Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mother…can someone cursed like me ever be a hero?”

That was the question that started it all. And her answer was why he had pick up that stick in the road to practise swinging every week, why he picked up that sword to defend his village when marauders came, why he kept hoping even when the followers of Allfather Lloyd dragged him to the Undead Asylum with no hope of release, to wait out his days until the ends of the world.

It was why, may all the gods help him, he was now fighting against the very will of the First Flame itself. He was fighting to kill the world.

An amalgamation of all the souls who, unlike him, were fit to be cinders. Those worthy enough to keep the First Flame alive, to perpetuate this dying world of theirs. And gods help him, he was trying to end it all.

The flaming sword hovers inches away from his face as he barely leapt back, but the heat itself was enough to sear his flesh against the metal of his helmet. He holds back a scream as the Soul of Cinder swung its sword again, this time he retaliates with a swing of his shield, slamming away the blade with all his might and causing the avatar of the First Flame to lose its footing.

A chance! He tosses away his melting shield as he levels his blade and quickly thrusts, an excellently executed riposte by all definitions. 

The blade thrusts and an inflamed arm stretched out to meet it. The enchanted steel blade in his hands was heated until it glowed a molten orange and his sword struggled before giving away and snapping from the heat and force.

A flaming blade punches through his chest, melting a hole through his plated armor as the heat burns every organ in his body. He was lifted in the air for a moment, their eyes meeting, and he sees the burning determination of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.

To think he could have been one of them at some point, he muses to himself as he was tossed like the garbage he was. An Unkindled, unworthy to be even cinders.

How he wished his mother had told him no, that he should have given up his dreams and Hollowed away like the cursed undead he was. How he wished she hated him instead, for her love had given him the determination to carry on. 

The Souls of Cinder turned its back on him, preparing itself for the next time they will face. This was not the first, nor the second, in fact he had lost count how long they had duelled for the fate of their stagnant, dying world. 

Tears fell from his eyes, but they were not tears of despair. They were tears of golden light, tears of denial. And with the burst of energy the miracle provided, he rose to his knees as the Souls of Cinder took notice of how his presence had not faded just yet.

His helmet’s straps were burnt off and it fell, revealing messy and sweaty locks of forest green hair as he hastily he uncorks an emerald flask of Estus, downing the last drops of it’s miraculous healing contents before rising to his feet once more, his wounds healing as he picked up his broken sword.

They were both on their last legs. He could see the fire that made up the Souls of Cinder flicker weakly, if he can get in one more good strike it would all be over. But the same can be said for him, the Estus may have given him another chance but it was only one. He was close, far closer than all his previous attempts, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep going after the next death. He has to succeed this time.

With a guttural roar he lunges forward with his broken blade and melting armour, as the Souls of Cinders did the same, the two clashing in a shower of sparks.

***

“Dude, are you sure this is a good idea?” a teenage boy in a school uniform asks his friend who eagerly shovelled away mounds of dirt that block two large sets of stone doors.

“Of course! Don’t you realise what this means?” the second boy, “Look, don’t you know how old this thing is?”

“Do you?” the first student asked doubtfully as he shrugged.

“Not a clue, but it’s definitely ancient! The entrance only got uncovered thanks to that earthquake yesterday, so you know what that means?”

“We’ll be the first ones here.” the first student says with realisation.

“We’ll be freaking rich!” the second student says excitedly, “We’ll split the profit 50/50! Now help out with your damn Quirk, will ya?”

“Right.” the first student says before touching the dirt mound that was blocking their way before activating his Quirk, and the mounds of dirt began peeling off in a small landslide that the second student barely backstepped to avoid.

“So what do you think is inside?” the first student asks, as he rubs his sore wrists.

“Whatever’s inside we’ll either be rich or famous or both.” the second student says ignoring the dirt on his pants and shoes as he marches forward to push the doors, “Damn it, this thing’s heavy as hell. Help me out will you?”

***

“Ashen One, hearest thou my voice still?”

He awakes with a shudder, like he has always done for the past years. How long has it been since he extinguished the flame? How long has it been since he locked himself away in the Firelink Shrine that now serves as his home and tomb? A dozen decades? A century maybe? Perhaps even hundreds of centuries?

Every time he awakes, hearing her voice in his head, reminding him of what he has done. Oh how he wished he could go Hollow, where once he would have feared such a prospect. But when he had first attempted to link the First Flame and failed, embers of it still remained in him, preventing it from happening.

He had fallen to slumber soon after dragging himself to the Firelink Shrine with the Fire Keeper, content with waiting out the rest of their life but he received no such mercy. Now here he was, the Firelink Shrine’s sole occupant.

He doesn’t get up from where he lays, next to the bonfire as always. Instead he shifts his body before closing his eyes once more. Maybe this time will be the last. Maybe this time when he closes his eyes he will never open them again. Please, may whatever new gods this new world has, let this be his final rest.

He can feel it, whatever connection he had with the First Flame of his time persisted with this new flame. Perhaps it was the reason he awoke, and finds himself unable to rest. A part of him has thought to open the gates of the Firelink Shrine and explore this new world he had a hand in creating, but he doesn’t.

He rather not know, it was easier to tell himself that it worked. That when he extinguished the flame, it allowed a new and better world to rise from the ashes of the old. A world without the Undead to fuel the flickering flames with their humanity, a world without crumbling cities on the verge of destruction, streets full of Hollow.

It was a wonderful dream, one he hopes he doesn't have to wake himself from.

But of course, he would have no choice in that matter, and for the first time, only gods know how long, the doors to the Firelink Shrine open. The stone creaks as aged hinges grind, the twin doors cracking open and for the first time light shines through, nearly blinding him.

He stands and reaches for the weapon embedded into the bonfire before him, pulling out a coiled sword before standing up to full height. He may not care what happens to him, but the Firelink Shrine was still the tomb of those he called companions and friends. None will disturb them, not while he still stands.

*One Week Later*

“Do we have an update?” Naomasa asks as he glances at the entrance of the ruins from behind the barrier the police have set up, armed SWAT officers pointing their guns at the entrance in case their query decides to stop hiding and come out with sword blazing.

“Negative sir.” an officer replies, “The negotiator still hasn’t gotten a response, and the latest Pro Hero strike team we sent in came out a couple minutes later with bruises and burns.”

“Again?” Naomasa asks in disbelief, he had been sure that with Eraserhead on the scene the situation would have been resolved far quicker, “Where is he now?”

“With the medics.” the officer gestures toa  medical tent nearby, “If you want the full report you should check with Eraserhead, he’s the only one still conscious when they pulled out.”

Naomasa nods his thanks and approaches a white tent with the red cross on it, finding Eraserhead being checked over by the medics. 

“Eraserhead, how’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been through worse.” he grumbles as he shrugs off the medic fussing over him.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me something new this time?” Naomasa asks hopefully, “How bad is the villain hurt this time?”

“How bad?” Aizawa scoffs, “I suppose he was a tad bit more annoyed than usual. Besides that it’s all the same old thing, by the time he completely dismantled the strike team he went back to that campfire, and sat down.”

“So no difference at all?” he sighs, “Did he manage to avoid your Quirk or something?”

Aizawa shook his head, “Negative, I was sure I used my Quirk on him but the bastard was as strong as always, he threw around Death Arms like a ragdoll and set Kamui Wood on fire.”

“So it’s some sort of Mutant Quirk then?” Naomasa suggests and AIzawa shrugs.

“Or maybe it’s that armour that’s blocking my view, if we can get it off there may be a chance but I wouldn’t bet on it.” Aizawa says before looking into his eye, “Look if you came here for my suggestion on what to do next, it’s to just wait it out. That guy’s gotta run out of food or water eventually.”

“Reconnaissance shows that he’s never moved from that spot ever since we first laid eyes on him.” Naomasa reminds, “Maybe he doesn’t need them?”

“In which case, maybe just close up the doors and bury him.” Aizawa suggests, “Hell maybe he’d even want that.”

“We can’t do that.” Naomasa shook his head, “He’s already attacked two kids who found him, one of them has third-degree burns. And he also attacked the officers sent to investigate, the SWAT team and the Pro Heroes. If it was an accident he would have turned himself in, this shows that he’s hiding something inside.”

“In which case, I recommend you bring more heroes. I can’t erase his Quirk, anything we try to incapacitate him like sleep gas or paralysis can’t work. The only way that seems plausible is to just overwhelm him with superior power.” Aizawa says before lying back down on the cot, “In which case you need to get someone preferably high ranking, we don’t know how long this guy can go before he starts seriously hurting or killing so we have to take him out quickly.”

“Trust me.” Naomasa says with a smile, “I think he’ll find the next one too much for him.”

Aizawa raises a brow in recognition before sighing, “That blonde idiot, doesn’t he start in UA next week? He should be preparing for that instead.”

“Hey this is him we’re talking about. He should be done before lunch time.” Naomasa says confidently just as the two of them heard something land outside along with familiar laughter.

***

He stares into the blazing bonfire as he awaits the next one that would enter the shrine. After the first two discovered it, there had been no end to them. They were definitely human, that much he can tell, to his relief. It meant that he had succeeded, the thought of that alone had him laugh and cry tears of joy even as he drove them away.

Whoever it may be, he will not let anyone disturb the Shrine. Still, he had not meant to injure one of them that badly. The first two he had attempted to scare away with a torrent of flames from his Firelink Greatsword, but to his surprise the flames had been much stronger than anticipated, nearly setting them on fire as they fled in fear and panic.

Like the bonfire, the embers on the armour he now wears was somewhat stronger. The armour of the Souls of Cinder that he had found where the Shrine Handmaiden had been when he first awoke after gods know how long after he snuffed the First Flames.

He had searched every inch of the Shrine for any sign of life but all he found was death. Whatever happened after the snuffing of the First Flame, he became the sole living, or rather undead, tenant of the Firelink Shrine. 

Perhaps it was left to him as a reminder, perhaps to mock him for his choice? Whatever message leaving the armour for him was meant failed to register but he kept it on anyway, a way of reminding him what he has done.

After he chased away the intruders, he had given it little thought and sealed the doors once more, content with the knowledge there was a new world, and hoping for rest. But then the doors opened once more and two more men arrived, dressed in blue and wielding strange items in their hands pointed at him.

Some sort of projectile launcher, like a crossbow, but they set off loud bangs like thunder. They definitely move faster than crossbow bolts and hit harder, but they possess no overall threat as he disposed of the two enemies and tossed them out broken and bruised, but alive. They had no killing intent towards him, so he will not take their lives.

But then the third group of men came, clad in black armour made of strange cloth with larger weapons. They again posed little threat as he sent them on their way out of the Shrine. 

Of course that wasn’t the end of it all, strange sorcerers came next. Warrior mages of sorts, likely an elite fighting force of whatever kingdom the Shrine has found itself in. He does not recognise their unique form of magic, they were similar but so unlike the sorceries, pyromancy and miracles he had faced before. Had it been in better circumstances he would’ve jumped in joy at seeing such fascinating spells and analysing how they function.

Days pass and they keep coming, and he keeps fighting them back each time. Occasionally they would shout at him with their strange tongue that he does not understand, it sounds vaguely Eastern but different at the same time. He ignores whatever they were speaking and continues his watch to make sure no one would defile the Shrine.

In truth these intruders did provide a brief reprise, a few moments to forget it all and be lost in the thrill of battle, but he still hoped they would eventually leave. He hoped with their latest defeat just hours ago, these warriors would be convinced of the futility of their mission and abandon their siege, to return to whatever home they have. But he knows firsthand how stubborn humans can be. He was living proof of their stubbornness after all.

Still, he has no intention to kill any of them, he has seen enough death and caused too many.

But if they force his hand…

He pauses his thoughts as his senses sharpen at something outside. The doors may be sealed once more but even through the thick stone he could sense the overwhelming power. Someone, or something, outside and it felt strong. It reminded him of battles against dragons and the Lords of Cinder. Whatever was approaching must receive his full undivided attention, unlike those that came before him.

Suddenly the doors explode, and he raises his armoured arms to shield himself from the raisn of broken masonry as a large figure emerges, one with strength befitting a lord, whoever this was he was likely some lord or even god of this new world.

He pushes away his annoyance and mild anger at the sight of his beloved Shrine being wrecked in such a manner, focusing and raising his blade towards this new foe that finds his way to him.

Be it man, lord or god, no one will step a foot in the Shrine while he stands watch. For his companions, friends and those that died here because of him it was the very least he could do to make penance.

“Sassato kōfuku shiro, vu~iran!” the giant of a man wearing a suit of strange fabric with the colours of gold, red, white and blue belows a battlecry in his strange tongue as he took his stance, “Naze tte? Watashi ga kita!”

Chapter Text

“You should give up now, villain! Why? Because I am here!” he declares like he has always done as he stared directly into the villain’s eyes through his visor. Even though he only has body language to work off, it was surprising that there wasn’t a single reaction from the villain. When he busted down the stone doors the only thing the villain did was pick up his sword, get up and into a stance ready to fight with the enthusiasm of someone handling a daily routine. 

From what he’s heard, this man assaulted children, police officers and fellow Pro Heroes. He had expected a raving maniac, not a silent and stoic figure awaiting him. Still, he has classes to teach in a week so he should take this villain down quickly.

“Listen up, villain. I’ll say this once, come in quietly.” he offers with an outstretched arm, “You may have injured many people but you didn’t kill them even if you had the chance. This tells me that maybe you don’t want wanton violence and bloodshed. If you can come with me, maybe we can work this out and get you a lighter sentence.”

No response came. For a moment he wonders if he was talking to some automaton type of Quirk, like perhaps the real villain was puppeteering this suit of armour from far away or having it act automatically.

He sighs at the lack of reply and readies his fist, “Very well the, the hard way it is.”

In the blink of an eye he dashes forward with an arm outstretched in a punch, “I’ll make this as quick as I c-?!”

He exclaims in surprise when all of a sudden the villain grabbed the shield strapped behind his back and swung it hard, deflecting his punch and causing him to lose his footing, staggering.

In that small opening, the knight-looking villain performs a straight kick to his chest that was caught by his other arm before it could land. The timing, speed and power needed to deflect one of his attacks, even if it wasn’t at 100%, was no joke. And the force behind the kick he caught wasn’t something to laugh at either, especially if it had hit him in his weak spot like he nearly did. In this brief moment, he suddenly knew that this man before him wasn’t to be trifled with.

But he could also tell he was still far stronger, proceeding to lift up the knight by the leg and swing him overhead, down into the ground and cracking it.

Not a single grunt of pain, uncomfortableness or even annoyance. The smouldering knight made no sound at all despite the rock cracking beneath him, only swinging the coiled sword he held on to.

The blade struck his midsection, and he grunted in pain and surprise, that even with the advanced bodysuit given to him by David Shield, he could feel the blade cutting through and the heat scalding him.

Quickly, with his grip still on the leg, he flung the villain at one of the pillars before checking on the wound he received. Whatever that blade was made of, it cut straight through and he could feel the heat radiate through his midsection. It was as if boiling water was applied directly onto him.

He hears debris shift and looks to see the villain get back up, dusting the debris and dust off him looking no worse for wear.

“You’re a tough one aren’t you?” he asks as he tries to hide his injury with bravado, “But in that brief exchange, we can both tell physically I’m stronger and faster. You’re not bad yourself, but the outcome is still as clear as day. Come quietly, that is your last warning.”

Instead however, the coiled sword of his began glowing orange with flames and suddenly he leaps into the air towards him, swinging it and unleashing a slash of flames with heat that reminds him of Endeavour’s.

“DETROIT SMASH!” he yells as he delivers a punch that sent shockwaves that dispelled the flames but his eyes widened when the flames dispersed and the villain was nowhere to be found.

For a moment he thought he used the flames to hide his escape when years of honed reflexes kicked in and he spun around in time for the coiled sword to strike at the back of his knee.

He stumbles and kicks at his foe only for him to leap to the side and vanish. Some sort of invisibility or teleporting Quirk? Impossible, he saw the flames and the enhanced strength already.

Another strike hits him, this time at the back and he does a roundhouse kick to hopefully catch him by surprise but he only hits air as another strike hits his side, thankfully not at his weak spot this time.

It was definitely some invisibility ability. He saw him return to normal for a moment before dashing and vanishing again. He just keeps hitting him in his blindspot and dashing before he could spot him, making it look almost like he was teleporting. In that case…

“TEXAS SMASH!”

He punches downwards, creating a small tornado centred around him and he sees the villain get knocked back, skidding to a halt and out of his invisibility. 

“There you are!” he exclaims victoriously before dashing in the blink of an eye, “CAROLINA SMASH!”

He crosses his arms in a cross shape and slashes them both upon reaching him, but the villain dodges away from his strike by rolling towards him the moment before he brings his arms down, before getting back up and striking at his side.

This villain was definitely more crafty than he gave him credit for. The timing was genius, but he’s figured out his fighting style by now. He avoids taking damage, and while he did remain unfazed by being slammed into the ground, it could mean he can only take so much before being defeated, thus keeping on the defensive by avoiding hits and striking when he was given an opening.

He was fighting smarter than most villains for sure, but if that was all he thinks he needs for defeating the Symbol of Peace then he’ll be mistaken.

He leapt onto the ceiling of this underground ruin before kicking against it to launch himself back down.

“CALIFORNIA SMASH!”

He slams down with his fist after a spin, and the villain rolls backwards away from the blow as he raises his shield, skidding across the floor from the shockwave. The villain notices his arm stuck within the ground and dashes forward for an attack, only to be taken surprised when Toshinori charges his arm with One for All and raises it out of the ground with such speed it launches stone at him.

The knight reacts quickly, raising his shield to block the rocks as he ploughed through the shower of stone. The same time, Toshinori leapt and grabbed onto the shield instead of hitting it, prying it off and delivering a punch directly into his chest and launching him down one of the ruin’s corridors, slamming into something hard.

“Sorry, villain. You got a few lucky blows, but I’m afraid it wasn’t even close.” he says as he marches up to the villain to apprehend him before he stops. A sharp wail, full of anguish and grief, hits him hard and he freezes.

Taking a few more steps forward he saw the villain cradling what appears to be a skeletal looking body in a grey dress and a strange mask covering the upper half of the skull. It appears when he had punched the villain, he had knocked him straight to some stone coffin and smashed it which caused the corpse to fall out. The villain shifts but this causes the bones to crumble into dust, flowing through his hands like flour through a sieve as he desperately tried to hold on until all he held was the dress and mask, and some bones that didn’t break apart upon touch.

He had many questions, but it was obvious that whoever’s body it was, this person cared for them a lot. He felt a pang of guilt for accidentally desecrating a grave, but he has a job to do and reaches for the villain’s shoulders to apprehend him.

But then he flinched back, suddenly it felt as if he had touched burning coal the moment he contacted the armour. The villain stops shaking and slowly turns his head to face him through his helmet’s visor. The embers present on his armour was intensifying and he suddenly felt like he was in the middle of a heatwave.

For the first time in a while, Toshinori Yagi felt dread.

***

Naomasa knew what he was expecting. For All Might to walk out of those ruins with the villain in custody, perhaps even willingly surrendering himself after seeing the Symbol of Peace. Those are the only two things that have happened when a villain makes contact with All Might, they are either arrested unconscious or conscious.

They do not send All Might flying and crashing into a tree with his suit covered in scorch marks.

“All Might!” he exclaimed as he and other officers that weren’t stunned at the sight ran towards the injured hero only for him to stop them.

“No! Stay back! Get the injured out of here now!” he orders, as he turns his attention to the ruin’s entrance. They all looked at it as well and all of them felt a chill run down their spine.

Everyone here knows that facing the potential of death was part of the job. Villains were unpredictable after all. But most until now have never felt it be this close.

It was like being in the middle of a natural disaster, even at this distance the heat was enough for them to start sweating as the armoured villain steps towards them menacingly, each step setting a patch of grass on fire.

In his hands was a coiled sword glowing red hot with the blade curved to appear like a scimitar, and in his other hand was a matching one.

“OPEN FIRE!” someone screams in a panic, and the police raise their guns to fire, but the villain reacts first.

He stabs one of his scimitars into the ground before raising his hand into the sky, crackling with golden orange lightning that is shaped into a spear-like shape longer than he was, before throwing it at them.

“GET DOWN!” All Might screamed as he grabbed the tree he crashed into, uprooting it and using it as a bat to slam into the lightning bolt, detonating it and launching away anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby, including himself.

***

Rage. That was all that filled his mind. At this Lord before him, at the fools who dare to besiege him, and mostly at himself.

The Fire Keeper’s coffin, her resting place, was defiled because of him. If he had dragged the fight outside, or fought more carefully, or maybe even gone for the kill the first time he saw an opening, this wouldn’t have happened.

He could see men in blue and armoured black men scrambling, to run and help those who have fallen to flee. He cares not for them, the sole focus of his rage being the Lord with blonde hair.

He lunges forward, the Firelink Greatsword in both his hands somehow split into two scimitars. He has never done that before, but then again he had little time to discover the full capabilities of the weapon before the snuffing of the First Flame. He had seen the blade take different shapes with the Souls of Cinder though.

He shakes off the useless thoughts and charges at the Lord still recovering from his earlier use of the Wrath of the Gods and Sunlight Spear. 

The Lord got up and punches at him, but he slides underneath the blow and slashes at his waist and legs in a spin. He was not holding back anymore, all he cared was taking out his anger on this one person for what he’s done.

His opponent was fast, and each strike carried power enough to topple buildings with ease. But he was faster, and he has fought faster and those just as strong.

He shouts something in his language, and performs a spinning manoeuvre with his arms outstretched creating a miniature tornado. But he saw it coming and flaps backwards in time to avoid getting sucked in and pummelling.

When the tornado diminishes enough he lunges forward with both scimitars outstretched. THe Lord sees this and moves backward to avoid the blow, but widens his eyes in surprise when streams of fire emerge from the tips of the blades, barely able to block the attack in time and burning away some of the strange fabric gauntlets he wore and leaving burns on the skin beneath it.

He continues his blitz of attacks, striking with both blades in a blur of orange, sending out streaks of flames from each hit, igniting the forest on fire and lighting up the dark sky. However, he didn’t care for such things, and all he cared about was hurting the man in front of him.

He tries another shockwave punch but he leaps out of the way in time, twirling around and slashing at his tights and back. The Lord then tries spinning backwards hoping to catch him with another fist but he flips back in time, while slashing at the arm with his blades.

All of them were shallow cuts unfortunately, even with the embers making each shallow cut a grievous burn, whatever flesh this Lord was made of was thick and imbued with immense magic.

He needs a bigger sword, but must also be swift enough to avoid any retaliating blows. Judging from the first direct hit that landed on him, he could last two more times. A blade large enough to deal devastating cuts but also allow him to remain mobile enough to dodge.

An image of an ideal weapon came to mind. The Farron Greatsword paired with its vicious, hooked dagger. The weapon of an Abyss Watcher, but to his annoyance he had left it back in the Shrine with all of his collection of weapons.

But then the weight in the weapons in both hands shifted, and his eyes widened behind his helmet at the sight of the sword on his right hand elongating and widening, as the right one shrunk and bent into the shape of a hook.

He doesn’t spend anymore time thinking about it, continuing his assault. Strafing and dodging blows but retaliating with the greatsword whenever he can.

His leg was caught in one of his strafes but he doesn’t relent and slashes at the hand with his hook dagger before kicking his way out. The Lord was now covered in cuts and burns through his body, his fabric armour had portions burnt away. He stabs at his chest with the greatsword but was surprised when the Lord caught it instead with his hand.

It was likely agony for him, he can see the pain from the cut and burn as he used all of his might to hold in a scream and pull him in by the sword. For a moment, despite his transgressions, he found himself respecting a fellow determined warrior.

He moves to dodge the blow and raise his dagger to shield himself from the shock, but he was a second too late and although he dodged most of it, the punch knocked the dagger out of his hand and shattered the bones in his arms.

He bites his lips at the pain flooding his body, although since he was an Undead the pain had been drastically dulled. He twists the blade still caught in the Lord’s hand and inflames it, hoping it would force him to let go but the stubborn man refuses and moves to headbut him.

He drops the sword and rolls as he lands, drawing a backup weapon from the sheathe behind him. A straight sword claimed from a Knight of the Ringed City, he thrusts it with his unbroken arm at the Lord’s waist where he had noticed him protecting earlier. It may be an old wound of sorts, and some may say his decision to strike it was the sign of cowardice against any code of chivalry. Fortunately he was no knight and cared no longer for any form of honourable combat.

The Lord seems to realise this and raises his hands to block the blow, the blade skewering his palm but not piercing through enough. As he was trapped by this, the Lord swung his fist to connect with his helmet.

But in the split second before the blow connects, the ancient brilliance of the Ringed Knight’s Straight Sword reignited for a flicker of a moment, a blade of flame elongating and stabbing through the hand and into the Lord’s midsection.

***

Toshinori resists screaming in pain as he yanks out the blade that embedded itself into his weak spot and hand. It was a titanic effort as his other hand was badly burnt as well from grabbing onto that fiendish looking greatsword of his.

All over his body cuts and burns fills his body with such pain he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not even Toxic Chainsaw came this close, despite taking serious injuries during that fight, the only one that did was him.

But thank goodness he knocked that villain out with that last punch. With the damage he did to his weak spot, he literally burnt up a lot of his remaining time left. Steam was already emitting from his skin, the telltale sign he was running on fumes.

But to his horror, he hears the clink of metal joints as the armoured villain slowly rises. Pushing himself up with his unbroken hand before taking out a strange green flask full of some glowing orange liquid before downing it through his helmet’s grills.

The twisted arm of his suddenly snaps back into place, flicking it to test it as he marches towards Toshinori.

He tries standing up, but falls back to his knees both from the pain and the lack of time left in his muscle form. The villain marches forward and picks up the straight sword Toshinori had yanked out earlier, still covered with cauterised blood. It glows orange in his hands, burning away any stains before pointing it at his throat. The intent behind the gesture was clear.

He wasn’t going to die, not now! Not when he has found his successor, who he has so much left to teach before he goes.

A loud gunshots interrupts his thoughts as a bullet strikes his helmet, causing him to stumble as the two turn to see Naomasa pointing his pistol at the armoured villain.

“Freeze! Drop your weapon, hands behind your heads now!” He orders but despite the bravery he was exhibiting he could tell that his friend was absolutely terrified at the killing intent exhibited by the villain. Yet still he was pressing on anyways, how can he as the Symbol of Peace lay still while someone like him was acting?

“No, Naomasa!” he grunts out in pain as he clutches his wound, “You must run!”

The armoured villain changes targets but still keeps a tight grip on his sword as he turns. Hastily, Toshinori tries his best to stand up, charging with what power he could still muster as the villain raises his sword…

Only to drop it, surprising both Naomasa and Toshinori.

“What?” Naomasa couldn’t help but express surprise as the knight looked like he was for some reason shaking and they heard choked sounds coming from behind the armour.

Was it some sort of limit on his Quirk? Whatever the reason it was what he needed, finishing manifesting all the power he had left and leaps forward at the villain.

“DETROIT!” he screams at the top of his lungs as he tackles the villain to the ground, raising his fist, “SMASH!”

A tornado of dust and dirt and ashes kicked up from the blow that connected, putting out most of the fire that was setting the forest ablaze.

He pants in exhaustion, taking a breath before looking around for his friend, “Naomasa?!”

“I’m fine.” he hears the detective cough out as he stumbles onto his feet, “God, if that was what being near your punch felt like I almost feel sorry for the villain.”

The villain laid in a crater unconscious with his limbs bent unnaturally, and surprisingly the armour wasn’t damaged too badly with only the helmet being seriously dented from the blow. Whatever it was made of, the armour was definitely resilient.

“What do you think happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” he confesses, “He was looking at you when all of a sudden he began shaking…It sounded like he was crying. But what could he possibly be looking at?”

They both turned at where he had been facing, as a warm yellow glow basked over them. They hadn’t noticed because of the forest fire but apparently the villain must have noticed the rays of the sun rising to greet them, marking the dawn of a new day.

“The sun…something like that stopped the villain from rampaging?” he asks befuddled as Naomasa shrugged.

“I suppose it does look rather nice.” he mutters before turning his attention to the unconscious villain, “Now let’s see what kind of person we’re dealing with here.”

Toshinori nods and walks up to the villain, prying the helmet off just in case the villain suffocates while unconscious. And his eyes widen in surprise when he sees the face of a young man.

“...He’s just a kid.” Naomasa mutters disappointedly. To think someone this young would turn to a life of villainy…

But something felt off, the boy’s skin looks pale in such a way he has seen only in corpses before. He touches his face and feels a worrying lack of warmth before moving to the base of his neck with his fingers.

“Oh my god…” he mutters to himself in shock, “Naomasa, this boy… He’s dead…”

Chapter Text

He has killed a child. The thought repeats itself in Toshinori’s mind ever since he felt the lack of pulse, even now in the hospital as Recovery Girl treated him.

He had just killed a child…

“Goodness gracious, I’ve not seen you in such a state in such a long time.” Recovery Girl grumbles as she wrapped his hands with bandages and used her Quirk on them, “You were lucky you didn’t lose any fingers, Toshinori.”

He looks down at his bandaged, burnt hands. The hands that killed a child…

“I thought he could have taken it…” he mutters to himself.

“Pardon?” Recovery GIrl asks not quite getting what he just said.

“That villain, no, that boy.” he corrects himself, “He took a few hits from me, even a direct punch. He even healed himself after the second punch. I thought he could have taken another…”

“You mean the one you fought?” Recovery Girl asks, “If you want to be specific about it, you didn’t kill the boy. From what it seems, the boy must have died days ago..”

“What?” Toshinori asks, snapping out of his funk, “What do you mean?”

“There has not been an autopsy yet but any medic worth their salt can identify just by looking and touching the corpse that it has been dead for quite some time even if decomposition hasn’t started yet.” Recovery Girl explains as she shows him a file, “We think it may be because of this we found on the body.”

Inside he sees a photo of the boy’s pale body shackled in a full body restraint similar to those used for Tartarus prisoners with black steel cables holding him down. The boy’s armour had been removed and placed alongside all the villain contraband in the police station, letting Toshinori see a strange mark over his heart.

A circular mark about the size of one’s palm was branded onto his skin that looked to be made of small flickering flames.

“When I saw the body, that mark was the first thing that caught my eye.” she continues, “The flames that made it up were still flickering. When I moved my hands near it, it felt warm like being near a match. It’s just a theory, but it could be his Quirk. Perhaps this flaming circle over his heart has replaced all needs for bodily functions thus making his body look like it's dead.”

“Are you sure?” Toshinori says hopefully but Recovery Girl shrugged.

“It’s a possible theory, considering reports said he was fighting you at full strength while throwing around flames hot enough to set a forest on fire.” She says, “A body does not become cold to the core after something like that.”

He concedes to that point and sighs with relief. He would not like the blood of a child on his hands, no matter what kind of villain they were.

“Yes, quite a conundrum isn’t it?”

A familiar voice surprises them as they turn to see Principal Nedzu entering the hospital room with a pair of earbuds and tapping away on a tablet.

“Principal Nedzu?” Toshinori asks in surprise as he nods.

“Yes, I apologise for dropping in unannounced, Toshinori.” Nedzu hums, “But I wanted to check on you after I heard your recent clash with a certain armoured villain. One who is dead, yet fought you and almost managed to beat you. Do you mind explaining what exactly happened in those ruins?”

Toshinori was confused on why the principal would come all this way for that. He wasn’t part of the operation from what he recalls, but it could be that because this villain has done what few others have before and managed to almost kill him. Sighing, he then begins to recount the events of what happened.

“I didn’t think much of it. From what Naomasa told me it sounded like a stronger than average villain, but when has that ever stopped me before? I was almost out of time sure, but I was confident that I would have defeated the villain before that happened.” he recalls, “But that boy? He was better than I thought. Everything about him was dangerous, from his skill with that blade, his reflexes and strength, and that fire he was able to summon.”

“And he did that all with direct combat against you?” Recovery Girl asks worried, “Even Toxic Chainsaw was able to hurt you badly because of ambush in a cramped building and hostages, as well as his devious Quirk. The only one that could stand against you in one on one was…”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Toshinori grunts as pain flares in his abdomen, before looking at Principal Nedzu, “Do you think that-?”

“Oh, definitely not.” Nedzu disagreed as he continued tapping into the tablet of his, “Just looking at the data from the ruins tell me otherwise.”

“Data? I didn’t know you were involved.” Toshinori says and Nedzu shrugged.

“More like this event caught my curiosity, after all why would an ancient temple of ancient European design appear in the middle of Japan? And why is the stone making up the building older than most fossils, yet it hasn’t collapsed on itself? Curious isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

Nedzu flips over the tablet and shows him pictures of the ruins, “When I first heard of this, I called in a few favours to have samples of the ruins taken and given to me for research, as well as any pictures of the interior they could. You recall they used drones to attempt and scout out the inside?”

“Yes.” Toshinori nods, “I also recalled the drones were destroyed almost instantaneously before they could provide any useful data.”

“Correction. Any immediate useful data.” Nedzu says as he flicked the tablet’s screen and switched to a picture of the ruin’s interior, “It was only a glimpse but several pieces of writing could be seen in the few images captured, such as on these throne-like structures surrounding our villain.”

Toshinori looks and recognises it at the area where he fought the villain, with him at the centre beneath the thrones sitting beside a bonfire created by his coiled sword.

“Letters that I’ve never seen before.” Nedzu continues with excitement, “I’ve communicated with historian acquaintances of mine and they all agreed, while they share similarities with Old English and Latin used in mediaeval eras in the West, they are still uniquely different. Never seen before! Now think of it this way, a ruin older than fossils that has not been opened since last week, with a design foreign to Ancient Japan, and letters that no one has seen before.”

“...But that’s impossible!” Recovery Girl exclaims, “What you’re implying…No living creature would be able to survive that long!”

“Exactly.” Nedzu agreed, “No living creature. But what we have chained up in the police station is far from a living creature, don’t you agree?”

Both of them were stunned silent at the implications before suddenly a familiar ringtone sounded out,

“A phone call is here! A phone call is here!”

“Pardon me.” Toshinori says as he blushes in embarrassment before answering the call, “Hello?”

They two wait patiently for Toshinori to finish his phone call when suddenly his eyes widen in shock and fear, 

“He what?!”

***

He wasn’t going to strike down the strange man in the coat. He could see the fear in him, his legs shaking, but still he stood firm, likely out of loyalty to the Lord he was about to slay. He could respect that, and was prepared to strike him in such a way as to only wound, not kill.

And then he saw it, for the first time in gods know how long he saw it.

Sunlight.

And by the gods it was beautiful as the day he last saw it. He couldn’t help himself, he wept shamelessly at the sight like a newborn child finding their mother after a bad nightmare. At that moment nothing else mattered.

And then a colossal force slammed him to the earth before bringing down a fist with the force stronger than that of a dragon landing on his head. Once again carelessness has ended him, and he can only sigh to himself as darkness encompasses him, waiting to awaken by the bonfire like he has done so many times before.

But only this time he didn’t. Instead he awoke in a white room, strapped to a slab of metal with strange black cables stronger than steel holding him down to the metal bed.

For a moment he panics, his mind flashing back to one of the first deaths he has ever experienced. Marauders plagued his village and being the naive idiot he was back then he grabbed the sword of a fallen militiaman and took it up believing he would become a hero.

He slayed two before he died. The first one had been lucky, he strode up to a marauder with his back turned and idiotically he announced his presence to challenge him as it was the  “proper way”, had the marauder not been overconfident he would have been skewered. The second one stabbed him in the back, but adrenaline carried him and he stabbed through himself to get the marauder.

The next thing he knew, he awoke in an Undead Asylum. Locked away with only the tattered clothes on his back, with no one to accompany him but the howls of Hollows banging at the bars of their cells.

His breathing, even if he no longer needed breath to live, accelerated and he felt like he was hyperventilating. In that moment he reverted to old habits, and his first prayer in a long time left his lips.

“Oh Lord Gwyn, merciful Lord of Light, 

Slayer of Dragons, greatest of the Gods,

Grant this unworthy soul a smidgen of thy blessings, 

As thou did to the firstborn, and his loyal two knights,

Grant this one strength to overcome whatever comes his way,

And with thy grace, I shall strike down…”

He trails off as he remembers the rest of the prayer and his heart sank, but he reflexively continued anyways,

“...I shall strike down those that threaten thy glorious Age…”

Ironic that now he would be the one struck down by those that spoke the prayer. But there was no one else but him that would remember the prayer now. The irony was thick and he finds himself laughing at it in his madness.

He wanted to cry, but his eyes just sting instead with his tear ducts dried up.

Just as he was controlling himself to reign in his wild emotions, a steel door leading to the room opens and a familiar figure in a coat steps in.

“You again.” he mutters mostly to himself in surprise. But the man only looks at him confused, apparently the Lordric tongue has not survived the Age of Dark. He feels a mix of emotions at that.

The man in the coat sat down at a table facing him, and said something in his language that he did not understand a word of.

“You brought me here alive instead of killing me... What do you want?” He asks this time in the Eastern tongue from his homeland before his family moved to Lordran. Again this only gained confused stares as the man in the coat tried to ask another question,

His patience was beginning to drain. Why was he still alive? What reason do they have to capture him? Suddenly he realises.

He was without his armour, dressed in strangely comfortable clothing that he did not own. They must have seen his Darksign, and humanity of this age must never have seen an Undead before. Not since he took the entirety of the curse onto himself and snuffed the Flames.

If humanity of this age was like the one he knew, they would investigate it. Maybe even replicate it if they learn of what it can do, despite what it could bring upon their civilisation. His blood boils at the thought.

Not just at that, but at the realisation he left the Shrine undefended with his capture. The image of tombs being looted, bodies desecrated cause the embers within him to flicker.

He will not allow either of those things to happen. Never again.

The man in the coat shouts something at him in a panic, likely realising his intentions. He started shouting something, even drawing his strange projectile launcher and pointing it at his unarmoured body.

He snaps the restraints holding him after some effort, and the man fires at his shoulders the moment he breaks free. He ignores the sting on his shoulders and charges, swatting the man aside and kicking down the door blocking his way. He needed to get out of here and return back to the Shrine, but he needed to find where his weapons were stored first. He doesn’t know if it was the special nature of them, but he could feel a strange connection to his Firelink Greatsword and armour through the embers of the Flame. They were definitely in this building, wherever they are he needs to find them.

The thin metal door collapses from the force of his blow and he steps out before a strange piece of white cloth wraps around him, and he turns to see a figure in black staring at him with red eyes.

He remembers this one. He was with the warriors that besieged the Shrine, and he recalls this one had strange eyes that somehow weakened the embers within him. Not enough to smother them, but an effort was made anyway.

He easily snaps the cloth bindings as the warrior pulls out a dagger of strange design, about the length of a forearm, before lunging at him with his other hand on his binding cloth ready to ensnare him again.

While his strange red eyes may weaken his fires it did next to nothing to his physical abilities. Had he faced this man back when he was first starting out on his adventure, there was zero doubt he would be slaughtered with ease.

But he wasn’t a fresh boy stumbling out of his cell in the Undead Asylum anymore. He carefully waits for the arm with the blade to be swung at him, aimed to wound and disable but not kill, he realises, and uses his left hand to snatch and twist it before bringing his knee to slam into his stomach.

To his credit the man was able to raise his hand to block, but he heard and felt the bones fracture from the impact. Still stunned by the blow, he tightens the grip on the man’s hand and fling him to the wall, cracking it as he slumps unconscious.

They were not Undead like him, or most of the foes he faced. He’ll be as lenient as he can but they were really starting to get on his nerves. He storms out only to hear a thundercrack and something impact on the floor a few inches away leaving a miniature crater.

He turns and finds a group of men in black armour pointing their large projectile launchers with curved transparent shields in front of them. A strange and rather questionable design, they looked flimsy and he doubts their ability to withstand blows. But he supposes it does allow them to aim with ease with their launchers.

The one appearing to be a leader of sorts shouts something at him, using a hand to point and gesture downwards. Likely asking him to surrender or something akin to that. He sighs and instead conjures a flame on his left hand.

They shout at him louder and if they had fired then he wouldn’t be able to dodge their bolts. Even if a single one wouldn’t kill him, they would stun and injure him while he is without his armour, and even with his durability enhanced by the souls he has amassed over his journey, the damage would still eventually overwhelm him.

He slams the flame on his body just as they fired but it was too late. His outer skin transmuted into iron flesh in a flash of fire, feeling the burning sensation the process would inflict on him. Bolts struck iron flesh as he slowly marched forward, undeterred by the hail of bolts showering over his skin.

Over the deafening thunder cracks he hears them audibly panic at the sight and back up slowly to get distance but he doesn’t allow for that. With a swing of his hand, he combusts the air in front of him creating a flash of flames that startled the closest armoured soldier.

He reaches forward and grabs the shield of the man, tearing it off and he panics, firing a burst of bolts point blank but he ignores him and grabs the soldier by the throat, before hoisting him backwards and throwing him at the mob of soldiers.

They scatter else they were hit but stopped firing as a result, in fear of hitting their own allies. His iron skin dismisses itself on command and he lunges forward, unhindered by the weight encumbering him.

He grabbed the first soldier that recovered, attempting to club him with the butt of his weapon. He catches the launcher before tearing it off and slamming it against his guts, launching him into the wall of this narrow corridor.

Two more came at him, hoping to fire off shots at point blank but he quickly dispatched them with one strike each. More of the mob were swarming him, some with blunt batons but he dispatched them all in similar ways. A few got some good hits in, striking him while he was distracted but they weren’t any grievous wounds and would only result in slight bruising, not even worth using Estus on.

Still there were quite a number of them and he was unarmed with only his pyromancy which wasn’t useful for stopping fights non-lethally. He grits his teeth in annoyance as a baton strikes him across the face, grabbing the offender by the leg and swinging him against his allies like a makeshift club to clear the way.

But more men in blue arrived from around the corner with their smaller projectile launchers. He grunts in annoyance before lifting the armoured man in black over his head and throwing him at the crowd, scattering them as he breaks into a sprint, throwing off anyone that tries to latch onto him.

He leaps over a railing and throws himself down a stairwell to avoid a group of men in blue clogging it as they were charging towards him. They immediately tried circling around to catch him but their haste just slowed them down, granting him enough time to sprint away towards where he was feeling the call of his weapons and armour.

But just as his luck would have it, he finds it behind a thick steel door and scowls. He doesn’t have time to break it down with brute force, so he ignites the flame in his left hand and points forward the steel door, calling upon the chaotic flames of the witches of Izalith.

A red hot streak of flames spewed from his palm, focusing it into a sort of high pressure stream that melts through the steel door with ease, before he turns it to both ends of the corridor to create molten lava to block his pursuers.

He strolls in to find shelf after shelf of strange items. Was this some room where these soldiers stored equipment captured from their enemies? He barely recognises most of them, likely some strange form of weaponry local to this age. But to his surprise there were a few he recognised such as knives and to his surprise, even a katana.

To think a weapon from his age was found here. There was no rust or any form of deformities on it, meaning it was either a relatively recent creation or it had immense enchantments to survive the sands of time.

He shakes his head and focuses on his own equipment, stretching out his senses to feel for it before his eyes wander to a locked container. He walks over and kicks it open, shattering the metal lock on it to reveal the armour and sword kept within.

He couldn’t wear the armour now, it would take too much time to put on by himself. So he grabs the sheath that contained the sword of the Ringed Knight and quickly strapped it to his waist and lifts the Firelink Greatsword.

At his command, it changes shape and creates a flexible strap made of metal allowing him to wear it on his back. With that done he closes the crate and lifts it with one hand, before touching the Darksign across his heart. Now with his equipment returned, he can return back to the Shrine.

But before he could return, he heard a voice call out from behind him in a familiar tongue.

“Hold, One of Ash.” an unfamiliar voice calls out, “Cease this at once.”

The accent was terrible, and the words spoken sounded like the person was unfamiliar with speaking in Lordric like he once was. But just hearing someone speak that language was enough to give him pause.

He spins to glance at who said that only for his jaw to drop at the sight. Despite his experience and what he has seen in his journeys, there were apparently still things that would surprise even him.

“Apologise I, for I not know much of your speak.” A strange rat-like creature that stood on two legs said as he approached, reaching up to his knee and wearing clothes that looked like something a noble would wear, “Only one week to study and guess.”

“...” he doesn’t speak a word, too stunned at the sight before him to respond.

 “No harm.” the rat says as he raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, “We wish not harm. Only talk. Peace want.”

“...Your Lordric is terrible, and so is your accent.” he couldn’t help but say in response to hearing the language get butchered like that, “I’ve heard children speak better than you.”

“Many apologies.” the rat-thing bows his head, “But you talk now. Suppose talk want?”

He thinks for a moment, he does not wish to return to the Shrine only to be besieged until the world’s ending, and if talking to this…thing would gain him peace he would take that chance.

He lowers his hand from his Darksign as the rat-thing smiles at its success, or at least he thinks it did.

“You wish for peace?” he asks somewhat doubtful as he drops the chest containing his armour, “Very well then, creature. If peace is what you seek, then terms of peace we will discuss.”

Chapter Text

He frowns as he sees the rat pour him a familiar fragrant scented liquid inside a ceramic teacup. The type you’d only see in a noble or well-off merchant’s household. He would know because he had originated from one of the latter.

You do not have a cup poured for a prisoner of war. Maybe if they were a prized hostage from a noble family that could be ransomed for, but not for a random soldier no matter how skilled. The act of doing such a thing spoke to him as if the rat was flaunting his wealth, position and power over him for intimidation.

A rat pouring him a cup of tea…It was like the beginning of a ridiculous joke. It was a shame the tea would be wasted on an undead like himself, but he accepts the offered cup anyways, or else he risks appearing rude and ruining negotiations.

There was now a strange metallic box-like artefact in this white room where they were both, like the one he was kept in when he awoke. However, he had been allowed to keep his weapons with him, on the pretence that it was to make him feel safe.

What fool did this rat think he was? The only reason you would allow a potential enemy to have a weapon during negotiations is that you were an idiot or you know that no matter what he brings it would be ineffectual against you.

What manner of enemy was the seemingly harmless creature in front of him? The scar on his eye spoke of one that had seen live combat, so like with any other threat, if they were to face each other he had to assume that he was capable of killing him in a single strike.

“Is the tea not to your liking, Ashen One?” the rat spoke into the strange artefact and it spouted off fluent Lordric. It was jarring to hear a mechanical voice like that, but he accepted it quickly. Likely the unfamiliar magic of this new Age.

“It is a good blend.” he lies having lost his sense of taste along with so many other things the moment the Darksign first appeared over his chest, “Now tell me, why am I here? I beat your soldier and you pour me a cup of tea. That does not make much sense to me.”

“Soldiers?” the rat chuckles, “There are no soldiers in this facility. Only officers and Professional Heroes.”

“Pardon?” he asks thinking whatever magic used was mistranslating what the rat just said, “Professional…Heroes?”

“Ah, yes you likely never heard of them from wherever you came from.” the rat says with a tone of excitement, “In our world, a majority of people are born with abilities that could be considered supernatural. Our Pro Heroes are those trained to use their abilities to prevent others from misusing theirs.”

So this world had people become natural-born sorcerers? He tries to imagine Londor like that, with a majority of its population from children to the elderly able to cast sorceries, pyromancies or miracles. He shudders at the thought, as facing hordes of magic-wielding Hollows would no doubt have made his journey significantly harder. But how would he have fared if he was able to cast magic since he was a child? Would he have chosen a different school of magic? Would he have become an arcane master of the arts of Soul Sorcery? Or master all three perhaps? What would have happened to the ancient arts of Flame Sorcery that predated Pyromancy?

“Pardon?” the rat asks in a confused tone, “I don’t think our translator got that, you were too fast and quiet.”

He clenches his teeth, not having meant to say that out loud. Of all things to still exist after the Age of Dark, of course, his muttering habit would be amongst them.

“Nothing, just a force of habit.” he shrugs off before glaring at the rat, “We were discussing peace you said, my terms are very simple. Your men leave the Firelink Shrine alone now and forever, you allow me to return to my rightfully earned rest unimpeded, and we will have peace.”

“Hm, reasonable terms. I assume you value your isolation?” the rat admits as he puts a strange white cube into his drink before stirring it, “Sugar?”

He couldn’t help but look oddly at the small cubes in the bowl, picking one up to inspect it as he gave his answer, “I have no interest in whatever new Age I find myself in. Whether it is one of Fire or Dark, your kind can run it however you like as long as you leave me out of it.”

“An Age of Fire and Dark?” the rat asks as he takes a sip from his cup, “Pray tell, what do they mean? I find such terms unfamiliar. You refer to the era you were born into?”

“It is of no consequence.” he grunts, wanting to slap himself for his momentary lapse of the tongue, “Forget any mention of them. Once I return to my solitude you will likely never come across any mention of them so it’s just a waste of time.”

“I’m a bit of a scholar actually.” the rat says, “Learning about a society that predates all modern knowledge would be most exciting. Besides, although I may not be in command, my word carries great weight around these parts. Great enough to secure your release and isolation. A story should be a small price to pay, is it not?”

“...Very well.” he sighs after a moment of consideration before snorting as he remembers something, “Honestly if I have a soul for every time I tell this tale to a rat, I would have three.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you would talk to anything if you’re isolated long enough.” he shrugs before beginning the story, “You wish to know about the Ages? Well, listen closely, for I will speak this once. In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of grey crags, Archtrees and Everlasting Dragons. But then there was fire and with fire came disparity.”

***

“Can you believe what he’s saying?” Aizawa asks as they watch the interaction between the principal and the villain who for some reason was allowed to retain his weapons! Had it been his decision, he wouldn’t be allowed in the same room but he trusted the principal’s judgement. Not without complaints though.

“I must say, being older than fossils were already stretching my suspension of disbelief.” Toshinori mutters, “But dragons and gods?”

Both of them were placed on standby in case the villain started acting up again, as well as a squad of armed police officers in the other room was ready to shoot at the villain through the walls if given a signal. He would have considered the use of armour-piercing rounds with sniper rifles to be overkill had he not seen the villain in action, but he still hopes they would not have to be used.

“Well if Nedzu’s right then this kid’s older than dinosaurs.” Aizawa shrugs, “Maybe these gods are just people with very powerful Quirks. And dragons were just dinosaurs before dinosaurs?”

“But people with Quirks only appeared two hundred years ago,” Toshinori argues.

“And according to the principal, this kid is older than recorded history.” Aizawa counters, “It sounds absurd, but it has some sort of logic to it.”

“You believe he’s that old?” Toshinori asks sceptically and Aizawa shrugs again.

“I believe that the principal isn’t the type to make a mistake like that. If he says the kid is that old I don’t doubt he is.” Aizawa explains, “The only other explanation is that there’s some time travel Quirk involved which is even more insanely ridiculous. Besides, have you seen the way the kid speaks?”

Even though a translator program, they could still hear the tone of the kid’s voice as he told his tale. The belief and slight awe in his tone as he recounted the story, there was also a tone of zealotry within them. They didn’t need Naomasa’s Quirk to tell that he believed what he was saying, and was not lying. You couldn’t fake the belief that was dripping from his voice.

“It just brings us back to the question, what the hell does Nedzu want from this kid?” Toshinori mumbles as he watches their talk.

***

“...That is quite the tale.” Nedzu says after a pause, taking the time to digest the story, “And how does that lead to you, Ahsen One? I assume that is a title from what I could translate in that shrine of yours. What is your name?”

“My name?” the Unkindled mutters. How long has it been since anyone asked that from him? Long enough that it has vanished from his memories along with so many other things, “...I have no name. I’m only the Ashen One, an Unkindled, and likely the last to ever exist.”

“Unkindled?”

“Those who attempted to link the Flame only to be faced with failure.” he mutters bitterly before realising the rat likely has no idea what he was talking about, “As the First Flame waned and flickered, our Lord Gwyn sacrificed himself to keep the Flame burning longer. But when it started fading once more, the duty came to us Undead to continue linking the Flame. But some of us were not worthy, burning to ash. Beyond even an Undead’s ability to return from death.”

“And yet here you still stand.” the rat notes, “Appearing quite fine for a pile of ashes.”

The Unkindled grimaces, “In the final years of the Age of Fire, Prince Lothric was raised to be the next Lord of Cinders, to sacrifice himself to link the Flame. But he wavered in his duty and refused. Desperate, the past Lords of Cinders were brought back, but they too refused their duty. With no hope left, in desperation to keep the Fire burning, they brought back the least of all. We, the failures, were brought back as Unkindled. To hunt down the Lords of Cinder and return them to their thrones and do their duty.”

“But yet the Age ended?” the rat inquires, “You mentioned ‘final years’ and I do not recall hearing about anything you said in all our history. How did it all end?”

“...How?” he mutters as the memories come back. Flaming blade cutting him into little pieces, lightning scorching him, Soul arrows shattering against his shield before riddling him with holes, and finally he sees the Fire Keeper kneeling before the last embers of the Flame with himself looming over her. All the while, the howls and death cries of every creature he had ever slain ring through his head, haunting him.

“It’s because of me.” he says softly, surprising the rat a slight bit, “I killed the First Flame’s guardian so I could fulfil my duty and link the Flame but then I realised something as we fought. It didn’t matter. I was fighting so I can extend our pitiful age for just a tad bit more. All because a selfish, paranoid god I worshipped damned my people with this fate. Nothing will matter because no matter what I did the Age of Dark will come. Linking the Flame will just draw out everyone’s suffering and pain before it all ends anyways so I went out on my terms!”

He rants at the rat, accidentally over-exerting his strength and crushing the steel table before him before he looks downcast and defeated, “...Then I forced a dear friend to do something she doesn’t want, but had no choice but to obey me…I forced her to snuff the Flame and scatter the Embers so that the Age of Dark may come…I forced my friend to fulfil my selfish desire, forcing her to drive a knife into the dying heart of our Age…A friend whose name I never even learnt…”

He looks into the rat’s eyes, his glare met by an impassive look that only served to inflame his frustration.

“You wanted to learn what you’re dealing with? Now you know… the worst mass murderer of all time…” he says exhausted before steeling himself, “Now unless you want a demonstration as to why I’m considered that, you will let me go. Just let me lock myself away until the end of the world. Please.”

He says pleadingly, with as much sincerity as he could muster. And the damn rat only stirred his tea in thought before drinking from his cup. He waits for his answer with waning patience, his grip on the table tightening and crushing it before the rat gave his answer.

“That is a fascinating tale, Ashen-” he begins but was cut off.

“Spare me any more frivolities and give me your gods damned answer!” he yells in frustration as he flips the table to the side, smashing it against the wall as the rat only looked on unfazed, “Yes or no?!”

“No.” the rat says bluntly and without any hesitation. 

The Ashen One reaches for the straight sword hanging on his waist, “So I will have to cut myself a bloody path out of this prison?”

“More of a guard station.” the rat corrected without a hint of fear even as he drew the straight sword and pointed it at his face, “But no, I will not be allowed to release you. Not right away at least.”

“Explain yourself,” he demands as the blade glowed hot orange.

“Simple. My influence only extends so far, and many groups would love to take advantage of a strong warrior like yourself.” the rat explains, “If you wish for protection, to secure your Shrine against future assailants and constant harassment, I want you to come with me-”

“And be a sellsword?” He scoffs remembering the many that would try to have him do their dirty work like Yuria of Londor, “I am no one’s assassin.”

“But many would like for you to become their assassin.” the rat continues, “Such as the HPSC, an organisation within our government. They have more than enough power to do so, and while I doubt they may capture you, you will never rest in peace again. And besides, I have no need for an assassin, but I do have a need for talented students.”

“Pardon?” the Ashen One blinks in confusion, “You wish for me to enter tutelage under you?”

“Exactly.” the rat nods, “Study in my school for only three years, graduate from it, and by then I will have enough time to secure your guaranteed freedom. Think of it as one of three options, one is that you become an assassin or thug for another powerful organisation that will never let you go, and the other is to wage a one-man war against this entire country and perhaps even the world as they try to exploit your power, or you spend a measly three years in my school. You will be treated as a normal student, expected to act like one and to graduate but I vow beyond that I will ask for nothing more.”

It was on paper a good deal, but too good to be true. What did he have to gain from all this? What exactly will he be learning? 

He asks that and the rat smiled, “Why you will be learning how to become a Professional Hero of course. To be a guardian and saviour of the innocents. Truth be told, I too wish to take advantage of your power. Your performance against one of the strongest beings of our world proved that if channelled in the right direction you could accomplish many amazing things, save countless lives.”

“Let me guess, this ‘right direction’ will be one taught to me by your school?” he scoffs at the obvious ploy.

“It is the right direction that will be beneficial for peace.”

“According to you.” he growls, “I have many serpents whisper such things to me. Promises that their way is the right way and only their way. Only through them, they can save the world, to create some sort of promised paradise. What makes you any different from the other options you have listed? Why not I just save the trouble, kill you and everyone that dares come my way.”

“The difference is that the choice is yours. Three years from now when you graduate you can choose to either join the modern world and become a Professional Hero, or vanish back into the darkness of your Shrine, never to be disturbed again. If you choose the latter, as disappointed as I will be, I will respect your decision and do everything in my power to secure your peace. The others will not let you go, but I swear that I will.”

“...How can I trust you?” he asks after a moment of thought, his blade losing its heat and returning to its normal metallic colour.

“Besides my word that I swear on my honour as a principal? Nothing that would convince you.” the rat shrugs unconcerned, “It is all your choice, Ashen One.”

“...” he thinks long and deep on that, thinking every option to get out of this without having to deal with this rat. The tip of his sword never shifting from the rat’s throat before raising it above him, “Even in this new Age, rats continue to spew poison, even if it's a different type…”

The rat doesn’t flinch as he slammed the sword down, stabbing it straight downwards and piercing the floor, as the Ashen One kneels before him reluctantly.

“Upon my birth name, whatever it may be. I swear that if you keep your promise of peace, I will become your pupil for the next three years, and expose myself to whatever lessons you have planned.” he says through gritted teeth, “Does that satisfy you, rat?”

“Please, you’re my student now.” the rat chuckles as he sips his tea, “Call me Principal Nedzu. And upon my name and position, I swear that if you so choose, your peace in your Shrine will be granted after three years. Are we in accord?”

“Then this covenant is sealed.” he says bitterly, “I leave myself in your care as your student, Principal Nedzu.”

Chapter Text

“First of all, what the hell are you thinking?” Aizawa asks as he slams his unbroken hand on the table, “Second, what the hell are you thinking?!”

“Why, I am finding ourselves another student for our school of course. If I recall only thirty-nine students had passing grades from the first-year Entrance Exam.” Nedzu responds as he takes another sip from his cup, “What else am I doing?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he scoffs, “Letting an unhinged villain who nearly killed All Might study next to our students! What the hell, Nedzu?!”

“Our school’s job is to mould potential children into becoming some of the greatest Pro Heroes the country has ever seen.” Nedzu says, “This child is merely another one that has the potential to be a Pro Hero, perhaps even more.”

“More?” Aizawa asked, confused as Nedzu continued.

“Imagine it Aizawa, an immortal Pro Hero that is unkillable with the strength to fight the world’s strongest Pro Hero on even terms. Think of the potential if he’s given the right push down the road to become a hero.” 

“I’m thinking of what happens if we piss him off enough with him within reach of our students!” Aizawa retorts, “I’ve worked with you for the past five years, I’ve seen the crazy shit that you do but this is honestly, possibly the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done! You’re gambling on the safety of our students!”

“The risks to our students have been taken into account.” Nedzu assures, “As well as the risks of leaving this boy to his own devices. Doing so will be equally risky or even more so. What if some villains or organisations get their hands on him? What if he decides to enter a life of crime by himself? Better for us to guide him down the right path than risk leaving it to chance.”

Aizawa was about to retort but Nedzu cuts him off, “I will be discussing this with the rest of the staff as well, so you can trust contingencies will be in place if the worst comes and our young student goes rogue. But until then I wish for you to trust me, is that too much my old student?”

“...I hope you’re right about this.” Aizawa says reluctantly before pointing a hand warningly, “Because if anything happens, it’s going to be on you.”

***

Toshinori sat in silence as he drove the car towards Marakou Park where the ‘Firelink Shrine’, as Nedzu called it, was located. Occasionally he spares a glance at the young boy beside him.

Despite his attempt at a neutral face, he could see the boy’s fascination and curiosity the moment he saw a car for the first time, and the glint in his eyes as they travelled through the city. 

“Take the scenic route there.” Nedzu had told him, to show the boy what he is missing in this world. Despite his misgivings about Nedzu’s plan, he trusted the principal. After all, he was the man (or animal) who stood by him in his mission against All for One.

Still, it was weird to see the boy who earlier tried to kill him struggle to maintain a blank face as he gazed out of the window.

“…Are all cities like this?” the boy muttered, which was barely picked up by the translator device Nedzu had made for them. A modified version using earphones that he made in a fifteen-minute coffee break. Sometimes he forgets how terrifyingly clever the principal was.

“Yes, every city looks like this across the country,” Toshinori responds, causing the boy to glance at him with surprise, likely not intending to have said that out loud.

The boy didn’t respond and he thought they would continue the rest of the ride in silence before he spoke up again, “I won’t apologise. You may have destroyed her grave by accident but it still happened because of you.”

Toshinori tensed a bit. He knows Nedzu said he could trust the boy not to hurt him but after their fight, he was still wary of the young man, “I don’t blame you. If someone picked a fight with me and destroyed the grave of a dear friend, I think I would have reacted similarly. Without trying to kill them of course.”

The boy sighs, “Perhaps trying to kill you was a tad too far. I was too overwhelmed with rage to think rationally. Nevertheless, blood has been paid for so do not expect any future retaliations from me. You have my word.”

“I’ll take it.” Toshinori nods. Looks like the principal was right once more. He probably should continue the ride in silence but curiosity got him to speak once more, “Who’s grave was that, if you don’t mind me asking? Were they family?”

The boy glares at him for a moment before his anger fades and he resumes looking tired, “...A Firekeeper of the Firelink Shrine. She was likely one of my closest friends.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Toshinori says but the boy scoffs.

“Why apologise? You didn’t know her, nor were you responsible for her death in any way.” the boy growls, “I was.”

Toshinori was silent once again, remembering the story the boy had told to the principal. A warrior who supposedly killed all of humanity in ancient days far older than dinosaurs. It sounded ridiculous, but here was a living proof that his story wasn’t a complete fiction.

He could see the look in the boy’s eyes, haunted by mistakes and grief. He saw it in the mirror after his mentor, Nana Shimura, died against All for One. But he had Gran Torino and others to help him through his loss, this boy had nobody.

Before he could open his mouth the boy cut him off frustratedly, “If the next words that come out of your mouth is some attempt to ease my guilt, I swear on Velka’s name that I will finish what I started.”

“...How about some music then?” Toshinori suggests trying to take the boy’s mind off things, turning on the car’s radio. It blares out some song he doesn’t recognise as suddenly the boy almost leaps out of his seat in surprise at the sudden noise.

“What in Gwyn’s name is that?” the boy asks flabbergasted while looking at the radio with caution, “Is that thing singing? Do you have a creature locked inside forced to sing at your leisure?”

Toshinori laughed at the absurd claim and the horrified look on the boy’s face, “Right, I suppose they didn’t have radios back when there were dragons and magic? It’s a device that transmits sounds across similar devices from across large distances. What you’re hearing is a recording the person who sang this song had it copied and now it can be played whenever you want.”

“...You use Mimics as entertainment?” The boy’s disturbed look didn’t disappear and he seemed to try to edge away from the radio as best he could.

Tohinori chuckled, “You have a lot to learn about this place, young man.”

“To my dismay.” he mutters bitterly before staring at Toshinori as if he was curious about something, “You seem rather casual for a Lord.”

“Pardon?” Toshinori asks, “I’m afraid you must have misunderstood something. I’m no Lord.”

“Really?” the boy raises a brow, “Back in Londor you may have been mistaken for one. Your strength befits a Lord, but you remain a retainer for the rat?”

“No, I’m not his servant or anything. I only work for Principal Nedzu when it comes to being a teacher, but as a Pro Hero I’m free to act as I see fit.” Toshinori explains, “What exactly is a Lord to you? I take it as some sort of ruler of a region?”

The boy thinks for a while before answering with a look of reverence in his eyes, “A Lord is a being of immense strength, not all rulers were Lords but most Lords were rulers of some sort. Be it the original Lords or the Lord of Cinder that came after, they were all beings capable of wielding mighty power. Stories told of Lord Gwyn raining bolts of lightning to slaughter entire hordes of Eternal Dragons, the Witch of Izalith burning the towering and ancient Archtrees that housed said Dragons and Gravelord Nito unleashing a miasma of death.”

Then the reverence fades from his eyes and he shudders slightly, “The Lords of Cinders that came after were beings mighty enough to link the Fire. The Farron Legion’s Abyss Watchers, Aldirch the Devourer of Gods, Yhorm the Giant, Ludleth of Courland and the brothers, Prince Lothric and Lorian. All of them are mighty Lords.”

“...I don’t understand this about linking the Fire. But I suppose to be a Lord just means the person is an immensely powerful individual?” Toshinori admits. It sounded like a religious thing amongst this boy’s people but beyond that, he knew nothing. He heard the boy explain to Nedzu how the Fire had been connected to the state of his old world and that when he extinguished it he doomed humanity of his time as a result.

It was quite difficult to believe something like that. Just by extinguishing some flame that destroyed all ancient humanity? He may believe that there was some sort of ‘magic’ and ancient dragons but that just felt too far-fetched, even if he didn’t voice his opinions.

“So…were you a Lord then?” Toshinori asked, “Were you the strongest?”

“I’m the sole survivor of my Age.” he grumbles in annoyance and exhaustion, “Unless all my victims rise from the grave then by right of attrition, I am the strongest Lord there was.”

“Right, dumb question from me,” Toshinori says before shutting himself up. Yes, it would be better if they continued the trip in peace.

***

So this was the new world he woke up in? Horseless metal carriages, enormous grey towers everywhere he went, and humans in strange clothing walking the street. The last was what got his attention and he scanned the faces of every face man, woman and child on the ride to the Shrine for any signs of the Undead Curse.

There was none as far as he could see. What was most surprising for him was that they passed a large patch of land where there were no buildings save for some strange colourful objects that children seemed to be interacting with. But what he did recognise was the obvious joy on their face as they laughed and played their strange games with their strange toys. How long has it been since he saw a child laugh, much less someone younger than him? Children almost always succumbed to the Undead Curse and he saw his fair share of Hollow children on his journey.

Those sights were horrifying and heartbreaking. But the most soul-shattering ones he saw were the families he found dead in their houses when he went around looking for supplies. Families that rather die together than suffer the fading of the Flame and potential Age of Dark should it be snuffed.

At least one good thing came out of his deeds then, he thinks to himself. At least no one has to see scenes like that in this new world. But then he remembers what he did, and asks himself how many families did he wipe out with his Age of Dark.

How many died as he ordered the Firekeeper to snuff the flames? How many could have been saved, at least live a while longer, if he had just thrown himself into the Flames once more? But his body shudders as phantom pains of burns rack his entire body.

“Perhaps you didn’t link the Flame, not because you thought it was the correct choice, but because you were too weak?” an intrusive voice echoes in his head, “Coward.”

“Shut up…” he mutters as he averted his eyes from the windows, glancing down at his feet instead, “Just shut up…”

“But I already have.” the Lord, or rather the self-proclaimed ‘Professional Hero’, says from next to him. Evidently his mutters were just loud enough for that strange device to pick up and translate.

He remains silent, not wishing for another conversation. Time passes before the carriage slows to a halt near an area that appears to be a forest.

“Here we are.” the man Toshinori Yagi, if he recalls what the rat has called him, “Just give me a moment and I’ll…Hey, wait up!”

But he ignores him as he walks towards the forest. He doesn’t need anyone to guide him, he can feel the pull to the Firelink Shrine just like how he first felt when he awoke as an Unkindled. And as he approached the Shrine he gazed around him, as if trying to look for the graves and coffins that made up the Cemetery of Ash that led to the Firelink Shrine.

All he found were trees, it made everything feel foreign and unfamiliar. But as he felt the pull to the Shrine strengthen as he got closer, he could hear echoes in his head. The sound of a wooden club desperately smashing at metal-plated armour, his arm shattering along with an improvised wooden shield as a halberd strike, and the Pus of Man exploding from the body of his foe before he was eviscerated.

He struggles to drive away the noise from his head, feeling it only increase in volume as he gets closer to the shrine. There had been an open courtyard where he had fought Iudex Gundyr in his first true battle as an Unkindled but now there were only trees and grass, the stone having disintegrated over the unstoppable course of time leaving no trace of anything.

It was as if all traces of his struggles had been erased, never having existed at all. Like it had all been pointless…

His jaw drops at the sight of the Firelink Shrine’s state. Mountains of dirt and stone have covered it up, and acres of burnt trees surround its opening likely the result of his fight from hours earlier. The sight of the shattered doors of the Shrine made his heart sink, no amount of Repair Powder would be able to fix that.

Everything he had fought for… all the signs of his struggles, his hardship, his victories and defeats… it was all overgrown, having returned to the land. He did not belong here in this new Age, he realises. Simply a relic of a bygone area that ended by his hand… like an old and broken weapon that needed to be disposed of. 

“Finally!” Toshinori Yagi comes stumbling out of the forest, translator device in hand as he watches the Ashen One on his knees before the broken gates, “Is…something wrong?”

“It’s nothing…” he mutters as he grabs a piece of the gate that broke off, crumbling to dust in his hands now that it had been separated from the magic that protected it, “Nothing at all…”

***

“...You’re serious?” Snipe asks his employer with an incredulous look on his face as the faculty of UA watch the replay of the footage capturing All Might’s fight with the Ashen One, “You want to take, and let it be known I’m still wrapping my head around this, an immortal undead magic swordsman that existed before dinosaurs and self-proclaimed ‘worst mass murderer in history’, and put him in the same class as our first years?”

“A crude but accurate way of phrasing.” Nedzu nods with a sip of his tea, “But to be accurate, carbon dating of his flesh samples dates him to a period far behind that. Even before the Paleoarchean Era.”

“...” 

“That’s back when the Earth was surrounded with ocean,” Nedzu informs.

“Sir, I need to keep telling you that this is irrational.” Shota Aizawa points out once again, “He nearly killed two kids just for disturbing his nap. And if you’re right, he’s been alone for all that time, he might’ve lost some marbles.”

“Those two teenagers are recuperating as we speak, with the worst injuries being minor burns.” Nedzu says, “And he has never severely harmed anyone during the past week, this speaks quite soundly for his sanity.”

“Except for All Might.” Thirteen speaks up, “I’ve read the reports, and I understand he only did so because he thought he was just defending his home… or rather resting place. He said he just wants to be left alone, right? Why don’t we do as he wishes, seal it back up and forget all this has ever happened?”

“Simple, because he is too powerful to remain hidden forever.” Nedzu explains, “It may not be now, it may not be for decades or perhaps even centuries, but what if he was to be drawn out of his resting place by another group of individuals with less than savoury intent for his abilities? Imagine him being turned to the side of villainy, his immense power and skills used to further some diabolical self-serving goal. If we can nip this in the bud by first shaping him to be a Hero, then I believe it is worth the risk.”

“A very big risk.” Thirteen said disapprovingly, “You gambling with the lives of our students.”

“That’s what I said,” Shota grumbled.

“That is already accounted for. I will have several contingencies ready in-case of such a scenario, primarily with All Might.” Nedzu explains, “Even in his weakened state, a well-placed punch was shown to instantly defeat him. He is not invincible and can be incapacitated. Now that we have a better grasp of his abilities, I am confident that coordinating with all of you will lead to his defeat without harm coming to our students.”

“But he has a time limit now, doesn’t he?” Snipe points out worriedly, “What happens when eventually it hits zero?”

“Like I said, I have contingencies in place for this. I ask that you all put your faith in me like I have for this young man.”

There was a round of general unsure muttering amongst them before they agreed. They all have faith in their principal, he taught most of them when they were still students in the U.A. after all, and despite his behaviour, he was always one that prioritise student safety. They will trust him once again regarding this.

“Alright, but what about living arrangements?” Nemuri asks, “It’s not like he has any surviving family to live with. Who’s he bunking with?”

“I am glad you asked.” Nedzu smirks, “I would like to request that of you, Miss Kayama.”

Nemuri Kayama blinks in stunned silence before speaking again, “I’m sorry, what?”

***

“Welcome to your new home I guess,” Nemuri said as she pointed to the entrance to her apartment complex, dressed in a sweater and loose pants. On her ear was a hearing aid-like device created by Power Loader and designed by Nedzu to act as a compact version of the translator for the boy’s ‘Lothric’.

“...You live in a palace like this?” he stares at the large building with his jaw agape, turning to her stunned.

Nemuri scoffs and smirks, “I wish. No, I just rent a room here with Sushi.”

“Sushi?” the boy mutters as Nemuri guides him to the entrance and pushes the button to call for an elevator.

“Yeah, my cat.” she explained, “You a cat or dog kinda guy?”

“...I don’t like either,” he mutters, his hand subconsciously reaching his throat with a wooden box under his other arm. Memories of attack dogs and giant cats mauling him quickly come to mind.

“Well you’ll love this one, she’s a sweetheart.” she smiled before the elevator arrived, “Come on. And don’t be scared, this is what we call an elevator, it lifts us to higher places instead of using stairs.”

“I know what a lift is.” the boy mumbles annoyed as he steps in, looking down confused, “Where’s the pressure plate?”

“...We use buttons for that,” Nemuri said before selecting the floor her room was on, and pressing the button.

“Ah.” He muttered, looking around the cramped metal box nervously. It wasn’t too dissimilar from the lifts he was used to, but the concept remained the same. After a few seconds, they arrived at their destination where Nemuri guided him to her room.

“Sushi, I’m home!” she calls out as a cat meows from the couch, “Say hi to our new roommate.”

The cat lazily turns her head in the boy’s direction, but to Nemuri’s surprise Sushi starts hissing at the child. Before she can wonder, Sushi immediately leaps off the couch and runs to her room.

“Well… that’s weird. I don’t think she’s ever acted like that before.” Nemuri said turning to Izuku who didn’t look surprised, “Don’t worry, I think she just needs time to adjust to your presence. Cats and all, you know?”

“He hasn’t tried to kill me. That’s already an improvement,” he said before glancing at pictures she had, some of her days in U.A with her friends, and as a Pro Hero trying her updated costume for the first time in a provocative pose. 

The attire reminded him of the type of women in that profession. He saw many in the houses of nobles before everything fell apart when his father would take him to meet clients. But that might explain why she was able to afford such a luxurious apartment.

“Like what you see?” Nemuri smirks teasingly, “That’s me in my Hero costume. Got it after that dumb law on skin exposure. Too much too soon I guess.”

She laughed at that memory and the boy simply looked away as if in thought,

“Pro… Hero…” he mutters again, “So being a hero is a profession of this world, guardians of some kind then?”

“Yeah, I think the principal already explained about Quirks. Pretty much everyone has them, but only those with training and licences can use them in public to protect others.” she explained, “Else you’d be labelled a vigilante and arrested.”

“...So everyone has these magical abilities, but using them to defend yourself without these ‘licences’ is illegal?” the boy mutters confused, “That’s insane.”

“It’s how the world works. Using your Quirks without proper training can get you or someone else hurt.” she explained and he simply shrugged not caring anymore, “Well you’ll be learning more about the modern world eventually. Is that all you have?”

He looks down at the wooden box under his arm, “It’s all I need.”

“Well, alright then. We’ll go shopping around sometime if you need stuff like clothes. One bright side is that Nedzu’s giving me a huge bonus for this.” Nemuri said, seeing that he was not in the mood for any conversation, “Guest room is that way, do you need any help to-?”

He ignores her and walks towards the room, leaving her to trail off.

“Well see you at dinner I guess.” she huffs.

The undead boy opens the door and finds himself in an empty room devoid of any unique decorations. The bed surprised him, it had been a while since he had seen any clean sheets and they look to be of equal quality as those of a noble.

His hand runs against the fabric on the pillow, but as expected he can’t even feel a thing. It almost sinks in, looking almost too soft to sleep on. A far cry from how he had spent the past years sleeping in the Firelink Shrine.

It was too clean, too bright, unnaturally so. There was a weird thing on the wall, like a square with a wedge poking out. His time spent exploring had led to an instinct to just investigate everything, leading him to press against it. He was startled when the light suddenly switched off, hand lighting up with flames.

But it seemed to make things worse as suddenly there was a loud and repetitive sound like the sharp chirp of a bird. In a panic he releases a blast of flames in a wide arc before him, setting the bed on fire. 

Immediately Nemuri barges in with alarm, flipping on the lights, “What’s going- Are you kidding me?!”

She retreats and grabs a red cylinder, pointing it and spraying white foam over it. But to her surprise, it just kept burning until she emptied the entire thing, only then did the fire start to fizzle down.

Once it was settled she sighed and turned to the green-haired boy with annoyance, “Well you could’ve told me if you didn’t like the bed.”

“Where is it?” he asks with eyes darting from side to side as if searching for an invisible enemy. It took Nemuri a second to understand before sighing again and reaching up to the smoke alarm above the doorway, switching it off.

“It’s a fire alarm, wow you have a lot to learn. It’s something we made to warn us if there’s fire by making loud noises,” she explained as he took a second to calm down and extinguish the fire in his palm. 

“Oh…” he muttered before looking back at the ashes and burnt frame of what used to be a bed, “...Sorry.”

She takes a deep breath, trying to remember what Nedzu had said. That he supposedly existed long before the modern days, he’s lost, confused and frustrated from how his eyes looked on the ride here. 

“Hey, it’s fine stuff like this happens all the time,” she assured, and it wasn’t a lie about how sometimes those experienced with their Quirks can have accidents. She reaches over to pat his head in comfort, “We’ll clean this up and-?”

However, he flinches, raising a hand as if ready to bat away her hand before calming down when she stops.

“Alright, alright, no touching.” she withdraws it, “I’ll set up the couch for you then, and we’ll clean this up?”

“...No.” he shakes his head, “I’ll keep using this room.”

“What?” she asks confused while pointing to the burnt bed frame, “It’s filled with smoke and ashes.”

“Yeah… I’m used to that.” the boy muttered and Nemuri looked at him with concern. But his face told her that this wasn’t up for debate, deciding she should just leave it alone for now and explain to her landlord why the apartment almost burnt down.

She says her goodbyes but leaves the door open to let the smoke air out, pushing open all the windows in the apartment as well. But once she was gone, he closed the door shut, reaching carefully to that switch again and closed it.

Dark. Smoke. Only smouldering embers light the room. There was a familiar comfort in that, away from the unnatural brightness and cleanliness as he sat down, lying against the wall.

It was where he belonged.

Chapter Text

“Please… I didn’t do anything wrong…” a boy with green hair groans out wearing nothing but a loincloth and lying on the floor of a damp and filthy cell, “I just want to go home…”

His cries were mixed in with the hundreds of others within this Undead Asylum. One of the many on the outskirts of the region designed to hold the Undead until time comes they find a way to reverse it, or the world ends.

He was taken there after he tried to stop bandits from raiding his village, picking up a sword to its defence and only managing to kill one before he was stabbed in the back, because of his foolishness. This revealed his Undead nature to the people, and once he was captured was sent here immediately to rot.

It was the most horrific place he’d ever been. No one could leave their cells, they were given nothing to eat or drink, not that they needed to anymore, with every day and night the inmates crying out about their miseries to guards who weren’t there.

It was a place for them to be thrown and forgotten, but every morning he would pray. Every morning he’d praise the glory of the sun and Lord Gwyn, hoping they would be delivered from this hell. There were quite a few prayers on his first night with many other Undead joining in. But slowly the number whittled down until he was the only one left who prayed with genuine belief. That one day they would be freed.

And one night, after who knows how long, they were.

A loud bang was heard and he almost leapt to his feet, crawling over to the cell door and peeking as best he could out of the bars to see a similarly dressed man opening the doors of every cell door.

“Come on, up ya get!” a man with black unkempt hair and beard said as he stormed everywhere with keys in a ring, “Anyone not Hollow yet gets on ya feet! We’re busting out!”

The man pauses in front of his cell like he is shocked at the sight of the Undead boy.

“...You got any fight in ya left, kiddo?” he asks, holding up the key to his cell, and the boy desperately nods his head, “Then out ya get!”

The door was unlocked, rusty iron joints creaking as they were pushed open and the boy stepped out of his cell for the first time in a long time.

“T-thank you!” the boy cheered, “The gods bless thee-”

“Another word, and I’ll chuck ya back in myself!” the man dragged him away roughly by the back of his neck, storming out with the mass of Undead that were similarly freed and freeing each other, “Leave the Hollows in, there ain’t no hope for them anymore! Pick up whatever ya can find! Rocks, planks, broken blades! We’re gonna need them, ya lousy sacks of flesh!”

The mass of Undead cheered as they did just that, arming themselves with whatever they could find, fighting each other for the barest scraps of cloth and wood.

“Here lad.” the man shoves him a shield made of nailed-together wooden planks he liberated from the arms of what looked to be a shrivelled-up corpse in a cell, “He won’t need anything anymore. Poor sod went Hollow, a final death at last.”

He said while tearing off the tunic to wear, turning and glaring at the boy, “Now you do your best to follow, am I clear?”

The boy could only weakly nod, too confused to do anything else but agree and follow the man’s commands. He looked like he had it all planned, the burning fire in his eyes spoke of determination, so why shouldn’t he?

Enough of them were armed now and cheering as they charged through the halls, the only thing in their ways were the occasional poor Hollows but all were easily slaughtered. He remembers feeling disturbed at them, how the Hollows groaned as they were bashed to their deaths with the blunt improvised weapons of the escaping Undead as their remains were both looted and trampled on.

The man, his rescuer, even partook in killing a Hollowed Soldier to steal his shield and longsword, arming himself with proper weaponry as they continued their escape. With how he wielded them both, he could’ve been mistaken for a knight and it urged the boy to keep following as fast as he could.

They were all doing it. They were all nearing their escape, finally reaching the courtyard of the Asylum when their hopes were crushed like the floor was as a giant demon leapt from above and landed before them.

He had only heard of demons in the books, this was the first time seeing one in person. His legs froze at the sight, and even most of the Undead with him, burly and strong men, some with stolen proper weapons and armour, were similarly stunned with fear and horror.

The bloated creature was large enough that its tallest only reached its knee, bloated flesh with folds of thick fat and hide that looked stronger than any leather he had seen. The skin was greenish and blue, scaly like a lizard's. In its arms was a great hammer that would have given even a Silver Knight of Anor Londo pause.

All except the warrior that freed them, raising his sword into the air.

“Fight! Fight on! Fight with me! Fight for your freedom! We’re Undead, aren’t we? We can die as many times as it takes!” he roars as he points the tip of the longsword at the demon, “And that foul creature only needs to die once! Fight!”

“Y-YARGH!” one of the Undead roared and the rest copied him, roaring at the top of their lungs as they charged at the demon like madmen, their desperation for freedom consuming them as they were urged on by the warrior.

Even the boy was caught up in the frenzy, even if he was armed only with a pathetic wooden shield. He charged, screaming at the top of his lungs as the warrior grabbed him by the back of the neck once more.

“Keep quiet, and follow close,” he said while covering the boy’s mouth, dashing and hugging the wall of the courtyard as the mob of Undead stabbed at the demon, dying in the dozens from the great hammer. The boy could only watch in horror as his fellow escapees were turned into gorey paste of blood and bones, and all the while they never stopped screaming from rage, fear or just plain madness.

The warrior dragged him away, pushing through the partially opened gates that had given them all hope at first. He barged out, arm still holding on to the boy tight as he ran out of the Asylum, the noise of battle fading behind them as he ran, and ran and ran.

He slows down once they reach an abandoned wagon on the side of the road leading out of the Undead Asylum. Likely it had been used to transport supplies to the garrison before they went Undead as well, turning Hollow.

“Oh enough of ya, brat.” he grumbled in frustration as he threw down the boy struggling against his grip, “Be grateful I saved ya life.”

“You… you just left them to die!” the boy looked at him horrified and angered, “You told them to fight with you, and you just ran away! Leaving them to die! You cow-!”

A boot strikes him in the guts and the boy coughs as the warrior looks at him enraged before stomping on him,

“Coward am I? Say it! Say it again!” he roars as he stomps on the boy, likely breaking a few bones as he cries, “I saved you from going Hollow you deprived little shit! If ya fought like the rest of them, you’d just die! So be grateful I saw some gods damn use in ya!”

The boy continued crying as the warrior stopped, sighing before approaching the wagon and searching the contents of a trunk.

“Let’s see… Well, what do we have here? Looks like we hit the gold mine.” the warrior smiled as he pulled a green flash glowing with embers, “Must’ve belonged to some Undead they were transporting.”

He tosses it down next to the weeping boy, “Take a sip, ya damn baby. It’ll make you feel better.”

Slowly reaching out, he grabs the green flask and uncorks it, taking a sip and feeling the embers warm him up from inside as his bones and flesh mended.

“Why…” the boy muttered, “Why did you save me?”

“Why?” the warrior asked as he packed everything of use into a sack and threw it roughly at the boy, not caring if he got hurt, “I need someone to carry my luggage of course.”

“Who…are you?” the boy groaned in pain, “Why are you doing this?”

“Me? Just call me Ser, you got that?” he asks while strapping a chest plate onto himself, “Lil’ boy like you would be of good use to me. Small enough to get into places I can’t, fast enough of a runner to draw attention. You better be grateful for this, boy.”

***

The Ashen One wakes up, finding himself in the dark ash-scented room once more. He hadn’t had that kind of dream, that memory, in a very long time and it surprised him he could still remember that in such detail.

He… he remembered Ser, that dishonoured knight that saved him from the Undead Asylum all those years ago, using him as a pack mule, bait and distraction whenever it suited him. To put it short, the months they spent together as they made their way back to civilization were pure hell.

And yet he doubts he could have made it as far as he did without Ser. Shaking his head, he steps up to his feet. He was no longer in the Firelink Shrine, he had no excuse not to do anything now. Discipline long forged within commanding him to rise as soon as he woke to avoid wasting time.

…But there was nothing to spend that time on now, was there? Still, with a sigh, he exited the dark room and found the outside was still dark judging from the closed windows. Opening them he saw it was nearing sunrise.

Sunrise… he remembers seeing it for the first time in ages, how he was stunned by its marvellous beauty. He doesn’t want to miss another, now that there are no distractions.

He gets on his knees as he watches the sun start to slowly rise across the horizon, as beautiful as he last saw it. Even now he can’t help the sob he was barely choking back. Years of practice have him clasp his hands and mutter his daily prayers, even after everything. It was as imprinted to his soul as the Dark Sign was.

It was the standard prayer, wishing for peace, guidance, and strength. Even after his faith in the gods waived and broke, the familiarity of the prayer offered some fleeting comfort to his soul. When it was over at last, he stood up, clasping his feet together and raising his arms with palms outward to praise the majesty of the sun as he had always done.

“Someone’s an early riser.” he hears Nemuri behind him, yawning as she rubs her eyes, “What’s got you up this early?”

“Sunrise.” he pointed at the window, watching it rise over the skyline of an unfamiliar city, with towers of glass as large as castles scattered all over. All so different from the buildings of stone that he was used to. Now that he had the chance to view it from a vantage point like this, while it failed to be as majestic, the scale was just as if not greater than Anor Londo.

Anor Londo… the city of gods, once their seat of power before they abandoned it and then occupied it by Aldrich, the Devourer of Gods… And he was now the only proof it ever existed. That once upon a time, the gods walked amongst humanity and guided them. That once upon a time, human champions could be invited to visit the wondrous holy land upon their victories in arenas, to meet the gods themselves.

Here he stood, the last of an age in a world devoid of Fire and Dark, surviving when even gods despaired and greater men fell, wondering why he was still here.

“Well since you’re up now, I guess I should get started on breakfast.” Nemuri said as she headed for the kitchen, “Anything in particular you like? You had tea back in your days?”

“Of course we did, we weren’t savages,” he muttered annoyed as he wondered about food. There weren’t any cattle or even wild game, and most food stockpiles already perished by the time he came across them. The only real food he consumed were various mushrooms and moss, and even then they were for their unique beneficial properties, “But I won’t need it. I can’t die from hunger, or even taste. It’s wasted on me.”

“Oh…” Nemuri awkwardly said, feeling unsure how she was supposed to talk with him, “Well, that just leaves more money for other stuff then. You need a change in the wardrobe.”

She points at the white shirt and grey sweatpants he was given, and he tugs at the collar. They were of a different quality than he was used to, feeling much more softer and comfortable than the usual tunic he would wear under his armour. 

“These are good enough.” he shrugged, not caring the slightest.

“What, you’re just going to wear that for the rest of your life?” Nemuri asks jokingly before seeing his unchanging expression, “...Seriously?”

“You can use whatever money the rat gave you for yourself.” he grumbled, “I don’t need or want anything, except for these three years to be over with as quickly as possible. After that, we will never meet again, Miss Kayama.”

“Well, I can tell already you’re going to be a great roommate.” Nemuri rolls her eyes. Normally she’d counter with a wittier remark, or throw him off his game with her usual behaviour, but something told her it wasn’t going to be wise to mock someone who easily fought one one-on-one with All Might.

Instead, she sighs and pulls what looks like yellowish-brown paper holding white parchment within, “Nedzu had this sent in yesterday by the way, while you were sulking. A new identity he’s made had a friend in the government that owes him a dozen favours.”

“Of course, the rat has a hand in politics,” he mutters as he accepts the strange binding of paper. It was evident from their ‘negotiation’ that he was a shrewd individual with a lot of power, and he wonders how far his influence stretches as he opens it with a raised brow, “...I cannot read this.”

“Well you’re gonna have to learn quickly if you want to get through these three years,” Nemuri said, “Izuku Midoriya.”

“Pardon?’

“Your name while you’re gonna be a student here.” she explained, “Izuku Midoriya, orphan and current ward to yours truly. We’re going to have to come up with a Quirk description for you soon, so we need to get you to drop by at U.A for a full test on your abilities.”

“You want me to just give away all my tricks and secrets?” Izuku asked sarcastically, “Do you want it wrapped in a neat bow as well?”

“Just enough that we can come up with an appropriate cover, alright?” Nemuri said before muttering to herself, “It’s like dealing with an even moodier Aizawa, you two would love each other.”

***

“Welcome to U.A.” Nemuri introduced as she pointed to a building almost entirely made of glass with steel frames, “It’s where we train this country’s next generation of Pro Heroes, and where you’ll be studying from now on. Impressive, isn’t it?”

“It must have cost a king’s fortune to build.” the newly named Unkindled, Izuku Midoriya, mutters as he steps out of the car, grabbing his Firelink Greatsword and placing its strap around his chest.

He looks at the giant fortress of glass and steel, surrounded by stone walls. That amount of glass of such quality would’ve bankrupted any normal kingdom. But add to its quality high enough to be completely see-through? He had seen glass before in his father’s trades, but they were never of such quality.

“Well it wasn’t cheap, even before the renovations Nedzu made.” she smirked proudly before handing him some kind of white rectangle with a cloth string like a pendant, “Here, a guest ID so you don’t get locked out by the security system.”

“Some kind of magic medallion?” he asked, confused at the strange shape but putting it around his neck.

“I guess you’d see it that way, but it's technology.” she explained, “Transmits a signal to the security system that tells them you’re friendly.”

He nods, believing he understands that as the two enter the ground. It was all cleaner than anything he had seen over his adventures, having grown used to broken and dusty castles that were left unkempt for who knows how many decades.

“It’s the weekend right now, so thankfully all the students are home.” Nemuri said as she guided him through the building, “We’ll use one of the training rooms to test out your capabilities.”

Izuku Midoriya wordlessly nods as he follows Nemuri through the school, taking in the sights. Once upon a time, he had desired to learn magic, with a distant dream of visiting the Vinheim Dragon School to study their art of crystal sorcery, even with the disturbing rumours of Duke Seath the Scaleless. He always wondered what it would’ve looked like.

Unfortunately, he did not have the chance before he became an Undead, and upon his journey, he learnt that while he was proficient in crystal sorceries, he was more attuned towards the art of pyromancy and miracles. All were taught to him by the various teachers he had studied under through his first journey to link the Flame and subsequent quest to subdue the Lords of Cinders.

At the end of their short walk, they arrived in a wide open arena-like room where a familiar figure in black with the white scarf-weapon that he recalls being one of the ‘Heroes’ that attacked the Firelink Shrine. Beside him was a figure in a long coat with a face that looked like a black skull, Izuku almost wondered if he was an animated skeleton if he didn’t realise it was a mask. And there was what looked like a golem made of rectangular, grey stone-like material. 

All of them appeared to wear the earpieces that Nemuri called ‘translators’.

“This is Shota Aizawa.” Nemuri introduces him, “He’s one of the teachers here, and your homeroom teacher for the rest of three years. Next to him is Ectoplasm, another Pro Hero and maths teacher of U.A., and Cementoss, your Modern Literacy teacher.”

“...I’ll be in your care, I suppose.” Izuku bowed politely.

“So you’re the kid that gave us so much trouble.” Shota Aizawa muttered while glaring at him, “...How’s your face?”

“Good. How’s your arm?” Izuku shot back, having recalled breaking it after escaping their attempt to imprison him,

“Better than your neck must’ve felt after All Might.” Shota muttered with arms crossed, “I don’t know how things worked in your ‘Age’, but I expect you aren’t going to blow up the class or something.”

“By the covenant I made with your rat principal, no harm will come to them.” Izuku nodded disgruntled, “I will act the student I need to be, whatever it takes to get this farce over with.”

“Good. That’s all I care about.” Shota said before Ectoplasm stepped up.

“Well as you heard, I’m Ectoplasm.” He greets, “Cementoss and I will be helping test your abilities so we can understand them.”

“You are warriors then?” Izuku asked before glancing him over, noticing something strange about his legs.

“Wondering about them? I suppose you didn’t have prosthetics on this level in your time.” Ectoplasm said as he raised a metal prosthetic leg, “Lost them a while ago against a Villain, but thanks to modern tech I can still fight.”

“It must be a gruesome battle,” Izuku mutters before nodding in respect.

“It’s a pleasure to have you in our academy.” Cementoss said, offering a hand, “I’m somewhat excited. I’m sure you must have fascinating stories to tell about your time, perhaps even a few books remaining?”

Izuku carelessly shrugs, “A few prayer books are left in the shrine.”

“I’m sure they’ll be a fascinating read if I could understand your language.”

“If you don’t mind…” Shota coughs to get their attention, “We can start the trials now.”

“Of course.” Izuku nods and the teachers take their place, “What would it involve?”

“First, we should get an idea of what you can do.” Shota said, “Can you describe your abilities? As simple as you can.”

“...Well, besides my skills with physical combat, I have proficiencies in the three types of magic. Sorceries, miracles and pyromancy.” Izuku said as he extended a hand, setting it ablaze with his pyromancy flame, “I’m more attuned with the latter two than sorcery, which I’m only decently proficient with.”

“...And what are those?” Shota asks after a pause.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll bother with the history of them, so I’ll explain their basic utilities.” Izuku says, “While all three can be used for direct combat, sorceries are almost completely dedicated to attacking from range with overwhelming barrages or precise shots, drawing power from one’s intellect and knowledge of the arcane. Miracles are drawn from faith in the legends, channelling the power of lightning to strike down foes, as well as to heal. Pyromancies are an art born from the ancient flame sorceries, used to incinerate your foes or strengthen your body like steel in a forge.”

“So this… pyromancy, is how you’re so strong?” Shota asked, “You fought Heroes and cops for a whole week, overpowering those with enhanced strength from their Quirks. Even going toe-to-toe with All Might.”

Izuku looks at him confused, “What? But I’ve only used a few miracles against him. The flames came from my Firelink Greatsword.”

He said while shifting the blade strapped on his back.

“So that was how you moved superhumanly?” Shota asks again but Izuku shakes his head.

“No, my physical abilities were born from all the souls I’ve absorbed through countless battles,” Izuku explained.

“...Souls?” Shota stares at him, his mouth hidden behind his scarf.

“You… don’t know about souls?” Izuku asks before looking around at the suddenly interested teachers, “I suppose that makes sense. Before the great cities started to fall, only Lordran, where the gods resided, used souls as currency. Afterwards, it became widespread among Undead everywhere, trading souls amongst each other to bolster their strength with aid…”

He trails off as he remembers the Firekeepers he’s met through his journey. All woman watching over their shrines, duty bound to serve and cultivate the Undead as they sought after the prophecy. The Keeper of the Firelink Shrine was the last he met and…

“So you… collect these souls by killing people then?” Shota asked with a neutral voice, “...How many?”

That question freezes Izuku. It was one he asked himself time and time again when his memories started to wane from battle after battle, death after death. When he stood on the mountain of the corpses he tried to Link the Flame… And then casting that ambition and desire away after the truths he had learnt… The truth that shattered his eroding faith in the gods… The truth that leads to his greatest sin…

How many?

While she was standing back, Nemuri tenses at that question being asked as she realises what everyone else did as well. If he got stronger with every person he killed, how many did it take to stand against a man as strong as All Might? How strong could he have grown if he chose to kill the Heroes sent after him if he killed All Might?

“...Nevermind.” Shota shakes his head, deciding now wasn’t the time for that time of question and that he may not like the answer, “So all that physical power’s just your base then. If you don’t mind demonstrating your ‘magic’ then.”

“I will be fighting these two then?” Izuku gestured at the two teachers standing at the side. He could tell they weren’t much stronger than the Pro Heroes he had fought attacking the Shrine.

“Hah, I doubt we would have lasted more than a few seconds if you fought All Might to a standstill.” Ectoplasm said before Izuku’s eyes widened at the sight of multiple copies of Ectoplasm growing from some kind of goo, “No need to hold back against my clones, they’re not alive after all.”

Cementoss bends down and touches the ground, manipulating the grounds of the arena to create walls and pillars to impede him.

“I see. Constructs of magic…” Izuku nods as he draws his Firelink Greatsword with one hand, igniting the embers that dwelled within, “Then as you said, there is no need to hold back.”

With the other he draws a talisman made of canvas, raising it to the sky with a prayer on his lips. Lightning crackles through his hand as he grips it into a large spear of crackling, orange electricity imbued with the power of the sun. Throwing it, the spear of lightning pierces through a wall, resulting in an explosion that takes out a small group of clones behind it.

He demonstrates the extent of his magical prowess, shaping the Firelink Greatsword into a metal staff brimming with embers, creating floating orbs of blue magic that shoot out, homing onto the clones rushing to dodge and striking them with pinpoint precision. 

Afterwards, he dashes in, manifesting a glowing blue ethereal greatsword around the staff, slicing through clones and pillars of stone-like material they hide behind. Groups of clones tried swarming him, but with a roar, he emitted shockwaves with a miracle that launched them away and splattered them all over the walls.

Pocketing the talisman quickly, he ignites the now empty hand with fire and gathers it before unleashing it into a burst of small fireballs, wiping out a score of new clones Ectoplasm sends his way.

Pillars then rose from the ground, likely Cementoss trying to inhibit his range, vision and movement. Not perturbed at all, he slams both hands to the ground, unleashing a storm of chaos fire that burns all in a circle around him with red flames hot enough to turn stone into molten lava.

The teachers watching have to step back from the sheer heat emanating, and Shota tenses while watching. Amongst them, he was the only member of the faculty besides All Might to engage in combat with the boy. The so-called ‘Ashen One’.

The heat he feels now is akin to that he felt when he unleashed his rage on All Might in the forest, almost burning it all down before losing because of a distraction. And from the look on his eyes, he could tell he wasn’t taking this seriously, meaning there may be still more left to show…

And what was even more terrifying, his Quirk wasn’t having an effect in cancelling his magic at all. He already suspected it wouldn’t work, even without the armour blocking his vision, but seeing it for himself confirmed that thought and increased his dread tenfold.

No… From the way he glanced at him, it must have some kind of effect, like he realised what he was trying to do. And the boy just scoffed before resuming his trials. He wasn’t sure if that was more terrifying or not.

He imagines if this boy, no, this monster snaps. While in the middle of class some day, sometime in the next three years. He imagines instead of Ectoplasm clones it's the other students and his fellow teachers, U.A set on fire with glass and steel melting into slag, all while a knight in burning armour stands on top of it all.

Just what on earth were Nedzu’s contingencies to stop this monster?