Shinso kicked Yu's chest with hollow legs. Each attack was less a blow and more of a brush. The only thing keeping him moving was fight or flight—and he was long since out of energy.

He wondered if he'd die of asphyxiation before or after Yu got what he wanted. The pain wrapping his neck intensified as Yu's crystal gauntlet squeezed. Shinso shut his eyes and focused on his lungs. With Yu's grip, he could only get a quarter of his normal breath. The thick, fiery smoke was no help either—it diluted each precious ounce of oxygen. It was a blessing his vision remained straight.

"I will not ask again," Yu's muffled voice came, hidden under a crystal mask. "Where can I find the strongest student? Overhaul needs him."

His sneaker bounced off Yu's chest. He didn't react on any physical level—Shinso wondered if he even noticed. Yu was an absolute specimen—and his crystalline armor only made that fact more prominent. His arms alone were as thick as Shinso's thighs.

Yu's grip tightened once again, and Hitoshi wondered if Yu even wanted an answer. He was certainly squeezing him like he didn't.

With the absolute last of his breath, he managed to squeeze his reply out his constricted throat.

"...W-why would he need t-that…"

The crystal gauntlet closed around Shinso's throat. There was no warning, no hint—just a sudden, painful squeeze, and Shinso's oxygen privileges disappeared.

Shutting his eyes, he jerked his head back as far as Yu's grip would allow. It wasn't a prayer he offered, per say. He wasn't religious, like Ibara—or even spiritual, like most of the class. Most of his childhood was watching movies on the family computer. Media consumption was his great sin—especially old movies.

Pre-quirk classics were some of his favorites. Not many people connected with those old movies nowadays—especially since the connotations of "superhero" and "supernatural" and "powers" held a far more negative connotation then. People loved having quirks, having powers—it was a thing of pride, for most. Shinso, on the other hand… he resonated with old heroes. People—men and women alike—who struggled to fit in, whose powers caused more problems than solutions. When he first discovered ancient superhero flicks, where people hated their powers and wished they could be anything but what they were… it was a slippery slope to other ancient classics.

Namely, as he opened his eyes to meet Yu's, he remembered the Terminator. A time-traveling war-hardened android with only the appearance of a man. An unstoppable badass. As the sharp turquoise stone dug into his skin, freeing his life force in thin crimson streams, Shinso thought of the Terminator.

And how this beefcake wasn't half as cool.

"Punks like you don't ne—"

Yu froze, his grip going slack. Shinso drank in a delicious, charred gulp of oxygen, and kicked Yu in the chest. With his strength renewed, he wrenched himself free and landed on his side. He landed awkwardly on his arm, but the pain was nothing.

Shinso scrambled away, putting as much distance between himself and Yu as possible. He crouched low, breathing the cleanest air he could manage while figuring out his best route. The most direct way was straight ahead, through Yu, but that idea was choking to death. While Yu captured him, something happened to the fires. The fumes were darker, less gray and more black. Not only that, but Yu himself, though brainwashed, was wobbling in place.

A hand rose to his neck. He only brushed the skin, but he couldn't help and wince regardless. It was scratched to high hell—but worse than that, he knew he'd sport bruises for weeks to come. If they weren't purple already, they were certainly green.

Sweat rolled down his neck. His breath came back short, and he remembered he would die if he lingered.

He spotted a thin spot in the smoke, some ten meters left of the direct path. Good enough.

Rising to his full height, he began towards the smoke. Using his shirt as a makeshift ventilator, he tried to put Yu out of his mind. He needed to focus every ounce of attention on efficiency, lest he choke and burn to death. A crack sounded through the burning village, but it was no louder than the concurrent crackling flames. As he drew near, his willpower waned—but the thought of suffocating was even more frightening than a few burned toes.

Shinso only managed to take one step into the suffocating smoke before a second crack stole his attention. This one was sharp, like a tree trunk splintering. Whipping around, Shinso caught Yu collapsed over a patch of flames, his crystals broken against stone.

He lay in the flames for only a second, but a flip in Shinso's gut told him all he needed. The pain woke him up.

Yu screamed as he staggered to his feet, his arms a flailing mess as he patted himself down. Shinso froze, unsure whether to dive into the fire or to try and brainwash Yu again. Before he could decide, however, Yu made the choice for him.

A chunk of crystal fell from his side, revealing the charred fringe of his shirt. Stifling a moan, a fresh crystal wave covered his side. His crystal-covered head twisted around, jerking in every possible direction before settling on Shinso. Beneath his opaque mask, his eyes widened.

"You! What did you do to me?" Yu said, straightening. Faster than his injury should've allowed, Yu thundered forward, each footstep heavy enough to upset loose ashes. Panicking, Shinso threw his arms out in a hail-mary defense.

"I don't know! Did you have a stroke, moron?" Shinso said, baiting out a reply—but none came. Yu stumbled right before reaching him, clutching his side. Before Shinso could take advantage, Yu raised his arm.

Shinso barely caught the golden reflection of fire on gathering crystals. Yu's hand grew twice its size in seconds. On instinct, he dropped to the floor, right as a crystal bullet almost took his head. The sheer force popped his ears.

All of a sudden, he could breathe a little easier. Chancing a glance behind him, his eyebrows shot up. The path of Yu's crystal bullet burrowed a hole in the smoke, revealing a now-closing hole in the darkness. Though the smell of smoke returned moments later, he'd glimpsed the fire's heart—and committed it to memory.

Yu cursed, but before he could charge another shot, Shinso gave him one last look and dove into the smoke. He stumbled almost immediately, but he found his footing. Blind, he managed to sprint through the smoke, all while not breathing an ounce of it. Smaller, faster projectiles flew past him, clearing smaller smoke chunks. None hit him, but one was close enough that he almost lost an ear.

The moment he felt the smoke density drop, he dove forward and gulped in as much air as he could. Cold, refreshing oxygen was a euphoric slap to the face, but one he couldn't relish for long.

Yu's heavy footsteps renewed, crashing to earth with rhythmic urgency. Shinso allowed himself one last indulgent gulp of air before setting his sights on the Lake Zone. Newfound adrenaline and strength flooded his frame, and he almost cried from how cool the air felt on his skin. For a brief moment, it almost didn't matter that a green, knock-off Terminator was chasing him. He'd almost never been happier.

"You can't escape me, brat!" Yu said, bursting out from the conflagration zone. There was a short grassy path between them and the lake. It was nice—well maintained and pretty where Shinso ran. He left the life undisturbed—but Yu did not. Shinso did not have to see Yu's crystalline feet to know they were burning hot. The quiet whisper of sizzling grass echoed every heavy step. Yu ran straight through the flames, unperturbed—and while that left his legs burning hot, it also meant he'd caught up to Shinso far faster than expected.

A burst of pain from his lower back sent Shinso tumbling down to the ground. He landed on the same shoulder from earlier, but this time, he heard—and felt—a sickening click. The pain was dull but proud—unlike the quiet, sharp pain digging into his back.

Feeling around, he realized a shank-sized crystal was poking out his back like a porcupine. Struggling to his feet, he tore it out and resumed his sprint—though now with a dead limp.

His eyes focused on and off the boat ahead. Though, even when his vision remained steady, there was an odd scene playing out. Sort of like a struggle on deck between two dark smudges.

The cold air, a blessing at first, soon began to work against him. It seeped into the wound on his back, infecting him with freezing, icy blood. It sapped the heat from his body, draining the strength in his hips and legs.

He never reached the beach. Shinso collapsed, his muscles dead and his bones icicles. His fingertips dug into the grass as he pulled himself towards the water.

Yu's footsteps behind him slowed. He was breathing like an overworked wolf, sweating through his tongue.

"Damn kid…" He muttered, trailing off as Shinso managed to look at him. "You're too much of a liability. I doubt you have the information I'm looking for… and that freaky power you have is too much. It's best I eliminate you here, before you cause problems later, right?"

Yu's eyes trailed down to Shinso's back. His crystalline helmet cracked in half and fell to either side, cushioned by the grass. He sighed, satisfied, and cracked his neck.

"Though, I don't need to, do I? Hasn't anyone ever told you not to pull out whatever stabs you?"

"Hasn't anyone…" Shinso began, pausing as a shudder jumped up his spine. "Told you bald isn't a good look?"

Yu opened his mouth to reply, but before he did, a buzz caught his ear. Crystals armoring his hip broke apart as he retrieved an odd looking device—a radio of some kind. His face, hard and annoyed, slowly broke out into a grin as unintelligible babble filled Shinso's ears. The radio spoke nonsense to him, but to Yu, it looked like Christmas came early.

When he spoke next, Shinso didn't feel Brainwash take hold.

"Luckily for you, I never brought you to Overhaul. He would've rearranged the teeth in your mouth for that comment. Unluckily, I just got permission to kill."

He raised his crystal gauntlet to Shinso's skull. Crystals, starting small, grew around his wrists. As time went on, however, they elongated and crept up and over his knuckles. Slipping through his fingers, they pooled into the dead center of his palm.

Shinso savored a refreshing gulp of clean air and waited.

Yu never fired, however.

A sonic boom interrupted him.

[x]

Tomura lunged at Chisaki, eyeing the armor plates protecting his chest. Their clothes were nearly identical. Both wore thin, combat-ready bodysuits littered with various armor plates. The only difference was that while Tomura wore a black suit with gray plates, Chisaki wore a brown suit with beige plates. They both came prepared for war.

There was one more difference, however, but not for long. Chisaki's weight switched to his front foot as he stepped into Tomura's assault. He tried to grab Tomura's outstretched arm, but Tomura pivoted with his reaction, happy for the successful feint. Ducking low, he reached out and brushed his bare fingertips against Chisaki's chestplate.

With a sweeping low kick, he forced Chisaki to backstep. He widened the gap further by hand-springing back. His boots landed in near-silence, cushioned by Katsukame's remains.

Chisaki tapped his chest, and his suit exploded. Overhaul, his quirk, ripped the clothing from his chest, shredded the decaying armor, and then pieced it back together. A moment later, Chisaki's armor didn't have a single blemish. Tomura felt his face tighten around the edges.

"Not fair." He said, looking at Chisaki's hands.

Overhaul, the quirk, was a relative unknown to Redestro. All he told Tomura before he left was to not let Chisaki touch him. Now, with a first hand example, Tomura understood. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice how lethal it was—but more than that, it had a vigorous second element.

Overhaul was the evolution of Decay..

The muscles taut across his face pinched even further.

When Chisaki used Overhaul, he chose to activate it. There was no obstacle. So long as any part of his hand touched any part of his target, he could begin overhauling its structure. He had full control over every aspect of the process. From the deconstruction to the reconstruction, Chisaki was only limited by his imagination.

Tomura couldn't help but feel claustrophobic. He could feel the oppressive walls of his own limited quirk crush his shoulders, squeezing the life from him. If Chisaki chose so, he could emulate Decay. Nothing stopped him from simply deconstructing everything he touched, but this man…

He was arrogant. Everything had to be his way. Nothing escaped his notice. Chisaki remade the world in his image because living in a world outside his control was nauseated him. Tomura could see it in his eyes.

"Life isn't fair," Chisaki said, before sprinting forward. He crossed his forearms in front of his face, his five fingers pointed at Tomura.

He closed the gap in a blink. Uncrossing his arms, he swiped at Tomura like a cat, his claws whistling through the air. Tomura dodged backwards by a hair. If not for removing his chestplate earlier, Chisaki would've reached him.

For the brief window Chisaki overextended, Tomura swung at his face. His fist met nothing but air, however, as Chisaki dropped to the floor. On instinct, Tomura backed away, wary of an uppercut—but none came. Instead, Chisaki pressed both hands against the floor.

Tomura looked down and saw the ashen dust that he'd tracked from Katsukame's pile. A thin line of dust connected him with Overhaul.

He cursed.

Overhaul's fingers lit up like torches where they touched the dust. A moment later, that light exponentially grew, encompassing his arm and Tomura's leg. With a terrible wrench, Chisaki lifted Katsukame's giant arm and grabbed him by the ankles. Tomura's world flipped upside down as pain erupted in his feet's fragile bones. Despite the pain, he couldn't miss how Chisaki's other arm lit up a moment later, now symmetrical in pure mass.

Reaching around, he unbuckled two straps on his legs and slid out of his boots. Flipping, he landed in a kneel—and immediately pushed himself aside as Katsukame's fist flew at him. The skin was missing in places and discolored, but there was no doubt Katsukame's arms were on Overhaul's tiny frame. The weight should've crushed his ribs and ripped his shoulders from his sockets, but he wielded the limbs like his own.

Tomura was careful to not step into anymore of Katsukame. Chisaki sent a flurry of punches in his direction, each nearly as fast as his normal-sized fists. He found himself likening the experience to jumping between train tracks—with active trains barreling past.

"You're weak, princeling!" Chisaki said, shouting over the wind kicked up by his fists. "You came here to kill me? Don't make me laugh!"

Chisaki clapped, and Katsukame's fists melted together. What came next was a blow twice as strong and twice as fast, but not from a fist. It was a mass of messy flesh, littered with raw muscles, tendons, and skin clumps.

When it crashed, he was sure the entire USJ felt it. Rolling forward, he popped up right between the flesh-mass and Overhaul's unprotected chest. On either side of him were thin tubes of muscle lifting the abomination. Tomura dove for one of those muscular tubes and grabbed it with all his strength. The raw flesh was boiling hot and steaming in the cool air, but Tomura couldn't spare his poor fingertips. Each came away red and irritated, but far better than Chisaki's arm.

Instantly, the supporting limb rotted in half. The flesh mass fell to one side, taking Chisaki with it. Decay spread in two directions. One half ravished Chisaki's shoulder while the other tore through the flesh mass. Before it could reach Chisaki's true shoulder, the flesh mass burst into light and Chisaki pulled away one smaller, but still large appendage.

A moment later, another flash of light saved Chisaki's other arm. When Chisaki got to his feet, he was lopsided. The shoulder that almost rotted to nothing sported a normal hand, while his other held an arm twice as thick and nearly twice as long. Hanging low, Chisaki curled his wrist just enough to stop his knuckles from dragging on the ground.

His fury was as palpable and hot as his steaming muscles. Tomura couldn't find it within himself to maintain the same level of severity. A small chuckle escaped him.

"Is this what one too many lonely nights does to someone?"

Chisaki snarled at him. The vein protruding from his forehead bulged. With his enhanced limb, he tore a concrete chunk from the ground and threw it. It flashed white mid-air, transforming as it left his hand. A stone ball with a thousand needle-sharp spikes flew past Tomura's ear.

"Well, it's clear that your aim needs work. So your quirk can't give you skill… just ugly ass arms?" Tomura said, feeling a child-like satisfaction as his words landed in Chisaki's ears. His face above his nose bridge was as red as a firetruck.

"Damn you, Shigaraki!" Chisaki said, his words filled with heavy breaths. "When you disappeared, I stepped up! I took everything your thrice-damned master built and made it better! Now you're here, standing in my way, threatening me, wasting everyone's damn time! Are you really so greedy for my seat? I bet All for One is rolling in his grave, seeing you defy me. No Demon King could ever be proud of a son so… so… impertinent!"

"Ooh…" Tomura said, wincing. "No need to bring up the last name... Simply uncalled for…"

Chisaki didn't move for a moment. His face's crimson color faded to a lighter pink as he studied Tomura, his eyes flicking all around. When he spoke next, he sounded far more calm.

"Stand aside, Shigaraki. Let me take Eraserhead and the Ninth, and I promise I won't bother you. Hell, I'll even forgive this stunt. I could've given you anything you wanted, but if you keep following this path, your greed will force my hand. Now, I offer you something that seems more fitting. Neutrality."

The weight on his thigh disappeared as he unholstered his pistol.

"Are you seriously still trying to negotiate? I don't think you understand."

Chisaki's shoulders pulled together for a brief second before relaxing. His posture straightened, his bent knees following suit. With a clap and a flash of light, Chisaki's enlarged hand shrunk down to size. Behind him, a wet mass of organic flesh plopped on the ground.

"I think I understand enough. You're here to interrupt me and to stop our quirk serum. It's clear Redestro isn't happy with your plan, but doesn't have the balls to stop you, nor the force. There's an obvious soft spot in your heart for the meek, and you can't help but fight for the weak."

Tomura raised an eyebrow. The first part wasn't inaccurate, but the second half? It was like he was describing a totally different person.

"You sure?"

Chisaki's eyes smiled. For just a brief, tiny instant, they flickered over Tomura's shoulder.

The hairs on the back of his neck tickled. He did not move.

"You haven't, for even a moment, moved from between me and Eraserhead's body."

"He's not exactly meek. I kinda saw him almost sorta murder you. Shame about the knife."

"Yeah… shame about the knife…"

A flutter of loose robes alerted Tomura to a rapid approach. A thin sheer of metal screeched through his ears as a dagger was unsheathed, and he knew a knife was about to enter his back.

He did not turn around.

A second pair of footsteps—lighter and faster—beat between the other's approach. At the last second, when every milliliter of Tomura's instincts told him to dodge, a dark brown smudge colored his peripheral vision. With an accompanying silver flash, Himiko blocked the sneak attack with her own dagger. She—in her current form, He—knocked the knife into the air with a sharp clink.

Tomura caught the flying dagger as it arched over his head. Turning it over, he noted the way the blade slithered with a snake-like path. It was a kris with a crooked handle. A cute little thing. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Himiko's current form standing over a shocked Kurono.

"I guess it was a good call to bring you, then. Thanks." Tomura said, meeting Himiko's eyes for a second. It was a little odd knowing the man she was wearing was dead, but he supposed he didn't mind. Her eyes crinkled around the edges. The dead man's face contorted into a smile—probably a deeper one than he'd ever made during his lifetime.

"No problem, boss-guy!"

"Care to take Eraserhead out of here? I'm afraid to cut loose."

"Sure! Hehe."

Below her, Kurono balked.

"You'll do no such thing." He said, taking a step back. "Not while I'm—"

The blade whistled as the kris buried itself in his chest. Tomura winced, feeling how the dagger's awkward handle agitated his burnt thumb. It threw his aim off a little. He aimed for the heart, but he supposed the lower ribs were sufficient.

"No!" Chisaki said, wrenching Tomura's attention back to the fight. "Kurono!"

Tomura only had a split second to react before Chisaki slammed both fists into the ground. From his fists, a giant wave of spikes rolled out towards him. Glancing behind him, he saw Himiko grab Eraserhead's body and sling him over their shoulder. A moment later, she disappeared.

Kurono was moaning something painful, but Tomura didn't care. Now, with no more distractions, he could cut a little loose. Before the rolling wave of spikes reached him, he touched the ground.

Cracks raced from his fingertips, digging deep into the earth between himself and Chisaki. They spread under and behind him, and in all directions. Like lightning, the cracks followed incalculable, jagged angles. They snaked between the spikes first, spreading through the wave's core before reaching for the spiked tips. Then, as fast as the cracks spread, the solid chunks between them dissolved into dust.

The momentum didn't stop, and Chisaki's attack hit him dead on. With no solid mass, however, it was like a child tossing a sand bucket at him. He weathered the sandstorm for one second before pushing through, pistol first.

He fired once, twice, and a third time in near total blindness. Sharp sparks stung his pupils, but it was Chisaki's next flash of light that stained his vision. The sandstorm was still thick, but he could see Overhaul's activation from anywhere.

His eyes followed the flash of light as it arched forward, trailing two large fists. The first comet nearly removed his skull, and the second almost hollowed out his ribcage. Neither made contact, however, thanks to a low dodge and a tap on the floor. The ground beneath Chisaki shattered, and he fell into a crater some ten feet deep. A string of curses replaced all chivalry.

"You bastard!" Chisaki said, echoing another flash of light. Chisaki stood on the border of the crater, trying to get a better view of his target. It was hard thanks to the now-greater volume of dust. "What have you done?"

Tomura raised the fingers on his right hand and began counting down.

"I killed all of your nomus," Tomura said, closing his thumb against his palm. "Then I dusted Sakaki and Katsukame. Hm… Oh yes, I recently stabbed your… Buddy? Lover? Right-hand man feels a little too impersonal…"

He showed off his last remaining finger, his middlemost digit, as the ash and dust faded away. Flipping Chisaki off, he finally met the man's eyes again. The man's shoulders shook, his quirk-enhanced limbs rattling on his shoulders. His new arms didn't have an inch of skin covering them. Every ounce of organic material was dedicated to making stronger, more efficient limbs.

He wondered if the air stung against the bare muscle. He could only hope.

"And I'm about to extract every ounce of pain you owe me."

"...Owe you? Owe you! Did you just claim a debt on me, you disgusting prince of nothing? Have I not made myself clear?" Chisaki said, his voice so thick in his mouth that Tomura felt a twinge of discomfort. Seeing Chisaki at the bottom of a crater, flayed and filthy, should've rejuvenated him. It should've been a pleasure, a comfort—but all Tomura felt was unease. He watched as every muscle fiber in Chisaki's skinless arms contracted, compressing against his bones. "You're not worthy of your inheritance. You're a stain to mankind, a mistake! Quirks are reflections of the soul, and that's never been more evident with you! All you do is ruin—my plans, my subordinates, my army. You're incapable of making anything. You only take, and take, and break and destroy and rot! That's why your thrice-damned master stole your thrice-damned prey!"

The whole world could've heard a pindrop. Chisaki let out a shuddering breath, his glare angular and demonic and familiar. It was raw hate—something men usually only saw once or twice in their lifetimes. Tomura weathered the gaze with a veteran's touch. Such passion haunted him wherever he went.

Chisaki continued, each word venom.

"...All for One killed All Might to reclaim his power… so he could rebuild the world. It was a naive, impossible goal. Quirks will never be found in Eden—let alone quirks like theirs… Let alone like yours, destroyer. He knew you were unworthy. He didn't let you kill All Might because he knew you'd never do good with the rewards. You would never remake a world—you'd never fucking try! Quirks are a reflection of your soul, and yours is bare to anyone unfortunate enough to see your ugly mug. Your quirk can only destroy because you, Tomura Shigaraki, can only destroy. You alone are motivation enough to wipe the slate clean…"

Tomura was strange. He was a strange man in a strange world.

"...So don't you dare claim debt. You have no reason to exist here, in this moment, opposite me. You live for nobody. Your aspirations are mute. Your dreams are empty. You kill for nothing… You fight for nothing."

The words slipped through one ear and out the other. Another voice, louder than Chisaki's—more familiar, stronger, more human, spoke over him.

"Quirks are just tools, in the end," Tomura said. Chisaki's face warped, for a split second. His brunette mess turned blond and short—his rounded cheekbones turned sharp, just as his sharp eyes turned rounded. Jin. Decay wasn't a reflection of his soul, he told himself. Causality was bullshit.

He stepped into the crater, letting himself slide down to Chisaki's level. A ripple of tense muscles ran down Chisaki's shoulders to his hands. Bleached-white tendons protruded as his fists squeezed. Tomura's hand on his pistol, on the other hand, was limb and casual.

"I," Tomura began, pausing to feel the way the words danced on his tongue. "Fight for a reason. I don't care that you hate quirks. I don't care that you've "taken my inheritance." Enjoy it, if it means that much to you. Hell, I don't even care that you're tryna kill my favorite hero. All I care about…"

Tomura's eyes glided over Chisaki's features, landing above his red-tipped ear. He saw Hekiji and Geten's battle continue with flashes of blue crystals and golden walls. Geten was toying with him, never straying too far from Tomura. He was Tomura's appointed babysitter—but also an agent with his own motives. He wanted Hekiji dead almost as much as Tomura. Jin and Geten were friends, after all. Bubaigawara had a lot of those…

Tomura's attention returned to Chisaki's red face.

…Before this man involved himself.

"Is getting revenge for my best friend. He was a damn good man, and your people killed him."

"Bullshit!" Chisaki said, before launching forward. Leaning backwards, Chisaki's palm flew past his nose. The sheer heat of his bare muscles washed against his eyes, drawing tears from him.

When they came, they didn't stop—even as Tomura let himself fall into a backwards handspring. They didn't stop as he kicked forward and got inside Chisaki's guard. They didn't stop as a hammer blow countered his uppercut, launching him away. They didn't stop as he landed on his back and scrambled to his feet. They didn't stop as he clicked his shoulder back in place.

They didn't stop because he let them fall. He never allowed himself to grieve, to start crying. Since he was already crying, however, he might as well let the floodgates open. He wasn't one to reject his instincts. It only took a few seconds for the collar of his combat suit to soak through.

"Look at you!" Chisaki said, seething. "Maybe you should be an actor instead of a murderer! You're damn good at pretending to care… But there's no need. I can see straight through you. Your gilded pedestal is little more than pyrite. You're alive for no other reason except to irritate me!"

"I'm alive because of him, goddamnit!" Tomura said, before sprinting forward. Chisaki scoffed before mimicking him, meeting him in the middle. The steel barbs hidden in his gloved hand popped as he swung at Chisaki's chest. Chisaki tried to block, but Tomura was ahead of him. Before the barbs even got close, he whipped around and sent a flying heel for his temple instead.

Chisaki managed to block, but wasn't able to stop Tomura from landing low and taking his legs out. He snarled as he fell, but Chisaki moved like his large arms were no hindrance at all. His hands met the ground first, and in a flash of light, a giant stone spear appeared between Tomura's legs.

His mind flew back some five minutes, to when Chisaki ran Eraserhead through in a similar fashion. Knowing his intent, he stepped into the stone blade. It caught his inner thigh, cutting a deep trench through his leg—but now Chisaki, with his hands still buried in the ground, was defenseless.

"Remember his name," Tomura said as he tucked his bare hand to his flank, every muscle in his arm bulging. "Jin Bubaigawara. A man who hated himself. My honest to god friend. Begone."

Tomura brought his hand down with every ounce of force he could muster. He pulled from his adrenaline, his grief, his memories—and his hate. His hand slapped Chisaki's shoulder with enough force to crack both. Chisaki's shoulder shattered under his blow, just as it sent him flying into the dirt face-first. Likewise, Tomura's wrist broke—and with his butchered leg, his lacking balance sent him stumbling to his ass.

He hissed, feeling dirt get into his open wound—but the pain was nothing compared to the sweet song of Chisaki's death throes. He was careful to touch every finger to Chisaki.

Tomura fell to his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling, and waited. Any moment now, it would be no difference from any other. It would be like kicking a sandcastle—the sand-spray would mingle with the beach, teasing his ears with a nearly serene grating noise. Maybe the air bubbles in his marrow would pop, and a firecracker would go off. Maybe he'd have last words.

Chisaki wasn't a god, nor was he infallible. He would crumble. The mountain of skulls he called a throne was built on an impossible goal, was built on power not cultivated himself. His world had to be perfect—but the world would never be perfect until his stain was scrubbed from the world.

And yet, as Tomura waited, nothing happened. No marrow cracked. No sand fell to earth. Instead, a near silent—almost human—groan, a flash of light, and a distinctly inhuman chuckle soured his ear.

The laugh started small, with a single chortle. Chisaki's inhibitions disappeared soon after. His chortle turned to a chuckle, and his chuckle became laughter. Laughter became synonymous with sobbing—and then all Tomura heard was mania.

Letting his chin fall to the side, he felt dirt coat his cheek as he looked at Chisaki.

He was normal again, with neither signs of decay nor muscular arms. Patting himself down, he stood. With a flash of light, the dirt and mud caking his armor and boots disappeared. His posture was straight and casual—no worse off from his shattered shoulder.

Tomura struggled to sit up as Chisaki stepped toward him, his voice still filled with an amused lilt.

"You…" Chisaki began, before breaking down. Another laugh tore itself from his chest. Geten and Hekiji's battle slowed to a stop as his laughter rang around the Plaza. "You fight for Bubaigawara? Your—your whole motivation to kill me was that clown?"

Tomura's blood burned hot. Just barely, he managed to stagger to his feet with dignity.

"So fucking what if he was goofy? He was good. He saved my life."

Chisaki had the audacity to roll his eyes. Tomura's brain went nuclear. Somewhere, Chisaki was smiling under his mask. He couldn't see it—he just knew.

"What did Redestro call him? Double?"

"...How did you know that?"

"The same way I know everything, Begone."

Every milliliter of liquid in his mouth evaporated. His tongue was a swollen, wooden thing that lodged in his throat. Very little air managed to struggle to his throat. Tomura's heart beat once, twice, and then a third, powerful time. The force alone almost shattered his brittle skeleton.

Chisaki's eyes creased, and Tomura wanted to tear his throat out with his teeth. The smile was infectious, spreading from his lips to his eyes. A little wrinkle formed on his forehead where the joy pinched the skin together. Soon, his face lit up like a sunrise, and unparalleled enthusiasm infused his every feature.

"It's funny! That mogul repulses me in every way… but in the end, our naming conventions aren't that far apart."

Chisaki split in half as Tomura's eyes unfocused, the color draining from his vision. The world doubled, showing itself to him twice.

"We called him Twice before he infiltrated the Meta Liberation army, you know. Picked him up in the early days of the gang wars—a total nutjob. Two-faced and gullible are words I'd call him, rather than "good" or "goofy."

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse—as dry as a tree born millenia ago.

"Liar."

Glee.

"I'm afraid not… Tenko."

"Get that name out of your mouth!" Tomura spat. Ignoring the pain, he shoved himself forward—this time, bringing his aching hand to Chisaki's face. Overhaul would be useless with a rotten brain.

But Chisaki didn't flinch—even as Tomura's fingers came grasping for his ugly cheek. He didn't dodge backwards, didn't slip aside, didn't try to counter. No, he let Tomura come close, and the white-hot burning in his gut sang a song of vengeance.

His hand never made it. With unexpected deftness, Chisaki slid a foot back, braced himself, and palm-striked Tomura's offensive hand millimeters before it reached his cheek. All Tomura knew next was a flash of light, and a sudden weightlessness to his shoulder.

When he blinked away the blindness, he was on the ground, very cold, with Chisaki chuckling above him.

"You fought for nothing. "Double" isn't yours—he is mine. And now you'll never destroy again."

Bumble bees filled his ears, then. Their buzz turned muddled and static. Stupidly, he decided this was the sound of death—but then a sonic boom thundered through the USJ, and his theory was disproven.

[x]

AN: Finally, I've finished this arc lol. Tomorrow I start on post arc.

Review!