On the ground, amid deep fractures and the distant echo of destruction, Slur remained motionless for a few moments. His gaze followed the divided sky, the colossal rift still open between the clouds like a freshly carved scar in reality itself. The wind blew through it, carrying traces of that golden energy still vibrating in the air.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze.
His hand.
The fist that had caused it.
His fingers curled and uncurlled once, as if testing something invisible yet undeniably present. His thoughts inevitably turned to the source of it all.
His Quirk.
Ambition.
That was the general term. A provisional name, far too simplified for something so vast. Still, it was the closest he could come to defining what flowed within him.
His power was the conversion of Determination, Desire, and Conviction. All of it was transformed into a tangible, oppressive, crushing energy. The greater the desire to win, to dominate, or simply to prove himself above others, the more intense that energy became.
It wasn't something you could see.
It was something you could feel.
A suffocating presence that pressed down on the environment, on people, on reality itself, as if the world were being forced to acknowledge who stood at the top.
There were three basic applications of that Quirk. At least, the ones Slur had cataloged so far.
Pressure.
Sixth Sense.
Armor.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Hm?"
The Sixth Sense responded before he even had to think. The extrasensory perception expanded like an invisible net, sweeping across the city within an absurd radius of up to a kilometer.
But not just that.
He could feel emotions.
Intentions.
Fear, anger, hesitation… and determination.
"More heroes, huh…" he murmured, with a faint tone of disdain.
To Slur, each presence carried a different weight. Some were strong, others weak. Some came filled with conviction, others merely following orders. He could distinguish them all.
The Armor, in turn, was a direct manifestation of Ambition—an invisible layer that reduced, deflected, or outright nullified any kind of damage. Physical blows, absurd impacts, shockwaves—everything was dampened, crushed before it could fully reach him.
More than protection, the Armor amplified his own attacks.
That was what allowed him to face All Might.
That was what allowed him to endure the blows of the Symbol of Peace… and return them with even greater force.
And then there was the third aspect.
Pressure.
Slur inhaled slowly.
No… that name was wrong.
Very wrong.
His eyes gleamed, an intense red spilling from his pupils. The air around him began to vibrate—at first subtly, almost imperceptibly. Then stronger.
"Disappear…" The word came out low. Controlled. Laden with contempt. "…USELESS!"
In the next instant, a storm of black lightning exploded around him. Thin streams of black and red energy tore through sky and earth alike, cracking like living whips. The ground shook violently, buildings groaned, windows shattered kilometers away.
A wave of power swept across the city.
It was not a common explosion.
It was an imposition.
Shockwaves and absurd winds spread in every direction, crushing the presence of the weaker ones, making bodies tremble, knees buckle, hearts race in pure panic.
Heroes struggled to breathe. Civilians collapsed to the ground.Everyone simply blacked out.
That energy did not exist to destroy.
That was the mistake.
It existed to subjugate.
To make it absolutely clear who stood above… and who was meant to bow.
That was why the name was wrong.
It wasn't Pressure.
It was Supreme Domination.
Slur remained there, at the center of the storm—motionless, untouched.
"How long are you going to stay in the sky?"
Slur's voice sounded low, almost casual, as he kept his gaze raised. Above him, the sky still bore the scars of the clash—clouds violently torn apart, unstable wind currents, and a strange silence, far too heavy to be natural. Around him, thin streams of red and black energy continued to crackle, slithering through the air like tamed lightning, obedient to his presence.
Slur inhaled slowly… then let out a sigh.
All Might had vanished from his Sixth Sense a long time ago.
No presence. No intent. No recognizable spark of determination.
Seems it was too strong… What a shame.
There was an almost melancholic tone to the thought, but it lasted only an instant. Slur narrowed his eyes, staring at the empty sky as if still expecting some response, some final resistance. Nothing came.
Then he turned away.
"Until next time… Symbol of Peace."
No explosion.No dramatic effect.
Slur simply vanished.
The shadows around him seemed to move on their own, swallowing his silhouette. Despite the white hair and light-colored clothes, despite the residual energy still pulsing through the area, he was gone without a trace, as if he had never been there at all.
Far away—
All Might was still flying.
His body tore through the sky at high speed, propelled by a blow that seemed endless. The wind ripped against his skin, the pressure of the air making even breathing difficult. Every second in the air felt like an eternity.
His time was at its limit.
And his body too.
Slur's impact hadn't been merely physical. That energy—that Ambition—had crushed something deeper. One For All, his source of strength, felt wrong. Silent. As if it had been smothered, neutralized by a force that should not have been capable of doing so.
His muscles no longer responded the same way.His heart beat far too heavily.His body… was giving in.
"Damn it…" All Might muttered, his weak voice swallowed by the wind.
Even so, he pushed himself.
He pushed beyond the limit.
He plunged deep into One For All, drawing out what remained of his inner flame, ignoring the pain, ignoring the warnings of his own body. The energy resisted, as if trapped by something invisible.
Then—
It broke through.
The invisible force dragging him was finally broken. His release exploded into violent waves of wind, sending air currents in every direction, forming whirlwinds that tore through the surrounding clouds.
All Might slowed down, his body finally regaining some measure of control.
That was when he heard it.
"All Might!?"
The female voice rang out clearly through the sky.
He turned his head with difficulty—and his eyes met an unexpected sight.
In front of him, cutting through the air with impeccable precision, was Star and Stripe, the number one hero of the United States. She stood firmly atop a modified military jet, using it as an aerial platform, her gaze sharp and focused as she assessed the state of the former Symbol of Peace.
"Star…?" All Might murmured, surprised. "What are you doing in Japan?"
She didn't smile. She didn't joke.
Her tone was serious.
"Master… we're in United States airspace."
The words took a moment to sink in.
All Might fell silent.
The wind blew between them.
Then his eyes widened.
"What?!"
…
Slur kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.
The environment was vast, cold, lit by artificial lights that cast harsh shadows against walls of metal and concrete. This wasn't just a base—it was an operations center, a place where ideas were shaped, distorted, and turned into weapons. The air carried the smell of machines running without pause and something more subtle: anticipation.
They were there.
Rikiya Yotsubashi stood at the front, his body far too relaxed for someone facing a figure like Slur. His smile was wide, almost childish, yet there was something deeply calculated behind that exaggerated gleam. A man who saw chaos not as tragedy, but as opportunity.
Behind him stood his pillars.
Chitose Kizuki—Curious—watched everything with sharp eyes, the crooked smile of someone already imagining headlines, narratives, and versions of the truth being shaped in real time. Her gaze showed curiosity toward him—toward everything about him.
Koku Hanabata—Trumpet—kept his arms crossed, his body tense, the posture of someone who could already feel the fervor of the masses reacting to the name Slur. His gaze was heavy and assessing, as if trying to measure how much of that presence could be converted into support, devotion… fanaticism.
Tomoyasu Chikazoku—Skeptic—stood one step back, almost in the shadows. His cold eyes analyzed every detail: Slur's posture, his breathing, the silence. To him, this wasn't a meeting—it was a test. A variable far too powerful to ignore, and far too dangerous not to control.
And then… there was the other one.
A young man who didn't blend in with the group.
Long black hair fell loosely over his shoulders, sharply contrasting with skin as dark as a moonless night. His eyes—completely white, without pupils, without reflection—showed no emotion. There was no curiosity. No hostility.
Only… presence.
He wasn't observing Slur like the others.
He was sensing Slur.
The silence that formed wasn't uncomfortable. It was respectful. Even heavy. As if the very environment was waiting for the first word, aware that this moment marked something irreversible.
Then, Rikiya stepped forward, spreading his arms theatrically.
"Welcome to our base, Slur… the Revolutionary."
His voice overflowed with enthusiasm, like that of someone who had finally found the missing piece in a carefully assembled game. His eyes shone—not just with admiration, but with certainty.
This was the beginning.
Slur didn't respond.
He remained motionless, his face partially hidden by shadow, his eyes alert, analyzing everything in silence. A silence that was neither hesitation nor surprise.
His Ambition reacted subtly, almost imperceptibly. The emotions around him were as clear as open maps: greed disguised as idealism, a thirst for change mixed with a desire for power, curiosity, fear, devotion.
Everyone there wanted something from him.
Everyone believed he was the key.
Slur took a deep breath.
He didn't need to speak.
He already knew…
That he had become the center of everything that was about to happen.