Izuku's smile widened. "Monster? That's all you have? After everything I've done, the best you can do is 'monster'?"
Another voice, sharper, angrier. The second user. "You'll never win. Someone will stop you."
"Will they?" Izuku leaned closer, his breath misting against the figure's cheek. "Who? The heroes crumbling in that plaza? The public that hates them?
The villains hiding in their holes, ready to strike the heroes when they are the most vulnerable?" He laughed, soft and easy. "No one is coming to save you. No one is coming to save anyone. That's the point."
A third voice, weaker. The fifth user. "Why... why are you doing this?"
Izuku's smile didn't waver. "Because I can. Because no one stopped me. Because the world you built was rotten, and someone had to burn it down."
He paused. His smile widened as wide as demon king tanjiro did, and something shifted in his eyes. The calm shattered. Not into rage—into something worse. Something that had been waiting behind the mask all along.
"Because it's FUN."
The words came out soft, almost whispered. But they landed like thunder.
"Because I want to see the WORLD BURN!"
For a moment, there was silence. The green static on his arm flickered brighter, casting his face in sickly shadows. His eyes were wide now, not with madness, but with a terrible, childlike joy.
The joy of someone who had been given unlimited power and had discovered the only thing that made him feel alive was watching things break.
The figure on the table went still.
Inside the merged consciousness, seven souls froze.
Nana's voice came first, barely a whisper. "You're... you're enjoying this."
"Of course I am." Izuku's voice was light, almost playful. "Why else would I do it? Justice? Revenge? Please. Those are just excuses—labels I gave people so they'd have something to believe in. Something to make them feel like there was still hope, only for me to shatter it later and watch their despair deepen.
"People tell themselves those things because they need them. They need excuses to make themselves feel better, to convince themselves that there's some reason behind the suffering.
"But I stopped needing those excuses a long time ago.
"After all, why would a god be petty enough to seek revenge against people who are nothing more than insects in his eyes? Insects he could crush beneath his heel whenever he pleased."
The second user's voice cracked through. "You're insane."
"Maybe." Izuku shrugged. "But insanity implies a loss of control. I'm perfectly in control. I know exactly what I'm doing. I just don't care about the things normal people care about. Like your suffering. Like your pain. Like your pathetic pleas for mercy."
The third user, his voice trembling. "There has to be something... some piece of humanity left in you..."
Izuku laughed. It was soft and genuine, like a child laughing at a joke only they understood.
"Humanity? I left that behind the day I realized no one was coming to save me, only because I'm quirkless. The day I realized that the heroes everyone worshipped would let a child rot if it meant protecting their precious system."
His smile faded, just slightly. "You want humanity? Go look at the files. Go look at what was done to Eri. To Maki. To Rei. To all of them. That's humanity. That's what you protected. That's what you died for."
The fourth user, Hikage, his voice old and tired. "We didn't know..."
"THAT'S THE POINT!" Izuku's voice snapped, sharp and cold. "You didn't know. You never knew. You never wanted to know. You built your towers and your statues and your symbols, and you closed your eyes to everything below.
Ignorance was your shield. And now?" He spread his arms wide. "Now the shield is gone. Now you see. Now you KNOW. And now you can't do anything about it. Because I'm the one in control."
He reached down and patted the trembling figure again, almost affectionately.
"Don't worry. You'll get used to it. The pain, the helplessness, the constant screaming in the back of your mind. Eventually, it just becomes... background noise as you help me destroy this world."
Nana's voice, barely audible. "You're wrong. Someone will stop you."
"No." Izuku's voice was flat. Final. "No one is coming. No one ever was. That's the truth you refused to see. There are no saviors. There are no heroes. There's just people with power and people without it. And right now?" He smiled, and it was the smile of a god looking down at ants. "I have all the power."
He straightened up, looking at the monitors again. On the screen, All Might was on his knees, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook. He was crying.
Izuku watched for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"Your symbol," Izuku said, gesturing at the screen. "Your hope. Look at him. Broken. Useless. Everything you died for, everything you sacrificed—it meant nothing. Because you trusted the wrong people. You built on a foundation of lies."
A fourth voice, quieter, trembling. Nana. "Please... please stop..."
Izuku looked down at her—at her face, her body, her trapped soul.
"Stop?" He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "I haven't even started. You wanted to save the world? You wanted to be heroes? Fine. You'll save it. Just not the way you thought."
He raised his hand. The green static crawled up his arm, flickering across his fingertips like living electricity.
"Now," he said, his voice calm, cold, bloodless. "Where were we?"
He paused, tilting his head as if listening to something only he could hear.
"Oh, yes. We were on the way to turn you into someone who would destroy the very country that you fought so hard and died for."
The figure on the table began to tremble harder. The seven voices started to speak at once—pleading, screaming, begging.
Izuku ignored them all. His hand descended.
"The transformation begins again."
The green light flared. The screaming started. And somewhere above, in a burning city filled with broken heroes and angrier citizens, the dawn continued to break on a world that would never be the same.
The green light consumed the figure on the table. Seven voices merged into one continuous, agonized scream that seemed to have no end. The sound was not quite human—it was layered, distorted, as if seven souls were being ground together into a single, suffering mass.
Izuku watched. His face was calm. His eyes tracked the transformation with the detached interest of a scientist observing an experiment.
The figure's body twisted. Bones cracked and reformed. Skin rippled and settled. The face—Nana's face—shifted, contorted, then stilled. When it was over, the figure on the table was different. Still feminine, still Nana's form, but something had changed. The eyes, when they opened, held a flicker of something else. Something ancient. Something that remembered being seven separate souls.
The screaming stopped. The figure lay still, breathing in ragged gasps.
"There," Izuku said softly. "That's better. You're almost ready now."
Nana's voice came out, but it was layered with the others. "Ready... for what?"
Izuku smiled. It was a gentle smile. Almost kind.
"Ready to help me destroy the world."
The figure's eyes widened. The seven voices began to speak at once—protesting, pleading, begging.
"Please... don't..."
"We won't do it..."
"You can't make us..."
Izuku raised a hand, and the voices fell silent. Not because they wanted to. Because they couldn't speak. Their mouths moved, but no sound came out.
"I can make you do anything," Izuku said, his voice still gentle. "That's the point. You're not heroes anymore. You're tools. And tools don't get to choose what they're used for."
He turned to a nearby console, his fingers dancing across the controls. From the ceiling, mechanical arms descended—cold, metallic, precise. They carried cables and tubes, thick and black, pulsing with a faint inner light. The figure on the table began to tremble.
"What... what are you doing?" Nana's voice cracked.
"Upgrading you," Izuku said without looking. "You need to be... connected. Integrated. A power source needs proper conduits."
The mechanical arms moved with surgical precision. One cable attached to the figure's spine. Another to the base of the skull. Tubes pierced the skin, sliding into veins and arteries. The figure convulsed, a wet, guttural scream tearing from its throat.
"Please... stop..."
Izuku ignored the plea. More cables descended—attaching to the chest, the arms, the legs. The figure was being wired into something larger. Something that hummed with a deep, resonant power.
When the last cable clicked into place, the figure lay still. Its body was now a grotesque fusion of flesh and machine—seven trapped souls in a cage of metal and wire, connected to systems that pulsed with an energy they could not understand.
Izuku stepped back, admiring his work.
"Perfect," he said softly. "You're now the heart of the machine. The power source for something far greater than yourselves."
The figure's eyes—Nana's eyes—looked around in terror. The cables, the tubes, the humming power—they understood none of it. But they felt the danger radiating from every connection. It was like being trapped inside a weapon they couldn't comprehend, a bomb they couldn't defuse.
"What... what is this?" Yoichi's voice, barely a whisper.
Izuku smiled. "You'll find out soon enough."
He walked to the console and began typing. The humming grew louder. The cables pulsed with light. The figure on the table shuddered as power began to flow through it.
"The transformation is complete," Izuku said. "Now we move to the next phase."
He paused at the door, looking back at the figure on the table—the grotesque fusion of seven souls and his brother's body, wired into a system that would soon change everything.
"When you wake up," he said, "you'll remember everything. Every moment of pain. Every second of helplessness. Every scream. And you'll know that there's nothing you can do to stop what's coming."
He smiled, and it was the smile of a god who had already seen the ending.
"Welcome to the new world."
The door closed behind him. The green static faded. And in the dark, seven souls wept in silence—their bodies wired into something they could not see, could not understand, but could feel in their very cores was a danger beyond anything they had ever faced.
Above, in a burning city filled with broken heroes, the dawn continued to break. But the light brought no hope. Only the promise of more darkness to come.
Japan – The Calm Before the Storm
The streets of Tokyo were empty.
Not the emptiness of night, when people slept and the city breathed softly. This was a different emptiness. The emptiness of a place that had been abandoned in haste, of a city holding its breath.
The hero patrols that once dotted every corner were gone. The police stations were dark, their windows smashed, their doors hanging open. The Commission headquarters, once a gleaming tower of authority, stood silent and hollow, its lights flickering like a dying heartbeat.
And yet, no one was looting. No one was rioting. No one was screaming.
The silence was wrong.
In the shadows of the city, figures watched. They were everywhere—in alleyways, on rooftops, behind the shattered windows of abandoned buildings. Their eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, reflecting the dim light of a city that had forgotten how to shine.
They were villains. All of them. But they weren't moving. They weren't attacking. They weren't doing anything.
They were waiting.
A Rooftop in Shinjuku
A man stood at the edge of a rooftop, his silhouette sharp against the pale moon. His name was not important. What mattered was the quiet authority in his posture, the way his eyes scanned the empty streets below like a general surveying a battlefield.
Behind him, a dozen figures knelt in perfect silence. Each one was a villain—some infamous, some unknown—but all of them were waiting. Waiting for the signal. Waiting for the command.
The man's phone buzzed. He didn't look at it. He already knew what it said.
"Stand by."
He pocketed the device and turned to the kneeling figures. His voice was low, calm, and carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"Soon."
That was all he said. That was all he needed to say.
The figures nodded, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.
An Alley in Shibuya
A woman stood in the shadows, her back pressed against the cold brick of a building. Her fingers traced the edge of a knife, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she had all the time in the world.
She had been a hero once. A long time ago. Before the lies, before the betrayal, before the Commission had tried to erase her existence. Now she was something else. Something that had been waiting for this moment for years.
Around her, a dozen others waited in silence. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their loyalty had been forged in pain, tempered by rage, and honed to a razor's edge by the promise of what was to come.
A message appeared on her phone, invisible to anyone watching.
"Soon."
She smiled. It was not a kind smile.