Izuku reached the central control room. It was a cavernous space, walled with banks of dead monitors and severed server lines. In the center, a single terminal glowed with a soft, persistent light.
It was connected to nothing but the air itself—a direct uplink Izuku had woven into the world's digital fabric using his Cyberpresence.
He didn't sit. He stood before it, and his body flickered. For a moment, his physical form seemed to dissolve into a stream of green data, which flowed into the terminal. His consciousness wasn't just in the room; it was in the signal. He was the broadcast.
He issued a single, silent command.
NATIONWIDE BROADCAST – SYSTEM WIDE ALERT
Every screen still powered on—every television, every smartphone, every public billboard, every monitor in every government office and prison guard station—fizzed with static. Then, a simple, green cursor appeared in the center, blinking.
Then, the files began to scroll.
Not just the ledgers and waivers. Everything. Raw security footage from the "containment facilities." Audio logs of Commission officials coldly discussing "quota management."
Emails about cost-cutting on food for the imprisoned. Medical records of children who died from "unforeseen complications." The names, addresses, and photographs of every official, hero, and businessman complicit. It was a waterfall of sin, an unending scroll of proof.
In the living rooms of other states, families watched in stunned silence. In bars, people stopped drinking, their glasses frozen halfway to their lips. On trains, commuters stared at their phones, tears of rage or recognition in their eyes.
THE PRISONS – SIMULTANEOUS UNLOCKING
At Tartarus, the deepest, most secure prison, the warden was screaming at his technicians. "Reboot the systems! Now!"
A technician, pale, whispered, "Sir… we're not in control. The locks… they're opening on their own."
With a series of heavy, resonant CLUNKS that echoed through the steel halls, every automated cell door in the complex slid open. Not just the low-security wings. Every. Single. One. Maximum security. Solitary confinement. Death row.
In his dark cell, a villain with a disintegration quirk stared at the open doorway, disbelief on his scarred face. He took a hesitant step out. No alarm sounded. The laser grids were dead. The entire prison was a silent, open maze.
The scene repeated in every detention center, every jail, every Commission holding block across the country. Guards, outnumbered and terrified, dropped their weapons and fled.
Some inmates roared with glee and sprinted for freedom. Others, those imprisoned for petty crimes or for having "unregistered" quirks, walked out slowly, dazed, blinking in the sunlight of a world gone mad.
But a terrifying number did not run. They walked out with purpose. These were the ones Izuku's files had specifically highlighted—the victims, the wrongly accused, the ones tortured for their powers. They didn't look joyful. They looked furious. And they moved not to escape, but to join the crowds already in the streets. They were fresh fuel for the fire.
THE STREETS IN ALL AMERICAN STATES– ALL HELL
The broadcast was the final spark. The cautious hope, the desperate anger, it all curdled into something with no rules.
In front of the Commission tower, the breached shutter finally gave way with a shriek of tearing metal. The crowd didn't just walk in.
They poured in like a flood. They stormed the pristine lobby, smashing the marble statues of famous heroes, tearing portraits from the walls, setting furniture ablaze with unleashed quirks.
They found the internal doors to the secure areas also unlocked. They streamed into the offices, seizing physical files, throwing computers through windows. They were not looters. They were archivists of rage, collecting every piece of the lie.
Similar storms hit police precincts, city halls, and corporate offices linked to the Commission. The air was filled with the sounds of breaking glass, roaring flames, and a unified, wordless scream of a betrayed populace. The few brave police officers or remaining heroes who tried to form a line were swallowed by the crowd, disarmed by sheer numbers, and left standing in torn uniforms, watching the world they knew end.
What started as an uprising in one state spread like wildfire. It became a nationwide mutiny. The angry mob was not thinking. They did not care about rules. They just wanted to burn the whole system down—and burn the people running it.
The truth about the corruption was the final straw. It broke like a dam. All the frustration people had held inside for years now had a target. They could finally take their revenge.
Many pro-heroes had not known the truth. They were not important enough to be told the secrets. When they saw the proof, they were horrified. They changed sides. They joined the mob. They helped the people break down the buildings they once protected.
In a matter of hours, it happened everywhere. Just like in the cities of Fukuoka and Hiroshima before, town squares across every American state filled with piles of dead bodies. The bodies were of the wrongdoers—the corrupt officials, the lying heroes, the greedy businessmen from the leaked files.
Buildings were shattered. Law and order vanished. Police stations were empty. Local governments were gone.
The massacre was so brutal, so complete, that even the real criminals who had escaped from prison were terrified. They hid. They did not dare steal or hurt anyone. Why? Because their names were also in the leaked files. The government had used them for dirty work. Now, with no police to stop them, the victims of those crimes were hunting for revenge.
The true criminals hid in the shadows, shaking, hoping the raging mob would not find them. They saw what happened to the powerful. They knew they would be next.
The streets belonged to the people now. And the people were painting them with fire and blood.
VESTIGE WORLD
In the sealed Dome, All Might suddenly staggered. The noise of the riot, the panicked shouts of his colleagues—it all faded into a muffled hum. His vision whited out. He felt a familiar, yet long-absent, tugging sensation in his soul.
When his vision cleared, he was no longer in the Dome. He stood in a void of infinite black, dotted with distant, slow-moving lights. The Vestige World. Before him, glowing with soft light, stood the seven previous users of One For All.
"Master…?" All Might breathed, his heart seizing with a futile hope. But he saw their faces. They were not smiling. They looked ancient, and full of a sorrow deeper than the void.
The first user, Yoichi, a slender man with kind, tired eyes, stepped forward. "Toshinori," he said, his voice echoing.
"What is happening?" All Might demanded, his spectral form trembling. "The world… it's tearing itself apart! You have to help me! Give me strength, anything! I have to stop this!"
The second user, a stern man with a fierce gaze, shook his head. "We cannot."
"What do you mean you cannot?" All Might's voice cracked. "You are One For All! You have always been there!"
The third user, a woman with a gentle face, spoke softly. "The power you hold, Toshinori, is a torch to be passed. It is a quirk of physical enhancement, of hope given form. What is happening out there… it is not a fight for a torch. It is a hurricane swallowing the very ground the torch stands on."
"The boy," the fourth user, a burly man, grunted. "Your son. Izuku."
All Might's eyes widened. "My son Izuku? What does he have to do with this? He's…?." he stopped, without finishing the sentence.
Yoichi's gaze was unbearable. "He is the hurricane. The power he now wields… it is not of this world. It mocks logic. It rewrites reality. Our power, this noble legacy, is meaningless against it. It is like trying to stop a tidal wave with a single, perfect punch."
"You're saying he's doing this?" All Might whispered, horror dawning. "The leaks… the chaos…?"
"He is the source," the fifth user confirmed. "His anger has become a force of nature. We feel it, even here. It is a cold, digital fire, burning the pages of history itself."
All Might fell to his knees in the void. "Then I have to reach him! I have to talk to him! This is not the way!"
The sixth user, En Tayutai, All Might's own mentor, floated down to him. Her face, usually so warm, was etched with grief. "Toshinori, my boy. Listen to me. The son you love is gone.
What is out there now is something else. A glitch in the universe. A correction wrought in blood and code. He cannot hear you. He will not hear you. He doesn't want to. He only hears the screams of the forgotten, and he is answering them with the end of everything."
"There must be something!" All Might cried out, tears streaming down his spectral face. "We cannot just let the world burn!"
Yoichi looked at the infinite blackness. "The legacy of One For All was to create a symbol who could hold back the darkness. But what if the people themselves decide they no longer want a symbol? What if they choose to light the darkness on fire instead? We are vestiges of an old dream, Toshinori. And that dream… is over."
The seventh user, Nana Shimura, the most recent before All Might, added quietly, "If it is not stopped soon, there will be no world to save. Only ashes, and his truth etched into them."
The void began to shimmer. They were fading. All Might felt himself being pulled back.
"Wait! Please!" he begged.
Nana gave him one last, sorrowful smile. "I am so sorry, my son."
Just as the void began to shimmer and pull All Might away, something went wrong. The lights in the blackness stuttered. The distant stars flickered like broken pixels.
A new presence forced its way into the Vestige World. It did not arrive gently. It *corrupted*.
The air grew heavy and cold. A feeling of deep, primal horror seeped into the space, a dread that crawled up the spine of every soul present. Behind All Might, the darkness seemed to thicken and swirl. Then, a figure stepped out of the shadows as if they had always been there.
It was Izuku. But not as they knew him. He was a silhouette outlined in a sickly, static-green light. His form was slightly blurred at the edges, like a bad transmission. The most terrifying part was his face.
It was covered by a shifting, digital haze, obscuring his features except for two points of solid, glowing green light where his eyes should be. He radiated an aura of wrongness, a glitch in this sacred mental space, just as Amon induced horror by his mere presence.
The seven vestiges recoiled. Their soft light dimmed against his invasive glare.
Izuku's head tilted slowly, the green eye-lights scanning the infinite blackness, the distant stars, and then the gathered ghosts. His voice, when he spoke, was a flat, distorted echo. It came from everywhere and nowhere.
"So," he said, the word hanging in the void. "This is where you've been hiding. The little server in the sky."
All Might whirled around, his spectral face a mask of shock and desperate hope. "Izuku! My son!"
The green eye-lights fixed on him. The horror in the air intensified, pressing down on All Might's soul. The voice that replied was dripping with cold, mocking scorn.
"'Son'?" The distortion made it sound like a laugh. "Do you still think you have the right to call me that? After everything?"
"Izuku, please, you have to stop this!" All Might pleaded, taking a step forward.
"Stop?" Izuku's form flickered. "You want me to stop the search? The great Symbol of Peace, who couldn't even recognize his own lost child when he was standing right next to him for months?"
All Might froze. "W-What…?"
"Months," Izuku repeated, the word sharp. "From the day I walked into the U.A., through the entrance exams, the classes, the training… all the way to the Sports Festival. Right under your nose. In your own classroom. You looked at me every day. And you saw nothing. You couldn't even recognise me then, you expect that my son crap is going to work now."
The horrifying truth began to crack open in All Might's mind, but he couldn't grasp it. It was impossible. "I don't… understand…"
"No," Izuku said, his voice losing the echo, becoming colder and clearer. "You wouldn't. Let me help your memory."
The static around his form surged. His body seemed to rewrite itself, the code of his appearance changing. He grew taller, broader. The messy green hair smoothed back. The jacket and pants shifted into a dark, expensive suit. The terrifying green eye-lights faded, replaced by sharp, cold, bored blue eyes.
Toji stood in the Vestige World, hands in his pockets, looking at All Might with utter disinterest.
All Might's soul screamed. His spectral form shook violently. He remembered. The quiet, powerful student. The one with the strange techniques. The one who was always watching. His own son.
"It… it was you… all along…" All Might choked out, the betrayal and grief so vast it threatened to unravel him.
"Surprise," Toji's voice said, flat and unamused. Then, the form glitched back into the static-green silhouette of Izuku. "Now you see. Now you know. And it's too late."
Izuku raised a hand, fingers snapping. The sound was like shattering glass.
All Might felt a violent, irresistible force grab him. It wasn't physical. It was as if the code of his very consciousness was being selected and deleted from this server.
"Wait!" All Might cried.
"No more waiting," Izuku said. "Your time is up. Sit tight in your crumbling cage. Watch your world burn. I'll deal with you personally… after I deal with these old farts who won't even extinguish properly in death.
Ohh and when you meet endeavour tell him, if he is alive even after all the hell i release, I'll let him see his son and grandson that I'm going to make with his wife Rei and his daughter Fuyumi."
With a final, silent command, Izuku 'threw' All Might's consciousness out of the Vestige World. The Symbol of Peace vanished from the void, ejected.
Silence returned, but it was a terrified silence. The seven vestiges were huddled together, their light trembling. They were legends, warriors of will, but they had never faced an entity like this. He was not a villain. He was an error in their reality.
Izuku turned the full weight of his glitch-presence upon them. The green eye-lights bore into Yoichi, the first user.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward. The void seemed to warp around him.
"Now," Izuku said, his distorted voice calm and utterly terrifying. "Shall we begin our discussion? You've been passing your little torch for centuries. Let's talk about what happens when someone… deletes the fire."
If my story made you smile even once, that's a win for me. That's what I want to live for—brightening dull days and reminding people that joy still exists. My dream is to keep getting better, to someday reach legendary level of storytelling.
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