Inheritance of Giants

Break on Through

"And you—" he snapped, pointing a trembling finger, "—you were the translator. As much as I hate to say it, this thing might've trusted you. And you wasted that chance... on empathy. For me. And for it."

A bitter laugh.

"I don't mourn you because you're dead. I mourn you because you made death so boring."

Yapool strode toward the wall—toward a side alcove veiled in red-tinged tissue. It opened into a pit, dark and rank with the stench of aged death—so thick the air itself seemed to recoil in revulsion. Where the descent began, the walls shifted from flesh to metal, etched with intricate circuitry and glowing lines of pulsing red.

With a flick of his wrist, the Ood's body rose—suspended by a net of thin, bioluminescent filaments that slithered from Yapool's palm like veins searching for a heart that no longer beat.

He drew the body before him and stared into its dead eyes.

"Tragic, really — dying in vain and thinking it meant something," Yapool said flippantly. "But, oh well—plenty of fish in the sea, as the humans say."

Yapool smiled, but there was no joy in it. Just teeth. Just the echo of someone who had learned mockery before meaning.

He leaned closer to the Ood's still face—close enough to whisper secrets no corpse could carry.

"But not all fish sing to the same current," he added. "And none of them swim backward — not even to save themselves."

The filaments jerked slightly, hoisting the body upright like a marionette suspended for final review. Its limbs dangled limply. The orb in its hand flickered—once, involuntarily—then went black for good.

Yapool clicked his tongue.

"Even in death, your kind refuses to dignify me with rage. Just peace. Just passive resistance. How quaint."

He nodded once — to no one, like a priest closing a book. With another flick of his wrist, the corpse sailed into the pit without ceremony.

"Harmony. Peace. That's what the Ood always wanted, wasn't it?" he muttered.

"Fine. Let them find it together, let them greet one another, let the Ood sing in death and peace... rotting in my pit."

He turned without looking back, the pit sealing behind him with a sound like breath held too long.

'Let them rot in their peace,' Yapool thought. 'They placed their faith in weightless fools. So be it. Let space be their only, faithless fate.'

~

Toga didn't move. Yapool didn't have to speak — disappointment had already replaced the air. He was a being of many emotions, from happiness to melancholy to rage...

Toga only ever saw Yapool disappointed when someone died. One of his students, a human friend, someone with wasted potential.

She had seen that face too many times to forget it.

"Fa- dad," Toga began quietly. "Wh-where is Izuku?"

Yapool remained quiet, still sitting by his flesh table. "You really have gotten good at reading me, haven't you, Toga?"

"Where is Izuku?"

"Fine. Your little boyfriend's sulking in his room," Yapool muttered, slamming his cup down hard.

Toga flinched, but still turned to walk away. "The boy lives," Yapool muttered darkly, but with the most unsettling smile. "Figured you'd want to know, seeing as he's all you care about now. What ever happened to impressing, 'dear old dad?'"