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A lifeboat that was a fragile shell of wood and hope, carried three battered and bruised survivors. Straining creak of oars and the cold, sloshing water of the USJ's flood zone filled the air as adrenaline had long since faded, leaving behind the bone-deep ache of exhaustion and the chilling aftertaste of pure terror.
Kirishima was rowing, his hardened muscles bulging with each powerful stroke. A wide, incredulous grin was plastered on his face, directed at the brooding figure slumped in the stern.
"Man, Bakugo! That was the manliest thing I've ever seen!" he panted, his voice full of fervent admiration. "Blowing up the ship to use it as a weapon? Becoming Class Rep has really shine out your strategic thinking, dude! You saved our skins!"
In the bow, Mineta was the picture of their former despair. He was curled into a ball, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs. "We were gonna die...! We were actually gonna die! I saw my whole life flash before my eyes! It was mostly just me being scared and failing!" he wailed, snot and tears mixing on his face. "We did it, but I wanna go home to my mom!"
Katsuki, who had been staring into the middle distance, analyzing their position, finally snapped. His head whipped around, a vein throbbing on his temple.
"WOULD YOU TWO SHUT THE HELL UP?!" he roared, the sound echoing across the water and making both of them jump. He glared at Mineta, his crimson eyes burning. "Stop your damn crying, Grape Juice! We're not dead, are we?! And you," he snarled, turning to Kirishima, "stop yapping and focus on rowing! This isn't over!"
He gestured violently towards the looming central plaza, which they were now rapidly approaching. The distant sounds of battle; shouts, crashes, the sizzle of quirks; were growing clearer, and definitely more desperate.
"We've got bigger damn problems to worry about than your feelings! The real fight's happening over there, and it sounds like a goddamn slaughterhouse!"
As their boat glided into the shallows near the plaza's edge, the full scope of the nightmare unfolded before them. It was chaos. Villains swarmed like ants. And in the center of it all, a terrifying tableau froze the blood in Bakugo's veins.
His sharp eyes scanned the scene in a split second, processing the data with a ruthless, tactical efficiency honed by instincts of combat analysis.
Sato, down, clutching a twisted ankle, desperately fending off the mist villain.
Sero and Shoji, back-to-back, surrounded, trying to protect Aizawa-sensei's horrifyingly still form.
What the hell happened here?!
And then he saw it. The focal point of the disaster.
Round Face…Ochaco.
Cornered. On her knees. Staring up at the blue-haired bastard, the one covered in hands, as he reached for her face with all five fingers splayed. A killing blow. There was no time for a plan. No time for a warning. There was only instinct and explosive force.
"SHIT!"
The curse was a guttural explosion of pure panic. Katsuki didn't think. He acted.
He planted his feet on the edge of the lifeboat. "DON'T STOP!" he barked at Kirishima. Then, he launched himself.
"Bakugo, wai-!"
BOOM.
Twin blasts from his palms turned the back of the boat into a launchpad, propelling him forward like a blur of crimson and orange missile. He shot over the remaining water and onto the plaza, his entrance was announced by a concussive blast that sent three villain goons flying before they even knew what hit them.
"OUT OF MY WAY, YOU EXTRAS!" the ash blonde bellowed, a human whirlwind of destruction. He didn't stop to fight; he carved a path. A quick blast to the left cleared a thug with tentacles, a kick to the face sent another stumbling, all while his momentum carried him straight toward the heart of the crisis.
His trajectory was perfect. He saw Sato struggling, the mist-man; Kurogiri; forming a portal to entrap him.
"SHITTY HAIR'S FRIEND! DUCK!" Katsuki roared, not even bothering with names.
Sato, driven by pure reflex, dropped. Katsuki was already in the air above him, having used a smaller blast to correct his angle. He fired a precise shot right past Sato's head, not at Kurogiri's misty body, but at the solid, gleaming metal collar around his neck.
The precision explosion didn't hurt the warp villain, but the force of the impact against his one solid piece of equipment was like a violent shove to the head. It disrupted his concentration for a critical half-second, the portal flickering. It was all the opening Katsuki needed. He blasted through the dissipating mist, his eyes locked on his true target.
Shigaraki's fingers were inches from Ochaco's face, a dry, raspy chuckle escaping his lips.
It was cut short as sixty kilograms of furious, explosive Bakugo Katsuki slammed into the side of his head, both knees connecting with his temple in a devastating flying knee strike.
"HRRK—!"
Shigaraki was thrown sideways, stumbling several feet before catching his balance, a hand flying to his head. Katsuki landed in a low crouch, skidding to a halt between the villain and Ochaco, his palms smoking, his back to her. His shoulders were heaving, not from exertion, but from the white-hot fury and residual fear coursing through him.
That was a close one, he barely made it.
He didn't look back at her, instead his glare was fixed on the staggering Shigaraki. But his words, sharp and laced with a concern he'd never admit to, were for her.
"What the hell were you thinking, facing this bastard head-on, you damn mochi?!" he snarled, the worry masked by sheer aggression.
Ochaco, trembling from her near-death experience, stared at his back, her voice a shaky, horrified whisper. "B-Bakugo... they... they killed Thirteen..."
The words hit Bakugo like a physical blow. His aggressive stance faltered for a microsecond. His eyes, still locked on Shigaraki, widened just a fraction.
"...Hah?" The sound was choked, disbelieving.
They... did what? His mind raced, the calculation instantaneous and horrifying. In that short a time? A Pro Hero... dead? Then... then Aizawa-sensei... No. That can't—
Shigaraki slowly straightened up, rubbing his temple. A trickle of blood ran from his hairline. He didn't look angry. He looked... intrigued. His red eyes gleamed with a manic light from behind the hand on his face.
"An impressive entrance," Shigaraki rasped, his voice grating. "But she's not pinning that on me. That was Void's handiwork. Don't go blaming me for his... mess." He tilted his head, the gesture unnervingly bird-like.
"But if you know what's good for you, you two brats should just back off. We're here to kill the Symbol of Peace... not that it really matters. You're all going to die anyway."
"Bakugo, his quirk!" Ochaco cried out. "Don't let all five fingers touch you!"
As if on cue, Shigaraki lunged, his decay-tipped hand shooting out for Bakugo's face. But Katsuki was already moving. He didn't blast away; he ducked inside the reach, his combat instincts flawless. He grabbed Shigaraki's extended wrist with one hand and his bicep with the other, using the villain's own momentum to execute a brutal hip throw, hurling him back several yards.
Shigaraki landed on his feet, skidding backwards. He let out that dry, scratchy laugh again. "So aggressive. And dirty. Not very 'heroic' of you."
Katsuki finally stood to his full height, cracking his neck. A feral, defiant smirk twisted his lips. All shock was gone, replaced by the familiar, blistering confidence.
"Tch. Sorry if I had to play dirty, you crusty bastard," he spat spat, flexing his hands as sparks danced across his palms. "Guess I'm just built different. Gotta level a playing field that's stacked with cheating scum like you."
Shigaraki's smirk widened beneath the hand. He looked genuinely, disturbingly pleased.
"Heh. I like you, kid."
__________________
Ruins zone…
After agonizing minutes, silence had finally returned. But it was not a peaceful silence. It was a suffocating, heavy blanket, thick with dust and the echoes of violence. The only sound was the frantic, ragged rhythm of a single heartbeat, pounding against ribs like a trapped bird.
Aoyama stood exactly where Void had left him. Paralyzed. His legs refused to obey the screaming commands from his brain to run, hide, disappear. Anything! He was a statue of gilt and terror, his sparkle utterly extinguished, replaced by a pallor of gray dust and dread.
The boy's mind was a prison, and the warden was the scene that played on a loop behind his eyes, a fresh, searing memory from mere minutes ago.
Few minutes prior…
Ojiro's choked gasps rasped out as Void, a monolith of contained power, had the tailed student pinned against a shattered pillar, a massive hand clamped around his throat. Ojiro's feet kicked uselessly in the air, his defiant spirit finally being crushed by overwhelming, hopeless force.
Aoyama watched, frozen, as he was now. He saw the conflict in the set of Void's shoulders, the faint, almost imperceptible tremble in the arm holding Ojiro. The weapon was hesitating.
'Kill him,' a cold, logical part of Aoyama's mind whispered, the part that had been shaped by fear and threats. 'It's the only way. He saw. He knows. Silence him.'
But another part, the part that still remembered the taste of lunch with his classmates, the part that flinched every time someone was kind to him, screamed in silent horror. 'No! Not Ojiro! He's… he's kind! He never did anything wrong!'
Void's head was tilted, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. His grip tightened, then loosened a fraction. He couldn't let the kid go. The evidence; a living, breathing witness; would lead straight back to the source. To him, their spy. But to kill him here… to snuff out a life so bravely offered… the empathic ghost within the machine was rebelling.
The stalemate was broken by a sound that made Aoyama's blood run cold. A soft, electronic chime, followed by a dry, crackling voice that emanated not from the air, but from the modified metal brace collar around Void's own neck.
"Ahem. Void-kun. The good doctor speaking." The voice of Dr. Garaki was calm, avuncular, and utterly chilling. "It seems you've encountered a… complication. Do regale me with the situation. Indulge an old man's curiosity."
They all do know it was a lie. The collar had cameras, sensors. Garaki had been watching. He always was.
Void didn't seem surprised. His response was a low, mechanized growl. "A witness. He identified the asset."
"Ah. The sparkling one. How… unfortunate for him," Garaki mused, the sound of sipping tea faintly audible through the speaker. "And what is your proposed solution, my boy? We cannot have our little mole exposed."
Void was silent for a long moment, his glowing green eyes fixed on Ojiro's struggling form. When he spoke, his voice was flat, decisive. "Kurogiri. Open a gateway to the lab. My coordinates."
A warp gate immediately swirled to life beside him, a vortex of purple and black that promised nothing good.
"The subject is coming with me," Void stated, his tone brooking no argument. "I require a memory wipe. A thorough one."
Aoyama's heart plummeted. A memory wipe? What did that entail? Would Ojiro even be Ojiro after?
"Oho! A memory wipe! How delightfully clinical!" Garaki chirped. "And while he's under, we can run some preliminary scans, don't you think? Such a fine, physical specimen. Strong quirk factor, excellent muscular structure. He might make a fine base for a new Nomu. Perhaps a 'Tailed Nomu'? The synergy could be—"
"NO."
The word was not a shout. It was a blast of static, a wave of pure, cold fury that made the air vibrate. Void's free hand clenched into a fist, the red scars along his arm pulsing with angry light. The intensity of his reaction was startling, even to Garaki, who fell silent for a beat.
"The memory wipe is non-negotiable," Void hissed, his voice trembling with a rage that felt deeply, personally offended. "The rest of your… morbid curiosity… is. He is not a specimen. He is a loose end. We are tying it. That is all."
Without another word, he adjusted his grip on the now-limp Ojiro, hoisting the unconscious student over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He took a step toward the waiting warp gate.
That's when Aoyama found his voice, a pathetic, trembling squeak that barely escaped his lips.
"W-What… what is going to happen to him?" he whispered, his eyes wide with terror.
Void paused at the edge of the void. He didn't turn. He didn't answer. The silence was more terrifying than any threat. He simply took one final step, and the warp gate swallowed him and his captive whole, snapping shut with a sound like a dying breath.
The last thing Aoyama heard before the silence returned was Void's own muttered words, a low, weary grumble that seemed to sum up the entire, catastrophic situation.
"...This is so shitty."
The memory broke, and Aoyama gasped, stumbling forward as if released from a physical grip. He fell to his hands and knees, dry heaving into the dust. The hyperventilation began in earnest, his chest constricting, his vision spotting.
What have I done? What have I DONE?
Ojiro was gone. Taken to some hellish lab to have his mind scoured, his very self potentially erased or worse, twisted into one of those… those things. And it was his fault. All of it.
He clutched his stomach, the familiar, agonizing pain flaring up, a physical manifestation of his guilt. He had given them everything; he schedule, the layout, the security weaknesses; and it had led to this. His teachers were likely dying. His classmates were scattered and fighting for their lives. And Ojiro… Ojiro was paying the price for his cowardice.
A new, even more chilling thought cut through his panic.
Wait… if Void is gone… and he took Ojiro with him…
His head snapped up, eyes scanning the empty ruins.
Where is he?
The weapon was no longer here to contain him, to threaten him, to be the focal point of his fear. But that meant the weapon was now free. It could be anywhere.
It-he could be in the central plaza.
A fresh wave of pure, undiluted horror washed over him. The monster he had helped unleash, the one who had already killed one pro hero, was now unaccounted for, moving through the USJ like a reaper.
And his friends were still in there.
Aoyama crumpled completely, his face pressing into the cold, unforgiving concrete. His body was wracked with silent, shuddering sobs, the glittering traitor alone in the ruins, drowning in a sea of his own making. The battle raged on, and he was its most damning casualty.
_________________
Landslide zone…
The brief, uncontrolled inferno that had erupted from Shoto had subsided, leaving his left side steaming and his right sheathed in a brittle layer of frost. The numbness in his arm was a screaming warning, but it was drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the two threats before him. Now the air was a frigid cocktail of powdered ice, dust, and searing hatred.
The massive brawler, Rappa, was practically vibrating with excitement, his grin wide and manic. "FINALLY! Some real action! C'mon, kid, let's go! Fist to fist!"
But the smaller, cloaked scout threw out an arm, a sign to stop Rappa's path. His single visible eye, now burning with the unstable orange glow of Trigger, was locked on Shoto with an intensity that felt physical.
"I said, Rappa... stand down," the scout rasped, his voice layered with a new, bestial growl. Veins, glowing like lava flows, pulsed across his neck and the visible part of his face. "This one... is my damn fight."
Shoto forced his breathing to steady, the plumes of mist from his right side growing thinner as he wrestled his emotions back under a shell of ice. The heat from his left was a tempting, dangerous comfort. He couldn't lose control like that again. He straightened up, his heterochromatic eyes narrowing into a glare that could freeze hell.
"You've made a grave mistake," Shoto stated, his voice cold and sharp as a shard of ice. "You think that drug can bridge the gap?" His gaze flickered over the man's stance, the way he held his grudge like a weapon.
"This isn't random. You have a vendetta. Against me... or more likely, against my father."
The scout let out a dry, hacking chuckle that sounded like gravel grinding in his chest. "Perceptive little brat, aren't you?" With a sharp, jerky movement, he reached up and yanked back his hood, fully revealing his face.
It was a ruin. The left side was a twisted landscape of glossy, pulled-tight skin and deep, angry swirls of scar tissue that crawled from his jawline up to his temple, obliterating his ear and pulling the corner of his lip into a permanent, grimacing sneer. It was a badge of agony, a testament to an encounter with unimaginable heat.
"Your 'father'," the scout spat the word like a curse, his Trigger-bright eye boring into Shoto's, "was chasing some two-bit arms dealer. I was just... there. A civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time." His voice shook with a raw, decades-old fury. "He didn't even hesitate. Called it 'collateral damage.' His fire doesn't discriminate between villain and bystander, it just... consumes."
He took a step forward, the ground crunching under his boot. "So you'll do me a favor, you little legacy. You're going to send a message to your dear old man for me."
Rappa let out an exaggerated groan, rolling his shoulders. "Oh, for the love of—can we skip the whole tragic backstory? My fists are getting cold! Let's just brawl already!"
The scout didn't even look at him. "Shut up."
Rappa muttered under his breath, kicking a piece of rubble. "Tch. Shoulda stayed back with Hotshot. You're a real stick in the mud, you know that?"
The scout ignored him, his entire world narrowed to Shoto. "The message," he continued, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "is that his perfect, dual-quirked masterpiece got sent back to him... in pieces."
That was enough. Shoto didn't need to hear another word. The mention of being a "masterpiece," a "legacy"…it was the same poison his father had fed him for years.
"All talk," Shoto snarled.
He stomped his right foot. A torrent of ice, not a wild wave but a focused, spear-like glacier, erupted from the ground and shot towards the scout, aiming to impale him and end the fight in one, decisive blow.
It connected. The ice enveloped the scout in a tomb of frozen water, a crystalline statue mid-snarl. The orange glow of his eye was extinguished behind the thick, blue-white prison.
Shoto stood panting, the chill from his overuse seeping deep into his bones. "You were all talk and no action," he stated to the frozen figure, turning his gaze warily towards Rappa, expecting the big man to charge.
However, a sound stopped him cold.
It wasn't the sound of cracking ice. It was a low, resonant hum, like a power generator spinning up. Then, a web of faint, orange light appeared within the ice block, tracing the scout's veins progressively. The ice around his chest began to darken, not melt, but turn a murky, smoky gray.
C-CRACK.
A black, acrid smoke began to seep from the pores of the ice, followed by the distinct, sickening sizzle of something being broken down at a molecular level.
BOOM!
The ice prison exploded outward, not into shards, but into a fine, blackened dust. The scout stood unharmed within the dissipating cloud, his body wreathed in the same dark smoke. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and the smoke streamed into his nostrils and mouth. His glowing eye blazed brighter than ever.
"Not bad, kid," he said, his voice now a distorted, echoing rumble, as if two people were speaking at once. "A solid hit."
He opened his mouth, and the black smoke poured out, coalescing in the air in front of him. It swirled, condensed, and sharpened, taking form. In a heartbeat, a perfect, jagged replica of Shoto's own ice spear hung in the air, but it was forged from solid darkness and shimmering with intense cold.
Shoto's eyes widened in utter disbelief. The hell is this quirk?
Absorption? Reflection?
"My Quirk is 'Soot,'" the scout growled, answering the unspoken question. "I don't just take a hit... I consume its energy, its properties. I make it a part of me. And then..."
He grinned, a horrific sight on his scarred face.
"...I give it back."
With a flick of his wrist, the black, mirrored ice spear shot forward, faster than Shoto's own, aimed directly for his heart. Shoto barely had time to throw up a panicked wall of normal ice, which the projectile shattered through with terrifying ease, forcing him to dive sideways to avoid being skewered.
He landed hard, scrambling back to his feet as the scout began to advance, more black smoke curling from his lips and fingertips. The villain cracked his neck, the orange light in his veins pulsing in time with his steps.
"Now," the scout intoned, his voice the promise of a painful end. "It's my turn."
________________
Central Plaza…
In the center of this dangerous area in the USJ, a blistering dance of death was underway.
Katsuki was a storm of motion and noise. He never stayed still, using controlled, close-range explosions to propel himself in erratic, unpredictable arcs around Shigaraki. He was a ghost, a phantom of concussive force, appearing for a split second to unleash a blistering AP Shot at the villain's head or legs before vanishing in a cloud of smoke and repositioning.
Shigaraki, for all his power, was frustrated. His decay was absolute, but it was useless if he couldn't land a clean hit. He swiped at short spanned afterimages, his fingers turning concrete to dust where Bakugo's feet had been a millisecond prior.
"You annoying little gnat!" Shigaraki rasped, his scratching becoming more frantic. "Stop running and FIGHT ME!"
"Tch! Fight you? This is me fighting you, you crusty-handed freak!" Katsuki taunted, blasting off a villain who tried to flank him without even breaking his flow. "You're too slow!"
He saw an opening. As Shigaraki overextended on a wild lunge, Bakugo feinted left, then used a massive blast to change direction and slam directly into Shigaraki's side, a devastating explosion point-blank to his ribs.
"DIE!"
BOOM!
The impact was solid. Shigaraki was thrown off his feet, coughing as he skidded across the plaza, his black shirt smoldering from the attack. It wasn't a knockout blow, but it was the upper hand Bakugo needed.
He landed, chest heaving, and didn't even look at his classmates. "OI! SHITTY HAIR! TAPE-FACE! THIS IS YOUR CHANCE! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AND GET AIZAWA-SENSEI TO SAFETY! NOW!"
"We're not leaving you, man!" Kirishima yelled, his hardened fist shattering the jaw of a nearby thug.
"LIKE HELL YOU ARE!" Katsuki roared, his voice cracking with a desperation he'd never admit. "AS YOUR FUCKING CLASS REP, I'M ORDERING YOU TO RETREAT! THAT'S AN ORDER, YOU DAMN EXTRAS!"
The sheer authority, the raw, suicidal resolve in his voice, stunned them into compliance. Even Mineta, who had been desperately trying to make himself small, squeaked, "H-He's right! We gotta go! We gotta live to fight another day!"
Sero and Shoji shared a single, grim look. They hoisted Aizawa's unconscious form between them. "Don't you dare die, Bakugo," Sero said, his voice tight.
"Tch. Don't tell me what to do," Said person shot back, his eyes never leaving the recovering Shigaraki.
As their classmates began their desperate retreat towards the entrance, Kirishima hardened his body and stepped up beside Bakugo, a determined grin on his face. "Class Rep or not, you're not doing this alone, bro."
Shigaraki pushed himself to his feet, a low, dangerous laugh escaping him. Kurogiri materialized at his side. "How... stupidly heroic. To sacrifice yourself for the weak. It just makes you easier to kill." He gestured to Kurogiri. "Let's clean up this trash."
What followed was a nightmare of evasion. Kurogiri's portals opened at their feet, behind them, in front of their attacks. Shigaraki, now working in tandem with the warps, became exponentially more dangerous. He'd phased through a gateway, his decay-tipped hand materializing inches from Kirishima's face, only for the redhead to harden just in time, the decay flaking off his rock-like skin with a sickening crackle. Katsuki blasted Shigaraki away, only to have to immediately dodge a portal trying to swallow his leg.
They were being cornered, their movements predicted and countered. In a final, desperate gambit, Katsuki saw an opening. As Shigaraki lunged from a portal, the explosive quirk user didn't dodge. He surged forward, inside the villain's reach. His hand shot out, not to blast, but to grab. He caught Shigaraki's right wrist, yanking him off balance, and simultaneously slammed his other palm directly against the hand obscuring Shigaraki's face.
"GOT YOU, YOU BASTARD!" Katsuki snarled.
But in that same instant, he felt a cold, five-fingered touch through his costume, right over his sternum. Shigaraki's left hand, emerging from a second, smaller portal Kurogiri had opened, was pressed against his chest.
…Fuck.
Time froze.
Both were in a checkmate of mutual destruction. One twitch from Shigaraki, and Bakugo's torso would turn to dust. One full-powered blast from Bakugo, and Shigaraki's head would easily be vaporized if he let restraint loose.
"Looks like... a draw," Shigaraki rasped, his voice muffled by Katsuki's glove.
"Like hell it is!" Bakugo spat, his palm sparking.
It was Kirishima who broke the stalemate. With a wordless roar, he launched himself like a crimson cannonball, his body a battering ram of hardened flesh. He didn't aim for Shigaraki; he aimed for the space between them, his shoulder smashing into Shigaraki's side and breaking the deadly contact.
In the split-second of chaos, Katsuki's mind, sharp as a razor, formulated a plan. "SHITTY HAIR, COVER YOUR EYES!"
He didn't wait. He unleashed his quirk not as a focused attack, but as a screen. A massive, concussive blast aimed at the ground, to obscure instead of damage. A thick, black, acrid smoke erupted from the point of impact, billowed outwards with incredible speed, swallowing the entire central plaza in an impenetrable, choking shroud.
The two students stumbled back, finding each other in the gloom, their backs pressed together as they gasped for clean air.
"For a second... I thought we were done for," Kirishima panted, a shaky grin on his face.
"Tch. Don't get cocky," Katsuki retorted, though his own heart was hammering against his ribs. For a moment, it seemed their desperate defense would hold.
…Until they heard something else…
THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.
Heavy, deliberate, echoing footsteps. Something was walking through the smoke, utterly unfazed by the zero-visibility conditions. And then, they saw it; a pair of glowing, toxic green eyes, piercing through the gloom like twin hellfires, locked directly onto them.
It was that villain from back in the plaza.
Katsuki didn't hesitate. Fear was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"EAT THIS, YOU FREAK!" he screamed, unleashing a continuous volley of explosions in the direction of the eyes, the staccato blasts illuminating the smoke in frantic, strobing flashes.
The footsteps didn't falter. They didn't speed up or slow down. They just kept coming.
As the smoke thinned slightly from his blasts, a massive, dark shape became visible. Void was simply walking through the barrage, the explosions washing over him like harmless firecrackers. He didn't even flinch.
Katsuki saw a massive fist materialize from the smoke, aimed at his head. It was too fast, too powerful. He was dead.
"BAKUGO!" Kirishima shoved him aside and crossed his arms, his quirk hardening to its absolute limit.
The fist connected.
CRACK-BOOM!
The sound was not of shattering rock, but of overwhelming force meeting ultimate defense and winning. Kirishima's hardened skin nearly broke, the impact alone sent him flying like a cannonball across the plaza, slamming into a distant wall with a sickening crunch and slumping to the ground, unmoving.
"KIRISHIMA!" Bakugo's cry was raw, torn from his throat.
He had no time to process it. Instinct made him duck as another fist smashed the ground where he'd been standing, cratering the concrete. Out of pure, survivalist reflex, Katsuki fired a point-blank blast directly into the face now looming over him.
Void's head snapped to the side from the force, but he didn't stagger. He slowly turned back, the metal of his mouthguard slightly scorched. A low, gruttal growl emanated from him.
"Annoying."
They were nearly face-to-face. "WHAT THE HELL?!" Katsuki yelled, immediately launching another explosion to create distance. He backpedaled, still firing, but Void just walked through the blasts, his green eyes burning with cold, detached purpose.
Kirishima groaned, pushing himself up from the rubble, his hardening flickering. "We... we can't beat him..."
It was over in less than a minute. Void moved with a speed that defied physics and his size. A sweep of his leg took Kirishima's feet out from under him, and before the redhead could hit the ground, Void's massive foot came down, pinning him to the concrete. Kirishima strained, his quirk flaring, but he couldn't budge the immense weight.
In the same motion, Void's hand shot out and closed around Bakugo's throat, lifting him off the ground. Katsuki thrashed, explosions sputtering against Void's arm to no effect.
It was eerie. Void wasn't just strong; he was efficient. He dodged and countered Bakugo's wild struggles with minimal effort, as if he'd studied his every move, as if he'd seen this fight a thousand times before.
"Persistent," Void muttered, his voice a flat hum. "I'm surprised you cleared the aquatic zone. The odds were heavily against you."
Shigaraki strode up, brushing dust off his coat. "Heh. Took you long enough. This blonde bastard has a real mouth on him. Finish these nuisances."
Void's grip on Bakugo's throat tightened. The air around his other hand began to warp, the same tell-tale red and black energy that had spider-webbed across Thirteen's helmet coiling around his fingertips. He was going to do the same to Bakugo's head.
Katsuki, even with his vision darkening, refused to yield. "Go... to hell...!" he choked out, managing a final, weak spark against Void's face.
Something about the gesture, the sheer, stupid defiance, triggered a flicker in Void's mind.
A memory, not his own, surfaced for a split second. A skinny, green-haired boy, standing up to a bully with the same hopeless courage.
Without even thinking, a phrase, laced with a familiarity that felt both right and wrong, slipped from Void's mouth guard.
"You never know when to quit, do you?"
The voice was distorted, mechanical. But the cadence. The exasperated, almost... fond? No, that couldn't be right... the familiar exasperation in it. It was eerily similar to...
Katsuki's struggling ceased. His wide, terrified eyes stared into Void's glowing green ones. Through the scorch marks on the metal mouthguard, he saw a glimpse of freckles on a cheek. The green, black, and red color scheme of his trousers... a twisted, dark mirror of All Might's own.
"Kachaan look! Mom got me a cosplay of All might for my birthday!" A 4 year old Izuku Midoriya proudly presented to his friend.
"You aren't going to be wearing that to school now will you Izuku." A young Bakugo asked.
"All might is my best hero, of course I'll wear it all day!" Izuku bounced around eagerly.
"You mean OUR favorite hero." Bakugo reminded.
"Mm!"
…No.
It couldn't be.
The pieces, the impossible, horrifying pieces, clicked together in his mind.
"...Deku?" The name was a disbelieving whisper, a plea and a curse all in one.
Void froze. The pulsing energy around his hand sputtered and died. He went completely still. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled Bakugo's face closer to his own, his glowing eyes narrowing in genuine, searing confusion.
"Who," he hissed, the mechanical voice laced with something raw, "the hell is Deku?"
But Katsuki was beyond listening. The evidence was there, in his eyes, in his freckles, in the ghost of a memory in that statement. The dam of denial broke.
"It... it's you, isn't it..." Katsuki's voice was desperate, cracking.
The words, the name, the raw emotion; it was a key turning in a locked door deep within Void's mind. A migraine, sharp and brutal, lanced through his skull. A shadowed memory flashed: a younger, round-faced Bakugo, smiling.
A single, distorted, static-laced word was emitted from his vocals.
"K...Kac...chan...?" But the voice came out emotionless, like the sentient nomu didn't even know why he had just said that.
Katsuki's breath hitched. "What the hell did they do to you?!"
But the moment of clarity was shattered. The memory was instantly overwritten, replaced by a darker, long forgotten one. A memory of this same blonde boy, sneering, telling something to a weak, skinny boy.
"How about you take a swan dive off the roof and hope for a Quirk in the next life."
The voice of his master, All For One, whispered in his ear as he combed through Void's hair, 'See? I am the only one who ever cared for you. They all despised your weakness.'
Whatever conflict that was in Void's eyes vanished, replaced by cold, absolute certainty. His grip on Bakugo's neck became crushing.
"Your little trick won't work," he snarled, the warmth gone, replaced by pure menace. "You can't mess with my head."
The deadly red and black energy flared to life around his hand once more, aimed point-blank at Katsuki's face. This was it.
"Your time is up."
And then, the world exploded.
Not from Void's hand, but from the entrance of the USJ. The massive reinforced doors didn't just open; they were vaporized, blown inward in a shower of molten metal and shattered concrete. The sound that followed the cataclysm at the entrance wasn't a roar. It was a vacuum, a moment of absolute silence as the very air was displaced by the arrival of a force of nature. Then, a voice, familiar to millions, boomed across the USJ. But it was stripped of its usual warmth and bravado. It was hard. It was cold. It was a promise of vengeance.
"NEVER FEAR..."
The dust began to settle around the demolished entrance. Standing there, steam rolling off his colossal frame in great waves, was All Might. His iconic smile was gone, replaced by a grim, hard line. His eyes, usually shining with hope and confidence, were chips of blue ice, scanning the scene with terrifying speed.
"...FOR I AM HERE."
The cavalry had arrived.
All Might was here.
His gaze swept over the students at the entrance; the catatonic Shinso, and the weeping Mina. He saw their trauma, their shock. But his eyes didn't linger. They narrowed, focusing like twin laser scopes on the central plaza.
And what he saw there sent a jolt of pure, incandescent fury through his system that he had not felt in decades.
The villain from several reports. The one called Void. One massive foot was pinning the struggling, hardened form of Kirishima to the ground. The other hand was clamped around Bakugo's throat, lifting the boy off the floor, a terrifying, red-and-black energy coiling around his fingertips, inches from the young hero's face. He could see the life being choked out of his student.
Something inside Toshinori shattered.
There was no witty banter. No theatrical pause. There was only motion.
The ground where he stood exploded a second time. He became a golden blur, a thunderbolt of righteous fury crossing the vast distance of the plaza in less than a heartbeat. The wind of his passage sent villains tumbling like bowling pins.
"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MY STUDENTS!"
Void's glowing green eyes widened a fraction in genuine shock, his senses screaming a millisecond too late. He had just enough time to release Bakugo and Kirishima and cross his arms in a reinforced guard.
All Might's fist, containing a fraction of the power that could change the weather, connected.
"SMAAAAASH!"
The impact was not like Bakugo's explosions. It was deeper, more fundamental. It was the sound of pure, kinetic energy being delivered without restraint. Void's guard held for a nanosecond before the force utterly overwhelmed him. His massive body was ripped from the ground and launched backward like a comet, tearing through the air before crashing into the central water fountain with apocalyptic force. Stone, metal, and water erupted in a geyser of destruction, the entire structure collapsing into rubble around him.
All Might didn't even watch his flight. He landed softly between his two fallen students, his broad back to the devastation he had just wrought. The murderous rage on his face was replaced, for a fleeting moment, by profound concern.
"Young Bakugo! Young Kirishima! Are you alright?!" he asked, his voice a low, urgent rumble.
Bakugo, gasping for air and clutching his throat, could only nod mutely, his usual bravado completely shattered by the dual trauma of near-death and the horrific revelation about Void. Kirishima pushed himself up, his hardening receding to show a face pale with pain and exertion. "A-All Might...!"
The Symbol of Peace's eyes then darted around, taking in the rest of the horrific picture. He saw Sero and Shoji in the distance, carrying the horrifyingly still and broken form of Aizawa towards the exit. A sliver of relief that his friend was alive. And then his gaze fell, a few feet away, on the scorched, mangled, and empty suit of Thirteen, lying discarded in the dirt.
His blood ran cold.
His head slowly turned back towards the smoldering ruins of the water fountain. The blood in his body seemed to grow hotter, more violent. The last vestige of the hero vanished, leaving only a soldier on a field of fallen comrades.
From the wreckage, a figure stirred. Void pushed himself up from the rubble, water and dust cascading from his frame. One of his arms hung at an odd angle, clearly dislocated or broken from the blow. But his green eyes burned with undiminished intensity, locking onto the Number One Hero. The metal of his mouthguard twisted into what could only be a snarl.
"The Symbol of Peace...?" Void's voice was a distorted hum, laced with a newfound, hateful recognition.
All Might took a single step forward. The ground cracked under his foot. His face was a mask of cold, unforgiving fury.
"You..." All Might's voice dropped to a whisper that was somehow more terrifying than any shout. It was the calm at the eye of a hurricane. "What have you done to my colleagues... to my students...?"
He took another step, the air crackling around him.
All Might took a single step forward. The ground cracked under his foot. His face was a mask of cold, unforgiving fury. The very air around the massive dome seemed to still, holding its breath.
"To bring such violence... such despair... to this place of learning..."
He took another step, his eyes blazing with blue fire, fixed unwaveringly on Void.
"Tell me, villain... for what twisted purpose do you justify this carnage?!"
Chapter 20-25 + Off screen Fight scene between Void and Aizawa already available on Patreon.com/Weeb Fanthom.