AND WE'RE BACK WOOOO.

Time to see our green bean suffer! Are y'all excited? I sure am!

ONWARDS MY DUDES.


There was no cheerful reunion of the class once the police and heroes arrived. There was only a drowning silence as they stood and watched, huddled together like lost sheep, as the emergency services fought back the blue fire that threatened to engulf the USJ proper.

There was sound, yes, yelling and shouting, boots rushing from one place to another, sirens wailing and radios crackling with barked orders.

But from the class, there was only silence.

Hurt students had been tended too, and their wounds dressed, and yet even as they'd had their injuries wrapped with heavy bandages and their cuts soothed with stinging antiseptic, they had made almost no sound.

The sunlight above seemed dimmer somehow. The darkness that had infected the USJ had fled, and above the sun was starting down its slow climb from its afternoon pinnacle. And yet somehow, despite the mostly clear sky, there was a chill that they all felt. As if the very area itself had somehow been robbed of its warmth, of its life and, dare one say it, its sanctity.

Unholy forces had appeared there, and for that alone, it was forever scarred.

A man strode towards the group. A man dressed in a flowing trenchcoat hiding a smart navy-blue suit. His face was plain, almost surprisingly so, and yet his eyes were stern and determined. They were eyes of a man who had seen many hard things and had overcome them.

"Excuse me," He called out to the group of teenagers, most of which turned their heads towards him. Some however continued to look to the USJ and to the slowly shrinking fingers of blue flame which beckoned from the broken windows. "My name is Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, and I'm going to be interviewing all of you on the events that just happened. You're all of Class One-A, correct?"

"Yes, sorry-" A young man spoke up, moving through the crowd towards him. He was tall, strong looking, and one of the few who did not look truly haunted with the color still remaining in his cheeks, "Yes, sir. I'm the class president Tenya Iida, in the absence of Aizawa-sensei I've done a full headcount of our class. Other than Izuku Midoriya and Hitoshi Shinsou, we're all here."

The detective looked surprised at the professionalism, or perhaps simply the stuffed-shirt attitude of the young man, but soon nodded. "Good, thank you. Now-"

"Sir, before anything else, please," A young woman stepped forward. Her round face was pale, and she wore the same haunted look as most of her class along with tears dripping from her cheeks. But there was a deeper fear there, something that was gnawing at her heart. "I-Izuku, H-Hitoshi, Aizawa-s-sensei, and- and All Might are they okay?"

Now all the class was looking to him, and the detective felt an all too familiar weight on his shoulders. His heart became heavy. He never quite got used to doing this, no matter how many times he'd uttered such words to worried faces.

Maybe it was worse because they were all so young. Too young to be dealing with this kind of tragedy.

"Hitoshi Shinsou is being treated for his injuries now, he took quite the beating, but he'll recover in time. All Might is being seen too as well, he's a tough old son- ahem, I mean he's tough, he'll be fine, as will your teacher, Erasurehead."

There were a few sighs from the class, though some continued to hold their breaths.

"And- and Izuku…" The girl could barely put the words together.

She was terrified.

Naomasa looked down for only a moment before taking a breath through his nose and quietly, but firmly, announcing. "Izuku Midoriya has endured a serious amount of harm, and he's being rushed into emergency surgery right now. I'll be honest with all of you…" For a brief second, the words hesitated on his lips, "It doesn't look good."

His words seemed to move between the teenagers like a poisonous cloud, wrapping around their throats and quietly strangling the strength from their bodies. Naomasa looked across them all, his gaze an anchor to the seriousness of his words. "He's still alive, and from what I understand he's fighting. He needs you all to be strong for him right now."

"Strong for him?" A voice punctured the air like an explosion, "Strong for him? He's not even fucking human."

Another teenager stepped out of the crowd and Naomasa instantly frowned, or went to, except when he saw the way the young man stood, the way his hands were shaking lightly and the way his amber eyes seemed to almost bulge from his head, he stopped.

This teenager was more than shocked, he was traumatized. Why the hell the medics hadn't seen this in him he wasn't sure, but he was going to notify them as soon as possible.

"He almost killed All Might. Did you know that?"

"We haven't-"

"I fucking saw him." The teenager spoke through grinding teeth. "I saw him strangling All Might. Covered in blood and fire and- and- he- he's not human, he's not- he's fucking-" Shaking hands raised to his head, gripping his blond hair tight, and his eyes began drifting, almost glazing over. "He's not human. He's not human."

"Dude," One of the other boys, a redhead, reached towards the boy, but the blonde batted the hand away.

"Get the fuck off me!"

"It's okay, it wa-"

"NO! No, it's not fucking okay!" The blonde barked back as he looked to the group. "And you all know it's not fucking okay! I'm not going to lie to myself and say it's okay, not when we have that fucking thing in our classroom! Nemesis or- or whatever the fuck it calls itself. It isn't human."

Not one person replied, neither in agreement or argument. There was only the damning judgment of silence.

"You. Come with me," Naomasa ordered to the blonde with a voice as tough as iron, "Now."

Surprisingly the teenager obeyed. He turned from the others and stormed after the detective, who turned and simply began walking away.

The silence remained.

Naomasa felt something cold gripping his heart. A bizarre sense of dread which curled and settled within him. He had hoped that the kids would have the strength to overcome this. A villain attack was shocking, but it was what they were being trained for, first years or not.

But the way they looked. The thousand-yard stares they seemed to have, and the words that the young man had spoken so… so venomously.

What the hell had happened here?


Tomura wanted to scream. He wanted to rip through the world like a demon unleashed. He wanted to disintegrate crowds of pleading innocents starting with their heads until only ash remained.

The pain in his shoulder, across his chest and to his wrists, was immense. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The wounds had half-cauterized simply on touch from the demon's claws, and yet even so blood continued to leak out of him.

He could barely feel his wrist, though the twitching of his fingers had thankfully told him that nothing had been severed. His breaths came in deep, shuddering heaves and he leaned back heavily against the thick wooden headboard.

Bandages had been wrapped tightly around him, bandages that were still being wrapped around him by a doctor clothed in black robes trimmed with gold and flecks of red. The doctor, however, had pinned his sleeves back, allowing him to administer care without interruption.

Tomura's shirt had gone, along with his collection of severed hands, revealing a surprisingly sinewy body, if a little on the thin side. He had a few old scars across his chest, nothing serious, though that wasn't the thing that caught the eye.

Across his shoulders, his stomach and chest were a myriad of interconnecting tattoos. They formed both a strange, disturbing language and, at the same time, an intricate and equally disturbing pattern, terrible and blasphemous all at once.

The one on his back was the most damning. A vast inverted five-pointed star starting from his shoulders and ending at the base of his spine. Tattooed within each section were his words of oath, his sanctifications of unholy power. Proof that he had passed the tests given to him. They were also the reason he could punch above his weight class and move like a man training for the Olympics.

They were proof his faith was true.

Along, of course, with his severed hands and the sigils of blasphemous maledictions upon them.

They were the only reason he was still conscious, he knew that. They were his protection, his profane blessings, the shield that protected his soul. And indeed they protected him… or rather, they had. Now they would have to be recharged again.

If the monster had ruined them…

The doctor picked up a small bottle from a first aid kit to one side and sprayed it against Tomura's wrist, causing a sharp wasp-bite sting to rush through his system. The younger man gritted his teeth tightly, hissing in a deep, almost serpent-like manner, his thoughts snapping back to reality. His eyes squeezed closed, and the moment he opened them again they focused back on the balding head of the doctor beside him.

"Do that again and I will make sure you no longer have hands to work with."

"Do not threaten me, Master Tomura," The doctor replied in a voice that implied years of smoking, and a little irritation, "I answer to your Master, not to you."

Tomura growled out a long and vaguely threatening non-verbal response but otherwise kept his mouth shut. He was in a lot of pain right now, sharp and stabbing pain that seemed edged with a flame that simply wouldn't die, but it wasn't enough for him to willingly incur the wrath of his Master.

Not when it might also incur the wrath of his Father.

He looked around the room simply for something to do. His bedroom was sparse, like all bedrooms in the chapel. He had his bed, which was currently stained red with his blood, a spare bed across from him, a chest filled with a few his personal belongings, and that was it.

It was a spartan lifestyle, designed to make their initiates tougher, stronger, and to focus their faith. Tomura had always thought it was a bit stupid, as he was the only surviving initiate left.

The walls were made of old stone and were deathly cold. The floors were an ancient wood which creaked and groaned with every step. The room was lit not with natural light, for there were no windows, nor with electric light, but with the flicking candles on brass sconces along the walls. The flames were, of course, a corrupt blue, and did not truly light every corner of the room, making it seem gloomy and unnaturally haunted.

On one wall was an inverted, red-splattered cross, small and mostly unassuming. On another was a picture of All Might, covered in thrown knives and large tears. Tomura frowned at it then turned away in disgust.

Standing to one side, watching over them both was Kurogiri. His shadowed form was blanketed by a robe which matched the one the doctor wore, though the markings across were different, more ornate and somehow more disturbing. Beside him sat a laptop on a wheeled cart. The laptop screen was all black and simply had 'no video' written in white in its center.

Unblinking, tarnished gold eyes, still flickering and weaving, watched the doctor work on his Master. "You would do well to listen to him, Master Tomura, your injuries are grave."

"My injuries are nothing." Tomura hissed back, looking up from his bloody wrist to the demon, his chest heaving with pained breaths. "And it's your fault I got them in the first place. If you had been faster-"

"My Master, I apologize, as have already apologized profusely for my error." Kurogiri replied with a nod towards Tomura, "But I must remind you that I warned you of taking this action in the first place."

"Oh, so now you're smarter than me?" Tomura snapped at his demonic companion, "I ought to turn your host to dust, and then we'll see how sorry you are when you're dragged back to Hell."

"Master Tomura- I- Hm-" The demon huffed as calmly as he could, almost as if he'd ran through this kind of tantrum with the young man before. "I do not claim any such thing, I only suggest that-"

"Tomura."

The room went silent, and even the doctor stopped his work to look up. Eyes glassy and aging, eyes made of an ever-shifting golden shade, and eyes as red as freshly spilled blood, all looked to one location.

The laptop.

From behind the darkness of the screen came a sense of power and dread which seemed all invasive and corrupting. The candles flickered, though there was no wind.

"Tomura. Was your mission to kill All Might successful?" The voice belonged to someone strong. Someone unbelievably strong, and someone just as equally as dangerous.

The question was no real question at all, Tomura knew that. His heart beat a little faster out of a mixture of fear and utter admiration for the man he knew to be speaking.

"N-No, my Lord Sensei, it was not."

There was a moment where the screen seemed to glitch, and again, the blue flames on their candles flickered.

"So, you took one of our strongest summons in one of our most perfected hosts, and you failed to kill All Might?"

Kurogiri shifted awkwardly, "My Lord Sensei, I-"

"Did I say you could speak, Kurogiri?" The tone of his voice was akin to being shot through the temple with a gun. Sudden, swift and brutal.

The demon almost seemed to shrink in fear at the voice and he bowed his head towards the screen. "My apologies, my Lord Sensei."

"Tomura. I want you to explain to me what happened, in your words."

Tomura hesitated for a moment. His sensei was angry, he could tell, and yet he knew that his sensei would never truly hurt him. Even so, he was not beyond punishment, no one was, even though he had suffered a wound which would have killed most men. Good thing he had been protected by a power stronger than his own.

Tomura began explaining, slowly, his voice croaking and hoarse. He spoke of their initial good fortune, of how they infiltrated with their army of hired goons and split apart the classroom for the lower thugs to deal with while they targeted Erasurehead and Thirteen. Everything had been going to plan, right up until…

"Until… it appeared." Tomura's voice took on a spiteful, hateful tone. "My Lord Sensei, they have a demon of their own working for them, but I swear, it was like no demon I have ever seen." He paused for a second, "It was the thing that killed Legion. It tore it apart, Lord Sensei. It ate its heart and I- I-" Even now the memory of the creature that had attacked them seemed burned into his brain.

Tomura had seen many terrible things, things no man should ever see, and yet that thing. It scared him. It scared him, and he didn't like it because it meant that he was weak, and he couldn't be weak. Not when so much was dependent on him.

"They have a demon?" His Lord Sensei's voice drifted through the laptop, "What manner of demon?"

"It- It was huge, bigger than Legion. It looked kinda like- like a dragon. It had horns and wings and- and it used the blue flame like it was its own." Tomura winced as his wounds suddenly pulled tight and stung, like he was being raked all over again. Even describing the beast seemed to be enough to bring his pain back to the forefront. "And it had- it had a halo of unlight-"

"A halo of unlight?"

This was not spoken by his Lord Sensei, but someone new. A voice that reached forward through the screen and held Tomura's chin softly, lifting his eyes back up. It was a voice that seemed feminine and masculine at the same time. It was a voice of polished, shining gold, of glory and awe unbound and without end.

And it was terrible to behold. It was nightmarish in its purity. It was the gilded dagger slitting the throat of a king, it was the naked witch bathing in the virgin's blood.

"F-Father," Tomura stammered, his eyes growing wider.

"Are you absolutely sure, my child?" The voice was a soothing balm to his wounds and strength to his heart and soul. "Are you absolutely sure of this?"

"I-I swear to you, my Father, I'm telling the truth." Tomura stammered softly, even bowing his head a little and gulping. "What attacked me, what attacked Legion. It… it came from some child." He spat the last word out, his hate filtering in once again. "Some little scrawny nobody who had big ugly scars on him and green hair and-"

"Did he tell you his name?"

"N-No, my Father."

"My Lords, if I may," Kurogiri spoke suddenly, shifting awkwardly again, "I believe at one point I heard the creature refer to itself as 'Nemesis'."

There was a small pause from behind the laptop before Father spoke once again. "I see. Did you see what happened to this demon?"

"No, it attacked me, then we left as All Might arrived."

"I'm getting confirmation from our sources within the police force," Lord Sensei added in a stern tone, "The USJ was saved from burning to the ground. Reports claim that some kind of monster attacked All Might." There was a smirk to his tone. "How interesting, perhaps this demon was not so firmly on their side as you thought."

"I did not assume it would be, and if anything, Tomura's assault has proven may suspicions true." Father spoke again, their soft tone like velvet that was laced with razor blades. "You did well today, my child."

"B-But Father, I didn't kill All Might. I didn't claim his soul as my own."

"But you acted as I assumed you would." The voice smiled, as gentle as a summer breeze, as destructive as a hurricane, "All goes according to the prophecies long foretold. I am proud of you, Tomura, you have dealt our enemy a great blow."

"If you believe so, then I suppose I can hold off on your punishment," Lord Sensei spoke in a tone that also suggested a smile, though perhaps one more akin to a crocodile than a human, "Though it will take time to replace Legion and recover our losses."

There was a silence once more, though not the tense, cliff-edged silence as before. This time it was one of awe and reverence. Tomura moved, standing to his wobbling feet despite the hushed irritation of the doctor to his side and the pain that shot lightning-like across his body.

Then he fell to his knees before the laptop and bowed his head low, clasping his hands together in an apparent prayer. "My Lord Sensei. My Father Satani. I owe you my life, my soul, everything. I promise, next time, I will kill All Might and whatever else stands in our way."

There was a soft chuckling from behind the screen, and Father Satani answered softly. "The first blow has been struck, now we must wait and see how they react. Recover, Tomura, now for we plan our next move."

"Thank you, my Father, I shall."

"Oh, and Tomura."

The young man looked up at the laptop, blinking in surprise.

"I plan on arriving soon. Make sure the offering is replaced. Perhaps a woman, this time, hm?"

Tomura nodded his head, "Yes, my Father."

The screen cut off by itself and Tomura again rose to his feet.

Ignoring the calls to sit back down from both the doctor and Kurogiri he pushed open the wooden door and began making his way through the narrow corridors of the windowless chapel. On he walked, ignoring the pain in his chest and body until he, at last, came out into a vast room.

It was a nave. Tall and imposing, gothic and stern, seemingly carved directly into the stone walls like an ancient church. Yet it was, for a chapel, surprisingly well kept. The floors were swept clean, the pews in neat rows, and the vast black, red and gold lined carpet runners spotless and well maintained. Along the walls hung long tapestries, each black with a gold and red trim, each marked with a vast sigil in a bright, corrupt blue, each as somehow blasphemous as the last.

Tomura ignored them all as he walked forward to the alter where a vast inverted wooden cross stood before him. A wooden rail separated him from it, lined with votive candles, all of course, lighted with a blue flame.

A man had been nailed, literally nailed, to the inverted cross. His throat and stomach had been cut, and the blood and viscera had flowed down below him. The insides of the man had been taken away, of course, the doctor had requested them, but the blood remained, pooling under his corpse and running into a long line of symbols carved into the stone.

Tomura read them silently to himself, Deus autem flebitis.

God shall weep.

And he smiled, his whisper turning to an echoing roar within the corrupted church.

"Thy will be done."


Inko had never driven so fast in all her life. She'd ran through every red light she'd came across, skipped over every stop sign and had almost caused three crashes on her way to U.A. but she didn't give a damn.

Because the moment she heard the words your son was attacked she had moved. She had thought of nothing else, felt nothing else. Her vision had tunneled entirely on where she needed to be and what she needed to do, if there was indeed anything she could do.

She skidded into a parking space, well, more like three parking spaces, and jumped out of her car without even shutting the door. She ran into the U.A. medical wing, pushing someone aside as she did so and grabbing onto the receptionist's desk so tightly her fingers hurt.

"WHERE IS HE!?" Her voice was loud and panicked and edging into hysterical.

"Who are-"

"MY SON WHERE IS HE?"

The receptionist, thankfully, seemed to have some degree of realization and simply pointed down the hallway. "He's in surgery, Miss Midoriya, follow the signs, room Three-A."

If the nurse said anything else, Inko didn't hear it. She ran, the breath burning in her lungs and her heart hammering painfully behind her ribcage.

Her child. Her son. He was hurt, he was in pain, he was dying. The thought was a fear like no other. It was a fear that transcended any fear she could have ever had for her own life. Her child, her only child and the only child she would ever have was fighting for his life.

And there was nothing she could do about it. She hadn't been there to take the blows for him, to protect him from the evils of the world. She wished more than anything that she had told him to stay home that morning, that she had pulled him from the school for some bizarre, unneeded reason and that everything had gone differently.

That was wishful thinking though. Imaging the paths of roads not taken.

She spotted the operating room almost immediately, it was guarded by a police officer after all. As she approached he began stepping forward to head her off

The moment he was close enough she began wailing, "I'm his mother! I'm his mother! I have to see him! Let me see my baby!"

"Ma'am- Ma'am!" She fell against the officer, trying to push past him with arms weakened by desperation and terror. He was far taller and stronger than her and he held her back with ease. Still, through the top, circular windows of the double wide doors to the operating theater she spotted crowded heads, turquoise blue capped and lined with the elastic straps of medical masks.

She felt as though she was going to throw up.

"Come with me." The officer took her by the shoulder and began pulling her to a side corridor. She followed him, having no idea of what else to do and no thought to question him. All she could think about was her boy, her boy laying on a hospital bed as huddled figures opened his body apart, trying to save his life.

She was shaking. Tears were falling from her eyes and she made no effort to stop them, no effort to fix her messy hair or running makeup.

Her child was dying. Nothing else mattered.

The policeman opened a door and escorted her up a small set of stairs that she could barely find the strength to climb. Her legs were shaking, her body moving almost entirely on a mind-numbing instinctual automation.

He led her along the observation deck and sat her down on one of the small plastic seats.

"Would you like a coffee or some water, Miss Midoriya?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes were focused forward on the scene unfolding below her.

There were nine of them. Nine doctors or nurses, she wasn't quite sure, huddled around her child. Occasionally one would move away suddenly to check a monitor, or move a light closer, or pick up some odd-looking medical instrument before returning to the table.

It was in those small moments she caught glimpses of her child.

"N-No." Inko answered in a voice that shattered even as she spoke. It was barely above a whisper, barely above even the movement of her own lips.

The policeman nodded, "I'll be right outside if you need anything."

He left her as she sat, frozen to her seat, clutching her knees and leaning forward. The observation room was dimly lit, yet the operating theater itself was bright, almost blindly so. It looked bleached-clean and sterile and with the vast array of strange medical instruments hanging overhead. It was like some bizarre other world to which she was peering into.

Her child was surrounded by machines, all beeping and chirping with screen covered in data that she couldn't read and showing numbers she had no idea how to interpret.

Though there was one monitor she could see, one that she knew immediately.

His heart rate.

It was so slow.

The tiny, bouncing digital-green line was so weak. It ran constantly though, which she took as good sign at the very least.

If he needed a new heart, she would gladly hand over her own. If he needed blood she would give him hers. If she needed life, she would trade her own without a second thought.

Her breath came so lightly her lungs started to burn, but it was distant pain that didn't matter. Only her son mattered. Only her poor Izuku, whose blood was cursed from the moment he was born.

In that moment she wondered if she had done the right thing. Taking him to doctors for the visions he had, drowning him in medication just so he could live as normally as possible.

What if she had told him the truth from the get-go? What if she had let his power flow naturally?

What if she had demanded his father stay?

She frowned at this. No. No she had made the right decisions. He had suffered, yes, and it had been at her choices. But if she had not blanketed his mind… who knew where he would be now. Who knew what he would have become?

Who knew what that… that monstrous side of his blood would have made him into.

The observation room door opened suddenly and Inko looked up, turning her head with her eyes wide.

A man ran up the stairs and into the room, not even sparing a second to look at her. His shirt was white and yet dull in the half-light, his pants a deep navy blue, his shoes smart and black. His blue tie had been pulled down from its once neat knot, his usually well combed hair was fraught with messy strays and even his glasses had nudged down his nose.

He looked to the operating room, one hand laying flat against the tinted windows and, even in the dull light, his skin seemed to pale. Then he turned to Inko and for a moment the room grew inexplicably cold by some other, intangible force which went beyond the natural.

Eyes as black as the infernal void looked to her, his freezing-burning blue irises flashing in the gloom with an emotion that Inko knew all too well but seemed strange and unnatural on his narrow-chinned face.

He swallowed softly. "Inko-"

"Don't." Inko's voice was blade wet with blood. It was a hammer blow on a skull. She was not a powerful woman, her quirk was not particularly strong and she couldn't swing a fist to save her life.

But in that moment, no being in heaven, earth, or even hell, could match the rage in her eyes.

Then it was all shattered in a moment.

There was a sudden panic from the operating room and both turned to look.

Izuku's heart rate had stopped.

The fear that took hold of Inko was like being dropped into the darkest point of an endless ocean. It drowned her, utterly. It stole the thoughts from her mind, the breath from her lungs and the warmth from her blood. It strangled her tightly, crushing her mind and heart in a cruel, ruthless fist.

There was no fear like that of watching your only child die.

At what point she had stood, she didn't know, but suddenly she was banging on the windows, her fists hamming the glass as she screamed incoherently. A mixture of her hysterical wailing and her utter, heart shattering sorrow. Tears fell without stopping from eyes couldn't tear away.

The doctors swarmed and panicked, shouting and screaming to one another as the boy simply slipped from their fingers.

Inko didn't even notice the shadows growing suddenly across every corner of the room, as if they were madly reaching for something they couldn't grasp.

It was only when Hisashi Hokori stepped back that she turned to look at him.

His eyes were wide with a terror she barely believed he truly felt. It wasn't in his nature to feel things like empathy or sorrow.

"You." Her voice was bordering on being inhumanly angry.

The fury that she had felt only moments before now flooded back, fueled by the horror unfolding before her. A mother's rage at the sight of one who stood, pretending to be helpless while her child died.

"YOU." She rushed him, grabbing the man by his shirt and pulling it tight. Eyes that could tear through the souls of mortal men looked down on her.

They were scared. So utterly scared that, for only the tiniest of moments, she considered holding him tight to her.

But that motion was quickly squashed.

"HELP. HIM." She half-choked the words out. They were angry, demanding words, clawing at her throat and screaming through her heart.

"I-I can't-" Hisashi replied with a pathetic shake of his head, avoiding her eyes, "He's beyond-"

"YOU ARE HIS FATHER." Inko screamed the words at him. They were more than a fact, they were an accusation and an insult to everything he had done in that role. At her words, Hisashi looked back to her once more.

Time slowed to a crawl as she saw something fill his gaze. It was an emotion. An emotion she had never seen in his eyes before, not once in all the time they had spent together. It was an impossible emotion, an emotion that should have been alien to his kind, but it was there.

She dared not put a name to it. She didn't have that kind of hope.

Echoing strangely in the over-shadowed room, she heard herself speak softly, as if from some distant place. "Please. Do something. Save him."

He turned again, and she turned with him, her hands falling from his shirt. In the manic chaos of the operating room the nurses and doctors around their child parted for just a moment, and together they saw him.

The blood-soaked form of Izuku Midoriya. His bones shattered, his body purple and black with cuts and bruises beyond belief. A mass of wires and machines linked to his skin, clamped over his mouth, and hands and fingers.

They saw the stumps of horns that had come just from the sides of his forehead. They saw the limp, black-clad tail hanging from the table, its end pointed like a barbed speartip. They saw the droplets of blood falling from his lips and ears and many, many wounds.

A nurse pressed a defibrillator to his chest, sweat beading on her forehead, and at the crawl of a snail, his skinny body jolted onto the bed. Again, and again this happened, all to the soundless shouting of doctors, to the punctuating thud of dead weight on the operating table.

The heart monitor continued to read nothing, just a single line matched by the toneless whine of the machine.

And then, Hisashi broke the silence. "I can't save him," There was a strangled tone to his words, a mix of hatred, desperation and maybe even fear. "But I know someone who can."

He turned, pushing Inko from him with a firm, but not violent hand, and moved down the staircase, vanishing out of the room.

Inko turned back to her boy, lying dead on the operating table as the doctors began pulling off their masks and looking to him with defeated eyes.

And she held her breath.


Well now. I have to admit I'm grinning like a maniac over here because YEAH.

So the most obvious plot twist in history was finally dropped, though I'm hoping that enough of you are still excited to see it happen. More importantly I think is that our boy is dead, so can Hokori save him?

And just who is Hokori, anyway? And who is this person who can save his son?

Prepare for more answers next update my dudes, because Izuku is taking a little trip down to his dad's house. And I do mean down to his dad's house.

Till next time! Thank you for reading and keep safe!