200 hundred years ago a baby began glowing. From there, dominoes began to fall. In the last two centuries powers, or quirks, have only gotten more powerful. In a panic the governments around the world began oppressing those with powers. As time went by, one man sought to change this. From the ashes of his rebellion came vigilantes. The first heroes. Today there are government regulated 'Heores' who fight crime and keep the peace. Not everyone wants a life of peace under the Heroes' thumb. These people are labeled as villains.
Heroes. Worshiped by the masses, seen as protectors to the innocent. The swords and shields of the government, used for peace. Aka, the good guys. Villains. The exact opposite, despised, feared, and avoided. They sow discourse, wish to disrupt the order set in stone by the heroes. So, the bad guys.
Now, you can imagine that being the child of a villain is probably awful. But, being the child of a hero turned villain? That's even worse; you will forever be seen as the spawn of a serpent, never to be trusted. Heroes that fall to villainy are seen as worse than villains, below scum if you will. Not wanted by heroes or villains, forever destined to die and waste away alone until they are forgotten.
If one such mistake has a child? Well then, that status is shared with their offspring; the child will never be trusted; always under scrutiny. If the child just so happens to have a powerful quirk, or worse, their parent's Quirk? Might as well turn yourself in right when you develop your Quirk because you will almost certainly be seen as a villain for your entire life. This has a point; the point is that I am one of these children.
I was four, only a few days after I received my Quirk when it happened. The tragedy that would forever affect my life and inscribe a stigma upon my flesh. My father, Suraisu Tatsumaki, killed my mother, Pyua. He was a hero, rising the ranks rapidly where he sat at ten. My mother was also a hero, ranked twelve at the time of her death.
They were arguing loudly, loud enough for me to hear them above the awful weather outside. Then everything was silent, and suddenly faster than I could comprehend, the house and its surrounding block exploded into a raging tornado. It was more powerful than he had ever shown before, and my poor mother received all of it.
I could barely think at that moment, lying on the rubble of what was once my house. My body hurt; it shook and ached with each breath I took, I couldn't see from one eye, and I couldn't feel anything but a burning agony. The rain fell in rhythm with the screams of our neighbors. All around me was the stench of blood and mud. Then nothing.
I wish I could say that I saw the Heroes arrive and kick his ass. I wish I could say All Might ripped him in half for his crimes. The truth is, I don't really remember anything until I was standing in front of my mother's casket as it was lowered. The memory sticks with me because of its vividness.
The feel of the bandage wrapped around my eye, the softness of the still-wet ground, and...the beautiful sun that shone on my mother's portrait after the dirt was upon her grave. A white lily sat clutched in my hand until it was shredded in a fit of rage. Immediate regret filled my chest as I stared upon my work, thinking I was no better than my father.
That was the last time I visited her grave.
For years I bounced around from foster house to foster house with a reputation as a troublemaker. It wasn't my fault; I just grew tired of the whispers and shoves, so I began fighting back. Busted lips, bitten hands, and broken noses everywhere I went. Eventually, I decided I wouldn't be a pawn of the system when no one wanted me. I ran away at twelve and began committing petty crimes to get by.
Years flew by until the incident that led me on my way to being a hero. My name is Hikari Tatsumaki, and this is my story.