#He not only has an unbroken sword he repairs the fucking broken one..

[insufferablemod]

Hmmm..

[damaless]

Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter One: The Gates of Elysium

Shouto drops to his knees on the hard, rocky ground, spitting blood. It sizzles and evaporates — it’s impossible for any moisture to stay liquid for long in Asphodel with the waves of heat emanating from the ever-present river of lava.

He coughs again, and more blood spatters the ground. A collapsed lung, maybe. Whatever. He pushes to his feet and kicks at the giant hydra skull, the only thing that remains of the many-headed monster that has prevented him from achieving his goal all this time.

Until now. That fucking hydra is finally dead, and he's closer than ever before to escaping this literal hellhole and getting out from under his father's thumb at last.

And— and finding out what really happened to his mother.

He limps over to the floating platform that will carry him on to… Elysium? Or maybe that had been yet another lie.

He winces in pain as the platform comes to a halt with a lurch, and stumbles past the threshold. The lack of ash and embers in the air is an immediate improvement. Good riddance to the perpetual smell of sulfur, as well. It’s nice to be able to inhale without the air itself burning the insides of his nostrils and windpipe, even if at least one broken rib is poking farther into his collapsed lung with every careful, shallow breath he takes.

His father’s disembodied voice resounds through the chamber. “Shouto! You think you’ve accomplished something, do you?”

Yes, yes he does.

“Killing my hydra was pointless, just as your pathetic escape attempts are pointless. Give up already, and come back to the House where you belong!”

He summons every ounce of sarcasm he can muster. “Alright, Endeavor. You’ve convinced me; Just give me a moment to catch my breath in Elysium and then I’ll get started crawling back through the rivers of lava and the prison maze full of horrors I just fought my way through.”

His father’s roar of frustration makes it worth the stab of pain that had accompanied every word he’d spoken.

If he’s honest… it doesn’t seem like he can go on much longer. He clenches his fists and grits his teeth. He’s in bad shape, but there’s still the fountain. Maybe… maybe it will be enough.

He gulps down as much water as he can stand to drink, and the relief is immediate. It flows through his body, the cool liquid spreading through his torso and limbs, patching up most of his obvious wounds.

He takes a deep breath — or tries to, anyway. Agony rips a scream from his throat and brings him back down to his knees. Whatever injury that had resulted from the hydra knocking him down and repeatedly smashing one of its heads into his chest — even the power of the fountain hadn’t been able to repair it.

Regardless — he has no choice but to go on.

He steps carefully through the gates of Elysium, and stares.

Flowers. Grass. Cool, soothing mist. Well-built cobblestone pathways that aren’t lined with spikes ready to pop out at any moment.

And— and— and—

An arrow through his heart.

His vision goes dark around the edges, but he catches a glimpse of shining, golden armor — a Champion of Elysium. A fallen hero. A hero who has just crushed his hope of escaping — this time, anyway.

And then — darkness.

***

“Ugh.” Shouto pulls himself out of the pool of blood, crawling up the last few steps into the House of Endeavor. He presses his hand over his heart as the phantom sensation of the arrow embedding itself in his chest jolts through him. Smooth, unbroken skin. He takes a deep, painless breath. He's whole again, but every death makes its mark on his psyche.

“Wow, you’re back!” Izuku greets him with a brilliant smile, as he always does. Shouto gives him a flat look. His perpetual cheeriness is grating, at times. Especially when he's just been killed. Which is every time.

Izuku is tasked with greeting every soul who enters the House of Endeavor. Doesn't seem like a responsibility particularly relevant to the God of Sleep, but he’s always seemed dedicated enough to the job. Shouto has seen a lot of him lately, ever since he started trying to escape.

“You made it all the way to Elysium this time!” Izuku says, his eyes taking on a starstruck gleam before he glances down at his records. “It looks like one of the famed Exalted Strongbows got you right in the chest! That’s rough. Did you know that the shades that occupy Elysium are the souls of the greatest champions the world has ever seen? They are wholly dedicated to testing their strength against each other in unending combat. No wonder they managed to take you down!”

“Is that so.” Shouto grits his teeth.

“You know,” Izuku taps his finger against his lips, completely oblivious to Shouto’s mounting frustration. He continues, “I bet if you could keep out of the way of their arrows, you might have a chance against the Strongbows.”

Shouto blinks slowly. “So, your advice to me is: instead of getting hit, don't.”

Izuku smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. “Uh, yeah, basically!”

“Very helpful, thanks.” Shouto says, flatly.

He moves on, clenching his jaw as Izuku calls after him, “You're welcome, Shouto! Anytime!”

He's not looking forward to having to walk past the throne room. Yet another opportunity for his father to ridicule and admonish him for trying to escape his ‘responsibilities’. He wants no part of anything this House is involved in.

Instead of going straight to his room, he turns down another hallway in search of his mentor.

“Hey, kid,” Aizawa says, his toneless voice somehow still making to convey some degree of warmth. “Didn't go so well, I take it?”

“I made it farther than I've ever gone before. Killed the hydra, this time,” Shouto says, defeat creeping into his voice.

“Why so discouraged, then?” Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Because none of it mattered!” Shouto says, digging his nails into his palms. “I died within seconds of setting foot in Elysium.”

Aizawa heaves a sigh. “The shades of Elysium are no joke. But it wasn't long ago that you felt that you'd never be able to handle the enemies you encountered within Asphodel. It may take a thousand deaths, but you'll learn how to handle Elysium as well.”

“I know,” Shouto mutters. “But what's next? What will Endeavor put in my path to stop me from finding out what's beyond Elysium?”

“Only he knows what you'll have to face — and he's not sharing.” A ghost of a smirk briefly possesses Aizawa’s lips. “That would make your life a lot easier, though, wouldn't it?”

Shouto laughs in spite of himself. “Yeah, I'll just go ask him. Maybe he's in a charitable mood.” He turns to go.

“Hey.”

Shouto looks back and tilts his head.

“If you ever run into…” Aizawa trails off. “Ah, nevermind. Good luck out there. Remember your training.”

“Run into what?”

Aizawa waves dismissively. “Nothing. Another time, maybe.”

Shouto narrows his eyes. Odd.

He takes a deep breath and crosses in front of his father's throne, doing his best to block out the jibes shouted his way. He glances sideways at Inko, who looks away guiltily. He shouldn’t hold it against her, lying to him all this time about his mother. His father hadn’t given her much of a choice in it. When she meets his eyes again, he smiles — just barely, but enough that the relief in her eyes is obvious.

He passes through his room without further hesitation, to where his collection of weapons is stored. Maybe the sword, this time.

He sets his eyes on the path towards Tartarus. Tartarus, to Asphodel, to Elysium, to whatever lies beyond.

He has to keep trying. Sword in hand, he takes a steadying breath.

Again.

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