Chapter Text
Join my Discord, it's kinda funny sometimes. And I also give pings n shi for the fic, among other things. Join at discord.gg/aWZ9qX9mAW
Glory to my bum ass proofreaders: Vali and Solare.
This is Multicross cuz I wanted to add more and more characters from other verses and had too much fun with it.
MHA will remain the main verse, obviously, but there’ll be other characters. Marvel is still gonna be the main crossover for obvious reasons, but don’t be too surprised when characters from other verses show up.
Marc Spector hated Sundays.
It was odd, that. They were usually celebrated by people his age. It was a rare break from the daily grind of school, clubs, cram sessions, and pretending to have their life together.
Not Marc Spector.
Sundays meant too much free time. Too much silence, too much space in his head for Him to talk.
Though, he supposed he wasn’t like most children his age. As far as he knew, he was the only one holding a God of Vengeance in his head.
…Lucky him.
“Spector-kun, please pay attention.”
And that well-meaning, kind voice was the source of his current annoyance. It wouldn’t get on his nerves nearly as much if it wasn’t so saccharine and annoyingly fake.
Or maybe it wasn’t fake, maybe she really did care. That was somehow worse to Marc Spector.
The blonde woman sitting across from him gave him a solemn smile, the one he’d gotten very used to seeing from everyone around him. Teachers, neighbors, even his own mother. The polite, careful expression that said “oh, you poor thing” without a single word.
He hated it, the obvious pity. As if his very existence was somehow saddening.
“They are not that far off at the moment, my Son.”
“And whose fault is that, Khonshu?!” Marc barked at what seemed to be, from everyone else’s perspective, nothing.
The word tore out of him before he could stop it, sharp and too loud for the tiny office.
The quiet hum of the AC, the distant murmur of the clinic’s reception area, the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Everything seemed to pause for half a second.
Marc sat slouched lower on the two-seater couch from embarrassment.
He was a lanky fifteen-year-old half-British, half-Japanese kid with dark, messy hair that refused to behave and eyes so deep a black they sometimes looked like ink, highlighted by deep eyebags that hinted at long, sleepless nights. He wore a dark T-shirt with gaudy Endeavor flames on the front, half-covered by a light flannel, and jeans that had seen better days.
He looked like a normal problematic teenager. The kind you see in PSA posters about communication at home.
But inside his head? It was a whole different story.
“...Spector-kun. Are you still with me?” The therapist probed gently after giving him a beat to simmer down. Her tone was patient, but he could hear the careful edges in it, like she was handling a bomb. “Was that… ‘Khonshu’ again?”
Marc turned his head toward her, jaw tight. He barely restrained himself enough to grind out, “Yes, it is Khonshu. And for the third time, stop calling me Spector-kun. Just Marc is fine.”
There it was, the flash of guilt.
The therapist, Nishimura Rei, sighed softly and dipped her head in apology, her straight blonde hair swaying with the motion. “Okay… Marc-kun.”
Marc let out a frustrated but slightly relieved sigh, shoulders dropping a millimeter. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Less like she was talking to a case file and more like an actual person.
“Moving on…” Rei glanced down at her notebook, then back up at him.
The little consultation room was painfully neutral: beige walls, a framed poster about mental health and quirks, a plant in the corner that might have been fake, and a big window showing a sky already beginning to darken even though it wasn’t that late.
She folded her hands on her lap. “Did ‘Khonshu’ just speak to you?”
Marc’s left eye twitched. He growled under his breath, then turned to the right. He towards, apparently, empty air and said, “Yes. He did.”
From Rei’s point of view, he was staring at nothing. Talking to nothing.
From Marc’s point of view, the room was crowded.
Rei smiled at him kindly in response, that soft, endless patience that rubbed against his nerves like sandpaper. Her hazel eyes glowed faintly as she focused on him, a warm amber light blooming behind her pupils. That subtle shine signaled her quirk kicking in: Empathy.
It was nothing flashy. It wouldn’t make any explosions, ice, or lasers. But Marc figured it was the perfect quirk for her line of work.
After a moment of holding his gaze, she looked down and quietly started writing in her notebook, pen scratching steadily against paper.
Marc scoffed and crossed his arms, sinking further into the couch. His eyes, however, weren’t on her. They were staring daggers at the unseen figure standing right by Rei’s shoulder.
To anyone else, that patch of air was empty.
To Marc, it was occupied by a towering, impossible thing.
Khonshu stood just behind Rei’s chair, looming over her with the casual menace of someone very used to being worshipped. His form was draped in tattered, moon-pale wrappings that fluttered in a wind that didn’t exist, layers of bandages wrapping around a long, skeletal frame.
His head was that of a bird’s skull, an ibis or something close to it, bleached bone stretched into a cruel curve, eye sockets dark and bottomless except for a single pinprick of ghostly blue light burning in each.
One clawed hand rested lightly on the top of his staff. It was a tall, ornate weapon of stone and ivory, crowned with a crescent moon blade that glowed faintly with silver light. In the cramped little office, the staff should have scraped the ceiling, but of course, it didn’t. Khonshu existed just a few inches to the left of reality’s rules.
He stood sideways, giving the therapist a sideways glance that was half boredom, and half disdain.
‘Great…’ Marc thought, hand clenching tight on the sofa’s arm. ‘Now he thinks he’s entitled to acting petulant about sitting through a therapy session he’s the cause of!’
“Why must we sit through this woman’s ramblings again, my Son?” Khonshu asked idly, his voice distant and echoing, like it was being broadcast from inside a tomb.
He gestured lazily with the staff toward Rei, then tipped the crescent blade toward the window and the darkening sky outside. “We have not the time for these trivialities. You must spread word of my faith. Remember our deal.”
Marc’s arms tightened across his chest, muscles tensing in annoyance. “For the last time, you dumb bird… how the hell am I supposed to do that?! Everyone thinks I’m insane because of you!”
He didn’t shout that last part, but the words had teeth, his indignant loathing was obvious.
Rei looked up at him again, her expression softening into that same pitying look that made him want to crawl under his own skin and die.
“I don’t think you’re insane, Marc-kun. You just… need help.”
Her smile was kind and sweet, so gentle it almost made his chest hurt. It was the sort of smile that belonged in a slice-of-life anime where the biggest problem was forgetting your umbrella, not being haunted by a cosmic god-bird. But all it did for him was add another layer to the annoyance building behind his ribs.
“No.” Marc growled back, glaring at a spot somewhere between her and Khonshu. “You just think I have a disembodied voice in my head along with multiple personalities.”
Rei’s smile faltered slightly. Her quirk was still active; he could see the faint glow in her hazel eyes.
She had told him before that his… “condition” made it harder to read him. Like there were overlapping signals, too much static in the line. But right now, he guessed she didn’t need supernatural empathy to figure him out. His anger was basically blazing off him like Endeavor’s stupid flames.
She coughed lightly into her hand, a small, polite sound, and looked back at her notes. When she glanced up again, her expression had shifted. It felt less like pity, and more like professional focus. “Let’s… change the subject for a moment. Is it alright if we begin from the start?”
Marc narrowed his eyes. He didn’t answer right away.
“…Why?” He asked slowly.
Rei held his gaze unflinchingly.
“Because I want to believe you.” She said, the glow in her eyes dimmed as her quirk faded, but the honesty in her voice stayed. “I want to believe that the Egyptian God of the Moon and Vengeance has truly taken you as his Avatar.”
Khonshu straightened slightly at that, skull tilting as if intrigued.
Rei continued, choosing each word carefully. “So I want you to start from the beginning, and explain to me how you think this all happened. From your point of view, Marc-san.”
Silence settled between them for a few long seconds. The clock ticked on the wall. A car passed outside, tires whispering against the road. Somewhere in the building, someone laughed too loudly.
Marc stared at her, then away, jaw clenching and unclenching. ‘From the beginning, huh? Sure. Let’s just unpack a decade of trauma like it’s story time.’
He turned his head toward the window, watching the dark clouds stack over the city. “You already know what ‘happened’. You read my file.”
After all, she was not the first therapist his mother had tried to take him to. There had been others. Too-bright offices and too-white coats and too-many questions.
“Do you hear them now, Spector-kun?” “Does the voice tell you to hurt anyone, Spector-kun?” “How do you feel about your father, Spector-kun?”
Rei gave him that same irritatingly kind smile again, but this time there was something steadier behind it, it felt less fragile.
“Yes.” She admitted. “I’ve read your file. But I want to hear it from you.”
Marc looked at her, at the faint lines of tiredness at the corners of her eyes, at the way her pen rested loosely between her fingers now instead of poised for attack over the paper.
Then his gaze flicked sideways to the clearly frustrated but passive ghost of a god standing by her side. Khonshu’s skeletal fingers tightened imperceptibly around his staff, the faint glow of the crescent blade pulsing once, like a heartbeat.
Then back to Rei.
He sighed, the kind of long, world-weary exhale that felt too big for a fifteen-year-old. “Fine, but I’ll only say it once. And you better not interrupt me.”
Rei’s eyes softened. She sat a little straighter, closing the notebook just enough that it no longer blocked her face.
“I promise.” She said quietly, a kind smile coming to her face. “I won’t interrupt.”
Marc looked down at his hands. His mother had taught him how to breathe when things got bad. In for four, hold, out for six. He pulled air into his lungs like it was heavy, held it until his chest ached, then let it out slowly.
Khonshu’s presence pressed at the back of his mind, silent for once, waiting.
“Okay…” Marc said finally, voice calmer but no less rough around the edges. “I guess it all started back when I first discovered I was Quirkless.”
Author’s Note:
Lets see where this goes, hm?
As for those who are curious, this takes place during the Golden Age of Hero Society and also All Might’s as well.
Marc Spector is the same age as Shota Aizawa.
Obviously, it's way before canon, and even MHA Vigilantes. There’ll be time skips along the way, obviously. But at the start it’ll be some set up before we can start skipping through.
…
Next Chapter Title: I Am Not Special.