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Tomura’s face cracked open as his skin rushed to repair itself, stich by stich, and he could feel it like bile rising in his throat, the presence of something unwanted, demanding control and attention, threating to burst out. To be swallowed down like nausea.
“Like I said,” he insisted, exhausted and fed up, “I’m in control now, Master.” Even as he felt All for One around him, within him, like a phantom limb or organ that could not be severed through willpower alone. For it was a battle between wills – and All for One wanted more than his fair share, greedy pervert that he was.
The fight with the One for All user had all but faded away, and Tomura staggered forward into a liquid darkness, demanding his form be firm and unbroken. Hovering just behind him, then embracing him, trying to maintain him, was the familiar, unwanted ghost body of his master, and his coercive, soothing voice.
“You need not fight so hard, Tomura,” the voice said. “I will take over from here. After all, it is my power that has let you last this long, it is through my ruling that you are even alive.” It was through his whim – or devious plot and ambition – that Tomura had survived childhood alone. The large hand which wasn’t really there, stroking his face, was reminder enough of that. “You would have been burned to cinders, or perhaps plummeted to your death through your recklessness, were it not for me.”
Demeaning and overly critical, but with enough affection to take the edge of his negging, All for One chided him. His cloying presence, whatever it was, had wrapped around Tomura in a not quite physical sense – only his hands, the large, open palms, felt unmistakably real. Mockingly caressing Tomura’s head, and attempting to pull him back by a wrap around his shoulders.
“Shut up already,” Tomura said, trying to shake him off. “You had your time, Master. Now it’s my turn.”
“Don’t be like that. Why so sullen?” The hand on Tomura’s head fisted his hair and the one which had held his shoulder moved up to grip his chin. He could not see his Master’s face, though he knew that even if he’d been able to turn he’d see nothing but the darkness of this plane. All the same he could feel the essence of All for One standing right behind him, his cruel smile by Tomura’s ear.
“I gave you everything, Shigaraki Tomura. A throne to inherit, loyal subjects to help you seize it, the power to claim everything you desire and a world ripe to rule. And you return this ungratefulness and childish insolence.”
Tomura wrestled his face free and bit the hand which had held his chin. Had it been a real limb, he could’ve taken off a finger for a trophy, like All for One would’ve ended up with a clump of white hair in his other hand, as Tomura tore himself free.
But All for One was still there, somehow, somewhere, in some way, behind him.
“So annoying,” Tomura said. He flexed his fingers and felt them crack like they were real. “Thanks, but it’s my power now, and it’s in my body. Hang back and watch and bitch and moan for all I care, like I need more voices. Or I’ll disappear you like everything else.”
His threat was hollow, unlike the gratitude. Tomura didn’t mind the audience, just the interference. In this dark and empty limbo All for One could linger and watch him for the rest of time, and lament the fact that on top of everything else, he had given his creation the free will to forsake him.