too much air, as if his lungs had tripled in capacity without his
permission. The taste of salt and ozone was thick on his tongue.

Across from him, Superman—Superman!—was struggling to sit up. The movement was no longer the
effortless, floating grace of news footage. It was the weary, pained motion of a man who had run a
marathon through hell. His blue eyes, now clear of that terrifying red energy, fixed on Izuku with an
intensity that was almost physical.

“Are you…” Superman began, his voice a gravelly baritone that resonated in Izuku’s newly sensitive
bones. He stopped, wincing as he pressed a hand to his side. A normal, human gesture of pain. “Are
you injured?”

The question was so mundane, so human, it shattered Izuku’s panic for a second. The greatest hero in
the universe, fresh from what looked like a cataclysm, was asking him if he was okay.

“I… I don’t think so,” Izuku managed, his voice a squeaky whisper. He looked down at his hands. They
were his hands. A little scraped from the fall, but otherwise normal. Yet, when he curled his fingers,
the sand beneath them compacted with a soft crunch into something as hard as ceramic. He jerked
his hand back as if burned. “But… I can feel it. It’s… it’s inside me. What is this?”

Superman’s expression tightened, a mask of guilt and profound regret. He finally managed to get his
feet under him, standing with a slight sway. He seemed smaller now, not in stature, but in presence.
The aura of invincibility was gone, replaced by a palpable exhaustion.

“It was a power that was killing me,” he said, his gaze distant, seeing memories Izuku couldn’t
imagine. “A gift from… a dark place. It was breaking me apart. And when you touched me…” He
looked at Izuku again, his eyes scanning him not with X-Ray vision, Izuku realized, but with a doctor’s
worry. “You took it. All of it. You grounded the storm.”

“I took it?” The concept was too vast. He’d stolen Superman’s power? The thought was blasphemous.
“No, I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to help! You have to take it back!”

Even as he said it, he felt the energy stir in response to his distress. A faint, golden glow emanated
from his skin for a second, and a small shockwave of force pulsed out from him, kicking up a ring of
sand. He flinched, hugging his arms to his chest, trying to contain the sun within.

“I don’t think I can,” Superman said softly. There was no anger in his voice, only a deep, resonant
sorrow. “It’s intertwined with you now. Your biology… it accepted it in a way mine was rejecting it.
The connection is severed.” He took a careful step forward, moving like someone afraid of startling a
wild animal. “What’s your name?”

“I-Izuku. Izuku Midoriya.”

“Izuku.” Superman said the name with a gravity that made it sound important. “My name is Clark.
Clark Kent. And I am so sorry, Izuku. This should never have happened to you.”

The apology, direct and heartfelt, from Clark Kent, did something strange to Izuku’s panic. It didn’t
erase it, but it boxed it in, made it share space with a dizzying sense of awe. He was having a
conversation with Superman. Who had just told him his secret identity.
“What do I do?” Izuku whispered, the question encompassing everything: the power, the fear, the
fact that his classmates were probably looking for him by now.

Before Clark could answer, a sharp, tinny sound erupted from the ruins of his suit. A faint, static-filled
voice. “…perman… ceive… are you… biosignature spike and then collapse… location…”

Clark touched a barely-intact emblem on his chest. “Batman. I read you. I’m… stable. For now. I need
an emergency extraction. Remote coordinates.” He recited a string of numbers that meant nothing to
Izuku. “Non-standard medical. And… a secure civilian transport. One.”

The voice on the other end was silent for a beat. “Acknowledged. ETA seven minutes. Report status of
the ‘non-standard.’”

Clark’s eyes never left Izuku. “The energy is contained. It’s no longer a threat to me. It has, however,
found a new host. A civilian. No meta-gene signature prior. He’s… handling it. For now.”

Another, longer silence. “Understood. Preparing containment protocols.”

“No,” Clark said, the word firm, leaving no room for argument. “No protocols. He’s a victim, Bruce.
Not a subject. Medical and shelter only. I’ll explain when you arrive.”

The call cut out. The authority in Clark’s voice had been absolute, a glimpse of the leader of the
Justice League. It faded as he turned back to Izuku, replaced again by that weary concern.

“My friends are coming. They’ll help us. You’re not alone in this.”

“My class… they’re up on the overlook,” Izuku said, a new worry cutting through the surreal haze.
“They’ll be looking for me.”

Clark nodded. “We’ll handle it. For now, try to stay calm. The power… it reacts to your emotional
state. Fear, anger, panic—they’re like fuel. Try to breathe. Think of something quiet.”

Izuku tried. He thought of his room, of his shelves lined with hero figurines and binders of analysis.
He thought of his mom’s katsudon. The golden glow under his skin receded slightly. The hum in his
bones dropped from a scream to a low thrum.

The seven minutes felt like seven lifetimes. Izuku sat on a large, flat rock, focusing on his breathing.
Clark remained standing, a silent sentinel, but Izuku could see the lines of pain around his eyes, the
way he favored his right side. He was hurt. Really hurt. And Izuku had his power.

The guilt was a cold stone in his gut, mixing with the churning cosmic energy.

The arrival was silent. One moment, the cove was empty save for the two of them and the sea. The
next, a sleek, black aircraft shimmered into existence about twenty feet above the sand, as if peeling
away a layer of reality. It made no sound. A hatch opened, and a ramp extended to the ground.

A figure descended. He was clad in black and grey, a cape flowing behind him despite the lack of
wind. The Batman. His expression was unreadable behind the cowl, but his gaze swept the scene with
a terrifying, analytical speed, taking in the scorched ground, Clark’s battered state, and finally, locking
onto Izuku.

Izuku felt naked. He was sure those lenses could see every cell, every shimmer of the foreign energy
inside him.

“Report,” Batman said, his voice a low growl that was somehow both emotionless and demanding.
“The God of Strength power has fully transferred to Izuku Midoriya,” Clark said, stepping slightly
between Batman and the boy. A protective gesture. “My cellular decay has halted. I am weak, but
recovering. Izuku is unharmed, but untrained and frightened. He requires our help.”

Batman’s head tilted a fraction of an inch. “The energy readings are… coherent. Stable, for the
moment. No signs of the psychological degradation you exhibited.” He took a step closer, and Izuku
involuntarily shrank back. “Midoriya. Can you tell me what you feel?”

“I… I feel strong,” Izuku stammered out, the understatement of the century. “I can hear everything.
The plane’s engines, even though they’re silent. I can see… layers in the cliff. And I’m afraid if I move
wrong, I’ll break something.”

Batman gave a single, sharp nod. “A rational fear. Control is your first priority. Can you walk?”

“I… I think so.”

“Then come. We’re leaving. Your absence has been noted. We’ve fabricated a story of a minor
landslide and a rescue by local authorities. Your teachers and classmates have been informed you are
safe but receiving precautionary checks at a nearby clinic.”

The efficiency of it was staggering. The world had already been spun around them, truths hidden in
plain sight.

With Clark leaning slightly on Batman for support—a sight so profoundly strange Izuku would have
doubted his own sanity if not for the power in his veins—they boarded the aircraft. The interior was
all cool, dark metal and glowing holographic displays. It was nothing like the bright, hopeful image of
the Justice League. This was the shadow that worked behind it.

As the hatch sealed and the world outside vanished, Batman turned to Clark. “The Watchtower’s
medical bay is ready for you. We’ll rendezvous with the Javelin in orbit.”

Then he turned to Izuku. “And you, Mr. Midoriya, are coming with us. You are now the repository of
one of the most destructive forces this universe has ever created. Until we understand what that
means—for you, and for everyone on this planet—you are under the protection of the Justice
League.”

The aircraft, invisible once more, shot skyward. Izuku watched through the viewport as Japan shrunk
away beneath him, a patchwork of green and grey and blue. He was leaving his life behind, ascending
into a world of gods and monsters, carrying a piece of the sun in his chest.

He looked at Clark, who offered a small, pained, but genuine smile of encouragement. Then he looked
at his own hands, ordinary and yet holding the power to reshape mountains.

He was no longer just a fanboy. He was a variable. A problem. A living, breathing mystery.

And the first lesson, as the blackness of space enveloped the ship, was learning not to be afraid of
himself.

Awesome. Batman runs test on izuku. batman and and superman are suprised at izuku keeping up
with the diagnosis and offering his won theories