Izuku walked to the table and cupped Nana's face in his hands. Kazuki felt the touch through her skin, felt the wrongness of it, felt the ghost of Nana's consciousness screaming inside him at being defiled this way.
Nana's anguish peaked. 'His hands on my face... my face... I trained heroes... I gave everything... and now this... this child wears me like a mask…'
"You look just like her," Izuku whispered. "The hero who passed the torch. The grandmother of the man who became Shigaraki. She's in there with you, you know. Feeling everything you feel. Every transformation. Every moment of agony."
Kazuki's—Nana's—eyes widened.
"She's been screaming louder than you," Izuku continued, his voice soft, confiding. "Imagine her pain. Watching her body used like this. Feeling your panic, your fear, your humanity polluting her sacred soul.
She would rather be dead. But I won't let her die. I won't let any of you die, afterall who is a better audience to see the world getting destroyed than the very people who vowed to protect this world."
Then his fist connected with Nana's face.
The crack of bone was loud in the small room. Blood sprayed—warm, red, real. Nana's head snapped to the side, and Kazuki felt it through her nerves, felt the explosion of pain, felt Nana's consciousness shriek inside him.
Yoichi felt it too. The shared connection meant that Nana's pain was his pain. All of theirs. The first user, who had endured torture at his brother's hands centuries ago, now experienced a new depth of agony—the pain of watching someone he loved be defiled and broken.
Izuku pulled back his fist, already covered in blood. "This is for your student, Nana. For Toshinori. For making him a symbol that lied to us all. The symbol who couldn't stay true to his name at his own house.
For a symbol who discriminated against his own sons when he himself was a quirkless piece of shit. For choosing such a good for nothing jerk who couldn't handle power and took it for granted, for forgetting the power he possesses wasn't his to begin with."
He punched again. More blood. More cracking bones. Nana's nose shattered.
The third user wept blood. 'Make it stop... please... make it stop…:
The fourth roared silently. 'COWARD! FIGHT ME! FIGHT ME INSTEAD!'
But Izuku couldn't hear them. Or even if he could, he didn't care.
He punched again. And again. And again.
Each blow was precise, deliberate. He wasn't just beating Kazuki—he was targeting them. A punch aimed at the gut made the second user double over in phantom agony. A kick to the ribs made the fifth feel his ancient wounds reopen. A brutal strike to the chest made Yoichi's heart seize with remembered pain from his brother's experiments.
Nana's body was breaking. Bones protruding through skin. Face unrecognizable. Blood pooling on the table, dripping to the floor.
Then Izuku raised his hand. Green static.
Heal.
The bones snapped back into place. The skin knitted. The blood reversed, flowing back into wounds that sealed. Nana's face reformed—perfect, unmarked, wrong in its restored beauty.
Kazuki gasped, the relief of healing immediately replaced by the dread of what came next.
"That was for them," Izuku said, breathing slightly harder now, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Now this is for you."
He punched again. Nana's jaw dislocated with a wet crack.
The sixth user, En, felt his own jaw break in sympathetic agony. He had taught Nana. Guided her. Loved her. Now he experienced her destruction through their merged bond, unable to look away, unable to help, unable to die.
Izuku punched. Healed. Punched. Healed. Punched. Healed.
Each cycle targeted a different vestige. A blow that shattered Nana's hand made the second user's phantom fingers spasm. A kick that crushed her pelvis made the third's stomach clench with remembered pain. A strike that collapsed her lung made the fourth gasp for air he didn't need.
Blood covered everything. Izuku's arm was red to the elbow. His chest was splattered. His face had fine droplets across his cheeks. He looked like a butcher who had just finished a shift.
Nana's consciousness, between blows, experienced something she had never felt in her long, heroic life.
True horror.
Not fear of death—she had faced that many times. Not fear of pain—she had endured that too. This was something else. This was the horror of being used. Of having her soul form, her identity, her very flesh turned into a tool for someone else's torment.
Of feeling her predecessors' pain through her own nerves. Knowing that every time Izuku hit her, six other souls screamed with her.
She had faced All For One. She had faced death. She had never faced this.
The second user's rage had burned out, replaced by something cold and terrified. He had been a warrior. He had died fighting. This was worse than death. This was an eternal, helpless witness to desecration.
The fifth's resolve was ash. He begged silently, to anyone who might listen, for an end that would not come.
Yoichi, the first, the kind one, the one who had hoped even for his brother's redemption... Yoichi broke. His gentle soul shattered into a million pieces as he felt Nana's pain, felt Kazuki's panic, felt the collective agony of everyone merged into this single, suffering vessel. He had no more hope left. Only horror.
Izuku paused, chest heaving, looking down at his work. Half his body was covered in blood—Kazuki's blood, Nana's blood, the blood of seven souls filtered through one body. It dripped from his chin. It soaked his sleeves. It pooled in the folds of his clothing.
He was breathing hard. Not from exertion—from enjoyment.
"You know," he said, his voice casual, conversational, "I thought I might feel something. Remorse. Pity. Satisfaction, even." He wiped blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. "But there's nothing. Just... calm. Like watching rain on a window.
Maybe when I destroy this world and rewrite it to my liking maybe I'll feel something then. Honestly I feel more when I play with my little eri then I felt doing all this to you, you guys simply are too boring."
He looked at Nana's face—beautiful again, healed, perfect, but with eyes that held the terror of seven trapped souls.
"She's still in there," he murmured. "They all are. Feeling everything. Watching everything. Unable to look away." He smiled, that too-wide, psychopath's smile. "Just like I promised."
He released her face and stepped back, surveying the blood-soaked room, the trembling body on the table, the masterpiece of agony he had created.
"Now." He stretched, casual, relaxed, blood dripping from his fingertips. "Shall we start again? I have so many more forms to try. And now I have a new canvas to paint on."
Nana's body—Kazuki's prison, the vestiges' cage—began to tremble uncontrollably.
Inside, seven souls experienced a terror so profound it transcended words. They had been heroes. They had given everything for hope, for peace, for a better world. Now they were witnesses to the birth of something that mocked everything they stood for. And they could do nothing but watch. And feel. And break.
"No..." Kazuki sobbed through Nana's lips, her warm maternal voice cracking with despair. "No more... please... I'll do anything... ANYTHING..."
Izuku raised an eyebrow at Kazuki's desperate plea. "Anything?"
He tilted his head, a mock-thoughtful expression on his blood-spattered face. Then he laughed—a light, casual sound, like they were sharing a joke.
"Anything? Darling, you should be 'grateful' I'm not getting you raped by someone. Or even gangbanged." He said the words casually, conversationally, like discussing the weather.
"If I wanted, I could easily have your body violated. After all, with looks like yours—" he gestured at Nana's form on the table, "—there are 'n' number of perverts willing to rail you, even if it's the last thing they get to do."
The words hung in the air like poison.
'Inside the merged consciousness, seven souls reeled.'
Kazuki's mind, already fractured, shattered further at the implication. Through Nana's nerves, through her body, he felt the horror of what was being suggested—not as a distant threat, but as a 'casual option' his brother was choosing 'not' to exercise. The gratitude he was supposed to feel curdled into something worse than fear.
Yoichi, the first, who had endured his own brother's experiments, felt ancient wounds reopen. All For One had done terrible things to him, but even his monster of a brother had never suggested 'that'. The casual cruelty of the words was worse than any physical pain.
The second user, the Gearshift warrior, felt his rage sputter into something cold and helpless. He had fought against tyrants, against monsters who took what they wanted. But this was different. This was a god who saw their bodies as 'toys', their dignity as a 'favor' he was granting.
The third user, the Fa Jin wielder, experienced a horror so profound he stored kinetic energy—their shared energy—flickered and dimmed. He had been kind. He had believed in people. He could not comprehend a mind that worked this way.
Hikage Shinomori, with his Danger Sense perpetually screaming, felt the warning shift from physical threat to something existential. His quirk was warning him of danger, yes—but the danger was everywhere, inescapable, baked into the very reality this creature controlled.
Daigoro Banjo, the Lariat, whose Blackwhip was emotion made manifest, felt his despair crystallize into something harder. Not courage. Not hope. Just the cold, sinking realization that there were no limits. None at all.
En, the stoic sixth, who had guided Nana, who had taught her to face death with dignity, felt his teachings crumble. What dignity could anyone maintain against 'this'?
And Nana—Nana, whose body lay on the table, whose form Izuku was casually offering to the worst of humanity—Nana felt something she had never experienced in her long heroic life.
'Primal, absolute terror.'
Not for herself—she was already beyond caring about her own fate. But for her 'body'. For the sacred vessel that had held One For All, that had passed the torch, that had smiled at Toshinori and told him to be brave. The thought of that body being used that way, defiled by strangers, made her soul scream in ways no physical pain ever could.
"You wouldn't," Kazuki gasped through Nana's lips, hope flickering that even Izuku had limits. "Even you wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't I?" Izuku's smile widened. "You don't know what I would or wouldn't do, brother. That's the problem. You never knew me at all." He shrugged.
"But don't worry. I'm being 'lenient' with you. At least you get to maintain your dignity. Even after death, your body—well, 'her' body now—won't be passed around like a party favor."
He said it like he was doing them a favor.
The second user couldn't hold it in anymore. 'This is your fault!' The thought lashed out, not directed at anyone specific, just pure rage seeking a target.
The third, desperate, tried reason. 'We can fix this! We can help you! We made mistakes, we see that now! Let us help you make things right!'
Yoichi added his gentle voice. 'The world doesn't have to burn. We can build something better together. Please—'
Izuku's laughter cut through their pleas like a knife through smoke.
"Build something better?" He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, smearing blood across his cheeks. "Together? With 'you'?" He laughed again, harder this time. "Oh, that's precious. That's 'adorable'. You think I want your help? Your 'forgiveness'?"
He leaned close to Nana's face, his breath warm against her skin.
"I don't want anything from you except your suffering. Your pleas are background noise. Static." He tapped her forehead gently. "You could offer me the universe on a silver platter, and I'd still choose to watch you break. Because this—" he gestured at her trembling form, "—this is 'better' than anything you could give me."
''Inside, despair deepened.'' His words were absolute. There was no bargaining with this. No reasoning. No hope.
The second user's rage sputtered. The third's kindness curdled. Hikage's Danger Sense screamed on. Banjo's Blackwhip writhed uselessly. En's stoicism cracked.
And Nana—Nana felt the last piece of her hope shatter.
Then Izuku's expression shifted. His smile faded to something thoughtful.
"You know," he said slowly, "I could do something even worse. Something that would make this—" he gestured at her broken, healed, broken again body, "—look like a spa day."
The seven souls held what would have been their breath.
"I could make you 'love' me."
The words hung in the air.
"Not fake it. Not pretend. I can rewrite your very souls, your memories, your emotions, your 'identities'. I could make you 'genuinely' love me—worship me, even. You'd beg to serve me.
You'd thank me for every punch, every transformation, every violation. You'd smile as I destroyed everything you once held dear, because I'd have rewritten you to believe it was right."
He paused, letting the horror sink in.
"Every hero instinct, every noble impulse, every memory of fighting for justice—gone. Replaced by absolute, unwavering devotion to me. To the glitch. To the monster who broke you."
He smiled again, but this time it was different. Colder.
"But I won't do that."
Confusion rippled through the merged souls. Relief? Suspicion?
"Because that would be too easy. Too 'kind', in a way." He shrugged. "You need your sanity intact. Your hatred. Your despair. Because you're all going to help me destroy the world."
Before anyone could process this, his voice changed.
It became higher. Younger. A small child's voice, innocent and playful.
"Just kidding!"
The seven souls froze.
Izuku's face split into a wide, cheerful grin—the grin of a child playing a prank. His voice returned to normal, still carrying that playful lilt.
"Of course I'm going to rewrite you. Eventually. When I get bored of your suffering. When your screams stop being entertaining. When your despair becomes 'routine'." He winked. "But first, I need you to be sharp. I need you 'aware'. Because the real show hasn't even started yet."
His voice dropped, becoming serious, cold, absolute.
"You're all going to help me destroy the world. I'm going to put the gun on your shoulder to kill people. Every hero. Every symbol. Every lie. You're going to watch it burn from inside that shared skull, and you're going to 'feel' every moment of it. Every death. Every collapse. Every hope getting extinguished."
He straightened up, surveying his work.
"And when there's nothing left but ashes and me... 'then' I'll rewrite you. Then I'll make you love the monster who killed everything you ever loved."
He tilted his head, that too-wide smile returning.
"So you see, I need you to be sane. I need you 'hurting'. Because a broken toy is no fun at all."
''Inside the merged consciousness, something shifted.''
The horror was still there—absolute, consuming. But underneath it, something uglier began to stir.
'The second user's rage found a target. 'This is YOUR fault!' The thought lashed out, not at Izuku—he was too far beyond blame, too untouchable—but at someone closer. Someone they could reach.
''Kazuki.''
The vessel. The brother. The one who had 'caused' this.
The third user, desperate for someone to blame, joined in. 'If you hadn't treated him like dirt—if you'd been a real brother—'
'Hikage's Danger Sense, screaming constantly, found a new focus. 'He's your blood! Your family! YOU made him this way!'
Banjo's Blackwhip writhed with accusation. 'You had a chance! You could have loved him! Instead you wished him dead!'
En, the stoic, the wise, felt his wisdom curdle into bitterness. 'We gave everything for a world that produced YOU. That let YOU happen. That made HIM possible.'
Yoichi, the kind one, tried to intervene. 'Stop! This isn't—blaming each other won't—'
But his gentle voice was drowned out by the tide of rage and pain and fear.
And then, slowly, inevitably, some of that blame began to drift toward ''Nana''.
'She passed it to Toshinori.'
'Toshinori neglected the boy.'
'Toshinori failed him.'
'If she had chosen someone else—if she had been more careful—if she had—'
The second user's thoughts were sharp, cutting. 'You chose wrong, Nana. Your student failed. Your legacy created this monster.'
The third, ashamed even as he thought it, couldn't stop himself. 'If you hadn't passed it on—if Toshinori hadn't been like this—'
Hikage, who had lived in hiding, who knew the weight of choices, felt his own guilt transmute into accusation. 'You should have known. You should have seen it. A hero would have seen.'
Banjo, who had loved fighting for others, felt his love curdle. 'Your torch. Your flame. It burns us now.'
En, who had loved her like a granddaughter, who had taught her everything, felt the deepest betrayal. 'I taught you better. I taught you to choose wisely. You failed me. You failed us all.'
Yoichi tried again, weakly. 'Nana... I know you... this isn't...'
But even he felt the seed of doubt. The whisper that maybe—just maybe—if different choices had been made...
Nana felt it all. The accusations. The blame. The betrayal from souls she had loved, who had loved her. In her years of existence, through battles and losses and the ultimate sacrifice, she had never felt so utterly 'alone'.
They were blaming her. Her family. Her legacy. Her.
And the worst part?
A tiny, broken part of her whispered that maybe they were right.
Izuku watched the table, his head tilted, a small smile playing on his lips. He could hear their internal war. And he could even see it in the flicker of Nana's eyes, the subtle shifts in expression as seven souls tore each other apart inside their shared prison.
"Good," he murmured. "Blame each other. Tear yourselves apart. It's so much more entertaining that way."
He raised his hand. Green static crawled up his arm, mixing with the drying blood.
Kazuki screamed in Nana's voice. The sound was warm, maternal, utterly wrong—a grandmother's cry of pure, undiluted terror mixed with the anguish of seven souls turning on each other.
Nana Shimura, the seventh user, the hero who had passed the torch to All Might, felt her soul fracture one final time. She had no more pieces left to break. And now, the pieces that remained were turning on her.
The transformation began again.
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