Fumikage stared at the fist Izuku had buried into the stone two inches to the right of his head with wide, uncomprehending eyes. Izuku leaned over him, breathing hard, his whole body still burning with power.

Bit by bit, he pulled himself back from the abyss. He'd nearly lost himself in the gleeful rush, in the surging power, in the conviction that he was the one in the right.

He wasn't. He had never been. He had very nearly crossed the last line-had almost done something there could be no going back from. But here, now, he stood up to the world crushing down on his shoulders, and forced it to rise.

At last, he found he could speak again. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"No," he gasped. "No, I won't end it like this."

Fumikage seemed unable to speak for a moment, transfixed by what he had seemingly thought would be the final image he would ever see. At last, he seemed to regain control, and his wide eyes narrowed again. For a moment, though, he'd looked like a different man-a younger man. A child, watching a hero save the day.

Izuku blinked, still trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions raging inside him. All he could think to say was, "No. I won't do it."

Fumi met his eyes, icy and drained. He was clearly still reeling, too, but his rage would not be denied. "Why?" he demanded. His voice sounded…muted. Weakened, somehow.

Izuku stood, letting out a shaky breath as he half-turned away from Fumikage, rising to his feet.

"I'm done killing people," Izuku said quietly. "That's not justice."

Fumikage somehow found the energy to scoff. "Oh, but sending me to rot in Tartarus for the rest of my life is? How magnanimous of you," he spat, venomous.

"I'm not going to take you to Tartarus," Izuku interrupted, seemingly absentmindedly. He kept staring out over the city, as if entranced by the flames consuming it.

He hadn't known what he planned to do, until that moment-until the calm sank over him and Faultline's words, ringing in his ears, crystallized into an idea, into a desperate roll of the dice.

He would not-could not-kill Fumikage. He couldn't be the monster any longer. He refused.

For the first time, Fumikage seemed really, truly stunned. He gaped at Izuku, jaw hanging open, clearly unable to understand. He asked, "What do you mean? What's your plan?"

Izuku shrugged, slowly letting One For All die away. The terrible halo of lightning flickered and shrank to nothing, letting him sink to the ground, dangling his feet over the edge of the jagged cliff they'd landed atop. In that moment, he was no longer Atlas-he was quiet, scraped raw, free of every pretense and every drop of hatred.

"Honestly, I can't really say I've got a plan," he admitted. "All I know is that I refuse to kill you, and Tartarus isn't justice, either. So I just…plan to let you go, I guess."

Fumikage stared at Izuku's back as though he had just truly broken him.

"You're insane," he said, chuckling hoarsely. "Or just plain stupid."

Izuku raised an eyebrow, turning to glance back at Fumikage. "And yet," he shot back, "I beat you, fair and square."

"And now you're letting me go?" Fumikage replied, shock plain in his voice.

"And now I'm letting you go," Izuku agreed. That, more than anything, seemed to stun Fumikage speechless.

Fumikage's eyes were still narrow and suspicious. "You think I'll be grateful?" he asked scathingly. "You think I'll let you have your happy ending, pretty and neat, so you can lie to yourself all over again?"

Izuku smiled ruefully; it was the look of a quirkless boy, all bitter irony and amused awareness of the insanity of what he was asking. "No," he admitted, shaking his head. "But one way or another, this ends today, and it ends with the two of us understanding each other. That's my happy ending."

Fumikage looked at Izuku, who still had his back turned-was still watching his city, their city, burn beneath them. Then, he scoffed again. "I won't let you have it. I have no interest in understanding," he spat. "I want justice."

"You'll have that, too," Izuku said quietly, still facing away. He was no longer the man who saw no other way out but to stain his hands with blood-he had seen the faintest glimmer of hope, and was charging towards it with everything he had. "I promise, from the bottom of my heart."

Fumikage was silent for a long, tense moment. When he found his voice, the mutant rebel asked suspiciously, "What do you want from me?"

"Want from you?" Izuku repeated questioningly, before shaking his head. "I don't want anything from you."

"Bullshit," Fumikage snapped. "Why else would you spare me?"

Izuku sighed, turning to face Fumikage. "Because this is justice," he told Fumikage. "Because I won't answer a wrong with a wrong. Because if things are ever going to get better, I have to be better. I have to care. I will save everyone-even the people who won't accept it."

"You really expect me to believe you?' Fumikage snorted. "To trust this…this change of heart?"

Izuku smiled ruefully. "I know it must be confusing," he admitted. "But trust me…this was a long time coming. I've finally realized what Craton and Faultline were trying to tell me, that's all."

Fumikage's eyes went wide. "You…you spoke to them?" he gasped, visibly shocked. "When?"

Izuku nodded, looking Fumikage in the eyes. "After they saved Mina and I," he responded dryly. "When you threw us down the Chasm. Turns out, they had a lot to say about how much of an idiot I was being."

Fumikage seemed to struggle to find an answer to that. After nearly a minute of disbelieving silence, he finally began, "I have destroyed your city, killed countless people, and thrown everything you've sworn to protect into chaos."

Izuku nodded in agreement.

"I broke the heart of the woman you love," Fumikage continued, his voice cold, stripped of all emotion. "I tried to murder you multiple times, I targeted your friends, your allies, everyone I could reach."

Izuku nodded again.

"And yet, you're just going to let me go?" Fumikage asked incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," Izuku confirmed. He met Fumikage's gaze, and green eyes clashed against yellow.

Fumikage shook his head, groaning in pain-he was still unable to rise, barely even able to move. His eyes still burned with anger.

"I don't know what kind of fairy tale you're living in, Atlas, but I'm not going to have a sudden change of heart," he told Izuku. "I won't suddenly start thinking heroes are good, and I sure as hell won't be grateful for this. I don't want your mercy, or your pity."

Shrugging, Izuku replied, "I don't expect you to. And I don't pity you."

"I'll never stop fighting," Fumikage snapped. "Not until we are free. I will come back again. I'll destroy this city a second time."

Izuku frowned, and for a split second, green lightning flickered across his body; a reminder, and a threat. "I think we both know how that would end," he told Fumikage matter-of-factly. "I've just proven that you can't beat me. If you come back with an army, I'll smash it, defeat you, and then we'll have this same conversation, because I won't kill you, even then. I have no reason to."

Fumikage looked confused. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

Izuku stood, gesturing out at the city below. "You did this because you saw no other way to make things change," he said. "I don't know if you were right or not-but that doesn't matter. What you want is justice, and I won't kill a man for that."

Fumikage shook his head, chuckling darkly to himself. "Mina got to you, didn't she?" he muttered. Izuku nodded. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. Your words are meaningless. Too much blood has already been spilled today."

"And if I killed you here, how long would it take for another mutant rebellion to happen?" Izuku shot back. "If I put that one down, too, how many more would happen? If nothing changes, how much more blood will be spilled for nothing?"

Fumikage raised his head up once again, studying Izuku's face. For the first time, there was something in his expression other than the avenging devil-the King of the Depths, protective of his people and deeply scared for them, peeked through. At last, he admitted, "Too much. The Depths…we have a taste of vengeance now. We'll keep coming for it, keep fighting until either the Underground breaks or we do."

"Unless we stop it," Izuku told him. "Unless I make this choice, here and now. I can't control the decisions you make after this-but I think you're a good man, under it all. You want your people to be happy, safe and fairly treated. If I can help you reach that goal…that's what being a hero means, I think. There has to be a way for things to get better."

Fumikage was quiet for a moment, his expression utterly unreadable.

In the silence, Izuku spoke again.

"I saw your broadcast," he told Fumikage. "You were asking us abovegrounders to understand-to recognize that, under it all, under the bloodshed and the fear and the hatred, what you want is for us to understand. For us to see the humanity in you. Well, here I am, Tokoyami. I am the greatest hero in Japan, and I am trying to understand."

Fumikage's eyes narrowed. "You couldn't possibly understand," he said. "You're an abovegrounder. You've never been powerless. You've never been abused, been told that you're lesser."

Izuku fought back a laugh; then, he smiled, a bitter, broken thing that made Fumikage startle, because it was so familiar.

"Tokoyami," he said quietly, "I understand better than you can imagine."

Once more, Fumikage insisted, "How could you possibly-"

"I was quirkless until I was fifteen years old," Izuku told him, the words bursting out of him in a torrent.

Fumikage instantly fell silent, eyes wide, disbelieving. In the silence, the words kept flowing.

"It's a long story," he said, answering Fumikage's unspoken question. "But…well, it's the truth. From the day I was born to when I was fifteen, I was quirkless. I was bullied, abused, treated as lesser. Even when people stood up for me…it scarred me, stamped my soul. What I am now…it's a gift. A beautiful one. But I should never have let it blind me to where I came from-and for that, I am deeply ashamed. I never should have let this happen-not when I know exactly what it's like to be powerless."

Izuku fell silent for a moment, but Fumikage still did not respond. So Izuku looked him in the eye once more, and said, "You did it, Tokoyami. You've won. You wanted us to acknowledge that what happened to you is wrong-it was. You want things to change-so do I. You want to build a better world? I am on my knees, begging you. Let me help. Please."

As he spoke, Izuku did exactly as he said; he got to one knee, still offering a hand to Fumikage. And still, Fumikage stared at it, inscrutable and dark.

"You may be the Number One Hero," he said, "But you're still just a dog on a leash. What happens if the Hero Commission sends you after us again? What actual power do you have? What can you possibly do?"

Izuku shrugged. "I don't have all the answers," he admitted. "But I do know one thing I can do. I can do this, here and now. I can stop fighting just because they tell me to fight. I can recognize that when I say I will protect people, that means the villains, too."

"And what about the other heroes?" Fumikage pressed, eyes worried. "What about my people, fighting down there right now. You really think all the heroes will be so-so magnanimous? How can I trust you, when you'll happily let them drag away all the people who followed me?"

Izuku smiled. "I know you have no reason to trust me-to trust any hero," he said, "But…well, I think we can surprise you. It's true-some heroes can be cruel, and monstrous, and all the rest of it. But still…I choose to have faith in them. They'll do the right thing."

Fumikage chuckled. "You're a fool, then," he said darkly. He still made no move to take Izuku's hand.

Izuku's eyes twinkled in the dim light. "Probably," he admitted. "But I still believe. We'll show you-we can break the cycle. We can all be more than we thought we were."

That, more than anything, seemed to strike home with Fumikage-with the child of the streets who had become a legend, who had struggled and built and led until his people were united in the pursuit of a dream.

For a long moment, nothing was said. There was just the two of them-hero and king, man and monster, two living legends on the edge of a cliff, teetering back and forth.

Then, a dark, taloned hand stretched out to take a scarred, twisted one.

Fumikage looked Izuku in the eye, and said just two words, quiet and pleading and hoping against all hope.

"Show me."

The street in front of Aegis was a tableau of destruction and carnage. Windows lay shattered, storefronts reduced to rubble, streetlamps twisted and bent along the whole length of the avenue. Limp, unmoving bodies littered the ground, sporting twisted, monstrous features.

And still, the clang of metal against stony flesh filled the air.

Nearly all of Kamakiri's troops were out of action at this point; Mezou was handling the few who still remained some distance away. It was only the madman himself left, and still he threw himself at Ejiro, more steel than flesh as blades rippled across his skin.

Once more, Ejiro easily deflected the attack, sending showers of sparks flying as the blades glanced off his impenetrable skin. Kamakiri hissed in rage, starting to twist to bring another weapon to bear-but before he could, Ejiro swung his fist almost lazily, directly into Kamakiri's face.

It was a solid hit, and sure proof that the mutant was slowing down; Ejiro hadn't been able to land blows like that before. The force of it sent Kamakiri flying; he landed heavily, extended blades making his tumble across the stone sound like a thousand nails on a chalkboard.

"Give up already, man," he called down the street after his opponent. "You and I both know how this ends."

Ejiro started forward, eager to finish this, but Kamakiri was up and attacking again in a flash; the man never stayed down for even a second.

Considering how badly injured he was, the fact that he could even stand was insane. Kamakiri had a broken arm, dozens of shattered blades, and so many nicks and cuts his clothing was slowly darkening with bloodstains. And still, he kept coming, seemingly fueled by nothing but his own fanatic fury.

Kamakiri lunged for him, wrist blade moving like a blur as he stabbed towards Ejiro's face. Ejiro raised an eyebrow-then, quick as a flash, grabbed the blade.

Kamakiri spat with fury as he tried desperately to free himself; with his legs and free hand, he rained down blows on Ejiro's torso, trying to give himself leverage to pull his blade free of the grinding clutches of Ejiro's hand. Even with small blades covering his feet and knuckles, the mutant didn't even scratch his bare chest.

"Really? Again?' Ejiro said, still grinning. "I'm afraid that trick ain't gonna work anymore."

Kamakiri's eyes went wide as Ejiro smashed his other hand down on the trapped blade.

The metal shattered like glass, and Kamakiri let out an inhuman cry of agony-a cry that was promptly cut off as Ejiro swung the mutant around by the wrist and hurled him straight into the stone wall of a nearby building.

Before Kamakiri had even hit the wall, Ejiro was charging, his joints shrieking horrifically as he moved faster than he had at any point during the fight; he reached Kamakiri before the mutant could so much as comprehend what was happening.

And then he raised his foot, and stomped Kamakiri in the chest at full speed, directly into the stone wall.

Ejiro heard every last molecule of air tear itself free from Kamakiri's lungs in half a second, followed by the unmistakable cracking sensation of at least one-and probably several-ribs breaking. He stepped back, and Kamakiri crumpled to the ground, leaving a several-inch-deep crater in the stone wall he'd struck.

This time, Kamakiri didn't rise instantly like he had so many times; Ejiro looked down at him with grim amusement on his face. Yet again, he proved that it didn't matter how much fanatical belief you had, or how strong your willpower was-you had to be able to breathe to fight.

Perhaps another sort of man would have used the total vulnerability of his opponent to follow up, to put them out of commission for good-and Ejiro was tempted, as he watched Kamakiri writhe on the ground, gasping as he tried desperately to get air back into his lungs. But he discarded the idea-kicking a man while he was down wasn't just unmanly, it wasn't what he was trying to do here.

The more he fought the Outcast, Ejiro found himself respecting Kamakiri. It was obvious at a glance that there was something different about him; he was a fanatic, yes, but as strong as fanaticism was, it was a brittle sort of strength, built out of fear of being wrong rather than faith in being right. This…this wasn't fanaticism; if it was, Kamakiri would have broken by now, his mind crumbling like his body was. But no, he was still standing-and the only thing that could drive a man to tear himself apart like this was love.

Despite appearances, Kamakiri wasn't insane. Ejiro wasn't going to treat him like he was.

Once more, Ejiro used the brief lull in the fight to speak. "Seriously, just stay down," he advised. "You ain't gonna win this."

Kamakiri chuckled darkly as he rolled over, slowly getting back onto his feet. Ejiro barely even reacted, beyond flexing his knees; he knew Kamakiri couldn't hurt him.

The look in the mutant's eyes was bloody and hateful; he spat, "Never. My mission is to kill you. I will complete it."

Before Ejiro could retort, Kamakiri moved like lightning, slamming into him with enough force to send them both shooting backwards.

When Ejiro finally stopped them both, Kamakiri's blades were once more sparking harmlessly off his skin, and the mutant was straining mightily, trying to push them deeper, trying to reach Ejiro's eyes.

It was futile, of course; with surprising speed, Ejiro locked his fingers behind Kamakiri's neck and drove a knee into his gut, once, twice, three times, making him cry out as his broken ribs came under assault again. As Kamakiri staggered, Ejiro grabbed him again, this time around the back, and tossed him over his own head to slam into the hard stone.

Several of Kamakiri's blades shattered as he struck the ground, scattering jagged metal around him as he struggled to move.

"Those blades of yours are definitely getting weaker," Ejiro observed. "Not sure if you're running out, or if you're too tired to make more-but I suppose it doesn't matter too much, huh? Either way, you can't keep this up for much longer."

"Shut up," Kamakiri hissed-but even that sounded weaker, as if he couldn't spare the effort to channel so much venom into his words. He tried to rise, but as soon as he was on his feet, Ejiro punched him again, and Kamakiri doubled over in pain.

As the mutant staggered backwards, Ejiro asked, "Do you really think you'll accomplish anything now? You're beat to hell and back."

Kamakiri didn't bother to respond; he lunged again, still attacking, still trying desperately to tear Ejiro apart.

All it got him was another sledgehammer blow to the chest, as Ejiro swatted the blade aside with the back of his hand, stepped inside Kamakiri's guard, and struck again.

Ejiro wasn't smiling anymore as he stood over the crumpled, struggling man.

"Stop this," he repeated, eyes utterly implacable. "Stay the fuck down, man. I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to."

Kamakiri laughed with pain as he struggled to stand upright again. "You sound like you expect me to be grateful," he chuckled, swaying, off-balance. "Go fuck yourself."

He charged again. Ejiro shook his head, and readied his fists.

Then, a massive figure stepped into view, an armada of arms forcing Kamakiri back.

Mezou Shoji's eyes were as hard as stone; despite having just battled dozens of the Outcasts' strongest fighters, he was barely breathing hard, and he'd left quite the trail of destruction behind him; Ejiro glanced behind him just long enough to confirm that every single Outcast who had attacked them on Kamakiri's orders was now lying unconscious among the stone and rubble of the street.

Even with his odds of success even more hopeless than they'd already been, Kamakiri didn't show the slightest sign of hesitation. He simply hissed, "You."

"Me," Mezou agreed, his voice heavy and dark and perfectly even. He didn't spare so much as a glance for Ejiro; all his focus remained on Kamakiri as he said, "As much as I hate to admit it, Red Riot's right, Kamakiri. Stand down."

Kamakiri's eyes darkened. "Of all the people to become a hero's pet, I wouldn't have expected it to be you," he spat.

Mezou didn't even flinch. "Please," he snorted. "I'm nobody's pet."

"Then why are you fighting with them?" Kamakiri demanded.

Still not looking at Ejiro, Mezou replied, "Because I won't let you kill thousands of innocent people to make a point."

"Please, they're not innocent," Kamakiri spat. "They're the ones who trapped us in a fucking cave to rot! Their happiness, their wealth, their peace-it's built on our corpses!"

"Even then," Mezou said, eyes flashing with the sort of quiet conviction that nothing could ever hope to shake, "That doesn't make this right, and you know it."

For a moment, Kamakiri seemed to consider this; it wasn't hesitation, not quite-but it was more than mindless rage, and Ejiro found himself starting to hope.

Then, Kamakiri's expression twisted once more. "You just want us to give up?" he asked. "Keep living like this? Letting them treat us like animals?"

Mezou shook his head. "No," he said. "This has to end. It's going to end."

"Then how?" Kamakiri demanded. "How, if you won't let us take it?"

Mezou was quiet for a moment. Then, he finally half-turned, and nodded once to Ejiro.

"I'm not sure," he admitted as he turned back to face Kamakiri. "But I'm willing to try and find out. All we've known is violence and war-but we don't have to stay that way. We can try to be more than that."

For the first time, Ejiro saw Kamakiri really, truly hesitate. He fell silent; no retort, no venom.

Mezou spoke again. "Before, when we were at the Chasm," he said, "You let me and Tsu try to get to Mina. You chose to be kind-to put what was right first."

Kamakiri scowled. "That was different," he said-but it was weak, uncertain. "I won't disobey Fumikage's orders."

"You're not a slave, Kamakiri," Mezou said quietly, stepping up so that he stood more fully between Ejiro and the Outcast. "You can choose."

Kamakiri's eyes flashed, but Mezou's words seemed to put him on the back foot for a moment. Then, he snapped, "And what if I choose this?"

Once more, his blades snapped out from his arms-but Mezou didn't even react. He simply took another step forward, his many arms no longer twisting like the heads of a hydra, but hanging by his sides, unthreatening. Then again, he'd never needed them to be menacing.

"Then I'll stop you," he said simply. "This is over, Kamakiri. Stop trying to destroy yourself."

Kamakiri barked out a laugh, sharp and jagged and broken like glass. "Why the fuck do you care?" he demanded, eyes flickering between both of his opponents, the hero and the mutant.

Mezou squared his shoulders, and looked Kamakiri in the eye.

"Because someone has to," he said quietly.

"Because it's right," Ejiro added, stepping up beside Mezou. He, too, looked at Kamakiri, and said, "If what you want is worth dying for, then it's worth living for, too. Dying's the easy way out of this. Man up and accept when you've lost."

Kamakiri still hesitated, still not trusting either of them. He was swaying more, struggling to keep his feet; whatever mad rush of adrenaline and rage that had been keeping him awake and fighting was visibly wearing off.

Then, he looked straight at Ejiro.

"What's the point of all of this, if you just take us to prison anyway?" he hissed.

Ejiro met his eyes, and for a moment, wondered what to say. The answer came to him faster than he thought it would have-had he not met Mina, it might never have occurred to him.

"Prison wouldn't be justice," he said softly. "Not here. Not now. And I'm a hero-justice is what I do."

Kamakiri staggered again, blood still flowing freely from his wounds. He slowly sank to one knee. "Justice?" he scoffed. "Is there any such thing?"

His blades disappeared with a soft metallic sound. Suddenly, he pitched forward-only to sink into Mezou's arms, which curled around him, lowering him to the ground.

Ejiro and Mezou shared a look. It was victory-but it sure didn't feel like it. Not yet.

Ejiro stepped forwards, and saw that Kamakiri was somehow still conscious-if only just. He knelt down.

"If there isn't," he answered quietly. "Then we'll help you make it for yourself. I promise."

Kamakiri smiled weakly. "Alright," he muttered. "You win."

With that, he closed his eyes and finally passed out. Ejiro shook his head; the damn fool had kept going through injuries that should've knocked him out much faster.

When he rose to his feet, he found Mezou looking at him oddly. A moment later, Ejiro realized why it was odd-there was a new light in the mutant's eyes. Ejiro couldn't be sure, but he thought it might have been respect-or perhaps cautious hope.

For a moment, they said nothing; then, Ejiro nodded once, and told him, "Thanks for the backup. I wouldn't have wanted to deal with that many bastards all by myself."

Mezou held his gaze silently for a moment longer. Then, at last, he nodded as well.

"You know what? I think you're right," he observed. "Mina did undersell you."

Ejiro cracked a tired, sharp-toothed grin. "Told ya," he replied. Then, he turned back to the battle raging in his city.

This fight still wasn't done yet.

There was no chanting, no stomping of feet at the Musutafu Elevators; none of the pomp that the Depths so often imbued with duels. Here, as two living legends struggled for dominance, their lives balanced on a knife's edge, there was only expectant, deadly silence.

Kugo and Kon had never fought before, but they knew each other all the same; not that that stopped them from bringing all their years of deadly experience to bear. Kon was stronger, and slightly larger, especially when he was fully transformed as he was now, but Kugo was quicker, and his sonic attacks were disorienting as all hell, especially to Kon's sensitive hearing.

It was just such a sonic attack that left Kon stumbling back, shaking his head as the very air shuddered around him, leaving an opening for Kugo to land a powerful blow into his opponent's gut.

Kon gasped, crumpling to his knees-but as Kugo tried to finish him off, Kon twisted, opening his jaws and unleashing a wave of hellfire that sent Kugo leaping backwards, raising his arm even as the skin seared and burned to block Kon's claws, which raked down his flesh, opening long, deep wounds.

The two men fell back again, eyes watching the other cautiously as they regained their footing and nursed their wounds-and they had a lot of wounds. Both of them were fighting to kill, and made no secret of it; this would not be a long fight, but it would be a bloody one.

Suddenly, Kugo broke the silence. "Tell me, Chimera," he said, " Why the hell are you killing yourself for this damn boy? You that scared of him?"

Kon was wheezing as he got back onto his feet, but he still barked out a laugh, short and sharp. "Oh, please," he scoffed. "I ain't scared of him in the slightest."

Kugo's expression was relentless. "Then why'd you kneel to him?" he demanded.

Standing, Kon chuckled just as he had before-but there was something new in his eyes, something loose and almost vulnerable. "…Do you know what it's like, Orca?" he asked, his voice wavering, just a little. "To see a goddamn boy face off against everything you've ever hated, and win? To watch him tear down everything you ever tried to build-not to put himself in its place, like you would've, but to build it better?"

Kugo remained utterly expressionless, his face a perfect mask; only an oddly distant glint in his eyes gave away what he was thinking-of the memories he was facing, of a walled city beneath the earth, a man with glittering blades on his arms, the faces of people he would never again be able to face. "I've got some idea," he said softly.

Kon was now on his feet again, but he didn't attack; he merely whispered, "It's…it's a fucking revelation, Orca. A revelation that men aren't as shitty as you thought they were, that even in the pits of fucking hell, there are good men. And a revelation…that all you are is a vampire, sucking blood out of a stinking corpse."

Kugo snorted. Then, he broke the stalemate by attacking again. Kon snarled as he met Kugo's blow, blocking it with his own massive forearm, then counterattacking with vicious claws.

No fire this time, no sonic attacks; just hand-to-hand combat between two of the most vicious murderers the Depths had ever seen, men with blood staining every inch of their skin, clinging to every facet of their souls. The stomping of their immense feet, the creak of their inhuman bodies as they pushed themselves to the limit, was like the heartbeat of the earth itself, a hymn to the dark caves and the desperate, bloody past.

This wasn't an elegant battle between hero and villain; this was a fight as the Depths had always fought, with bloody claws and shattered bones and history carved into skin with scars.

Kon reeled back, one arm hanging twisted and useless at his side, and Kugo followed, relentless. He hit Kon in the chest before the man could recover, and felt ribs crack. He ducked under a swipe from Kon's claws, then did it again.

Kon lost his footing, and was sent flying backwards. He fought to rise, already bracing for the attack he knew would be coming-only to find Kugo standing where he'd been, his face still that perfect mask.

"You've made an awful lot of corpses," he observed in that dark, deadly voice. "Odd time to grow a conscience."

Kon knew better than to question the choice to let him back on his feet; he took advantage of kindness, as he always had, exploiting it until he came out on top. If Kugo would be so foolish as to not finish a man off when he was on the ground, then Kon would use that against him, every time.

And even so, there was something different in his voice as he shook his head to clear it, then spoke. "A man can only do so much killin' before…before the thrill vanishes from it," he admitted, an odd hitch in his words. "It left a long time ago for me-I just never realized it. But now? Now, I've got a new thrill-the thrill of knowing that I can make it all mean something. I can build something that isn't made out of corpses."

Kugo snorted, clearly not believing him for a second. "Sounds like you've just got a new excuse for the same old shit you've always done, Chimera," he replied.

Kon's response was a sort of panting grin, a wolflike expression that bared teeth like steak knives, his eyes laughing and utterly shameless. "What can I say?" he answered with a shrug. "I am what I am-and so are you. What was it you said? We're a pair of old killers, Gang Orca. Our time is over."

He was on his feet again in a flash, charging to meet Kugo again, head lowered to expose razor-sharp horns.

Kugo didn't flinch; he simply caught Kon by those horns, the sheer force behind the attack sending them both skidding backwards before their momentum was finally arrested.

Kon growled ferociously, trying to pull his way free, fists landing punches on Kugo's undefended torso, his claws digging deep into the orca-man's flesh, but Kugo refused to let go.

"Our time" never should have happened, Chimera," he snarled, rage coloring his voice for the first time.

He leaned in close, and sonic waves erupted from his forehead, so fierce and violent that the very air itself shook, a tremor shaking the stone beneath their feet.

Kon howled in pain as he took the full brunt of the attack; he writhed in Kugo's grip as he took blow after blow, stunned and blinded as Kugo broke bones and inflicted pain with only the slightest look of irritation on his face.

At last, there was the familiar red-orange glow of fire, and Kugo was forced to leap backwards as Kon unleashed another wave of unfocused flame that seared Kugo's skin.

Kon was visibly in agony as he rose up to his full height once again, but that would never stop him; pain was an old friend to both of them, and neither had ever forgotten its lessons.

"Maybe so," he grunted. "But it made us both what we are, Gang Orca. Seems like you've forgotten that. To answer your question, though…I didn't follow Tokoyami because he beat me. I followed him because he offered me something I spent my whole life pretending didn't exist-a future. But if the only way I can contribute to the future that boy is building is by goin' out in a blaze of glory…then I'll do it with a smile on my face."

With that, he breathed in, mouth glowing once again, and Kugo's eyes went wide. He rushed forwards-but before he could close the distance, Kon unleashed the same focused, laserlike blast that had so nearly killed Fumikage Tokoyami himself.

Kugo went to leap aside, to let it pass harmlessly by him-and then he heard screaming from behind his back, and his jaw clenched.

The Elevators. The damn Elevators, packed with innocent people.

Kugo grit his teeth, and reared back his own head. Just before the laser struck him, it met the force of his own sonic attack.

The laser was too fast, too focused, to be totally scattered by Kugo's sonic waves-but it did weaken it, turn it from a beam into a swirling explosion that consumed the whole street, flinging fire and smoke in every direction. In the aftermath, Kon stopped attacking, eyes a little wide at the sight of the devastation he'd caused. For a moment, everything was silent, expectant.

And then Kugo burst through the smoke, his whole body seared and burned, his eyes wide with blind, murderous rage.

Kon charged to meet him, but Kugo was too quick. He struck Kon like a charging bull, his sheer ferocity overwhelming the larger man's strength. He shattered Kon's remaining unbroken ribs with a single punch, then barreled into him, sending him crashing to the stony earth.

Kon shouted in pain, but it was quickly silenced as Kugo smashed a fist the size of a battering ram into his face. Then he did it again. And again.

Kugo struck Kon over and over, raining blows until, finally, he seemed to come to his senses. With a heave of effort, he stood over the prone, twisted form of his enemy.

Somehow, Kon was still conscious-but he had no breath left to curse, no fire left to breathe. He tried to rise, once, and his broken, battered body refused. With a groan, he rested his head back, wolfish jaws parted, almost in a rueful grin. A legend, brought low.

"I'll be damned," he murmured, seemingly less terrified than disappointed. "Well? End it already."

Kugo stood tall over him, blood coursing over his body, his skin covered in burns and still smoking, every inch of him magnificent in the gleaming dark. A monster with a life of death and destruction behind him-and in front of him, too. He could not change. He would not change, ever.

He looked down at his conquered enemy-a man who deserved the worst death imaginable, a monster in every sense. A man just like him.

Kugo's eyes gave him away; he wanted to oblige Kon. One last death, to make it all mean something. One last sin to stain a soul already darker than pitch. It was tempting-so tempting.

It is easy to spare the man on the other side when he is good. But all too often-as both Kugo and Kon knew-easy is the enemy of right. And when your enemy is not good, when he is flawed and broken and dark-that is the only time that mercy means something.

There was only one way this could end. There was only one fitting conclusion to the last duel the Depths would ever see.

Kugo looked down at Kon. Then, he stood, and said, "No."

As Kugo turned his back as if to walk back down the broken, rubble-filled street towards the Elevators, Kon burst out laughing. It was a short, sharp thing-his broken ribs wouldn't allow anything else-but it carried all the mirth of a man past caring, and somehow still drawing breath.

"Still thinking you're a hero?" he called out-but there was a waver to his voice, a humanity to it. There was shock, and…of all things, there was hope.

Kugo came to a stop in the middle of the street. All around him, the Ten Kings watched from a distance-respectful, but vigilant. This-this was a new story, one that had never played out in all the duels before. It demanded reverence, and perhaps a little fear, and received it from these men, who revered nothing and feared nothing.

"If you want that damn future so bad, Chimera, don't make somebody else do all the work," Kugo spat, blunt and sharp and ringing. "You want to atone? Pick up the pieces and fucking build. I'm not here to kill you. I never have been."

Kon snorted. "So what?" he asked. "You just…let me go?"

"I told you, I ain't a hero," Kugo replied. "I don't drag people to prison. You've lost, Kon-but there's still a way out. I didn't think there was one for me-but if a man like you can believe in something bigger than himself, than maybe I can, too."

Then, Kugo made a choice-one of those little decisions that defines history, that ends a war, that changes men into something more. He turned back to Kon, stepping forward to hold out a massive hand to his downed opponent.

For a second, Kon simply stared at the outstretched hand, his red eyes utterly unreadable. Then, he grinned, a chuckle rising through bloody lips and bared teeth. "Still the same fool as always, Kugo," he said.

With a grunt, he reached out with his good arm, and took Kugo's hand.

Kugo pulled the Chimera to his feet with practiced ease. He, too, was smiling, a wry little twist of his inhuman face.

"With pride, Kon," he rumbled.

All around them, the Ten Kings moved at last-they understood that it was over. Two men rushed to their leader's side-while the others, obeying the unspoken promise of the Depths, began to retreat back down the street. They turned and left-the Elevators, and all those within, were safe.

For his part, Kugo simply stood there, ignoring his injuries, breathing hard in the way that only a fight for your life can push you to-the kind that bordered on luxurious, basking in the glory of being alive.

He raised a massive hand to his head, tilting it back until he was staring up at the featureless, dark void of stone above. But he wasn't looking at the stone-he was looking at what lay beyond.

"I'm gettin' too damn old for this," he rumbled, his voice soft, quiet, but still utterly inhuman.

He spared one last glance at the Elevators behind him, still packed with people-people who were now pressed up against the windows in shock, eyes wide as they stared at their savior.

Kugo snorted, and turned away again. He strode into the dark, blending in until there was no sign of him at all. Soon, the only sign that he'd ever been there was blood on the stone.

The ruins of what had once been the world-famous Market District of the Underground had become an alien, fantastical landscape.

Unable to land a knockout blow through Ibara's layers of interwoven vines, Ochako had changed tactics; she'd touched seemingly every boulder and bit of rubble on the battlefield, sending them floating into the air. They ranged in size from basketballs to buildings, a three-dimensional maze of living, twisting rock that spun aimlessly, untethered from gravity.

It was a maze that Ochako and Tsu knew how to navigate; they leaped from rock to rock, Tsu with her powerful legs and Ochako with her suit's grappling hook, ignoring direction and gravity with ease as they weaved and bobbed around Ibara's static form, standing in the center of the stony hurricane. Their motion caused further motion, simple physics sending rocks whipping around each time they landed on one, turning the whole battlefield into a whirling maelstrom of stone and steel, rocks smashing into each other with thunderous crashes.

No matter how Tsu and Ochako moved, though, they couldn't get close enough to Ibara to end it. Ibara's vines were simply too numerous, her control of them too masterful; they whipped around the battlefield in their thousands, twisting and winding around every floating obstacle threw at them, seeking out their prey. It was all the two of them could do to avoid getting grabbed; they had no chance to take the offensive.

Of course, Ibara's single-minded focus on catching them had cost her; Ochako had seen more than a few rocks strike her while her attention was focused on them. Sadly, they'd done no more than bruise and injure her.

She gritted her teeth. They were stuck in a stalemate-neither of them able to get enough of an upper hand to knock the other out. Sooner or later, though, that balance would shatter-and whoever was on the losing side of that collapse would be fucked.

A moment later, Ochako's prediction was proven horribly right.

Ochako and Tsu came around opposite sides of a particularly large boulder, only to be confronted with the sight of Ibara wearing a bloody, hateful grin on her face. It was a victorious expression-and a second later, they realized why.

"Oh, fuck," Ochako managed to blurt as she saw the hundreds of rocks clutched in the grasp of countless vines-vines that were rearing back to throw like an army of the most monstrous slingers in the world.

"This is why she was chasing us around," Ochako realized numbly. "So we wouldn't notice her collecting ammunition."

And now they were pinned down by their own defensive whirlwind, caught between hundreds of miniature catapults and a separate wave of vines snaking through the vortex behind them. Checkmate.

A second later, Ibara snapped her fingers, and a wave of stone shot towards the stunned figures of Ochako and Tsu.

The throws weren't particularly accurate, but then, it wasn't as if they needed to be, when there were so damn many of them. Even the countless obstacles between them and their targets didn't matter; the rocks were thrown with such velocity that they either smashed into the floating boulders and sent them careening backwards, adding them to the hail of firepower, or shattered them into pieces entirely.

There was nowhere to go, no time to even brace for impact. Ochako and Tsu were caught right in the center of the bullseye.

Tsu, lower down in the hurricane of stone, took multiple direct impacts, and was sent skidding down the wide, rubble-strewn street, bouncing off the ground several times before finally rolling to a stop, showing no signs of rising. Ochako, somehow, got it even worse; she was hit by half a dozen rocks at once. She felt bones break as they sent her careening backwards, her own weightlessness working against her; she had no mass to slow her down, and so she went flying, stopping only when she smashed into the half-destroyed ruins of a building, which promptly collapsed on top of her.

A moment later, the floating whirlwind of rocks fell apart; with Ochako's quirk out of action alongside her, they abruptly began to fall like rain. A few nearly struck Ibara, who was forced to cower beneath a tightly woven net of vines until the danger passed. As that canopy unraveled, Ibara shook her head, staggering visibly as her vines retreated. She no longer looked like a monster out of legend and myth; she looked tired, and unsteady, and in pain. She was human again.

"I'm…sorry," she said quietly, not sure who she was even speaking to, but feeling that it needed to be said all the same.

Tsu was too far away, and too badly injured, to hear; the ruins of the building Ibara had thrown Ochako into didn't shift. Ibara sighed regretfully, slowly turning to rejoin her troops.

Then, calamity.

Far away, green lightning flashed as Atlas delivered a mighty blow-a blow that shook the whole of the Underground. The lightning faded quickly, but the damage had been done. The rampaging of godlike forces of nature through a city always flirting on the edge of cave-in anyway had wreaked visible havoc on the earth all around them; support pillars were starting to crack, jagged stalactites the size of city blocks swaying with each strike. And this final blow proved too much for one of the largest of the behemoths-a stony spear larger than a skyscraper that hung directly over the market district. With a mighty cracking sound that-just for a moment-drowned out the mad din of the war below, it fell like God's own fist towards the city below.

There were screams from civilian and hero and Outcast alike as the titanic rock fell. The organized chaos of the battlefield fell apart into plain old chaos, people pushing and shoving and running as the ceiling came down above them.

There was no point; nobody was going to get away. The collapse was too fast, too big, too deadly, and there was nobody to stop it.

Ibara reacted without thinking. Her vines carried her up out of the street, away from the surging crowd, and kept going. She drew back everything she had, pulled all her vines together into a pillar that surged up, up, up into the sky, so quickly that the world blurred around her. She and her vines were all there was in the world; her and the stone sky falling.

Ibara could feel her energy failing, could see her vision going dark at the edges; she'd pushed too far. The sheer scale of the battle had forced her to draw on more strength than she almost ever used, her injuries mounting; she'd hit her wall. She stood on a cliff of exhaustion, on the verge of collapsing. But she couldn't fail now. There were too many people who would die if she did.

Her vines stretched outwards, weaving together into a wide web, hoping to catch and stop the falling chunk of stone before it crushed them all. They made contact, splaying out like a thousand arms, forming pillars that took the weight of the rock. But it wasn't enough; the rock kept coming, still falling, making her vines sway and strain, pushed to their absolute limits. Ibara took a deep breath, braced herself, called on one last bit of power-

And tipped over the edge, as the strain proved too much for her weakened, exhausted body.

Ibara's eyes went wide as her vines slumped, her whole support pillar unraveling in a fraction of a second. Vines snapped with violent cracks, and instead of catching the boulder, Ibara fell before it, plummeting to earth as her own supports failed as well, a limp rag in the wind as the stone came down.

Before she could even register the terror of falling, there was a blur of green, leaping into the air towards her.

Ibara felt slight but strong arms wrap around her out of nowhere, a small woman with a wide face throwing herself into harm's way to stop her from striking the stone. Her momentum was suddenly arrested, and instead of falling to her death, Ibara found herself and Tsuyu Asui rolling end-over-end down the stony street, rock tearing at them painfully-but they were alive.

Ibara gasped in shock; Tsu was visibly injured, blood coating her clothing and skin, and yet somehow, she was still moving. Her eyes were strong and warm, as they always were.

In that moment, Ibara had a thousand questions, and they might have spilled from her lips, overwhelmed her rage, if they had had time. But they didn't; Tsu's heroics were all for naught, an afterthought as the stone came down.

"So that's it, then," she thought, tears of pain filling her eyes, screams filling her ears. "It's over. I failed."

With desperation, Ibara used what little strength she had left, not to fight or rage or hate, not even to save the people she'd given so much for. No, she simply raised a hand to her neck, fumbling for the tiny cross on a simple chain.

"I'll be there soon, Mother," she thought as the stone struck the earth below, screams fading out as-

The clatter of shifting rubble. A yell of defiance that crossed all boundaries, shattered every heart, ended every war. A blur of pink and brown Ibara only caught at the last possible second as it streaked towards her. A flash of light.

And then the boulder that had blotted out the sky…stopped. The air it had driven before it splashed outwards in a rush of wind and force, tearing at clothes, making people who had braced themselves to die fight to open their eyes.

When Ibara could see again, her breath left her lungs. The boulder was floating. It hovered a few feet off the ground, bobbing lazily in the air, frozen in place, robbed of all its momentum a fraction of a fraction of a second before it would have hit the ground. It was an impossible, unbelievable sight. And the woman-the hero-kneeling on Ibara's chest was the cause.

Ibara stared up in awe at Ochako, who barely seemed to see her as she panted desperately, all five fingers touching the underside of the enormous piece of stone. Her other arm was braced against the ground right next to Ibara, and her whole body was shaking from the effort of escaping the rubble and catching the stalactite. Ibara couldn't remember how to speak as she looked at the blood-soaked, wounded figure of the hero who had just saved her life-who had just saved them all.

It was one of those moments that lasts forever-a moment that legends are made of. A woman kneeling, torn and bloodied, one hand upturned to place all five fingers against a falling stone, halting it utterly.

At last, though, Ibara found it in her to whisper, "Why?"

Ochako didn't seem to need to ask what Ibara meant. Between great, heaving breaths, turning the skyscraper-sized rock in her hand like she was spinning a plate, Ochako answered, "Because…I understand. Because I know what it's like to be desperate. Because I'm a hero."

With that, she stood. The boulder seemed to weigh literally nothing as she raised it over her head, giving those beneath it room to stand tall again. Ibara could only watch the sight, and wonder why the presence of a hero made her feel safe again.

Mina had fought for her life before…but never like this.

She couldn't quite pin down why it felt different, as the world devolved into a whirling storm of blades and shadows, trying to keep Kuroiro at bay.

Was it the opponent? Kuroiro was the most dangerous man she'd ever fought, she could tell that already; lightning quick, impossible to hit, a master of finding blind spots and exploiting them ruthlessly. He was a shadow, moving too quick to see coming-it was only Mina's long experience with being blind, and Momo's absurd firepower, that kept them from being instantly defeated. But they hadn't been-and Kuroiro seemed unable to find a way to get past their defenses.

Was it the war raging all around her? Mina had never seen one like this-it brought back memories of the Incursion Wars she'd lived through as a street child…only this fight put the Incursion Wars to shame. The raging green hurricane and the monster made of darkness overhead, shaking the Underground with every blow as they scattered lesser combatants around them like ants, were proof enough of that.

But no. There was only one thing that it could be-one reason why, even as allies fell all around her and she found herself seconds from joining them, Mina never stopped smiling.

She'd finally found something to fight for. She wasn't just trying to survive anymore; wasn't just acting on base instincts, driven only by the endless search for food and shelter. Now…now she was fighting because she knew that life awaited her on the other side.

And that made all the difference.

Kuroiro appeared again, striking from below as he erupted from the stone. Mina was ready for it; she twisted as he stabbed towards her, letting his knife pass harmlessly by her. She flung a ball of acid towards his face as she moved, forcing him back once again.

Kuroiro hissed with frustration, and started towards her again, but he was met by Momo, spinning that white crystalline staff with a speed and ferocity that Mina never would have expected from the posh, sheltered woman she'd met, what felt like a lifetime ago.

But then, she was a hero, with all that implied-in skill as well as in sins. Perhaps they'd both misread each other.

Kuroiro ducked under the swinging staff, only to take a blow to the side of the head as Momo expertly flicked it down and into his path. She tried to press her advantage, but Kuroiro simply disappeared, the staff swinging through empty space where his head had just been. He switched targets, once again attacking Mina as she tried to catch her breath.

"He really wants to kill me," Mina noted as she ducked and dodged away again, using her acid to hold Kuroiro off. "Can't imagine why."

Kuroiro didn't vanish this time, even when a ball of acid caught him on the shoulder and began to burn away fabric and even skin; instead, he moved like lightning, catching Mina across the face with a punch thrown from her blindspot.

Mina staggered backwards, only for Kuroiro to follow. This time, he leaped at her, forcing her to crash to the ground with a grunt as she desperately caught the blade of his knife with her hand.

Even as she grit her teeth and blood trickled down her fingers, Kuroiro's knife inches from her face, Kuroiro leaned over her, eyes burning with hatred.

"Before you die," he said, low and dark and churning like a river, "I'll have you tell me exactly what they promised you, traitor."

Mina chuckled. "They promised me nothing," she spat hatefully. "I'm doing this out of love, not greed."

"Is that why you did it?" Kuroiro sneered, pushing forward with all his might, trying to get his knife free of Mina's grip, so that it could sink home into her flesh. "For him?"

Mina smiled, a sharp and bitter thing-the Depths smile, the one that was not worn but grown, grown like armor around the heart. Her fingers tightened on the blade of Kuroiro's knife, starting to steam, smoke dribbling between her fingertips as the point dug into her scarred cheek.

"What else would I do it for?" she asked, quiet, but with the strength to move mountains. "What else is worth it?"

Kuroiro's eyes flashed, filled by some emotion she couldn't name, but before he could respond, Momo was there. "Look away!" she shouted as she hurled a small, round object at the two of them. That was all the incentive Mina needed to obey; she turned her head just as the grenade exploded, not with fire, but with a flash of light so bright it briefly turned the pitch-black plaza bright as an aboveground day.

Kuroiro howled as the flashbang blinded him, giving Momo an opening that she wasted no time in ruthlessly exploiting. Her staff cracked into the Outcast's ribs, sending him flying away and giving Mina the chance to scramble to her feet.

Kuroiro had vanished the second his body had brushed the black stone ground; he reemerged again a second later, still gunning for Mina, who braced herself once again.

He never even reached her; Momo stepped between them, staff clashing against Kuroiro's long knife and turning his charge into a frantic shoving match, attempting to push past her.

Kuroiro held his ground, either too angry or too focused to bother trying to vanish; that cost him a second later, as a shotgun popped out of Momo's forearm, aimed perfectly at his face. It fired.

Mina's eyes went wide as Kuroiro went flying; Momo's quirk was goddamn terrifying. Judging by the fact that Kuroiro still had a face, the gun had probably been loaded with beanbag rounds-not that that made it much less dangerous, especially at such point-blank ranges.

Kuroiro was on his feet again within seconds, snarling with rage as he rubbed the invisible bruise on his inky face.

"You won't hurt her," Momo told him, her voice perfectly steady. "You won't be hurting anybody, villain."

Kuroiro scoffed. "You can't stop me," he snarled. "Get out of my way."

Momo shook her head. "No," she replied. "Getting in the way is what a hero does."

Kuroiro laughed. "Please," he hissed. "What heroes do is keep us trapped down here, so you don't have to face the consequences for treating us like animals."

As abruptly as he appeared, Kuroiro vanished again, leaving only the barest suggestion of motion as he merged with the stone.

Momo instantly whirled around; Kuroiro had tried this exact trick multiple times already, and she and Mina were already getting wise.

Unfortunately, so was Kuroiro; instead of coming from behind, he instead popped out from exactly the direction he had vanished, so that Momo's back was now turned, already thrusting forward with his knife.

"Look out!" Mina shouted, realizing what had happened before Momo did. Knowing acid wouldn't reach in time, she threw Kuroiro shoulder-first.

That had mixed results; Kuroiro's blade didn't plunge into Momo's unprotected back, but as Kuroiro reeled, he did manage to slash her across her half-turned face; Momo staggered back, hand flying to her face, blinded and out of the fight for a moment.

Tangled together, Mina and Kuroiro crashed to the ground, all tactics forgotten; it became a brawl for a second, a mess of flying limbs and clenched fists that ended with Kuroiro kicking her off him with a frustrated snarl.

They were both slow getting to their feet after that, nursing wounds and rapidly nearing exhaustion.

That gave Kuroiro a chance to speak. "I don't care why you did it," he said. "You're still betraying your people by being with him."

Mina sighed, but it was nothing she hadn't told herself. Still, she wasn't the kind to take the insult quietly, either.

"No, I'm betraying the Outcasts," she corrected him. "And I admit, I don't feel all too bad about that."

Kuroiro scoffed. "A meaningless distinction, especially now," he said in that same odd, layered voice.

Mina…couldn't argue with that. The Outcasts did represent the Depths-their anger, their grief, their burning desire for justice…and the things she'd seen in Homeland, too, the world they were building for themselves, a place where all were welcome.

But still, she spoke.

"I'm not like you," she said quietly. "I'm not like Fumi either. I…don't want to burn the world down because it hurt us. I just want it to stop."

Kuroiro shook his head. "It'll never stop," he insisted, with the fervor of a man who had learned never to expect anything from the world. "This city, this world-it's already burning. It's always burning-we're just tinder."

His words rang, in the ruins of this city beneath the earth, with burning buildings and the twisted, broken remnants of the twin statues of Craton and Faultline lying in the plaza around them. But even so, something deep in Mina's chest said that he was wrong.

"Maybe," Mina admitted. "But I chose to set down my torch."

Kuroiro laughed at that, at her innocence, "And what good did that do?" he demanded, leveling his knife at her.

Mina didn't look down at it; she held her gaze firmly on Kuroiro's as she said, "It let me be happy."

Kuroiro's laugh grew louder, darker, angrier. "Happy? Happy?" he repeated incredulously, as only a man who had only known the dark could. "What good is being happy when everything is so wrong?"

There was a question within that question-one that made his voice sound younger as he spoke, losing some of its bitter edge. His knife dipped, wavering, if only for a moment.

"I don't know," Mina admitted softly. "All I do know is that the only time being happy can mean something is when the whole world wants to make you cry."

Kuroiro faltered, then; in the raging maelstrom of the battlefield, amidst the lightning storm and the shattering stone and the crackling gunfire, he looked up, and Mina saw his eyes widen as her words struck home.

"I've spent my whole life being angry," she said, scraped raw and honest. "I'm tired of it. It's eaten me alive…hollowed me out. I'm more than the anger. I'm the love and the hope and all the rest of it too. I can be angry at the world, can want it to change-and I can love it all the same."

Some part of Mina, hearing her own words, recognized Tsu in them-and Izuku, and Uraraka and Mezou and Craton and Faultline. Fumikage, too, his words ringing through her with the strength of a man who could change the world.

She was all of their voices and none of them-a thousand inspirations melted together into something new. Mina felt a strange, warm sort of calm settle over her, and recognized it for what it was-the other end of the tunnel. The place she'd been searching for all her life, without ever knowing it.

Something snapped in Kuroiro's eyes; maybe it was his patience, or his rage. Whatever it was, he did not respond with words, only a desperate cry as he lunged towards her. He didn't bother with his quirk, he simply ran, long knife utterly black even in the night.

Mina didn't run, didn't dodge, didn't flinch. She waited until he was right on top of her, blade thrusting towards her heart-

And she caught it, with hands covered in bubbling acid.

Kuroiro's eyes widened as his attack was halted; before he could react, Mina's other hand grabbed his wrist, rendering him unable to break free.

She met his eyes, and finally let herself grin. "That being said," she admitted, "This is gonna be satisfying as hell."

There was a hissing sound from the blade trapped in her hand; Mina's fingers tightened on the knife, smoke rising from them, melting and bubbling as her acid grew stronger. Her fingers clenched tighter, starting to melt through the black-painted weapon.

At last, with a shriek of failing metal, the knife simply…fell apart, collapsing into smoky nothingness that faded before it touched the ground.

Shocked, Kuroiro stumbled forward, off-balance, utterly defenseless. Funny-Mina had assumed that the blows she and Mina had landed were doing nothing to him, but now, so close and so clear-eyed, she realized that the man was bruised and battered, barely staying on his feet. Or, perhaps, whatever burning source of rage had let him push beyond his own exhaustion was flickering.

Whatever the reason, it had the same result; Mina stepped forward, and punched him in the face.

It was a good, clean blow, and from the way Kuroiro dropped like a stone, the ruined hilt of his knife clattering out of nerveless fingers, Mina knew instantly that it was a knockout punch. The kind Fumi and Mezou had taught her in the alleys and caves of the Depths, back before her heart led her towards the sun.

From behind her, Mina heard another welcome sound; the sound of a woman she'd underestimated, stepping forward in a blur of metal and crystal, odd, snakelike objects whistling past Mina as she stepped back.

Before Kuroiro had even touched the ground, Momo had him bound and trussed like a turkey, white reflective strips of laminated fabric tying themselves tightly around the fallen mutant.

They had won. Why, then, did it not feel like a victory?

Mina turned away from Kuroiro's prone form, but found herself staring into the too-understanding eyes of Momo Yaoyorozu. "What should we do with him?" Momo asked, stepping up beside Mina.

Mina blinked with surprise, turning to look up at the taller heroine. The wound from Kuroiro's blade was still bleeding freely; it had missed Momo's eye by perhaps half an inch, marring her beauty with a long-albeit shallow-gash across her cheek and up onto her nose. Even so, she barely seemed to feel it-or just didn't care. Either way, it made it even harder for Mina to see the face of that hero-the hero who had just fought alongside her, saving her life multiple times-and spot the abovegrounder.

"Why are you asking me?" she asked, confused. "You're the hero."

Momo nodded; she was not the imperious, refined lady Mina had met all that time ago, nor the ferocious hero she had fought alongside. She was quiet, reserved-and her eyes were utterly honest as she met Mina's gaze.

"That's why I'm asking," Momo admitted. "I won't just assume I know best-and I'm not going to cause any more harm to people who just want to be treated fairly."

Mina raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were just a spoiled rich girl," she said, only half joking.

Momo snorted, but her eyes stayed the same. "I can at least try to learn from my mistakes," she said softly. "And if I couldn't recognize my failings, I wouldn't have made it very far as a hero, now would I?"

Mina couldn't help but smile a little. Once again, she found herself wondering at just how easy it was to become blinded to how other people thought-how quickly they were replaced with assumptions, slotted into boxes and dismissed without thinking. It was so nice to be pleasantly surprised by someone for once.

"Let him go," she decided, nodding at Kuroiro's limp form. "He's not a threat anymore."

Mina half-expected Momo to argue, or at least to hesitate; instead, she simply nodded, and with a single motion, Kuroiro's restraints were undone. Nothing happened, of course; the man was still out, and unlikely to be much of a threat for a good long while.

Mina turned away; the battle seemed to be quieting down now, especially since Fumikage had seemingly been defeated.

She fought back the lump in her throat. She'd have time to mourn-even if the man who would inevitably comfort her had been the one to kill him.

Suddenly, Mina saw the crackling sun of green lightning explode into being once more; gentler than it had been, but still too bright to look at directly.

Her heart twisted itself into knots as Izuku soared over the city, and began to descend right in front of them, until he was finally visible at the center of his own personal supernova, carrying-

The lump in Mina's throat disappeared. Without even thinking, she started forward just as Izuku's feet touched the ground, bearing a limp but unmistakably alive figure in his arms.

Fumikage, it seemed, had come back to her.