Aoyama and Denki's "departure"—my lie of personal reasons, family debts pulling them from U.A. forever, no searches, no truths—had settled like dust on the class, a bittersweet ache masked by exams' fatigue.
No one questioned my story; Aizawa's nod had sealed it, All Might's quiet "You did right, young Midoriya" a balm on my guilt.
Their souls, consumed in the Ghost Dungeon's spectral void—quirks useless against wraith-claws unraveling essence, bodies husks in timeless fog—were my unspoken purge, the League's camp ambush gutted without their whispers. But peace? Elusive.
It started with a tremor—a subtle shiver in the air, like the world holding its breath. We were midway to the dorms, Ochaco mid-sentence—"And Shoji's arms, Deku, like a fortress!"—when the ground quivered, not earthquake but something deeper, a cosmic hiccup.
Leaves rustled unnaturally, the sky above U.A. flickering—stars winking out like snuffed candles, the horizon blurring as if reality's edges frayed.
Ochaco stumbled, gripping my arm. "Deku? What was that?" My Saiyan senses flared—ki scanning wide, green aura internalizing to probe the veil. Wrong. The fabric of existence thinned, threads of space-time unraveling like a tapestry pulled too tight.
"I don't know," I lied, heart pounding, but Oceanus roared in my core: The sea feels the abyss. Worlds bleed.
Panic rippled across campus—students freezing, teachers spilling from buildings, Aizawa's voice barking over comms: "All personnel—report! Quirk malfunction?" But it wasn't quirks. The sky cracked first—a jagged fissure splitting the dusk, violet-black like the Blade's rifts but wrong, leaking inky void that swallowed light.
Screams echoed as the ground warped, Musutafu's distant skyline tilting like a funhouse mirror, buildings groaning as physics bent. Ochaco's eyes widened, Zero Gravity flickering instinctively, floating a pebble that hung mid-air, trembling.
"Deku—the world's... breaking?" Class 1-A converged, Bakugo's explosions popping futilely against a hovering rock, "What the hell is this crap?!" Momo's Creation sparked, forming a shield that cracked on contact with the air's warp.
The dying began slow, insidious—a cosmic unraveling triggered by my purge, the Ghost Dungeon's tear in reality (Blade-cut portal to spectral limbo) widening unintended, a universal wound festering.
I felt it in my ki—Saiyan essence recoiling as dimensions bled, the Blade in Storage humming warning, its power the scar's source. The fissure spread, now a web across the heavens, void-tendrils lancing down like roots, phasing through U.A.'s barriers.
First victims: distant—Musutafu civilians fading at edges, bodies desaturating to grayscale, screams cutting short as existence unwove them, molecules dissolving into ether.
"Mom!" Ochaco gasped, phone dialing frantically, but signals died, static hissing like dying stars.
Campus chaos erupted. All Might blurred to the fore, skeletal form straining One For All's embers, smashing a void-tendril that reformed, laughing at his might.
"Young ones—evacuate!" But evacuation to where? The ground buckled, dorms tilting, trees withering to ash mid-leaf. Bakugo blasted a tendril, explosion blooming futile, the void absorbing it like smoke.
"Damn it—fight back!" Kirishima hardened, charging a fissure, but his arm phased through, hardening flickering as reality rejected him, skin paling.
Tsuyu's tongue lashed a falling beam, saving Iida, but her webbed hands trembled, Frog quirk stuttering as the world's rules frayed.
Todoroki unleashed ice and fire—a dual wall against the void—but flames guttered, ice sublimating to nothing, his heterochromatic eyes widening in rare fear.
The dying accelerated, a symphony of unraveling. Sky fully torn now, stars collapsing in chain reactions—supernovae winking out, galaxies spiraling into black holes that weren't there yesterday.
Air thinned, breaths labored as oxygen molecules dissociated, lungs burning. People faded—classmates first, edges blurring: Uraraka's cheeks desaturating, her hand in mine turning translucent, "Deku... I feel... cold."
Panic clawed me, Saiyan ki surging to anchor her, green aura flaring protective, but the void laughed, tendrils coiling my legs, pulling at my essence.
Momo's Creation failed mid-spark, materials evaporating; Bakugo's nitroglycerin sweat dried to dust, explosions fizzling to sparks.
All Might staggered, One For All's stockpile flickering, his form unraveling at the seams—"Not... like this!" Teachers fell—Midnight's mist dissipating, Aizawa's scarf threading to vapor, Nezu's High Spec mind glitching in loops.
The universe hemorrhaged: Earth's crust cracking, oceans boiling to steam that never rose, sun dimming as solar flares looped inward, consuming itself.
Distant roars—continents shearing, atmospheres stripping like onion skins, life across the globe winking out in silent waves.
My senses beheld the apocalypse: Mars' red dust swirling into voids, Jupiter's storms imploding, black holes birthing where stars died.
Time warped—clocks spinning backward, memories flickering: Mom's smile blurring, Stain's blade glitching. Ochaco's form thinned, her eyes locking mine—"Izuku... love you..."—tears evaporating mid-fall.
Class 1-A's screams harmonized: Kirishima's "Hold on!", Tsuyu's fading ribbit, Bakugo's defiant "Screw this end!"—all unraveling, threads of soul and matter pulling apart.
On the verge—reality a tattered veil, U.A. a crumbling isle in cosmic sea, my body half-phased, ki straining to hold form—the Blade burned in Storage, its hum a siren wail.
The scar, Oceanus boomed, Your cut to the Ghost Dungeon, universal wound. Seal it with sacrifice.
The Dimensional Blade: forged in Gacha's S-Tier gift, obsidian edge cleaving worlds, no limits. To save? Shatter it—its essence the glue, multiversal forge reforging the tear. No choice.
Ochaco's translucent hand slipped from mine, her whisper—"Deku..."—the final push. I summoned it, violet hum roaring against the void's dirge, gripping the hilt as green ki flared one last time.
Sacrifice unfolded in eternity's blink—Blade raised, my will channeling Saiyan fury, Ocean's primordial depth, All Fiction's conceptual rewrite (one use burned, declaring the scar "fiction" in reverse).
"For them—for everything!" I roared, slashing not a portal, but the wound itself—the edge meeting the fissure's heart, obsidian vibrating as multiversal essence poured out.
The Blade cracked first—a hairline fracture spiderwebbing the steel, violet light bleeding like blood. Pain lanced my core—ki recoiling as the weapon's soul unbound, threads of infinite realms snapping back into the tear, weaving reality's loom.
Shards flew, each a portal-shard sealing micro-rifts: one mending the sky, stars reigniting in cascades; another staunching Earth's crust, continents knitting seamless; a third restoring air, breaths easing as molecules reformed.
The Blade completely shattered, obsidian exploding in a nova of violet shards, each fragment a dying echo of worlds unlived, the hilt crumbling to dust in my palm.
Power recoiled, a backlash wave slamming me—Saiyan durability cracking ribs, Ocean's tides surging internal to heal, but the cost etched: universal bridge gone, my key to realms severed.
The void howled retreat, fissures sealing with thunderous snaps, the universe exhaling as time realigned—clocks ticking forward, memories solidifying.
Ochaco's hand rematerialized in mine, solid and warm; her eyes cleared, blinking in confusion. "Deku? What... happened? I felt... gone."
Class 1-A reformed around us—Bakugo cursing mid-explosion, now blooming full; Momo's Creation sparking anew; All Might's form steadying, embers bright.
The world reset—sky whole, stars eternal, Musutafu's skyline steady, no scars of unraveling. Screams faded to gasps, the cosmic dirge silenced.
Nobody knew—the sacrifice invisible, the Blade's shards dissolving into ether, my hand empty save for dust that blew away.
Ochaco hugged me, trembling. "A quake? Quirk backlash?" Aizawa scanned, scarf coiling. "Seismic event—nothing on records. Everyone alright?"
Nods rippled, confusion masking the abyss we'd skirted. All Might clapped my shoulder, oblivious. "A close call, young ones. Back to dorms—exams tomorrow."
I nodded, silence my vow. The Dimensional Blade—my multiversal ace, key to Jean's realm, gone, sacrificed to reforge reality. Better this way.
No one burdened with the how, the why—my purge's unintended scar, the weight of worlds on one boy's choice.
Ochaco's love, Class 1-A's bonds, U.A.'s light—they'd shine without the shadow of what I'd lost.
Oceanus rumbled soft: The sea gives to endure. Tides turn unseen. We walked back, hands linked, the universe breathing normal again. Jiro and Koda's match waited, the camp beyond. I'd protect it all—blade or no. No doubt.
___________________
Some time later
Mina Ashido's POV
No more melting edges; I'd steal wholes. First target: power, not people. A universe where quirks flowed like candy, whispers from Hiroshi's stolen memories: Earth-Alpha, where heroes were gods, villains footnotes. Shoto Todoroki—half-hot, half-cold prodigy, Endeavor's heir, his quirk a binary blaze I'd claim for the League.
Force him through the acts, his ice-fire mine. Mineta's pervy blackmail? Child's play; I'd melt his leverage later.
For now, worlds called.
I stood before the mirror, fanged grin flashing, horns curling like devil's invitations. Crop top hugged my curves, shorts riding low to bare midriff—navel winking, breasts straining fabric, pink skin acid-sheened and glowing.
Multiverse Travel surged, quirk-threads weaving a portal: envision Earth-Alpha, U.A.'s grounds at midnight, Shoto's dorm wing.
The air tore—violet rift yawning, reeking of ozone and alternate frost. I stepped through, rift sealing behind, the hum fading to silence. Musutafu's twin skyline loomed, but sharper—towers iced in eternal winter, flames licking horizons.
This world's U.A. pulsed with rawer power, quirks unbound by our canon's chains.
Shoto Todoroki's dorm: isolated, Endeavor's influence a cold cage. I phased through the wall—Multiverse Travel's echo granting intangibility for entry—into a minimalist room of white walls and dual hearths, one iced over, one smoldering.
He sat at a desk, heterochromatic eyes scanning a quirk analysis tome, scar a stark slash on his left side.
Hero costume discarded, simple shirt and pants clinging to his lean frame—dual-haired, half-red, half-white, a walking paradox. Beautiful, in that brooding way.
"Todoroki," I purred, materializing visible, pink form leaning against his doorframe, fanged smile wicked. He startled, right side frosting the desk, left flaring heat.
"Who, Ashido? How did you—" His voice was cool steel, stance shifting to guard.
Lust's aura bloomed—pheromones laced with acid-sweet allure, fogging his mind like a siren's haze.
"Different Ashido, hot stuff. Borrowed a ride from your world's shadows. But I'm here for you—for this." I gestured my body, crop top riding up to flash navel, hips swaying.
His eyes narrowed, ice creeping across the floor. "Intruder. Leave, or I'll—" But Lust tugged, desire flickering in his mismatched gaze, Endeavor's repression cracking under the quirk's pull.
"What do you want?" I sauntered closer, acid palms trailing his desk, leaving faint etch-marks. "Your quirk, Shoto. Half-Cold, Half-Hot—mine. Play, and walk away whole."
His flames guttered, ice melting—Lust's coercion weaving guilt and want. "You're... monstrous." But he stepped forward, resolve fracturing. "Fine. For my class—for peace."
I pulled him down—height gap bridged by his bend, lips meeting mine in a clash of fire and frost, his mouth firm and unyielding at first, tasting of mint tea and suppressed rage.
My plush pink pillows yielded, parting with insistent pressure, tongue tracing his lower lip's seam before sliding inside, claiming the velvet cavern like conquered land.
He stiffened, heterochromatic eyes widening, but Lust urged—my length curling around his, stroking in slow, deliberate sweeps that mapped his ridges, his heat.
One minute: the thaw began, his tongue meeting mine in a tentative flick, cool on one side, warm on the other, but I deepened, plunging rhythmic, teasing the roof of his mouth with flat laps, drawing a low groan that vibrated dual-toned into me.
Saliva mingled, slick and warm, my fanged tip grazing his without bite, just electric promise.
Two minutes: I angled my head, sealing tighter, tongue exploring every texture—the velvet roof arching under my assault, the sensitive undersides of his teeth flicked in playful retaliation as he chased, his hands clutching my hips, pulling flush despite himself.
Wet sounds echoed in the sparse room—slurps, gasps—his breath ragged through his nose, my pink skin flushing as Lust fed, quirk-threads sinking toward theft.
Three: fervor ignited, tongues battling wet and fervent—mine thrusting like a piston, his countering with growing suction, tangling in knots before I rolled his back, claiming every inch, frost melting on his lip to steam against my heat.
Four to six: I broke for air once, lips brushing his scarred one, only to dive back—tongue laving his teeth, probing crevices, then locking in a muzzle that muffled his conflicted moans, saliva trailing down his chin in glistening threads, dripping onto my cleavage.
Seven: nips turned teasing—fangs grazing his lower lip, soothing with broad laps before delving deep again, thrusting to mimic forbidden rhythms, his body melting, hips canting instinctively against mine.
Eight to nine: the peak, tongues entwined in frenzy—wet, insistent, mine dominating with rolls and sucks, his yielding in desperate chases, the room filling with our shared breaths, his dual quirk flickering faintly, ice beading on the desk, flames licking the air.
Ten ticked over with a final twirl—tongues stilling in heated lock—before I pulled back, lips swollen, his eyes glazed with Lust's haze, breath hitching. "Good start, Shoto. Now... taste me."
His hands trembled as I peeled up my crop top, exposing my breasts—full, pink orbs heaving in the room's chill, nipples dusky peaks hardening under his mismatched gaze, acid sheen glistening like jewels under firelight.
He dropped to his knees, mouth latching on the left nipple—lips sealing around the bud, tongue flicking once before sucking, harder than hesitant, cheeks hollowing to pull it deep into wet heat.
"Ahh—Shoto!" I screamed his name on the first second, pleasure spiking like acid burn, fangs sinking into my lip as his suction bordered ache, teeth grazing the areola for electric sting, his right side frosting my skin cool, left warming it to steam.
Second: "Shoto!"—another wail, his free hand cupping the right breast, thumb abrading the neglected peak in rough circles, syncing with his mouth's relentless pull, frost beading on my pink flesh before melting in his heat.
Three to five: rhythm set, sucks intensifying—deep, draining draws that hollowed his cheeks further, tongue battering the left bud in rapid, swirling flicks, saliva pooling and trickling down the swell in glistening trails.
"Shoto—yes, harder! Shoto!" Screams every second, my voice a breathy litany, pink skin flushing crimson as Lust coiled tighter, quirk-threads sinking into his essence, his quirk flickering—ice creeping up my rib, flames licking my cleavage.
Six to ten: he switched, mouth popping off the left with a slick smack—nipple swollen, reddened, shining wet—before engulfing the right fully, sucking harder, vacuum tugging like a claim, tongue rolling the peak against his palate, frost numbing the bud before heat thawed it to fire.
"Shoto! Oh god—Shoto!" Each second a scream, hands threading his dual-colored hair, pulling him deeper, hips grinding against his chest in desperate rhythm, his breath dual-toned—cool exhales, warm inhales—amplifying the contrast.
Eleven to fifteen: alternating frenzy—mouth hopping like a starving fiend, suck left deep and prolonged, tongue probing the bud's underside in slow, teasing laps before teeth nipped; then right, harder still, suction pulling faint beads of my acid-sweet essence, lapped greedily, ice beading then steaming.
"Shoto—deeper!" Moans peaked every second, body arching to feed him more, breasts heaving under his assault, skin marked with faint suction-blooms and frost-melt trails, nipples throbbing peaks of oversensitive fire.
Sixteen to eighteen: buried between them, his face nuzzling the valley, tongue tracing the cleavage in broad, wet strokes before dual pulls—lips on left, fingers pinching right in mimicry; swap, harder, the room filling with slurps and my endless chant—"Shoto! Don't stop—Shoto! Harder—Shoto!" His quirk rebelled, ice walling his restraint, flames fueling his fervor.
Nineteen to twenty: final crescendo, his sucks at maximum—cheeks concave, pulling each nipple to near-painful extension, tongue lashing in whirlwind spirals, teeth nipping for electric sparks that shot to my core.
"Shotooo!" The last seconds dissolved into wailing litany, pleasure crashing in waves, Lust feeding voraciously, quirk-threads thickening toward theft.
He released with twin pops, breasts glistening, abused and adored, nipples dark pink swells begging for mercy. "Mina... this... power..." His voice rasped, eyes distant, but I grinned, fanged and fierce.
(Navel part skipped)
Lust completing the theft—Half-Cold Half-Hot flooding my veins, a binary blaze igniting in my blood, ice in one palm, flame in the other.
He pulled back, eyes vacant, quirk siphoned clean—his flames guttering, ice melting to water. "Mina... what have you..."
I zipped up, fanged grin wicked, new quirk humming—cold frost beading my horns, hot air shimmering around me.
"Thanks for the chill and thrill, Shoto." Multiverse Travel surged, portal tearing back to my U.A., rift sealing with a snap.
Shigaraki would drool: Todoroki's power mine, worlds at my fingertips. Exams? Boring. The League waited, remade in pink fire and ice.