Inko stood in the hallway, hand still raised from knocking, listening to the silence on the other side. "Izuku? Sweetie, I made your favorite—katsudon. You haven't eaten since the hospital..."
Nothing. Not even the rustle of movement.
"Okay," she said softly, voice wavering. "I'll... I'll leave it by the door. Just please eat something, baby. Please."
She set the bowl down carefully, as if sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile peace her son had found. Then she retreated to the living room, where she could pretend to watch TV while actually staring at his door, waiting for any sign of life.
Inside, Izuku sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by the remnants of his hero worship. The posters he had spread across his walls mocked him with their bright colors and confident smiles. All Might's face was everywhere, a constant reminder of the word that had broken him.
No.
His hands clenched into fists. The anger was still there, simmering just beneath his skin, but it felt different now. Controlled. Directed. His.
Focus, Sloth whispered, voice like silk dragging across bare skin. The rage will serve you, but first you must master the dark.
Izuku closed his eyes and reached inward, searching for that place between consciousness and oblivion where Hel existed. But his mind wouldn't settle. Thoughts raced like startled rabbits—All Might's rejection, Bakugo's cruelty, the sensation of falling, the moment of impact that should have killed him.
Breathe, Sloth instructed. Stop fighting it. The darkness is not your enemy.
"Easy for you to say," Izuku muttered. "You're literally made of darkness."
Precisely. Which is why I know that resisting only makes it stronger. Embrace it, vessel. Let go.
Izuku tried. Forced his breathing to slow, his muscles to unclench. But every time he felt himself sinking into that meditative state, his mind would catch on something—a memory, a fear, a what-if—and snap back to full consciousness.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. An hour.
His legs were cramping. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. And still, Hel remained just out of reach.
"This is pointless," he growled, eyes snapping open.
No. This is necessary. Pride's voice cut through the others, sharp as broken glass. You want power? You want strength? Then prove you're worthy of us. Stop whining and try again.
The words stung more than Izuku wanted to admit. He was about to snap back—to argue that he'd literally died and come back to life, that he'd earned their power—when he caught himself.
Pride wanted that reaction. Wanted him angry and defensive and out of control.
Fine, Izuku thought coldly. You want me to prove myself? Watch.
He closed his eyes again. But this time, instead of trying to force his mind into stillness, he let the thoughts come. Let the anger and pain and betrayal wash over him without resistance. Acknowledged each emotion as it surfaced, then released it into the darkness.
All Might's rejection? Acknowledged. Released.
Bakugo's cruelty? Acknowledged. Released.
The fear of falling? Acknowledged. Released.
Slowly, like ice melting in spring, the barriers dissolved. And beneath them...
Darkness.
Pure, absolute, welcoming darkness.
Izuku sank into it and didn't fight. Let it pull him down, down, down until the physical world became a distant memory and Hel crystallized around him in all its terrible glory.
The octagonal table gleamed like polished bone. The seven thrones loomed, each occupied by entities that radiated wrongness made manifest. And standing at his place—the eighth side—Izuku felt more present than he had in his own body.
"Welcome back, vessel." Seven voices, one greeting. "We wondered if you'd manage it."
Izuku looked at each of them in turn. Pride's light was somehow dimmer here, less painful to perceive. Wrath's burning eyes watched him with predatory interest. Envy shifted restlessly, never quite settling on a single form. Lust's beauty remained weaponized but strangely less threatening. Greed's golden gaze calculated something Izuku couldn't quite read. Gluttony's endless maw chewed and chewed and chewed. And Sloth... Sloth looked almost proud, if something wrapped in exhaustion could manage such an expression.
"You tested me," Izuku said. It wasn't a question.
"Of course." Greed's smile revealed too many teeth. "A vessel who cannot access Hel under stress is useless to us. You passed. Barely."
"And now?" Izuku gestured at the space around them. "What happens now?"
"Now," Lust purred, leaning forward with interest that felt predatory and curious in equal measure, "we teach you what you are. What we are. And what you can become if you're strong enough to handle it."
Pride's light pulsed once. "You carry seven sins inside your soul, vessel. Each of us grants power beyond mortal comprehension. But power without understanding is just destruction waiting to happen."
"I know about destruction," Izuku said quietly, thinking of the hospital room, the shattered merchandise, his mother's tears.
"Do you?" Wrath's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "You've tasted a fraction of what we offer. The faintest drop of an endless ocean. You don't know anything yet."
Envy laughed, the sound discordant and wrong. "He will, though. Oh, he will. Tell me, vessel—what do you want most in the world?"
The question hung in the air. Izuku's first instinct was to say "to be a hero," but that felt hollow now. Empty. His dream had died on that rooftop with All Might's rejection. What rose from its ashes was something darker, more honest.
"I want them to see me," he said finally. "All of them. Everyone who dismissed me, who hurt me, who told me I was worthless. I want them to look at me and realize they were wrong."
"Ah." Envy's form solidified briefly into something that might have been approval. "Good. Honest. Useful."
"That's Envy's domain," Gluttony explained between bites of nothing. "The desire to be what others are. To have what others have. To eclipse them."
"But you can't eclipse anyone if you don't understand your own power," Sloth added, voice barely above a whisper. "Which brings us back to the beginning. Your education."
Greed stood, golden eyes gleaming. "Let's start simple. You have all this..." He gestured vaguely toward the physical world Izuku had left behind. "All these things you used to worship. What if you could transform them into something more valuable?"
Izuku frowned. "More valuable than All Might merchandise?"
"Much more valuable." Greed's smile widened. "Tell me, vessel—what's the most precious substance in your world? What do humans kill and die for? What measures worth in every society?"
"Gold," Izuku said slowly.
"Gold," Greed confirmed. "And you can make it. With my power, you can turn anything you touch into solid gold. Imagine it—wealth beyond measure, luxury beyond dreams, never wanting for anything ever again."
It sounded too good to be true. Which meant it probably was.
"What's the catch?"
"Smart boy." Greed settled back onto his throne. "The catch is that once something becomes gold, it stays gold. Forever. No reversing it. No changing your mind. And..." He paused, golden eyes glinting with something that might have been amusement. "When my power is active, everything looks like gold waiting to happen. Including people."
The words sent ice down Izuku's spine. "You're saying I could—"
"Turn your mother into a statue? Yes. Your friends? Certainly. Yourself? Potentially." Greed's expression didn't change. "My power is seductive, vessel. It whispers that more is always better. That everything should be yours. That nothing is more important than wealth. Resist that whisper, or become what you touch—cold, hard, and ultimately worthless."
Izuku swallowed hard. "Then why would I ever use it?"
"Because sometimes," Greed said softly, "you need wealth to accomplish your goals. Because money opens doors that heroism can't. Because your mother deserves better than a cramped apartment and a dead-end job. Because you deserve better."
The words struck something deep. Izuku thought of his mother—gentle, self-sacrificing Inko who'd given up everything to raise him alone. Who apologized for his quirklessness like it was her fault. Who worked double shifts just to keep them fed.
She deserved better. Much better.
"Show me," Izuku said.
Greed smiled. "Return to your body. Focus on my power—you'll feel it like hunger in your hands. Then touch something you want to change. But remember, vessel—once you start, it's hard to stop. My gift is as much curse as blessing."
The chamber began to fade. Izuku felt himself being pulled back, back, back toward consciousness and flesh and the physical world. The last thing he heard was seven voices speaking in unison:
"Good luck, vessel. You'll need it."
Izuku's eyes snapped open. His room materialized around him—posters, figurines, notebooks, all the debris of a shattered dream. The katsudon his mother had left sat outside his door, probably cold by now.
He stood, muscles protesting from sitting still for so long. How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? In Hel, time moved differently.
His hands tingled with unfamiliar energy, like static electricity concentrated in his palms. Greed's power, waiting to be used. Waiting to transform.
Izuku looked at the All Might poster nearest his bed—the Symbol of Peace mid-laugh, confident and bright and lying. The anger rose again, cold and controlled.
"Let's see what you're really worth," he muttered.
He reached out. The moment his fingers touched the poster, power flooded through him. The world went gold-tinted, like looking through colored glass. And beneath his hand, the poster began to change.
The transformation spread from the point of contact, rippling outward like waves on water. Paper became metal. Ink became gilt. The colors bled away, replaced by lustrous gold that caught the dim light and threw it back in sharp reflections.
It was beautiful.
It was wrong.
It was perfect.
Izuku pulled his hand back, breathing hard. The poster hung half-transformed on his wall—All Might's face gold and gleaming, forever frozen in that confident smile. Worth its weight now. Actually valuable.
More, something whispered in the back of his mind. Greed's voice, but also his own. Why stop there? Why not transform everything? Make it all golden, all precious, all YOURS.
"No," Izuku said aloud. But his hands were already moving, reaching for the next poster. The next figure. The next piece of hero worship waiting to be transformed.
Gold spread like a virus through his room. Every touch brought another transformation. Every transformation made his heart beat faster, made the whispers grow louder. The world narrowed to a golden tunnel—touch, transform, triumph. Touch, transform, triumph.
His hands began to shake. No, not shake—ache. They ached to touch more, to change more, to make everything his in the only way that mattered. Even the walls looked like gold waiting to happen. The floor. The desk. His own reflection in the mirror—
What would it feel like to be gold? To be precious? To finally be worth something?
Izuku's hand lifted toward his own face. The golden tint to his vision intensified. Just one touch. One transformation. Then he'd finally be valuable. Finally be—
The door opened.
"Izuku, sweetie, I just wanted to check if you'd eaten the—"
Inko froze in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. Her son stood in the center of a golden nightmare, surrounded by transformed merchandise, hand reaching toward his own face. But the worst part—the absolute worst part—was his eyes.
They gleamed gold. Literally gold, like coins catching light.
"Izuku?" Her voice came out small, frightened.
At the sound of her voice, something shifted in Izuku's expression. The golden gleam flickered. For a moment, he looked like himself again—confused, lost, scared.
Then his eyes fixed on her, and the gold intensified.
She could be gold too, the voice whispered. Precious. Eternal. Yours forever. Touch her. Transform her. Make her valuable.
"Mom," Izuku said, and his voice sounded wrong—layered, harmonizing with itself. "Mom, you should leave."
But Inko didn't move. She stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her face, looking at her son like she didn't recognize him. "What's happening to you?"
Everything, Greed laughed. He's becoming everything.
"Leave!" Izuku tried to shout, but it came out desperate. "Please, I can't—I don't know if I can—"
He took a step toward her. His hand lifted without his permission, reaching, reaching, hungry to touch and transform and make eternal.
Inko's survival instinct finally kicked in. She grabbed the lamp from the hallway table—the cheap plastic one Izuku had bought her for Mother's Day years ago—and thrust it forward like a shield.
Izuku's golden hand closed around it.
The transformation was instantaneous. Plastic became gold, light and fragile became heavy and precious. The weight of it surprised Inko—she almost dropped it—and in that moment of distraction, Izuku lunged.
"NO!" Inko screamed, and it wasn't fear for herself in that scream. It was fear for him. Terror that her baby was disappearing into something she couldn't save him from.
The sound cut through the gold-madness like a blade. Izuku stumbled, hand stopping inches from his mother's arm. The golden tint to his vision wavered. Cracked.
"Izuku." Inko's voice shook, but she held her ground. "Izuku, please. Come back. Come back to me, baby. Please."
He looked at his hand—at the golden fingers that had almost touched her, almost transformed her, almost made her a statue instead of a person. At his mother, trembling but not running, holding a golden lamp like it could protect her from her own son.
The horror of what he'd almost done crashed over him like a physical force.
The gold drained from his eyes. From his vision. From his hands. Reality reasserted itself in all its mundane, ungolded glory, and with it came the crushing weight of what he'd become.
"Mom," he choked out. Then his legs gave out.
Inko dropped the lamp—it hit the floor with a heavy thud that would definitely leave a mark—and caught her son before he hit the ground. They collapsed together, Izuku sobbing into her shoulder while she held him tight enough to hurt.
"I'm sorry," he gasped between sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I almost—I could have—"
"Shh," Inko whispered, rocking him like she'd done when he was small. "It's okay. You didn't. You stopped."
"But I wanted to! I wanted to turn you into—into—" He couldn't finish. The words died in his throat, too horrible to speak.
They sat like that for a long time, mother and son on the floor of a room that gleamed with transformed merchandise, surrounded by the golden corpses of broken dreams. Eventually, Izuku's sobs quieted to hiccups, then to shaky breathing, then to silence.
Inko pulled back enough to look at his face. Her thumbs wiped away tears, gentle and sure. "Izuku. Look at me."
He did. His eyes were green again—his normal, human green.
"You have a quirk now," she said softly. "A powerful one, from what I can see. And powerful quirks are dangerous. They hurt people sometimes. But you know what matters?"
Izuku shook his head.
"You stopped." She cupped his face in both hands. "When I called your name, you stopped. That's what being a hero is, baby. Not never making mistakes. It's stopping when you realize you're making one."
Fresh tears burned Izuku's eyes, but he blinked them back. "I don't feel like a hero."
"You don't have to." Inko smiled, wobbly but genuine. "Not yet. You just have to keep trying. Keep learning. Keep choosing to stop."
They sat together in silence for another moment. Then Inko glanced around the golden room, and despite everything—despite the terror and the tears and the near-tragedy—she started to laugh.
"Mom?" Izuku asked, confused and a little concerned.
"Well," Inko said, picking up a golden All Might figure and weighing it in her palm, "at least we won't have to worry about money anymore."
The absurdity of the statement hit Izuku like a physical blow. His mother—who'd just been almost transformed into a statue by her own son—was joking about it. Making light of it. Trying to find the positive in a room full of golden horror.
Despite himself, despite everything, Izuku felt laughter bubbling up in his chest. It came out broken and wet, more sob than laugh, but it was there.
"We're going to be rich," he managed.
"Filthy rich," Inko agreed solemnly. Then she hugged him again, tight and fierce. "But you're more precious than all the gold in the world, Izuku. Don't you ever forget that."
In Hel, Greed leaned back on his throne and smiled.
He passed, Gluttony observed, still chewing.
Barely, Envy corrected.
But he passed, Pride stated with finality. He chose his mother over the madness. Weak, perhaps. But useful.
He'll need that weakness, Lust added. When the others try to take control.
Oh yes, Wrath agreed, flames flickering. He'll need every ounce of humanity he has left. Because we're just getting started.
One Month Later
Izuku woke to silk.
The sheets beneath him were expensive—the kind of expensive he'd never imagined owning. Soft and smooth and real in a way his old cotton ones had never been. The bed itself was massive, the room spacious, the window overlooking a part of the city that didn't smell like desperation.
Everything had changed.
The golden merchandise had been sold quietly, through private collectors who didn't ask questions. Even half-transformed, the pieces were worth a fortune. Enough to buy this place—a proper house, not an apartment. Enough to quit the double shifts. Enough to bring his father home.
Izuku sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Sunlight streamed through curtains he'd never have been able to afford a month ago. From downstairs came the smell of cooking—elaborate cooking, the kind with multiple dishes.
"Izuku!" His mother's voice, bright and happy in a way he hadn't heard in years. "Breakfast is ready! Your father's here!"
Right. His father.
Hisashi Midoriya had returned from his overseas work the week after the gold had been sold. Inko's call—"We don't need the extra money anymore, you can come home"—had been met with confusion, then disbelief, then cautious hope. He'd arrived three days later, thinner than the photos Izuku remembered, graying at the temples, looking at his son like he didn't quite recognize him.
The feeling was mutual.
Izuku dressed in clothes that actually fit properly—another change—and headed downstairs. The house still felt wrong sometimes, too big and too clean and too much like a dream he'd wake from. But his mother loved it, and that was enough.
The dining room table was covered in food. Western style breakfast on one side—eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit. Japanese on the other—rice, miso soup, grilled fish, pickled vegetables. More food than three people could possibly eat.
Inko stood behind her chair, beaming. Hisashi sat at the table, looking awkward and grateful and overwhelmed in equal measure.
"Good morning, son," he said.
"Morning," Izuku replied, sliding into his seat. The word 'father' still felt foreign in his mouth, so he avoided using it.
They ate in companionable silence. Well, Inko chattered happily about the house, about the neighborhood, about maybe getting a car now that they could afford it. Hisashi listened with quiet attention, occasionally glancing at Izuku like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
Izuku focused on his food and tried not to think about how wrong this all felt. The wealth. The space. The father who'd been absent for most of his life suddenly present. It was everything he'd theoretically wanted as a kid.
So why did it feel hollow?
Because you know the truth, Pride whispered. This wealth came from pain. From almost killing her. From us.
Izuku pushed the thought away and took another bite of rice.
After breakfast, he excused himself. Inko tried to get him to stay—"We could watch a movie! As a family!"—but he pleaded training, which she grudgingly accepted.
The training room had been his first request when they'd bought the house. A space at the back, soundproofed and windowless. When the lights were off, it was pitch black—perfect for meditation. When they were on, it was bare and functional—perfect for combat practice.
Izuku closed the door behind him and let the darkness swallow him whole.
One hour of meditation first. The routine had become automatic over the past month. Sitting in the dark, sinking into Hel, communicating with the sins. Learning what each could do. Understanding the cost of their power.
He'd gained full access to three of them now. Lust, Sloth, and Gluttony—the "safe" ones, as much as any sin could be safe.
Lust had been the easiest. Its passive effect was always active—the enhanced appearance, the magnetic attraction, the way people's eyes lingered on him just a second too long. Embarrassing, but manageable. The active form—releasing an aroma that made people fall in love with him—was more concerning. He'd tested it once, accidentally, and spent two hours dealing with a neighborhood cat that wouldn't leave him alone. He hadn't tried it again.
Sloth was surprisingly useful. The drowsiness field it created drained energy from anyone near him—perfect for weakening opponents. The vectors—invisible appendages that could grab or attack—were harder to control but devastating when he got them right. And the sleep recovery? That was a lifesaver. Literal injuries healed while he rested. Stamina restored. It made training sustainable in a way nothing else could.
Gluttony was his favorite, though he'd never admit it out loud. The ability to eat anything—metal, energy, even quirks if he could bite the person using them—and gain their properties? That was power. He'd started small: a piece of diamond, which gave him claws harder than steel. A chunk of obsidian, which made them razor-sharp. He'd even eaten part of an old car engine, gaining the ability to temporarily boost his strength to mechanical levels.
The hard ones were different.
Greed he could use, but only barely. The golden hunger was always there, whispering, tempting. He avoided it unless absolutely necessary and cut the connection the moment his eyes started to glow.
Envy was worse. He'd tried it once—just once—and spent three hours spiraling into jealousy so intense he'd almost attacked a stranger on the street who'd smiled at their friend. The power was incredible—transforming into whoever he envied most and using their abilities better than they could—but the mental cost was too high. He'd locked it away and tried not to think about it.
Pride and Wrath he didn't touch at all.
Pride because it didn't listen. Wouldn't respond to his call. Only manifested when it decided someone was worthy, and Izuku had no desire to find out what kind of person Pride considered worthy of fighting.
And Wrath... Wrath terrified him. The one time he'd felt it stirring—when a convenience store clerk had been rude to his mother—the rage had been bottomless. Infinite. Consuming. If he'd lost control then, he'd have killed the clerk. And probably everyone else in the store.
So Wrath stayed locked away, buried deep, touched only by necessity.
Izuku opened his eyes in Hel. The octagonal table gleamed. Seven thrones loomed. Same as always.
"Morning, vessel," they chorused.
"Morning," Izuku replied. "Status report?"
It had become their routine. Every day, he checked in. Made sure none of them were trying to take control. Assessed his own mental state. The sins seemed to find it amusing—like a child trying to discipline their parents—but they went along with it.
"Lust is stable," Lust purred. "Though you really should test the active form more. Knowledge is power, dear vessel."
"Sloth is sleepy," Sloth mumbled. "As always."
"Gluttony hungers," Gluttony said between bites. "Feed me more. I want to taste steel. And plastic. And maybe some wood."
"Greed is... restrained," Greed admitted grudgingly. "You've done well keeping me in check. But don't mistake restraint for absence, vessel. I'm always here. Always waiting."
"Envy is bitter," Envy hissed, form shifting rapidly. "You lock me away like I'm the dangerous one. Like Wrath isn't literally waiting to kill everyone you love. Like Pride isn't planning something you can't even comprehend—"
"Envy is dramatic," Pride interrupted, voice cutting through the others like a blade. "And correct about one thing. I am planning. But not against you, vessel. Not yet."
"Wrath is HUNGRY," Wrath growled, and the entire chamber shook. "You keep me caged. Suppressed. But one day you'll slip. One day you'll get angry enough. And then—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Izuku said firmly. "Same as we always do. Same as we have to."
Silence. Then, as one, the seven sins laughed.
"Oh, vessel," Greed said fondly. "You're learning. Slowly, but you're learning."
"The entrance exams are in ten months," Izuku said, changing the subject. "I need to be ready. Which means I need to train with the ones I can control and master the ones I can't."
"Ambitious," Gluttony observed.
"Necessary," Izuku corrected. "I'm going to UA. I'm going to become a hero. And I'm going to do it without losing control of any of you. Understood?"
Pride's light pulsed once—approval or amusement, Izuku couldn't tell. "Understood, vessel. Now get back to training. You've wasted enough time talking."
The chamber faded. Izuku opened his eyes in the training room, alone in the dark.
Then he turned on the lights and began to move.
Three hours of combat training. Testing Gluttony's transformations—shifting claws, enhanced strength, predatory reflexes. Working on Sloth's vectors until he could maintain three at once. Practicing the drowsiness field until he could expand and contract it at will.
By the time he finished, his body was covered in sweat and his muscles screamed. But he felt good. Strong. Capable. Like he was finally becoming something more than the quirkless kid everyone had dismissed.
One more hour of meditation. Deep dive into Hel, reinforcing his control over Greed and Envy. Checking on Pride and Wrath, making sure they were still contained. The sins cooperated—mostly—though he could feel them testing the boundaries. Pushing. Probing. Looking for weakness.
They wouldn't find it.
Finally, exhausted and satisfied, Izuku returned to consciousness. He left the training room, showered, and headed to his bedroom. The calendar on his wall showed another day crossed off.
Ten months until the UA entrance exams.
Two hundred and ninety-four days to master seven sins.
He picked up the marker and crossed off today's date.
Two hundred and ninety-three.
Outside his window, the sun was setting. Somewhere in the city, heroes were fighting villains. Students were studying. Kids were playing.
And Izuku Midoriya, Vessel of Sin, was counting down the days until he could finally show the world what he'd become.
In Hel, seven entities watched their vessel through his own eyes and smiled.
This was going to be fun.