The ground trembled.
From the far side of the battle-scarred courtyard, air pressure cracked like thunder as a gust of wind knocked loose what few windows remained in the surrounding buildings.
He was here.
A golden blur smashed into the battlefield, wind and force breaking apart the smoke and silence.
"All Might," Izuku murmured, barely able to stand.
Bakugo's head snapped toward the figure with a mix of relief and pride.
There he was.
Toshinori Yagi.
The Symbol of Peace.
Cape rippling. Smile fixed like a war mask. Muscles still flexed from the momentum of the landing. Standing tall in the smoke, backlit by firelight, fists clenched.
"You dare attack my students?" All Might's voice was a storm. "You face me now!"
The Nomu—still writhing under Izuku's purifying chains—twitched. Its head turned slowly toward the new arrival.
And it screamed.
Not in rage.
In command.
Something else—something unseen—answered.
A pulse of corruptive energy tore through the creature's body, undoing the weakening magic Izuku had cast just seconds ago.
"No—wait—!" Izuku's eyes widened.
The Nomu's muscles surged with unnatural regeneration. Its bulk returned in seconds. Runes on its chest burned black where they had once glowed white.
It was being overridden. Hijacked remotely.
All Might didn't hesitate.
He dashed forward with terrifying speed.
"SMASH!!!"
The impact shattered a chunk of the ground beneath the Nomu. The creature was flung across the field, smashing through concrete, rebar, and stone. For a breathless moment, it looked like All Might had won.
But he hadn't.
Izuku felt it before anyone else:
The magic had latched onto All Might.
"No—don't touch it—!"
But it was too late.
The Nomu absorbed the kinetic blow — its body rippling like water, runes flickering with mirrored energy — and flung it back.
All Might staggered, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His breath hitched.
His true form flashed—just for a split second. Skinny, fragile, coughing.
"Damn—" he whispered.
The Nomu lunged.
It was too fast this time.
Its fist collided with All Might's stomach, cracking ribs and sending him flying. He slammed into a wall and didn't move.
Bakugo screamed something incoherent.
Izuku felt his lungs lock.
"All Might—!"
He ran.
Ran past Bakugo. Past the broken debris. Past the broken wall where the Number One Hero now lay slumped against shattered stone.
All Might was conscious. Barely.
"D-Don't… let it win…" he wheezed, blood bubbling between his teeth. "Protect them, Midoriya… It's your time…I'm so sorry my boy."
"Don't say that," Izuku whispered, grabbing his arm, panic flaring. "Don't you dare—"
"You." All Might's bloodshot eyes locked with his. "Shine."
Then his body slumped.
Still breathing. Alive.
But out of the fight.
The Symbol had fallen.
And now—
The Nomu roared with triumph.
Smoke curled in the edges of the ruined courtyard, dancing like spirits over flame-lit rubble. The sound of coughing and distant sirens began to rise in the background—but closer still…
Came laughter.
First soft.
Then louder.
Mocking. Gleeful. Unhinged.
A voice like rotted silk tore through the haze.
"Well, well, well…"
From the shadows beneath the broken entryway, Tomura Shigaraki stepped forward, his hands twitching with visible irritation and pleasure all at once. "Look at you, All Might. The Symbol of Peace… crushed under a pile of rocks like some cheap souvenir."
He let out a dry, cracked giggle.
"The world has gotten so used to watching you win. To watching you swoop in, all bright and bold and loud, like nothing could ever touch you. Like you're some kind of myth."
His hand twitched toward his neck — scratching.
"And now?" He gestured with an open, decaying palm to where All Might lay broken. "Now they get to see what happens when the myth bleeds."
"This isn't a battle," he said, as the Nomu stood behind him like a hulking demon reborn. "It's a demonstration. The future doesn't belong to heroes anymore. It belongs to the ones who aren't afraid to break the rules. To break bones. To break… hope."
His eyes fell on Izuku.
"And you, little green spark… You've got potential. I saw that magic trick of yours. Very fancy. Very dramatic. But you're just a kid, aren't you? Just another scared face in the dirt."
He tilted his head, gaze narrowing.
"But let's see if you burn like a hero… or sputter out like all the others."
Izuku turned, slow and deliberate.
His hands curled into fists, and his fingers burned with rune-light. Crimson, violet, emerald—chaos and order, threaded like a heartbeat across his skin.
He stepped between the Nomu and everyone else.
Behind him: broken heroes, wounded students, teachers struggling to stay awake.
In front of him: a monster filled with the echoes of his own trauma. A creature not born, but twisted. A child turned into a weapon.
"I won't let you take anyone else," Izuku whispered.
The Nomu charged.
And Izuku raised both hands.
Two massive rune circles spiraled into existence—one above the battlefield, one beneath.
A vortex of wind, heat, and raw arcane power pulled in like a magical hurricane, centered entirely on Izuku's body. His cloak flared behind him like wings made of flame and ink.
He whispered words he hadn't learned, but had always known.
He reached inward, into the deepest recess of his soul—
—and outward, into the broken, echoing pain of the creature rushing toward him.
"Your pain is not your fault," he said softly, even as his power screamed to life. "I know what they did to you."
The Nomu hesitated. A flicker of confusion—of humanity—in its eyes.
Izuku walked forward, pressing a rune-covered palm to its chest.
"Let go."
The runes blazed.
And purification began.
The Nomu screamed—louder, deeper—its body resisting the unraveling. Shadows tore from its skin like black steam. Stitching split open. Muscles convulsed. The spell wasn't killing it—it was freeing it.
Freeing the soul trapped inside.
A child's voice echoed from within: "Help… please…"
The magic surged.
Izuku's knees buckled, but he didn't fall. Momo's voice called out behind him—distant, terrified—but he held.
"Be free," he whispered again.
And then—
A blinding flash.
Light consumed the Nomu.
When it cleared, nothing remained but ash. A faint trail of light flickered upward into the sky—like a soul returning to where it belonged.
Silence fell.
Then:
Bakugo collapsed to one knee, breathing hard.
Momo reached Izuku, grabbing his shoulders before he hit the ground.
And All Might—still alive, still breathing—smiled faintly through bloodied lips.
Silence lingered, heavy and sacred in the wake of the light.
Ash drifted down like snow.
The Nomu was gone.
Freed.
Purified.
And in its place stood a boy—barely able to stand—held up by trembling legs and Momo's steady hands. His cloak was in tatters, his arms still glowing faintly with the last remnants of rune-light.
Izuku Midoriya looked up.
Straight at Shigaraki.
Eyes burning. Not with rage.
But with purpose.
"You wanted to show the world that hope could be broken," he said, voice low but carrying across the courtyard like a bell in still air.
"You brought monsters. You crushed heroes. You mocked the idea of peace."
Shigaraki tensed. His hand twitched.
"But here's the thing you forgot," Izuku continued, his shoulders squaring as he stepped forward, still held up by Momo. "You don't kill hope by hurting heroes."
He raised a hand—and a soft green spark ignited in his palm, flickering like a heartbeat.
"You only make it burn brighter."
The wind shifted.
Cameras blinked red again in the smoke.
Kurogiri stirred, uneasy.
"People saw what you did today," Izuku said, louder now. "But they also saw what we stood for. They saw students—kids—fight for each other. They saw magic and science and courage hold the line."
He looked down at his hands. At the runes that still whispered against his skin. At the light that hadn't died.
"I'm not a Symbol. I'm not a pro hero. Not yet."
Then his gaze snapped up, sharp and unshakable.
"But if this is the future—then we'll build it. Brick by brick. Soul by soul. You don't win, Shigaraki."
A pause.
"You just delay us."
Shigaraki's smile cracked.
A vein twitched at his temple.
"You little brat…" he growled, voice shaking. "You think this was meant to be a win? This wasn't even the first act."
His fingers curled into a claw, trembling with fury. "You have no idea what's coming. No idea what I am."
Izuku tilted his head.
"I hope I never do," he said. "Because I hope we never become what you are."
Shigaraki screamed—an inhuman, furious howl—and lashed out toward him with a decaying hand.
But Kurogiri caught his shoulder mid-swipe, pulling him back.
"Tomura. Enough. The point has been made."
"No! He—he talked down to me—!"
"You said it yourself," Kurogiri murmured. "This was just a demonstration. Don't escalate it into your defeat."
Shigaraki snarled, ripping his hand free.
But he didn't strike again.
Instead, he spat into the dirt, eyes bloodshot.
"This isn't over, Midoriya."
"No," Izuku said quietly. "It's just beginning."
The mist swirled. The warp gate opened.
And with one last scowl—full of frustration, fear, and something else he wouldn't name—Shigaraki vanished into the void.
The courtyard remained silent.
Until—
The first siren arrived.
And Izuku finally collapsed into Momo's arms, the green light fading from his fingers like the last shimmer of a candle before dawn.