The bus slowed and finally came to a stop in front of the massive entrance doors of the complex. With a hiss, the doors slid open, letting in a gust of cool, ozone-scented air.
"Come on, get out, don't dawdle!" came Aizawa-sensei's voice, sounding even more exhausted than usual. He stood outside, wrapped in his sleeping bag, seemingly unimpressed by the technological marvel before him.
We obediently, though with a buzz of excitement, began piling out of the bus. I stepped off among the last, trying to stay in the shadow of larger classmates like Sato or Ojiro. The wide expanse in front of the USJ was empty and silent, save for our class. The quiet pressed on my ears after the noise of the bus.
"Follow me," Aizawa said curtly, not turning around as he headed toward the main entrance.
We walked inside.
And froze.
The vast interior of the complex unfolded before us in all its grandeur. Beneath a towering dome stretched a miniature universe of disasters and emergencies. There was a snow-covered town, a fire zone with (hopefully fake) flames licking the air, a flood zone with an enormous ocean liner moored at an artificial pier, and even a collapse zone where building mock-ups lay in ruins. The air hummed faintly with the sound of machinery and carried a mix of scents—wet earth after rain, ozone, sweet smoke, and the freshness of water.
It was both awe-inspiring and unsettling.
"Welcome to the USJ!" came a new, softer, and friendlier voice.
A figure in a bulky white astronaut suit with a large black visor on the helmet, topped with an odd device, approached us. I recognized her instantly. Thirteen. The rescue hero specializing in emergency situations. Her appearance sparked a fresh wave of excited gasps.
"So cool!" Uraraka exhaled, her eyes sparkling. "It's really Thirteen!"
"I'm a huge fan!" Izuku exclaimed almost in unison with her, and I caught myself noting it was the first time I'd seen them speak in sync without a hint of shyness.
Thirteen gave a polite bow, her movements smooth and graceful despite the cumbersome suit.
"I'm delighted to welcome you here, future heroes," she said, her voice slightly mechanized by the suit but warm and sincere. "This complex was designed so you can safely practice rescue skills in conditions as close to real as possible. Here, you'll find zones simulating various natural disasters and man-made catastrophes. Today, we…"
She paused, and her "gaze," hidden behind the visor, seemed to sweep over our group. For a moment, I felt it linger on me. Or maybe I imagined it. Had Nezu warned her? The thought made me inwardly shrink.
"Today, we'll talk about the most important aspect of our work," Thirteen continued, her tone growing more serious, almost solemn. "What sets us, heroes, apart from those who merely possess power. It's about saving lives."
The class fell nearly silent. Even Bakugo listened, his brows slightly furrowed but without interrupting.
"Your quirks are powerful tools," Thirteen said. "Many of them are capable of immense destruction. Some, like my 'Black Hole,' are inherently deadly." She raised a hand slightly, gesturing to the device on her glove's fingertips. "That's why we must remember: our power isn't a privilege to intimidate or show superiority. It's a responsibility. A duty to use what we've been given for the good of others. Being a hero isn't just about defeating villains. It's about extending a hand to those who are weaker, who are in trouble, who are crying out for help."
Her words fell into the silence like stones into still water. I saw some classmates nodding, their faces focused. Izuku stared at Thirteen with reverence, tears welling in his eyes. Iida stood at attention, as if on parade.
Inside me, a quiet storm was brewing. Her words struck at the core of my fear. "Inherently deadly." She didn't know how perfectly she'd described my power. And she spoke of control. Of responsibility. Of channeling that danger for good.
"Hear her, vessel?" a venomous whisper slithered into my mind. "Even she, this icon of rescue, admits that power is destruction at its core. She merely dresses it up in the straitjacket of rules and conventions. But we know the truth. The true nature of power is domination. And you feel it in yourself right now, don't you?"
I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my skin. Pain. I needed to hold onto the pain. It was real. It was mine.
"…so today, we'll practice evacuation and first aid in various conditions," Thirteen concluded her brief instruction. "We'll split into groups and—"
She didn't finish.
The air in the center of the hall, near the fountain in the Central Plaza, shuddered and swirled. From nowhere, with a chilling rustle, a black spot began to grow. It spread like an inkblot on paper, warping the space around it. Thick, dark mist poured from it, radiating a cold—not physical, but metaphysical, soul-freezing.
The silence that followed was louder than any explosion. Everyone froze, unable to comprehend what was happening. Was this part of the exercise? A special effect?
Then they emerged from the mist.
First one, then another, then a third… dozens. People in tattered clothes, with wild, malicious faces, covered in tattoos and scars. They spilled out of the black portal like beans from a sack, looking around with predatory, hungry gazes. There were so many of them. Too many.
And in the midst of the growing crowd, two others appeared.
One was tall, emaciated, like a mannequin, with disheveled blue hair. His face was hidden behind a severed hand pressed to it, with other hands clinging to his body like grotesque ornaments. He scratched his neck with long fingers, his posture radiating a bored, almost childlike curiosity that felt far more terrifying than open malice.
Beside him floated a dark, shapeless entity—a tall column of smoke with two glowing yellow dots for eyes and a massive metal collar.
"Guests," the Witch-king whispered inside me, and for the first time, a hint of… interest tinged his indifferent tone. "Interesting guests."
My heart sank to my boots. An icy wave of panic hit, stealing my breath. This wasn't a drill.
Aizawa-sensei straightened abruptly. All his lethargy vanished, replaced by tense, battle-ready focus. In one motion, he shed his sleeping bag, his usually half-asleep eyes now glowing red, his hair standing on end. He snapped his goggles into place.
"Don't move!" His sharp, commanding voice cut through the stupor. "Everyone, back! Thirteen, protect the students!"
"Is this… part of the exercise?" someone behind me asked hesitantly, probably Sero.
The answer came from the blue-haired stranger.
"Where is he?" His voice was raspy, like a spoiled child's. "According to the schedule, he's supposed to be here… Where's All Might?"
All Might. Their target was All Might. A familiar, paralyzing cold dread gripped my limbs. This was an ambush.
"They… they're not heroes," Jiro whispered shakily, her earphone jacks twitching nervously.
"Villains," Iida said clearly, without a trace of doubt.
And then everything spiraled with terrifying speed.
Aizawa-sensei surged forward. He moved like a shadow, swift and silent, his capture scarf whipping through the air. He crashed into the crowd of villains, and they began to fall one by one, immobilized, stripped of their quirks by his gaze and precise strikes. He was terrifyingly efficient. But there were too many.
Meanwhile, the dark entity shifted, blocking the exit from the complex.
"We are the League of Villains," its calm, velvety voice echoed under the dome. "Apologies for the sudden intrusion. But we're here on business. We've come to kill All Might."
The silence shattered with a deafening explosion. Bakugo and Kirishima, without coordinating, charged forward.
"Kill? What's that, you smoky freak?!" Bakugo roared, blasting an explosion straight at the center of the misty figure.
But their attack passed right through. Kurogiri didn't even flinch.
"That wasn't very polite," he remarked, a slight reproach in his tone.
And then the space around us warped.
Black mist enveloped me, cold and airless. For a moment, I lost all sense of direction. The world vanished, leaving only a whistling in my ears and an overwhelming sense of falling. The voices of my classmates, the shouts, the noise—all faded as if someone had yanked a plug from a socket.
Then the mist cleared as suddenly as it had appeared.
I was standing alone. No, not entirely alone.
I found myself in the collapse zone. Shards of concrete and rebar littered the ground, dust hung in the air, clogging my throat. In the distance, muffled cries and sounds of fighting echoed. But here, in this corner of the ruins, it was relatively quiet.
Right in front of me, staggering to his feet, was Mineta. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.
"W-what was that?" he choked out. "Where is everyone? Are we alone?"
I didn't have time to answer. From behind a pile of broken bricks, two figures emerged. Not heroes. Their faces twisted with malicious smirks. One snapped his knuckles, and small flames sparked on them. The other's skin on his hands hardened into stone.
"Oh, look, the pups got separated from the pack," the fiery one rasped.
The stone-skinned one snorted. "Lucky us. These ones will be easy to take out."
Mineta yelped and scrambled behind me, clutching my jacket with trembling hands.
"No, no, no…" he stammered. "We're done for! They're gonna kill us! I don't wanna die!"
His panic, thick and sticky, hit me like a wave. It fed them, the ones inside. I felt them stir, waking, drawn to the fresh fear.
"Here it is," a sweet voice whispered. "The beginning. Let us loose. We'll make them quiet. Obedient. Just one moment…"
"No!" I screamed internally, desperately trying to rebuild the wall. "I can't! Mineta's here! I'm in control!"
"He's just the first grain of sand, vessel," the cold voice of the Witch-king cut in. "They came to kill. You'll defend yourself. Or would you rather die, dragging us into the grave with you? The choice is yours. But choose quickly."
The villains stepped forward. The fiery one raised a hand, ready to hurl flames. The stone-skinned one braced for a charge.
Mineta sobbed behind me, his grip weakening from terror.
I stood paralyzed. All my training, my fragile control, my hope—it crumbled in the face of real, immediate danger. I wasn't ready. I was just a scared kid with a bomb in his chest.
And then I locked eyes with the stone-skinned villain. His gaze held nothing but predatory glee and anticipation. He saw easy prey. Two frightened kids.
Something in me snapped.
A primal, ancient instinct, deeper than fear, louder than reason. The instinct to survive.
The air around my hand suddenly turned frigid. Without conscious command, just a reaction. A release.
A thin, almost invisible stream of frost, cold as death itself, shot from my fingers and struck the stone-skinned villain in the chest.
He didn't even have time to scream. His eyes, full of malice a second ago, glazed over. Completely. They became empty, like a glass doll's. His stone skin cracked back to normal. He froze in place, his posture unnatural, as if switched off. Then, silently, he collapsed face-first into the dust and didn't move.
The fiery villain froze, his raised hand still, his smirk sliding off his face, replaced by shock and confusion.
"Hey… what? What's wrong with you? Get up!" He nudged his partner with his foot, but the body remained still, like a sack of bones.
Mineta's sobbing stopped abruptly. He stared at me—not the villain, but me. His face was no longer twisted with fear of them but with something far worse.
I looked at my hand. It trembled. A faint, frosty vapor still rose from it. Inside, I felt empty and cold. No satisfaction, no horror. Just an icy, all-consuming void.
The second villain slowly shifted his gaze from his partner to me. His eyes now held seriousness.
He roared, unleashing a torrent of fire. A scorching wall of heat hit my face, burning my lungs, forcing me to recoil.
"You'll pay for that, you bastard!" he screamed, his face, distorted by hatred and fear, dancing in the flames.
Instinct took over again, faster than thought. I dove to the side, shoving Mineta behind a pile of debris. The flames roared past where we'd stood, singeing my heels and leaving black, smoldering scorches on the concrete. The smell of burning and molten metal stung my nose.
"Stop hiding! Come out and burn!" The fiery villain advanced, hurling fireballs the size of soccer balls at our cover. The concrete blocks cracked and melted under the infernal heat.
Mineta sobbed, pressed to the ground. His panic, thick as molasses, flooded my mind, feeding the ones inside, making them stronger, hungrier. They battered against the wall of my consciousness, demanding release, demanding retribution.
"Let us loose. We'll turn his flesh to ash. We'll drain his soul to the last spark. He dares challenge us."
"No…" I rasped, pressing against the cold concrete. "I can't…"
"You've already begun. You took the first step. There's no turning back. They already see a monster in you. Live up to their expectations. Become it. Become us."
Another fireball seared the air inches from my head. The heat singed my ear. The sharp, real pain jolted me. They would kill us. They would kill Mineta. They would kill me. Here and now. And no one was coming to help.
Desperation, cold and sharp as a blade, pierced me. And with it came a strange, soul-chilling calm. There was no choice. No time for doubt, pity, or guilt. Fight or die.
I closed my eyes. Just for a fraction of a second. I didn't break the wall. I just… let go. Stopped resisting what was part of me. I didn't imagine an open door but a tool. A weapon.
The response came instantly. A wave of bone-chilling cold, overwhelming in its power, surged from the depths of my being. It wasn't painful. It was… all-consuming. My body suddenly felt light, almost weightless. My muscles filled with steely resilience, my nerves sang like taut strings. The world slowed. I saw another fireball slowly arc through the air from the villain's hand.
My hand moved on its own. No thought, no command. Just intent—to protect. And in my palm, with a sound like cracking ice, a Blade materialized.
It wasn't like the icy daggers I'd created in training. It was longer, narrower, curved like a scimitar. Not made of ice but of solidified darkness, inky black, absorbing light. Frosty mist trailed along its perfectly smooth edge, and it radiated a cold that froze the air. It was light as a feather and felt like an extension of my hand, its natural conclusion.
The fireball was inches away. My body reacted on its own. I didn't run or dodge. I swayed to the side, the movement so fast, so fluid, that the flames passed by, only singeing my jacket sleeve. I didn't even feel the heat.
The villain froze, his mouth agape, eyes wide with disbelief.
"What…?"
There was no time to think. Instincts—foreign yet now mine—drove me forward. I took a step. Then another. My movements weren't running but gliding, swift and utterly silent. I saw the villain prepare another shot, flames gathering on his knuckles. But he moved so slowly, so clumsily.
I was beside him. Behind him. He didn't even have time to turn his head.
"Vulnerability. Back. Neck. Tendons," thoughts raced through me, cold and precise. "Knees. Remove support."
The Blade in my hand traced a short, smooth arc. I didn't strike with force. I merely drew it, like a brush on canvas, across the back of his legs, just below the knees.
There was no blood. No scream. Only a faint sound, like rustling dry leaves, and two thin layers of frost instantly formed on his pants where the Blade touched. The villain let out a short, surprised gasp, and his legs buckled. He collapsed heavily onto his knees, then to his side, his body seized by sudden, brutal paralysis. The flames on his hands extinguished as if they'd never been. He lay staring at the sky with empty, uncomprehending eyes, his chest heaving. He was alive. But neutralized.
I stood over him, breathing heavily. The Blade in my hand slowly dissolved, evaporating, leaving only a faint chill in my palm. The incredible speed, strength, and agility that had filled me moments ago began to ebb like a receding tide. In their place came crushing exhaustion, turning me inside out. I barely stayed upright, leaning against a pile of broken bricks. A warm, salty trickle of blood ran from my nose.
"Primitive but effective movements," the Witch-king's voice echoed in my head, tinged with… satisfaction? "You used but a fraction of what we're capable of. A shadow of our speed. A glimmer of our strength. Yet it was enough to crush this pathetic resistance. Remember this feeling, vessel. This is the taste of victory."
I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. Victory? This wasn't victory. It was a vile, necessary evil. I looked at the fallen villain. He didn't look defeated. He looked… broken. His eyes were empty, devoid of anger or pain. Only raw, all-consuming fear remained.
Suddenly, I remembered the first villain. The one who fell first. Turning, I saw his body still lying motionless in the dust. Mineta sat five meters away, clutching his head, sobbing quietly, inconsolably.
Forcing my legs to move, I staggered to the first villain. My heart pounded, dreading the worst. He's dead. You killed him. You crossed the line. You became what you always feared.
I knelt beside him, ignoring the piercing pain in my temples. His chest… it was rising. Unevenly, haltingly, but rising. He was alive.
"Hey…" I called hoarsely, not daring to touch him. "Can you hear me?"
He didn't respond. His eyes were open, but his gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond this world, this moment. There was no awareness in his pupils. No will. Only emptiness. A deep, bottomless void, like the eyes of those villains at the overpass, the ones I… the ones they drained. And the same dry, chilling cold emanated from his skin.
He was alive. But there was nothing human left in him. No rage, no fear of us, no desire to fight. Absolute apathy. Complete loss of will. His fighting spirit—burned out, hollowed by that single touch of my power.
"He lives. His heart beats. His lungs breathe. That's more than he deserved," the Witch-king stated indifferently.
"Shut up…" I hissed, clutching my head, trying to drown out the voice. "Shut up!"
Standing, I looked at Mineta. He stared at me, and his eyes held not just fear but pure horror. Horror at what I'd done. At what I was.
"Is he… alive?" Mineta whispered, not taking his eyes off me.
"Yes," my own word felt foreign. "He's alive."
I knew I couldn't stay here. I couldn't face those empty eyes. I couldn't bear Mineta's gaze. I had to move. Act. Find the teachers. Find my classmates.
"Listen, Mineta," I took a step toward him, but he instinctively scooted back, as if I were contagious. My heart clenched, but I continued, trying to sound as firm as possible. "You need to stay here. Hide. I… I'll go find help. I'll find Aizawa-sensei or someone else."
"No! Don't leave!" His voice broke into hysteria. "They'll come! There are more of them! They'll find us!"
"They're already here!" I snapped. "And they're attacking everyone. I can't just sit here and wait. I have to do something."
I looked toward the Central Plaza. Muffled but ferocious sounds of battle echoed from there—explosions, cracks, shouts. A real war was raging. And Aizawa-sensei was there. Alone against dozens, if not hundreds.
The thought of him steadied me. He was out there, fighting, risking everything to protect us. And I was hiding in the ruins, afraid of my own shadow.
A new surge of resolve, bitter and desperate, pushed back some of the exhaustion and fear. I wasn't a hero. I was a monster with blood on my hands up to my elbows. But I could use that. I could become their worst nightmare.
"Finally," the voice in my head whispered, tinged with something like approval. "Finally, you understand."
Without another word to Mineta, I turned and ran. I didn't look back. My legs, moments ago weak and unsteady, now carried me forward with a new, inhuman lightness. The remnants of that strange power still pulsed in me, quickening my movements, slowing the world around me. I leaped over piles of debris, darted through narrow gaps between ruins, moving toward the sound of battle.