Chapter Text
The pale morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the UA dormitory window, casting long, stretched shadows across the floorboards. Izuku lay flat on his back, the heavy cotton sheets tangled around his legs. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the white ceiling. His chest rose and fell in a slow, uneven rhythm. The dull, persistent ache in his scarred arms throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of the war. Of the final punch. Of the victory that everyone celebrated, oblivious to the horrific truth festering beneath his skin.
Good morning, Izuku.
Izuku flinched. His breath hitched in his throat, his fingers digging instantly into the mattress. The voice did not come from the room. It resonated from the very back of his skull, cold and smooth, sliding over his thoughts like a slick film of oil. It had been exactly seven days since the voice first made itself known, breaking the many weeks of blessed, ignorant silence that had followed the final battle. Seven days of waking up to the monster he thought he had destroyed.
I must say, the voice continued, dripping with a theatrical sigh that vibrated against Izuku’s temples, waking up to the garish, blinding smile of that fool every single morning is a particular kind of torture. You would think, after everything we have been through, everything you have seen, your tastes would have matured beyond these childish decorations. The colors alone are an assault on the senses.
Izuku slowly turned his head. His green eyes dragged across the walls of his room, passing over the countless All Might posters, the action figures lined up on the shelves, the Silver Age merchandise that had defined his entire childhood. The bright reds, blues, and yellows felt mocking now.
He didn't answer. He had learned over the past week that engaging only encouraged the entity residing within him. He threw the covers back, the sudden chill of the room biting at his bare legs. He swung his feet over the edge of the mattress, his soles pressing flat against the cold floorboards. He hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees, and brought his hands up to his face. He stared at his palms. The scars from his past battles were etched deep into his skin, jagged and uneven. But beneath the skin, right in the center of his hands, a dull, pulsing ache throbbed in time with his heartbeat. It was the epicenter of the nightmare.
He reached toward his nightstand. His fingers brushed against the rough canvas of two black, fingerless gloves. He picked up the left one, his movements mechanical, painfully slow. He slid his fingers through the openings, tugging the dark fabric down over his knuckles, adjusting the wrist strap until it was tight. Snug. Concealing. He picked up the right glove and repeated the process, hiding the palms that felt as though they were burning with a borrowed, stolen heat. He had worn them every single day since the quirk first manifested its presence in his blood a week ago.
He couldn't let anyone see. He couldn't let them know that All for One had not died with Tomura Shigaraki, but had slipped into the only vessel left open during that final, desperate collision of power.
Still hiding from your friends, little hero? All for One mused, the amusement practically vibrating through Izuku’s nervous system. How long do you think a few scraps of cloth will keep the truth contained?
"Shut up," Izuku whispered into the empty room, his voice hoarse, cracking at the edges.
He stood up, his joints popping, and walked to his closet. He pulled out his UA uniform, his fingers fumbling clumsily with the brass buttons of the blazer because of the thick gloves. He refused to take them off outside of his room. He pushed his arms through the sleeves, the familiar weight of the uniform offering no comfort. He adjusted his collar, grabbed his yellow backpack, and walked to the door. He placed his gloved hand on the doorknob, hesitating for a fraction of a second and taking a deep shuddering breath to compose himself, before twisting it open and stepping out into the hallway.
---
The dormitory was quiet, the early morning light casting a muted gray hue over the common areas. Izuku walked down the carpeted stairs, his footsteps muffled. He needed to get to the kitchen, grab a piece of toast, and make the walk to the main building. He needed to pretend everything was normal while avoiding the glances of his classmates who were bustling about, preparing for the day.
He rounded the corner near the couches.
"Deku."
Izuku froze. His shoulders hitched up toward his ears before he forcibly relaxed them. He turned his head. Katsuki Bakugo was leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of black coffee in his hand. Katsuki’s uniform was entirely improper, his collar open, blazer unbuttoned, but his crimson eyes were sharp. Piercing. They weren't looking at Izuku’s face. They were locked onto Izuku’s hands.
"Kacchan," Izuku said, trying to inject his usual, nervous cheer into the single word. "Good morning."
Katsuki took a slow sip of his coffee. He didn't look away from the black fabric covering Izuku’s knuckles. "It’s still very warm. Why have been you wearing the extra gear?"
Izuku swallowed hard. The embers of One for All gave a weak, pathetic flutter in his chest, a stark contrast to the heavy, coiled presence of the villain in his mind. "Oh, these?" Izuku lifted his hands, forcing a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. "Just... compression. My joints have been aching a bit since the final battle. Recovery Girl said keeping them warm and compressed might help with the residual stiffness."
Katsuki narrowed his eyes. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Katsuki set his mug down on the counter with a quiet clink. He took a step forward, his gaze trailing up from the gloves to Izuku’s face. He analyzed Izuku’s forced smile, the sweat beading at his temples, the slight tremor in his forearms.
"Right," Katsuki said, his voice a low, rough rumble. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Compression."
Katsuki scrutinized Izuku's face, searching for the lie. The tension crackled in the space between them. For three days, Katsuki had been glaring at the gloves, asking no questions but demanding answers with his eyes alone. Today, he had finally spoken.
He didn't believe a word of Izuku's answer. Katsuki bumped his shoulder against him as he walked past, heading toward the front doors of the dorm building. Izuku let out a long, shaky breath, his chest collapsing inward.
He is remarkably perceptive, your explosive friend, All for One chuckled. I always did find his instincts... fascinating.
Leave him alone, Izuku thought fiercely, directing the mental energy inward, a localized attack on the presence in his head.
I am doing nothing, Izuku. I am merely observing. Izuku quickly grabbed a piece of toast, turned on his heel and followed the path out of the dorms, the gravel crunching beneath his red shoes.
---
The walk to the main UA building was a blur of concrete pathways and meticulously manicured hedges. Izuku kept his head down, his gloved hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn't look at his classmates as they gathered outside the imposing entrance. He slipped through the halls, navigating the familiar corridors until he reached Class 2-A.
The classroom was quiet when he arrived. He slid into his seat near the back, dropping his backpack onto the floor. He rested his elbows on the desk, interlacing his gloved fingers, and stared at the blank chalkboard. Slowly, the room filled. The chatter of his classmates washed over him, distant and muffled, like he was listening to them underwater.
The bell rang, a sharp, echoing sound. The door slid open with a sharp clatter. Shota Aizawa shuffled into the room, his capture weapon resting loosely around his neck, his dark eyes scanning the students. He carried a stack of papers, which he dropped onto the podium with a dull thud.
"Settle down," Aizawa said, his voice flat, exhausted, commanding immediate silence. "Today we’re reviewing pre-quirk era history and the dawn of the phenomenon. Open your textbooks to page one hundred and four."
Izuku reached into his bag, his gloved fingers awkwardly grasping the spine of his history textbook. He hauled it onto the desk and flipped the pages.
"The advent of the exceptional," Aizawa began, turning to write on the board. "It started in Qing Qing City, China. The manifestation of the glowing baby. It marked the collapse of conventional society and the beginning of the chaos era."
Izuku stared at the printed illustration in the textbook. It was an artist's rendition of a hospital room, a newborn infant radiating a blinding, starlight luminescence.
Ah, I remember that one, All for One’s voice slid through Izuku’s mind, dripping with dark nostalgia. The glowing child. The history books always romanticize it. They focus on the birth. The grand beginning of the superhuman era.
Izuku gripped his pencil. The wood groaned under the pressure of his thumbs. He stared fixedly at the blackboard, willing the voice away.
Such a useless, flashy novelty, the villain continued, a sigh weaving into his tone. It offered no tactical advantage, no physical enhancement. It barely provided enough illumination to read a book in the dark. But it was the first.
Izuku stared fixedly at Aizawa, refusing to acknowledge the voice, trying desperately to focus on his teacher’s lecture about the sociological impact of the first generation.
I took it, you know, All for One said lightly.
Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. His pencil snapped. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet classroom. A few heads turned in his direction. Iida looked back with a concerned frown. Izuku quickly ducked his head, muttering a frantic apology, and shoved the broken halves of the pencil into his desk cubby before grabbing a new one.
He stared at his gloved hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. You took it? he asked internally, unable to stop himself.
Of course I did, All for One replied, sounding almost amused by Izuku’s shock. Not when he was a baby, obviously. I waited until he was an adult. He was quite arrogant, parading around like a deity simply because he was a historical landmark. They never knew it was me.
Izuku felt sick. A cold sweat broke out across his back. He could picture it. A man, living his life, suddenly stripped of the very thing that made him a global icon.
The media panic was absolutely intoxicating, All for One purred. They never understood why the light simply... went out one day. They spun theories of quirk exhaustion, divine punishment, spontaneous mutation. It was hilarious.
Bile rose violently in Izuku’s throat. A wave of profound, suffocating disgust crashed over him. He dropped the pencil, slapping his gloved hand over his mouth. His stomach heaved. The sheer casual cruelty of it, the violation of taking someone's very nature just for the sake of possession, made his skin crawl. He could vividly imagine the terror of that man, the first quirk user, having the light ripped from his body.
You’re disgusting, Izuku thought, the revulsion twisting his stomach into painful knots.
I am a collector, Izuku. It is my nature.
Izuku slumped forward slightly, his forehead resting in his hand. The words in the textbook blurred into meaningless black lines. Why aren't you trying to destroy me? Izuku demanded, the question that had plagued him for a week finally breaking through. You're awake. You're here. Why are you just... talking? Why aren't you tearing my mind apart to take control?
A low, vibrating chuckle echoed in the dark corners of Izuku’s consciousness. Destroy you? And ruin this exquisite view? Oh, Izuku. You misunderstand our new arrangement. The presence seemed to shift, heavy and settling deeper into the architecture of Izuku’s mind. I am quite content like this. For now, at least. The chaos is over. Shigaraki was a violent, chaotic vessel. You... you are quiet. Structured. It is peaceful here. Besides, watching you struggle with the irony is the most entertainment I’ve had in a century.
Izuku swallowed the bile, forcing himself to sit back up. He picked up his pencil with trembling fingers, ignoring the concerned glance Ochaco Uraraka shot him from the next row. He focused on the scratch of Aizawa's chalk, letting the monotonous history lesson drown out the echoing laughter in his head.
You're a parasite, Izuku spat back mentally, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached.
I am your legacy, All for One corrected gently, fondly. We are bound, little hero.
---
The bell rang, sharp and shrill, startling Izuku so badly he jumped in his seat. Aizawa dismissed them, instructing them to change into their gym uniforms and head to Ground Beta for combat assessment.
Izuku moved mechanically. He packed his bag, walked to the locker rooms, and changed out of his school uniform. He left the fingerless gloves on. He pulled the blue and white UA tracksuit jacket over his arms, zipping it up to his collar. He stared at his reflection in the locker room mirror. He looked pale. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent. He didn't look like a hero who had just saved the world. He looked like a haunted house.
He walked out onto the training grounds. The sun was high, beating down on the concrete and simulated city structures. Aizawa stood near a row of heavy, reinforced combat dummies, holding a clipboard. Beside him stood Toshinori Yagi. The former Number One hero hadn't been long out of the hospital and looked frail in his oversized yellow suit, but his blue eyes were bright and observant.
Toshinori was watching the students with a gentle, proud smile. When his hollow blue eyes found Izuku, the smile widened slightly.
Izuku looked away, guilt twisting his stomach into painful knots. His chest tightened at the sight of his mentor. He missed it. He missed the rushing, overflowing river of power that One for All used to be. He automatically reached deep inside himself, feeling for the familiar, comforting presences of the past users. He reached for the heavy, whip-like tension of Blackwhip. Nothing. He reached for the weightless, floating sensation of Nana’s quirk. Nothing. He reached for the kinetic buildup of Fa Jin. Nothing.
There was only the hollow, echoing cavern where the greatest power in the world used to reside, leaving behind only tiny, fading embers that sparked and sputtered like a dying campfire.
Stop mourning, All for One whispered, the voice wrapping around Izuku’s mind like a suffocating blanket. They were weak. They relied on borrowed time. You do not need them anymore, Izuku. You have me. I am all you will ever need.
Izuku shook his head violently, a small, jerky motion to physically dislodge the thought. He lined up in front of one of the reinforced dummies. He needed to focus. He needed to assess what he had left.
---
"Midoriya," Aizawa called out, his pen hovering over the clipboard. "Whenever you're ready. Focus on form and impact control. I want to see what the embers still can do."
Izuku nodded. He took a wide stance, planting his right foot back, bringing his fists up. He breathed in, trying to draw upon the fading embers. A faint, barely visible green lightning crackled around his arms, pathetic and thin. He felt so heavy. He lunged forward, twisting his hips, throwing a right hook aimed at the center mass of the dummy.
As his arm swung through the air, the heavy, dark presence in his mind shifted.
It was infinitesimal. A fraction of a second. A minuscule drop of power leaking from the abyss into Izuku’s muscles. A kinetic booster. Minor. Almost unnoticeable.
Izuku’s fist connected with the thick padding of the dummy.
The impact was entirely wrong. Instead of the dull thud of his own physical strength combined with the dying embers, there was a sharp, cracking sound. The force of the blow ripped through the dummy’s torso, snapping the reinforced steel spine backward. The dummy violently tore from its mounting bracket, soaring through the air and crashing into the concrete wall ten feet away with a deafening crunch.
Izuku’s arm snapped back from the recoil, the unfamiliar momentum tearing at his shoulder joint. He stumbled sideways, gasping, grabbing his right bicep.
The training ground went completely silent.
Izuku froze. His breath hitched in his throat. He slowly, agonizingly, turned his head.
Katsuki was standing three dummies down. His hands were lowered, his crimson eyes wide and fixed entirely on the shattered remains of Izuku’s target. He wasn't glaring. He was calculating. He was looking at the trajectory, the damage, the complete lack of green lightning that should have accompanied a strike of that magnitude.
Izuku’s gaze frantically shifted to the instructors. Aizawa’s pen had stopped moving. He was frowning, his eyes darting between Izuku and the wall. But it was Toshinori’s expression that made Izuku’s stomach plummet into freefall. The skeletal man’s sunken blue eyes were wide with utter, profound confusion. Toshinori knew Izuku’s fighting style perfectly. He knew the limitations of the fading embers.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded Izuku’s veins. He forced his mouth to curve upward into a bright, wobbly smile. He let out a loud, awkward laugh, rubbing his shoulder dramatically.
"Wow!" Izuku yelled, his voice cracking horribly. "I guess... I guess there’s a little more recoil in the embers than I thought! Got lucky with the angle, right? Haha..."
No one laughed. Katsuki’s jaw set tightly. Toshinori took a half-step forward, his hand raising slightly, his mouth opening to speak.
Do not get involved! Izuku screamed in his own mind, the mental projection tearing through his consciousness, directed squarely at the smiling void within him. Don't you ever do that again!
All for One chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound of pure amusement. You were struggling, Izuku. I merely provided a gentle nudge. A microscopic adjustment. You should be thanking me.
I don't want your help! Izuku thought, his smile remaining plastered on his face for the observers while inside he was trembling with rage. I will never use you. Never.
That is a bold claim, the villain mused, the amusement fading into something darker, something predatory. And a foolish one. The quirk you now hold is not static, little hero. It is an ecosystem. And it has been dormant for a very long time. It will start getting hungry soon.
Izuku’s physical body went rigid. The forced smile vanished from his lips. He stared blankly at the concrete beneath his red shoes. Hungry?
It craves power. It craves variation. It is designed to take, All for One explained, sounding like a teacher lecturing a particularly slow student. Right now, it is quiet because you haven't had it for very long and I am keeping it quiet. But soon, the instinct will bleed into you. You will look at your friends, at their quirks, and you will feel the urge to just take.
Izuku felt a wave of nausea so strong he swayed on his feet. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. No, I will never steal anyone's quirk. I would die first.
We shall see, All for One murmured softly. You will not be able to keep this hidden for long, Izuku. Not without my guidance. Not when the hunger sets in. Your friends will notice. They are already noticing.
Izuku lifted his head, making brief, terrifying eye contact with Katsuki, who was still staring at him with dangerous intensity. Izuku quickly looked away.
I don't need help from a villain, Izuku thought fiercely, desperately building mental walls, trying to cage the presence. You're a parasite. I will find a way to cut you out of me. I will find a way to destroy you once and for all.
The laughter that echoed in his head was bone-chilling. It was the sound of a man who had already won the game before his opponent even knew they were playing.
Oh, the irony is exquisite, All for One sighed, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The greatest hero the world has ever known... now the vessel for its greatest villain. We have all the time in the world, Izuku. I look forward to watching you break.
"Midoriya, are you alright?" Toshinori’s voice broke through the internal ringing, filled with gentle, fatherly concern as he approached.
Izuku snapped back to reality. He looked at Toshinori, seeing the deep worry lines etched into the older man’s gaunt face. He looked at his gloved hands, hiding the ultimate betrayal.
"I'm fine, All Might," Izuku lied, his voice hollow. "I'm perfectly fine."
He turned back to the remaining dummies, planting his feet, raising his fists. He felt nothing but the crushing weight of the dark, waiting shadow beneath his skin, biding its time. Slow. Patient. Inevitable.