The observation deck buzzed with Class 1-A's restless energy, the morning chill biting through my torn hero costume. Ochaco leaned against me, her warmth a fleeting anchor, murmuring,
"Tsuyu and Tokoyami are up next, Deku. They've got this, right?" Her optimism clashed with my paranoia, but I forced a smile. "Yeah, Tsu's instincts and Tokoyami's Dark Shadow? They're a powerhouse."
Bakugo scoffed nearby, arms crossed. "Birdbrain better not let that shadow freak out. And Froggy? She's sneaky—might actually pull it off."
Momo scribbled in her notebook, analyzing, while Todoroki's gaze stayed fixed on the arena below. Kirishima pumped a fist. "Manly teamwork incoming!"
Aizawa's voice rasped over the comms, his scarf still frayed from yesterday's battles. "Asui Tsuyu and Tokoyami Fumikage versus Ectoplasm. Objective: defeat or escape in 30 minutes. Ectoplasm's clones will test your coordination—don't falter."
Below, Ectoplasm stood in the arena's heart—a rebuilt urban sprawl, neon-lit alleys and towering scaffolds, puddles from my prior torrents offering subtle leverage for my water ki sense if needed.
His hero costume, black and skeletal, gleamed under the lights, his quirk—Clones—already spawning: ten identical copies, each with his eerie grin, batons drawn, ready to swarm.
Tsuyu crouched, her Frog quirk's webbed hands flexing, green hair tied back, eyes sharp. Tokoyami stood tall, his bird-like head tilted, Dark Shadow coiling around him like a living cloak, its yellow eyes glinting with restrained menace. "Let us face the abyss together, Asui," he intoned. Tsuyu ribbited, a nod. "Let's hop to it, kero."
The buzzer screamed, and the fight erupted.
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The Fight: Tsuyu & Tokoyami vs. Ectoplasm
Tsuyu leaped first, her Frog quirk propelling her in a 10-meter bound, legs coiling like springs to vault onto a scaffold.
Her tongue lashed out—long, prehensile, 20 meters of sticky muscle—snaring a streetlamp to swing higher, evading two Ectoplasm clones charging with batons.
Tokoyami stood his ground, Dark Shadow surging forth, a writhing mass of inky energy, its claws raking a clone into smoke.
"Darkness, consume!" he commanded, voice grave, the shadow stretching 5 meters to grapple another, pinning it against a wall.
The real Ectoplasm, distinguishable by a faint scar on his mask, spawned more—fifteen now, each mirroring his movements, batons crackling with low-volt shocks designed to stun.
Their strategy crystallized: distract and restrain. Tsuyu's agility was their spearhead, her Frog quirk weaving chaos to scatter Ectoplasm's focus.
She bounded between scaffolds, tongue snapping like a whip—wrapping a clone's legs, yanking it into a neon sign that sparked and fizzled, dispersing it.
Her mucus secretion coated her palms, letting her stick to walls, Spider-Man-like, as she flipped mid-air, dodging a baton swing.
"Kero! They're fast, Tokoyami!" Her voice was steady, analytical, eyes scanning for the real Ectoplasm amid the clones' blur.
She spat a paralytic mucus glob—Frog's venomous edge—hitting a clone's face, making it stumble before vanishing, but the real Ectoplasm sidestepped, spawning five more to replace it.
Tokoyami anchored the offense, Dark Shadow a roiling beast under neon's glow—light weakened it, but the arena's dim alleys fueled its ferocity.
"Shadow, rend the false!" he intoned, the entity swelling to 7 meters, claws slashing in wide arcs, dispersing three clones in a burst of smoke.
It's yellow eyes locked on the real Ectoplasm, lunging, but the hero countered, baton parrying Dark Shadow's claw, the shock zapping it back.
Tokoyami winced, the feedback stinging his core, but he redirected—Shadow coiling like a serpent, wrapping a clone's torso, crushing it into nothing.
The synergy was seamless: Tsuyu's acrobatics drew clones upward, thinning their ranks, while Dark Shadow's brute force cleared the ground, aiming to isolate the real Ectoplasm for restraint.
Five minutes in, Ectoplasm escalated. Twenty clones now, a relentless swarm, batons synchronized in a phalanx formation, cornering Tsuyu on a scaffold.
She leaped, tongue snaring a pipe to swing free, but a clone anticipated, baton grazing her leg—numbness spreading, her leap faltering.
"Kero—stupid shocks!" She rolled into an alley, mucus coating her leg to dilute the stun, while Tokoyami pressed forward, Dark Shadow spiraling to shield her, claws raking two clones apart.
But Ectoplasm's strategy tightened—clones splitting to flank, the real one weaving through, baton aimed for Tokoyami's back.
Dark Shadow roared, intercepting, but the neon lights flared—arena traps, weakening the shadow, shrinking it to 3 meters, vulnerable.
Tsuyu rallied, her Frog quirk's adaptability shining. She tapped the arena's puddles—my leftover torrents—coating her hands in water to amplify mucus adhesion, then fired her tongue at a clone, wrapping and slamming it into another, both dispersing.
"Tokoyami, we need to pin him, kero!" He nodded, Dark Shadow surging despite the light, its claws digging into asphalt to anchor against a clone rush.
"The true foe hides—let us blind him!" Their plan sharpened: distract with quirks to scatter clones, then confuse Ectoplasm for the handcuff play.
They'd prepared restraints—U.A.-issue cuffs, stored in Tsuyu's utility belt, designed to lock quirks via micro-EMP pulses.
Ten minutes, clones relentless—thirty now, a tidal wave of Ectoplasms, batons crackling. Tsuyu bounded to a rooftop, tongue lashing a clone's arm, yanking it into a skylight, glass shattering as it vanished.
Tokoyami directed Dark Shadow low, sweeping alleys like a dark tide, dispersing five clones but taking shocks—his cloak singed, pain spiking.
The real Ectoplasm closed in, baton raised, but Tsuyu's mucus glob hit his boots, slowing him. "Now, Tokoyami!" she croaked, leaping to draw clones upward.
Dark Shadow lunged, a 6-meter claw snaring Ectoplasm's leg, dragging him into shadow—but he spawned ten more clones, breaking free, batons zapping the entity back.
Fifteen minutes, the gate 150 meters off, clones a suffocating wall. Tsuyu and Tokoyami exchanged a glance—time for the final play, a nod to a half-joking plan from training, inspired by late-night dorm movie marathons: Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man 3, Bully Maguire's swagger.
"Let's put some dirt in his eye, kero" Tsuyu said, a rare smirk. Tokoyami's beak twitched. "A fitting requiem for the false."
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Distraction and Dialogue
They unleashed their quirks in a calculated frenzy to scatter Ectoplasm's focus. Tsuyu dove into the fray, Frog quirk at its peak—legs propelling her in 15-meter leaps, tongue a living lasso, snaring two clones and slamming them into a neon billboard, sparks raining to dim the arena's light, boosting Dark Shadow.
She spat mucus globs in rapid succession—venom-laced, sticky, coating three clones' faces, blinding them temporarily before they vanished.
Her movements were a blur, webbed hands sticking to walls, flipping over batons, drawing clones upward like moths to flame.
"Keep up, fakes, kero!" she taunted, tongue wrapping a scaffold beam, swinging to kick a clone into smoke.
Tokoyami unleashed Dark Shadow's full wrath, the entity swelling to 8 meters in the darkened alley, neon sabotaged by Tsuyu's chaos.
"Abyssal wrath, descend!" Claws tore through six clones, their batons useless against the shadow's mass, smoke billowing as they dissipated.
He directed it surgically—coiling tendrils to grapple, not destroy, pulling clones off Tsuyu's tail, creating a corridor toward Ectoplasm.
The real hero countered, spawning twenty more clones, but the duo's distraction worked: clones spread thin, chasing Tsuyu's acrobatics, Dark Shadow's rampage splitting their ranks.
Now, the clincher. Tsuyu landed near Ectoplasm, 20 meters from the gate, mucus-coated hands gripping dirt from a shattered planter—arena debris, gritty and damp.
Tokoyami flanked, Dark Shadow retracting to a dense 3-meter form, claws stirring dust into a cloud to mask their move.
They spoke in unison, voices cutting through the chaos, dripping with Bully Maguire's venom: "I'm gonna put some dirt in your eye."
Ectoplasm paused, head tilting, his analytical mind thrown by the bizarre taunt—Spider-Man 3, a cultural oddity even heroes knew. "What—?" he started, but Tsuyu acted.
She hurled the dirt—two handfuls, wet with puddle-water, a gritty missile aimed at Ectoplasm's exposed eyes.
It hit, splattering his face, the real him—not a clone, his scar visible—grit lodging in his mask's eye-slits, stinging, blinding.
"Gah!" He staggered, batons dropping as he clawed at his face, clones faltering as his focus broke.
Tokoyami pounced, Dark Shadow surging in a controlled lash, pinning Ectoplasm's arms to his sides, shadow tendrils tightening like steel cables.
Tsuyu bounded forward, cuffs in hand, webbed fingers snapping them onto his wrists—EMP pulses flaring, his Clone quirk stuttering, remaining copies flickering out like dying stars.
"Gotcha, kero!" Tsuyu croaked, securing the cuffs with a twist, her tongue lashing to stabilize Ectoplasm as he stumbled, dirt still clouding his vision.
Dark Shadow retreated, Tokoyami panting but steady. "The abyss claims its due."
Ectoplasm coughed, wiping his face, a wry grin breaking through. "Dirt? Creative... and infuriating. Pass." The buzzer sounded—18 minutes, victory by restraint, not escape.
The observation deck roared—Kirishima's "That was so cool!", Ochaco's clap, Bakugo's grudging "Not bad, Froggy."
Tsuyu and Tokoyami climbed up, her ribbit proud, his cloak billowing.
"Nice one, you two," I said, fist-bumping Tsuyu. She winked.
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Shadows Unspoken
As the arena reset, Aizawa dismissed us for the night, the final matches—Kirishima and Sato, Jiro and Koda—set for dawn. I lingered, eyes on Denki, his laugh too bright as he high-fived Mina.
Aoyama sparkled nearby, his glance darting to me. My Saiyan senses prickled, Oceanus rumbling: The tide waits, but predators circle. I kept silent, traitor truths locked in my chest. I'd drown the shadows myself. No doubt.