Chapter Text
The ground beneath Izuku’s red boots did not simply crumble; it disintegrated into a fine, grey powder that swirled upward with every violent shift of momentum. Blackwhip snapped out from his forearms in thick, undulating cords, anchoring deep into the shattered remains of a concrete foundation twenty yards away. His teeth clicked together from the sheer force of the recoil, the metallic tang of blood pooling under his tongue as he yanked his body forward through the smoke-choked air.
Beside him, a sharp, deafening crack echoed through the wasteland. Bakugo exploded through the curtain of ash, his palms flashing with brilliant, blinding bursts of orange and yellow fire. Sweat rolled down the sides of Bakugo’s face, cutting clean tracks through the layers of soot clinging to his skin. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and fixed entirely on the figure hovering amidst the wreckage ahead.
Tomura Shigaraki stood amidst the rubble, his white hair matted with grime and blood, shifting slightly as the wind picked up. But it wasn't the raw, destructive power radiating from the villain that sent a chill down Izuku’s spine. It was the way Shigaraki was looking at him.
It was an unsettling, deeply wrong kind of stare. The crimson eyes were completely devoid of the chaotic, destructive rage that usually fueled Shigaraki’s movements. Instead, they were heavy, calculating, and disturbingly focused, narrowing in a way that felt entirely too old, too deliberate. The gaze locked onto the rhythm of Izuku’s breathing, tracking the rise and fall of his chest with an unblinking, heavy intensity that made the hairs on the back of Izuku's neck stand flat against his skin.
A sudden, sharp pop of a small explosion shattered the silence to Izuku’s left.
"Hey! What the hell are you looking at, you damn extra?!" Bakugo roared, his voice cracking against the strain of his own exertion. He threw his right arm back, unleashing a massive, concussive blast that propelled him violently out to the flank. His teeth were bared in a fierce, protective snarl, his chest heaving as he tried to force himself directly into Shigaraki’s line of sight, desperate to break that continuous, piercing stare. "Stop staring at him like that! I'll blow your damn face off!"
Shigaraki didn't even blink. He tilted his head slightly, a micro-movement that caused his long, tangled white hair to spill over his scarred cheekbones. A small, chilling smile that didn't quite reach his eyes twitched at the corner of his chapped lips.
"Deku, move!" Bakugo roared, his palms unleashing a massive twin blast that propelled him forward across the shattered ground like a missile.
Izuku didn't hesitate. He ignited One For All to thirty percent, the green sparks arc-welding themselves to the air around his skin. He bent his knees, preparing to launch himself upward to clear a rising wall of debris. He pushed off the broken concrete, his right leg flexing perfectly, his muscles coiling to lift his weight into the air.
Then, Shigaraki raised a single, pale hand and lifted two fingers, pointing them directly at Izuku's ascending form.
Mid-jump, while Izuku’s body was suspended three feet above the dirt, a sudden, unnatural sensation sliced through the air. There was no visible projectile, no flash of light, and no sound. But instantly, a heavy, deadening numbness struck Izuku’s left leg. The muscle fibers stopped responding entirely. The green lightning dancing across his skin fizzled out along his thigh, leaving the limb completely cold, heavy, and unresponsive, as if it had been suddenly turned to solid lead.
The loss of symmetry threw his trajectory into a violent tilt. Izuku’s eyes widened in sheer panic as he tipped sideways in mid-air, his center of gravity completely destroyed. He plummeted heavily, his right side crashing into the dirt and loose gravel. The impact sent a jolt of pain up his shoulder, rolling him across the rough earth until he came to a dead stop on his back.
"Kacchan!" Izuku screamed, his voice scraping raw against his throat. He clawed at the dirt with his fingers, trying to drag his body backward, but his left leg dragged behind him like an anchor of useless flesh. "I can't—I can't move my leg! It won't move!"
"Deku!" Bakugo’s voice dropped into a pitch of pure, unadulterated panic. The sudden deviation from his usual aggressive shout was jarring. He planted his heels into the dirt, skidding violently to a halt as his head snapped toward Izuku. "What the fuck did you do to him?!" Bakugo cursed, his palms sparking wildly, though the explosions were erratic, driven by a frantic terror he couldn't hide.
Before Bakugo could ignite another blast to close the distance, Shigaraki crossed the intervening space with terrifying, silent speed. He didn't use an explosive quirk; he simply blurred forward, his bare feet hitting the ground with rhythmic, heavy thuds.
Izuku reached out, his right arm extending, hoping to manifest Blackwhip to pull himself toward Bakugo, but Shigaraki was already towering over him. A heavy, calloused hand clamped firmly around the fabric of Izuku’s hero costume at the hip, and with a single, effortless heave, Shigaraki hoisted Izuku upward.
Izuku’s breath was knocked clear out of his lungs as his stomach collided hard with Shigaraki’s shoulder. He was slung across the man’s back like a sack of potatoes, his head hanging upside down against the small of Shigaraki’s back. The sudden rush of blood to his brain made his vision swim with dark, blurry spots.
"Deku! Let go of him!" Bakugo screamed, his voice breaking entirely as he lunged forward, his palms blasting a continuous stream of fire to propel himself into a desperate sprint. "Drop him right now, you bastard!"
Izuku shivered violently, his fingers trembling as they dangled near Shigaraki’s thighs. Every single instinct inside him screamed that he was about to disintegrate into nothingness. He could feel the tip of the five fingers of Shigaraki's hand pressing firmly into his hip through the fabric of his suit. He waited for the agonizing, burning sensation of Decay to tear through his skin, his teeth chattering so hard they clicked.
But the skin stayed whole. The quirk didn't activate. The hand remained steady, firm, and horrifyingly controlled, keeping the destructive power perfectly locked away beneath the skin.
"Kacchan!" Izuku cried out again, his vision locked onto the dirt rushing past beneath his dangling head. He stretched his arms down, trying to push himself off Shigaraki’s lower back to get some form of leverage, any distance at all. "I can't—"
"Shut up and hold on," Bakugo roared from behind them.
The heavy, rhythmic thuds of approaching boots echoed from the ridges. The other pro heroes—Endeavor, Manual, and several others—finally managed to break through the dust cloud, their faces pale as they took in the scene.
"Shigaraki! Drop the boy!" Endeavor’s voice boomed across the wasteland, a massive torrent of fire erupting from his boots as he threw himself into a desperate pursuit.
The heroes opened up their stride, their legs pumping as they tried to close the gap. Bakugo was at the absolute forefront, his face twisted into a mask of pure fury and hidden panic, using every ounce of his explosive power to close the distance. But Shigaraki didn't even look back. He simply leaped forward, his powerful legs driving him into the air, clearing 50 meters in a single bound. The distance between Izuku and the heroes didn't shrink; it began to increase with terrifying, exponential speed.
"Let go! Let me down!" Izuku growled, his voice muffled by the fabric of Shigaraki’s coat. He pulled his elbows inward, pressing his forearms against the broad expanse of Shigaraki’s upper back. He gathered every ounce of strength remaining in his upper body, trying to shove himself away, trying to break the grip holding his hip.
Suddenly, a strange, localized pull vibrated through the air.
Izuku’s wrists snapped together with a violent, metallic clack. It wasn't physical ropes; it felt as if his bones had suddenly turned into opposite poles of a powerful magnet. Before he could process the sensation, his flattened hands were drawn downward against his will, snapping flat against the center of Shigaraki’s spine. The invisible force locked his palms flush against the fabric, binding his upper body tightly to the villain’s back by a magnet-like quirk.
Izuku gasped, his chest tightening as he tried to pull his hands away. They wouldn't budge an inch. They were completely glued to Shigaraki's skin.
And then, a cold, heavy sensation flooded through his palms. The faint, glowing embers of One For All that had been flickering deep within his chest suddenly went entirely dark. It wasn't the natural fading of exhaustion; it felt as if a heavy, thick concrete wall had been dropped over the fire, suffocating the sparks instantly.
"What... what did you do?" Izuku whispered, his eyes widening in horror as he stared at the upside-down view of the ground rushing past far below them. "My quirk... I can't feel it."
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled through the spine pressed against Izuku's hands. The voice that came out of Shigaraki’s mouth was layered, deep, and carried a smooth, mocking cadence that did not belong to the young leader of the League.
"A rather ingenious little thing, isn't it?" All for One spoke through Shigaraki’s throat, his tone dripping with an unsettling, calm amusement. "I took it from a distant relative of Shouta Aizawa many years ago. It suppresses the quirk factors entirely upon direct physical contact. A bit more tedious to utilize than the version your dear teacher possesses, I admit—having to actually maintain physical touch is such an annoying limitation—but under the current circumstances, it serves our purposes beautifully."
Izuku’s heart stopped. The horror of the realization settled deep into his bones.
"You... All for One..." Izuku choked out, his fingers twitching helplessly against the villain's back. He twisted his torso, trying to writhe out of the magnetic hold, his shoulder blades grinding together as he fought for even a millimeter of space. "Did you destroy Shigaraki? Let me go, get off me! Let go!"
The entity laughed again, the sound soft and gentle, completely at odds with the violent speed at which they were traveling. "Tomura is still within here, little Izuku. Do not worry. He is merely resting at the moment, letting me handle the logistics of our departure. You have made things quite difficult for him today, you know."
The air pressure shifted violently as Shigaraki’s body pulled out of the sky, dropping toward a dense, abandoned industrial sector miles away from the main battlefield. The ruined skyscrapers gave way to low, crumbling concrete structures and rusted corrugated iron roofs. The heroes’ shouts had grown faint, reduced to distant, indistinct murmurs against the wind. The distance was too great now. They had lost them.
---
Shigaraki’s feet hit the cracked asphalt outside a large, windowless warehouse with a dull, heavy thud. The structure was ancient, its metal siding covered in thick sheets of rust and peeling grey paint.
Izuku renewed his struggle the moment they stopped moving. He wiggled his torso frantically, trying to use the momentum of his hanging upper body to swing his elbow around. "Let me go! I said let me go!" he yelled, lifting his left arm as much as the magnet quirk would allow and awkwardly slamming his elbow down into the small of Shigaraki's back.
The blow hit with a soft, dull impact. Without the enhancement of One For All, and from his awkward, upside-down suspension, the strike possessed no real force. It barely even shifted the fabric of Shigaraki's coat.
"Hush now," All for One said softly, the tone almost paternal as he stepped through a small, rusted side door into the dark interior of the building. The door creaked loudly on its hinges before shutting with a heavy, metallic click that echoed through the vast, empty space. "Everything will be alright. There is no need for all this pointless exertion."
---
The inside of the warehouse was vast, gloomy, and choked with decades of neglect. Thick layers of ancient, grey dust settled over broken wooden crates, discarded iron pipes, and shattered glass that littered the concrete floor. As Shigaraki walked, his heavy footsteps disturbed the silent air, causing small clouds of fine, powdery particles to rise from the floorboards.
A few of the floating particles drifted upward, tickling the edge of Izuku’s nose as he hung upside down. His nostrils flared, his chest contracting sharply before he let out a loud, sudden sneeze.
“Achoo!”
Shigaraki paused his slow walk. With a smooth, gentle motion, his right hand came up and lightly patted Izuku’s hip, the gesture incredibly casual, as if he were simply comforting a restless child.
Izuku’s face flushed a deep, burning crimson out of sheer fury and shame. "Don't touch me! Get your hands off me!" he hissed, his teeth bared as he glared down at the dusty floor. "Let me down right now!"
"Now, now," All for One murmured through Shigaraki's lips, continuing his slow, deliberate stride toward the very back of the warehouse.
They reached a solid concrete wall near the rear loading bays. The surface was stained with water damage and age, completely unremarkable to the untrained eye. However, Shigaraki reached out with his left hand, his fingers sliding beneath a loose, cracked slab of stone that looked like a natural piece of structural damage. He pried it back slightly, revealing a small, metallic keypad hidden securely in the recess.
Izuku strained his neck, twisting his head upward until his neck muscles throbbed, trying to look over Shigaraki’s shoulder to catch the sequence of numbers. His green curls brushed against the dirty fabric of the coat as he squinted through the dim light.
But before his eyes could focus on the pad, Shigaraki’s fingers moved with blinding, practiced speed. A rapid succession of five sharp, mechanical beeps echoed through the quiet space. The buttons had already been pressed before Izuku could deduce a single digit.
"Dammit," Izuku growled under his breath, a low, frustrated sound vibrating in his throat. He dug his fingers into the fabric of the coat again, trying to shift his weight to break the magnetic seal on his hands again, but the invisible force held him completely immobile against the spine.
With a heavy, grinding groan of hidden hydraulics, a seam appeared in the solid concrete wall. A section of the wall slid inward and then backward, revealing a dark, yawning aperture. Inside, a flight of narrow concrete steps descended steeply into the subterranean darkness below.
Shigaraki stepped over the threshold. Behind them, the heavy concrete door slid back into place with a definitive, airtight thud, cutting off the faint light of the warehouse completely.
"There," All for One said, his voice laced with a deep, serene contentment. "No one will be able to find us now. I constructed this particular sanctuary over twenty years ago, long before the current heroes even knew what to look for. It has remained entirely untouched."
A cold shudder ran down Izuku’s spine, starting from his lower back and radiating out to his fingertips. The finality of the door closing felt like a trap snapping shut around his neck.
---
As they began their slow descent, a series of low-wattage, yellow lights flickered to life along the ceiling of the stairwell, casting long, dancing shadows down the narrow passage. The concrete walls were damp, showing signs of salt buildup from decades of isolation.
"Why..." Izuku started, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to keep it steady. He stared down at the concrete steps passing inches from his face with every one of Shigaraki's downward strides. "Why haven't you tried to take it? You've had every chance. Why aren't you taking One For All?"
Shigaraki’s pace remained completely steady, his boots making a soft, rhythmic clicking sound against the stone stairs.
"Because I am a realist, little Izuku," All for One replied smoothly, the tone conversational. "The quirk has passed its singularity point. It has merged so deeply with your core, with your very genetic makeup, that it can no longer be forcibly extracted or passed on without destroying both the quirk and the vessel entirely. I have accepted that reality."
Izuku’s breath hitched. He tried to blink away the moisture gathering in his eyes from hanging upside down for so long.
"I am perfectly content with the current arrangement," the voice continued, its gentle, possessive edge making Izuku's skin crawl. "If I cannot have the power, having you as the vessel under my care is an entirely acceptable alternative."
Izuku shivered, a deep, primal horror settling into his gut. The realization that All for One wasn't trying to steal the quirk, but rather keep him, was infinitely more terrifying.
---
They reached the bottom of the long stairwell. Another heavy, reinforced steel door blocked the path, this one equipped with a digital interface that glowed with a faint green light. Shigaraki raised his left hand again, his fingers hovering over the keys.
"I must admit," All for One mused, his fingers dancing across the interface with effortless precision, "I am quite glad I held onto that password-memory quirk all those years ago. The gentleman I acquired it from had a rather simple mind, but the ability to perfectly retain twenty-year-old security sequences without a single error is remarkably convenient."
Izuku clamped his jaw shut. His chest burned with indignation, the urge to shout at the villain for treating the theft of an innocent person's quirk and identity like a minor convenience rising up in his throat. But he forced it down, refusing to take the bait, refusing to give the entity the satisfaction of hearing him beg or argue. He merely tightened his jaw, his eyes fixed on the cold steel of the floor.
---
With a heavy hiss of released air pressure, the lock disengaged. The steel door swung outward, and Shigaraki stepped inside. As soon as his heel cleared the frame, the door clicked shut behind them, the heavy deadbolts sliding into place with a mechanical crunch that signaled absolute isolation.
Izuku trembled, his head still hanging low as he tried to take in his surroundings from his inverted perspective.
The space was surprisingly expansive—a fully realized underground safehouse. To the left, a small kitchen area with stainless steel counters and dark wooden cabinetry sat completely silent. A central living area occupied the main space, furnished with a heavy, dark fabric couch and a low coffee table. Off to the right side, two closed wooden doors presumably led to bedrooms.
Like the warehouse above, a thin layer of fine grey dust covered the surfaces of the furniture, undisturbed by time.
The movement of their entry stirred the air once more. A tiny particle of dust drifted across Izuku’s field of vision, landing directly on the tip of his nose. He twitched his upper lip, trying to shake it off, but his chest swelled automatically.
“Achoo!”
A soft, low chuckle rumbled through Shigaraki’s chest. "Still sensitive to the environment, I see. Do not worry, I will rectify the dust shortly."
All for One lifted Shigaraki's left hand. A faint, violet glow emanated from his palm as a low, humming vacuum quirk activated. The air in the room swirled gently, drawing every speck of dust off the couch, the tables, and the counters, pulling the particles together into a dense, grey sphere that hovered just above Shigaraki's palm. With a sudden, brief compression of his fingers, the sphere vanished into nothingness, leaving the surfaces clean.
"There," All for One said.
Instantly, the heavy magnetic pull holding Izuku’s hands to Shigaraki's back snapped off.
Sensory awareness returned to Izuku's fingers, and his arms dropped slightly from the sudden release. Instinct flared within him; despite the thick suppression quirk still numbing his connection to One For All, he pulled his right fist back, intending to drive his knuckles directly into the center of Shigaraki’s spine with purely physical strength.
But before the punch could even begin its arc, Shigaraki moved. He leaned forward, his large hands gripping Izuku’s torso with surprising gentleness, and smoothly deposited him onto the soft cushions of the dark fabric couch.
Izuku’s breath caught in his throat as his back hit the cushions. The suppression quirk vanished the exact millisecond Shigaraki’s hands left his skin, but the sudden return of his quirk factor did him no good—his left leg remained completely dead, an unresponsive weight extending awkwardly off the edge of the seat.
Panic surging through his veins, Izuku immediately dug his elbows into the couch cushion, scrambling backward until his spine hit the heavy backrest. He pulled his right leg up to his chest, his foot planting firmly, while his left leg lay flat and useless, tilted outward at an unnatural, limp angle.
"Stay away from me" Izuku gasped, his chest heaving as he stared up at the villain. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with a frantic, animalistic terror. His gaze flicked past Shigaraki’s shoulder toward the reinforced steel door at the end of the short entryway. "I'll find a way out of here. You think this door can hold me? The moment I get my strength back, I'll break right through it! I'll tear it off its hinges!"
Shigaraki stood perfectly still in the center of the living room. He didn't look angry; he didn't look threatened. He simply tilted his head, his crimson eyes glowing faintly under the yellow lights as he watched Izuku’s desperate movements with an expression of quiet amusement.
"You will not break that door, little Izuku," All for One said smoothly, his tone conversational as he adjusted the collar of Shigaraki’s dark coat. "It is reinforced with the same carbon-alloy weave used in the lower levels of Tartarus. Even at one hundred percent of your capacity, it would take you hours of continuous impact to structuralize a breach. And I assure you, you will not be given hours of uninterrupted time."
Izuku’s fingers gripped the fabric of his trousers near his right knee, his knuckles turning white. "Then what is your great plan?" he demanded, his voice trembling as he tried to mask his fear with anger. "Are you just going to keep me sitting here forever? Whatever quirk you used on my leg, it won't last forever! Eventually, it'll wear off, and I'll—!"
Shigaraki took two slow, measured steps forward, his shadow falling completely over the couch and trapping Izuku in darkness. He stopped just at the edge of the coffee table, slowly hovering his pale, scarred hand over Izuku’s paralyzed left thigh, though he didn't make direct contact.
"The plan is remarkably simple," All for One explained, his voice low and steady. "We shall remain here until the surface world has settled its chaotic little dispute. Until the heroes grow weary of searching every empty cellar and abandoned grid in the prefecture. As for your leg..." He tilted his hand slightly. "You are correct. The specific quirk utilized only lasts for exactly one hour per application. However, should you prove difficult, I can simply activate it again. Or perhaps..."
He paused, a terrifyingly warm smile spreading across Shigaraki's face.
"...I could select from the dozens of other paralyzing variations I have collected over the decades. I have one that hardens the tendons like stone, another that mimics the effect of a severe stroke, and several that simply shut down the nervous system from the waist down entirely. I have plenty to choose from, Izuku. Your mobility is entirely at my discretion."
A cold, heavy sweat broke out across Izuku’s forehead. He stared at the hand hovering above his knee, his lower lip trembling. The scope of All for One’s library of quirks had always been an abstract concept in history books and battle reports, but seeing it framed as a tool for his own long-term confinement made his stomach turn over.
"They won't stop looking for me," Izuku whispered, his voice cracking as he looked up into the crimson eyes. "Kacchan... Mr. Aizawa... All Might... the others... they won't give up. They'll search for years if they have to."
"Then let them search for years," All for One replied softly.
Before Izuku could flinch away, Shigaraki’s hand moved forward, his long, pale fingers sinking directly into Izuku’s damp, green curls. The fingers moved gently, ruffling the messy hair in a slow, rhythmic stroke that felt sickeningly possessive.
"Get off me!" Izuku barked, his face twisting into a scowl as he slapped his right hand upward, catching Shigaraki’s wrist to pry the fingers out of his hair. "I said don't touch me!"
He pulled with all his physical might, his fingers digging into the skin of the villain's wrist, but Shigaraki’s arm didn't move a single inch. It felt like trying to shift a solid steel pillar. The entity merely allowed Izuku to hold his wrist, the crimson eyes crinkling at the corners with mild amusement at the display of resistance.
"Calm yourself," All for One murmured, slowly withdrawing his hand from the green curls despite Izuku’s grip, his strength easily overpowering the boy's hold without a hint of strain. "You should rest now. We have all the time in the world, after all."
Shigaraki turned smoothly on his heel, his coat flaring behind him as he walked a few steps back toward a heavy wooden dresser situated against the side wall near the kitchen entrance.
Izuku pulled himself further back into the corner of the couch, his right leg pressed tight against his ribs, his chest heaving as he watched the villain’s back. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Let me see," All For One mused aloud. "It should still be here, if my memory serves."
All for One reached Shigaraki's hand down and pulled open the top drawer of the dresser with a soft, wooden creak. His fingers dipped inside, rummaging through the contents for a brief moment before pulling something out into the dim light.
It was a heavy, thick metallic band made of a dull, dark grey alloy. A small, red indicator light sat dead center on the locking mechanism, currently dark.
Izuku’s eyes locked onto the object, and a sudden, freezing spike of recognition hit him. He had seen that specific design before—in older archival footage of high-security prisons from the early days of quirk regulation. It was an early-model quirk-suppressing ankle bracelet, heavy, cumbersome, and incredibly efficient at keeping difficult, high-risk prisoners completely powerless.
"It should still be perfectly functional," All for One murmured, turning back toward the couch with the heavy metal band dangling from his fingers.
Izuku began to tremble violently, his eyes darting from the bracelet to Shigaraki’s face, the last remnants of his defiance completely swallowed by the terrifying reality of the trap he was in.