[I dunno, maybe like...next few chapters?]
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Wolfram tasted iron.
His tongue ran along the inside of his cheek, feeling where it had split. Blood dripped from his nose, sliding past his lips as he straightened, orange light pulsing faintly beneath his skin. The device wrapped around his head hummed, feeding power into power, quirks grinding against each other like overworked gears.
And across from him stood the reason the world had changed.
All Might didn't breathe heavily.
Didn't stagger.
Didn't look impressed.
He simply stood there, cape fluttering in the wind created by their own clash.
"NORTH CAROLINA—"
Wolfram's pupils shrank.
All Might vanished.
The punch didn't just travel through the air—it weaponized it. Compressed pressure exploded forward in a visible arc, tearing through twenty layers of hastily forged metal like tissue paper. Walls disintegrated in a chain reaction, shockwaves hammering Wolfram before the fist even reached him.
"SMASH!"
Impact.
The arena convulsed. The bowl-shaped battlefield warped further, chunks of metal peeling upward as Wolfram was launched backward, slamming through his own defences. His ribs screamed. The air left his lungs in a violent burst as he skidded, boots carving a trench before he managed to anchor himself with jagged spikes.
Even here.
Even in a domain made entirely of metal—his element, his weapon, his throne—
All Might was overwhelming.
Wolfram coughed, steadying himself as he forced more alloy between them.
"VILLAIN!" All Might's voice thundered, impossibly steady. "I still offer you the choice of surrender."
He said it while grabbing the metal sphere Wolfram had just encased himself in.
He said it while ripping it open with his bare hands.
He said it while hurling Wolfram hard enough that the impact cratered the arena floor.
Gracious.
Wolfram almost laughed.
Just before All Might's foot came down to crush him into scrap, the ground liquefied beneath the hero's step. Wolfram forced the metal to cave inward, buying himself an inch—just enough—to slip away like a shadow.
Close combat wasn't sustainable.
He couldn't win that way.
Not against this thing.
He needed time.
Needed distraction.
Needed—
"Hey," Wolfram called, forcing a smirk despite the blood running down his face. "Not that I don't enjoy evil versus justice, but… aren't you curious how I got this?"
All Might didn't hesitate.
"Crime is crime. Whether you made it, stole it, or abused a quirk booster, all of those are illegal."
Absolute.
Unwavering.
Wolfram barely ducked under a backhand of compressed wind, only to catch a brutal elbow across the jaw that snapped his head sideways. He tasted more blood.
"See?" Wolfram spat, wiping his mouth. "That's what I mean. Heroes decide what's evil. You don't question it. You don't look deeper."
All Might advanced again.
Wolfram's grin widened.
"It's why All For One was able to meet David Shield that easily."
That did it.
All Might's next strike halted mid-motion.
"…All For One," he said softly.
The softness was worse than the shout.
There was no warmth in it. Only a deep, coiled fury that made the air heavy.
Wolfram felt it—the shift. The calculation behind those blue eyes. Multiple quirks. Clean infiltration. Financial backing. Precision.
Click.
"Got it now, Symbol?" Wolfram murmured.
He tapped the device at his temple.
A recording crackled to life, projected through the arena speakers.
That voice.
Smooth. Cultured. Inescapable.
"If All Might's friend wishes to complete the fall into evil, then who are you or I to stop him? Wouldn't you agree, All Might?"
The world seemed to shrink.
All Might didn't blink.
But in that half-second—barely perceptible—
His focus shifted.
That was enough.
"Got ya," Wolfram whispered.
The ground beneath All Might's feet liquefied instantly, metal swallowing his leg up to the thigh. Before he could tear free, bindings shot upward—coils thick as tree trunks wrapping around his arms, locking his torso in place.
"Fell for it," Wolfram breathed, forcing every ounce of power through his quirks. Veins bulged along his neck. The orange glow intensified. "Hook, line, and sinker, Symbol."
The arena responded.
The very floor rose, folding inward like a steel flower closing around prey. Layers upon layers compressed, condensing into a dense sphere with All Might at its core.
Wolfram clenched his fist.
The sphere tightened.
Metal screamed as it compacted, pressure increasing, air forced out in violent bursts.
"Let's see you punch your way out of that," Wolfram muttered.
He didn't stop there.
Spikes.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Forged razor-sharp and driven inward from every angle, piercing the steel prison with lethal intent.
The sound was sickening.
Metal impaling metal.
Wolfram staggered back a step, breathing hard, sweat mixing with blood on his face. His head throbbed violently—the device feeding him more power than his brain was comfortable processing.
"…Damn," he exhaled.
Silence.
No explosion.
No immediate counter.
The compressed sphere sat there, impaled from all sides like a grotesque iron sea urchin.
Wolfram wiped his mouth again, trying to steady the tremor in his hands.
"Annoying kids," he muttered. "And an even more brutal All Might…"
He forced a laugh.
It sounded hollow.
He knew better.
He knew a cage didn't end All Might.
But for the first time since the battle began—
There was no fist.
No shout.
No rising wind.
Just quiet.
Wolfram's breathing slowed.
"…Maybe," he said under his breath, staring at the impaled sphere, "that really did it."
A faint sound answered him.
Not from outside.
From within.
A low vibration.
Like thunder building inside a storm cloud.
The sphere trembled.
Once.
Twice.
Cracks spiderwebbed along its surface.
And then—
A pulse of pressure erupted outward from inside, subtle but undeniable.
The spikes bent.
Wolfram's eyes widened.
"…Oh."
From within the steel prison, a voice echoed—muffled, but resolute.
"You speak of evil… as if it were subjective."
The cracks deepened.
"And yet you follow a man who steals the futures of others."
The sphere bulged outward.
Metal groaned in protest.
"I will not allow you—"
The entire prison exploded outward in a blinding burst of force, spikes shattering into harmless fragments as a pillar of wind blasted the arena apart.
"—to use my name for his games!"
All Might stood at the epicentre, steam rising faintly from his body, bits of twisted metal falling around him like rain.
His costume was torn at the shoulder.
A thin line of blood traced his cheek.
But he stood tall.
Unbroken.
Wolfram stared.
For the first time since activating the booster—
He didn't smile.
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[Auther: I'mma...take a nap, enjoy this.]