Bloodwalker

Chapter 40: The Magician

Trigger Warning/s: quirk use reminiscent of self-harm methods

Pre-chapter notes: Please see tumblr or Quotev if you wish to look at the fanart!

Art: Alexandria Webster on ArtStation! They do both 2D and 3D art, sell stickers, and have a wonderful and diverse portfolio, with works such as tarot and playing card decks, digital games, animations, merchandise, and branding, amongst other things! I hope you can support their work.

.

.

.

The air is heavy and thick. Like the way ballast in the bilge of a ship weighs it down, the previous excitement and adrenaline felt by many of your fellow first-years is now mired down by undertones of tension. You know because you can feel it - feel the eddying of their blood through tensed muscle and clenched fists.

Midoriya Izuku is worth ten million points.

Other than yourself, there doesn't look to be anybody in the crowd that isn't eyeing him like a prize.

"Now, you have fifteen minutes to build your teams," Midnight barks. "Start!"

Naturally, the bush-haired boy is out of the question. So are Bakugo, Todoroki, and any of your other flashier classmates - with them on your team, the crowd's eyes would be like moths to a flame at you. There would simply be no escape. In disgust, you realise that your mouth is dry like sand. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips - to retain a semblance of composure.

Yet, you feel the burn of a vermillion stare etching a path through your body, searing hot lines into your consciousness. There is turbid, angry blood.

Through the crowd of first-years milling about and making teams, you glimpse Bakugo on the other side. He looks furious, and appears as though as he wants to say something, though he would have to eat up the distance through his ever-increasing horde of eager, potential teammates to get to you, before you would even consider hearing him out.

Even then, you do not care to know what he is thinking in this moment. You do not even give him a chance, turning and slithering away through the throng. At that, his blood heats up even more, full of rage, but the sensation fades as your distance grows. Right now, anything associated with the boy means danger for you. It would do you well to avoid being on his radar.

Still, you need a team. A team to rely on; a team to drag down with yourself.

A low drawl breaks through your thoughts.

"Chibana."

Purple hair and a forehead like a smooth, washed potato. "Shinsou-san. Hello."

As always, Shinsou is direct with his intentions. "Do you have a team yet?"

"I do not."

"Then, would you like to join mine? Shoda and Ojiro are already on the team, and I think you'd be a good fourth, since we're lacking ranged defence." He hesitates, as if afraid that you'll spurn his offer. "If you want to, that is," he quickly adds.

All around you, first-years are already gathering into teams, sharing their quirks to find others that are compatible. More popular participants are swarmed with others incessantly, like bees around a hive. Shinsou's periphery remains empty.

From that, you deduce that teaming with Shinsou is most likely a good choice. Even if one of your very own classmates, Ojiro, will be on the team, his quirk doesn't make sparks fly or flowers bloom or force the crowd to shield their eyes and ears from the force of each blow he delivers.

It is a risk you can take.

"Okay," you agree, "I'll join your team."

The purple-haired boy releases a puff of air through his nose - presumably one of relief, though he would never admit it. "...cool. Sure."