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A Familiar Face
“You’re awake,” a voice called from the red swirling mist, catching the spirit’s attention for but only a moment. Then, it simply continued its apathetic observation of the frozen world around it. Taking in everything but refusing to acknowledge taking in none of it. Choosing instead to focus on the paper confetti floating, frozen in the shape of snowflakes over the expanse of the stage.
“Do you remember who you are,” the voice asked, seeming aware of, and nonplussed at being ignored.
“Are you the reaper,” the spirit finally deemed to respond, still refusing to turn its attention to the speaker. “Here to take my soul off to the afterlife? Or whatever it is that acts as one. I never put stock in those beliefs, much less the religions that believe in them…”
There was a small laugh in response, soft and almost musical in its tone. The spirit was inexplicably reminded of a cat’s purr at the sound of it. “The complete opposite actually, I’m here to change your fate…” The voice paused, almost as though waiting for a response. Then, after receiving no reaction, in an even quieter tone. “I’m here to prevent your death.”
The spirit couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped them, the formless blue flame that was its body unable to form the scowl that it so desperately wanted to shoot at the voice. Though it still refused to turn to the voice, doggedly keeping its attention on the frozen snowflakes even as it snapped out an answer. “Impossible, there’s no logical way for anyone to be able to bring a dead body back to life! Not without complications, or consequences! There’s no known quirk or medical procedure in the entire world that has that kind of power!”
“’Known’ being the key word there.”
“Enough,” the spirit snarled, only just managing to keep itself from turning to confront the voice. “Not only is it impossible, but it’s completely illogical! How would a power like that even work? Much less be kept quiet in a world run by the gutter press like ours is! And that’s not even taking into account the information networks unknown to the normal public or even the Hero Commission! And yet, you expect me to believe - just accept that you somehow have this amazing power to reverse death and are going to use it on me and not… and not…”
A deafening silence permeated the red misted void as the spirit’s angry voice choked off. Memories it had desperately tried to bury, as well as the feelings that accompanied them, rose unbidden to the forefront of their mind. The memory of a young boy, standing amongst the remains of a demolished building, blood seeping from the crumbling stonework as the sky wept overhead. The boy had wanted to scream, to cry out, to rage and lash out at anything and everything, but he did nothing more but watch as the mangled remains of one of his best friends was pulled from the wreckage.
And now, this very night, years later with those same years as experience under his belt, his other best friend, his partner, is cut down before his very eyes. Unable to reach the stage in time, he had watched as the cricket like villain cut through Present Mic’s directional speaker and chest as easily as if he were cutting through paper. The man had wanted to scream, to cry out, to rage and destroy the villain where he stood, but he’d done nothing more than open himself up to be cut down by the very same villain himself. The devastated cry of his last remaining friend echoing in his ears even as he faded into unconsciousness.
When the man had regained consciousness, he was nothing more than a blue ball of flame, a spirit orb hovering over the shredded remains of his earthly vessel. Unable to do nothing more than watch the aftermath of the attack. Midnight, his last remaining friend, was silently sobbing as she cradled the bloodied, unmoving forms of himself and Present Mic. Even amidst the panicked chaos of other heroes subduing the still rampaging cricket villain, he was transfixed. Unable to turn away from the crumpled form of the normally unflappable R-rated hero weeping in a pool of her friends’ blood, the sight of it caused something within the man to crumple in on itself. That something then completely withered and died when he had finally been able to comprehend what it was that his old friend had been muttering to herself…
My boys… I’ve lost all my boys…
The man had completely become a spirit then. Refusing to acknowledge his its surroundings and burying all thoughts and emotions by staring fixedly at the Christmas themed charity decorations in a desperate bid to forget him-itself. The desperate bid hadn’t worked, and the spirit had almost driven itself mad trying to ignore everything around it. But then, the world had stopped, and a voice called out to the spirit. And that same voice was claiming that it could save the spirit, while Hizashi Present Mic was right there! While Oboro had…
“Impossible…,” the spirit forced itself back into the present, away from the powerlessness of those memories. “Completely illogical, to believe that you can save me, and that you’d do it ‘out of the goodness of your heart’. No one does anything for nothing, not in this world.”
“You’re not wrong there,” the voice hummed, still infuriatingly calm in the face of the spirit’s obvious rage. “Humanity can be cruel, and appallingly selfish. I’ve been around long enough to see it too. And even been victim to it myself more times than I care to admit. That’s why I’m very particular about who I use my powers on nowadays.”
The spirit grunted, highly unimpressed with the vague “answers”.
“And maybe,” the voice continued, seemingly amused. “Saving you just might be me being selfish. Afterall, by saving the infamous Eraserhead, I’ll be saving a lot of other innocent lives down the road as well… Including Present Mic.”
The spirit felt itself stiffen, their nonexistent heart pounding as the implications of what the voice said sent a thrill of hope through them. But suspicion quickly followed, and the spirit finally turned to confront the voice. Only to pull itself up short at the unexpectedly familiar face.
“H-Hizashi?!” the spirit breathed, unable to stop itself. Because floating before the spirit was a man that very much resembled Yamada Hizashi’s Present Mic persona. From the long blond hair styled high into a cockatoo’s crest, to the dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes, the man was almost the spitting image of Present Mic. Though there were some very noticeable differences after the initial shock wore off, the similarities were uncanny. “Who are you?”
“My name is Sissel,” the man – Sissel smiled, giving the spirit a significant look. “And if my appearance alone isn’t enough to convince you, then maybe my words will be. Yamada Hizashi is one of the few I’ve sworn to watch over and protect, and to do that I need to save you as well. Normally, I’d save you regardless, (I’m not the kind of guy to leave someone to die when I can do something to prevent it), but I believe you’re the type that’d put the safety of someone else’s life over your own. So, admitting that saving you would also help in saving Present Mic as well would only strengthen my cause, am I right?”
“What do I need to do,” Aizawa Shota asked, taking the place of the simple spirit orb in a sudden flash of light. The appearance of his true self the only response needed to show his complete resolve in facing the situation head on. Though his dark eyes flashed at Sissel almost challengingly. “If it means we can save Mic, then you can do whatever you want. So long as you give me some answers.”
“Was already planning on it,” Sissel shrugged, shooting Shota a grin that reminded the underground hero of a cat’s aloof stare. “After I change your fate, there’s quite a lot I have to tell you.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Shota nodded, accepting the answer for now. Though he still shot the red clad Present Mic lookalike a suspicious scowl. “You will tell me who or what you really are, and what your connection to Hizashi really is after this is done.”
“Among other things,” Sissel returned easily, smiling unconcernedly as he summoned a clock’s face between them with a wave of his hand. As Shota watched, the hands of the clock began rotating counterclockwise, the world around them beginning to be pulled into the red void like water down a drain. And they were being pulled along with it. “But for now, we go back, back to 4 minutes before your death. And to prevent this ever happening.”
(I’ll hold you to that), Shota repeated silently to himself, resolved despite himself as everything faded into nothing...