the new divine,

sanguine is the memories of yesterday; they are raw against the skin, to wound and never to heal. the appetency to consign to oblivion, it is haunting like the ravenous penumbrae in the eventide. he is a vessel of riven rows that were brought upon by himself; now, he is crucified, bleeding perpetually. how does one forgive thyself? it is not the nature of merciless [ and that, he is ]. every breath reminds him of the smoke from the esurient fires of his own, asphyxiating the innocent; one including the keeper of his crux. the presents show us desolation; the fallout of a champion, the decapitation of the king. a hero turned apostate, free from the covenant of the land ( but never to himself ). the unseeing is now revealed, and a savage thylacine has been awakened. it is enraged, yet grieved; a forsaken being. desolated is he, without a land, without a heart.

behold, we witness the nativity of a new divinity.  starting from the catechism of being human and god,  split into halves.  to abdicate humanity,  would it mean to forget the memoirs of yesterday?  ⁠—   departing from the image made of the invocations of his mother and becoming its antithesis.  then, would it mean to conform to the vision of tomorrow? ⁠ —  emerging to the likeness of the commandments of his father and metamorphosing its affinity.  what verdict should he obey?  the present shows us a boy who is wavering,  venturing into the play of transience and virtue.  he bares the power of a god,  and yet,  he bleeds just like mortals.  he doesn't deny this,  yet kept hidden to most.   ❝     your secretary is a bitch, are you aware of that?   ❞   pain is evident in his tone though the statement said was a product of pique.  he no longer wears the facade of being a hero but of a boy in anguish.  it is concealed under layers of clothes,  an array of broken bones.   

they exist in a demesne of depravity,  predators baring their fangs with venom live amidst the land.  the survival of the fittest,  having power as the law and all are esurient.  raised from this ravenous design,  a boy built to be a weapon —  the harbinger of ruination.  and he exists to be,  living by their design.  where he stands,  the ice thaws from the warmth of blood and his indignation.  winter is unforgiving as it is avaricious, a becoming he professes his own.   ❝    not because you are my prince means that i'll make this easy for you.   ❞   to find a decrepitude of his would be difficile, but not impossible. here, an inamorato chained by devotion.  the audience remains blind to this and perhaps, the one before him?   ❝   however,   ❞   he is a martyr to him,  but never a saint.  despite all, the torment is nothing compared to the sight of a home that he sees in him alone.   ❝   your father is watching.  if you do not win against me,  he will hurt you,  and i can't let that happen.   ❞   

the anointed sits on a cathedra risen from the relics of inferno,  wearing a diadem made out of the apexes of the highest glaciers.  god is a boy with his kingdom built betwixt the above and below.  the throne is not a gift, but a right for the consecrated.  however, what was lost to raise the pillars of the providence?  sorrows, to write it in an epistle would be like précis of a greek tragedy.  memoirs that only restrains him from becoming sovereign,  a divine amongst mortals.  all are which kept in the credence that he is forsaken until he heard stories from the west.  a palace made out of ice seen atop the mountains there lived another sacrosanct kissed by winter.  he holds a thread of hope that leads him to set sail against billows,  one to be called a wander and a gamble.  he forgets that he is prince,  but a boy of faith. 

those who are feeble are afraid of what they cannot grasp,  the indomitable battlers,  possessing remnants of what people call as gods.  this rumination of theirs turned into horror.  hereat, the fabrication of the truth,  otiose threats towards them,  free of fault and guilt. their ignorance has led them in this position,  it is a lie if he is nothing but terrified.  not when she is in his arms,  the hearth of his fire,  his home amidst this venery of preys. he holds her firm,  vulnerable to her alone,  a secret only they know.   ❝   i'm tired, yukako.   ❞   behind the sinew of the divine is a boy,  scorched by his own pyre and crystals,  full of grievance and attrition.  they embarked on a pilgrimage towards nothingness,  he thinks of it as an absurd odyssey. 

i have mentioned this a couple of times before that shōto disagrees with authority (in general, if i'm honest) and the pro hero association rules. when the chief of police visited them in the hospital after their encounter with stain, he argued with tsuragamae regarding the rules of being a hero.

shōto: are you saying that we should've followed the rules and watched people get killed? tsuragamae: are you saying that it's okay to bend the rules as long as it turns out alright? shōto: isn't it a hero's job to save people?

like what is mentioned in this reddit post (which i suggest giving a read), 'he also questions the restricted laws made for heroes who he believes should do everything to save others and would not hold back even with authority.' when class 1A met the league of villains for the first time, we saw how shōto deals with enemies, having them wrapped in ice, making them aware that their cells are slowly dying and then leaving them under excruciating pain. he also exhibits no limitation in using his quirk against villains as long as he defeats them, having no regard if they are gravely injured or close to dying, even though this situation is against the rules of the association as long as he's doing the right thing.

before the events of the summer festival, shōto's goal as a hero is to be the number one hero, that is, his father's desire for him, the notion that was embedded in him. in contrast to the goal he held unto after his encounter with izuku, which is being the hero that he wants to become, he follows his own beliefs and idea of what being a hero is. growing up, i believe that shōto despised what a pro hero is due to his father's nature. the public sees him as a reliable and respectable hero who earned him the title of being the number two hero. in contrast to what he and his siblings saw, enji being an abusive father that caused tōya's death and his mother's mental instability. this upbringing caused him to believe that not everyone in the heroes under the association are good people (we all know we have a traitor in sight). to be an unaffiliated hero is better than being one as long as they save people at the end of the day.

in my opinion, the events of the summer festival affected shōto's character, showing that he has been deeply influenced by izuku that he started following his approach in heroism. of course, this is not bad considering that izuku has helped shōto realize what he truly wants to become and showed him that he is not limited by his father. however, this also caused a drastic change in his character, although they have similarities regarding their morals and beliefs. seeing shōto become loyal to his class and ua is a little bit off-putting (?) to me since the hero academy teaches them the rules to abide by, the same rules that shōto despises to follow. izuku also has the goal of being the number one hero (just like katsuki), the similar ambition that shōto once had, but upon seeing his father achieved this, he no longer sees the point in having the same title.

shōto also possesses quirks that are very similar to his personality, and that is being unyielding. he's not the type of person that can be controlled, for he follows his own sets of rules and ideologies. his belief of being a hero keeps everyone around him safe despite the possible consequences against himself or the enemy, but never to the people he wants to protect. this includes his hatred against villains, even though he can't see them as a person. his quirks are known to be prone to violence and destruction, quirks that he's willing to use against his enemies even if this means death for them (he definitely doesn't care about their well-being). this is in no way vilifying his character. still, i feel like this is the most realistic approach i see, considering his nature and the events that took place when he enrolled in ua, which changed his perspective in being a hero.

with shōto being a vigilante, we will get to see him use his quirks without limit and explore the different sides of his character. yes, he is a 'good' person. however, he is a force to reckon with, and if threatened, he will is ruthless and unmerciful. being a pro hero also has to do with what the masses think of you as a hero, this aspect of the job is something that shōto doesn't really give any regards to. he doesn't care about what people think about him as long as he keeps them safe and alive. people may see him as cold and indifferent, but that is a contradiction to his character who is willing to sacrifice his own life for the sake of others.

❝   i knocked azula off her feet,  &  she forfeited the agni kai the moment she decided to strike katara.  we won.    ❞   venom churns like bile deep below the surface  &  heaves from your lips before you can choke it down.   ❝   i’m firelord now  &  you      —-      you can’t speak to me like that.    ❞    masquerading with sharp words  &  snarls like some wounded animal.   you fear how you must sound;  like an echo of your former self    /   a haphazard image of what ozai tried to make of you.   you know better than to succumb to this ire now,  you can’t.   the air between you is thick with apathy’s rust,   catalyst of brume betwixt the busky of your heart.   you exhale a sigh  &  the anger flickers out as a feeble candle flame.   there would be no succour in inflicting cruelty,  nor will punishing him soothe you.   they mirror eachother in this vulnerose moment,  two sides of the same double-edged sword.

with all the effort of a supernova you pull yourself from the sickbed.  as always;  determined to swallow your blood before your pride,  you demand that he meets your eyes with this.   ❝   if that’s how you truly feel then    …    ❞    struggling to find your words,  you know the sorrow they will cause he  &  you once they find their way into the open.     ❝    perhaps you should just leave.  ❞

avaunt, these cynical lies i tell myself.  deceit leaves an absinthian appetite, he knows it too well along with resentment tastes like blood upon his tongue.  his words fall on deaf ears, deafened by emotions ringing inside of his head.  they whisper his deepest despairs brought by sepulchral nights that he spent alone, the obloquies during the times when he was lost, unknowingly living not as himself, an empty vessel that only felt animosity and betrayal.  love is a malison, and yet, he is its devotee who never misses reciting orisons to an unknown deity.  and now, they are answered, not wholly, but alive.   ❝   do you not know me well, zuko?  have i not spend time enough by your side that you remain ignorant of how i feel?  or perhaps, you have chosen to forget.  after all, you have left me for others.   ❞   such torment to bear, he knows that he too has his own, kept veiled only for it to spill on its own  (  for it's too much, the heart can only endure perpetual pain  ). yet, he remains selfish like a glacier amidst the vast ocean and calls it his own, piercing beneath and the heavens above.

you cheer for colours that are not your own.   purple hues adorned with ease,   like you’d been borne to it,   like they were the only team you were meant to rally.     in moments like these,   your childhood doesn’t ache.   you are light-hearted  &  breathless  &  warm with adoration.    “    that was a good game    …    you played well.  but that’s to be expected.     ”     poppies bloom adust ivory cheeks;   you rub a palm against the back of your neck.   he is sunlight through the smoke,   still blinding to look at despite all your time together. 

“     —–     would you like to go eat?      ” 

laurels atop the heads of those who sovereign the court;  boy kings,  as some will describe them.  victory is nothing but a median,  a revue to uphold the name they have created.  the cheers now sound like a raucous bass in his ears.  his avowal for acclaim is averted to the boy before him,  with colors an eagle would see as its enemy's.  amidst the crowd,  his regard is convened to him alone with the puerile goal of looking deliberate.   ❝   i will accept your compliment without thinking that you're thinking of a strategy against my team or me, so thanks.  i appreciate that you came to watch my game.   ❞   he coaxes the timidity he exhibits around him with humor (?)