'Information does not exist in isolation. There are always consequences to acting upon it. There is always context that is missing. You can never truly have every piece of the puzzle when it comes to people. But having more than your opponent is very often enough.'

—Excerpt from the recovered 'Tenets of Combat' likely authored by an underground hero or vigilante

Kurogiri's bar has been closed since the day of the attack. It bothers him more than he is willing to admit but there are reasons to his actions.

With his bar closed, it means any of the myriad low-level villains won't visit seeking guidance and won't draw attention with their inefficient methods of entry and exit. He is proven right the next day as hero agencies across Honshu perform raids and strikes against petty villains, gang members, and even some of the informants the League relies on.

They are fighting back, but Kurogiri's orders have largely been for them to hide and move to new hideouts. The division commanders of the League follow his orders to the letter as do most of their subordinates.

The few captured are those who refused his commands, believing themselves smarter the League's strategist.

Despite his annoyance, he can take the tiniest measure of joy that the heroes also battle the Yakuza groups emboldened by the attack on the Sports Festival and seeing a chance for ascendancy once more. It doesn't matter. The Yakuza are rats scurrying in the dark, vermin seeking any scrap of food. And though they think they have the power to move openly, Kurogiri already has plans for their eventual downfall.

He appears in the holding cell of their informant, uncaring of the cameras observing him. The device emitting electronic countermeasures on his body renders them unimportant. At best the cameras will see static.

The informant has a moment to notice him.

"Kurogiri, I didn't tell them anything," she pleads, knowing what is to come. "I'm loyal to you. Only you."

Kurogiri nods. "And now you won't tell them anything." He forms a warp gate around the informant's neck. "Goodbye. Thank you for your loyalty."

He doesn't look to the head as it falls to the ground with a wet thud and continues with his day. This won't be the last informant. By noon he has eliminated all six possible leaks, solidified the fear the rest of the League's network has of him and is in the process of localising Stain.

The water tank supports his mass easily as he uses drones to observe the neighbourhood.

He is not so distracted that he fails to sense the threat of the World Walker stepping through one of his doorways. The man looks older than Kurogiri remembers, his freckles deeper and his hair streaked with silver. With the deep scars on his face, he looks startlingly like his son.

Kurogiri prepares for a battle he likely cannot win, nor can he flee from it. The World Walker's ability to manipulate the weird place that connects many warp quirks mean he can simultaneously attack and defend against any opponent. And he can follow Kurogiri no matter where he runs.

Getting to Sensei is his best hope of survival.

"Hisashi," he says warily, not certain how rageful the man will be after what has happened to his son. Whether or not he will still abide by the accords.

At the very least, if Hisashi chooses to violate the accords and kill Kurogiri, then Sensei will avenge that death with the murder of Inko.

The man shifts his weight on the precarious edge of the water tank. "Kurogiri. You were married, right?"

"What kind of threat is that?"

"No threat."

Kurogiri blinks and only now realises Hisashi has no idea about the stadium attack. Which can only mean he's been in parts of the dark universe where time runs differently. It may only have been hours for Hisashi since he caused the commotion at the Imperial Villa and talked to Sensei, despite it being days for Kurogiri.

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you get your wife to listen to you when you fucked up. Badly."

"Apologise. Beg forgiveness. Hope she doesn't break you in half."

Hisashi chuckles easily as though they are friends. "She can literally do that."

Another piece of information to consider. If Inko Midoriya's power has increased to a level comparable to her son or husband, then the League is very likely fucked. And he has no intention of being in the eastern hemisphere if things go wrong.

"Then give her time," he says, both in sincerity and to give the League time. "She may need a few weeks before she is ready to speak to you."

Hisashi nods once and falls through a doorway beneath him.

Kurogiri sighs with the danger gone. They are safe until Tomura decides to do something else. He is the other reason the bar is closed.

His phone beeps.

One of the drones in his network has a positive ID on Stain. He forms a warp gate and steps through it, paradox and causality snapping in three. On the other side, he walks out onto a darkened alleyway, garbage rotting nearby.

Stain stands near a dead sidekick, one belonging to the hero Hawks if the feathered epaulettes are any indication. Stain flicks his blade to the side to clean it and sheathes the sword.

"What do you want?" the hero-killer grumbles.

The name annoys him. Only one person should have that title and he was long dead having killed the titular Hero herself. This man with this false title is nothing compared to the original Herokiller.

Still, Kurogiri is a professional.

"To initiate contact with you. The leader of the League of Villains wishes to conduct a meeting with you."

That is true if you consider Tomura as the public leader even though Sensei truly runs the League.

"The League. You people disgust me. You're nothing more than rabble with no coherent goal or message."

Kurogiri steps forward. "You're casting a judgement without having met us."

"Am I? Your Hokkaido branch is weak and filled with drug addicts and human traffickers. I took great pleasure in dismantling it."

We don't have traffickers, Kurogiri thinks. And if there are, then they will die.

"Anyone can claim a name in hopes the association will garner them protection."

Stain strikes without warning, his sword stabbing through Kurogiri's throat. Kurogiri looks down at the blade in annoyance.

"I rather liked this shirt," he says, stepping left and through the blade. "Why that location outside of hoping that if I spoke, I must have vocal cords? You're not the first to think so."

"Your group is a blight upon society. Ando said heroes hold back advancement, but villains like you force society back. You seek immortality and validation by battling heroes, and in the process, you oppress the masses. You all deserve to die."

"Perhaps," Kurogiri agrees. "But those I work with seek to see the current establishment of heroes destroyed. For now, our ultimate goals align. Aid us in defeating All Might, and we will go our separate paths."

"All Might. Once I respected him as a true hero before he was revealed a fraud. He hides behind the media and his position, seeking immortality like all the rest. Like Endeavour and Best Jeanist. He is nothing like Hawkmoon or Hero." Stain sheathes his sword again. "When he is dead, I will come for you and yours. The cycle of poverty and stagnation your kind creates will end by my blade. You targeted civilians, and for that, your days are numbered. Begone."

Kurogiri does not overstay his welcome. There is too much to do in the wake of the Stadium attack, too much to organise and fix in the chaos of the first forty-eight hours. Convincing a fanatic is at the bottom of his long list of priorities.

His next warp takes him to a mental asylum. It takes little time to find the relevant files he is seeking. Takes even less time to find the targets.

The boy with the purple balls for hair lays restrained on a gurney. The file makes him out as catatonic but for periods of intense screaming in an unknown language. He finds the invisible girl only by the straight jacket on her as she stands, not responding to any of the sounds Kurogiri makes. The final target, the rather large boy, tracks Kurogiri lazily, showing a fear response at his presence.

He warps once more. The first two have no chance of recovery just as the files say, but the third still has a tiny sliver of hope. He is just about to warp away when the oddest sensation of being grasped by something slimy envelops him. He chokes in shock and fails to land on his feet.

He looks around warily, recognising the room Sensei occupies often.

"I see you've been avoiding me," Sensei says, no hint of malice in his voice. Yet. "You conveniently left all means of communication in the bar. How childish."

Kurogiri straightens his ruined tie. "I did not wish to deal with Tomura's demands whilst I did damage control. The informants have been silenced, high-value assets relocated, and Stain scouted."

"You've certainly been industrious. Autonomous, even. It must chafe to obey someone you consider less competent than yourself."

He cocks his head. "I do not consider myself on your level."

"Perhaps not me but certainly Tomura." Kurogiri freezes. "How often have you thought to take control? After all, when has he shown an inkling of growth? Your hate must have burnt hot. It must have been so easy to whisper the right words at the right time. A suggestion that Endeavour's son would be just like the father. You might even have reminded him of Midoriya's power and told him of the power his father holds. Tell me, how long have you hated Hisashi?"

Dangerous accusations, any one of them. Together, they paint Kurogiri as a traitor of the highest order. Had he any blood it would freeze.

"I've raised that boy since he was five," he says slowly, incredulous at the threat. "I tutored him myself. I spent many nights comforting him when thunderstorms struck. Do not ever accuse me of betraying him. I care for him more than you do."

He doesn't realise just how close he is to the great villain. Doesn't notice that Sensei could pulverise the little flesh that remains of his original form.

Right now, none of that matters because if All For One says anything wrong, then Kurogiri has a warp gate ready to remove his head.

Sensei's laugh is deep and booming. "Forgive me. I wished only to know if you served loyally. You see, a loyal servant would obey his master's commands."

The malevolence is sudden and all-consuming. Kurogiri falls to his knees, all motor functions lost. He barely manages to look up at the darkened visage of Sensei.

"Commands such as not harming civilians. Obviously, a loyal servant would obey those commands. Am I wrong?" Kurogiri can't speak with the oppressive weight of death looming over him. "But you are loyal to Tomura more than I."

The malevolence leaves. The air is suddenly breathable. It always amazes him how easily Sensei goes from a true monster to a man of refinement at the flip of a coin.

"I told you to obey him without question. I suppose only I am responsible for this failing. Summon the boy. We have much to speak on."

"You tasked me with him and made me responsible for his actions." Kurogiri swallows but stands his ground. "And if that is the case, then I should bear the punishment for this."

"You truly do love him," Sensei says at length, genuine surprise in every word.

It feels like a betrayal to say, "Yes."

"You make this very awkward for me. I promised you the death of All Might in exchange for your services and have yet to fulfil my end of the bargain. I let you raise Tomura because there was no one else I trusted who knew how to raise a child."

Kurogiri closes his eyes. Decades later, the death of his daughter still lingers in his heart, fresh as the day it happened. He remembers her smile, so much like her mother's and the way she always insisted on dancing with him. Wife and daughter never cared for his appearance or the utility his quirk provides.

They simply loved him for who he was.

Would you hate me for loving another? Would you forgive me my sins?

Somehow, he knows they both loved him enough to want him to be happy.

"A child should be punished," Kurogiri says, knowing where Sensei wishes to direct this conversation. "But the punishment you would dish out would be disproportionate. Tomura isn't one of your flunkies."

"Strength of will and mind. You have both qualities. Once, I had hoped to groom you as a successor." That admission startles him. "Is it so surprising? You know more about the League than even I. You work tirelessly, and you generate many of the plans we utilise. Had you an ounce of ambition more, a warp gate likely would have split me in half decades ago."

"I would not betray you."

"Yes. Loyalty holds you back from your true potential." Sensei claps his hands once. "Enough of that. Bring him. Regardless, no action is without consequence."

So, he does, his warp gate opening to the bar. Tomura plays at the arcade game currently taking up more space than Kurogiri is comfortable with. His ward stares at the warp gate for a few seconds before shrugging and sauntering on through, not a care in the world.

"Kurogiri, you smell," Tomura says before he kneels in supplication. "Sensei."

A wave of bitterness runs through Kurogiri.

Tomura never shows him anything approaching the same level of respect. He quashes those thoughts, letting nothing show. Showing them means defying Sensei once more, and Kurogiri isn't yet ready to face his family in the afterlife.

"I permitted your attack on the stadium contingent on following my orders. The original locations of the explosives would have only destroyed an unoccupied and defunct part of the stadium." Sensei shakes his head. "Not this level of chaos you have caused."

The boy glances at Kurogiri out the corner of his eye. "Those kids were threats. One of them is barely human and fuck the one with a dragon."

"A pair of children scared you enough to disobey me? It seems you have forgotten who I am in truth. Do you believe yourself above the strongest man alive?"

Sensei stands. His dark suit seems to suck in the light and his height casts a long shadow over Tomura. Yet, not even any of the malevolence that brought him to his knees shows.

Tomura is still terrified, or perhaps shamed, by the stiff line of his back showing through his loose shirt.

"I haven't. You're the one who saved me. Who taught me."

Sensei circles Tomura, each step loud as a jackhammer. "Then why did you not obey my orders?"

"They were threats."

"And I do not condone the deaths of children. You killed civilians and it has galvanised the populace. UA's brilliant media machine controls the story now. It is no longer a story of a UA student who chose to become a villain, but one who was brutalised and manipulated into this life. Nezu will win a victory from this. After all, he'll rehabilitate that student and advocate for better treatment of prisoners with the example he set. A student whose quirk had value to me and is out of my grasp."

A tremor runs through Tomura, visible even to Kurogiri. "We can get another quirk like that."

"That is not the point. The point is that you use your allies as pieces on a board without any interest in their wellbeing. All Might and his predecessor ended many of my previous allies, and now you do the same to yours through your carelessness. All Might's reputation was tarnished, one wrong move from demotion, and you've managed to wipe all his sins clean in a single act. And we are one step away from a war because of your actions."

"I can fix this," Tomura pleads.

"You have set us back. There must be punishment, but afterwards, you may try again as many times as you need. Now, give me your hands."

Tomura recoils back as though struck. "Sensei, I don't—"

"The hands that you adorn yourself with right now. By your hands, you committed this act. By your hands, you will suffer the punishment."

When Tomura looks to him, his features screaming terror and helplessness, Kurogiri feels unease. The punishment is cruel, yes, but also just. Those hands are his most prized possessions. And the boy has loved and names each one. It will hurt him to suffer like this, but it will not break him.

It is less punitive than anything Sensei would have chosen without Kurogiri's intervention.

So, Kurogiri nods, staring at Tomura. Urges him to accept what is to come with his gaze alone.

The terror in Tomura is replaced by resignation and perhaps the tiniest bit of betrayal.

"Yes, Kurogiri," he says, staring only at Kurogiri. "You know best, don't you?"

It takes everything he has not to recoil and beg Sensei to forgive Tomura, to let Kurogiri suffer instead. He steels his heart to the pain and remains still as a statue.

Tomura removes each hand, one at a time. The last, the one he names 'Father' and reveres, he holds delicately. He whispers something before laying it with the others.

The quirk sensei uses is unknown to Kurogiri. The very air above the hands seems to crack like glass shattering. Each hand is flattened by some unseen force before being crushed completely. He does it one at a time, the silence punctuated by the cracks of bone and the spurt of the synthetic fluid to keep them from decaying.

Tomura remains perfectly still through it all. "Think on your actions, Tomura. You have room to grow from this."

Sensei gestures to Kurogiri. He opens another warp gate and sends Tomura through it, not to the main bar area, but to the corner in his room dedicated to his shrine of collector's edition games. Hopefully, he won't destroy it.

Sensei does not return to his seat. He stares at the broken hands and the milky white fluid on the floor.

"He loved those hands," Sensei murmurs.

"He did."

The Strongest Man Alive sighs tiredly. It is a moment of weakness, one Kurogiri sees only because of his decades of loyalty. And even then, he isn't certain how much is sincere and how much is a means to manipulate him, to bind him closer to Sensei. Either way, it works.

"Do you have anything left to report?"

Kurogiri swallows.

"Yes. The children from USJ who saw the thing Midoriya became each suffered varying levels of mental instability. Neither Mineta nor Hagakure will make any sort of recovery. There is, however, a possibility that Kouda will recover in time."

"A shame," Sensei says, still staring at the shattered hand. "You're certain those two have no chance of recovery?"

"The doctor's notes confirmed they will stay in a vegetative state until death."

"Then, I suppose, we can make Nomu of the two."

For a moment, he feels brave. "Did you not punish Tomura for harming children?"

Sensei is not angry. Far from it. The man chuckles. "It has taken you decades to start confronting me on my decisions."

He thinks of the crushing malevolence and how it almost brought him to his knees. "Your personality can be oppressive."

"When have I ever truly punished someone for voicing their opinions. I am not Endeavour. I know what becomes of exposure to the abyss. There will be no recovery. Death will allow the parents to truly mourn and find peace, not eternally be trapped by false hope. It is a cold mercy, and not one I commit lightly. But I will also not let go of a possible Nomu."

"Understood," Kurogiri says at length.

"And stain?"

"I have set up a preliminary meeting with him. He seems… a fanatic to an ideology. From what I gathered, he once revered All Might as a true hero until the incident earlier in the term. He does not seem swayed like that masses that have already forgotten his failings."

"A man of conviction and will. Someone after my own heart."

You don't have one.

It takes him a long moment to realises he has spoken aloud. Sensei is still but the air seems heavier. It may be possible to flee through a warp gate if he makes the first move. Unlikely, but still possible.

Then sensei laughs. "Perhaps I lack sincerity and compassion. But I have rules, bounds I refuse to cross. When you have lived as long as I have, you either become a saint like Ononoki or Hawkmoon, or you live to see yourself become the villain."

There is nothing left to report, no order of business he must explain. If Sensei had orders for Kurogiri, they would have been said already. As it is, Kurogiri largely operates the League independently, free to decide their methods and objectives so long as they follow Sensei's few cardinal rules and his overall objectives.

He prepares to leave, summoning a warp gate.

"And where do you think you're going?" Sensei asks, his voice once more oppressive.

Kurogiri turns slowly, terrified despite knowing he is protected if only because of his utility. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, you certainly aren't excused," Sensei says lowly, all pretence of patience or kindness or compassion is gone. "There were members of the Imperial household in attendance."

Kurogiri closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Opens them again and looks to Sensei.

"I didn't know."

"No. You're smart enough not to start a war willingly. But now, because of the accord that keeps you and Tomura protected beneath my aegis, I must pay reparations to the Emperor. Time runs short and nearly two full days have passed. On the third day, we will be at war if it is not stopped."

Sensei walks to the wall and lays his hand against it. Gears turn and mechanisms activate as a section of the wall opens. Sensei reaches inside and withdraws something.

"Take this," Sensei says.

Kurogiri walks over and takes it.

The box is made of wood. He understands that on a logical level. But it glows an endless purple that seems to beckon sweetly. It feels like wood, but at the same time, it feels like the passage of time itself, a thousand thousand generations of knowledge permeating each gran of wood.

He opens it.

Inside is the shape of a knife that hurts his brain to look at. It is a simple thing, no longer than his forearm and curved wickedly. On first glance, it appears black until his brain realises that the shape is, in fact, a knife so dark it reflects no light. And yet, on the knife-edge, something seems to shimmer.

Blood, he thinks, a moment before that shimmer resolves. It becomes blue then yellow then every colour of the rainbow all at once.

He closes the box without thought. There are worse things than a knife with the blood of gods on its edge.

"It took me months of research to find those artefacts," Sensei says. "Months of labour and intermediaries and information brokers and mad cultists. And now it will be lost to me forever. Go to the Emperor's Villa. Give it as a sign of my good will. Negotiate reparations, pay whatever price he asks—be it wealth, a quirk, or your time—and ensure no conflict comes of this."

He clenches his fists. "You told me I would never have to return there."

The oppressive weight of All For One's malice returns, almost crushing him. It is a reminder that this is the strongest man alive, a monster in human flesh.

"I do not care for your feelings right now. You chose to obey Tomura against my wishes. You chose to keep me in the dark. There must always be punishment. This is yours. Go to the home of those who took everything you loved and beg for forgiveness. If the Emperor asks for an apology, you will get on your knees and beg forgiveness."

Sensei sighs and the crushing weight disappears.

"Kurogiri, understand that I do not do this out of fear for myself. I do not fear the Emperor or his Guard. They are nothing compared to my strength. But I cannot win that war and keep the two of you alive at the same time. Go and keep the peace between us."

-TDB-

Izuku stands in a washroom, a bucket filled with hot water courtesy of Shouto on the basin and a wet towel in his hands. He stares at his reflection in the mirror—green eyes bright with revelation; burn scars still horrid but they don't fill him with disgust anymore; that streak of white in his unbraided hair, messy and stuck with bits and pieces of things he doesn't want to consider.

The food and water have done wonders for him. The infections and diseases that ravaged his body have faded away. The crystal growths jutting out his thigh have mostly faded, leaving only leathery skin behind.

He washes quickly, not liking how exposed he is. Logically, he knows he is somewhere safe and private—even Mikumo is hiding deep in his mind—and no one will disturb him. Yet, he still shivers despite the warmth of the room heated by the steam engine, or more accurately, by Shouto's power.

When he is cleaner, he wears the set of clothes that fit him best. The trousers had started out a bit too long, but he's had a bit of a growth spurt, not much but enough that they don't drag past his heel. Even then, he's not tall in the slightest and he worries he'll never grow past this. The black shirt is tight, hugging each contour of his muscled frame. The deep-purple jacket, though, fits loosely with its high collar and extravagant epaulettes. It looks ridiculous, but he's learnt to ignore it a bit.

He walks on over to the next car and finds Shouto eating beans from a can. Izuku rolls his eyes.

"Not gonna use a plate?" he asks, standing next to his friend for the moment.

He comes up to Shouto's chin, and from the looks of things, Shouto will keep on growing taller. Perhaps even as tall as his father. It is only the strange nature of the abyss that stops them from looking like they're starving. Even then, they've both lost weight.

Shouto leans away slightly. "I'll break your finger if you're judging me."

Izuku bumps him in the side and decides to take advantage of the natural heater. Considering the cold chill running down his spine, it is a simple alternative to think of over the abomination chasing them. It's getting closer and closer. Less than a dozen layers separate the train and the Elder Thing.

"What's your favourite colour?" he asks to put his mind away from thoughts of likely death.

"Is this small talk?"

"I'm sorry, do you want to talk about our shit fathers? The number of times you tried to kill me? That time I broke every bone in your arm?" Shouto's hand stops an inch away from his mouth, before resuming, the only indication of his discomfort. "Sorry. I think mine might blue. Or ultraviolet. Maybe even gamma radiation."

Shouto blinks lazily. "Those aren't… I need to get used to the impossible."

"Yes, you do. So, What's yours?"

He mulls the question between a mouthful of canned beans. "Green."

"I feel so special." Shouto makes a sound of confusion. "I've got green hair and eyes and my family name has the kanji for green. Is this your way of saying I'm just pure awesome?"

"It's the only colour that doesn't mean something fundamentally wrong. Red and yellow and orange for hellfire. Blue is my father's eyes. Purple is this mad train."

And like that, Izuku's cheer dies. "Oh." He leans closer to Shouto, the only comfort he can give right now.

"If you don't apologise, I'll show you something special." Before Izuku can agree, Shouto steps forward and opens a cabinet, pulling a silvery package down. "I just found this."

"Thank you for not providing any context."

Shouto sighs. "This is coffee. Genuine Arabica coffee, triple vacuum sealed."

"I don't—"

"I will throw you off this train if you finish that sentence." Izuku stays silent. "Now, I'm going to make some coffee and you're going to enjoy it."

And Shouto does make coffee. He moves slowly as he opens the seals and very cautiously grinds the coffee beans. He finds a coffee press from somewhere and uses his powers to heat the water precisely. Izuku watches in bemusement until Shouto is done and hands him a cup of the black sludge.

"Drink," Shouto commands.

Izuku sniffs it, nose wrinkling. Then, he raises the mug with a flourish, the weight of Shouto's story taking over once more.

"A toast to the coming end and the sacrifices made," Izuku says in a deep voice, eyes sparkling with dark knowledge.

He takes a long sip of the scalding hot liquid, hating the vile taste but having no choice in the matter. He is just a passenger in his own body now.

Shouto's entire frame is stiff. "I think I've lost interest."

"You must drink and make a toast. Another to the blood you've shed." Izuku's body takes a deep gulp of bitter coffee. "A toast to all those souls trapped to your hellfire, gods and aliens and nightmares made equal by your power."

"Stop it," Shouto snarls.

Izuku's body smirks. "A toast to Fuyumi whose throat you slit and your mother that you—"

The punch, when it comes, is brutal.

It knocks Izuku over the counter, the mug shattering on the floor. He blinks away the white spots. Groaning, he rolls over. Shouto's trembling arm, the same one he used to deck Izuku, is encrusted with ice.

Izuku forces himself up. Snorts out a wad of blood. Cracks his neck.

"That was unnecessary," he says. "You know I didn't say that intentionally."

"It felt that way."

"You think I like being like this?" Izuku shouts. "You fucking think I enjoy this? Fuck you. Despite everything you've gone through, I saved your life. You would be dead without me. Stop whining like a little baby."

This time, Izuku dodges the punch and throws one in turn that catches Shouto on the lip. Shouto staggers back, dislodging the coffee machine.

It clatters to the ground, dark liquid spilling on the rich wood floor. It seeps through the cracks, staining ancient wood and dripping down to the dark underbelly of the train.

Neither of them notices.

They're on the ground brawling. Izuku takes a slab of ice to the face but elbows Shouto in turn, taking joy in the crunch of Shouto's nose breaking. He tugs Shouto's hair viciously and punches him in the side. Shouto bites him, slams his knee in Izuku's crotch, and flips them over.

Izuku takes the tiny wisp of shadow he can control and shapes it to a blade. Stabbing Shouto in the shoulder is easy and he feels no guilt because there's already a thick shard of ice in his side.

"I fucking hate you!"

In the chaos, Izuku isn't sure who says that.

It might have been him just before, or perhaps after Shouto headbutts him in the mouth, hard enough that Izuku bites through his tongue and fills his mouth with hot blood.

It might be Shouto in the space between Izuku lifting him by his hair and slamming his head into the ground. Once, then twice, then thrice.

By the end of it, they're both bloody messes, breathing heavily. The dining car is wrecked, the tables broken and the chairs destroyed. A cold wind blows in from the broken window.

Izuku has Shouto pinned to the ground, one hand around Shouto's throat. That hand crackles with green lightning, a warning that Izuku could very easily snap his neck.

But, just as Izuku can easily kill Shouto, the reverse is true.

Two blades, one of entropic ice and the other dark hellfire, are at Izuku's throat. With a simple motion, Shouto can decapitate him.

"You think you're fast enough to kill me first?" Izuku asks with a bloody grin, ignoring the searing pain from the fire.

"Try me."

He considers it, genuinely does the maths and works out the probability distributions. There's a good chance he can do it and survive, a very good chance. It won't even be that hard to escape. With Shouto dead, then there would be no reason to fight the Elder Thing chasing them. He could hitch a ride on the dragon and get the hell out of dodge.

All it would take is killing Shouto and not dying in turn.

He meets those blue eyes and sees Shouto making the same calculation. And that's when he decides enough is enough.

Izuku loosens his grip around Shouto's neck just a tiny bit. He can still snap it easily, but it is the only peace offering he can give.

Shouto does the same with the blades, reducing the pressure slightly, the temperature of the flames dropping.

Slowly, never truly trusting each other, they go from a very likely murder-suicide to two broken boys trying to survive.

Cautiously, they back away from each other. Izuku leans his head against the broken counter, not caring that there will be splinters in his hair. He's bleeding from a wound in his side and probably has more scrapes and scratches, alongside the mild burn on his neck.

Gently, he applies pressure to the wound and grunts in pain. He spits blood and wipes his face with his other arm, watching Shouto apply ice to his shoulder.

"We're a mess," Izuku says.

Shouto says nothing in response. He just sits there glaring at Izuku, hate and loathing and perhaps a hint of regret. Nothing special. They've danced to this tune enough times.

"There used to be this eye," Izuku says to fill the silence. "It was pretty weird since the ocular fluid could heal you. I used it a few times. Could have healed us up in seconds. Now, we're gonna need plain old bandages. You remember how to do stitches?"

Shouto nods once.

Izuku says no more until the train passes through the next layer of the abyss hours later.

He shudders as the ethereal darkness washes over him, heralding the next layer. He takes a breath, tastes the nature of this layer on his tongue. He touches the stitched wound in his side gingerly, inspecting Shouto's handiwork. It's disgustingly sloppy but will do the job.

"What's wrong?"

Izuku doesn't answer. Instead, he walks towards the broken window. He sees an endless plain of orange crystal.

It takes him no more than a minute's effort to get outside and climb to the roof. Ahead of them is a wall of frozen time. They have a few hours yet to reach it so Izuku walks to the dragon.

"Can you burn through it?"

/No, shadowking. This is a barrier of love my kind cannot pass through, made by a walker of worlds. Those born of true dark or chaotic godflame do not process love as your kind do. We must utilise other means to avoid this, paths that would annihilate your mortal vessel/

He sighs. "But we can go through it?"

/Yes. Beware, this barrier was built as a trap against true horrors. I do not know the cost it will ask of you/

He tells Shouto the good, or maybe bad, news once he's back inside.

"Get everything you need. We're parking this train and not coming back."

"What about the thing chasing us?"

Izuku shrugs. "I think it's still trapped in that well of reverse time-flow. Not sure. But it won't bother us for a bit."

The next hours pass by in silence. Izuku has little he plans on taking with him. The train has served them well enough, and he has no plans of further desecrating a legend's great gift to them with their constant fighting.

The train stops just short of the shimmering wall of frozen time. They disembark, leather shoes crunching on the crystal ground.

Izuku nods to the dragon.

"Thank you. See you on the other side."

/Do not perish until your conduit is restored, shadowking. My master would be displeased by your death/

With a single beat of its mighty wings, the dragon rises to the air. With another, it reaches half the speed of light. And with the third beat, it breaks the light barrier, growing larger in mass than Japan in the process.

"How do we get up?" Shouto asks. He has already tried making a bridge of ice, but the end touching the wall of frozen time disintegrates.

"Through that set of stairs." He points at them, steep and made of some exotic substance he can't recognise. "And yes, before you ask, it is very convenient."

They ascend the stairs until, balancing against the harsh winds.

It buffets them relentlessly, and often they need to crouch low to avoid flying off the edge. Even then, Izuku urges Shouto forward and they crawl when the winds are too strong because they can't slow down.

Eventually, they come to a point where the stairs have crumbled.

"Well, I guess we're climbing."

"It's a wall of frozen time," Shouto says. "How do you expect me to climb it?"

Izuku shrugs and places his fingers against the wall. It feels hard as diamond. Even with One For All, he can't break it.

"The thing about time is that it isn't set in stone," Izuku says. "Time flows, even if you have to remind it."

He concentrates, willing the time beneath his hands to move once more. Slowly, a tiny portion of it melts slightly, enough to form a handhold.

"Think of the future you want to see. Think of the past, of Rei and Fuyumi and even your father. And whatever you do, don't lose concentration."

The first hundred metres he scales slowly, taking the time to truly understand the mechanics of unfreezing time with intent alone. Shouto, however, simply has blades of ice that accelerate entropy to use as picks.

One For All is an asset here as he comes to realise. It grants him the strength to continue climbing. But, the flickers of green lightning seem to turn the frozen time to regular stone for all intents and purposes. Any other day, Izuku would experiment more. As it is, he nearly loses his grip when the Elder crosses another layer of the abyss, shattering a universe in the process.

"Get over here," Izuku shouts.

Izuku uses the largest portion of One For All that he can hold, perhaps ten percent, and punches the wall. It caves inward, the frozen time shattering. Izuku crawls into the tiny nook, somehow translucent enough to see outward in all directions.

Shouto joins him a few seconds later, scrambling to fit inside. It is uncomfortable, their limbs bumping into one another and nowhere enough space.

However, it is much better than being outside when the shockwave hits. It is a storm front of raw power, the aftershock from the Elder Thing crosses to another layer of the abyss. It is what happens when a universe is destroyed in a single moment. They watch in silence as the sky changes colours, going from deep reds to endless purples and the colours that exist past the light barrier.

For an entire hour, they watch the death throes of a universe. It screams in the gamma radiation of stars gone supernova. It weeps in the gravitational collapse of black holes. Its final death rattle is a sudden and violent heat death.

This process which should occur over billions of years is compressed to a single hour. Such is the power of the creature chasing after them.

"We can't fight that."

"Yeah," Izuku agrees. "Not without my full power."

"Do you think it'll chase us all the way up."

Izuku hums. "No. Either it will eat you and get both your hellfire and entropic ice."

"How reassuring."

"It's not my fault your powers are coveted. The ability to burn everything in your image and entropic ice are startlingly powerful considering your mortality." Izuku shakes his head. "But I think we'll find what's calling you first. This is a story and you're the main character. There's power to be found but only after more suffering. And even then, the cost will be high."

Shouto's mixed eyes are dark with suspicion and weariness. "Do you know what it is?"

"Do I?"

Yes, you do brother. Would you like to know the truth? I am the keeper, the lock, and key. If you ask, I will tell you.

"I don't think hiding behind you will help," Izuku admits tiredly. "I've done that enough. I know the truth and I'm tired of lying."

"Who are you talking to?"

He glances at Shouto, only now remembering his presence. "The voices in my head." Izuku shrugs. "I suppose we're stuck here because of my own choices. I made a promise a long time ago to a god. I never said no and that's the same as making an oath. I accepted a wish from Eao and I suppose it's manipulating me down a road to what it wants. I'm leading you to a fire, Shouto. And I'm going to watch and see if it burns you to a crisp. Not because I hate you but because I think it's the only way to survive. I'm out of tricks. This is the final stretch."

You told the truth, Mikumo murmurs in surprise. I'm… I'm proud of you.

"Thanks, but we have to move."

Shouto sighs tiredly. "Five more minutes."

"We need to move faster," Izuku says, glancing at the far horizon. "It's gaining on us. We can't waste any more time. We either escape now or face it here, and I don't like those odds."

Shouto sighs but gets up. "I hate this. All of this."

"I know." Izuku lays his hand on the sheer cliff. "Get moving."

He places one foot on the wall of frozen time, digs his fingers deeps in a crack, and pushes himself up with his leg. Climbing isn't a matter of pulling yourself up with your arms. Their purpose is to reach distant handholds, to give you a position to make your leg and back muscles count.

Sometimes, time refuses to melt no matter how insistent he is, so Izuku has to create them another way. He glances at Shouto who uses ice picks to generate them a few metres above from Izuku and feels the slightest bit of envy that Shouto can do so without hurting himself.

One For All grants strength to his hand and he slams the wall with the side of his hand like an axe. A spray of sharp stone explodes outward from the point of impact. Izuku keeps his eyes closed, wincing when a particularly sharp chip of time cuts his brow.

Then he puts his hand inside the new handhold, not caring that the stones will scrape his skin. There's too little time to care, not when they have so much further to go.

Exhaustion hits Shouto first. Izuku watches him carefully, observing the way his friend's muscles seize up and quiver the longer they climb. So, he is ready when Shouto loses his grip and tumbles down.

Like lightning, Izuku leaps to the right as Shouto curses. He steps off from the wall for extra momentum and closes the distance rapidly. With one arm he grabs Shouto and with the other, he punches a hole in the cliff.

The sudden stop pops his shoulder and dislocates it. "Climb," Izuku hisses, dangling precariously from the newly created hole.

"Don't be an idiot," Shouto says.

Izuku grits his teeth and watches Shouto make a long blade of ice. He stabs the blade through the wall. When it shatters, Shouto makes another one and repeats the process until he can lodge it in and balance on the flat side of the blade.

The moment Shouto let's go, Izuku swings up and holds the ledge with his good arm. He lets the dislocated one dangle at his side.

"Keep climbing," Izuku says. "I'll pop it back in place myself."

Placing the tip of his elbow against the wall and maintaining his grip on a precarious handhold a few dozen kilometres above ground is an act of balance that would make Jin proud. Carefully, he pushes forward against the cliff and it pushes against his elbow.

Izuku stifles a scream of pain as his shoulder pops back in place. He breathes heavily as the pain subsides, considering his life decisions and regretting his first death.

I told you not to do it.

"Oh, fuck off. You weren't even a character in my life back then." Izuku tests his relocated shoulder before reaching up to another handhold. "In retrospect, slicing my wrist was a stupid idea."

With a deep inhale, he keeps on climbing. They stop periodically to drink ice but otherwise they climb without pause no matter how much their muscles burn. No matter how painful his shoulder may be, Izuku never slows down. No, he just funnels more of One For All. And when Shouto nearly falls again, Izuku catches him and carries Shouto on his back.

"This is weird," Shouto says, legs wrapped around Izuku's waist.

"Tell me about it."

It takes maybe three days of hard climbing till they reach the summit.

The summit is nothing more than the top of a cliff, desolate and empty but for one thing. It is incongruous after all that they have seen because of its mundanity.

"Is that a sign?" Shouto asks uncertainly, glancing at the darkness beyond. "With actual writing on it? Or is that just gibberish?"

Izuku's feels profound disappointment. "Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it isn't a language. Look, the higher up we go, the more… relatively normal things become. You see, things are more stable closer to our world. Sure, we've got talking trees but that doesn't make them—"

"Izuku, get on with it."

He rolls his eyes. "It's a logographic system. Each individual character is a word just like Japanese. Well technically, Japanese borrows heavily from Chinese logograms but that's beside the point. This is interesting because each character is actually an entire sentence but depending on which logic—"

"Just tell me what it means."

He doesn't want to. In all honesty, he's avoiding the truest meaning of the writing because he doesn't want to take the next plunge.

This is cruel, Mikumo says. His mother betrayed him that day years ago. You must re-enact that betrayal, that moment of suffering in the past.

"You would make a terrible intellectual." It takes everything he has to force his limbs loose with his stomach churning horribly, to not give away his intent. "Basically, it says the next waypoint is over the cliff."

Shouto shrugs. "Let's get on with it before we're eaten."

"It's not that simple. You see, we need a sacrifice of sorts to open the path. A loved one."

I am so sorry, brother, but there is no time to hesitate with the Elder behind you. There are no other paths forward but this cruelty.

"Well, I don't have anyone I love here."

Izuku grins to hide away the bitter pain in his heart. "Thanks. I feel so special."

"Oh, come on, I like you and all but—"

"But I'm the reason you had to kill your mother and sister," Izuku finishes with a sad sigh. "And you're not over it. You just can't love me as a friend would. Kindly. Compassionately. Impersonally. At least, not yet."

"I'm sorry."

I would spare you this pain, but I do not love him as you do. This was the second truth Eao gave you. It must always come true.

"Don't be. It'll just make things harder." Izuku points at a spot on the sign. "You see that."

Shouto walks past him and leans in to inspect it.

"Weird squiggly circle, what abomphff—"

Whatever Shouto plans on saying dies in a wet, pained gurgle.

There is a blade made of shadow through his back and his torso. It goes straight through his lung and comes out the other side, a fatal blow made without hesitation.

Izuku grips Shouto's shoulder to keep him upright, not feeling a single twinge of regret as Shouto coughs blood on the sign. The red drips down slowly as Izuku intensifies the strength of his grip, slowly crushing that shoulder.

"Why?" Shouto chokes out, coughing more blood.

"You see, it asks for a sacrifice of love."

Naraka, betrayed by you shadowed hands, as Eao foretold. In some languages, betrayal and sacrifice mean the same thing.

He pulls the blade viciously to the side. It tears through flesh and arteries, ripping the lung and perhaps the kidney as well. There isn't a giant spurt of blood like the movies. No, it's a rather pathetic dribble of blood to the ground that soaks Shouto's pants and leaves Izuku's jacket with a patch of bright red.

Shouto groans weakly, his legs giving out.

Izuku has died many times, so he knows exactly how painful the wound is, how the pain seems everywhere at once, a hot pipe shoved through each nerve. He can imagine the complete flare of pain as Shouto's heart pumps his blood faster and faster through his body and out the gaping wound.

"I love you, Shouto, but not as much as I love my mother." Izuku lets him fall into the pool of crimson. He grips his friend by the hair and drags him closer to the edge. "This betrayal is the ultimate sacrifice I can make for someone I love."

There are no chains holding him to Shouto's story any longer. No, this is Izuku Midoriya committing this act, no one else. No outside influence controlling him.

"You have my respect for making it this far," he says near the edge, unsure if Shouto can hear him.

He lets go and Shouto's head hits the ground with a dull thud. He glances at the long smear of red, at Shouto's unseeing eyes and the weak gasps as he futilely tries to breathe with a collapsing lung. It won't be the blood loss that kills him.

No, he'll choke on his own blood long before then. A short death. No more than two minutes.

The sky seems to shatter as the next level of the abyss opens slowly. It waits until this ritual is complete, until the betrayal is final and total.

"I hope they remember you fondly." Izuku laughs cruelly. "This is for every time you choked me."

He kicks Shouto off the edge.

A/N:

That's all from me for now. Thank you for reading this. f ya'll have questions, comments, or general feedback, let me know. Otherwise, knowing you're here is more than enough for me.

See ya next week.