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Chapter Text

****Disclaimer: neither Boku no Hero Academia / My Hero Academia nor its characters belong to me. All rights belong to Kōhei Horikoshi

This is the sequel to "A Ghost of What Was Once Mine!!!!!"

Pilot story is a very long slow burn.

If you haven't read the first story yet, be aware that there are manga and fanfiction spoilers ahead! This story diverges from the original, My Hero Academia Storyline. This is a BakuDeku story.

Thank you all for patiently waiting for this continuation. Your support and enthusiasm mean the world to me, and I can't wait for you guys to read my work. I'm not sure yet if it's going to be a weekly or biweekly release but we'll see.

Enjoy the ride!

Trigger Warning: Gore, Angst, Depression, PTSD, Dissociative identity disorder (DID), Sexual content, mature themes, and torture.

Most Chapters will be From Katsuki's POV

Please enjoy 💕

Chapter Text

Love?

What exactly is Love?

Katsuki used to think love was soft—weak. Something people threw around because it sounded nice, because they couldn’t handle reality without dressing it up in meaningless bullshit. He'd believed love was fragile, breakable—something easily shattered under pressure. Hell, he’d thought it was nothing more than a liability, a pathetic reason people got themselves hurt, or worse, killed.

Turns out, he was wrong.

Love wasn’t soft, wasn't weak, wasn't some delicate thing you had to shield or coddle. No, love was fierce. Ruthless. Violent. Love was clawing through the wreckage of someone’s soul, tearing your own heart apart just to hold theirs together. It was standing in the goddamn fire, skin burning, lungs choking on smoke, and still refusing to let go—because letting go meant losing everything.

Love was brutal honesty—admitting that someone mattered more than pride, more than power, more than breathing. Love was staring death in the face and feeling rage instead of fear, because the thought of losing that person—of living in a world without them—was infinitely worse than dying.

Yeah, love was fucked up like that. Messy and ugly and painful as hell.

But it was also everything. The only thing that made any of the suffering worth it.

So, no, love wasn't quiet snowfall or gentle whispers.

It was an explosion—a violent, blinding burst of fire, lighting up your life for one brilliant moment, burning itself into your bones, and leaving scars you'd carry forever.

But even then... even now, he wouldn't trade those scars for anything. Because they meant he'd loved, he'd fought, he'd burned.

Because even though it ends in flames, even though it tears him apart, loving Izuku Midoriya had made him who he was—and he'd do it all over again without a second thought.

But love, real love, always came at a price.

And Katsuki had paid that price far too many fucking times.

He’d buried too many people he loved and was tired of standing in graveyards.

Tired of staring down at headstones engraved with names he'd never forget—names of those he'd lost along the way. But today wasn't about them. Today, he was visiting someone who had passed long before his life had turned into absolute hell. Before the coma, before Odd Eye, before the love of his life became something he hardly recognized.

Back when things were still simple. Back when he thought the worst thing he'd ever face was losing to some nerd with green eyes and too-big dreams.

Now, standing alone with the spring breeze whispering through the trees, ruby eyes—usually burning with fierce intensity—now held a somber reflection as he stared at the grave that read Inko Midoriya, knowing that simplicity was something he'd never have again.

Over a year ago, in this very spot, a lost soul had made a wish.

It had been his twentieth birthday, and he’d stood right here, eyes closed, head to the heavens, feeling like he was going to explode with how much he wanted—how much he needed—was just one more goddamn chance.

One more chance to see him again.

To see those stupid, stubborn green eyes open. To hear that voice—raspy, half-muttered bullshit that used to drive him up the wall—he'd forgotten long ago. To feel the presence of the one person who had always been more than just a rival, more than a childhood mistake, more than anything he would have ever let himself admit.

That day, he had begged—begged—whatever the hell was out there, whatever gods or fate or fucking universe had been watching. Just bring him back. Just let him wake up. Just let him have one more shot to fix everything.

He didn’t even know who the hell he was asking, didn’t know that it would be both a blessing… and a curse.

Because the universe never gives him anything—it only ever takes.

That had been a year ago.

Back when he was still some idiot who thought he had time, who. Back when he believed things could be different. Back when he was still a completely different person.

Now, the air was heavy, thick with the kind of silence that made his chest feel tight. The sky stretched gray and dull above him, as if even the world couldn’t be bothered to give a shit.

He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat didn’t budge. His grip tightened around the fresh bouquet of Japanese Camellia flowers, the yellow petals stark against the somber backdrop.

His fingers brushed over the delicate petals, their softness a sharp contrast to the rough, scarred skin of his hands. The same hands that had spent years breaking, fighting, failing.

Every damn week for years, he'd brought these flowers to Izuku’s hospital room. A ritual. A habit. A promise. The bright yellow camellias had always felt out of place in that sterile, white void—too alive in a room where he had been anything but.

The beeping machines, the antiseptic stench, the quiet murmur of nurses coming and going—those had been the constants. And the flowers. Always the flowers.

They meant longing. Perseverance.

Fitting…

That’s why he’d chosen them originally. Because they were a silent way of saying everything he could never fucking put into words. Everything he didn’t know how to admit at the time.

He knelt down, blackened fingers trembling slightly as they brushed away the dirt that had settled over the grave. A ritual he had repeated so many times in his place since Inko had died. He wasn’t even sure when it had started—just that it had become another habit, another thing he did without thinking.

But today, his movements were slower. More careful.

Like wiping the stone clean could somehow erase the fucking guilt rotting inside him, festering like as cancer to inoperable to remove, killing him from the inside out.

"Hey, Auntie," he muttered, voice rough, barely above a whisper as he set the flowers down. The words felt foreign coming out of his mouth, strange and stiff like they didn’t belong to him. He’d never been the type to talk to the dead. Never saw the point. But standing here now, staring down at that cold slab of stone, it felt like it was all he had left.

The only thing that hadn’t gone to shit.

For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the name carved into the grave, at the meaningless dates beneath it, at the reminder that she had been gone long before everything had fallen apart. Before her son’s heart had given out the first time. Before the torment. Before the world had turned cruel and left him chasing shadows.

She had never seen the aftermath. Never watched everything unravel. Never had to witness what had become of the boy she loved most.

And maybe—maybe that was mercy.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to a time that felt like a different fucking lifetime.

Back to UA… back to him.

Back when things were simple—when that stupid, grinning idiot had been so free. Even with the war creeping up behind them, even with the weight of the world pressing against his shoulders, there had always been that fire in him. That stubborn, goddamn unbreakable hope.

A warmth Katsuki had been too blind to realize he needed.

And then, everything went to hell and the boy who had seen the good in everything, the one who’d carried hope like it was stitched into his very bones had left this world, and he’d never truly come back whole.

Still, even though that trauma had broken them, it had also rebuilt them, brought them so much closer. Had dragged out something in his brash heart that he never thought he was capable of—something softer, something real… but just like every other good thing in his life, it had crumbled away, slipping through his fingers like ash before he could hold onto it.

The person he had become—the darkness that had seeped into his soul, twisted him into something unrecognizable—was a far fucking cry from the boy he used to be. The boy who had once been so damn bright it was almost unbearable, who used to smile like the world wasn’t already trying to tear him apart. The idiot who had once thought heroes could save everyone—who had once looked at his rival like he was someone worth chasing after.

That boy was gone.

And his absence?

A wound that never closed.

A constant, festering, suffocating reminder of what they’d lost, what they could’ve had. What he had failed, time and time again, to protect.

His thoughts spiraled, dragging him straight into the pit of his own mind. He felt like a failure—dammit, he was a failure. Because what the fuck do you call someone who spent his whole damn life training to be strong, only to find out he couldn't even protect the one goddamn thing that mattered?

Every promise he’d made to himself, every vow he had sworn—to be stronger, to keep him safe, to never let anything like this happen—had shattered like glass under the weight of his own uselessness. Beneath the League’s boots. Beneath that bastard’s grip.

He wasn’t strong enough.

Had never been strong enough.

He let them take him. Let them twist him into something unrecognizable. Let them carve out pieces of him until nothing familiar was left. And when it was all over—when there was nothing but wreckage left behind—he still couldn’t stop him from walking away.

And that was the worst fucking part.

Not the blood. Not the scars. Not even the way his hands still shook when he thought about that last moment—red eyes meeting green, everything unraveling in an instant.

No. The worst part was that he had still left.

Still chose to burn the bridge between them down to fucking ash.

The guilt of these last months was like lead weights wrapped around his neck, dragging him down, trying to pull him under as he so desperately tried to keep his head above that endless sea of his own regrets.

What the hell does he do now? The question wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. It ate at him, a relentless, merciless whisper that wouldn’t shut the hell up. Every day was a battle. To keep moving, to keep fighting. Try to stay above the water, try to keep from sinking, from letting those lead weights around his throat finally drag him under—into the dark, into the place where he knew he wouldn’t fucking surface again.

And for what?

All the strength he prided himself on, all the power he worked so hard to hone, had meant jack shit in the end. It all felt like some cruel pathetic fucking joke. What was the point of all of it if he couldn’t win the battles that mattered? If all it ever did was prove how fucking useless he really was?

His fists clenched, nails biting deep into his palms—sharp, piercing, real.

The pain dragged him back to the present. His jaw locked, his throat burned, and then, before he could stop himself—

"I'm sorry." The words came out broken, cracking on the edges, barely more than a whisper. "I'm so fucking sorry, Auntie. I wasn't good enough for him. I failed him... I failed—"

The words caught, like something too big to swallow. Hung in the air, raw and aching, like a confession to the grave, to the void, to the silence that had never once answered him back.

He stopped mid-sentence, teeth grinding, eyes stinging with something he refused to let fall. He wouldn’t cry. Didn’t deserve to cry. Tears were for people who had done everything they could. For the ones who had given their all and still come up short.

But him?

He hadn’t done enough.

He inhaled sharply, staring off into the distance, forcing himself to breathe through the torrent threatening to pull him under. Because crying wouldn’t fix a damn thing. It wouldn’t bring him back. It wouldn’t undo the damage, wouldn’t erase the fucking pain.

"I wanted to be stronger for him," he murmured. "I wanted to protect him, to be the one he could count on... but I—I couldn’t be what he needed me to be."

His voice died out, and for a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

He closed his eyes, letting the breeze wash over him, trying—fucking trying—to find some small semblance of peace in the never-ending chaos that had become his life.

Slowly, he reached up, fingers curling around the chain at his neck. The cool metal slid through his grip, smooth and familiar, until the ring at the end dangled in front of him, catching the faint, dull light filtering through the clouds.

A simple band. Worn edges. A delicate pattern woven into the metal. And at its center—an emerald, glowing with that same steady, rhythmic pulse.

Like a heartbeat.

Like his heartbeat.

His thumb brushed over the grooves, tracing every familiar ridge, the edges warmed by his own skin. It was a comfort—small, but undeniable—a reminder that even if everything else had shattered, even if the connection between them had been stretched too thin, broken too violently, something still remained.

Even if it was only a shadow of what it once was.

He exhaled sharply, tucking the ring back beneath his shirt, feeling the pulse settle against his chest. Close to his own. A heartbeat that didn’t belong to him, yet had been a part of him for so long that he couldn’t remember what it felt like to exist without it.

The cemetery stretched around him in quiet indifference, the breeze stirring the tall grass, rustling the leaves in the distance. Empty. Silent. Just how he needed it to be. No onlookers, no unwanted interruptions. No one to see the way his hands trembled as he reached into his pocket, fingers curling around the small velvet box.

The weight of it felt heavier than it should have.

It had been a week since he’d tracked down the quirk user who had crafted his ring, chasing yet another lead, another fucking chance at something that might pull him closer. Might bring him to the place he had been trying so desperately to reach.

But like every other lead, every other whisper of hope that turned to ash in his hands, it had been nothing but another dead end.

He’d left, pissed and exhausted, ready to shove the entire encounter into the same pile of useless fucking mistakes that had been stacking higher and higher these past months.

And then—he had stopped.

Because an idea had slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. If he was still out there—if there was still a part of him left that hadn’t been swallowed whole—

He would come back here, to this grave… to her.

If he was still out there—if there was still a part of him left—he would come back here.

To this grave.

To her.

To the only part of his past that had ever been unshakable, and if he did—he needed to find something waiting for him.

Slowly, trembling fingers flipped the box open.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, was another ring. Identical to the one he wore, but instead of an emerald, this one was set with a dark orange sapphire, burning with that same quiet, otherworldly glow.

It pulsed in his hand, steady and rhythmic, as if responding to the one pressed against his chest.

Katsuki stared at the ring, thoughts circling like vultures in his mind, relentless and unyielding.

This place—the cemetery, the headstone, the quiet weight of it all—was more than just stone and earth. It was a tether. A place he knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter how much time passed, no matter how lost he became, he would always return to.

And he wasn’t the only one.

He would come back too.

Because every version of him—every fractured, broken, shattered piece—was bound to this place, tied to it in ways that neither life nor death could sever.

Katsuki was banking everything on that.

His grip tightened around the velvet box as he lifted the chain, letting the orange sapphire catch what little light managed to filter through the gray sky. It flickered, glowing faintly, like a dying ember—like something waiting to be rekindled.

He knew that deep down, buried beneath the anger, beneath the scars, beneath the fucking wreckage of everything that had happened, the person he had loved still existed.

Why the hell else would he have gone out of his way to put the quirk on his ring? Why else would he have left a piece of himself behind?

And if he had gone through all that trouble, if the shadow of who he loved had made sure he would always have something to hold onto, then he owed him the same in return.

That thought rooted itself deep. Unshakable. Resolved.

With steady hands, he pulled the chain from the box and crouched down, setting it carefully at the base of the headstone. The orange sapphire pulsed, glowing softly against the cold stone, its light flickering in a rhythm that matched the pounding of his heart.

A piece of him. Left behind.

Waiting for the hands that still held it.

He didn’t move right away, staying there, crouched by the grave, eyes fixed on the ring as if watching it long enough would make it mean something more.

The weight of every broken promise settled onto his shoulders, suffocating in its familiarity. He had made too many empty vows, let him down too many times.

And maybe his words didn’t mean a goddamn thing anymore—maybe they never had—but still, something in him refused to let go.

He wasn’t done yet.

"I know my words don’t mean shit," Katsuki muttered, voice rough, edged with something raw and unsteady. "But I swear, I'll find you."

His jaw clenched, his breath uneven as he forced himself to stand, fingers twitching at his sides. "I’ll guide you back," he murmured, barely more than a whisper.

His eyes drifted to the grave one last time, the ring still glowing softly in the dim light.

"Even if it’s the last thing I do, Izuku."

With that, he turned and walked away, never once looking back.

He would find him.

He would bring him home.

And this time—he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Dead Man Walking

The city skyline blurred beneath Katsuki's rapid descent, his new gauntlets igniting with crackling explosions as he executed another flawless aerial maneuver. In a flash of sparks, he landed with explosive precision, a human comet on a mission.

But today wasn't just any day for Katsuki. It was one of those days—a shitty day. Damn it, why do these nobodies always pick the worst fucking days to stir up trouble? This was his second shift of overtime, the weariness settling into his bones. His temper, always a hair-trigger away from exploding, was now even shorter. The catastrophe the League of Villains had caused months ago had nearly turned Japan into no man's land again, leaving heroes like Katsuki scrambling to pick up the pieces.

The alley erupted into chaos as the villain was left scrambling to react, not expecting someone as terrifying as Japan's number one hero, Dynmight to show up. Katsuki's movements were a blur of controlled fury, a masterpiece of blasts that echoed against the narrow walls of the alleyway. Each calculated explosion rippled through the air, rattling the villain's confidence.

Six months. Six fucking months had passed since that horrible day Izuku abandoned him, leaving a void so deep that Katsuki resorted to filling it with the relentless pursuit of honing his newfound power. That day, without even realizing it, Katsuki experienced a quirk awakening—a transformative effect that granted him newfound control over his explosive abilities. No longer confined to his palms, he could now ignite his nitroglycerin sweat from any part of his body, turning him into a walking arsenal of controlled chaos.

"You picked the wrong damn day to cross paths with me," Katsuki growled, his ruby eyes narrowing as he closed in on his opponent. The villain, a wiry figure with a gleam of arrogance in his eyes, gripped his knockoff support item tightly, desperately trying to regain control.

The villain attempted a feeble counterattack, but Katsuki anticipated every move, his combat instincts honed through countless battles. Compared to Izuku or Odd Eye this guy was a walk in the fucking park. With a swift and calculated strike, he disarmed the villain, sending the weapon clattering across the pavement.

"Start talking, scumbag," Katsuki demanded, his voice a menacing snarl. "How many of you losers are there? Are you working for the League of Villains? Spit it out!"

The villain, gasping for breath, looked up with a mixture of fear and defiance. "It's just me, man! I wouldn't dare get involved with the League. I'm not crazy!" Yeah, sure. And he was the Queen of fucking England.

Katsuki glared at him, explosions crackling up his arm as if the very air around him responded to his short temper. "You expect me to believe that? I've heard that line too many damn times." The crimson fury in his eyes burned brighter, the alley seemed to shrink as Katsuki pressed on, the intensity of his stare demanding more than mere words.

Pinned beneath the weight of Katsuki's aggression, the villain started to crack as he stammered in fear. "N-no, I swear! I'm just trying to make a living, man! It's rough out here!"

Katsuki's scowl deepened; skepticism plastered across his features. He considered the possibility of a bluff but decided to trust his instincts. With a swift motion, he grabbed the collar of the villain's tattered costume, yanking him up to eye level.

"If I find out you're lying, I'll beat you into a fucking pulp. Got it?" Katsuki said through gritted teeth, his threat electrifying the air like a volatile charge.

Terrified, the villain nodded vigorously. With a menacing grip, Katsuki dragged the idiot through the alley towards the wailing sirens in the distance. The orange glow of his dancing explosive stars dimmed, but the intensity in Katsuki's eyes remained unwavering. With the gaps in public authority, these weaklings thought they could take advantage of whatever they wanted and get away with it. Pathetic.

As they emerged from the dark alley into the pulsating glow of the city, Katsuki's gauntlets crackled with latent energy. The villain, now subdued and thoroughly shaken, cast wary glances at the hero who seemed like a tempest on the verge of eruption. Because that's exactly how he felt these days, mere moments away from erupting.

Katsuki's mind drifted momentarily to the recent shitshow that had flipped his life upside down. After publicly quitting the Hero Association, Katsuki had been dead set on going after Izuku, whether it was to stop him or to join him... hell if he knew. But, before he could go after him, the Hero Association had come crawling back to him, practically begging on their knees for his return, claiming that the people needed their number one hero, despite all the shit that happened. With society in disarray and everyone still scared shitless from the League of Villains' attacks, it honestly didn't surprise him.

But Katsuki was not one to be easily swayed. The filth of the association, the same conniving idiots who had screwed over both him and Izuku, weren't worth crawling back to. Fuck those assholes. The memories of being belittled and the stifling bureaucracy had left more than a bitter taste in his mouth. It was only after the association agreed to some of Katsuki's terms that he reluctantly agreed to come back.

His terms had been non-negotiable. First, he demanded that the heroes wouldn't be belittled. Their opinions would be taken seriously, and their words should matter. Why the hell would a hero be put on display as a public figure of justice and authority if they were going to be treated like crap?

Second, and most importantly, he set conditions regarding Izuku's case. Katsuki demanded that the association treat Izuku with the respect he deserved. Regardless of the path Izuku had chosen, he was the victim, not the crazed villain the association made him out to be. Multiple factors backed Izuku into a damn corner and that had included them. Katsuki had felt the need to make one more thing crystal fucking clear to the association.

"Listen carefully, because I won't repeat myself. Izuku Midoriya is not to be killed. If I find out that Deku was assassinated or touched in any way by the association, there ain't a damn thing in this world that can stop me. I'll blast through every barrier, every hero, and every protocol you've got. You'll feel my wrath, and it'll be a reckoning you won't forget. Got it?" Katsuki had made sure his simmering glare bore into each and every piece of trash present in that room, making it clear that he wasn't making idle fucking threats. The intensity in his glowing eyes carried a malevolence, an almost malicious determination that set him apart from the usual demeanor of a hero. Just like Izuku, they had backed him into a corner as well, and he'd be damned if he didn't fight back like some wild animal.

They knew damn well he wasn't someone to mess with, especially when it came to protecting Izuku.

But Katsuki wasn't finished. His voice, low and dangerous, cut through the tension like a blade. "If anything, and I mean anything happens to him, I'll hunt down every last one of you. I'll make sure you regret the day you even considered crossing him because fucking with Deku means your fucking with me."

Katsuki was willing to unleash hell itself on the world, because Izuku had been willing to become a monster to do the same for him. "I would burn the world if it meant saving you, Kacchan." Those words often echoed in the back of his mind. At the time, Katsuki had been too caught up in his own rage, grief, and confusion to really grasp how serious those words were. Burn the world if it meant saving you? It had sounded like the desperate rant of someone who had completely lost it, who was drowning with rage. But now, after everything they'd been through, Katsuki understood.

It wasn't just about the destruction. It was about the willingness to go to any lengths, to tear down any barrier, to protect what mattered most. In that moment, Izuku had been ready to turn the world to ash if it meant saving Katsuki, if it meant keeping him breathing. It was a promise of absolute, unyielding dedication. And Katsuki, in his own way, felt that same fierce protectiveness now. He'd go to any lengths, tear down anyone in his way if it meant it would keep Izuku safe.

The association, realizing that he'd leave without hesitation if they didn't agree, reluctantly accepted Katsuki's terms. It hadn't hurt that Shoto Todoroki and Ochako Uraraka had backed Katsuki's decision to leave the association in protest of how Izuku had been treated, how they had twisted his actions and motives into something monstrous. They understood why Katsuki had stormed out, why he had to take a stand against the very system that had betrayed him in everything he stood for. When the association started bargaining with Katsuki to return, Shoto and Ochako made it clear they were willing to leave as well. Losing Katsuki, the number one hero, had been a blow they could barely afford. But the thought of also losing Uravity, the number nine hero, and Shoto, the number two hero, was a risk they couldn't take. The stakes had been too damn high, and the association knew it.

With these conditions met, Katsuki blasted back into the role of the number one hero. The association practically threw the reins at him, knowing they needed his raw power and unyielding determination to help society rebuild its trust in heroes. Even when a large majority of those assholes were skeptical because of his ties to Izuku.

Lost in thought, Katsuki was brought back to the present by the sound of footsteps. Some hero he didn't recognize was approaching him. "Dynamight," she called out, her voice steady but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Katsuki turned to face her, grunting in acknowledgment as he sized her up with his usual scowl. "What the hell do you want?" he snapped, not in the mood for mindless chit-chat, especially with all these new faces filling the vacant spots... spots that once belonged to people closest to him.

The hero shifted uncomfortably but maintained her composure. "Sorry, I lost him back there. Thanks for handling it," she said, her tone a mix of apology and gratitude.

Katsuki's response was a nonchalant huff as he practically threw the subdued villain at her. "Don't be so damn sloppy next time," he retorted, his tone sharp and dismissive.

She caught the villain, looking surprised but quickly pulling herself together. "Uh, sorry—I mean understood. I'll do better next time, Dynamight," she replied, somewhat nervously.

He grunted again, acknowledging her words without much enthusiasm. As she led the villain away, Katsuki couldn't help but notice the new hero's uncertainty. It was common these days, with all the new heroes trying to find their footing in the mess left by the LOV's attacks. The hero society was still reeling, and his intense presence didn't make things easier for the newcomers. Especially after what happened with Izuku.

In the public eye, Katsuki still stood tall, a symbol of strength and resilience. However, behind closed doors and in the solitude of his thoughts, he was almost always miserable and pissed off. The burden of being the number one hero was slowly crushing him, made worse by the constant reminders of what had happened with Izuku.

His interactions with other heroes became clipped and short-tempered. The once fiery companionship he shared with others had dulled, replaced by a brooding silence... for the most part. Katsuki's explosive nature wasn't just for villains anymore; it erupted unpredictably, directed at anyone who crossed his path. The new heroes, clueless about the dynamics of Katsuki's inner problems, often found themselves on the receiving end of his more than volatile temper. The wounds from Izuku's abandonment were festering, and each outburst was a cathartic release of the anger and frustration that seemed to condense inside him.

Why did Izuku have to leave him? Why couldn't he trust Katsuki? Why did he have to go and become a monster to save him? He'd asked himself these questions a thousand times, each time coming up empty. Katsuki's thoughts would always whirl, replaying every moment, every conversation, searching for answers that never came, surrounded only by the echo of his own useless thoughts.

Someone shouted and Katsuki blinked once. Twice, remembering where he was. He stood there watching the scene unfold with a bored expression, his thoughts drifting to the countless other encounters he'd had like this one. Another hero, another villain arrested—but not a single shitty lead on the LOV.

It had been damn well near a month since he'd seen or heard shit about the League... about Izuku. It's been quiet... too fucking quiet. Katsuki didn't like the way that made him feel, because he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something big was brewing in the shadows, despite the apparent drop in villain activity. He had heard whispers, read intel of Izuku's relentless hunt for the League of Villains, and even now he had gone silent.

Katsuki's fingers instinctively reached up to grasp the chain around his neck, pulling out the ring that hung there. He watched the ring intently, the soft glow of the emerald catching his attention. It flickered lightly, casting a dim light in the darkness of his thoughts. The rhythmic pulsing of its heartbeat seemed to echo in his hand, silent proof that Izuku was still alive, still out there, somewhere, raising hell.

Unlike their previous run-in with the group, Izuku was more determined, more ruthless this time around. He targeted and tore apart every League hideout he could find, leaving a trail of destruction and sometimes shredded viscera in his wake.

For the last six months, Katsuki used every damn scrap of Intel and opportunity available at his disposal to try and intercept Izuku. And it absolutely frustrated him to no fucking end, knowing that Izuku was out there, risking everything, destroying everything to protect Katsuki from the League... from that motherfucker called Odd Eye.

Even with Katsuki scouring through the piles of intel of Izuku's and the League of Villains' patterns, he was always a step short, always too late to stop and find Izuku. It fucking drove him up the wall. Each missed opportunity felt like a personal failure, a reminder of his inability to protect what was his. Because that was what had happened last year, he had failed over and over and over and over again. Breaking every damned promise he made to Izuku.

He poured over every report, every fucking lead, desperate to try and predict Izuku's next move, to finally catch up to him and confront him face to face. But no matter how hard he fucking tried, Izuku remained elusive, a ghost slipping through his fingers time and time again.

That sense of being powerless was suffocating Katsuki, amplifying his already volatile temper and driving him to the brink of his sanity, standing there on that edge, knowing all he had to do was take one step and he'd be freefalling. He couldn't help but feel like he was running in circles, trapped in a never-ending fucking cycle of chasing shad—stop it.

Katsuki once again tried to swat those thoughts away, feeling the weight of both physical and mental exhaustion settling in. No matter how hard he tried to bury those thoughts, they always drifted back to him, to Izuku. He ran a hand down his face, scrubbing his eyes as he sighed heavily through his nose.

He didn't want to do this right now; he was tired as hell and really wanted to just go home and collapse into bed. He was about to turn to leave when he felt a familiar presence.

Katsuki's exhausted gaze shifted to the familiar figure beside him, Shoto whose bi-color eyes swept over him, regarding him with a concerned expression. "Long shift?" Shoto asked, his eyes lingering on the ring around Katsuki's neck.

Katsuki grumbled in response, clearly irritated, as he quickly tucked the ring beneath his shirt, away from prying eyes. Despite his gruff demeanor, he sometimes appreciated Shoto's concern, even if he didn't always show it.

"Yeah, something like that," Katsuki muttered dismissively, brushing off Shoto's question with a wave of his hand. Despite his outward attitude, Shoto was one of the few people Katsuki could tolerate... most of the time. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared history that went beyond the usual bullshit. He was one of the only people who understood Katsuki's pain and didn't fucking pity him.

And if there was one thing Katsuki hated most, it was pity.

Shoto nodded, understanding Katsuki's reluctance to dive into his feelings. He knew better than to push that issue further, instead choosing to stand by Katsuki silently.

The day Izuku had abandoned him, the day Katsuki's quirk had re-awakened, it had nearly destroyed him.

The reality that Izuku was truly gone had hit him like a freight train, a hollow ache that settled deep in his chest. Pain and grief took hold of the emptiness, overwhelming him and he had lost control, letting his power run rampant. As he free fell, his body plummeting through the air, his chest began to glow and pulse with an intense, almost blinding light from the intensity of his emotions igniting his quirk in a way he never thought possible. His heart had felt like it was on fire as his power condensed around it, each beat sending waves of heat through his veins. The glow grew brighter, a searing light that seemed to radiate from his very core. The pulsing was erratic, a wild, uncontrollable rhythm fueled by his rage, sorrow, and desperation... and that's when he exploded.

That explosion was unlike anything he had ever experienced, it was a cataclysmic release of power that tore through the sky. High above the city, the force of the blast was enough to send shockwaves through the air but caused minimal damage to the area below. The energy dissipated mostly in the atmosphere, sparing the city from widespread destruction.

Caught in the epicenter, Katsuki's body was a ragdoll tossed by the force of his own power. He passed out from the sheer intensity of the explosion, the world fading to black as he felt himself falling. When he came to, the world was a blur of pain and a blurred face. Shoto's arms were wrapped around him, holding him up with an unusual gentleness, terror etched across his face. Katsuki's chest burned with an agony that stole his breath, and as his vision cleared, he saw the severe burns marring his skin, the aftermath of the explosion.

Blood poured from his ears and nose, his body screaming in agony. Shoto had been there at just the right moment. Katsuki had ditched him at the hospital, figuring Izuku was going back for his old hero costume. But Shoto, being the persistent bastard he was, had pieced together somehow that Katsuki had run back home. He had caught him with his ice moments before impact, the icy grip halting his descent just in time. It was a miracle he had survived. But he had. Because he was Katsuki Bakugo, and he wasn't about to let some stupid emotional breakdown be the end of him.

He'd been grateful to Shoto, more than he could express, but today of all days Katsuki was tired and just wanted to be left the hell alone. He turned to leave, stretching his arms and rolling his neck, trying to ease the tension that had built up throughout the day. He shot a sidelong glance at Shoto, who had fallen into step beside him.

"The hell you want half-and-half?" he asked bluntly, really not in the mood for conversation.

"So, the dinner reunion for Class 1-A is tonight. Everyone would really appreciate seeing you th—"

Katsuki's steps faltered slightly; his exhaustion momentarily overlooked as his irritation flared. Damn it, he had already declined twice, and for good reasons, painful reasons.

Attending that reunion meant facing the absence of his old squad. The thought of walking into that room and not seeing Kirishima's wide grin, Denki's playful banter, or Ashido's infectious energy—it was too much.

"I already told you; I don't have time for that crap," he cut Shoto off. "And I sure as hell don't care about some stupid dinner reunion. I've got more important shit to deal with."

Ignoring Katsuki's snarl, Shoto kept at it, wiping a speck of lint from his costume. "I know you've been busy, but it would mean a lot to everyone if you could make it," he pressed, trying to appeal to Katsuki's sense of camaraderie, which at this point was practically nonexistent.

Katsuki clicked his tongue irritably, cutting Shoto off once again. "I said no, dammit, and I fucking mean it," he growled, not bothering to hide his frustration. "I don't have time for meaningless bullshit."

He started to storm off, feeling Shoto's disappointed gaze on his back, but he didn't care in the slightest. All he wanted was to go home, collapse into bed, and forget about everything for a while. The idea of sitting around with his old classmates, pretending everything was fine, was almost laughable. How could he face them when he felt like he was barely holding himself together? How could he look them in the eye when every reminder of the past felt like a stab to the heart?

As he marched away, Katsuki heard an exaggerated sigh from Shoto behind him. "So, you won't go... even if I have, per se, a file on the recent info on the League of Villains' movements?"

Those words immediately caught his attention, he stopped dead in his tracks, his exhaustion thrown on the back burner. Katsuki whipped his head around abruptly, his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he sized Shoto up.

Bull-fucking-shit.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice sharp with skepticism. "You're lying. There's no way you have information on the League."

No one had found a single scrap of information on the League these last few weeks, much less on Izuku. No one had been investigating harder than himself. He had scrubbed through every report, chased down every lead, desperate for any scrap of information on the League, on Izuku. And yet, he had come up empty-handed every single dam day, again and again. So how the hell did Shoto miraculously have that kind of intel?

Shoto met Katsuki's gaze evenly, his expression unreadable. "I'm not lying, Kat," he insisted calmly, his tone steady. "You of all people know I have my resources, and I thought you might find it useful."

Shoto's expression only fueled Katsuki's frustration. That prick always managed to stay annoyingly composed, and it grated on Katsuki's every last nerve. Sure, Shoto had his sources—without him, Katsuki would have never found the Red Lotus, would have never found Izuku—but the idea of him having intel on the League still felt like a stretch.

Katsuki closed the distance between them, his eyes burning with anintensity that would send most people running in the other direction. Unfortunately,that wasn't the fucking case with Shoto.  "If you're not bullshitting me, then fucking prove it," he snarled in challenge, voice low and dangerous. "Give me that damn intel."

Shoto didn't flinch. The prick had ice in his veins, literally and figuratively. He met Katsuki's glare head-on, his expression unyielding. "Show up to the dinner tonight, Kat," he replied, his tone firm. "And I'll give you the information you're looking for."

Katsuki's fists clenched at his sides, his hands crackling with the intensity of his emotions. He didn't have time for this shit. "I said give it to me," he repeated through clenched teeth, barely keeping his temper in check. "I need it. I need to find Deku." The desperation to find Izuku was burning in his chest, hotter than any explosion his hands could muster, and it felt like it was suffocating him.

Before Katsuki could push further, Shoto cut him off. "What you need is a break. You need to understand that you can't keep pushing yourself like this. You're going to burn yourself out. Working yourself to death isn't going to help you, or Izuku."

Oh, that pissed him the fuck off. Katsuki erupted like a volcano, his voice a thunderous roar as he got in Shoto's face. "Don't you dare tell me what I fucking need, Ice Prick!"

The outburst drew the attention of nearby civilians, cops, and even a few other heroes. Shoto simply shrugged in response, still unfazed. "Just be at the dinner tonight, that's all I'm asking."

Fuming, Katsuki jerked away as Shoto tried to pat him on the shoulder, the touch feeling like acid on his skin. "Don't touch me," he snarled, his glowing with that blazing fury. When Katsuki's anger burned hot, his eyes now glowed a molten red, and his irises distorted as if reflecting the immense power inside him.

"Uh, Shoto, sir?" Someone called out behind Katsuki. Shoto nodded in acknowledgment, turning his attention to the sidekick. "I'll be right there. Give me a moment."

Katsuki's glare shifted to the sidekick as well, despite his frustration with Shoto, his anger was now turned towards the sudden interruption. The sidekick's eyes widened, and he paled as he caught sight of Katsuki's intimidating expression.

Katsuki didn't say a word, but the intensity of his glare combined with the ruby glow of irises, spoke volumes. Thanks to that subtle detail of his quirk awakening, Katsuki's intimidation factor was five times more terrifying to the average person. Unfortunately, that shit hadn't worked on anyone who knew him personally.

With a subtle, but noticeable, tremor in his voice, the sidekick continued, "It's... it's urgent, sir. We should go."

As Shoto began to follow the sidekick, Katsuki stayed rooted to the spot. But before they could disappear from view, he bit back his pride and called out, "Wait!" Shoto paused, turning back to face him curiously. Fucking hell.

"I..." Katsuki hesitated, pride warring with desperation. "You're not lying, are you? About having the intel?"

Shoto met Katsuki's gaze evenly, his expression softening slightly. "No, I'm not. You're not the only one who's worried about him."

With a heavy sigh, Katsuki ran a hand down his face, tension easing just a bit. He hated feeling so out of control, so powerless. And as much as he hated to admit it, Shoto was right. Running himself into the ground wouldn't bring finding Izuku any closer, and it certainly wasn't helping him either.

"I'll be there," Katsuki finally conceded. "But don't expect me to be happy about it."

So much for peace and fucking quiet.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fractured

Katsuki trudged through the bustling streets, his mind still burning from his earlier confrontation with Shoto. That fucking bastard. No matter how much he tried to shake it off, his thoughts kept spiraling back. And now he was heading towards some damn restaurant, his pride clawing at him for even considering it. Honestly, what other choice did he have?

Katsuki glanced up from his phone, the address highlighted in his old group chat guiding his steps. Every step closer made him want to turn the fuck around and just go home. He kicked a stray rock, venting a fraction of his frustration.

The neon sign of Kagurazaka Nikuyorozu pierced through the dusk, its blue glow cutting through the fog in his head. The place was a haven for heroes—an exclusive sanctuary to hide from the vultures that called themselves the media. You had to know someone to get in, and they didn't just let anyone waltz through the door. Even heroes had to show their licenses, proving their credentials before being granted access to the sanctuary within. At least those idiots were smart enough to take that into consideration.

But that small sense of relief was fleeting. The thought of facing his former classmates, reliving memories that were both sweet and bitter, twisted something deep inside him. Nostalgia mixed with resentment. But if this dinner got him closer to the damn intel on the League of Villains, he'd endure it, even if it felt like swallowing fucking glass.

He took a moment to steel himself when his gaze swept over the street, catching sight of the media pack gathered like scavengers. Cameras flashed, and Katsuki's jaw tightened. Memories of the garbage they'd spewed about Izuku, their prying questions, crashed into him like a wave. God, he wished people like them didn't exist. Parasites, feeding off the misery of others, twisting stories to fit their bullshit narratives. The urge to blast them all to hell flared in his chest, a primal need to shut them up permanently. But he knew he couldn't. Not without consequences. Not without turning into the very thing they were trying to paint him to be. He gritted his teeth before stepping into view and all the cameras zeroed in on him. Rage simmered beneath his skin, but he kept his expression neutral. They wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing him crack, not if he could help it.

"Hey, Dynamight! Can you comment on the rumors about your involvement with the League of Villains?"

"Are you meeting with other heroes to plan your next attack?"

"Is it true that you and Midoriya were dating? What went wrong?"

The questions flew at him like poisoned arrows, each one hitting a raw nerve. He could handle the bullshit, but one remark sliced deeper than the rest, that sent fire coursing through his veins.

"Hey, Dynamight! Saw your little buddy, Deku, turned out to be a villain. Guess he couldn't handle the pressure, huh? Should've let All for One finish him off."

Katsuki's steps halted, the world around him dissolving into a haze. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms, grounding him in the here and now. For a heartbeat, everything—the bustling street, the flashing cameras, the gawking faces—vanished. All that remained was a searing fury and a familiar, aching pain.

Goddamn it, Izuku. Why does everything always circle back to you?

That fucking bastard. He had no idea what he was talking about. None of them did. They didn't know the sacrifices, the pain, the sleepless nights. They didn't know the lengths Izuku had gone to, the hell he'd endured. The media saw only what they wanted to see, their words cutting deeper than any physical wound ever could. This felts so much like déjà vu. He squared his shoulders, muscles coiling with tension as he finally gave the crowd the attention they thought they wanted. Katsuki's eyes glowed with that menacing iridescence, his body thrumming with the promise of violence.

He was ready to tear apart whoever the fuck dared to say such words in front of him. HIM OF ALL PEOPLE. He was going to kill the bastard. The noise of the crowd died down, all eyes on him, their faces a mix of anticipation and fear.

"Who the hell said that?" Each word was clipped, edged with his unbridled wrath.

His words hit like a thunderclap, demanding attention, demanding someone own up. The crowd stayed silent, their eyes darting away from his piercing glare.

But Katsuki wasn't about to let them off the hook so easily. With a determined stride, he pushed through the sea of reporters, practically feeling their terror as they parted for him like water. Whoever dared to slander Izuku's name would answer to him, consequences be damned.

"ANSWER ME!"

A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned towards the source of the venomous remark. The coward stayed silent, trying to hide behind the crowd from Katsuki's wrath. Katsuki stormed through, fury driving him forward as he zeroed in on the scumbag who talked shit about Izuku. The iridescence in his eyes grew molten, the intensity causing his irises to ripple like they were made of flames. The air around him seemed to heat up, rage radiating off him. He spotted the bastard—a smug, self-satisfied prick who clearly thought he was untouchable behind his microphone and camera.

Katsuki stalked towards him, each step deliberate, the crowd practically jumping out of his way. His gaze never wavered, locked onto the man who had dared to say something so stupid, feeling the rage inside him burn hotter. He welcomed it. He fed off it, because it was better than the agonizing pain that lurked beneath.

Katsuki came to a stop, invading the paparazzo's personal space as he towered over him. The man's bravado melted away, replaced by sheer terror. The difference between them was stark—Katsuki, all raw power and fury, and the reporter, a trembling, cowering figure.

Katsuki's eyes bore into the man, the molten glow almost unbearable to look at. "You got something to say?" Katsuki's breath came in harsh bursts, his voice was low, a dangerous rumble, hands twitching ready to lash out.

The man stammered, his mouth opening and closing without any sound. He was terrified, completely unable to speak under the weight of Katsuki's gaze. With a swift, violent motion, he grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Every fiber of his being screamed with the desire to unleash his fury upon this piece of shit who dared to drag Izuku's name through the dirt. The crowd gasped collectively, but no one dared to intervene.

A familiar voice cut through his rage like a beacon of reason. Though he didn't turn, Katsuki could discern the distinct tones of Ochako and Tenya Iida just beyond the crowd. He heard Tenya's measured voice telling him to let go of his anger, to rise above the petty provocations of the media. It would be so easy, so fucking easy to let go, to let the fire destroy him and turn this pathetic excuse for a person into a lesson for anyone else who thought they could mess with him. The silence stretched on for a few heartbeats between the paparazzo and Katsuki, broken only by the sound of their uneven breaths.

But before he could even decide what the fuck he was going to do to the pathetic waste of space in front of him, Ochako stepped up, her hand landing on his shoulder with a comforting weight.

"They're not worth it, Kat," her voice was calm but firm, her gaze steady as she met the fury in Katsuki's eyes. And fuck, he hated that she was right. That making a scene would make shit so much worse than things already fucking were.

Katsuki side-eyed Ochako, his anger roiling inside him. Out of all the people around, she was one of the few he'd come to respect. She stuck by him when others might've turned away, especially after his catastrophic meltdown.

The weeks after his breakdown were a blur of pain, frustration, and stubborn refusal to accept help. He pushed everyone away, snarling and snapping at anyone who dared to get close. But Ochako and Shoto? They were relentless, refusing to let him spiral into self-destruction, refusing to let Katsuki take that final step off the edge.

Every attempt to shut them out, to bury the pain under anger and bravado, only left him feeling more hollow and broken. It was easier to lash out, to drive people away, than to face the raw, aching emptiness inside him. And still, for some damn reason, Ochako and Shoto stood by him, taking his fury without flinching. They took the brunt of his wrath, his despair, and gave him space to break down, to be vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be with anyone other than Izuku. They saw him at his worst and never turned away.

He knew, deep down, that without them, he wouldn't have been able to come back. They had dragged him back from the edge, piece by piece, day by day. And even though the thought of thanking anyone, even Ochako and Shoto, had felt foreign and uncomfortable... he was fucking grateful to them, because he owed them more than he could ever express.

Katsuki's jaw feathered as he repeated what Ochako had said in his mind, over and over again, like a mantra. They're not worth it. This idiot wasn't worth his time, his energy. He had bigger issues to fight, more important things to focus on.

Katsuki's lip curled in a snarl of disgust as he leaned in close to the trembling paparazzo, his voice a low growl that dripped with venom. "If I ever see or hear from you again," he whispered, his words laced with a lethal promise, "I will make sure you regret ever opening your pathetic fucking mouth again."

The paparazzo's eyes widened in terror, breath catching in his throat as he stared up at Katsuki, paralyzed by the intensity of his fury. "Get the fuck out of my sight," Katsuki snarled, his voice like a whip crack. He nodded frantically; his words choked by fear as he scrambled to back away from the bomb he'd nearly set off.

With one final glare, Katsuki straightened to his full height, his glowing eyes sweeping over the crowd with a warning. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rapid clicking of cameras as the paparazzi hurriedly retreated, tails between their legs.

Ochako let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension of the moment began to dissipate. She exchanged a glance with Tenya, who approached them, sliding an arm around Ochako.

"I cannot believe the media would stoop so low," Tenya said, readjusting his glasses with a gesture of frustration. He glanced over at Katsuki, "Hello, Bakugo. I see you're as explosive as ever."

Katsuki, still simmering with residual anger, dipped his head in acknowledgment of Tenya's presence. "Glasses," he grunted before turning to Ochako, "Round-face."

Ochako, always trying to keep the peace, gave him a reassuring smile and placed a hand on his arm. "Come on, let's head inside and sit down. I'm sure everyone is waiting," she suggested.

Inside Kagurazaka Nikuyorozu, the atmosphere shifted, the noise of the faded, replaced by the low hum of fellow heroes unwinding. Katsuki felt a small measure of relief as he stepped into the familiar ambiance, the tension of the outside world melting away. But the anger, the fucking rage, still simmered beneath his skin.

Katsuki trailed behind Ochako and Tenya as the waiter led them to a spacious booth in the back. The restaurant was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The scent of grilled meat and spices filled the air, momentarily distracting him from his brooding thoughts. He watched Ochako and Tenya exchange a glance, their fingers intertwining naturally, and Ochako's face lit up with a soft smile. It was a simple gesture, but it twisted something deep inside him. It wasn't that he had anything against Ochako. Good for them, they deserved it. But seeing them like that, it just brought everything back, reminding him of what he'd lost, what he'd probably never have again.

He quickly averted his eyes, the sight too close to when Izuku used to look at him with that same warmth. Those stupid, expressive eyes that always seemed to brim with a thousand emotions. He swallowed hard, trying to push the memories back down where they belonged.

As they reached the booth, familiar faces greeted them with smiles and waves. Momo Yaoyorozu, her long, jet-black hair simply styled, was deep in conversation with Mashirao Ojiro, whose muscular frame and tail were hard to miss. He listened intently, nodding along to her latest idea.

Toru Hagakure, always cheerful despite being invisible, was marked by her floating clothes and bubbly laughter. She animatedly recounted a funny story from a recent mission.

Mezo Shoji, had one of his many arms draped behind one of the seats, sat quietly, observing the group. He occasionally added a thoughtful comment, his tall figure giving him an imposing yet gentle presence.

Tsuyu Asui, was talking with Tenya and Ochako. Her froglike features and green hair tied back in a ponytail made her easily recognizable. Katsuki leaned back, watching everyone settle into their seats with an almost bored expression. The mix of conversations and laughter filled the air, creating a familiar sense of camaraderie.

His gaze swept over the group, noting the subtle changes in each of them since their time at U.A. High. They all looked a bit older, a bit wiser, but the bonds they shared were still stupidly strong as ever. Katsuki's eyes finally landed on Shoto, who was seated at the end of the booth. Without a word, he plopped down next to him, the seat creaking slightly under his weight.

Shoto leaned back in his seat, casting a sideways glance at Katsuki with a faint, amused smile playing on his lips. "Looks like you actually showed up," he remarked, his tone light but carrying an undertone of genuine surprise.

Katsuki shot him a sharp glare. "Cut the crap, half-and-half. How long do I have to be here before you give me that file?"

Before Shoto could respond, Tsuyu's voice cut through the ambient chatter. "Ribbit. Well, well, if it isn't Bakugo! Nice to see you actually come to a get-together for once," she said, her tone a blend of surprise and gentle teasing.

Katsuki's glare intensified, now directed at Shoto. He didn't respond to Tsuyu, his jaw clenching as he resisted the urge to snap. Instead, he waited, his eyes fixed on Shoto, silently demanding the information he came for.

Shoto only loosed a breath before taking a swig from his drink, unfazed by Katsuki's reaction. "Patience, Kat. Enjoy the evening first. Then we'll talk about the file." He leaned back, taking a sip of his drink, clearly not in a hurry.

Katsuki's fists tightened on the table, the wood creaking under the pressure. "You better not be fucking screwing with me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Shoto met his gaze evenly. "I'm not. Just relax, okay?" Katsuki barely had time to fire back before Yaoyorozu's voice cut through the tension. "It's really good to see you, Bakugo. We've missed you lately."

Katsuki caught the tone in her voice, that almost invisible thread of pity that made his blood boil. His posture went rigid, glare snapping from Shoto to Yaoyorozu. Pity was the last thing he wanted or needed; the very idea of it made him bristle. This was another reason he didn't want to be here—because someone was bound to pity him for everything that had happened.

Ochako shot Yaoyorozu a quick look, her eyes screaming a silent warning: Don't. Yaoyorozu's expression shifted, the unspoken rebuke landing, and she offered Katsuki a small, apologetic smile.

Katsuki was having none of it. "Yeah, whatever," he spat, irritation bubbling up, raw and hot. He turned back to Shoto with renewed intensity. "How long do I have to be here?" he demanded, voice sharp and unwavering.

Shoto sighed, knowing Katsuki wouldn't let this drop. "An hour, Bakugo. Just stay for an hour. Then we'll talk."

An hour. Just one shitty hour. He could withstand this for that long, couldn't he? He'd faced worse. He'd endured hellish training, brutal battles, and gut-wrenching loss. He could handle sitting here with these people for sixty damn minutes.

Katsuki leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest forcing himself to relax, if only slightly. "Fine. One hour. Then you better deliver."

The conversations around the table resumed, with everyone slipping back into their usual dynamics. Katsuki sat awkwardly; his mind only half-engaged with the chatter around him. Conversations ebbed and flowed around the table as everyone settled in and began to order food. Katsuki remained mostly quiet, eyes darting, restless. His attention kept drifting back to Ochako and Tenya. He couldn't help but notice the way they lightly touched each other, the small, intimate gestures. The way Tenya's hand would brush against Ochako's, or how she would lean in slightly when he spoke. Their eyes met frequently, filled with an undeniable warmth and love. Katsuki tried hard not to let it get to him, but each loving glance they shared was a brutal reminder of Izuku.

He tried hard to focus on anything else, anything but the affectionate glances they were not so subtly throwing around. But each shared look, each subtle touch, felt like someone was slowly squeezing his heart. It was a brutal reminder of what he'd lost, what he'd give everything to have that back... or to forget it altogether. Memories of Izuku, with his bright, stupidly hopeful eyes and that unyielding faith he once had in everyone, especially in Katsuki, clawed their way to the forefront of his mind.

Desperate for a distraction, Katsuki's gaze swept over the table, seeking anything to anchor his thoughts elsewhere. He tried to focus on the small conversations, the laughter, the clinking of glasses, but nothing seemed to stick. Then, almost unconsciously, his eyes started searching for Eijiro... but Eijiro wasn't here.

Katsuki almost flinched at the realization, at the absence of not just Eijiro but of Ashido and Denki as well. They used to light up the room, their laughter and energy commanding attention. The void left by their absence seemed to grow impossibly deeper, the numbing emptiness inside him expanding, slowly seeping into his limbs. The silence where their voices should have been was deafening, each missing presence a painful reminder of his pathetic failures.

Katsuki's breath hitched, and he clenched his fists under the table, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety. He needed to get through this. Just an hour. But the weight of everything—the memories, the loss, the relentless media bullshit—pressed down on him, suffocating.

As the conversations continued around him, someone turned to Katsuki, their voice cutting through the fog in his mind. "So, Bakugo, how have you been holding up since the League of Villains attack?"

The question hit him much harder than it should have. His throat tightened, sweat beading on his forehead as panic clawed at his insides. Images flashed in his mind—Eijiro's neck being snapped by Vortex, the way he crumpled to the ground, Ashido crying over his body only to be crushed in a collapse not more than a week later, the fact that there was nothing left of Denki to even recover... and Izuku's bloodied and broken body after the blast. The memories were like a vice around his chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. He couldn't fucking do this. Not now. Not here. His vision blurred, and he struggled to breathe. His heart roared in his ears, each beat echoing the scenes of carnage that haunted him.

Desperately, Katsuki grabbed his drink, but his damn hand wouldn't stop shaking. The glass slipped, crashing onto the table and spilling everywhere. Fuck. The room was startling to wobble, and he could barely focus on anything other than the suffocating weight of his anxiety.

Without thinking, he abruptly stood, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I need some air," he muttered, barely keeping his voice steady as he made a beeline for the exit. Shoto reached for him, but Katsuki shoved past, ignoring the concerned looks and murmurs from his old classmates. He just needed out. Away from the questions, the pity, the goddamn memories. The cool night air hit him like a splash of water, momentarily grounding him. Forty-five minutes. He'd barely lasted forty-five fucking minutes. Katsuki leaned against the brick wall in the alley, breaths coming in ragged gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the images away, but they only got worse.

"Damn it," he whispered, voice trembling. He punched the wall, the pain grounding him for a second. But the pain wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Katsuki slid down the wall, legs giving out as grief and anxiety crushed him. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to shut out the fucking screams, the blood, their last moments. The memories were relentless, trapping him in a loop of their final moments.

"Stop it," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just... stop."

His hands shook as they reached for the ring around his neck. The emerald glow pulsed in his palm, a small, steady light in the dark mess of his mind. He pressed it to his forehead, the warm metal seeping into his cold skin, grounding him, the gentle throb of Izuku's heartbeat a lifeline.

Izuku was still alive. Shit, he had to remember that. Izuku was still breathing, still fucking fighting. It wasn't over. It couldn't be over. Not while Izuku's heart still beat, a constant reminder that there was still something worth fighting for.

Katsuki gripped the ring tightly, feeling Izuku's heartbeat. It grounded him, pulling him back from the edge. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, back against the rough brick, eyes closed as he focused on Izuku's heartbeat, letting it drown out the chaos in his head.

A faint sound at the alley's entrance made him open his eyes. Shoto appeared, his silhouette framed by dim streetlights, his mismatched eyes scanning the shadows until they settled on Katsuki.

Shoto walked up, his expression neutral but his eyes reflecting a hint of concern. "Kat," he started, voice careful, "Are you okay?"

A year ago, if Shoto had even dared to ask him that question, Katsuki would have blown his fucking top, probably thrown a punch or two just to make a point. The suggestion alone would have lit a fuse that took hours to burn out. But now, Shoto had asked him that damn question so many times these last few months it barely registered.

Katsuki just brushed it off, eyes snapping up to meet Shoto's, burning away the remnants of his panic. "This," he spat, gesturing wildly, "this is exactly why I didn't wanna go to that fucking dinner in the first place, prick!" He growled, voice rough and edged with lingering panic. He pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall for a moment before standing on his own. "I don't need this shit. I don't need their pity, their questions, or their bullshit."

Didn't he get it? he couldn't deal with their Goddamn pity. Katsuki didn't need anyone looking at him like he was some broken thing that needed fixing.

Shoto's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't flinch. He was used to Katsuki's outbursts, the anger that masked a thousand other emotions. He started, clearly trying to find the right words to diffuse the situation. "Katsuki, I—"

"Fuck you and fuck the file!" Katsuki snapped, his voice rising. He tried to storm past Shoto, his mind set on getting the hell out of there, away from everything and everyone, before he lost his shit completely.

But Shoto's hand shot out, gripping Katsuki's shoulder. Instantly, Katsuki whirled on him, his quirk crackling up his arm, sparks flying as he glared at Shoto. "Get your damn hand off me before I—"

Shoto's grip tightened, his eyes meeting Katsuki's with a calm intensity. "I'll give you the file like I promised," he said, his voice steady and unyielding.

For a moment, they stood locked in a tense standoff, the air around them thick with the potential for violence. Katsuki's anger and frustration warred with his desperate need for that stupid fucking information Shoto promised. Slowly, the sparks on his arm began to subside, his eyes still blazing with unspent fury. Damn it, he needed that file.

Katsuki clicked his tongue in annoyance, the sound sharp in the stillness of the alley. "Fine," he muttered, still glaring at Shoto. He crossed his arms, waiting impatiently as Shoto pulled out his phone.

"Give me your phone," Shoto said, his tone calm but insistent.

Katsuki reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and handed it over. Shoto quickly tapped on his screen, transferring the file. "This better be an actual damn lead or I swear to fucking God—" Katsuki grumbled, his eyes never leaving Shoto's face.

"It is," Shoto replied, handing the phone back to Katsuki. "I've had a private investigator tailing leads on the League of Villains for some time now. This is everything we've got so far." Damn it, he should have thought of that.

Katsuki snatched the phone, immediately opening the file, yes scanning the contents with a fierce intensity. his eyes burning with intensity as he tore through the contents. Reports, maps, blueprints, and a series of photos showing villain activity in and out of a rundown koi fish nursery. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging as he flipped through the images. This could be it. This could be the break he needed.

Shoto watched him closely, his expression unreadable. "Those photos were taken in Toei," he said, his voice low. "It's a small town, not too far from here, about twenty kilometers or so West. We think the League has set up a temporary base there under the above-ground pounds."

As Katsuki continued to scroll through the images, his breath caught when he saw a familiar face. Izuku. There he was, captured in one of the photos, his figure blurred but unmistakable. Katsuki's heart twisted, a mix of relief and anger surging through him. Proof that Shoto wasn't bluffing.

Katsuki stopped and just stared at the photo. His thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the outline of Izuku's figure. Damn it, Izuku, what the hell are you doing?

Katsuki's voice was tight as he asked, "When?"

Shoto understood the question immediately. "This was taken this morning, but he's been there a few days already. Based on his MO, Midoriya usually scopes the place out for a week or so. He'll gather as much intel as he can before making his move."

Katsuki's jaw tightened, the muscles working as he processed this information. A week. That meant he had a few days, at most, to get his shit together and intercept Izuku. He couldn't afford to waste any time. Tomorrow, he would head out tomorrow.

He pocketed his phone, mind already racing with plans and contingencies. But before he could turn to leave, Shoto spoke up, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm going with you."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, his temper flaring. "Like hell you are! I don't need anyone slowing me down."

Shoto's gaze didn't waver. "I'm not asking for your permission, Katsuki. I can handle myself, and you know it. Extra help means a better chance of success."

Katsuki's fists clenched at his sides, the idea of having someone else to worry about didn't sit well with him, he didn't want another death on his conscience, didn't want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt. "I don't need another death on my hands, IcyHot. I can do this alone." He stated bluntly.

Shoto started, "If this is about Kirishima and the others—"

Katsuki's glare could have melted steel, his eyes glowing red with a dangerous warning. "Don't. You. Dare." he snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

Shoto stopped mid-sentence, recognizing the sheer fury and pain in Katsuki's eyes. He changed his approach, his tone softening but his resolve remaining firm. "I can handle myself, Kat. I wasn't made the number two hero for nothing. You know I can hold my own, and you know I can be an asset in this mission."

Fuck, he knew Shoto was right, knew that having him along could make all the difference. But the fear of losing another friend, of failing someone else...

For a moment, they stood in tense silence while Katsuki quickly weighed the pros and cons. Finally, Katsuki let out a frustrated growl, his shoulders slumping slightly in reluctant acceptance.

Finally, with a growl of frustration, Katsuki relented. "Fine. But you follow my lead, got it? We do this my way."

Chapter Text

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Fury and Frost

Katsuki wiped the sweat from his brow, cursing under his breath. Early September heat was no joke, even for someone like him. You'd think he'd be used to it, right? His quirk makes him sweat like a damn faucet on a good day, but this? This was fucking unbearable. It was around one in the afternoon, and they'd already been there for more than a few damn hours. They'd gotten there earlier that morning and set up at the spot they were currently at, their surveillance dragging on as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The koi nursery stretched out before them, its ponds eerily still, reflecting the late afternoon sun. 

The place had seen better days. The above-ground ponds, arranged haphazardly around a small, dilapidated service building, were lined with algae and chipped paint. The large pond before them was murky, the water a dull green that made it hard to see any fish. They set up camp just on the other side of the pond, taking in the sorry state of the nursery.

Of all the places to choose, they always seemed to inhabit the most obvious spots. It's like they wanted to be found. Yet, every single damn time, they had the most intricate entrances you'd never even see unless you were actively looking for them. Katsuki's eyes scanned the area, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. It pissed him off to no end—how they managed to stay hidden in plain sight, blending into these rundown locations. If there was a hidden entrance, he'd find it. No way in hell was he going fuck up again, not when he was finally ahead.

The rustle of leaves caught his attention. Katsuki turned sharply, eyes narrowing as Shoto stepped into the tent, the flap falling back into place behind him. Their tent was made from this special material by Hatsume Industries, the kind of shit that made you invisible to the outside but clear as day inside. He never thought someone he graduated with would be the pinnacle of hero and spy tech. Who would've thought that Hatsume, the scatter-brained weirdo who used to blow up half the damn workshop with her wild inventions, would be the one creating the best gear for heroes? He sure didn't.

"Took you long enough," Katsuki grumbled, giving Shoto a once-over. He sneered, noting the lack of sweat on Shoto's brow. Of course, the IcyHot bastard didn't look fazed one fucking bit by the blistering heat. Must be nice having an ice quirk. 

Shoto made sure the tent was closed up securely before turning his attention to Katsuki, who was fanning himself with his hand. Shoto's lips twitched into a rare, teasing smirk. "You look like you're about to melt. Want me to use my ice to make you some popsicles or something?"

Katsuki leveled him with a glare that could scorch the sun. "Fuck off, IcyHot. I'm not in the mood for your shitty jokes." It was too fucking hot for his bullshit.

Speaking of shitty jokes, this prick had showed up at the most ungodly fucking hour. The moment Shoto had shown up at four a.m. on his doorstep with his reconnaissance gear, was the moment Katsuki knew he was in for a day of regret. He had half a mind to slam the door in his face and go back to bed. 

Originally he'd planned to leave without him, figuring it'd be easier to handle things solo. No distractions, no ice prick, just him and his explosive power. But, of course, Shoto had anticipated his every move. That bastard showed up extra early, probably knowing Katsuki's tendencies all too well. There was no way he was going to shake him off. Why the hell did he even agree to let Shoto tag along? Damn it, he should've known better.

Shoto huffed in amusement, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Have you seen any movement?" He handed Katsuki a water bottle, chilling it with a touch before offering it over. Katsuki snatched it, gulping down the ice-cold water greedily.

"Not a damn thing," Katsuki muttered, crushing the now-empty bottle in his hand. "You better have something for me since you were gone so long."

Shoto sighed, scrubbing at his face, looking as frustrated as Katsuki felt. "I wrapped around the property. Haven't seen anything either." Katsuki leaned against the tent pole; eyes trained on the empty nursery. This made no sense. They should've seen someone by now—anyone near the ponds, even if it was just some lazy-ass employee doing maintenance. The silence was fucking with his head. Even when they were setting up, there hadn't been a soul in sight for miles.

The longer they waited, the more his gut churned. Shoto's intel seemed solid enough—photos, blueprints, detailed reports—but something was starting to feel off. Something was telling Katsuki they were missing something big.

He turned to Shoto, voice sharp. "You sure about this info, IcyHot? We've been here for fucking hours, and not a single fucking piece of trash has shown up." What if the League had already moved on? What if the photos were outdated and they were wasting their damn time here? 

Shoto met his gaze, calm but serious. "I trust my source. He's never given me or anyone I know that uses him bad intel before. The photos, the blueprints—they all point to this location. But I get it. Something does feel off."

Shoto pulled out his phone, swiping through images and documents. "Look," he said, showing Katsuki a series of photos. "These are the other sites Midoriya's raided."

Katsuki glanced at the images, each one showing the aftermath of Izuku's brutal efficiency. He'd seen them before, reminding him of what Izuku had become, what he was more than capable of. Hideouts left in craters, blood spattered everywhere, the ground scorched and torn apart. Villains lay scattered, some dead, others barely clinging to life. It was usually a goddamn bloodbath, with most villains not making it out alive.

Izuku rarely, if ever, left witnesses. And the people who did manage to survive? They were so fucking scared of him that they refused to talk, no matter how hard Katsuki tried to get them to spill. Those that lived through Izuku's assaults were broken shells, their eyes wide with terror, their voices trembling or altogether silent. A shadow of death, one had once said. A Shinigami another whispered.

It still hurt him that the nerd who used to stutter and stumble through sentences was now a ruthless force of nature, leaving trails of blood and bodies behind him. It was seriously fucked up, plain and simple. But deep down, Katsuki is some fucked up way understood why Izuku was doing this... and some small part of him hated that he couldn't bring himself to completely hate Izuku's motives. It wasn't just about some petty fucking revenge. It was about making the world around him pay for the shit it had put them through after everything he had sacrificed for it, to protect Katsuki and the hand full of people he cared about.

But that didn't make it any easier to swallow. Every time Katsuki saw the aftermath of one of Izuku's raids, it felt like someone was slowly pulling him apart. This was the same idiot who used to cry over injured animals, who wanted to save everyone. Now he was a walking natural disaster, tearing through villains like they were nothing more than paper.

And it killed Katsuki to see it. To see what Izuku had become. To see what the world had turned him into.

"Yeah, yeah, I've seen these images a hundred damn times before," Katsuki said indifferently, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. "Doesn't change the fact that we ain't seen shit here. I'm getting real tired of this waiting game."

"See the pattern?" Shoto continued, ignoring him. "Midoriya absolutely destroys these hideouts. Leaves nothing but wreckage and corpses. But look at this place." He gestured to the quiet nursery around them. "Nothing's been touched yet. Based on the layout here, nothing's been disturbed."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he studied the photos. Shit. He had a point. The other sites were a mess—clear signs of Izuku's handiwork. But this place was untouched, almost eerily pristine. His gut twisted with a mix of frustration and a flicker of hope. He had to remind himself they were in the right place, just too damn early.

"Alright," Katsuki muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So, we wait a bit longer. But if nothing happens soon, we go in and tear this place apart."

Shoto nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Agreed. But we need to be smart about it. If Izuku's out here, we don't want to tip him off, we shouldn't rush in blind."

They settled back into the tent, the minutes dragging on like hours. Shoto had chilled the tent with his quirk, making it bearable despite the blistering heat outside, but it did nothing to cool Katsuki's growing annoyance. The oppressive silence weighed heavily on Katsuki, his impatience growing with every tick of the clock. He hated waiting. Always had. It went against his nature to sit still when there was action to be taken. It was usually why he wouldn't bother taking on recon missions. 

By the time he checked his phone again, it was six p.m., and still, nobody. Katsuki growled in frustration, the sound low and dangerous. Fuck this. He pushed himself up from his spot and made his way to the tent flap.

"Where are you going?" Shoto asked, glancing up from his phone. Katsuki didn't break stride. "Gonna get a closer look at those above-ground ponds. Sitting here is getting us nowhere."

Shoto stood up, blocking his path. "Kat, we agreed to wait. We can't just charge in and risk blowing our cover."

Katsuki glared at him, eyes blazing. "And I'm telling you, if we don't move now, we'll miss our damn shot. This silence... it ain't right, and it's pissing me off!"

Shoto made to sidestep him, "There should have been someone by now," Katsuki insisted, his voice a low growl. "A worker, a maintenance guy, anyone. But there's nothing. I'm done sitting around. If we blow our cover, then that's on me."

Shoto grabbed Katsuki by the arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Dynamight, wait," he said, his tone calm but edged with a warning. "Give it more time."

Katsuki leveled him with a glare. "Let go of me, IcyHot," he seethed, yanking his arm free. He didn't give a shit about caution right now; all he could feel was the burning frustration boiling over inside him. "Patience ain't my thing, IcyHot. I'm going to get to the bottom of this, and if I have to tear this place apart to do it, then so be it." He stormed out of the tent, the flap flapping behind him, leaving Shoto to either follow or stay behind. Katsuki didn't care. He was set on uncovering whatever the hell was going on. 

The air outside was thick and stifling, but he barely noticed it, his focus sharp as he moved through the property. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows that he used to his advantage, keeping close to the trees and undergrowth. Every step was measured, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. He approached the cluster of ponds, their murky water reflecting the fading light of the afternoon.

Rustling to his left made his head snap in that direction, scowling as he spotted Shoto flanking him. Shoto's expression was one of thinly veiled annoyance, and Katsuki couldn't help but smirk, knowing he'd managed to get under Shoto's skin enough to make him follow.

"Couldn't stay behind, huh?" Katsuki whispered; his tone laced with a hint of amusement. Shoto leveled him with an irritated look, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly. "You're reckless, you know that?"

Katsuki snorted, the smirk widening slightly despite the situation. Shoto stared at Katsuki, noting the hint of amusement in his smirk. "Yeah, and you've got a stick up your ass, IcyHot." With a subtle roll of his eyes, he sighed, knowing better than to argue further, because whatever he was going to shoot back was surely going to piss Katsuki off.

"Fine," Shoto muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation. "How do you want to go about this? The blueprints didn't mention any security systems, but that doesn't mean there aren't traps or cameras."

Katsuki's eyes glinted with determination as he scanned the surroundings again, taking in the structure. "Let's start with that beat-up old building. It's small, so we can clear it fast. If there's anything worth looking at, it'll be there. We move fast and quiet."

Shoto was quiet for a moment assessing before he nodded, "Understood."

They made their way toward the dilapidated building, keeping low and using the thick underbrush for cover. The air was thick with the scent of algae and decaying wood, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. As they approached, Katsuki gestured for Shoto to take the right side while he took the left. They moved in tandem, Katsuki's explosive energy barely contained, Shoto's calm and calculated approach providing a stark contrast.

Katsuki reached the door first, pressing his ear against the weathered wood, listening for any signs of movement inside. Hearing nothing, he signaled to Shoto, who nodded and positioned himself at the opposite corner, ready to back Katsuki up.

With a firm push, Katsuki eased the door open, its hinges creaking loudly in the silence. He stepped inside, muscles tensed and ready for anything. The interior was a mess, filled with broken tools and dusty shelves, but there was a distinct lack of anything that screamed "trap."

Shoto followed, closing the door softly behind him. "Clear so far. I don't see any surveillance," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Katsuki moved deeper into the room, eyes scanning every corner. "Yeah but stay sharp. They might've rigged this place up in ways we can't see yet."

They continued their sweep, checking behind every piece of equipment and inside every cabinet. As they worked, the tension between them eased slightly, their movements becoming more synchronized.

Katsuki and Shoto spread out, each of them taking different parts of the building to search for anything related to the League of Villains. Shoto moved into an adjacent room, scanning for anything that might give them a lead.  While Katsuki rifled through crates filled with old aquarium equipment, grumbling under his breath about the waste of time. He shoved aside broken nets and rusted pumps, his frustration mounting with every empty find. It was quiet, save for their hushed movements and the occasional creak of the old floorboards.

Katsuki was rummaging through a yet another stack of crates, tossing aside useless bits of plastic and rusted metal. So far it was just a bunch of useless shit.

"Find anything?" Shoto asked quietly from directly behind him.

"Shit!" Katsuki nearly yelped, spinning around and swinging instinctively. Shoto, dodged the wild punch with ease.

"Whoa, easy there, Dynamight," Shoto said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Katsuki's eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "Don't sneak up on me like that, Asshole!"

"Didn't think I'd scare you that badly."

"Shut up," Katsuki snapped, feeling his face heat up—whether from the heat or his own mortification, he wasn't sure. "You find anything, or are you just here to give me a heart attack?"

Shoto shook his head, his eyes scanning the shelves for anything of interest. Katsuki felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach, an instinctual sense that was screaming something was undeniably off. And fuck, his instinct was never wrong when it came to shit like this. Screw the stealth, he was ready to poke the hornets' nest to get some damn answers.

"What the hell are you doing? " Shoto's voice cut through the still air, his footsteps following close behind. 

Katsuki whirled around, fire in his eyes. "Looking for the goddamn entrance, what does it look like?"

Shoto's control over his emotions started slipping, and he could feel it. He had been more than patient with Katsuki, understanding why he was so desperate, but the relentless charging in was going to jeopardize their entire operation. They were not only at risk of tipping off the League of Villains but also Izuku. And if Izuku caught wind of them, saw them standing here, that was it. He would disappear.

Katsuki's foot caught on a loose board, and he stumbled, barely catching himself before he went sprawling. The impact sent a jolt of anger through him, his teeth grinding together as he shoved himself upright.

"Shit!" he spat, kicking the offending board aside.

"You're going to blow our cover," Shoto snapped, his patience finally fraying. "Calm the fuck down! Charging around like a bull isn't going—"

Katsuki fucking lost it. his eyes nearly narrowing into slits as small, crackling explosions rippled up one of his arms. "Don't fucking tell me to calm down, IcyHot!" he nearly yelled, the heat of his anger almost visible in the stale air. He grabbed Shoto by the front of his shirt, yanking him close. "You think I don't know the risks? I'm sick of this sneaking around crap! I need answers, and I need them now!"

Shoto's mask cracked, his calm facade splintering under the pressure. The cold began to creep down Katsuki's arm, a stark contrast to the fiery explosions sparking from his skin. But Katsuki didn't give a shit as Shoto's eyes blazed with a fury that matched Katsuki's own.

This was why they never did team ups, because at the end of the day they were as different as fire and ice.

"You think I don't understand your desperation?" Shoto's voice was icy, his breath visible in the air between them. "We're all searching for answers, Bakugo. But your recklessness is going to get us killed!" The anger in Shoto's eyes was raw, unfiltered, a mirror to his own.

Wrong choice of words. His grip on Shoto's shirt tightened, knuckles white, as the pain twisted deep inside him. But anger—familiar, all-consuming anger—quickly rose to drown it out. He flashed his teeth, a snarl ripping from his throat.

"Get us killed?" Katsuki said through his teeth, the heat in his voice scorching the air between them. "You wanna talk about getting people killed? Don't you dare throw that shit in my face!" His voice wavered, just a fraction, but enough for him to notice and hated himself for it.

The cold seeped deeper into Katsuki's arm, trying to stifle the heat of his quirk. He could feel the numbness setting in, making his skin tingle. Shoto's eyes widened, realizing the weight of his words. "Bakugo, I didn't mean—"

"Shut the hell up!" Katsuki cut him off, his voice a roar that echoed through the empty building. Damn it all. He didn't fucking have time for this useless bullshit.

"Then what the hell do you suggest, huh?" Katsuki spat, invading Shoto's space. "We sit around and wait for something to happen? I'm not built for patience, Todoroki. I need to do something!"

Shoto actually flinched at the venom, but he stood his ground. The cold continued to creep down Katsuki's arm, the chill biting into his skin, but he didn't care in the slightest. Pain had been a constant fucking companion these last few months, he could handle it.

Shoto's eyes flicked past him for a moment, and then he did a double take, his eyes widening. The flicker of alarm in Shoto's gaze made Katsuki pause. He turned his head to follow Shoto's line of sight, his grip still tight on Shoto's shirt. His eyes fell on the dark, rusty stains splattered across the concrete under one of the platforms that connected two of the above-ground ponds.

Blood. Old, but unmistakable.

Katsuki's jaw ticked as he stared at the blood before letting go of Shoto. His boot scraped against the rough concrete, the sound carrying. The blood splatter trailed inwards, leading towards the tank's base, a clear sign of a struggle or worse.

He crouched beside the stains, running a calloused finger over the dried blood. It flaked off under his touch, it definitely wasn't fresh, but it wasn't too old either. It had to be a few days old if that. Katsuki's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning rapidly. The tank itself was clean, untouched by the crimson spray. The blood should have been all over the tank's base, meaning that the source had been standing under the tank, not on it... meaning the hidden entrance had to be here.

Shoto's eyes scanned the structure, taking in every detail. Up close, the above-ground ponds loomed like massive, industrial giants, their steel sides towering up to chest height. Platforms crisscrossed the expanse, creating a network of walkways that connected each pond, giving maintenance workers a clear path without descending to the ground.

Each pond had monstrous filtration systems that whirred and hummed, designed to keep the water clear and flowing. Pipes and wires snaked out from each unit, disappearing into the shadows where the power sources and control panels were hidden. The air was thick with the smell of metal and a faint, lingering scent of algae and chemical treatment.

Still crouched, Katsuki's eyes flicked from the blood to the filtration systems, noting how the pipes seemed to disappear beneath the concrete flooring in places. "Under," he muttered, barely audible, but the certainty in his voice was undeniable.

"What?" Shoto questioned.  Katsuki stood, his expression grim and resolute. "Under, " he repeated, louder this time, not bothering to look at him. "The entrance has gotta be under here. The blood splatter doesn't add up—there should be blood on the tank, not just the floor. That means whatever happened went down right here, underneath the tank."

He dropped to one knee, fingers probing the edges of the platform, following the network of pipes. Damn it, why does this always have to be so complicated? "Check the control panels," Katsuki ordered, there had to be a latch, a hidden mechanism. Something.

"C'mon, c'mon..." he growled, frustration mounting. If they couldn't find the damn hidden entryway Katsuki would just blast a hole in the floor.

Katsuki's fingers scraped along the rough, corroded edges of the platform, a faint, almost imperceptible seam ran along the base of the concrete. This had to be the fucking entrance. His eyes, fiery and determined, darted over every inch, searching for any sign of a switch or loose panel. "Where the hell is it?" he said, as if by sheer force of will it would open. 

 Shoto moved towards the pumps, his eyes narrowing as he scanned for anything out of place. The air around him cooled slightly as he activated his quirk, just enough to keep his focus sharp without freezing anything. His fingers traced the pipes and conduits, searching for any inconsistency. As he reached behind one of the pumps, his fingers brushed against something that didn't quite belong. A section of the pump's back panel was slightly loose, a subtle deviation from the rest of the machinery. His heart raced as he glanced over at Katsuki, who was still muttering curses under his breath.

"Gotcha," he muttered under his breath, gripping the loose section and giving it a firm tug. The panel shifted, revealing a hidden lever tucked away behind the machinery. The lever was sturdy and industrial-looking, a stark contrast to the sleek lines of the filtration system. It was clear this wasn't part of the original design.

"Bakugo, over here," Shoto called out, "I think I found a lever." Katsuki's head snapped up. Finally, some fucking progress. "Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Pull it!" Shoto gripped the levee firmly and with a quick, decisive pull, the lever clicked, and a deep clunk sounded.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a low, mechanical whirring sound filled the air, reverberating through the steel and concrete. The water in the tank Katsuki had been searching began to churn, bubbles rising to the surface as it slowly started to drain. The noise grew louder, more intense, as the water level dropped, revealing the bottom of the tank inch by inch.

Katsuki cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as his arms hung loose at his sides, preparing for anything. His eyes were fixed on the draining tank, every muscle in his body coiled and ready. Shoto flanked him, his quirk subtly lowering the temperature around them, a calm contrast to Katsuki's simmering heat.

The low whirring sound grew louder, punctuated by a series of metallic clicks. The water in the tank churned violently before a hissing sound filled the air. Katsuki's eyes narrowed, watching intently as a section of the tank's base began to shift.

With a final, loud hiss, a third of the tank's bottom detached and slowly started to lift upwards. The heavy steel creaked and groaned, revealing a dark, gaping tunnel beneath.

He didn't know what the hell to expect down that tunnel. What if this lead turned out to be another fucking dead end? What if, after all this, he was no closer to finding Izuku? He hoped—no, he needed—this to lead him to Izuku or at the very least Odd Eye.

"Stay sharp, IcyHot. We don't know what the hell we're walking into."

Chapter Text

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Into The Depths

Katsuki made to start down the stairs when the smell hit him. It was putrid, like someone left a pile of rotting meat in the sun for a week and then dunked it in raw sewage. It was so rancid, so fucking vile he could almost taste it. He gagged, jerking back instinctively. "What the actual fuck?" he growled, spitting to get the taste out of his mouth. Shoto brought his palm up to cover his face, eyes watering slightly. Katsuki had smelled a lot of things in his life—burning rubber, singed flesh, the acrid stench of a battlefield—but this was on a whole different level... actually it smelled like death itself had decided to camp out here and keel over.

Katsuki forced himself to breathe through his mouth, trying to filter out the God-awful stench. He took another step, but the smell was so overwhelming it felt like it was seeping into his very pores. He gagged again, swallowing hard to keep from throwing up. "Shit," Katsuki cursed, his voice muffled by the back of his hand.

He glanced at Shoto, who was still covering his face, eyes wide with shock. "It smells... like something died down there," he said, his voice tight with disgust. "And it's been there for a while."

No shit, Sherlock. The smell was fucking unbearable, like a festering wound that had been left to rot. He felt his mouth water as his stomach churned but forced it down. No way he was going to puke now.

He watched as Shoto pulled out a flashlight and moved past him, the beam cutting through the darkness of the tunnel. Katsuki followed, each step feeling heavier as the smell grew stronger. He shined it down the tunnel, and what they saw made Katsuki's blood run cold. Holy. Shit.

They were too late.

There was blood everywhere. Bodies—or what was left of them—had been eviscerated, torn apart like ragdolls. Blood splattered the walls and pooled on the floor, viscera painting the railings and dripping from the ceiling. It was a scene straight out of a nightmare. Parallels to the massacre under the Red Lotus.

Katsuki's mind went numb, a ringing in his ears as he stared at the carnage. Flashes of their fight under the club strobed through his vision. He knew deep down something felt off, something was wrong. The silence, the stillness, the complete fucking absence of any signs of life—it had all screamed at him that he was too late. And damn it, he had been right. Izuku had played him. Again.

Small explosions rippled down Katsuki's arm, his anger and frustration manifesting in volatile bursts of heat and light. The air crackled with tension, the sound sharp and menacing.

Shoto's voice broke the silence, shaky and hesitant. "Kat—" Katsuki waved his hand aggressively, cutting Shoto off before he could even start. "Shut. Up," he articulated through clenched teeth, the muscles in his neck straining with the effort to keep his emotions in check. He ran his hands over his face, taking a step back, trying to push down the rising tide of anger and frustration.

He didn't need Shoto's words right now. Inside, he was boiling and was moments away from losing his shit. He needed to focus, to channel his rage into something productive, something that could get him closer to finding Izuku, a new game plan.

How many times had he been in this exact situation, always one step behind Izuku, always chasing shadows? Fuck. He placed a hand at the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp as he paced back and forth.

Why did Izuku have to turn into this? Katsuki hesitated, the word "monster" lingering on the edge of his thoughts but never quite forming. No, he needed to shut that shit down. This mess isn't Izuku's fault, it wasn't his fault he ended up this way. How could he even think that? He loved Izuku down to his core, a truth that burned as fiercely as his explosions. But seeing this, the way it made him feel...

Katsuki stopped pacing; his eyes unfocused as he stared at the ground. Every time he tried to justify the violence, tried to rationalize Izuku's reasons for turning into this cold, ruthless person, it was like a knife twisting in his gut. He knew Izuku had been through hell, seen and been through shit no one should have to ever deal with, but why the hell did he have to shut him out? Why did he have to turn into such a violent, closed-off vigilante? He knew what the dissociative identity disorder was doing to Izuku, knew Izuku was beyond mentally fucked up, each piece of his shattered soul twisted in completely different ways by the weight of the world and the expectations placed on him.

He knew that among the different personalities from Izuku's DID, the dominating one right now was the vengeful and wrathful one. That part of Izuku had taken control, driven by an unyielding need to achieve his goal. This version of Izuku was ruthless, unrelenting, and willing to do whatever it took, no matter the cost to destroy the LOV and more importantly Odd Eye. Katsuki knew the other sides were still there—the scared, frail Izuku who had suffered after the war but had learned that he would always have Katsuki and the hero who would put himself in harm's way if it meant protecting someone who couldn't protect themselves. But those sides were buried deep, suffocated by the rage and determination that now fueled Izuku's every move. Katsuki understood that this was the result of the months of torture, extensive trauma, pain, and constant judgment of the world forced upon him.

But knowing that didn't make it any fucking easier— 

Shit, he needed to stop. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him now. Because if he did, he was going to start fucking spiraling and now wasn't the goddamn time. Izuku had outmaneuvered him again, and it sure as fuck pissed him the hell off to no end, but he wasn't going to give up. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

Again, he needed to think, needed a plan. This hideout might be a dead end, but there had to be something here—some clue, some piece of evidence that would point him in the right direction.

He heard a scuffing sound and glanced over to see Shoto nearing the entrance, the flashlight in his hand casting long shadows. Katsuki's eyes followed the beam of light, watching as it flickered across the walls of the tunnel.

"Oi," Katsuki barked, his voice hoarse but commanding. Shoto paused, turning to meet Katsuki's intense gaze. "We're going in. I'm not leaving until I get some damn answers."

Shoto nodded, pulling out his phone to call this in. But Katsuki's hand shot out, stopping him. "No," Katsuki growled. "We have no idea what kinda craps down there. We do a full sweep first, then drag in the crime scene crew."

Shoto just stared at him, trying to read Katsuki's fiery eyes, the unwavering determination in them. Really it was just against protocol, it also wasn't they're jurisdiction. So once this was sectioned off essentially they were going to be boxed out. Shoto sighed, resigning, knowing that's exactly what was going through Katsuki's head. "Alright," he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Shoto gestured to the tunnel, scrunching his nose. "After you," he said, mockingly polite.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, muttering a curse under his breath. "Damn right, after me." Asshole. He took a steadying breath, trying to breathe through his mouth, trying not to think about how absolutely fucking horrible it smelled and how this painfully reminded him of another set of stairwells as they started their descent. The stench of decay and blood assaulted his senses, making him glad he hadn't eaten anything in the last few hours.

As they descended, Katsuki's eyes took in all the gore. Bodies littered the ground, twisted in unnatural angles, their lifeless eyes staring into the void. He tried to step around the worst of it, but the sheer number of corpses made it impossible. Blood slicked the steps, and he could feel it sticking to the soles of his boots, it was as disgusting as it sounded.

The blueprints had only shown one way in and one way out of this hellhole. Katsuki's mind raced, connecting the dots. The way the bodies were strewn across the stairs meant these people had been running for their lives, trying to get out... And they hadn't stood a chance. He could almost hear their screams muffled in the cold, damp air. He knew what those screams sounded like... the raw, visceral cries of fear and agony, echoing off the cavern walls as Izuku unflinchingly tore through everyone in his path. Panic and desperation, all leading to the same brutal end.

Goosebumps flecked Katsuki's arms as he came to the nauseating realization that Izuku, whether or not these people had been fighting or running, had slaughtered every single one of them without an ounce of mercy.

And Katsuki couldn't help but flash back to that moment months ago when Izuku had seemed almost savage and wild. The raw, unrestrained fury in Izuku's eyes as he managed to not only slam Katsuki to the ground but pin him, feeling Black Whip constricting around his body, watching in horror as Izuku cocked back his fist to deal a killing blow.

If All Might hadn't been there to pull Izuku from that burning rage, Katsuki probably would have died. The memory of All Might's voice, booming through the forest, dragging Izuku back from that eroding edge, was seared into his mind. All Might had been their anchor, their guiding light in the shitstorm that had been their more than shitty life.

But thinking of All Might only brought worse memories. All Might's death still made Katsuki's knees weak, a visceral pain that struck deep in his chest. He immediately shoved those thoughts down, knowing that dwelling on them now would only cloud his focus.

The sweep of Shoto's flashlight brought Katsuki back to the present. Before he knew it, his foot scuffed against the floor of the first sub-level. Even in the limited light from Shoto, he could see there were more bodies, but it wasn't as densely packed as it had been on the stairs. The air was still thick with the stench of death, but the open space gave them a little more room to maneuver.

Shoto crouched down next to a body of what looked like a shark heteromorph, examining it closely. Katsuki brought out a flare of light from his palms, quickly sweeping the dark room, his eyes scanning the shadows, the corners he could manage, looking for any signs of movement. The last thing they needed was an ambush. The walls here were also stained not just with blood, but some sort of black substance, the floor slick with thick puddles of it. The scene was gruesome, but unfortunately, Katsuki had seen worse.

Turning back to Shoto, Katsuki's annoyance flared. "Tch, What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

Shoto looked up, his expression grim. "These bodies are at least a few days old," he said, his face the perfect mask of indifference despite the gruesome surroundings. "The blood is dried in places and with the heat in here, it's why it smells so terrible. Whatever happened here, it didn't happen recently."

Thanks, Captain Obvious. Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he noticed something off about this place. This wasn't just your average run-of-the-mill hideout. At the end of the corridor, what looked like some sort of high-tech security checkpoint. "Stop eating shit and let's go before I leave your ass," he said irritably at Shoto, his patience less than nonexistent. He needs to figure out what his next move was.

As they moved closer, the true nature of the place became apparent. Destroyed retinal and fingerprint scanners adorned the walls to their left, but it looked like something had torn through the thick metal doors into the space beyond. And Katsuki would bet his life savings that that something was probably Izuku.

Mounted machine guns flanked the entrance, their barrels twisted and mangled, reduced to useless scraps of metal. Katsuki raised his hand, letting the glow of his quirk illuminate the scene. The flickering light cast eerie shadows on the walls, highlighting the destruction. It was clear that even the heavy artillery hadn't been enough to stop Izuku's rampage.

What the hell was this place, and what was so damn important that they needed such high-tech equipment to guard it. Even some of the bodies here looked like they had quirks specially made for defense.  Surveillance cameras, or what was left of them, covered every angle, and Katsuki couldn't help but wonder if there were backups of the recorded footage.

"This place is fortified like a damn fortress," Katsuki muttered, more to himself than Shoto. "Whatever they were protecting, it was serious." It was probably why Izuku hit this place as fast as he did. There was something here that probably meant life or death.

Shoto's hand touched the doors, fingers tracing the twisted metal as if in shock that they had been blown wide open. "Midoriya didn't just destroy this place. He annihilated it." Shoto muttered, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene.

The muscle in Katsuki's feathered. "Yeah, and I bet there's something here that'll tell us why." He motioned towards the cameras. "Let's find out if those things are still working. Maybe they caught something useful."

They moved towards the control room, adjacent to the checkpoint. The nerve center of the hideout was cluttered with high-tech equipment, monitors that probably displayed feed from all levels, and control panels for security doors and lockdown procedures. The door to the control room had been ripped off its hinges, the twisted metal embedded in the wall across from the entrance. Jesus. The room was a mess, the aftermath of Izuku's rampage evident in the scattered debris and broken equipment. It looked like a tornado had swept through here.

Katsuki and Shoto began sifting through the wreckage, looking for the panel that controlled the cameras. He could at the very least try to see how long ago Izuku had been here. Katsuki's fingers brushed against a cracked screen, and he pushed the debris off. "Found it," he grunted, plugging some hanging wires back in, praying it still worked.

Shoto joined him, eyes scanning the various buttons and switches. "We need to pull up the feed and rewind. Look for anything that shows what happened here."

They both started trying to pull up the camera feed, fingers moving quickly over the controls. The screen flickered to life, showing static and fragmented images from the various cameras around the hideout. Most of the feeds were dark, the cameras were either destroyed or malfunctioning due to the carnage.

"C'mon, c'mon," Katsuki muttered, more than frustrated. The feed kept cutting in and out, static lines distorting the images. Katsuki's patience snapped. He slammed his fist against the panel, the force of his blow causing the equipment to rattle. "Work you piece of shit!"

Shoto glanced at him, raising his eyebrow but knowing better than to make some snide remark. "Uh," he began, "I don't think that's going—" but before he could finish, the screen flickered, and the feed for the first and second floors suddenly appeared.

Katsuki shot Shoto a look that screamed keep yapping dickhead, daring him to continue questioning him, but Shoto only shrugged. Katsuki huffed, that's what he thought. Shoto pressed a few buttons and before they knew it the feed of the fight started rewinding.

"There," Katsuki said after a minute or two, his voice low and intense. "That's where it started." Shoto cut the rewind and let the video play.

Both of them froze, eyes locked on the monitor. The image was grainy and sporadic, but they could make out Izuku as he came down the stairs, barreling through the high-tech security checkpoint, his movements a blur of raw power and unrestrained fury. In the blink of an eye the heavily armed guards were in pieces and the mounted machine guns began firing at him, but he moved with such speed and power that they were rendered useless almost immediately. Metal twisted and sparked as he ripped through the defenses, his Black Whip lashing out and destroying everything in his path.

A name Katsuki's heard before surfaced from the shadows of his mind... Shinigami. The harbinger of death, the grim reaper.

Izuku stopped just long enough to catch his breath, his chest heaving, fists glowing ruby red with Fajin and green electricity. His eyes burned with that raw power that made Katsuki's stomach shrivel up. Izuku didn't even hesitate as he barreled into the door, fist pounding with a force that had made the entire room shake, causing soot to rain down. Each blow was accompanied by a crackle of blinding electricity, the metal warping under the onslaught. Finally, with a resounding crash, the doors gave out, crumpling inward under the sheer power of Izuku's attack.

The moment he was inside, Smoke Screen shrouded parts of the hallway in thick, dark plumes, making it difficult to track his movements clearly. The cameras struggled to keep up, capturing only fragmented glimpses of his rampage. He vanished for a second until the control room door flew off its hinges and he stalked through the door. Monitors exploded in showers of sparks, panels were ripped apart as if they were made of paper, and the only remaining camera captured a final glimpse of his rampage before being obliterated by Black Whip. Katsuki's eyes flicked to see what looked like claw marks on that same wall as if to make sure this was real.

Katsuki's jaw tightened as the feed played out in front of him. He couldn't take his eyes off the screen, couldn't tear his gaze away from the raw, unbridled power that was Izuku Midoriya. The way he moved, the sheer efficiency of his attacks, it was all so... ruthless.

The Izuku he remembered, the one who'd been a mess of emotions in the caverns, all blind fury and chaotic energy, was gone. This Izuku was different—honed, controlled, lethal. His eyes... they were different. Harder, fiercer. The same fire that had driven him in his prime before the comma was still there, but now with an edge that made Katsuki's heart clench. 

He had to remind himself—this was the DID. The other Izuku, the one he knew, the one he loved, was still in there somewhere. This wasn't the only part of him left. It couldn't be.

Watching Izuku now, it was no wonder Katsuki could never fucking catch him before he reached these hideouts. Izuku was in and out before anyone knew what even hit them. One moment, he was there, a walking natural disaster; the next, the screen would cut to static.

"Shit," Katsuki muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He remembered the days when the nerd's power was more of a hazard to himself than anyone else. Those days were sure as hell long gone. Now, Izuku was a finely tuned weapon, each calculated movement evidence of his growth and ruthless resolve to take down Odd Eye.

Shoto's voice cut through Katsuki's thoughts, quiet and probing. "Is that what he looked like when you were fighting under the Red Lotus?" It was a bit of a loaded question and Katsuki hesitated, his gaze shifting to meet Shoto's eyes. Months later, the memories of that fight were still so fresh in his mind.

He looked back at the screen, watching as Izuku disappeared down the stairs making his way to the second sublevel. The sheer intensity of Izuku's movements replayed in his mind, an echo of those dark days.

He nodded once, a short, sharp movement. "Yeah," he said, his voice rough with the weight of the past. "But this... this is different. The nerd... he's sharper now. More in control."

Katsuki drew a deep breath, changing the subject. "How long ago was this?"

Shoto paused the feed as Izuku rampaged through what looked like a research lab on the second floor. Flipping through the file log, he scanned the timestamps. "Four days ago," he finally said, his voice grim.

They fast-forwarded through the feed, scanning the fragmented footage for any additional clues. But once Izuku descended to the third sublevel, all the cameras were blank. "Wait," Shoto said, his brow furrowing. "There's something about the lower-level cameras. They might require a special access code."

Katsuki's frustration flared. "Are you kidding me? Where the hell are we supposed to find that?" Shoto's eyes scanned the control panel. "There must be a way to override it. Or maybe there's a log with the codes somewhere in this mess."

Katsuki began rifling through the scattered papers and broken equipment, his movements sharp and angry. "We don't have time for this crap," he complained, and sure enough after a few minutes, they couldn't find jack shit, they would just have to be alert when they made their way to that floor, ready for anything.

Eventually, they fast-forwarded through thirty minutes of feed, eyes glued to the screen, waiting for Izuku to start making his way out when suddenly, the lights cut out, causing the feed to switch to night vision as people start running through what cameras were still working on the second sublevel. The fuck are all those people doing down there? Katsuki's heart raced as he realized that most of them looked like prisoners, like test subjects. He let the video play at regular speed, the ground seeming to shake as the prisoners ran down the level to get to the other stairwell. 

Katsuki leaned in, trying to figure out what the hell was happening when Izuku suddenly bolted through the third sublevel stairwell, blood streaming down his right arm hanging limp at his side, leaving a dark, glistening trail on the floor. He turned, hunched over in a defensive position.

The scene was chaotic, the flashing lights of alarms and people seemed to be screaming and scrambling, but all he could focus on was Izuku. Where they running form Izuku or something else?

"What the hell is he doing?" Katsuki muttered; his eyes still glued to the screen. Izuku's stance was tight, every muscle coiled and ready. He was preparing for something, something big. The hair on Katsuki's neck stood on end, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through him.

And when four black Nomu seemingly emerged from the shadows of the stairwell his blood turned to ice, their grotesque forms hulking and menacing. These weren't just any Nomu; they were near high-end, if not that, each a walking death machine. Taking on one in a confined space was already suicidal, but four? That was a death sentence.

Izuku didn't flinch. He launched himself at the Nomu with a quick bicep reload, flicking his blood as his arms blazed with renewed power. Katsuki's breath caught in his throat as he watched the battle unfold. Izuku's fists glowed with the eerie light of his quirks, his movements a blur of brutal precision as he tore into them. The Nomu responded in kind, their attacks savage and relentless. 

Claws slashed through the air, teeth snapping as they tried to overwhelm Izuku with their combined might and quirks. The only surviving camera captured every moment in stark, horrifying detail. Black blood spattered the walls, the floor, limbs being ripped from their joints. The fight was so intense, so brutally raw, that the camera struggled to keep up. It was an all-out brawl.

And Anyone still unfortunate enough to be on that sublevel and within range of the fight became collateral. 

Izuku eyes flashed with green energy, each impact of his fist seemed to iginite the air, sending shockwaves through the Nomu. Every punch, every strike, was a calculated blow meant to cripple or kill. Katsuki knew that if any ordinary hero tried to intervene, they'd be torn apart in seconds. Izuku was fighting on a level that defied human limits. 

And katsuki wasn't bluffing if he said that a fight like this was something only a person like Izuku could handle, someone with the power and the will to face such overwhelming odds and come out on top.

One of the Nomu managed to break past Izuku's guard, lunging toward the second sublevel's stairwell after one of the last people alive on that floor. Black Whip shot out, slicing into the Nomu's back before grabbing it by one of its legs, trying to pull it back towards Izuku. But the creature managed to break free with a savage jerk, its momentum carrying it into the stairwell.

Katsuki's eyes darted to another monitor where the mob of people, prisoners and test subjects, were flooding through the shredded doors on the first level, piling into the tunnel in a desperate attempt to escape. His heart nearly stopped in his chest as realization dawned on him with chilling clarity. The blood, the bodies—he had just assumed.

"It wasn't Izuku who killed all those people in the tunnel," Shoto said more to himself than Katsuki. The Nomu barreled into the crowd tearing into them without mercy, blood spraying as chaos erupted.

Izuku had been trying to save them.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The Sum of Singularity

Katsuki couldn't stomach the feed anymore, the sight of the Nomu slaughtering the helpless was too much. His palms flared with heat, a familiar, comforting burn as he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Shoto there to continue watching the grisly footage. 

He needed to see for himself. He couldn't just believe Izuku had been trying to save those people, not with that crazed look in his eyes, not after all these months of him slaughtering villains. He needed proof, something tangible to grasp onto. As much as he hated himself for it, a part of him felt that this part of Izuku had taken complete control, that the nerd he once knew was gone. He had to see the Nomu's body, had to confirm that there was some truth to what Shoto had said.

Katsuki stalked forward, ignoring the slick pool of blood that nearly sent him sprawling. His boots left crimson prints as he followed the trail of black blood, his pulse hammering in his ears. The smell of death coated the back of his throat again and it took everything in him not to gag.

His hand brushed the wall, fingers tracing the smears of black blood as his eyes followed its path. He followed the slick, dark trail, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged bursts, a common sign of his rising anxiety. Suddenly, a clawed hand came into view, jutting out from the shadows.

Katsuki jumped back, heart slamming against his ribs. His quirk crackled to life, explosions sparking up his arms and legs. The sudden burst of light revealed the grotesque figure of the Nomu, its milky lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the clawed hand, half-expecting it to move. Get a grip, dumbass.

Katsuki forced himself to step closer, examining the body. It had been shredded from the shoulder down, the other half of its body nowhere to be seen. The sight was enough to churn his stomach, but he pressed on, eyes scanning the mangled remains for any clues. Shoto's voice broke through the silence, startling him. Jesus fuck. He swore to fucking God if did that one more time he was going to blast him in the damn face.

"Did you find anything?" Shoto asked, scrunching his nose as he ran his flashlight over the corpse.

Katsuki let out a derisive snort, not even glancing back at Shoto. "Oh yeah, I found a treasure map leading straight to the league. And a pot of gold too, right next to the fucking tooth fairy's house. If I did, don't you think I would've said something, idiot?" he deadpanned, continuing to search through the carnage.

There was a moment of quiet before Shoto replied. "Well, no, I really don't."

Katsuki opened his mouth to retort, a sharp comeback ready on his tongue, but then he paused. Damn it, the prick was right. He wouldn't have said a damn thing either way. He ignored the comment, focusing back on the task at hand.

Then, something green caught his attention. He leaned closer, recognizing the familiar fabric almost immediately. It was a piece of Izuku's costume, torn and stained but unmistakable. Katsuki felt the fabric between his fingers, the texture rough and gritty.

Reluctantly, he handed it to Shoto, his jaw tight. Shoto took it, examining the cloth with a furrowed brow.

"The remainder of the feed showed that Midoriya killed two of the Nomu somewhere in the stairwell to the next sublevel and another one somewhere in this room," Shoto said, pocketing the fabric.

Katsuki's eyes darkened, his voice barely above a whisper. "Deku?"

Shoto's expression softened slightly, understanding the weight behind Katsuki's words. "The feed shows Izuku injured..."

Katsuki's gut twisted at Shoto's hesitation, and he rounded on him, eyes blazing with impatience. "Spit it out, IcyHot. I don't have all day for your damn half-truths."

Shoto hesitated for just a moment longer, then sighed, meeting Katsuki's fiery gaze head-on. "Midoriya didn't take it well. He... didn't manage to save the people down here, and he..."

Shoto's flashlight swept across the room, illuminating the aftermath of Deku's outburst. The beam of light fell on the ground a dozen or so feet away, and Katsuki's eyes narrowed at the sight. There, in the center was a crater so deep it looked like a bomb had gone off. The floor was torn apart, deep gouges carved into the stone as if someone had taken a massive, uncontrollable force to it. But what really made Katsuki's stomach wither was what lay at the center of that crater.

The Nomu—what was left of it—wasn't just broken, it was obliterated. Pulverized. The creature's body was practically a puddle, black blood and shredded flesh smeared across the floor, mixed with chunks of concrete and twisted metal. The sight of it made Katsuki's skin crawl, not because of the gore, but because of the sheer violence it represented. This wasn't the calculated, precise destruction he associated with Izuku's other part, it might have been the other parts of him lashing out. 

Shoto's voice was low, almost a whisper as he continued, "for the lack of a better term, he lost his shit, Bakugo. There's no other way to describe it. When he realized he couldn't save them, he... he snapped." Katsuki only stayed silent, the muscle in his jaw feathering. 

"The feed shows that after," Shoto said, gesturing to the crater with a grim look, "he went back down to the second sublevel.  He was searching for something, tearing through the rooms until he found it—a computer's hard drive. After that, he left through the tunnel."

Katsuki hummed in response when Shoto added cautiously, "He took the hard drive with him. Whatever was on it... it probably had important data from the facility. He trashed what looked like a server room, and any computer left."

Katsuki stared at the crater, the image of the destroyed Nomu burned into his mind. "What the hell are you up to, Deku?" he muttered, trying to put the pieces together before he stood. He was going to get to the bottom of this shit. 

"Let's go," Katsuki said, voice firm as they walked back through the doors and headed for the stairwell to the second sublevel. Seriously, what the hell was so Goddamn important that they had those things guarding the lowest level.

As they descended, Shoto glanced at him. "Are you sure you don't want to at least call for backup?"

"Fuck that," Katsuki snapped, the harshness in his voice masking the real reason. The truth was, he didn't want to be responsible for any more deaths. There were already too many names he carried.

Shoto continued, seemingly oblivious to Katsuki's rising irritation. "Tokoyami's been dying to get a crack at the league since Shinso—"

Katsuki rounded on him; his glowing glare intense enough to silence Shoto mid-sentence. "Shut the fuck up IcyHot. It's already enough that I let you come."

Shoto held up his hand in a placating gesture, his expression neutral. "Fine. Just saying." Katsuki clicked his tongue in irritation before turning away, his mind refocusing on the task at hand. 

As they reached the stairwell, darkness engulfed the space below. Katsuki raised his palm, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "Starlight Detonation," he muttered. Luckily it was so damn hot down here he was already collecting enough sweat. He concentrated on the small beads forming on his skin. Tiny sparks ignited, dancing like stars in his palm. With a swift motion, he dropped them down the shaft of the stairwell.

The droplets of sweat cascaded down, illuminating the narrow shaft with a flickering glow. They lit up the steps, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The smaller ones burned steadily, creating a path of light, while the larger ones hovered, ready to explode on Katsuki's mark.

Shoto watched, impressed despite himself. "Innovative," he remarked, his voice low.

Katsuki didn't respond to Shoto's comment, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Innovative, huh? Damn right it was. He'd been working his ass off ever since his quirk re-awakening. The explosions, the sweat, the sheer power—it was all raw potential waiting to be molded. And mold it he had.

It was a game-changer, making his quirk more versatile and unpredictable. He had spent countless hours training, pushing himself to the limit, and experimenting with new techniques to harness this newfound power. 

And it wasn't just Starlight Detonation he'd honed, with his new possibilities, he had developed "Explosive Burst," allowing him to propel himself in any direction by detonating sweat on his feet or legs. It gave him an edge in mobility that few could match, turning him into a human rocket. "Flashbang Pulse," an explosive burst from his chest, created a blinding flash to disorient opponents, giving him a tactical advantage in close combat. It was a much, much smaller burst compared to the time he had his explosive meltdown. "Void Flare," as that ice prick, Shoto, dubbed it. And it was also something Katsuki really didn't want to fuck with, knowing the strain it put on his heart.

But Katsuki didn't stop there. He kept pushing the boundaries in other ways, inventing moves like "Detonation Shield," a protective barrier formed by controlled explosions from his forearms, and "Shockwave Burst," a powerful explosion from his back that sent enemies flying. The list goes on and on.

Katsuki started the descent, watching as the stars fell. The damage was significant. Deep claw marks marred the steps, walls blown out in sections—a brutal testament to the fight against the Nomu. Katsuki didn't even want to fucking imagine battling those monsters in such a cramped space. As if jinxing it, one of the dead Nomu came into view, hanging off the railing. Katsuki sneered at the sight, barely sparing it a glance as he continued downward.

But the short moment he'd seen it had been enough. Its armored body and serrated nails were designed for slaughter. But its face—what was left of it—was nightmare fuel. Torn and shredded, it looked like something out of a horror flick. Katsuki felt a shiver of revulsion but quickly masked it.

 Shoto, however, paused to examine the corpse, his flashlight revealing more of the Nomu's twisted features. "Looks like Midoriya had one hell of a fight," Shoto noted.

"Keep moving, IcyHot," Katsuki snapped, shit was giving him the heebie-jeebies.

Shoto nodded, walking past the corpse, freezing parts of the stairs that seemed ready to crumble under their weight. The ice creaked as it settled, providing a temporary reinforcement that allowed them to proceed.

Near the bottom of the stairwell, the smell of death somehow intensified, making Katsuki gag.

Near the mouth of the doorway, the last Nomu was splattered on the floor. Its skull was visible, the skin and sinew peeled off with brute force, leaving it looking like a grotesque anatomical display. Blood and bits of flesh clung to the floor and walls, a macabre splatter pattern that made Katsuki's so so glad he hadn't eaten anything. The sight was visceral, the stench overwhelming.

Fuck, how the hell does someone even manage to splatter a body like it was jam. The sheer force and brutality required were almost unimaginable. He glanced at Shoto, expecting the usual stoic expression, but was surprised to see Shoto's face contort in disgust, his features tightening as he fought to keep his composure.

If even Shoto was cracking, it had to be bad. Really bad. "What the fuck did he use, a goddamn meat grinder?" Katsuki muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the unease crawling up his spine.

Katsuki stepped over the mess, careful to avoid the slick spots of blood and gore. Just as he made it past, Shoto tried to do the same but slipped on what was probably intestines. Instinctively, he reached out, grabbing Katsuki's arm and nearly taking him down with him. Katsuki bristled, "Get the hell off me, IcyHot!" he growled yanking his arm free and spinning around, eyes blazing. "Watch where you're stepping, damn it!"

Shoto ignored the outburst, his gaze fixed on the room as Katsuki's voice echoed before them. "This place... it's a research center," he said, almost to himself. 

Katsuki followed Shoto's gaze, taking the destroyed room. The smell of antiseptics and chemicals was overwhelming, mixing unpleasantly with the lingering scent of death. Parts of the room had remained undisturbed while other parts were in ruin and scorched. "No shit, Sherlock," Katsuki muttered, more to break the tension than anything else as he fixed his shirt. "Let's split up and find something useful."

Shoto nodded, and they moved to opposite sides of the room. Shoto's methodical approach had him scanning through the neatly organized research papers and files that were still intact, while Katsuki's impatience drove him to sift through stacks of documents and notebooks with reckless abandon.

Minutes ticked by in silence, the only sounds being the rustle of papers and the sounds of their footsteps.  Katsuki's brows furrowed as he rifled through the papers, trying not to step on any piles of rotting flesh while he was at it. Nothing substantial so far—just basic chemistry and quirk research shit that wasn't going to help them. His frustration grew with every useless file he encountered, and he muttered curses under his breath.

This whole thing was probably going to be a damn waste of time, Izuku had probably grabbed the only thing that was probably worthwhile. He reached for another file from a particularly large stack on the table, yanking it free only for the rest of the pile to spill off the table onto the floor in a chaotic mess. He sighed loudly, the sound echoing through the darkness.

He was about to curse his whole existence, bending over to pick up the mess when something caught his eye among the scattered papers— a small, worn journal. It looked different from the other pristine files and notebooks. He flipped the file in his hand over and placed it on the table, focusing instead on the journal. Well, hello there.

He picked it up, the cover feeling rough under his fingertips. The journal seemed older; but that's not what interested him, Katsuki stared at the journal in his hands, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he focused on the red roundel split into two halves. He knew this freakin' symbol... where the hell had he seen it? Katsuki thumbed his lip, trying to think, it wasn't just some random scribble. He's definitely seen it... somewhere important. Damn it, where?"

He flipped open the cover, his eyes scanning the handwritten title of the journal: "Genetic Modification of the Quirk Singularity Theory."

The words "Quirk Singularity" echoed in his mind, and he found himself repeating them under his breath. "Quirk Singularity... Quirk Singularity..." This wasn't just some random piece of crap. This was big. Like, real big. He could feel it in his bones.

Suddenly, it clicked. The Quirk Doomsday Theory. His eyes widened in realization, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. He looked back at the symbol on the front of the journal, and the names "Flect Turn" and "Humarise" surged from the depths of his memory.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, a cold dread creeping over him. Humarise had been taken down years ago, and Flect Turn was in the depths of abyss from what he could remember, rotting away, serving his life sentences somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. There was no way that bastard was out and about stirring up shit. So how the hell did this journal end up here?

Maybe one of the scientists escaped when they did their raid on the headquarters. That had to be it. Some slimy bastard slipped through the cracks and picked up where they left off.

He needed to be sure about this. His hands moved fast, flipping through the journal, his brain firing on all cylinders to make sense of the scribbled notes and dense scientific jargon. The initial entries were a mix of personal thoughts and highly technical details—chemical formulas, diagrams of DNA sequences, and notes on quirk inheritance patterns. It was clear this was no ordinary fucking research journal; it was a mad scientist's playbook.

"Stripping quirks down to their most basic components... genetic modification..." Katsuki read on, forcing himself to slow down, to read each line carefully despite his impulse to rush through it. It was chalked full of details on methods to isolate the genetic markers responsible for quirks, techniques for splicing and reprogramming them, ways to artificially accelerate the process to bring about the Quirk Singularity Theory—quicker, more violently. This research wasn't just a step in that direction; it was a fucking rocket booster, but why would they be researching this. Katsuki thought they were against quirks, thought that the quirkless were the "pure humans".

The further he read, the more his stomach twisted into knots. Because the next portion were entries detailing horrifying experiments, descriptions of tortured screams, and the grotesque transformations of the test subjects. Anything lower than near high-end as a test subject did not survive the experiments. The trials on live people were unsuccessful, resulting in a one hundred percent mortality rate for the in-house populous. It was only after countless failures that the researchers turned their attention to Nomu, they went to the head of the League, and knowing Odd Eye, he graciously took them under his wing. 

The journal detailed six specific test subjects, each high-end designated by numbers. As he skimmed through the descriptions, a cold realization hit him. The first Nomu Katsuki didn't recognize but the next four Nomu listed as failures had fought with the League during the Paranormal Liberation War. Shit, those were the Nomu Izuku had been fighting. Somehow, some way, they ended up here, subjected to even more horrific modifications.

Katsuki's fingers trembled as he flipped to the last entry. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of the final Nomu. His eyes widened, and his grip on the journal tightened, the name "Project Phazewave" scrawled ominously at the top of the page. He couldn't believe it—this was the USJ Nomu, the same one that nearly killed him on New Year's Day. Flashbacks of that day hit him. The fight, the overwhelming power of the Nomu, and the sheer rage and terror he felt as he threw everything he had at it—his explosions, his rage, his desperation. None of it had been enough. The damn thing was practically unstoppable, a perfect killing machine. He remembered the moment when Izuku, in a frenzy of rage and desperation that surpassed Katsuki's, had torn it apart, ensuring it couldn't regenerate. But now, seeing "Project Phazewave" in this journal, it was as if all that effort had been for nothing... how the fuck was it alive.

His brain scrambled for answers, swimming through the fog of exhaustion and dread. And then, a memory surfaced—half-buried in the haze of near-unconsciousness during that brutal fight. Odd Eye had muttered something that barely registered at the time. The words echoed in his mind, now chillingly clear: "Good thing the head is more or less intact, we can use a rewind bullet on it later."

"Fuck!" Katsuki cursed loudly, his voice echoing through the room. The implications of what he'd just read were too much to keep inside. They had preserved the head of the USJ Nomu, intending to restore it using one of those damn Rewind bullets. They were so incredibly fucked if this got out. Humarise might have been taken down, but Odd Eye must have gotten his grimy  hands on this scientist and twisted his mind to his favor, there was no way he willingly would accelerate the Doomsday Theory. 

"Oi, IcyHot!" Katsuki called out, holding up the journal. "I think I found something worth our damn time." Shoto, who had been in the adjacent room, snapped to attention at Katsuki's outburst. 

Shoto appeared in the doorway, his hand up in flames, lighting the way. The glow cast eerie shadows on the destroyed walls and tables, flickering with the intensity of their situation. But then, a sound from Katsuki's one o'clock made him freeze. It was a chittering-like noise, a sickening, insect-like clicking that sent chills down his spine. Shoto's flames extinguished instantly, plunging them into darkness.

Katsuki's heart thundered in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins. His grip on the journal tightened, knuckles white. He didn't need light to remember what he'd read—his mind had committed the details into his memory. There were six Nomu listed in the journal, Izuku took down four in his brawl down here. That meant two were still unaccounted for, lurking somewhere in the shadows. And one of them was the USJ bastard. Oh, they were so fucked.

A noise, faint but unmistakable, reached his ears—heavy footsteps, the nails clicking against the floor as it chittered and growled. Katsuki strained to hear, every muscle in his body tensed, ready to explode into action at a moment's notice.

His eyes strained in the darkness, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but it was no fucking use, he couldn't see jack shit. The chittering grew louder, more insistent, reverberating off the walls. Katsuki could feel the cold sweat trickling down his back as he slowly got up to back away, staying low enough where he could hide behind a countertop, placing one foot at a time, his movements deliberate and controlled,  trying not to disturb the debris around him. His arms hung loose at his sides, ready for anything.

Each step was agonizingly slow, the silence punctuated only by the unnerving chittering that seemed to be coming from somewhere to his right. His senses were on high alert, every nerve in his body taut as a bowstring. The darkness was suffocating, making it impossible to see. He only prayed the bastard didn't have some kind of night vision or infrared quirks.

He inched backward toward where Shoto had been standing, his mind racing through scenarios and strategies. Every creak of the floor, every echo of the chittering, set his teeth on edge.

Katsuki reached a hand out behind him, praying Shoto wouldn't attack blindly thinking it was the Nomu. His fingers brushed against fabric, and then he felt something hard—Shoto's shoulder. Relief washed over him as he grabbed a hand full of shirt, letting it know it was him. Before he could pull back, a hand clamped down on his forearm, feeling it before pulling him closer. Definitely Shoto.

A growling sound came from right in front of them. Katsuki could hear the breaths of the Nomu, ragged and wet, as it sniffed the air. It was so close he could almost feel its hot breath on his skin. Katsuki froze, every instinct screaming at him to blast whatever was there into fucking oblivion. But he couldn't risk it—not without knowing exactly where Shoto had pulled him into, not without a clear shot.

He felt a jerking motion from Shoto, and then something echoed from the other side of the room. Shoto had thrown something—a piece of debris or a tool, anything to make noise. The sound clattered loudly, drawing the Nomu's attention.

The growling paused, and the chittering noise followed the sound, moving away from them. "Shit, IcyHot," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "I think there's still two Nomu down here, and one of them is that USJ bastard."

A sudden crash at the other end of the room made Katsuki's heart skip a beat. A gargling sound rumbling up the throat of the Nomu as something fallen over, probably more debris disturbed by the Nomu's movement.

"I hope you brought your A game. We're gonna have to fight our way out," Katsuki muttered, his voice a low growl. "No got no other choice." 

If the number one and number two hero couldn't bring these things down, then all hope was lost.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The Power of a Jinx

Katsuki breathed in and out of his mouth, trying to stay as quiet as fucking possible. The darkness was oppressive, the chittering still echoing in his ears. Shoto's whisper cut through the silence, his voice steady but strained. "Even if there are supposedly two Nomu in this facility, there's only one here in this room with us."

Katsuki could only pray that it wasn't Project Phazewave. He had been skimming, thinking he had more time, that he could just focus on the big stuff. He had seen that the project was labeled a success—but skipped over the detailed quirks and enhancements, hadn't read the specifics. Damn it, he hadn't read them!

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The mere thought of facing that thing again sent a cold chill down his spine. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising tide of panic. They needed a plan, something to tip the scales in their favor, and they needed it now. "Alright," he muttered, his voice barely more than a breath. "First, we need to figure out where it is. We can't just start blasting without knowing where that thing is."

They were cornered, outgunned, and blind. Not exactly a winning combination, but he wasn't about to go down without a fight. His thoughts flicked through his options, each one feeling more desperate than the last. They couldn't see the Nomu—hell, they didn't even know which one was with them.

Blasting away blindly was a sure fucking way to get them both killed, but doing nothing was just as bad. They needed to level the playing field, disrupt the Nomu's advantage. If only they could disorient it, just for a moment, long enough to get a clean hit...

Another crash echoed through the room, the sound of debris clattering to the ground. The Nomu was getting closer, the chittering noise growing louder, more agitated. Katsuki's heart pounded in his chest, a wild rhythm of fear and determination. And then, like a bolt of lightning, an idea struck him.

Of course, his heart. He can fucking blind it. Throw the bastard off balance. The Nomu relied on its enhanced senses to track them in the dark. Take those away, and they'd have a chance to gain the edge they needed—a slim one, but a chance nonetheless.

There was no time to explain. He could feel the familiar heat building in his chest, condensing the pressure, focusing it into a single point, forcing it to build rapidly. The air around him started to hum, a low, vibrating sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Katsuki could feel the energy pulsing under his skin, threatening to explode. His breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as he held it back, waiting for the right moment.

"IcyHot," he hissed, his voice strained as he struggled to control the growing power inside him. "Cover your fucking eyes and ears—now!"

The noise caught the Nomu's attention. The chittering stopped, replaced by a low, guttural growl as the creature turned toward the source of the sound. For a split second, Katsuki could sense its confusion, its hesitation—then it locked onto them. The ground trembled beneath them as the Nomu's massive hands slammed down, sending a shockwave through the debris-strewn room. It was a challenge, a taunt—a declaration of intent. The creature started toward them, its intent clear—obliterate anything in its path. And the bastard wasn't just moving; it was charging—a full-on sprint, barreling toward them with a speed that sent a jolt of terror down Katsuki's spine. The ground trembled under its weight, the sound of its footsteps growing louder, closer, faster.

Perfect, a fierce grin splitting his face as he covered his ears despite the tension.

And then, with a forceful exhale, he let it go.

Flashbang Pulse detonated from his chest, the explosion of light and sound tearing through the darkness like a thunderclap. The boom was deafening, a concussive blast that rattled the very foundations of the room. The flash was blinding, a searing burst of white-hot light that overwhelmed everything else.

Katsuki's ears rang from the intensity, but he knew the Nomu had it worse. It let out an enraged, pained roar, stumbling back into an overturned table as the flash disoriented it, its enhanced senses overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught. It thrashed wildly, claws swiping at the air as it tried to regain its bearings.

He could still feel the residual energy crackling in his chest, but the adrenaline pushed him forward. "IcyHot!" Katsuki yelled, knowing Shoto would already be on the move, flames and ice at the ready. But they needed more than just a brief distraction—they needed to see what the hell they were up against.

Katsuki shot his hand forward, sending out a cluster of tiny explosions—his stars of light. They burst into the air, scattering like a shotgun blast and sticking to the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling. Each one pulsed with a bright, steady glow, cutting through the darkness that had once swallowed them whole and now illuminating the room in harsh, orange light.

Katsuki's breath caught for a moment as the details of their opponent came into focus. The Nomu was massive, a hulking brute with twisted limbs and bulging muscles, but as Katsuki's eyes locked onto it, a wave of fucking relief washed over him. It wasn't Project Phazewave. This one was still dangerous, still a grotesque lump of flesh and power, but it wasn't the one that haunted his memories. It was just a monster—and monsters could be beaten.

"That's right, you ugly piece of shit," Katsuki growled, his confidence surging back. "You're fucking going down." Power pulsed under Katsuki's skin as the air shimmered and crackled with his explosions. Katsuki didn't waste another damn second. "Let's burn this bastard down!" he roared, his voice raw with adrenaline.

He didn't need to say more. Shoto was already in motion, his dual quirks coming to life in a blaze of fire and ice, his left hand engulfed in flames as he raised it high. The heat was intense, radiating off him in waves as he unleashed a torrent of fire, the flames roaring to life and washing over the Nomu. The creature screeched, a horrific sound as the fire consumed its flesh, the heat searing through its defenses.

Katsuki didn't bother waiting for a signal, he propelled himself forward, explosions sparking in his palms as he closed the distance in an instant. The Nomu was still trying to shake off the flames, but Katsuki wasn't going to give it the chance. He charged in, aiming straight for the creature's center of mass.

"Take this, you fucking freak!" he roared, blasting the Nomu with Detonation Shield. Knocking it back before Katsuki summersaulted and blasted it with AP-Shot Auto Cannon, each hit landed with a thunderous boom, the force of the blasts driving the creature back, further into Shoto's wall of flames.

The Nomu roared again, the sound so loud it felt like it was meant disorient its prey, but its movements were slower, more erratic, the combined assault taking its toll. Katsuki kept up the pressure, his explosions relentless, the heat of Shoto's fire scorching the air around them.

The room was a battlefield of light and heat, the once suffocating darkness now ablaze with their combined power. The air around him was scorching, each breath searing his throat as the heat of Shoto's flames intensified, filling the room with blistering waves of energy.

Katsuki could feel the strain in his muscles, the energy he was pouring into every blast. His throat was dry, each breath he took feeling like he was inhaling fire.

Damn... it's hot as hell down here. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, stinging his eyes as he squinted through the haze of heat and smoke making it hard for him to focus

And then it hit him—the power outage. The entire facility had no power when they got here. Without it, there was no ventilation, no circulation. The flames and explosions were eating up what little oxygen was left in the room. Every breath they took was taking them closer to suffocation,but he wasn't about to let up. Not until this thing was nothing more than a charred heap on the floor. They couldn't keep this up much longer. The longer they fought, the more the oxygen was running out, and if they didn't end it soon, they'd both be too weak to finish the job—if they didn't pass out first.

"We're burning through the air, IcyHot!" he barked, his voice cutting through the crackling flames and the Nomu's guttural roars. "We need to end this fast, or we're both gonna fucking suffocate!"

Shoto's eyes flickered toward Katsuki, the realization dawning on him as well, "We're finishing this now!" he yelled, launching himself higher into the air, before spiraling back at the nomu with another Dentoantion Shield. Shoto moved with deadly precision, his eyes narrowing as he saw the opening Katsuki had created. With a swift motion, he slammed his right hand down, a wave of ice exploding from the ground and racing toward the Nomu. The frigid force struck the creature's legs, encasing them in a thick, glistening sheath of ice, snuffing out the flames. The Nomu howled, its movements jerky and desperate as it struggled against the freezing grip, a haggard leg broke free but was mangled from the frost bite, but the ice held the rest of it firm, locking it in place.

As the Nomu struggled against the ice, Katsuki shot higher into the room, eyes locked onto the creature's head, the perfect target. With a fierce grin, he flipped in midair, his body twisting with controlled precision as he somersaulted toward the Nomu.

Every muscle in his body coiled, the explosive energy building up with each passing second. The air around him hummed with the intensity of his quirk, and as he descended, he channeled it all into one devastating move, a killing blow. His leg shot out, his foot blazing with the power of a contained explosion, aimed directly at the Nomu's skull.

The impact was explosive, a deafening crack that shook the room as Katsuki's blast hit dead center. The Nomu's skull caved under the pressure, the ice that held its limbs cracking from the force, but not enough to release the creature from its frozen prison.

The flames from Shoto's earlier assault flared up, feeding off the explosion, creating a blinding inferno around the Nomu's head. The creature's roars turned into garbled, choking sounds as the fire and shockwaves tore through its body consuming what was left.

Katsuki landed in a crouch, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins as the Nomu's charred remains lay smoldering in the center of the room, twitching. The room was filled with smoke, making it hard to breath, the acrid smell of burnt flesh thick in the air. He glanced over at Shoto, who was already extinguishing his flames, his expression grim but focused. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Katsuki felt like someone had dunked him in a vat of his own sweat.

But there was no time to rest. Not with the possibility of another Nomu lurking somewhere in the facility.

Without a word, Katsuki blasted himself backward, propelling off the ground to land beside Shoto. His hand glowed faintly with residual energy, ready to unleash another attack at a moment's notice. He turned his sharp gaze toward the dark stairwell leading down to the third sublevel. The shadows seemed to stretch endlessly, the depths of the stairwell hiding the nightmare that might be lurking below. He could almost see the dead, soulless eyes materializing from the shadows.

Reminding him of the hands that had materialized out of the darkness all those months ago.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes, every muscle in his body tense, waiting for something—anything—to emerge. He'd be fucking damned to be caught off guard.

The seconds dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. The only sounds were the hiss of singed flesh and their heavy breathing, but no movement came from the stairwell. The oppressive silence only added to the tension, making Katsuki's skin prickle with unease. Some of the starlight Katsuki had scattered earlier were still burning, casting an eerie, flickering glow over the room. The light barely penetrated the darkness of the stairwell, but it was enough to see that nothing was coming—at least, not yet.

Katsuki exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the journal he'd found earlier. The pages were worn, the ink slightly smudged from the sweat on his hands, but the information inside was clear enough to set his nerves on edge.

Shoto, glanced over and caught sight of the symbol on the cover. His eyes widened in recognition. "Is that—"

"Yeah," Katsuki cut him off before he could say more, his tone clipped as he flipped open the journal to the last few entries. There wasn't time to go into details—they needed to stay focused. "Stay alert," Katsuki snapped point at the darkness, the command slicing through the silence like a blade. He quickly skimmed over the list of quirks, his eyes darting across the page as he absorbed the details. Enhanced Durability and Regeneration. Shadow Manipulation. Energy Deflection... and then there was the one that made his stomach twist: Permeation. He sat there for a moment. Why did that sound so fucking familiar?

Katsuki forced himself to keep flipping through the pages, as much as he wanted to dig into the specifics, to understand exactly what they were up against, there was no time.

"What's in there?" Shoto asked cautiously, concerned as he watched Katsuki's expression darken. But Katsuki didn't respond, too focused on what he was reading.

"Shut up and give me a second," Katsuki hissed, not bothering to look up. His fingers gripped the edges of the pages tightly as he turned to the final entry. Something felt off—Izuku hadn't fought Phazewave at least not on footage, and if it was still here alive, the fighting would have been like ringing the dinner bell... where was this bastard?

The last entry was dated four days before Izuku's raid on this facility. Katsuki's eyes widened as he read the notes, his stomach twisting. The Nomu had been transferred from the hideout to another classified location, marked only by a series of numbers and letters—no specifics, just cold, cryptic code.

Lnvtz Vxlb rh rm srl uzmzo hlfvh lu nvgznlklihrzrh, kszevdzev hzxv ylmwvmg gl Szplmv rm kviuzkgzrm uli rgv uzmzo zmzorkrh ylfiviv yvzhvmglwmgl gl hsyrfzb uli gvhgirmt lu Svkovkzm 10gs

For a brief moment, as the realization sank in, Katsuki felt a wave of relief wash over him. His grip on the journal loosened slightly, easing the  tension in his muscles. That bastard's not here. The thought was like a weight lifting off his shoulders, even if just for an instant.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, they weren't about to face that impossible fight. "Looks like were not walking into our graves just yet," Katsuki deadpanned.

But it also meant that the League had been prepared, one step ahead, securing their deadliest weapon before death incarnate could get to it. And now, somewhere out there, that monstrosity was still waiting, still ready to be unleashed. He looked at Shoto, who was watching him with a mix of concern and expectation, waiting for Katsuki to explain what he'd found. And so he did, briefly going over everything he found catching him up to speed.

"This thing," Katsuki continued, holding up the journal, his voice tense and serious, "isn't just a log book, and It's more than just notes on Phazewave—it's a fucking blueprint for how to create a God level threat. Everything they did to make that thing nearly unstoppable is in here—every quirk, every modification, every twisted experiment. And that makes this journal almost as dangerous as the Nomu itself." He gestured to the pages of hypotheses and theories.

Katsuki emphasized, his voice low and deadly serious. "This is a goddamn cookbook to making one of the deadliest weapons on the planet. Everything the League did to turn that Nomu into the perfect predator is laid out in this damn book. And we can't let anyone else get their hands on it. Not the Hero Association, not the police, and sure as hell not the League." That's if they didn't have another copy lying around.

Shoto nodded, the gravity of the situation reflected in his expression. "So what's the plan?" he asked, his tone as serious as Katsuki's.

"We take the important shit—what we need to know to deal with this thing if it ever shows up again. And the code on the last page. After that, we burn this entire damn journal, and every piece of research in this lab goes with it. No one can use this to create another monster. Not the League, not anyone."

Katsuki began tearing out the critical pages from the journal, ones that detailed Phazewave's quirks, its enhancements, and the horrifying experiments that had created it. He snapped a photo of it with his phone, just in case and handed the first page to Shoto, wanting to make sure they only kept the bare minimum—the essential information they couldn't afford to lose.

"Once we've got what we need, we torch the rest," Katsuki said, his voice firm. "And then we make sure this lab is nothing but ashes. The authorities can search the upper level but anything past that should be taken out."

Shoto's brow furrowed, his usual calm giving way to a flicker of unease. Shoto didn't like it—Katsuki could see the hesitation in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw—but he nodded all the same. He knew what needed to be done, even if the idea of erasing all this information made him uneasy. They were both well aware of the implications, of the danger that came with destroying evidence, but they couldn't take any chances. Not with something this dangerous.

Shoto took the page, carefully tucking the pages into a manilla envelope he found on a table to his left.

Katsuki wasted no time, his fingers digging into the journal's spine as he began ripping out the critical pages, each tear of the paper echoing in the oppressive silence of the lab. The sound was sharp, almost angry, as if the paper itself resisted being separated from its deadly secrets.

Katsuki's hands moved on autopilot, tearing page after page from the journal and snapping photos, the sound of ripping paper barely registering in his mind. Each tear was a little too aggressive, a little too desperate, like he was trying to rip apart the thoughts, the insidious shadow, that had begun to worm their way into his brain. The image of that damn Nomu kept creeping into his thoughts, twisting his gut into knots.

Fuck, what if Izuku ends up running into this thing?

The thought was like a cold hand clenching around his heart, squeezing tighter with every second. Izuku, that stupid, reckless fucking idiot, would throw himself into the fight without a second thought, because that's just what he did. Especially after the person history between them. Going head-to-head with something as terrifying as Phazewave alone—it was enough to make his heart slam against his ribs in pure, unfiltered fear.

This wasn't just any other extra. This wasn't just another fight. Phazewave wasn't the same Nomu they'd faced on that field on New Years—it was stronger now, more dangerous, its quirks cranked up to levels that shouldn't even be fucking possible. And if Izuku went up against it alone...

Katsuki's hands started to shake, the pages he tore out coming out in jagged, uneven strips.

This thing would kill him. It's too fucking strong. Even for Izuku. Especially for Izuku. The shadow of his anxiety was there, seeping into his thoughts, making his chest feel tight, making it hard to breathe. His mind kept spiraling, refusing to let go. The panic was suffocating, threatening to drown him in the fear of what could happen if Izuku ever stood against Phazewave.

Damn it, his hands were trembling as he tore out another page, this one nearly ripping in half from the force. Get a fucking grip.

He forced himself to stop, to take a deep, steadying breath. The thin air was thick with the scent of burnt flesh and smoke, making it even harder to breathe, but he pushed through it. He had to.

Katsuki looked down at the page in his hand—the one with the code, the one that might lead them to where that Nomu was being held. His fingers were shaking, but he tried to ignore it as snapped a photo before handing the page to Shoto, who stared at him for a heartbeat before taking it, tucking it away. And then he felt it—a subtle, almost imperceptible hiccup against his chest. It wasn't his own heartbeat.

Katsuki's mind went dead silent, his own heart stuttering in response as he realized what it meant.

The ring.

The ring's heartbeat stuttered again before picking up speed, galloping like a wild horse, each pulse vibrating against his skin with an urgency that made his skin prickle. And Katsuki knew—he knew what that fucking meant. He knew what it always meant when the ring's pulse started to pick up like that.

Izuku was about to get into a fight.

The cold, creeping dread that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind suddenly sharpened into a blade of pure panic. And then, as if the universe was mocking his fear, the shrill sound of an emergency alert blared from their phones, cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife. Katsuki didn't even need to look. He knew what it meant deep down. He knew where it was coming from, who it was for, goosebumps surged down his neck and arms in response.

Izuku was about to face Phazewave. Alone.

The emergency alert blared again, the shrill sound cutting through the silence of the lab, but it was drowned out by the thunderous pounding of his own heart. He knew—he fucking knew—what was happening, what that sound meant.

Beside him, Shoto pulled out his phone, his movements sharp and quick as he swiped to the alert. Katsuki didn't dare look at the screen, didn't want to see the confirmation of what he already knew deep in his bones. But he didn't have to. Shoto's sharp intake of breath, the way his eyes widened in alarm, said everything.

"Bakugo..." Shoto's voice was tense, his usual calm shattered by the gravity of what he was reading. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back to Katsuki, who stood frozen in place, every muscle in his body coiled tight. "There's a Nomu rampaging through Hakone. They're calling for backup, but..."

Katsuki didn't move, didn't blink, his entire focus locked on the next words out of Shoto's mouth. The ones that would confirm his worst fears, the ones that would inject that icy chill into his veins.

"The alert says a vigilante is already there," Shoto finished, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make it worse. But it was already bad. It was worse than bad—it was a fucking nightmare.

Without a second thought, Katsuki ripped the chain from beneath his shirt, the ring swinging wildly against his chest. The emerald stone embedded in it flickered with a frantic, almost desperate glow, pulsing in time with the heartbeat he could feel thrumming through the metal. The pulse was strong, relentless, like a damn warning siren of its own blaring in his mind. Katsuki's fingers tightened around the ring, his grip almost crushing as Izuku's heartbeat grew faster, more urgent, matching the dread that was tightening around his throat. He didn't need to see it to know—he fucking knew—Izuku was about to throw himself into that fight.

His gaze snapped to Shoto, who was already pulling up the news app on his phone, his movements just as sharp as Katsuki's fraying nerves. The screen lit up with a breaking news report, and the headline hit Katsuki like a punch to the gut:

"Massive Battle Erupts in Hakone—Wartime Vigilante Fighting High-End Nomu."

Katsuki's heart slammed against his ribs as he watched the chaotic live feed. The camera struggled to keep up, the scene a blur of destruction and chaos. But amidst the wreckage, Katsuki could just make out the tattered remains of Izuku's costume—rocketing in and out of the frame. It was like watching the shadow of his vigilante days. The ground was torn to shreds, a massive crater scarring the earth, like the battle had started underground and had torn its way to the surface.

And then the camera zoomed in on the Nomu, and any semblance of hope Katsuki's had died. It was without a doubt Phazewave, but it looked even worse than before—more monstrous, more lethal. The damn thing had evolved, its body twisted into something even more grotesque, like its physical appearance had evolved alongside its quirks.

Katsuki only had three words... holy fucking shit. The hair on the back of his neck standing on end. This wasn't the same beast they'd fought before—it was smarter, deadlier. The Nomu's eyes, once blank and empty, now glowed with a cold, malevolent intelligence. Every move it made was calculated, its attacks precise as it went after Izuku, who was trying like hell to tear into it.

Screams erupted from the live feed as the camera cut out, the sudden silence in the room making Katsuki's heart lurch. Shoto cursed under his breath, frantically switching to another news station. Katsuki could barely breathe, his eyes glued to the screen as the new feed came into focus, showing the battle from a different angle.

Last time they fought, the memory burning fresh in his mind, Izuku wiped the floor with that thing. It had been like watching a force of nature—like there was something to prove, like he was trying to show the world, to show Katsuki, that he was stronger, faster, damn near unstoppable when it came to protecting what mattered most. Hell, Katsuki knew it—Izuku had proven it. He'd been a damn beast, tearing through that Nomu like it was nothing.

But now...

As Katsuki stared at the screen as the feed came back on, his throat felt like it was closing. Every passing second made it more and more clear—the tables were turning. The Nomu wasn't just another obstacle for Izuku to smash through. This bastard, Katsuki realized with growing horror, it was dominating the fight. Phazewave was faster, stronger, more vicious, like it had been waiting for this moment to unleash its full potential. And Izuku...

Izuku was holding his own—of course he was, because Izuku never knew when to quit. But Katsuki could see it, the strain in every move, the way the Nomu was beating him back, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Each blow from Phazewave sent Izuku staggering, each hit more brutal than the last. The camera feed shook violently before it cut out again, plunging them into darkness.

It was a demon made to fight a reaper.

Chapter Text

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Void Flare

Fuck... fuck, fuck, FUCK. Katsuki was becoming frantic, thoughts erratic as he tried to calculate the time it would take to get to Hakone. Even if he raced out of here and blasted off at top speed, it'd take him at least an hour. An hour Izuku might not have. Still, he couldn't just stand here while Izuku was out there, fighting for his life against that goddamn hellspawn.

Katsuki turned sharply, his eyes blazing with a desperate urgency. "I have to get to him," he growled, his voice low and fierce, every fiber of his being screaming at him to move, to do something—anything—to reach Izuku in time. Shoto could handle the rest of the bullshit here. He stepped toward the stairwell, ready to blast off without a second thought, but Shoto's hand shot out, gripping his arm tightly.

"Bakugo, stop!" Shoto's voice was firm, but there was a crack in it, a hint of desperation that mirrored Katsuki's own. "You won't make it in time. Not without something like a teleportation quirk. You know that."

Katsuki jerked his arm, trying to wrench free, but Shoto's grip held fast. The frustration, the helplessness, boiled over in an instant, white-hot and searing. "Damn it, IcyHot! I can't just stand here and do nothing!"

Shoto's grip remained firm, his eyes pleading with Katsuki to stay rational. "I get it, Bakugo. I do. But rushing off blindly won't help him. We need a plan. We can call in backup for him. There has to be a hero in the area with some kind of warp quirk."

Before Katsuki could lash out, Shoto's phone blared to life, the screen flickering back on as the live feed resumed. The sound of the Nomu's menacing roar filled the room, followed by the terrified screams of civilians caught in the crossfire.

"Fuck!" Katsuki spat, his eyes wide and wild with panic and fury. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the adrenaline coursing through him, urging him to act, to do something, to save Izuku. "We don't have time for this! He needs us, he needs me now!" He clenched a fistful of his hair, his frustration and fear bubbling over into a sense of powerlessness that made his skin crawl.

Powerless. It was a feeling he despised more than anything, a feeling that had been haunting him ever since Izuku had gone of the deep end. Katsuki had always prided himself on being strong, and capable, on never backing down from anything. But here he was, miles away from the person who needed him most, unable to do a goddamn thing. All he could do was stand there and watch as the person he cared about most was thrown into the jaws of a battle he might not survive.

The live feed flickered, showing Izuku fighting with everything he had, every ounce of strength and determination poured into each move. But Phazewave was relentless, a brutal force of nature, meeting each of Izuku's strikes with a vicious counterattack. The Nomu's movements were eerily precise, efficient in a way that made his skin prickle from the anxiety pouring into his veins.

Everything was getting torn to shreds. The streets, the buildings—everything in their path was getting annihilated like it was nothing. Fucking nothing.

A Building crumbled like a sandcastle under the blast of a punch reinforced with Fajin, debris raining down in deadly torrents as the Nomu tore through it like it was nothing more than paper. .

The ground around them was littered with debris, the aftermath of their destructive clash—a battlefield that was slowly wearing Izuku down, bit by bit.

And all Katsuki could do was fucking watch.

Izuku twisted through the air, narrowly dodging another bone-crushing swipe from the Nomu. Izuku's movements were sharp, precise, but Katsuki could see the fatigue setting in, the way his muscles strained, the slight lag in his reflexes. He was running out of steam, and that goddamn demon wasn't slowing down.

Izuku's Black Chain—a deadly fusion of Fa Jin and Blackwhip—snapped out like a tendril of pure energy, twisting and coiling with incredible force as it zeroed in on the Nomu's throat.

Come on, Deku... land it, fucking land it...but Katsuki's eyes widened in horror as the Nomu finally activated one of its quirks—it fucking phased through Izuk attack. One second, the bastard was solid, right there in the line of fire, and the next, it was slipping through Izuku's moves like it was nothing. And then, just as quickly, the thing solidified again, using that split second of intangibility to launch a brutal counterstrike that sent Izuku staggering back. For a moment, Izuku froze—confusion flickering across his posture like a shadow, as if the world had suddenly tilted off its axis.

That wasn't just any phasing quirk—there was something about the way it worked... most people with a phasing type quirk could only phase parts of their body, like a hand or an arm, something small and manageable.

A cold dread started to creep through him as he watched the Nomu effortlessly phase through yet another one of Izuku's attacks. It wasn't just the usual intangible shit he'd seen before—it was too damn precise, too calculated. The way it slipped through Izuku's fists and then solidified to land a strike, it was as if the Nomu was using only certain portions of its body to turn intangible, leaving the rest for a full counter.

And that's when it hit him, the pieces clicking together with a horrible, sinking certainty.
Permeation.

Not phasing—permeation. The word from the journal snapped into focus, from when he had skimmed over fucking bastard's abilities.

That's Mirio Togata's quirk.

The chill that ran through him was like ice water poured straight down his back. Mirio—one of the strongest, one of the damn best. A guy who could move through anything, who could take down anyone because they couldn't lay a hand on him. Mirio had been a beast, a damn powerhouse on the battlefield, and that quirk had made him nearly unstoppable. But he'd died in the initial bombings, gone in the chaos, one of the many heroes who never even saw it coming. They never found his body. And now... now that fucking quirk was in the hands of one of the deadliest Nomu to walk the fucking planet.

How the fuck did they...? He didn't want to finish the thought, didn't want to think about what that meant, how they got their hands on something that should have died with Mirio, and what other quirks they got their slimy hands on. How the hell are you supposed to land a hit on something that can phase through literally anything?

Izuku was struggling now, and Katsuki could see it plain as day. The Nomu's claws extended, dripping with some kind of corrosive shit that hissed and smoked when it touched the ground. It slashed at Izuku with those deadly claws, and even though Izuku managed to dodge most of the attack, a glancing blow from a back hand sent him stumbling back, his costume sizzling where the claws had just grazed him. He rips at his shirt dropping it to the ground as it continued to dissolve eating into the concrete.

Izuku tried to pull back, to have a second to breath, to assess, but the Nomu wasn't letting up. Not for a damn second. It started manipulating the shadows around it, twisting them into tendrils that lashed out at Izuku like a dark, twisted imitation of Blackwhip. The battlefield grew darker, more chaotic, the shadows giving the Nomu an eerie advantage that made Katsuki's stomach churn.

Katsuki's heart threatening to break through his chest as he watched Izuku fight back with everything he had. He saw Black Whip ripple as it wrapped around his body, cloaking him like it did under the Red Lotus, fingers extending into pointed claws, each swipe powered by the explosive speed of Fa Jin. Izuku was a blur of motion, moving so fast it was almost impossible for the camera to keep track, using every ounce of his power to keep up with the Nomu. But it was like fighting a goddamn ghost. Every attack Izuku threw either went right through the bastard, got deflected, or was met with a brutal counterattack.

And any hit Izuku managed to land—any damage he inflicted—was healed almost instantly, like it didn't even matter. No lasting impact, no sign that the Nomu was wearing down. It just kept coming, relentless and vicious, and Katsuki could feel the helplessness clawing into him, choking him as he watched.

Izuku was starting to tire and Katsuki could see it—Izuku was pushing past his limit, but it wasn't enough. Not against this thing.

And then a loud boom echoed through the live feed, jolting Katsuki. The camera switched to the massive crater in the ground, and Katsuki's throat closed up when he saw what was coming. Vortex—looking pissed as all hell—was barreling for Izuku, his arms glowing blue with raw power as his quirk distorted the air around him.

Katsuki's heart nearly stopped. Vortex. That bastard's presence meant things were far worse than he'd initially thought. This wasn't just a Nomu he was dealing with—it was a full-scale attack from the league.

Izuku turned to face the new threat, but the feed cut out again, plunging Katsuki into a fresh wave of panic. No, no, no... Katsuki's mind screamed as his hand clawed at his chest, ripping the ring from its chain, his fingers trembling as he focused on it. The pulse was going wild, the emerald glow growing brighter, turning into a frantic, strobing light.

The pulsing rhythm was his salvation, something he could cling to as he felt the rise of anxiety, but it was also a cruel reminder of how little control he had. Each frantic beat of the light mirrored Izuku's desperate struggle, and Katsuki could feel the absolute panic bubbling up inside him, threatening to pull what little hold he had under, months of treading just above the waterline.

"Get the stream back on!" Katsuki screamed at Shoto, his voice raw, almost breaking with the sheer desperation that ripped through him. "Get it back on now!"

Shoto fumbled with the phone, his own hands shaking as he tried to find another live feed. "I'm trying, Bakugo, I'm trying!" Shoto's voice was tight with urgency, but it wasn't fast enough.

The ring's pulse pounded against Katsuki's palm, each frantic throb feeling like it was going to tear him apart from the inside. Izuku's out there, his mind kept screaming. He's fighting, and Katsuki couldn't see—he couldn't fucking do anything! The fear was choking him, his heart hammering like a war drum as the strobing emerald light flickered faster, each pulse echoing the panic that was slowly pulling him under that line. He couldn't tread any longer.

Katsuki stumbled grabbing onto Shoto's shoulder. All he could focus on was the damn ring in his hand. The way it seemed to be going wild, the pulse beating so fast it felt like it might explode. Everything around him blurred as the ring's light grew brighter and brighter, turning into a blinding strobe. He stared at the ring, the light flashing like a warning, like a scream, like everything Katsuki feared most coming to life in his hands. The room around him faded away, consumed by the intensity of the ring's light. The pulse quickened, each beat pounding into his hand until it was the only thing he could feel. Then, suddenly, the light erupted from the ring in a blinding flash.

For a moment, everything stopped. The light was all-consuming, a searing beacon that blotted out everything else. Katsuki felt a surge of something—energy, emotion, he couldn't tell—before the light cut off, plunging them into darkness.

The heartbeat, the glow were... gone.

And Katsuki could only remember what Izuku had said when he had put the chain around his neck, "This ring, it carries a part of me, a part of my soul. It'll always glow as long as I'm alive."

Katsuki's entire world shattered the moment he registered what happened. Alive. It was like someone had added that last weight around his neck, leaving him to be pulled under into an endless void. The pulse that had been so strong, so frantic, was gone—snuffed out like a candle blown out by the league.

"No..." Katsuki's voice was barely a whisper, trembling and broken, as if saying it aloud would make it more real. "No, no, no..." Katsuki's legs buckled beneath him, the overwhelming panic crashing over him like a tidal wave, finally drowning him. He fell to the floor, the impact barely registering as the ring slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground, his fingers clawed at his chest, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The ring was dark, lifeless. His heart seized in his chest, a raw, aching void swallowing him as the realization began to set in.

Shoto was yelling, but Katsuki could barely register it. His vision blurred; the pulse was gone. Katsuki's mind was reeling.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe.

Shoto's voice was trying to cut through the haze, sharp and urgent, but it was like Katsuki was underwater, the world muffled and distant. The edges of his vision darkening as the pulse he'd relied on—clung to—disappeared, leaving him adrift in a sea of endless unaltered emotions.

His chest felt like it was going to explode, like it was being crushed under the pressure of the pain drowning him. He tried to pull in air, but it came in short, ragged bursts, each one more painful than the last. The air was already so fucking thin that it truly felt like he was drowning.

"Katsuki, get up!" Shoto's voice was closer now, more desperate, as he dropped his phone and grabbed Katsuki by the shirt, yanking him up. "Look at me, you need to get up! Listen to me!"

He's... he's not gone, Katsuki tried to convince himself, his voice trembling. He can't be...

But Katsuki couldn't focus, the words felt hollow, empty, like he was trying to convince himself of something that wasn't true. His damn mind was sinking, the panic attack crashing over him with a force he couldn't fight. Every nerve in his body was on fire, the prickle of energy running under his skin like a live wire, too much to contain, too much to control.

The prickle under his skin intensified, turning into a full-on firestorm that raged inside him, searing through his nerves, making his muscles twitch and convulse as the panic attack took hold. His hands shook violently, his entire body trembling as he fought to stay grounded, to stay conscious, but the fear, the pain was too much, too overwhelming. The room around him started to spin, stars dancing across his vision as the realization that he was too late, that Izuku was gone, finally registered in full.

"Bakugo, look at me!" Shoto yelled again, and goddamn it he was trying, trying so fucking hard but could barely hear him through the roaring in his ears. "Bakugo! Snap out of it! We don't know anything for sure yet." Tachycardia set in before his heart went full on arrhythmic, his quirk starting to flare uncontrollably. Sparks danced across his skin, tiny explosions crackling at his fingertips. The pain in his chest grew sharper, a searing heat that spread outward. Fuck, it was happening, and he couldn't stop it. He could feel the power condensing around his erratic heart, each beat sending a rush of energy through his limbs down to his fingertips. The pressure was starting to build until it felt like his rib cage would shatter under the strain.

Katsuki's hands were glowing now, the heat radiating from his palms so intense that the air around him shimmered with it. The papers scattered around him began to smolder, tiny embers sparking to life where his fingers brushed against them. The flames crawled across the pages, igniting them in seconds, the heat from Katsuki's hands fanning the fire until it roared to life, devouring everything in its path. The journal—filled with the secrets of the Nomu, the horrors they had uncovered—began to burn, the edges curling and blackening as the flames consumed it, erasing the words, the diagrams, everything.

"Katsuki, stop!" Shoto shouted, his voice laced with panic as he saw the fire spreading rapidly. Without hesitation, Shoto threw out a wave of ice, hoping to douse the flames before they could get any worse. But as the ice collided with the fire, a stack of nearby chemical compounds toppled to the floor, the containers shattering on impact.

The fire erupted around them, the chemicals reacting violently with the flames. A deafening roar filled the room as the fire surged, spreading like wildfire, the heat intensifying to an unbearable degree. Shoto cursed under his breath, his eyes widening as he realized just how quickly things were spiraling out of control.

Shoto didn't waste any more time. He could see the fire spreading too quickly, the chemicals reacting violently, making the flames rage even hotter and faster. The room was turning into a furnace, and if they didn't act fast, they'd both be consumed by it. Only one of them was fireproof.

Drawing in a deep breath, Shoto focused all his power, his body surging with cold energy. "Great Glacial Aegir!" he roared, slamming his hands into the ground. A wave of intense cold erupted from him, spreading across the room in an instant. The fire hissed and sputtered as the cold collided with the heat, steam filling the air as the flames were smothered under a blanket of frost. The ice surged, spreading across every surface, encasing the entire lab in a thick sheet of glistening frost.

The room was plunged into darkness, the fire extinguished, leaving only the faint crackle of freezing ice and the hiss of cooling metal. The temperature dropped sharply, the intense heat from before replaced by an almost unbearable cold.

But even in the darkness, one glimmer of light remained.

It was faint at first, beginning to flicker in Katsuki's chest, growing brighter with each beat of his erratic heart. It was a strange, almost ethereal glow, illuminating the bones in Katsuki's ribcage like a lantern shining from within. The light pulsed in rhythm with his frantic heartbeat, casting eerie shadows across his face, and Shoto paled.

Shoto knelt beside Katsuki, trying to support him as he attempted to stand, but Katsuki's legs gave out, sending him stumbling to the ground. His hand clutched at his chest like he could somehow keep the pressure from ripping him apart. Every inch of him was trembling violently, heat radiating off him in waves so intense it felt like he was starting to come apart at the seams. It was like staring into the heart of a reactor on the verge of a meltdown, the energy condensing with terrifying precision, building and building until the inevitable detonation.

Void Flare

"Shit." Shoto's voice was frantic, trying to break through. "You have to control it! Breathe!"

Breathe? Katsuki couldn't even get air into his lungs, couldn't think past the searing agony in his chest, couldn't focus on anything but the crushing loss that was burning like fuel through him. It was like his heart really was turning in a fucking supernova, burning him alive from the inside out. The heat, the light—it was all too much, all too intense, and he couldn't make it stop.

Shoto's face was inches from his, desperate and steady all at once. "Bakugo, look at me," he repeated, voice tight with urgency. "You're having a panic attack. You're about to detonate Void Flare. You need to breathe. In and out. Focus on my voice. I'm right here!"

Fuck—Katsuki's vision was tunneling, the world around him narrowing to nothing but a blur of light and pain. It felt like he truly was drowning now, like every breath was a battle he was losing, the pressure in his chest squeezing the life out of him. The glow pouring from his body was blinding, the energy inside him circulating out of control. He was right on the edge of another meltdown, and he couldn't pull himself together.

The power surged again, brighter, hotter, a fucking beacon of destruction building stronger. Katsuki tensed, squeezing his eyes shut as each one of his breaths felt like he was dragging shards of glass into his lungs. The energy was condensing now into a single point, like a bomb ticking down to zero. Last time this happened, he'd been in the sky, far enough away that when he blew, no one got caught in the blast.

But now—shit, now he was underground, in a densely populated area. If he lost control here, the entire area would be obliterated.

And Shoto—Shoto was standing right at Ground Zero.

If he loses it here, he was gonna take out everything, Katsuki's mind screamed, the panic swirling, squeezing tighter. Damn it, he'd kill innocent people—he'd kill Shoto. The fear was choking him, the power surging through his veins like a nuclear reactor he couldn't control, and all he could think was that if he let go now, if he let this power explode out of him, he'd destroy everything.

The light pouring out of Katsuki shifted, flickering from its searing white-hot to a cyan that burned through the darkness like a flash from a nuclear reactor. Cyan—the kind that burns into your retinas and leaves a ghostly imprint even after you shut your eyes. The fucking color of death. The glow seared through the darkness, turning his vision into nothing but a blur of blue light and pain.

"Get... get away!" Katsuki gasped, his voice a broken rasp as he tried to shove Shoto off, tried to push him back, but his hands were shaking too violently, the energy too chaotic for him to control. "Run, you idiot!" He couldn't let Shoto die here, couldn't let him get caught in the blast that was building inside him.

Shoto gripped onto Katsuki's shoulders, his eyes locked on his friend's face with a mix of determination and fear. "No way in hell!" Shoto snapped back, his voice fierce, refusing to back down. "I'm not leaving you to die, not like this! You're number one for a reason, Katsuki. You fight more fiercely than anyone else! You've always been stronger than this—control it!"

Fuck, he was trying, he was fucking trying damnit. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't, he was going to blow, he was gonna—

Suddenly, Katsuki felt a different kind of pain, a searing cold that burned through the haze of panic. His shoulders felt like they were on fire, but not with heat—with ice. Phosphor was a roaring flame on Shoto's chest. The intense cold was a shock to his system, jolting him out of the spiraling chaos. His mind latched onto the sensation, using it to inch back from the edge of destruction.

"You have to take control! Breathe! In and out, dammit!" Katsuki's eyes locked onto Shoto's, and he could see the fear in his eyes at what was about to happen. He was just as terrified as he was. The cold flames from Shoto's Phosphor were encasing Katsuki, battling the searing heat radiating from his body. The pain was almost unbearable, but it was grounding, pulling Katsuki back from the brink.

"I won't let you give up," Shoto growled, his voice steady despite the chaos. "You're stronger than this. Focus on me. Breathe." Katsuki's breaths were still ragged, but he forced himself to follow Shoto's lead. In and out. The cold flames intensified, spreading across his skin and battling the chaotic energy within him. He could feel the power roiling inside fighting to be released like some rabid animal, but he wasn't going to let it win.

Slowly, painfully, he started to dissipate the energy that had built up inside him. Sparks crackled across his skin, tiny explosions sizzling as the power found an outlet. It was like he was a damn sparkler on the Fourth of July, the energy burning off in bright, searing trails of cyan and orange. Each spark drained a bit of the pressure, each explosion a release of the power that had been threatening to tear him apart.

"That's it," Shoto urged, his voice steady, unshakable. "Keep going. Let it out, slowly. You're in control."

Katsuki zeroed in on the sparks crackling across his skin, forcing himself to focus on the feeling of the energy leaving his body. Each spark that shot off him was like a needle being dragged across raw nerves, but it was working. The light in his chest dimmed just a bit, the crushing pressure easing as he kept releasing the power in those controlled bursts. It was fucking agonizing, like every spark was ripping him apart from the inside out, but the chaos was starting to settle. The supernova inside him was cooling down to something he could handle, something he could keep from exploding.

His breaths started coming easier, each one less ragged, less like he was about to choke on his own panic. The cold flames from Shoto's Phosphor were still there, still keeping the worst of the heat in check, but they weren't as intense, weren't fighting against him as much. He was in control now. He was winning this fight against himself.

Katsuki took a deep breath, the air cool and grounding as he wrestled back control over his quirk. The blazing light that had filled the room, the once blinding glow from his chest now just a faint flicker, more manageable.

With a final, controlled exhale, Katsuki shut off his quirk, letting the last of the energy dissipate into the dark. The room was plunged into a more subdued darkness, the only light coming from the soft, turquoise hue of Shoto's flames still rippling off his chest. The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of what had almost gone down.

Shoto, pale and clearly strained, cut off his power too, letting the flames extinguish. He was trembling, still on edge from the effort of keeping Katsuki's explosive power in check, and it was clear the whole thing had taken a lot out of him. Katsuki's breathing had evened out, but he felt drained—physically, emotionally, completely spent.

With a shuddering exhale, Katsuki pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face in the crook of his elbow. His fingers dug into his skin, clutching so tightly it hurt, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emptiness that had hollowed him out. The adrenaline that had kept him going was gone, leaving him with nothing but numbness, a void were the supernova was, swallowed everything else. He couldn't hold it in anymore. He was fucking exhausted. Beyond exhausted. His body felt like it had been dragged through hell, his muscles trembling with overexertion and fatigue. But it was the emotional toll that hit the hardest, weighing him down until he felt like he could sink right into the ground.

As he sat there, curled in on himself, the urge to just shut down, to give in to the numbing void, grew stronger with every breath. The pain was too damn much, and the thought of Izuku being gone—actually gone—was a wound too deep, too raw to bear.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, trailing down his cheek and dripping onto his arm. He didn't try to stop it, didn't try to fight it. What was the point? He was done—drained, spent, nothing left to give. The tear was just a small release, a drop in the ocean of everything he'd been holding in, but it was enough to break something inside him.

With that single tear, Katsuki let go, let the numbness take over completely. He shut down, letting the black hole in his heart swallow him, everything he was, letting it drown out the unbearable weight of his grief and exhaustion. There was nothing left—just the darkness, just the void—and for now, that was all he could handle.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Katsuki woke up feeling like shit. The shrill blare of an alarm clock ripped through the silence, dragging Katsuki out of his dreamless empty state. He clenched his teeth, a growl rumbling low in his throat as the sound drilled into his brain, refusing to be ignored.

With a snarl, he slammed his hand down on the clock, silencing the obnoxious ringing in an instant. The impact sent a sharp pain shooting up his arm, but it barely registered. Pain was better than the emptiness, at least.

His head was throbbing, and everything around him felt off, distant, like he was trapped in some kind of fog he couldn't shake off. He blinked blearily at the ceiling above him, trying to piece together how he'd even ended up in bed. The last thing he remembered—no, that wasn't right. He didn't want to remember. Not now.

He shifted slightly, muscles aching like he'd gone ten rounds with All Might. He felt numb, and not just in the physical sense. There was a hollowness inside him, an emptiness that was worse than any pain he'd ever felt. It was like someone had held him down and using a sloyd knife, slowly carved out vital pieces of his soul, leaving nothing behind.

Katsuki looked around, his vision still blurry, trying to make sense of his surroundings. For a moment, a deep confusion set in—nothing seemed familiar. The walls, the dim light filtering through the drawn curtains, the sparse furniture. Where the hell was he?

Then it clicked. This was his shitty apartment. The small, dull space he'd moved into five months ago. A month after everything had fallen apart. The thought of it made a lump form in his throat, and he slumped back against the bed, the breath rushing out of him in a harsh exhale.

He sold the house, got rid of it. The one they'd... The one filled with memories he couldn't bear to face. He couldn't even bring himself to think of his name, to let it cross his mind without feeling like his chest would fucking cave in. Selling the house was the only way he'd been able to survive those first few weeks. The walls had been suffocating, every corner haunted by reminders of what he'd lost—what he was never strong enough to protect.

Katsuki closed his eyes, grateful in a twisted way that he was here, in this cold, lifeless apartment. There was nothing here to remind him of what was gone, nothing to drag him back into that endless pit of despair that had would destroy him.

This place was a fucking hole in the wall, it was bland, dull, nothing like the home he'd left behind, and right now, that was the only reason he could breathe. If he'd woken up in that house, surrounded by all those memories, it would have killed him. Would have ripped him apart from the inside out.

Katsuki turned over onto his side, staring blankly at the wall. The white paint was chipped in places, exposing the dull, gray plaster underneath. He focused on that, letting his eyes trace the cracks and imperfections, anything to keep his mind from wandering too far.

How the hell did he even end up in bed? Did someone bring him? Did he walk on his own? He couldn't tell. The details were all fuzzy. He didn't remember leaving the hideout, didn't remember getting into the car, or the ride back. Everything was a blur, like his brain had shut off at some point, refusing to process whatever had gone down. Probably for the best, too. His mind was doing him a favor by keeping those memories locked away, even if it made everything else feel wrong.

It was easier not to remember, not to think about what had happened, what he'd almost done. What he'd lost. The numbness was a shield, a way to keep the pain at bay, to keep from breaking apart completely.

The low, persistent hum of his phone vibrating on the nightstand broke through the thick silence of the apartment, pulling Katsuki's attention away from the wall. For a moment, he just stared at it. It took a few seconds for him to process that the noise was coming from his phone.

He sighs into the pillow, before slowly reaching over and grabbing it. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow in the dim room. The time blinked at him: 6:18 AM.

He swiped his thumb across the screen, unlocking the phone and revealing a handful of missed messages. He scrolled through them mechanically, not really wanting to engage but feeling compelled to at least see what they were about.

The first message was from Ochako. She was checking in, her concern bleeding through the screen.

Hey, Kat. Tenya and I are going to swing by later to check on you. We're bringing lunch, so don't worry about that. Just... hang in there, okay? We'll see you soon.

Katsuki let out a slow breath, the tightness in his chest constricting a little more. They meant well, but the last thing he wanted was company. The idea of seeing them, of having to act like he was okay when he was so far from it, made him feel even more exhausted.

He scrolled down to the next message, this one from Shoto.

Don't worry about work today. I talked to your agency, told them we had a covert mission that went off the rails. They're giving you the next week off. Focus on resting. I'll handle the investigation from the fight in Hakone... there's still—

Katsuki's eyes skimmed over the message, not really absorbing the words. It was just noise, more background static in his head. But then he hit the line about Hakone, and suddenly, everything snapped into sharp focus.

Izuku's face flashed through his mind, clear and vivid, like a lightning strike in the darkness. It wasn't the image of him beaten and bloodied that haunted Katsuki. No, what seared into Katsuki's memory was the moment just before the camera panned away—when Izuku, usually so damn determined, slowly realized he was being pushed into a corner.

That look. The doubt that crossed Izuku's face, the brief flicker of fear in his eyes as he realized just how dire the situation was. The sight of his stupid, stubborn Deku, the one who never knew when to give up, who always fought like he had something to prove, looking like he finally realized he wasn't going to walk out of this fight.

Fuck. Katsuki's breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening painfully as the memory burned through him, too vivid, too real. The way Izuku's face had changed in that moment, the way his resolve had wavered—it was like a dull knife twisting in Katsuki's gut, reopening the wound he'd tried so hard to seal shut.

The phone slipped from his trembling fingers, falling to the floor with a dull thud. Katsuki recoiled as if it had burned him, his body curling in on itself as the raw, searing pain of everything he'd tried to bury clawed its way to the surface.

His mind was fracturing, slipping into that dark place he fought so hard to avoid, but had given into. He needed something—anything—to ground him, to keep him from falling apart. Instinctively, he reached for the ring around his neck, the one he'd worn every day since...

His fingers closed around nothing but air. The familiar weight that usually rested against his chest was gone, and for a moment, his entire world seemed to freeze.

Katsuki's heart stopped, then slammed into his ribs as panic flooded his system. The ring—it was gone. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the sheer terror that gripped him. That ring was the only thing left. The only fucking thing that connected him to...

He couldn't finish the thought. Shit, where the hell is it?

He sat there, motionless, paralyzed by the sudden, crushing fear that he'd lost it. The only thing he had left of... of him.

Slowly, his mind kicked back into gear, but it was frantic, chaotic. He jerked upright, like a car suddenly being thrown into gear without the clutch. The sudden movement sending a sharp, agonizing pain through his already aching body, he grimaced but tried to ignored it. His eyes darted around the bed, scanning the sheets, the pillow, the blanket—anywhere the ring might have fallen. It's gotta be here. It has to be.

But there was nothing. Just emptiness.

Katsuki ran a hand over his face, the roughness of his palm scraping against his skin. The motion was almost robotic, like he was trying to wipe away the emotions that clung to him like a second skin, trying to suppress the rising panic. He pushed it down, burying it deep where it couldn't reach him. He couldn't let himself break down. Not when he needed to find that damn ring. The panic had receded, leaving behind a cold, empty void that he welcomed like an old cruel friend.

Without a word, he pushed himself up from the bed and his legs nearly gave out beneath him. His body protested with every movement, his muscles screaming from the strain, but he forced himself to stand, to stay upright, to breathe, to drag air into his lungs. Katsuki rummaged through the bedroom like a machine, his movements sharp and mechanical. He checked under his bed, shoved aside piles of clothes, opened drawers, but the ring was nowhere to be found. The numbness in his chest was starting to crack again, a creeping dread slithering through the gaps.

When the ring wasn't in the bedroom, he dragged himself to the bathroom. He caught the faintest glimpse of himself in the mirror—a ghost of who he used to be. Dark circles ringed his eyes, his sharp features dulled by exhaustion and grief. Hell. He barely recognized the hollow-eyed reflection staring back at him, and he quickly looked away. Years ago, if he'd seen himself like this—crouched on the floor, eyes wild with desperation, hands trembling as they tore through his belongings—he would've called himself weak. Pathetic. A fucking disgrace. The old him would've spat on this sorry excuse of a person, sneering at the pitiful sight of someone so wrecked, so vulnerable, all because of a damn ring. A part of him still wanted to.

Back then, showing even the faintest hint of emotion was a weakness, something to be crushed underfoot. He'd built walls, fortified them with anger, arrogance, and the relentless pursuit of power. There was no room for softness, for feelings. There was only the grind, the battle, the need to be the best—to win, no matter the cost.

But now... now he couldn't deny that those damn words had been true. He was weak. He was pathetic. But not because he was showing emotion—no, that would've been easy to swallow, so much simpler to accept. The real reason was much worse. He was weak because he had failed. Not just as a hero, but as everything he was supposed to be. He had failed as a lover, as a protector, as a hero, as a friend. He had failed to keep those damned promises he swore he'd never break.

He could still hear the echoes of those promises, made with such confidence, such certainty. "I'll protect you. I won't let anything happen." Words that felt so sure when they left his mouth, like they could bend reality to his will. He had believed in them—believed in himself. But when it mattered most, those damn words had shattered like glass, leaving him with nothing but the sharp edges to cut himself on. What a fucking joke he was.

He checked the sink, tore through the shower, and even dug through the cluttered drawers, but it wasn't there. After what felt like hours, Katsuki found himself standing in the middle of his messy bedroom, the panic in his chest tightened, constricting his breath, but his mind was still numb, as if the full weight of what he was doing hadn't hit him yet. Where the hell was it?

And with that as much as he didn't want to remember, the shitty memories forced their way to the surface, dragging him back to the moment when everything had gone to absolute hell. He didn't want to relive it, didn't want to go over the details of how he'd lost control, but he couldn't stop it.

The way the energy had felt—like it was burning through him from the inside, condensing with terrifying precision until it was almost too much to hold in. The fear, not only in his eyes but Shoto's, making it impossible to breathe, to think straight. He could see the Cherenkov-like light radiating from his chest, like he'd truly been a reactor on the verge of a meltdown, the sparks crackling across his skin as he fought to keep it contained.

The room going up in flames, the heat suffocating, the fire consuming everything in its path.

Shit. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, the fuzzy fragments snapping into place. He'd dropped the ring. It had fallen from his hand, hitting the floor right before the whole room went up in fucking flames.

For a moment, Katsuki just stood there, frozen, staring blankly at the mess around him, his mind caught in a loop of not knowing what to do with himself. But then, the numbness cracked wide open, and all that pent-up anger came roaring in, a desperate need to do something, to fight off the helplessness that was strangling him again. His breaths came out in harsh, ragged bursts, each one tighter than the last, his chest fucking heaving with the effort to keep it all contained—but it was too much. It was too fucking much.

Without thinking, he started throwing shit—whatever he could get his hands on. Clothes, books, anything within reach went flying across the room, his rage and frustration exploding like shrapnel in a storm of destruction. Each crash, each impact, felt like a release, a way to vent the fury that was ripping him apart from the inside. Fuck this, fuck everything. He couldn't control it, couldn't stop it; he just needed to break something, needed to make the world feel as shattered as he did.

But it wasn't enough. The rage was a double-edged sword, cutting deeper with every object he hurled, every piece of furniture he overturned. The anger only made the loss more real, more raw. Each crash was a brutal reminder of what had been ripped away from him, of the future that had been stolen, leaving him with nothing but the shattered pieces. God-fucking-dammit.

Every time something smashed against the wall, it echoed the shattering inside him, the way his heart felt like it was splintering apart. The room was a disaster, but all Katsuki could see was the life he'd lost—the life that was never coming back, no matter how hard he tried to smash the pain away.

The rage boiled over, white-hot and uncontrollable, until it exploded out of him in a scream that tore through the air like a blade. It was a scream full of pain, frustration, and a desperation that was carving into him, down to the marrow of his bones.

He screamed until his throat felt like it was tearing apart, raw and bleeding, the sound reverberating off the walls, trapped by the soundproof windows. No one would hear him. No one would know. It was just him and the mess he'd made, and it still wasn't enough to dull the pain.

Fuck, FUCK! Katsuki ripped open a drawer, reaching in blindly to grab something else, anything else to throw, to smash, to break—but then a sparkle caught his eye. The glint of light refracted off the glass display case he wrenched from the drawer, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

It was the case with the signed matching limited edition All Might cards. He stared at the case in his hands, his rage momentarily frozen by the sight of something so small, so significant, that it almost didn't fit in with the chaos around him. The pristine one had been his, a symbol of his determination, his ambition, and the strength he'd always believed he had. It was a fucking lie, that card. It was what he used to be—unbreakable, indomitable, like nothing could touch him.

But the other card... Goddammit, the other card was a fucking mess. The edges were frayed, the surface scratched and marred. Bloodstains had seeped into the card, dark and unforgiving, almost unrecognizable, like everything he had fought for was being erased. They were opposites in so many ways—the pristine card a reflection of what he used to be, and the bloodied one a mirror of what he'd become. But they were still the same card... back when everything was still simple—before the war, before the sacrifices, before the fucking world fell apart.

His eyes flicked to the drawer, the rage still prickling his veins, but something else started to work its way up—something that made his hands tremble as he reached back in. The drawer was full of photos, keepsakes, little bits of a life he'd tried so hard to hold onto until it he couldn't, throwing it all in a drawer because he was to scared to get rid of it. Katsuki's fingers closed around something cool and smooth, the metal of a keychain, and he pulled it out to see a tiny whale shark dangling from the chain. It was one of those stupid souvenirs he'd helped pick out in the aquarium, a small, insignificant thing that somehow carried so much weight. He put it back to grab the small stack of photos underneath.

He pulled the photos out, his hands shaking so badly that they nearly slipped from his grasp. But he held on, staring down at the images of moments that felt like a lifetime ago—he let out a shuddering breath, his back hit the cold wall as he slid to the floor, his eyes fixed on the photos as he started flipping through them, one by one.

The first few were from his time at U.A., back when things were still... simple, in a way. Pictures of him with the Bakusquad, those idiots laughing and smiling, all so damn happy while Katsuki stood there with his usual scowl, looking like he couldn't give less of a shit. What a fucking joke, he thought bitterly, staring at the group and candid shots. He could practically hear Eijiro's dumbass laugh, Ashido's nonstop chatter, Hanta's constant teasing, and Denki's ridiculous antics. They were all there, so full of life, while he stood off to the side, too damn proud to let himself enjoy any of it.

He hated how much he'd taken it all for granted. Hated that he never really appreciated any of them, that he'd kept his distance, too focused on being the best, on the comma, too wrapped up in his own bullshit to realize how much they truly meant to him.  He could've done more, said more, been more for them. But now... most of them were gone, just like him.

He flipped through the photos faster, the pain gnawing at him with every image. And then he got to the newer ones—the ones of... Izuku in the penthouse. God, he'd forgotten how bad it actually was, how Izuku looked so frail, so damn fragile in these photos. Seeing it now, in these photos—his arms and legs so thin they looked like they could snap, his skin pale and stretched tight over bone. The way he looked back then... it was a goddamn miracle he'd recovered at all, not just physically, but mentally.

Katsuki's lip trembled as he held the photos, because the worst part wasn't even the physical damage. No, it was the look in Izuku's eyes—the hollowness, the way he seemed to stare right through the camera, like he was looking at something far away, something that wasn't there. How the hell did he survive this? In the photos, he could see it—the emptiness, the dead look in Izuku's eyes, the way the light had been snuffed out of him, like staring into the eyes of someone who had already given up on the world, who had been crushed so completely that there was nothing left but a shell. Katsuki could see the depression that had nearly killed him, see how close Izuku had come to losing himself completely.

And it was all because he'd not only lost all his memories of U.A. and Katsuki, but his mom, someone who'd been ripped away from him by this cruel, unforgiving world. Izuku had thought he had no one left, that he was alone, completely and utterly fucking alone, and it had nearly destroyed him, leaving nothing but emptiness behind—a soul-crushing void inside him that had almost taken him from Katsuki.

Damn it, Izuku, Katsuki's heart was breaking all over again as he stared down at the photos, his vision blurring with tears. Is this what he felt? Is this what he went through? The emptiness, the crushing sense of loss, the feeling that you had nothing left to live for, no one to lean on, no one who could understand what he was going through. The thought of Izuku suffering like this, feeling this same crushing despair... knowing that he had it so much worse than this, made Katsuki feel like the air was being pulled from his lungs. Is this the fucking void that haunted you? Katsuki could feel that same void inside him, the same yawning emptiness that had been eating away at him since he lost not only his friends, but now Izuku. It was the same void that had pulled him in, the same darkness that Izuku had fought so hard to climb out of.

Katsuki kept flipping through the photos, tears falling as he went through the last year's worth of memories, each one more painful than the last. His breath hitched when he came across a photo of him and Izuku at the gift shop, their first unofficial date. The two of them were standing in front of a souvenir shelf, Izuku with a smile on his face as he held up the whale shark keychain, his eyes sparkling with a light that had been absent for so long. And there was Katsuki, leaning down to ruffle Izuku's hair, a rare, soft smile on his own face as he watched Izuku's eyes light up. It was a simple, quiet moment—one of those rare instances where they'd found some semblance of peace after everything.

But now, staring at that photo, Katsuki's hands began to shake more violently, his vision blurring as the rage started to build again. It wasn't fucking fair. None of it was. How the hell could this world be so cruel, so unforgiving? Why did the people who brought light into this godforsaken world always get snuffed out? Why did they have to lose everything, again and again, until there was nothing left but darkness?

The more he looked at that photo, the more the anger took hold, tightening its grip around his chest. And then, as if it had been waiting to strike, a single, searing thought burned through the haze of pain and despair, sharper than any blade.

This was all his fault. Odd Eye. That sick, twisted motherfucker. He was the one who'd set all of this in motion, who'd ripped their lives apart. He was the reason Izuku was gone, why everyone who had ever mattered was dead. The Bakusquad, his friends—every single one of them, gone because of that monster.

Katsuki's grip on the photo tightened until the edges crumpled under the pressure, his knuckles turning white. The rage inside him exploded, raw and uncontrollable. He didn't just want revenge—he fucking needed it. He wanted retribution, to tear Odd Eye apart, to make him suffer for every single life he'd taken, for every moment of pain he'd caused. He was going to hunt him down, no matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do.

If it's the last thing he ever did, he was going to fucking destroy him, Katsuki swore to himself, his mind locking onto that singular goal with an intensity that consumed him. The rage was a wildfire, burning away everything else, leaving only a cold, unyielding need for vengeance. He would find Odd Eye. He would make him pay. And he wouldn't stop until that bastard was nothing but a smear in the void of his mind.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Shattered Walls

Katsuki sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, glaring at the fucking dorayaki on the table like it had personally offended him. The sweet, fluffy pancake mocked him from its stupid little plate. He wished he could make it explode, watch it burn and crumble to ashes—just something to match the fire, the absolute fucking hatred churning inside him.

He'd wanted to be alone today. Hell, he needed to be alone, needed to be left to the black pit of his thoughts, to drown in the emptiness that was spreading through him like a goddamn disease. He needed to mourn in peace, needed the quiet to let the reality of everything settle in. But more than that, he needed to dig, to rip apart every last bit of information on the League, to find Odd Eye and burn the bastard until there was nothing left.

His apartment was quiet, except for the faint sounds of Ochako and Tenya fumbling around in his cramped kitchen. He could hear the clattering of pots, the muted murmurs of their voices, talking softly like he wasn't sitting right fucking there.

Ignoring the fact that he'd already, mind you as politely as someone like him could possibly manage, told them to leave him the fuck alone. Katsuki had half a mind to kick them out, but he didn't have the energy to move, let alone start a fight.

When he'd answered the door—after almost not bothering—they'd barged in, bags of groceries in hand, faces painted with that annoying look of concern, like he was some fragile thing that needed fixing, determined to "help" whether he wanted it or not. And, hell, he didn't. Katsuki hadn't been planning on answering the damn door when Ochako knocked. He'd just sat there, staring at the ceiling, willing her to give up and leave him alone. He should've known she'd go for the nuclear option—threatening to call Aizawa, and that had yanked him out of his haze real quick.

If there was one thing Katsuki couldn't deal with right now, it was Aizawa showing up at his doorstep, ready to lecture him into the ground. Aizawa had been busy most days with U.A. business, but when it came to talking sense into Katsuki, that bastard would drop everything in a heartbeat. He'd show up, all stern and brooding, and give him that look—the one that made Katsuki feel like a first-year all over again. And Katsuki didn't need that. Not now. Not when his head was already a mess, spinning with too many thoughts and not enough answers.

He'd tried to tell them to get lost, but Ochako just gave him that soft smile, the one that made it impossible to yell at her without feeling like an absolute dick, and Tenya had greeted him like he was a goddamn army instead of one pissed-off guy in his pajamas. It was all so fucking stupid. Stupid that they were here, stupid that they thought they could help.

So, he'd just sunk back onto the couch, too tired to fight, too angry to care, too numb and useless. His muscles were aching like they'd been wrung out and left to dry. His body still sore from the over-exertion and strain of the day before, every movement sending a dull throb of pain through his limbs, could still feel the phantom heat of his quirk pulsing under his skin, a constant reminder of just how close he'd come to losing it completely. Again.

Ochako being here wasn't anything new. She'd been doing this for a while now with Shoto, ever since... well, since everything went to shit. They were stubborn as hell when it came to making sure Katsuki didn't spiral further, always showing up uninvited, always hovering like they just wanted to help him get back on his feet. At first, just having them around had been fucking awkward—hell, downright unbearable. He wasn't used to people sticking around when he pushed them away, wasn't used to anyone giving a damn if he drowned or not, not after he had lost the Bakusquad. Originally, he'd yelled at her, threatened to blow her up more times than he could count, but she never took the hint. Stupid round-faced idiot.

But as the months dragged on, he'd come to—All Might help him—appreciate the distraction. Just a little. Not that he'd ever actually tell them that. Having them there meant he wasn't alone with his thoughts, and maybe that was the only reason he hadn't completely lost his shit yet. Maybe it was because it was easier to breathe when there was someone else in the room, even if he wanted to tear his hair out half the time.

But after yesterday... after this morning.

He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with a small metal puzzle, twisting the pieces absentmindedly—a little tradition Ochako started without really saying anything. She said it would help occupy him while she was around, a way to keep his hands busy so his mind didn't have a chance to wander too far into the darkness if he didn't feel like talking.

Katsuki's fingers tightened around the puzzle, metal edges of the intricate parts clicked together, biting into his skin as his thoughts turned sharper, darker. The stupid little gadget was just a distraction—a weak, flimsy thing trying to cage the storm inside him. And it wasn't working. Not anymore.

His mind kept circling back to Odd Eye, that piece of shit who'd taken his friends, his mentor, his everything. This was a rage that couldn't be satisfied with smashing things or screaming until his throat bled. No, the only thing that would suffice was finding Odd Eye and making him fucking suffer, making him pay for every goddamn life he'd destroyed.

Katsuki didn't even notice someone coming out of the kitchen until Ochako set the plate of curry and tea in front of him. She placed it down like it was some kind of peace offering, but Katsuki could see the emotions swirling in her eyes. See how they had turned from being bright and optimism, to a shadowy flicker, filled with something fragile she was desperately trying to keep together. Tenya stood beside her, his face set in that stern expression that was supposed to be reassuring but only pissed Katsuki off more. They were both here, trying so damn hard to hold themselves together for him, for each other, because they had no idea what else to do.

He had meant something to them too. And they were all mourning. But that didn't matter to him. Not now.

Katsuki hated it—hated seeing her like this, hated that she was here, hated that she felt the need to be here at all. But he also knew why she was doing it, why she couldn't just leave him to the silence and the emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.

Red eyes flicked down to the steaming bowl, the smell of the curry wafting up, but he felt nothing. He wasn't fucking hungry. He wasn't anything. He was just here, existing, and even that felt like too much damn effort.

Katsuki snorted internally, a bitter, humorless noise that barely made it past his lips. This was exactly how he must have felt during his recovery. How many times had Katsuki hovered over him, pushing him to eat, to stay positive, to keep moving forward? And now here he was, in the same damn position. It was sick, really. The irony of it all.

Fate really has a fucked-up sense of humor.

"You can go, you know," he muttered, his voice raw, barely controlled. "I don't need you here."

Ochako's eyes flickered—hurt, maybe, or just tired. He couldn't really tell but right now he didn't care. "I'm fine," she replied, but the crack in her voice betrayed her, and Katsuki caught it, latched onto it like a lifeline for his own drowning misery.

"Don't," he spat, his voice sharpening. "Don't fucking lie to me, Uraraka. I don't want your pity. I don't need you falling apart in front of me. I can't fucking handle that right now. I just want to be left the hell alone."

He saw the way she flinched, like his words had struck her, and he almost regretted it. Almost. On any given day his words wouldn't affect her but after the news, those who knew was hurting. Let the words hurt. Maybe then she'd get it, get that he didn't want her here, didn't need her pity. He was a mess, a broken, hateful mess, and he didn't want to be fixed. Not this time.

The darkness inside him didn't let him stop, didn't let him ease up. He was too far gone for that. If he had to watch her break apart, too, he'd lose it. Completely.

Tenya, bristled at the tone and stepped forward, his jaw tight, ready to defend her, to give Katsuki the verbal lashing he probably deserved. "Bakugo, you don't get to talk to her like that. We're here because we care about you, because—"

But Ochako stopped him with a hand on his chest, shaking her head, keeping her eyes on Katsuki. "I know you're hurting," she whispered, so soft it made his blood roar. "But we're not leaving you alone in this."

Katsuki could see the glassiness in her eyes, saw Tenya wrap his arm around her, pulling her close in some desperate bid to comfort her. The affection, the tenderness in that touch, was the final straw. The anger flashed, a hot, bitter wave crashing over him, filling the void.

It was too much. Too fucking much. It reminded him of Izuku. Of how Izuku used to be—soft, caring, a fucking idiot who never gave up on anyone, not even on a bastard like him. The way he'd hold Katsuki's hand, the way he'd smile that stupid, goofy smile that always seemed to make everything better. And now... now he was never going to be able to love him like that again. Never going to hear his laugh, feel his touch, see the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his stupid hero dreams or hobbies.

Now that was all gone.

"Get the fuck out," he snarled, his voice low, deadly. He was on his feet before he realized it, his hands clenched into fists, the puzzle clattering to the floor. "I said, get out! I don't need your pity. I don't need any of this bullshit!"

Ochako flinched again, her eyes widening, but Tenya's grip tightened around her. "Kat—"

"No!" Katsuki roared, his voice breaking, vision blurring with unshed tears. "I don't want to see you two pretending like everything's fine! It's not! He's gone! He's fucking gone, and nothing you do is going to change that!"

He was shaking, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps, his vision swimming with tears he refused to let fall. He was so fucking tired. Tired of this room, of their faces, of the hope and pity in their eyes.

He couldn't handle it, couldn't stand the sight of them being... happy. Normal. Because he wasn't normal. He wasn't happy. He was tired of pretending he was anything other than a hollow shell filled with rage and hate and nothing else, and watching them knowing that they had each other, made him want to scream until his lungs gave out.

"Just... just go," he whispered, his voice breaking, his shoulders slumping with the weight of everything he couldn't say. "Please... just leave."

And again  he hated it. Hated how weak he sounded, how broken. He was practically begging now, his voice cracking, the tears he didn't want to shed threatening to spill over. When did he become this? When did he start crumbling like this, falling apart at the seams over and over again?

He couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't hold it together. Not since the day Odd Eye took Izuku from him in that clearing during New Years.

Katsuki was barely hanging on by a thread, and the thread was fraying, snapping with every breath he took.

"Please," he whispered again, his voice muffled by his hands, his shoulders shaking with barely restrained agony. "Just... leave me alone."

Without another word, he stormed past Ochako and Tenya, pushing the sliding door open with more force than necessary and stepping out onto the small balcony. The cold rain hit him like a slap in the face, sharp and biting, but he welcomed it. The downpour drenched him instantly, soaking through his clothes, but he didn't care. He needed the sting, anything to feel something other than the hollow ache in his chest.

Katsuki pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, grinding them in hard enough to see stars. He wanted to block it all out—the cramped apartment, Ochako's eyes that wouldn't stop fucking pitying him, Tenya's futile, infuriating frustration, the despair. He could feel it eating away at whatever scraps of sanity he had left.

The rain pounded down around him, a relentless, rhythmic assault that matched the chaos inside his mind. He stood there, breathing hard, as he tried—tried so damn hard—to steady the storm inside him. The wind whipped the rain into his face, stinging his skin, and all he could do was just... breathe. Focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the way the cold air filled his lungs, tried to use it to steady himself.

He let the water wash over him, let it soak into his skin, drenching him to the bone. The cold was a shock to his system, and he welcomed it. It was real, tangible—something he could feel outside of the numbness that had settled over him like a heavy fog.

He wanted to rebuild the walls—those goddamn walls he'd kept around himself for years, the ones that made him untouchable, unbreakable. The walls that kept everything out, kept him safe from feeling like this, from feeling like he was unraveling, piece by piece. He'd been an idiot to ever let them crumble, to let them down, for him, for Izuku. He'd torn them apart, brick by brick, letting Izuku in, letting himself be something other than a weapon, letting himself be soft, be vulnerable. For what? For this?

He'd let those walls fall for Izuku, let him see inside the fortress of rage and pride and broken pieces that made up who he was. And now...he was fucking gone. Katsuki pressed his palms harder against his eyes, trying to will the tears away, trying to force himself to get a grip. He wasn't supposed to break like this.

Fuck, he needed to rebuild. Needed to put every goddamn brick back in place, needed to feel that cold, hard shell encase him again, to shield him from the agony that felt like it was going to consume him. He wanted to be the Katsuki Bakugo who didn't need anyone, who didn't let anyone in, who didn't have to feel this fucking weak. The one who could handle anything. The one who wouldn't be here, standing in the rain, falling apart because he'd been stupid enough to let himself care.

But he couldn't. The walls were gone, torn down by his own damn hands, and he didn't know how to build them back up again. Didn't know if he even could. And maybe that was the worst part: the knowing. Knowing he'd torn them down for Izuku, let him see all the parts he kept buried, all the ugliness he kept hidden. And for what?

He felt a fresh wave of anger surge through him, hot and fierce, and he welcomed it, let it burn through him like a wildfire. Anger was easier to deal with. It was something he knew, something he could control. Grief, though? Grief was a fucking shadow with no rules, no logic. It was relentless, ripping at him from the inside out, and he didn't know how to fight it. Didn't know how to make it stop.

So he just stood there, letting the rain beat down on him, trying to pretend the cold could numb the pain, trying to pretend that he wasn't already broken beyond repair.

He didn't know how long he stood there, minutes, hours? At some point, Katsuki's tears had fallen, hot and unbidden, but he refused to acknowledge them. He kept his back to the apartment, staring out at the city, the tangled mess of anger and pain and grief in his mind slowly dissipated. The fire inside him dimmed to a simmer, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease just a little. Enough that he could breathe again, at least. Enough that he could think without feeling like he was going to tear himself apart.

When he finally turned back, shoving the door open and stepping inside, the apartment felt hollow, empty. Water dripped off his wet clothes as he just stood there. He hadn't heard Ochako and Tenya leave. Hadn't noticed, didn't care. He'd been too wrapped up in his own misery to pay attention to anything else. But their absence was obvious—the cold, untouched plate of curry still sat on the table, untouched, a bitter reminder of his own damn stubbornness. All the other dishes were gone, cleaned up and put away, like they'd never been there at all.

Katsuki's stomach twisted, a sharp, biting guilt cutting through the haze of his anger. He'd been a fucking asshole, and he knew it. He'd pushed them away, snapped at them when all they wanted to do was help, and for what? It was who he was—how he was wired. And maybe it was for the best. Maybe this was how it was always supposed to be. He fucking hated it—hated that he couldn't just let people in, let them be there for him without feeling like he was suffocating, without feeling like every breath was a battle. But maybe he was right to hate it. Maybe it was a fucking blessing. Letting someone in meant letting them have the power to hurt him. And everyone he'd let in, everyone he dared to care about, always ended up slipping through his goddamn fingers. They died, they disappeared, they were taken away from him, leaving nothing but emptiness in their wake. And it was easier to push people away than to feel that loss again, to watch them slip away and know he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

Letting himself trust, letting himself be something other than the sharp, jagged edges he'd wrapped around his heart, had destroyed him. Left him trying to pick up the pieces of a life he didn't even recognize anymore.

With a heavy sigh, he walked back to the couch and sat down, his clothes still soaked, the water dripping onto the floor around him.

Katsuki still wasn't hungry. Not even a little. The sight of the curry, now cold and congealed, just made his stomach twist even more. The thought of eating, of trying to force something down was laughable. He picked up the plate, his hands still trembling slightly, and carried it to the kitchen.

Just fucking eat later, he told himself. Maybe later he'd find the will to choke down a few bites. Maybe when the knot in his stomach loosened, when the ache in his chest wasn't so suffocating. Maybe then he could pretend to be okay, even if it was just for a few minutes.

He stepped into the kitchen, the familiar pater of his feet echoing off the walls but stopped dead when he saw Ochako standing there. She was at the sink, her back to him. He grimaced, a flare of irritation sparking through him. Of course, she was still here. Of course, she couldn't just fucking leave when he asked.

He ran a hand down his face, wiping away the rain and sweat and frustration in one rough, exasperated motion. He didn't have the energy for this—not for another round of pity and concerned looks, not for any more soft words or sympathetic smiles. "What are you still doing here?" he snapped, his voice low and edged with annoyance. "Dammit, I told you to leave."

Ochako turned from the sink, drying her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes met his, and for once, there wasn't that softness, that gentle concern that usually made him feel like a cornered animal. Instead, there was a firmness, a resolve that made him pause.

"I'm not going anywhere, Katsuki," she insisted. No shaking, no wavering. "We need to talk."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What the hell is there to talk about? I don't need your pity, and I don't need you here, how many times do I fucking have to say it."

Ochako's grip tightened on the towel. "This isn't about pity. And it's not about you needing us here. It's about us needing to be here—for Izuku."

The mention of Izuku's name was like a spark to gasoline, igniting a fresh wave of anger and grief. Bakugou's fists clenched tight, his nails digging into his palms "Don't," he warned. "Don't fucking bring him into this."

But she didn't back down, didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, eyes locked onto his, her voice gaining a sharp edge. "I am bringing him into this, Katsuki, because this is about him. About all of us. About what's been happening since he disappeared."

Katsuki glared at her, the fury in his eyes barely contained. He wanted to shout, to tell her to shut the hell up and leave, but something in her expression made him hesitate. She wasn't here to coddle him or to offer empty comfort. She was obviously still here for something else.

"What are you talking about?" he finally asked, his voice gruff, defensive.

Ochako placed the towel down, crossing her arms. "Shoto and I—we've been trying to track down Izuku these last few months. That's how Shoto found the lab. We've been following leads, gathering information, trying to piece together what the League is up to."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, Shoto said something about an investigator but there was probably way more going on. She and Shoto had been searching for Izuku this whole time—without him? Without telling him? Why?

"If you knew I was looking for him—if you knew I've been tearing this city apart for months—why the hell didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because we knew how you'd react," she replied bluntly. "You weren't... you weren't in a good place. Every time we tried to bring it up, every time we thought about telling you, we saw how much you were struggling just to keep it together. You're barely holding it together as it is. We didn't want to push you over the edge."

Katsuki shot Ochako a sharp look, his red eyes literally glowing now with indignation. "I'm not some weakling," he spat, his voice low, simmering with barely controlled fury. "I don't need you to treat me like I'm made of fucking glass."

Ochako didn't flinch. She stared right back at him, her expression firm, unyielding. "I know you're not weak, Katsuki," she said, her tone calm but insistent. "I know you're strong, probably the strongest of us. But that's not the point. It's about what you're going to do next. You've got too much history with the League. This isn't just some fight for you, it's personal. And that kind of anger... that kind of anger is going to get you killed."

"You think I care about that?" he growled. "I'm not scared of them. I'll take every last one of those bastards—"

Ochako held up a hand to stop him, practically shutting him up as she reached into her pocket, hesitating for a moment, her fingers curling around something he couldn't see. She pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, eyes dropped to the ground, before she unfolded it and held it out to him.

"What's that?" Katsuki asked suspiciously, but something in the way she looked at the paper—almost like it was a lifeline—made him reach for it.

Katsuki snatched the paper from Ochako's hand, his movements rough, almost frantic. His eyes immediately fell on the handwriting—familiar, painfully so. His breath caught in his throat. It was Izuku's. That messy scrawl, the way he looped his letters—it was all there, staring back at him like a ghost.

His grip on the letter tightened as his eyes darted across the page, taking in every word, each one hitting him like a punch to the gut. Ochako watched him carefully, her expression a mixture of worry and something else—something like resignation.

"This... this is Deku's," Katsuki muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, almost as if he didn't want to acknowledge it aloud. "Where did you get this?"

Ochako took a breath, steadying herself. "Shoto found it on his counter," she said quietly. "Right before the League went silent. We think Izuku left it there for him—like he knew something was coming."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he continued to read, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. The words blurred for a moment, and he blinked furiously, refusing to let his vision betray him. He wasn't gonna break—especially not now, not over some damn letter. But every word Izuku had scrawled across the page felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

"I've been gathering information... There's something big coming, something dangerous. I don't have all the pieces yet, but I'm getting closer. This thumb drive had some of the stuff I've found out. I don't have much time, so I've only included the essentials. Keep it safe. And please... keep Kacchan out of this. If something happens to me, promise you'll protect him. He'll try to dive in headfirst, but he can't. Not this time. Not for me.

"Keep me out of it?" Katsuki's voice was a low growl, his anger bubbling to the surface, his body trembling with the effort of holding it back. "Damn nerd thought he could protect me? He fucking abandoned me for what, all so he could march to his fucking death."

Ochako shifted on her feet, but Katsuki barely registered her movement. His thoughts were consumed with Izuku—Deku—that stupid, self-sacrificing smile the night he left and his relentless drive to keep Katsuki safe, even if it meant taking on the whole damn world. A part of Katsuki wanted to tear the letter to shreds, burn it and forget it ever existed. But another part—deeper, sharper—wanted to know. Needed to know.

"Where's the thumb drive?" Katsuki demanded, his voice louder now, edged with desperation. His eyes locked onto Ochako's, blazing with an intensity that made her take a small step back. He could feel the scorching need in his chest, like a furnace that had been cranked up to eleven. Retribution. Not for honor, not for some noble fucking cause, but for himself. He was going to finished what the league had dragged him into. Going to rip them apart for destroying Izuku from the inside out and then taking him from Katsuki.

"You think I'm just gonna sit around here? No way in hell!" That goddamn nerd. Always trying to take everything on himself, always trying to keep Katsuki out of the line of fire like he was some fragile thing that needed protection. And now he was gone. Dead. Because he thought he could shield Katsuki, even from himself.

"Katsuki, he didn't want you involved—"

"I don't fucking care what he wanted!" Katsuki cut her off, his voice a harsh snarl. "He's dead, Ochako," he spat out, his voice harsh, jagged. "And don't you dare stand there and tell me he isn't. I know it. I fucking know it."

Ochako's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes searching his face for something—anything—to cling to, to hold onto hope. "Katsuki," she began, her voice soft, almost pleading, "we don't know that for sure. There's still a chance—"

"Don't!" Katsuki cut her off, his voice rising an octave, slamming a hand on the counter. "Yes, we do! You know what happened. I felt it, damn it!" His other hand clenched into a fist around the letter, crumpling it further, his knuckles turning white. "I felt it when it happened, saw the light fucking go out." His voice dropped lower, more menacing, but there was a tremor in it, like he was barely holding on. "It went dark. You know what that means. You know."

Ochako didn't say anything. She couldn't. What could she possibly say to that? What could she offer that would make any of this hurt less, that would bring Izuku back? Nothing.

"Where is it?" Katsuki demanded again, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. "The thumb drive, Uraraka. I'm not asking a third time."

Ochako stared up at Katsuki, taking in the sight of him—his entire body tense, coiled like a spring about to snap. He towered over her, his presence radiating raw, unchecked fury. His irises glowed a deep, angry red, his quirk sparking off his arms like a volcano on the brink of eruption. She could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, could see the way his muscles tightened with every breath, every second she delayed giving him what he wanted. He looked like he could tear the world apart with his bare hands if it meant getting what he wanted.

She swallowed hard, steadying herself as she met his gaze, trying not to flinch under the sheer force of it. "Katsuki," she began, her voice trembling slightly but still firm, "I'll give you the thumb drive. But you have to promise me something first."

His eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "I'm not in the mood for games, Uraraka. Just give it to me," he said through clenched teeth, but he didn't move. He just stood there, waiting, impatient, a force of nature barely held in check.

"I'm not playing games, not even Todoroki knows I made this copy," she said quietly, but there was steel in her voice now. "I know what you're gonna do when you get your hands on this information. You're gonna bulldoze through Japan and find Odd Eye. And when you do... I need you to promise me that you'll let us help. That you'll let us take him down together."

Katsuki's scowl twisted into something darker, teeth bared in a feral snarl. His anger crackled in the air around him, flaring like a fuse about to ignite. "Why the hell should I do that? This is my fight."

Ochako's eyes flashed with a fire of their own, a fury that cut through the space between them, jabbing a finger at Katsuki. "No, it's not just yours. Izuku was my friend too, Katsuki!" Her voice wavered, thick with emotion, but she caught herself, steadied by a determination that mirrored his own. He saw it then—the hatred blazing in her gaze, a reflection of the rage he felt every damn day. It wasn't just his war. It was hers. It was all of theirs. A hatred not just for the League, but for what they'd taken—Izuku, their dreams, their friends. They were all scarred, all marked by loss.

"And I'm not gonna stand by and watch you self-destruct over this. We all lost Kiri... Mina, Denki, Jiro, Sato... Izuku. We all have a right to make those assholes pay," she asserted, voice low but unyielding, her words striking him harder than any blow.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of Katsuki's heavy breathing, his chest rising and falling as if he were holding back a scream. He hated how right she sounded. It wasn't just his war, wasn't just his vendetta to settle. The League had taken something from all of them. From her. From Shoto. From everyone they cared about. But damn it, it was hard to think past the rage, the burning need to just do something selfish. To make them pay.

Ochako didn't break eye contact, stood her ground, chin raised, eyes steady despite the tears she was holding back. "Katsuki, promise me," she said again, smoother now but no less resolute. "Promise me you'll let us help. I know you. I know you'll find him. And I know what you'll do when you do. But if we all go in together, we stand a better chance. We can make sure none of us end up like... like the others."

Katsuki's jaw tightened, every muscle in his body screaming at him to ignore her, to just take the thumb drive and storm out, to hunt Odd Eye down himself and blast him to hell. But he couldn't ignore the weight of her words, the truth in them. He wasn't stupid. He knew charging in alone was practically suicide.

A part of him didn't mind the idea of charging in alone, of taking on Odd Eye and the entire League by himself, letting the fury and the need for revenge burn him alive if it came down to it. That part of him didn't care if he got hurt, didn't care if he died in the process—hell, maybe he even welcomed it. At least then it'd all be over, the pain, the emptiness, the gnawing ache that never left his chest since Izuku had been taken. He could burn it all away in one final, explosive blaze, a fitting end for someone like him.

But another part, buried deep beneath the rage and the grief, wasn't ready to die. Not yet. Not until he'd had his revenge. Not until Odd Eye and every last one of those bastards were nothing but ash. He had to see it through. He had to make sure they felt every ounce of pain they'd caused, every life they'd taken.

He let out a low, frustrated growl, his eyes still blazing with anger. "Fine," he snapped, the word like a gunshot. "But don't expect me to wait for you when shit hits the fan, I will not lose my chance to put that fucker in the ground. Got that?"

She nodded, then reached into her pocket, fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out the thumb drive. Her hand hovered for a moment before extending it to him. But she didn't just give him the drive.

Katsuki could see the tension in her eyes, the way her throat bobbed like she was struggling to say something else, something more. But she didn't speak. Instead, she just dropped the contents into his open palm.

Katsuki's eyes flickered down, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest for a split second. There, lying against the rough skin of his palm, was the thumb drive—small, insignificant, but heavy with the weight of whatever secrets it contained. But beside it, catching the dim light of the room in a soft, almost mocking glint, was something that he hadn't expected.

A ring.

His ring.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

ZENITH

Over the next several days, Katsuki let his body do what it needed to do—heal. Physically, at least. His body, a mess of from the overexertion, had started to mend. What little cuts he had scabbed over, the bruises faded from dark purple to a sickly yellow-green. The soreness in his muscles eased, and the dull, throbbing pain that radiated from his overworked quirk subsided. But mentally? Mentally, he was still bleeding out.

Shoto had texted him yesterday, a short message that cut straight to the point. The cleanup in Hakone was nearly done, the rubble cleared enough to give a full report. Neither Vortex, Phazewave, nor Izuku had been found. Not a trace. Shoto had tacked on something about hope—how, despite everything, he believed Izuku was still out there somewhere, recovering.

Katsuki had stared at the message, the words rattling around in his head like a bad joke. Hope? He wasn't that naïve. No way in hell was he going to buy into the idea that Izuku had somehow survived, holed up in some hideout, just waiting to jump back into the action like everything was fine. Katsuki had seen enough, had felt it. That moment in Hakone, when everything had gone to shit. Hope? It was just another way to set yourself up for disappointment. A pointless agony.

He ignored Shoto's text. Same way he'd ignored every other message, every missed call from people trying to "check in" on him. Like they could say anything he didn't already know. He wasn't about to waste his time listening to their hopeful crap. He was trying though, dammit. Trying his hardest to hold himself together, to keep from spiraling into that pit of frustration, grief, and—yeah, maybe—guilt. But it was like walking on a razor's edge to keep not just the grief but the shadow of his PTSD away.

The truth was, Katsuki wasn't just angry. He was exhausted. He was pissed, sure, but underneath that fury, there was something worse. Something he didn't want to put a name to. And every time he let himself stop—let himself really think about what had happened in Hakone—his mind would go right back to that last moment. The moment where recognition flashed in those green eyes.

Whenever Katsuki felt that familiar sensation creeping in, that pull from the pit of his PTSD, he'd immediately get up, throwing himself into motion before it could take hold. He'd head outside for a breath of fresh air, or find something to distract him from those thoughts. Cleaning, researching, or just pacing—whatever it took to keep his mind from sinking back into those memories. Anything to stop himself from feeling.

The files on the thumb drive weren't helping either. If anything, they made it worse. Hell, they were like pouring salt in an open wound. He'd been combing through them for hours on end, eyes glued to the screen, trying to make sense of the mess Izuku had left behind. His head was pounding now, a migraine building behind his temples, like his brain was starting to melt its way out of his skull. He rubbed at his temples, trying to massage the pain away, but it didn't do shit. Not one bit. 

The files on Izuku's notes on Odd Eye and the League were sprawled out in front of him, a chaotic mess of information that made no goddamn sense.

Everything was scattered, jumbled together like someone had taken a hammer to a jigsaw puzzle. Sure, he could follow some of the trail on Odd Eye's movements—lists of hideouts, dates, and times, a few of which were crossed out and rewritten—but the rest? The rest were a fucking nightmare trying to piece it all together. And to make matters worse, Izuku's notes weren't even all his. At least, not in the way Katsuki was used to.

The DID was making everything a goddamn mess.

Katsuki hadn't realized just how bad the DID had been. How much it had taken over. Izuku wasn't just Izuku anymore; he was a jumble of different personalities, each one with its own way of thinking, of processing information. Trying to navigate it all felt like listening to three different conversations in three different languages, all at the same damn time. The notes showed it too—different handwritings, varying levels of detail, some notes scribbled with precision, others barely legible.

Katsuki squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against them. Some of the notes were like Izuku was arguing with himself. Katsuki could see the parts of him, each scrawling their thoughts like they were in a shouting match on paper. One note would start off in that neat, orderly style that was all classic Izuku—methodical, dissecting Odd Eye's potential moves. Then, right next to it, a different part would cut in, the handwriting jagged and erratic as if the words were gouging the paper, contradicting everything the other side had laid out. Words like "ꪊᦓꫀꪶꫀᦓᦓ" and "ρꪖꪻꫝꫀꪻ꠸ᥴ" were scribbled furiously in that same jagged hand, tearing through the paper, scratching out other pieces of information, obliterating any semblance of clarity. 

And then there were the softer notes, almost apologetic, written in a painfully childish scrawl. Katsuki felt a twist in his gut every time he saw those, something in his chest tightening like a vice. The kid—no, the fragment of Izuku that came after the accident—trying to make sense of the mess in his head, only to be drowned out by the louder, more aggressive voices.

It was clear which side was holding the reins. The feral, angry side. The one with no patience for anything or anyone, least of all Izuku's other selves. It was yanking the leash hard, dragging the rest along, and every damn note showed it.

Katsuki let out a sharp breath, teeth bared in a hiss. He tossed the pen he'd been holding down, watching it skid across the table. His own notebook was practically empty, other than the few notes managed to understand from the pages he had gotten his hands on in Toei, they were just a few scattered lines, half-formed thoughts that led nowhere. Compared to the disaster on Izuku's files, his notes were a barren wasteland.

He glared at the screen, frustration bubbling up inside him like a pot about to boil over. He'd tried to tackle the mess systematically, folder by folder, like some neat-freak. But who was he kidding? He wasn't Izuku. He wasn't some detective piecing together a mystery. He was a hothead, a fighter. He solved problems by blowing them to hell, not by sitting around with a magnifying glass.

A flicker of a thought crossed his mind, brief and barely there, like a dying ember in a storm—If Izuku were here, he could...—but he snuffed that thought out the second it started to form. It was pointless.

"Shit," he muttered, voice low and rough. He backed out of the "League Hideouts" subfile, sick of staring at endless lists of locations and dates, half of them already crossed out and useless. His finger hovered over the trackpad, the cursor flicking between the five folders lined up like suspects waiting for interrogation.

League Operations. 

League Associates. 

Project Z.E.N.I.T.H.

 Encrypted Documents. 

Garaki's Research.

"Garaki's Research." The name sparked something in his memory. He paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to place it. Why did that name ring a fucking bell? He clicked on the folder, and the screen filled with subfiles, each more cryptic than the last.

Nomu Enhancements. 

Quirk Amplification.

Why Garaki? 

His eyes scanned the file names, stopping on the one that seemed to hold the most promise. "Why Garaki?" Katsuki clicked on it, and the screen filled with text, scribbled in that half-Izuku, half-somebody-else handwriting. The question came up again and again, the one the more aggressive part of Izuku couldn't let go of.

"Repeated references to Dr. Kyudai Garaki in League documents—unusual frequency. Is he the linchpin? The architect of Project ZENITH?" The letters were pressed hard into the page, like Izuku was trying to squeeze answers out of his own brain.

Katsuki's hand drifted to his face, the other tapping impatiently on the table as he stared at the screen. Garaki... Garaki... why the hell did that name sound so fucking important?

With a growl, Katsuki brought his hands back to the keyboard, fingers moving on instinct. He opened a browser and typed "Dr. Kyudai Garaki," hitting enter hard enough to make the keys clack.

Results filled the screen—mostly medical journals and research articles at first, too academic for him to care about. But then, a few entries down, something caught his eye. A news article. Old, from years ago. "Garaki Kyudai: The Mad Scientist Behind All for One." Katsuki clicked on it, the page loading sluggishly, almost as if it was trying to drag out the inevitable. Then the headline stared back at him, and everything clicked, the name hit him like a sledgehammer.

The doctor who'd been working with All for One. The bastard behind all that Nomu crap. Katsuki's eyes widened as the pieces started to click together. Of course. That was why the name was so damn familiar.

But now the bigger question was pounding in his head—why the hell was he showing up in Izuku's files now? Garaki was supposed to be locked up, his operations shut down when All for One was taken down. So why was his name haunting these files like a ghost that wouldn't stay dead?

He scrolled down the file, reading the dozens of frantic notes from Izuku, each one more desperate than the last. The nerd was trying to connect the dots, to figure out why Garaki kept popping up in the League's documents.

"Garaki's name keeps coming up in connection with ZENITH. What is the connection? Garaki's involvement—more than just a passing mention. Could Odd Eye be repurposing his work? Continuing what Garaki started? Project ZENITH—Garaki's brainchild? Or is it something new?"

Izuku's handwriting grew more erratic, the letters almost gouged into the paper, again like he was trying to force the answers out. Katsuki could practically feel the frustration oozing off the page—the same damn frustration he was feeling, trying to untangle this mess.

Then Katsuki's eyes locked onto a phrase, and everything else faded into the background. 

"Project ZENITH tied to Garaki's name—must be significant. If Garaki's research is being repurposed... then what's the fucking endgame? Evolution? Phazewave? What is Phazewave, and is it connected to ZENITH?"

There it was. That fucking name again. Phazewave.

If that Nomu was tied to ZENITH, they were looking at something way worse than he'd thought. Phazewave had been bad enough—a test run, maybe. But ZENITH? The final product?

Without wasting another second, he quickly backed out of the "Why Garaki?" file and opened the "Nomu Enhancements" folder, his eyes darting over the list of files divided by each individual Nomu—at least he had that organized. If Izuku knew something about Phazewave, it had to be buried in here somewhere. The Nomu were Garaki's sick masterpieces, after all—Phazewave had to be connected. Katsuki scrolled down, until he found the USJ Nomu file, each document blurring together in a sea of research data, enhancement logs, and quirk amplifications.

But nothing about it stood out, not even the project name was Phazewave, here it was still classified as the USJ Nomu. 

All the data on the USJ Nomu was from just after the war. Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he skimmed through the documents. Enhancements, quirk splicing, regeneration logs—it was all information they already knew. Nothing new, nothing groundbreaking. And definitely nothing past that point. It was like the research just... stopped.

That didn't sit right with him. Especially now, knowing that Nomu had been repurposed for Project Phazewave.

And that's when a surge of anger flared inside him, hot and sharp. Izuku hadn't known. That idiot hadn't even realized what he was up against. Katsuki's hands started to steam, glowing with heat as his mind flashed back to Hakone. The look on Izuku's face during that fight—the moment of confusion, the split second of hesitation, the shock when his attacks went right through like he was punching air. 

It all made sense now. He hadn't known.

With a growl, Katsuki forced himself to cool down, the steam from his hands dissipating as he grabbed his notebook. He didn't even need to look at the notes he'd jotted down—he knew them by heart. He'd gone over this shit so many times it was burned into his brain.

 Acid Claws, Vantablack's darkness, Energy Deflection, Mirio's damn Permeation... Just a few of the upgrades he'd pieced together. It was strategic as hell, relentless. This wasn't just a measly upgrade—it was evolving.

But then there was the encrypted portions of the pages. That was still a mystery. He hadn't cracked it yet, but the patterns in the text looked a hell of a lot like the ones in Izuku's files. He'd figure it out. Later. For now, there was a more pressing concern.

Katsuki moved the cursor to another file, clicking with a sharp, decisive motion. He couldn't waste any more time. If Phazewave was linked to ZENITH, he needed to know everything. And that meant diving headfirst into the folder that had been nagging at him since he'd first laid eyes on it.

Project Z.E.N.I.T.H.

He opened the subfile labeled "What is Project ZENITH?", scanning through its contents with mixture of frustration and grim determination.

"... Might involve quirk enhancement—possibly tied to bodily augmentation? But what's the end goal? Amplification? Weaponization?"

For all his obsessive note-taking, Izuku didn't have a damn clue about the full scope of what he was dealing with. It was obvious now that Izuku hadn't stumbled onto ZENITH because of Phazewave or known about the insane experiments going on in Toei. He hadn't even mentioned the journal Katsuki had found from Humarise, filled with mad scribbles about quirk singularity and enhancement theories.

 That only confirmed what Katsuki was thinking—Izuku had chanced across the lab, probably been chasing down some other lead, some unrelated piece of the puzzle, when he'd carelessly stumbled straight into the experiment and the Nomu test subjects.

If Izuku had been more thorough—if he'd seen what Katsuki had seen—the notes wouldn't be this... clueless. This fragmented. Izuku had stumbled onto something big, something way out of his depth, but he hadn't had the full picture, there was something missing. He had most of the pieces but hadn't been able to start digging.

With a sharp exhale, Katsuki backed out of the file and clicked on another one—"Serum EcksTerminus."

The name was absurd. EcksTerminus? It sounded like something out of a shitty sci-fi comic. But the implications behind it weren't funny. Not even a little. The file opened to a heavily redacted document, most of it blacked out, with only a few lines visible. Izuku had highlighted what little he could make sense of, but it was clear even he was just as lost as Katsuki. 

"EcksTerminus... mentioned in redacted document. Possible serum? Connection to ZENITH unclear. Could be a catalyst? A key? Need more data."

Katsuki's jaw tightened. No shit it's the key. It was starting to click into place, more than it had before. This serum—whatever the hell it was—could be the missing link. EcksTerminus. The name might be ridiculous, but the concept wasn't. Could this be what they'd used on Phazewave? Was this the shit that had accelerated its growth, pushed it to the brink of quirk singularity theory?

The more he thought about it, the more it started adding up. Phazewave had been practically unstoppable. The way it had adapted, evolved during their fight, had been unlike anything he'd ever seen. If EcksTerminus was the secret behind that evolution, it might be the missing piece to unraveling Izuku's scribbled mess of notes.

With a frustrated grunt, Katsuki slammed the file shut and leaned back into the couch, glaring at the screen. His head was throbbing like a damn drum, and his eyes burned from staring at the data for too long. He needed a break. Just a second to clear his head before diving back into the mess that was Izuku's obsessive research and the League's deranged plans.

His eyes flicked to the cup of tea sitting forgotten on the table. Probably cold as shit by now. He'd brewed it hours ago, thinking he'd just skim through the files and find something useful. What a joke.

He grabbed the cup anyway, lifting it to his lips and taking a long, slow drink. The cold, bitter liquid shocked his senses, cutting through the fog that had settled in his mind. At least it was something to jolt him back to reality. He set the cup down with a dull thud and ran a hand through his messy hair, tugging at it roughly.

"Focus," he muttered to himself, voice low and sharp.

The pain in his scalp from yanking at his hair helped clear the buzzing in his brain, grounded him for a second. He couldn't afford to let his head get all twisted up in the details. He had to stay sharp. He was close, dammit. He could feel it. He had the missing piece, the one Izuku hadn't even known to look for.

With a deep breath, Katsuki clicked out of the file and opened the last subfile in the folder—"Materials for ZENITH." The document loaded slowly, revealing a list that made Katsuki's blood turn ice-cold.

Chemical compounds with names he couldn't pronounce, rare genetic samples, specialized lab equipment... it was like a shopping list for some mad scientist's wet dream. Some of the items were familiar, standard stuff you'd expect in any high-level quirk enhancement project. But others? Others were different. Obscure. Dangerous.

Why the fuck would they need plutonium?

Izuku had highlighted a few of the more notable entries, marking their potential uses in biochemical enhancement and genetic manipulation. But even the nerd hadn't figured out what half of this stuff was for. Katsuki leaned in closer, scanning the list as his hand continued to rake through his hair, now more of a nervous habit than anything else.

Biochemical enhancement, genetic manipulation... It all lined up with everything he'd pieced together about Phazewave and the League's twisted ambitions. But this? This was bigger. Because Katsuki had that one crucial piece the other didn't.

Garaki's research wasn't just resurfacing; it was being repurposed, twisted into something far more dangerous. His eyes darted back to his notes, following the tangled web of connections like a predator hunting its prey, the connections snapping together like a well-laid trap. If both the Humarise scientist and Garaki's work had been morphed together, then whatever Project ZENITH was, it wasn't just another experiment. It was the culmination of their twisted fucking ambitions.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, the edge of his jaw tight with the effort to focus. The human and Nomu trials—they were the steppingstones. Garaki's notes had been vague at best, fragmented ramblings about quirk amplification and genetic manipulation. But combined with the deranged scribbles from the unhinged Humarise scientist? The picture started to come into sharper focus.

The serum. EcksTerminus. That had to be the link. It wasn't just some failed attempt at enhancement; it was the keystone of the whole damn project. Phazewave wasn't just a byproduct of their sick experiments—it was proof of concept. A test run. And a successful one at that.

If they had managed to pull that off with a Nomu...

"Fuck," he breathed, the word coming out like a curse. He could see it now, clear as day. They weren't done. Not by a long shot. They'd found a way to push quirks to their absolute limit, to bend and break the natural order, and Phazewave was just the beginning. The proof they needed that their theories weren't just theories anymore.

But if Phazewave was the test, then Project ZENITH... Katsuki's felt the hair on his arms rise at the thought. Project ZENITH wasn't just about amplifying quirks. It was about perfecting the serum and the quirk, pushing the boundaries even further, to the point where a human subject could withstand the transformation without fucking dying from the strain.

The twisted fucks were trying to create something new, something more powerful than a Nomu, more controlled than Phazewave.

"Goddammit, Deku," he muttered, his voice tight with frustration and fear. "Why the hell didn't you see this?" The pieces were all there now. Izuku had been on the right damn path, but he hadn't put it together. Or maybe he had, but his fractured mind—his damn DID—kept him from seeing the bigger picture. And now, Katsuki was the one left to pick up the pieces.

Project ZENITH wasn't just a continuation of Garaki's work. It was a culmination, a goddamn finale. And if that was true, the implications were terrifying. What if they were planning to use that serum on someone with a seriously messed-up quirk? What if they figured out how to stabilize it—make the subject stronger without turning them in to a pile of fucking goo?

There was no way you could just pump that kind of shit into someone and expect them to handle it... right? Their body would need to be reinforced, pushed beyond its natural limits to withstand the transformation. The serum would tear a normal person apart according the one hundred percent mortality rate. You'd have to enhance them first—make them stronger, more durable—before injecting that hellish concoction into their veins.

Katsuki felt it, a strange jolt of recognition—something twisted, sick, but familiar.

Shigaraki. 

That bastard had been through something similar, hadn't he? They'd pushed his body, his quirk, to its absolute limit. Garaki spent months working on him, pushing his body to the brink of collapse. Enhancing him. Twisting him into something that wasn't human, worse than villain. A living weapon.

Katsuki's gut twisted, the sick sense of déjà vu making him nauseous. Fuck. This is just like what they did to Shigaraki... but cranked up to the goddamn max with the help of the other scientist.

Katsuki's mind was spiraling, memories of Shigaraki, of the war clawing at him like jagged glass, but he forced himself to refocus. He couldn't afford to get lost in his own thoughts, not now. He scrolled down the page with sharp, deliberate flicks of his fingers, the light from the screen glaring back at him. His eyes skimming over the dense paragraphs of information.

And that's when Katsuki's eyes landed on something that made him freeze.

"Some materials only available at the Twilight Market."

The words seemed to leap off the screen, the implications hitting him like a punch to the gut. Finally...Finally, after days of banging his fucking head against this wall, he had something solid. A lead. A place to start.

The Twilight Market. Shibuya's underground black market. He'd heard of it, of course—everyone in their line of work had. It was where you went when you needed something you couldn't find anywhere else. Dangerous, illegal shit.

This place was elusive as hell—practically a ghost. You couldn't just show up and find it. No, the Twilight Market didn't exist for people like that.

It was where the deepest, darkest shit went down. You needed connections to get in—real, solid ones. A passcode wasn't enough. Hell, even if you had that, you needed someone on the inside, someone who knew where the market was setting up that week. It moved constantly, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of the city, never in the same place twice. Any hint that it had been compromised? That the authorities were sniffing around? It would disappear without a trace, leaving nothing but rumors in its wake.

The Twilight Market was notorious for this. It was why it'd been impossible to shut down. Even the Pro Heroes had trouble keeping tabs on it. You could scour all of Shibuya's alleyways, turn over every goddamn rock, and still come up with nothing if you didn't know where to look. If you didn't know who to ask.

His lips curled back into a sneer, fingers drumming against the edge of his notebook as he contemplated his next move. Izuku's messed-up trail of notes had led him here, and Katsuki wasn't about to let it end at another dead end, not about to let him die in vain. No. This time, he was kicking down that damn door, even if it wasn't the kind of door you could kick. He needed to get into the Twilight Market. He needed to find out exactly who was supplying the League and what the hell they were planning with Project ZENITH.

There was just one problem: even he didn't have the right connections to get into a place like that. Not yet, anyway.

But he knew a certain bird brain who probably did. Someone who'd been itching for payback ever since Red Lotus. Ever since Hitoshi Shinsou.

A wicked smirk twisted across Katsuki's face, sharp and fiendish, the kind of grin that'd make most people turn tail and run.

The Jet-Black Hero: Tsukuyomi.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Twilight and Shadows

Katsuki stood rigid, hands jammed into the pockets of his coat, staring out across the sea of people at the Shibuya Crossing. The massive intersection buzzed with life as hundreds of bodies moved like clockwork, weaving through one another in a chaotic but orderly rhythm. Neon lights flashed from every direction, casting the entire area in an almost surreal glow. It was so goddamn loud—voices, car engines, the constant click of camera shutters. Everything about this place grated on his nerves.

He ground his teeth, his eyes darting over the crowd, scanning every face, every corner, every shadow. Tokoyami had told him to meet at the entrance of the JR station at 7:30 p.m., but it was already 7:45, and the bird-brained asshole was nowhere to be seen. Katsuki had been itching to get started, ready to tear through Shibuya to find the Twilight Market and rip answers out of anyone who might know something. He reached out asking for information on the networks around here, cautious not to mention the market. But Tokoyami, being his usual cautious self, insisted they meet over coffee first. Coffee? Like this was some kind of casual chat.

But Katsuki understood the caution, there was a reason why Tokoyami was so adamant about moving carefully. The guy had been working the underworld for years, balancing his role as a hero with the dangerous game of being a double agent. He was Hawks' shadow, operating in the darkest corners of society where most heroes wouldn't last a minute.

Tokoyami didn't just know the underworld; he was part of it—at least, that's how the criminals saw him. And if they even got a whiff that he wasn't who he claimed to be, his cover would be blown, and years of deep infiltration would go up in flames. That was why he didn't want Katsuki to go in guns blazing. One reckless move, and the entire house of cards would collapse.

Katsuki leaned against a wall, his gaze sharp but now more calculating. It made sense, even if Katsuki hated how slow things had to move. Tokoyami had more to lose here than just some scumbag broker. The bird-brain had built these connections, and those ties were the only reason they even had a shot at finding the Twilight Market, it was partially how they'd managed to infiltrate the underground night club all those months ago.

That was the reason why Katsuki had reluctantly agreed to dye his damn hair and wear those stupid brown contact lenses, even though the idea of changing anything about himself disgusted him. Tokoyami had insisted on it, saying Katsuki's usual spiky blond hair and fierce red eyes were far too recognizable. He was the number one hero after all.

Now his hair was a dull shade of black, flat and unassuming, his red eyes masked by the brown lenses that shifted in the city's lights. And for the first time in years, Katsuki wasn't the center of attention. No whispers of "Dynamight," no gawking idiots pulling out their phones for a photo. He was just another face in the crowd, anonymous in a sea of strangers. It was almost... nice. If only it was always like this, had always been like this.

Still, he wasn't about to get comfortable in this disguise. He felt like he was walking around in someone else's skin, and that pissed him off. But for now, it served its purpose. He didn't need people recognizing him, not when he was about to dive into the heart of Shibuya's underworld.

Just as he let his gaze drift over the crowd again, Katsuki felt the faint shift of air beside him—someone was standing too close. His eyes snapped to his right, his instincts flaring to life.

Tokoyami.

He had appeared out of nowhere, blending into the shadows like he was part of the night itself. His dark cloak barely caught the glow of the surrounding lights, and his sharp black eyes met Katsuki's with calm precision.

"Good evening, Bakugo," Tokoyami said in his usual low tone.  A small ripple of movement beneath his cloak caught Katsuki's attention. Dark Shadow peeked out cautiously from the folds of the black fabric. The shadow's glowing eyes glimmered faintly in the neon haze, giving a subtle nod in Katsuki's direction. "Let's not waste any more time." His counterpart continued.

Without another word, Tokoyami turned and began walking through the crowd, his movements fluid and unhurried. Katsuki pushed off the wall, his scowl deepening as he fell into step behind him. Damn bird-brain was always so dramatic. But at least he was finally getting things moving.

They weaved through the streets, Tokoyami leading the way with practiced ease. Despite his impatience, Katsuki had to admit the guy knew how to move in this environment. Every step Tokoyami took was deliberate, slipping between the streams of people like a shadow, never drawing attention to himself. It was no wonder the underground hadn't figured out who he really was.

After a few minutes, they reached a small, tucked-away café. It was the kind of place you'd walk right past if you didn't know what you were looking for—quiet, unassuming, with a single dim light glowing in the window.

Tokoyami opened the door without a word, and Katsuki followed him inside. The warm scent of coffee filled the air, but the place was nearly empty. Just a few scattered tables, soft music playing in the background, and the low hum of conversation from some customers near the back.

How the hell were they supposed to talk about something this serious in public? There were two other customers, sure, but still. This wasn't exactly a place for discussing the Twilight Market or what he'd found on Izuku's thumb drive. His brows scrunched together as he watched Tokoyami glide past the booths without a second glance.

To Katsuki's surprise, Tokoyami didn't sit down. Instead, he walked straight up to the counter, casting a glance over his shoulder, eyes briefly flicking toward Katsuki. "Do you want anything?"

Katsuki's jaw tightened. "Tch, no. Let's get this over with."

Tokoyami nodded, turning back to the barista. "An American black coffee, no sugar," he ordered in his low voice. Katsuki's gaze drifted over the room as he waited, but when Tokoyami spoke again, it snapped back to him instantly.

"Where walls listen, doors appear," Tokoyami said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet there was a weight to the words. It was a weird phrase, and Katsuki's eyes narrowed—clearly a passcode, some kind of hidden meaning only the right people would catch.

The barista, a middle-aged guy with a few too many wrinkles for the average café worker, didn't blink. His hands moved smoothly as he prepared the coffee, and then, just as subtly, Tokoyami slipped some folded bills—twenty thousand yen—across the counter.

The barista pocketed the money in one fluid motion, his gaze drifted briefly to Katsuki, giving him a slow, assessing look—probably trying to figure out if he should recognize the guy who was usually plastered across billboards and news channels.

Katsuki kept his face impassive, resisting the urge to tell the barista to get lost. It didn't matter what he thought right now. This was Tokoyami's show, and he'd have to deal with it.

After a tense few seconds, the barista gave a slow nod, giving Tokoyami his order then gestured for them to follow him. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Tokoyami before they both trailed after the man. He led them toward the back of the café, past the rows of empty tables and toward a small, almost hidden door at the far end.

The barista pushed it open, revealing a narrow hallway that led into a private room—no windows, just a single table and two chairs. A low hum of energy pulsed through the air, so faint it was almost unnoticeable, but Katsuki felt it instantly. A dampening field like the one in his office. Clever bastards.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Katsuki felt the prickling sensation across his skin—subtle, but undeniable. The air was charged, like static electricity before a storm. The hum of conversation from the café disappeared completely, swallowed by the dampening field that cut off all outside eyes, ears, and quirks.

"No eyes, no ears," Tokoyami said quietly, his black eyes gleaming in the low light. "And no quirks. We can talk freely here."

Katsuki grunted, rolling his shoulders as the energy wrapped around the room. "Convenient," he muttered, glancing around. "How the hell did you set this up?"

"Connections," Tokoyami replied, his tone calm as ever. He sat down at the table, his cloak shifting as he got comfortable. "This isn't my first time here."

Katsuki wasted no time, dropping into the chair across from Tokoyami, his eyes sharp and focused. "Let's cut the crap. I need to get into the Twilight Market."

Tokoyami, calm as ever, sipped his coffee, his gaze unreadable as he studied Katsuki for a moment. Dark Shadow slowly unfurled from the cloak, slipping out like a wisp of smoke. It hovered near Tokoyami's side, its eyes glowing faintly in the dim room. With a low, rumbling voice, Dark Shadow interjected, "Bakugo, always so impatient. But that's why you get things done, right?"

Katsuki clicks his tongue, crossing his arms. "Tch, Damn right."

"I assumed this wasn't just a social call. Does this have to do with the League of Villains? Midoriya? Or perhaps Odd Eye?" Tokoyami asks sparing a knowing glance at Dark Shadow, who let out a soft chuckle, shifting its form slightly as it hovered closer to the table.

Katsuki's jaw clenched at the mention of Izuku but ignored it, instead focusing on Odd Eye. "Yeah. It's always about those fucking assholes in the League, ain't it? But it's bigger than that. They're gearing up for something. And I need access to figure out what exactly that bullshit is." He leaned forward, his voice low and full of tension. "What do you know about Project ZENITH?"

Tokoyami's usually calm expression faltered for a moment, his brows furrowing at the mention of ZENITH. He placed his coffee cup down slowly, the faint clink of porcelain against wood the only sound in the room. His black eyes narrowed in thought as he leaned back, processing what Katsuki had just said.

Dark Shadow's eyes flickered with a sharper glow, curiosity evident in its voice as it asked, "How do you even know about ZENITH?"

Before Katsuki could respond, Tokoyami raised a hand, silencing Dark Shadow with a measured calm. The room seemed to grow even quieter as Tokoyami leaned forward slightly, his gaze now sharp with suspicion. His voice, though still low and even, carried a weight that hadn't been there before.

"All I've managed to gather is a name—nothing more," Tokoyami said quietly. "It's been nearly impossible to get any concrete intel on it. Not even my most trusted contacts know what Project ZENITH truly is. So how, Bakugo, do you know?"

Katsuki clicked his tongue, leaning back in his own chair and folding his arms over his chest. "I figured as much. No one from what I've figured out, knows shit, and they've been keeping it that way for a reason. But I've got something you don't." He let the words hang for a moment, watching Tokoyami's reaction before continuing.

"Izuku... left behind a thumb drive. Didn't tell me about it directly, but he left it to someone in case something happened to him. It has everything he was investigating on Odd Eye, the League, and whatever the hell Project ZENITH is. He was close, real fucking close, to figuring it all out." Katsuki's voice lowered, the usual anger replaced by a steely resolve.

Tokoyami blinked, his black eyes sharp with surprise. "Midoriya... left a thumb drive?"

Katsuki's gaze drifted to the side as he nodded, a rare hint of something deeper than his usual anger flickering in his expression. "Yeah... the damn nerd was running himself into the ground for it. His DID—" Katsuki's voice tightened, frustration creeping in, "—it was clearly tearing him apart? Pulling him in a thousand directions."

He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind replaying the days in the hospital after the Red Lotus incident, before everything truly went to hell. "Even then, he was chasing every lead. I could tell he was staying up for days, tracking down contacts, putting pieces together. Like some obsessed maniac."

Tokoyami watched Katsuki in silence, the faint hum of the dampening field wrapping them in a suffocating quiet. The tension in Katsuki's posture was undeniable—he was teetering on the edge, the weight of Izuku's tragic situation pressing down hard. Tokoyami knew there was nothing he could say that would make any of this easier.

"Bakugo..." Tokoyami's voice was steady, a quiet gravity in his tone. "I could offer you words of advice or comfort, but we both know that nothing I say would change how you feel."

Katsuki's hands tightened into fists on the table, his eyes fixed on them as if the pressure building inside him was ready to snap. For a second, his mind seemed far away—distant, spiraling back into those last days with Izuku, watching him burn himself out before he completely fucking lost it.

The frustration, the helplessness, the way everything had fallen apart. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck, and just as the anger was about to boil over, he snapped back to reality.

His gaze flicked up sharply, meeting Tokoyami's once again. "Tch. I don't need comfort," he growled, his voice low, dangerous. "What I need is to take out the LOV, more specifically that fucking bastard." The edge in Katsuki's voice made dark shadow shutter slightly as he swirled behind Tokoyami

The room was quiet again, the electric tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Both Tokoyami and Dark Shadow didn't push, knowing Katsuki was holding back a tidal wave of emotions. Instead, he shifted the conversation, his voice measured as he asked, "What was on the drive, Bakugo?"

Katsuki blinked, his red eyes—masked by the brown contacts—narrowing for a second as he stared at Tokoyami, suspicion creeping into his gaze. Without Shinsou, there was no way to know if anyone had been compromised by Odd Eye's influence. Not anymore. They didn't have that luxury—the ability to dive into someone's mind, check for signs of manipulation. Shinsou was gone, taken out during that fight in the Red Lotus, and that left Katsuki flying blind when it came to trust.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on Tokoyami and his shadow, weighing the risk. Could he be compromised? Could Odd Eye have gotten to him? There were too many unknowns. But right now, Katsuki didn't have a choice. Screw it. He needed Tokoyami's help, and even though he hated it, he had to take the risk.

Katsuki leaned forward, words coming out in a low, sharp growl as he told Tokoyami everything. No sugar-coating, no holding back. He laid it all out—about the thumb drive, the intel Izuku had been gathering on Odd Eye, the League, and that nightmare of a project, Phazewave. He talked about the shady materials, genetic samples, research from both the Humarise and LOV scientist, the gruesome experiments, and the materials being acquired through the Twilight Market.

He told him his theory about how Project Phazewave might have been the foundation for what Project ZENITH could possibly be.

By the time he got to EcksTerminus, the serum that he believed was used on Phazewave, Katsuki's voice was vibrating with barely-contained rage. Someone else needed to know what was going on, if this information stayed buried and he died fighting then no one else could stop the bastard before it was too late.

When he finally finished, the room was thick with silence. Tokoyami was sitting there, elbows on the table, fingers steepled in front of his beak, just staring at the wood. Not saying a word. Katsuki could practically see the wheels turning in his head, the weight of it all finally sinking in.

Dark Shadow slowly emerged from Tokoyami's side, its form less playful now, more serious. It hovered just above Tokoyami's shoulder, its glowing eyes narrowing as it absorbed everything Katsuki had just said.

"This is worse than we originally anticipated," Dark Shadow muttered, its usual mischievous tone completely absent. It glanced down at Tokoyami, concern more than present.

For a long, tense minute, none of them said anything. Katsuki's heart was still pounding, but Tokoyami looked like he was trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. Processing.

Finally, Tokoyami exhaled, his voice quiet, but serious. "So... they're stockpiling resources. Trying to use the research they did on this Nomu called Phazewave to recreate the results for something more dangerous. If your hunch is right, this isn't just about making a stronger villain—it's about rewriting the rules of nature entirely. Creating perfected versions of known quirks."

Katsuki gave a sharp nod, his eyes blazing. "Yeah. And that freak Odd Eye's right in the middle of it. They're close, way too close if they already have a successful trial run."

Tokoyami stayed silent for a moment longer, still processing everything Katsuki had just unloaded. His black eyes flickered with a mix of disbelief and understanding. Finally, he thumbed his beak in contemplation. "That Nomu... Phazewave... Is it the same one that fought Midoriya in Hakone?"

Katsuki's jaw tightened, a flash of something dark passing through his eyes. He didn't need to think about it. "Yeah," he muttered, voice thick with barely controlled rage. "Same damn one. That thing killed him."

Dark Shadow's glowing eyes widened, flickering with shock as it darted forward, its voice a panicked whisper, "What? Midoriya... he's dead? How? What happened?"

At the same time, Tokoyami's calm demeanor cracked, his usually composed voice rising slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes sharp with disbelief. "Bakugo, how do you know this? How did Midoriya fall? We've had no confirmation, no—"

Tokoyami's words trailed off as he finally took a closer look at Katsuki. The number one hero's usual fiery intensity was still there, but there was something else now, something worn and ragged beneath the surface. The bags under Katsuki's eyes were dark, and his frame—once robust and powerful—seemed slightly diminished. His clothes hung a little looser, and there was a weight in the way he sat, like he'd been carrying something too heavy for too long.

For a moment it felt like the ground had shifted beneath him, throwing everything off-balance. He had known Katsuki was struggling, had seen the anger simmering just beneath the meticulously controlled façade, but he had assumed it was because of Izuku's decision to go rogue, not because he'd... died. He'd thought the pain Katsuki carried was from Izuku walking away, from the fractured relationship, from the weight of betrayal. But this? Izuku was dead?

"Bakugo... I—" Tokoyami's voice faltered as the shock took hold. "I thought he'd gone underground. I thought... you were angry because of that." His sharp black eyes looked to Katsuki's, searching for something to hold onto in the storm of revelations. "Not because..."

Katsuki's lips curled in a bitter snarl, anger rising from deep inside, eyes flashing dangerously as Tokoyami's words trailed off. He could see the pity creeping into not only Tokoyami's gaze but Dark Shadows, and it only made the anger burn hotter inside him. Pity. That was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to talk about Izuku—didn't want to hear the condolences or see the sympathy in anyone's eyes. It was like acid, eating away at his resolve, and he didn't have time for it.

"Don't," Katsuki snapped, his voice harsh, cutting through the thick tension in the room, making Dark Shadow flinch slightly. "I don't want your damn pity, bird brain. This isn't about that."

He wasn't here to unpack his feelings about Izuku or go down some emotional spiral. That part was done. Buried.

He was on the path to war.

Tokoyami opened his mouth to respond, but Katsuki cut him off, slamming his fist on the table, rattling the coffee cup. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to hear it. All I want is to get into the damn Twilight Market. That's it. I don't have time for anything else."

Katsuki's voice was a sharp, dangerous growl as he continued, he was sure if it wasn't for the dampener his quirk would be crackling up his arm. "I don't just want revenge for Deku, bird-brain. This is about everything Odd Eye's done. Everyone he's taken. Izuku was just the last straw. Before him, it was Kirishima, Mina, Kaminari, Shinsou."

At the mention of Shinsou, Tokoyami's calm demeanor cracked. His eyes darkened, and Katsuki could almost see that same anger, that same fire burning beneath the surface. The mention of Shinsou hit home. For a moment, Tokoyami didn't move, but his hands tightened, fingers gripping the edge of the table as if trying to steady himself.

Dark Shadow flared out suddenly, expanding and twisting in the dim room, its form almost feral as it bared jagged, shadowy teeth. Its eyes blazed with barely restrained fury, the usual playful demeanor long gone, replaced with something dark and primal. "Shinsou," Dark Shadow growled, the name dripping with venom. "They took him from us! We should've torn them apart then and there!"

The shadows in the room seemed to pulse with Dark Shadow's anger, the very air thick with an almost tangible energy. The walls seemed to close in as the tension skyrocketed, Katsuki's own rage mirrored in the furious swirl of shadow around him.

"Enough!" Tokoyami snapped, his voice sharp and commanding as he stood abruptly, his hand outstretched toward Dark Shadow. "Control yourself!"

Dark Shadow recoiled as if struck, but it still loomed large, its form bristling with residual anger. It turned its head toward Tokoyami, its eyes wild for a brief moment, before begrudgingly retreating. The room fell back into a tense, suffocating silence as Dark Shadow shrank back, folding itself into Tokoyami's cloak.

"Don't let it consume you," Tokoyami muttered to his shadow, his tone firm but laced with emotion. He took a breath to calm himself, but even as Dark Shadow obeyed, the tension didn't fully dissipate.

"Hitoshi..." Tokoyami met Katsuki's gaze, and for a moment, they were united in that shared rage, that need for vengeance, for justice for those they had lost.

"That bastard's destroyed everything he's touched. Shinsou, Deku... how many more? How many more before someone takes him down?"

Tokoyami's sharp eyes met Katsuki's, and for the first time, Katsuki saw something he didn't see often in him: wrath.

"Look," Katsuki seethed, "I don't need you to understand all of it. I don't need you to talk about what's fair or right, or give me some speech about the weight of responsibility. I just need to know one thing." His eyes glowing beneath the contacts with the intensity of his emotions, and he leaned forward, his voice sharp as a knife. "Are you gonna help me, or not?"

Tokoyami didn't break eye contact, the smoldering anger in his own gaze matching Katsuki's. His hands, still clenched around the edge of the table, slowly relaxed. He didn't answer right away, but Katsuki could see it—the resolve setting in. The decision being made.

"All I'm asking for is one thing," Katsuki continued, his voice rough but resolute. "Get me into the Twilight Market. That's it. I'll handle the rest."

Tokoyami exhaled slowly, his gaze unwavering. "And then what? You charge in there alone? Take them down by yourself?" There was a trace of skepticism in his tone.

"Are you planning to kill him? Odd Eye?"

The question hung in the air like a guillotine. Dark Shadow's eyes watched from the darkness of his companion's cloak. Katsuki's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer right away. For a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond—because deep down, he knew the answer. That raw, burning hatred that had been festering inside him ever since Deku's death, since Shinsou's—hell, since everything—wasn't going just to go away.

Would he kill Odd Eye? Wouldn't he?

The silence was almost unsettling, the electric hum of the dampening field buzzing in Katsuki's ears. He didn't say it out loud, but the truth was clear enough. Tokoyami saw it too. The rage, the unspoken answer. Katsuki wasn't going to stop. Not until Odd Eye was nothing but a stain, wiped out like the countless lives he'd destroyed, consequences be fucking damned.

Tokoyami leaned back slightly, assessing, but there was no judgment in his gaze. Just cold understanding. "If it comes to that..." Tokoyami said, his voice quieter now, "I won't stop you."

Katsuki looked away, the muscle in his jaw flexing as the weight of Tokoyami's words sank in. If it came down to it, he'd do it. He'd end Odd Eye without a second fucking thought. Make him suffer if he could.

Why shouldn't he?  He wasn't some saint, wasn't chasing redemption. He was chasing justice. Vengeance.

Izuku had once told him, that he would burn the whole damn world down if it meant protecting Katsuki. That stupid nerd had meant every fucking word of it, too. He'd pushed himself past the breaking point time and again, risking his own life, his own sanity, just to keep Katsuki safe...

So why the hell shouldn't Katsuki do the same for him? For the only person who had ever understood him, who loved him—unconditionally—in his own twisted, fuck-up way?

Katsuki blew out a sharp breath, the heat crawling up his spine, a dangerous crackle of energy that was pushed down, shoved back inside by the dampener. Izuku had believed in him. Had fought for him. Had died for him.

He would return the favor.

Katsuki straightened in his seat, steeling himself as the resolve settled deeper into his bones. He wasn't going to flinch or second-guess. Not now. He was done with hesitation, with playing the waiting game.

He looked down at Tokoyami, waiting—expecting—to see whether the bird-brain would help him or not.

Tokoyami assessed him with a quiet intensity that only came out when things had truly crossed a line. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but Tokoyami was always careful. Always calculated.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Tokoyami exhaled. "Death begets death," he murmured darkly, quoting one of the old proverbs Katsuki had heard from him a handful of times. "But in this world... there's no escaping that truth. Odd Eye has sown chaos, and he'll reap the consequences."

Dark Shadow slipped out from the folds of Tokoyami's cloak, "In Twilight, the shadows are always watching," it muttered, its form shimmering. "They wait—silently, patiently—for the first sign of weakness. The moment they see it, they strike. The market thrives on blood, betrayal, and survival. Anyone who enters walks a tightrope above the abyss."

Tokoyami, lost in thought, cleared his throat as he watched his shadow. "If vengeance is the path you've chosen, I won't stand in your way. I'll get you into the Twilight Market."

Chapter Text

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Thrum's of a Lost Soul

Katsuki's teeth ground together as Tokoyami explained the current situation. The Twilight Market—their best shot at getting closer to Odd Eye—wasn't where it was supposed to be. That underground cesspool had gone mobile, shifting locations like some goddamn carnival show, and it wouldn't be set up again until later tomorrow. Tokoyami had assured him that by the morning, he'd have the location locked down, but Katsuki hated waiting. Hated how every second felt like wasted time.

Fucking perfect. Every part of him itched to smash through walls, tear down the streets, and rip answers out of the first scumbag who crossed his path. But no. He had to sit here and play along with Tokoyami's careful, sneaky bullshit. The bird-brain was right—he knew that—but it didn't make the crawling impatience any easier to swallow.

"Do you have a place to stay in Shibuya tonight?" Tokoyami finally said.

Katsuki's scowl deepened, irritation flashing across his face. "Tch, I'm not staying in this shitty district any longer than I have to," he growled. "Once we're done here, I'm heading back."

Tokoyami tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing with quiet contemplation. "I wouldn't recommend that," he said, pushing his chair back and standing slowly. "There are eyes everywhere in Shibuya, especially in this district. The underworld operates on a constant flow of information. If you move now, you'll be watched before you even step outside the café."

Katsuki's fists clenched, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He hated the idea of being cornered, of having to rely on someone else to keep him off the radar. "I'm not some helpless rookie, bird-brain. I can handle a few lowlifes."

Dark shadow peaked out shaking its head, Tokoyami's cloak shifting with the motion. "It's not about handling them," he replied, Tokoyami nodded before continuing. "It's about keeping a low profile. The moment anyone recognizes you, we lose any advantage we have. The Twilight Market isn't just a place; it's an empire built on secrets. If they know you're looking for them, they'll vanish again, and we'll be back to square one."

Katsuki clicked his tongue in annoyance, glaring at Tokoyami from across the table. "So what, you're offering me a place to crash?" he said laying on the sarcasm thick.

Tokoyami gave a small nod, his expression as composed as ever. "I have a safe house nearby. You can stay there tonight. It's discreet, and more importantly, secure. We'll regroup in the morning when I have the information on the market's new location."

Katsuki let out a sharp breath, rubbing a hand through his newly dyed black hair, the unfamiliar feel of it only adding to his agitation. Damn it. He hated every part of this—hated the waiting, hated the sneaking around, and especially hated the idea of being cooped up somewhere with nothing to do but think about how much time they were wasting. But Tokoyami was right. The last thing he needed was to blow their shot because some sleazebag spotted him walking back to the number one hero's apartment.

"Fine," he muttered through clenched teeth. "But the second you've got something, we move."

"Agreed," Tokoyami affirmed. As he turned toward the door, he paused, glancing back at Katsuki. He Ruffled his feather before his voice took on a more serious edge, "How much do you know about the Yakuza that run the market?"

Katsuki's brow furrowed slightly. "Enough to know they're not just some street gang," he said with a snarl. "Yami no Gūru, right? Heard about 'em through some channels. They're organized, smart, and they don't make mistakes. That's how they've stayed under the radar for so long."

Tokoyami glanced over his shoulder, eyes sharp with focus. "Correct. But there's more to it than that. Their leader, Akatsuki Fuyuki a.k.a The Soverign, isn't just a crime boss. He's built the Twilight Market into an empire—an ecosystem where power, secrets, and fear thrive. You can't just bulldoze through it like any other gang hideout."

Katsuki clicked his tongue, his irritation flaring again. "Tch. What else do I need to know? That he's untouchable?"

Tokoyami's gaze stayed fixed on Katsuki as he replied, "Not untouchable, but close. Odd Eye might have close ties to The Soverign."

About an hour later, Katsuki found himself walking into a small apartment, the door creaking shut behind him with a soft click. The place was modest—clean, unassuming, and just big enough for someone who needed to disappear without leaving any trace behind. Tokoyami had led him up a back alley, taking a route that wound through the darker corners of Shibuya. Both Katsuki and Dark Shadow had been on edge the entire time, their senses sharp for anyone tailing them. But no one did. Tokoyami had that part handled, at least.

Katsuki's eyes scanned the apartment, his instincts still buzzing even in the relative safety of the space. The main room was sparsely furnished—a small couch, a coffee table with nothing on it, and a kitchenette off to the side. There were no personal touches, no photos, no decorations. Just walls, furniture, and shadows clinging to the corners. Tch. Typical dark and brooding emo shit.

"This'll be your space for tonight," Tokoyami said as he walked past Katsuki, his voice as quiet as ever, like he was always trying to blend into the darkness. He pointed to a door on the right. "Bedroom's through there. There's a bathroom connected to it. The place is stocked with the basics—food, water, a first-aid kit."

Katsuki barely glanced in the direction of the bedroom, his attention more focused on making sure the windows were secure and noting how many exits there were. Just one door. Great, he thought sarcastically. If something went down, he'd have to fight his way out the same way he came in.

"I've got food if you need it," Tokoyami continued, gesturing to the kitchen. Dark Shadow drifted out of his cloak with a swift, almost playful movement, it glided toward the small kitchen like it owned the place. Katsuki watched, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. It hovered over to the shelves, grabbing a snack bar and a bottle of water without making a sound.

Dark Shadow floated back over, cradling a snack bar and the bottle of water in its large, clawed hands. Tokoyami nodded, as serious as ever, and patted the shadow's head. "Thanks," he said, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He looked back to Katsuki. "I doubt it'll be to your usual standards, but—"

"Don't need it," Katsuki cut him off, his tone clipped and sharp. He wasn't in the mood to sit around and have dinner like this was some kind of normal situation.

Tokoyami didn't press the issue. "I figured as much." He stood there for a moment, his dark eyes scanning Katsuki like he was still assessing the situation. "But if you change your mind, help yourself. I'll be back later tonight," he said after a pause. "I need to follow up on a few contacts. Make sure we're not walking into anything unexpected tomorrow."

Katsuki's scowl deepened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "And what am I supposed to do until then?" he muttered, more to himself than to Tokoyami.

Dark Shadow looked amused but Tokoyami didn't respond to Katsuki's grumbling. Instead, he stepped over to the far wall of the apartment, his dark cloak sweeping behind him like the wings of a crow. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, watching as the bird-brain traced his fingers along the smooth surface, finding an almost invisible seam. Tokoyami tapped a precise sequence, and with a faint click, part of the wall lit up, revealing a hidden keypad.

"Seriously?" Katsuki muttered under his breath, folding his arms. He should've known. Tokoyami was always full of secret passages and dramatic entrances, always one step away from being a damn comic book villain.

His fingers flew across the pad, entering a fifteen-digit code faster than Katsuki could even process. The wall itself shifted, revealing a small, secure compartment—a hidden safe. He reached in and pulled out a sleek black laptop and a thumb drive. Dark Shadow took it and held them both out toward Katsuki without a word.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he snatched them from the shadow's hands, feeling the weight of the objects in his grip. "Great. Homework." His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he turned the laptop over in his hands. "Should've figured you'd have some Batcave-level bullshit like this hidden away."

To Katsuki's surprise, Tokoyami actually chuckled—a low, brief sound that somehow didn't feel out of place coming from the usually serious bird-brain. "This drive contains everything I've been able to gather on Yami no Gūru—on The Soverign, his Hand, his lieutenants, their assets, their operations, their networks, and how they operate within the Twilight Market. It's not comprehensive, but it's the best intel I have. It should be enough to get you started."

Katsuki gave a half-scoff, half-laugh, glancing between the laptop and the thumb drive. "Tch, enough to start blowin' things up, at least."

Tokoyami didn't linger after handing over the laptop and thumb drive. With one last glance at Katsuki, Tokoyami turned on his heel, his cloak sweeping behind him as he headed for the door. "Seriously, don't blow up the apartment," he said over his shoulder, his voice dry, but even then Dark Shadow squawked a laugh.

Katsuki only rolled his eyes at the jab, sighing and rolling his shoulders before making his way to the bedroom. The room was as plain as the rest of the apartment—a simple bed, a nightstand, and a small lamp. Katsuki set the laptop and thumb drive down on the bed, eyeing them like they were a ticking time bomb. More intel, he thought again with a grimace. But this wasn't just any intel. This was his ticket to destroying the LOV, and more importantly Odd Eye.

With a grunt, he kicked off his slippers, not bothering to undress further, ruffling his hair before flopping down onto the bed. He plugged in the thumb drive and booted up the laptop, the screen flickering to life as the drive's contents loaded.

For the next two hours, Katsuki dove into the intel Tokoyami had meticulously collected over the years, cross-referencing it with the data from Izuku's thumb drive.

Yami no Gūru—Ghouls of the Dark. One of the biggest damn crime syndicates in Japan, and probably the most profitable. They weren't just your typical run of the mill Yakuza—these bastards had elevated it to a whole new level, running things like a corporation, only with more blood on their hands and none of the accountability. Fucking empire, built on other people's misery.

The Ghouls had been in the shadows for years, but their influence stretched everywhere. Drugs, weapons, stolen tech—they had their dirty fingers in all of it. Hell, they weren't even picky about what they dealt in, so long as it brought in cash. Human trafficking, black market quirk enhancers, even underground fight rings. They'd sell anything to anyone, and the worst part? No one could touch them. They were too smart, too damn organized.

Katsuki worked through the intel, quickly adding Tokoyami's detailed information on Yami no Gūru into the "League Associates" folder. Izuku's notes on the group had been vague at best, so Katsuki created a new subfile for the Ghouls, neatly organizing the names, ranks, and operations Tokoyami had uncovered. He didn't waste time, throwing in a quick Phazewave subfile under the USJ Nomu section, might as well since he was at it.

Fuyuki, the Sovereign, had built his organization on fear, control, and secrecy. No one crossed him and lived to talk about it. His lieutenants—each of them powerful, each of them running their own piece of the operation—kept the whole machine running like Seiko's clockwork.

Katsuki's eyes flicked over the profiles of the Soverign's inner circle, his mind absorbing every detail. Hoshiko Muraoka—enforcer, running the fight rings and breaking anyone who stepped out of line. Tsubasa Kurogane—tech genius, smuggling weapons and keeping their digital operations airtight. Makoto Tazawa—drug lord, pushing quirk enhancers and other illegal junk. Chieko Ogura—trafficker, moving people like they were cargo. And Goro Tanabe—the right hand, a wildcard jumping between operations... and then there was her.

Toga. He hadn't expected to see her tangled up in this mess, but at the same time, it didn't surprise him. The League of Villains had splintered when they went down, but not all of them had been caught. A few had vanished into the wind, leaving behind chaos, blood, and scars. Toga had been one of those few—slippery as hell, always managing to evade capture when everything fell apart.

When they'd taken down the League of Villains originally, most of them had been rounded up, either locked away in Tartarus, the Abyss or dead. Shigaraki, Dabi, Spinner—they'd all been accounted for, in one way or another. But Toga? She'd disappeared into the shadows, and the world had assumed she'd either died or gone underground. Katsuki hadn't cared back then; he had too much going on to even consider tying up every loose end.

Now, it looked like she'd resurfaced—embedded deep within Yami no Gūru as a personal assasin. Great. Katsuki scowled, his eyes lingering on Toga's name a little longer than he'd like. Of course, she'd wriggled her way into another pain in his ass syndicate. It was just his luck that the one loose end the Hero's Association hadn't bothered to chase down had slithered into something bigger—something messier.

Toga being involved was already a headache, but then there was the other name that stood out—The Hand. Tokoyami didn't have a ton of info on the guy, but what he did have was enough to make Katsuki uneasy.

The Hand wasn't just any thug. This bastard was the Sovereign's right-hand man, and from what Tokoyami had dug up, he was the one actually responsible for creating the Twilight Market in the first place. Katsuki had assumed the market was just another underground operation, constantly moving to avoid being found, but nah, this was on another level entirely. Fuckers were using a damn pocket dimension quirk.

That explained why no one had been able to pin the market down for long. Every time someone got close, it'd shift, vanishing like it never existed in the first place. Tch. He hadn't expected the Ghouls to be playing with something that tricky. No wonder they'd stayed hidden for so long.

What really set Katsuki on edge, though, was the way The Hand's quirk worked. This wasn't some typical hideout. It wasn't like Labyrinth, the bastard who had built and controlled the underground lair under the Red Lotus. Labyrinth's quirk allowed him to connect to the mazes he created. He could feel every turn, shift the walls at will, see through them like it was an extension of his own body.

But The Hand? He was playing a different game entirely. His pocket dimension wasn't some shifting maze or puzzle. It was more like a towering skyscraper—a singular, massive space that didn't change once it was set. And unlike Labyrinth, The Hand couldn't 'enter' his own creation or interact with it once it was made. He was just another asshole who resided inside. But that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

What made The Hand a real pain in the ass was his ability to create exits wherever he wanted. He didn't need to navigate his own space. He could just pop up an exit anywhere and step right through. You could think you had him cornered, and the next second he'd vanish through a door, leaving you in the dust. There was no way to predict where he'd go or how to follow.

And then there was the kicker—anything left inside that pocket dimension when The Hand closed it out? Gone. Instantly. Anything organic—people, animals, plants—it all died the moment the space collapsed. Katsuki had no idea how the fuck it all worked, but the thought of being trapped inside the space with no way out?  It set his teeth on edge. It wasn't just a quirk—it was a kill zone.

And to top it all off, apparently, people were renting spaces in The Hand's pocket dimension like it was some kind of fucking criminal Airbnb. Katsuki could almost laugh at the absurdity of it—if it didn't make him want to blow something up first.

Katsuki sighed deeply, rubbing a hand through his ruffled black hair as he clicked out of the files. His eyes flicked to the time displayed in the corner. 12:32 a.m.

"Tch," he muttered, stretching his arms above his head, feeling the tension in his muscles. The weight of the information he had absorbed hung in the back of his mind, but what frustrated him more was the slow crawl of time. Everything was practically in place now, but he had to wait till tomorrow and that's if Tokoyami had his intel.

Katsuki slammed the laptop shut with a satisfying click, tossing it onto the nightstand beside him. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

With a grunt, he stood and headed toward the bathroom. The shower was small and cramped, just like the rest of the apartment, but it didn't matter. He turned the faucet, letting the water run for a moment as steam filled the room.

After a quick shower to rinse some of the temporary black dye from his hair, Katsuki returned to bed, his usual spiky blond hair back in place. Katsuki settled under the covers, laying in the darkness, his sharp fixed on the ceiling. The faint hum of the city barely made it through the thick walls, leaving nothing but his own thoughts to churn inside him. His mind wouldn't shut up—almost obsessively going over every damn thing that'd happened in the last few days, everything he'd uncovered, and everything still left to do.

But no matter how much he tried to focus on what was to come tomorrow, his eyes kept drifting back to the nightstand, to that stupid thumb drive. It sat there, so small, but it was like the heaviest thing Katsuki had ever held. That tiny piece of tech held everything. Everything Izuku had worked for. Everything he had died for.

Katsuki gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he forced the thoughts away. He didn't want to go there, didn't want to think about what it all meant. Not now. Not in this empty, shitty apartment. But the more he tried to shove it down, the more it crept up on him, slipping through the cracks in his defenses.

He shifted under the covers, the cool sheets brushing against his skin, and for a second—just for one damned second—he let himself think about it. About him.

His hand moved almost unconsciously across the bed, fingers gliding over the empty space next to him. Goddamn it. He could almost feel it—the warmth that used to be there next to him, the steady rise and fall of Izuku's breathing.

It was always nice, after everything was done for the day, after the world finally shut the hell up for five minutes. Izuku would slip in next to him, always taking up more space than he should've, but Katsuki never complained. He'd grumble about it, sure, push him around a bit, but... he never really minded. It was the only time things ever felt... quiet. Like maybe, just for a second, they weren't a hero and a broken soul. Just two idiots who'd survived everything the world threw at them.

He could almost hear the soft sound of Izuku's breath, the way he'd mumble in his sleep, always too damn restless. Katsuki used to watch him sometimes—just lay there, feeling the warmth of his body, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling like maybe, maybe, it'd all be okay. That somehow this fucked up world would let someone like Katsuki... like Izuku finally be happy.

But now... that side of the bed was cold.

Empty.

His hand froze halfway across the mattress, the coldness of the sheets hitting him like ice to his fingers. He pulled his hand back, the weight of the emptiness sinking in.

Katsuki swallowed hard, his throat tight, and turned over, his back to the nightstand. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thoughts away. He didn't have time for this. Didn't have time to think about how much he missed Izuku, how much it hurt to sleep alone, how empty the world felt without that idiot at his side... the loneliness that had become so familiar it was almost a part of him now.

His mind was slowing down, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling him under, but even as sleep started to take him, the memories wouldn't stop. He could almost hear Izuku's soft laugh, the way he'd tease him, or the way he'd look at him with those stupid, determined eyes. It made Katsuki's chest feel too tight, like he couldn't breathe.

And just as he was about to finally give in to the pull of sleep, he felt it—a soft thump against his chest.

His eyes snapped open, his body going rigid. He didn't move, didn't dare react, just lay there in the stillness, wondering if he'd imagined it. There was no way. The room was deathly quiet, silent except for the faint hum of the city outside. His mind went blank, too tired to process anything, but that thump—it was real. Wasn't it?

He waited, not daring to move, not even to breathe. Seconds passed, stretching into what felt like forever, and he was just about to convince himself he'd imagined it, that it was just some leftover dream or memory when—

Ba-dum.

There it was again, a soft, almost imperceptible thump against his chest.

Katsuki again didn't dare to fucking move, didn't even blink, his entire body still frozen in place. His mind was trying to process what was happening, but there were no answers, just a crushing sense of disbelief. The thumping against his chest was real. It was faint, barely there, but it was real.

Then, slowly, almost painfully slow, the rhythm became stronger. Ba-dum... ba-dum. The gentle pulse of a heartbeat, so familiar, so impossible.

Katsuki's breath hitched in his throat, and before he could even process what was happening, tears started to fall as the sound resonated through him. Seconds later he felt the faint warmth like it—the heartbeat—had never really left.

And as if someone had breathed life back into it, the softest flicker of emerald light shone through the sheets.

Chapter Text

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Open Arms

Beams of morning light streamed onto the small table Katsuki sat at, casting long shadows across the worn surface. His elbows rested against the cool wood, fingers laced tightly together. His usual scowl was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a rare, unsettling stillness. He wasn't glaring, wasn't grinding his teeth in frustration like he usually did. There was no fire sparking in his red eyes—just silence.

It had been a week since Hakone. A week since he'd felt Izuku slip away. A week since the ring around his neck—the one that had always carried that faint, familiar warmth and hearbeat—had gone cold. Dark. Empty. Katsuki could still feel the weight of it now, pressing against his chest like a constant reminder of his failure. For those first few days, it had been unbearable, like carrying a piece of Izuku's soul that had snuffed out the second Phazewave and LOV struck.

Then there was the Void Flare. Katsuki clenched his fists unconsciously, the memory of the destructive energy still fresh in his mind. He had come dangerously close to losing control—his own power threatening to incinerate him. The way the lab had trembled as the heat built up inside him, the anger, the grief, the sheer rage spiraling into something unstoppable. He'd almost let it all go.

Almost detonated like a damn mini nuclear warhead.

The aftermath had left him hollow. For the past week, he'd been running on fumes, barely able to hold it together. He kept going, kept moving, because if he stopped—if he allowed himself to think—he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle it. The anger had been his anchor, the one thing keeping him from being swallowed whole by the emptiness that had crept in after Izuku's heartbeat disappeared.

But last night... last night threw everything out of whack.

Katsuki's eyes drifted down to the ring hanging loosely around his neck. His thumb brushed against the warm metal, its weight feeling heavier than usual. After a week of silence, of nothing but cold emptiness, the heartbeat had returned.

Soft. Steady. Just like Izuku's used to be.

At first, he thought it was just a cruel fucking trick—his mind playing games with him, making him see, feel what he desperately wanted. But it hadn't gone away. The pulse was still there, faint but real... Katsuki didn't know how. Didn't understand why.

Izuku was alive.

Katsuki hadn't dared tell anyone about the ring.

Not a single damn soul knew. Not Shoto, not Ochako—no one. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, like the second he did, it'd disappear. Like the heartbeat would flicker and vanish, leaving nothing but that same suffocating silence in its place. He wasn't about to risk it, wasn't about to cling to some desperate hope only for it to get yanked away again.

The relief was almost worse than the grief.

Part of him—hell, most of him—was so damn relieved that Izuku was alive. That heartbeat, weak as it was, pulsed like a lifeline against his chest, but the relief made him angry, too. Terrified. Because if Izuku was alive, where the hell was he?

A sick feeling churned in Katsuki's gut. What if they had him? What if the League of Villains—Odd Eye—had gotten their hands on him? Or worse, his body? If they'd done something to him... changed him... and if he found him—no, when he found him—what then? What was he supposed to do if the person standing in front of him wasn't Izuku anymore?

The creak of a door snapped him out of his head. Katsuki's eyes flicked up, just in time to see Tokoyami stepping into the room. He didn't say anything at first—just walked over to the table and dropped something in front of him.

A mask. Sleek and dark, glinting under the faint light that filtered through the room Katsuki's eyes flicked down to it—a half mask, the lower half of a face, designed to look like a cyberpunk skull. Its sharp angles gleamed under the dim light, giving it an almost sinister, ghostly appearance. A couple of small vents on either side made it look like some sort of advanced breathing apparatus.

Katsuki blinked, then shot a glare up at Tokoyami. "The hell is this?"

"You'll need to wear it when we go into the Twilight Market. Even with the hair dye, it won't be enough. People will recognize you. This'll make sure they don't."

Katsuki scowled, his eyes darting between the mask and Tokoyami. "Tch, I already dyed my hair and put in those stupid lenses. You really think this mask is gonna make a difference?"

He ran a hand through his black hair—still hated how it felt. Flat. Boring. Wrong. But whatever, he'd deal with it. Still, the mask? This was getting ridiculous.

"Also ditch the other contacts, these will mask your identity to the retinal scanners as well." He said, placing them on the table. Katsuki just stared at it. Seriously?

Do you want to get in, or not?" he muttered, voice sharp and clipped, like he was talking to a kid who didn't know when to shut up.

Katsuki's mouth snapped shut, the retort he had ready dying before it could leave his throat. His jaw clenched, and he shot a glare at the mask again.

An hour later, Katsuki found himself trailing Tokoyami through the winding, labyrinthine underbelly of Shibuya Station. They'd entered through one of the smaller entrances to Shibuya Station, avoiding the crowded, more obvious paths.

His mind, however, wasn't on the mask—or the contacts or the hair gel plastering his spikes flat against his head. It was on where they were headed. The Twilight Market.

Shibuya. He couldn't help but wonder just what part of this massive, bustling district the Market had decided to set up in. The place was a labyrinth of subways, alleys, and hidden corners, and Katsuki knew that if you didn't know where you were going, many people got lost. It was just that fucking massive.

He'd expected them to head toward one of the less crowded train platforms, maybe head toward some grimy, forgotten corner of the district where the Twilight Market would be tucked away in a hidden basement or abandoned subway tunnel. That would've made sense—a simple, straightforward plan. But, as usual, things were never that easy. They never got on a train.

Instead, Tokoyami had led them deeper into the bowels of Shibuya Station, past the usual platforms and through a series of narrow corridors that Katsuki hadn't even known existed. Katsuki glanced up, eyes narrowing as they passed a pristine sign hanging from the ceiling. BF 5. They were five floors underground—a lot deeper than he had expected. The station was surprisingly clean, far from the grimy, abandoned place he'd expected. The smooth tiles gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and the walls, while worn from years of use, were free from graffiti or grime. It wasn't as packed as the floors above, but it still felt very much alive—just quieter, like it was hiding something beneath the surface.

The chime of the Fukutoshin Line echoed faintly in the background, drawing Katsuki's attention. He looked toward the nearby platform, where the display for F16 - Fukutoshin Line flashed, signaling the arrival of a train. People moved in and out, commuters minding their own business, completely unaware of the hidden world that probably lurked just beyond this platform.

Tokoyami paused for a moment, casting a glance back at Katsuki, as if making sure he was still following and, more importantly, still blending in with his disguise. Katsuki clicked his tongue in irritation but gave a subtle nod, keeping the mask secure over his face

The fact that they were this deep into the station, yet still in an active area, left an uneasy feeling gnawing at Katsuki's gut. He'd expected some grimy, out-of-the-way spot where people barely ventured, but no. The Twilight Market, it seemed, operated right under everyone's noses, hidden in plain sight. Fucking bastards.

Tokoyami didn't say a word as he turned on his heel and continued down the hallway. This time, though, he veered away from the station platforms and toward a smaller, less obvious corridor, his dark cloak swishing behind him. Katsuki followed silently, though his muscles were tense, his mind already running through all the possible scenarios that could go sideways.

Katsuki mentally ran over the details of his fake identity. Ryuji Hozumi. That was the name Tokoyami had prepped for him. A scumbag with a quirk that made him breathe out poison. The mask was supposed to filter out his own toxic fumes—a convenient excuse to keep him from having to take it off.

Good cover, actually, Katsuki admitted, though the thought irritated him. If anyone asked too many questions, he had a solid reason to tell them to back off. No one would want to be near someone who could accidentally choke out an entire room with a single breath.

After a few more turns, they finally arrived at a discreet maintenance door. It wasn't much to look at—just a plain, metal door with a small plaque that read "Authorized Personnel Only." To anyone else, it would've just been another random utility door in the station, but Katsuki knew better.

Tokoyami turned to Katsuki, his dark eyes glinting as Dark Shadow swirled around him. "Are you ready?" His voice was barely above a whisper, cutting through the stillness of the deserted corridor.

Ready? as if he had a damn choice. Katsuki just nodded in response, the soft hiss of his breath filtering through the vents of the skull mask. His red eyes, hidden behind the distortion lenses, narrowed in determination. No words were needed—he'd been ready from the moment he decided to take this risk. Tokoyami, as usual, didn't press for more. Instead, he glanced around, making sure they were alone before reaching for the door.

With a quick swipe of his hand, the metal door creaked open, and they both slipped inside. Katsuki expected something more elaborate, but to his surprise, the room looked like a regular maintenance closet. Plain, gray, boring as shit. To anyone who passed by, this was just another hidden nook in the endless maze of Shibuya Station's underbelly. It reeked of cleaning supplies, dust, and stale air—nothing special. But Katsuki wasn't stupid. Not after Red Lotus.

Tokoyami didn't waste time with explanations. He opened his cloak and Dark Shadow pulled from him, moving straight toward one of the shelves crammed with cleaning supplies—brooms, mops, and buckets—and started rearranging them. Katsuki watched with his usual scowl, arms crossed, not bothering to ask questions.

As Dark Shadow placed the final cleaning bottle back on the shelf, the room shuddered. Katsuki felt it beneath his feet, a low vibration like something deep beneath the ground was waking up. The door behind them clicked loudly, the lock sliding into place with a metallic thud.

"Tch. sneaky bastards," Katsuki muttered under his breath, glancing at the now-locked door. The entire room started to move, dropping downward like a slow, creaking elevator. The walls shook slightly, and the dim light flickered as the space descended deeper into the guts of Shibuya Station.

For a moment, it was silent, the faint hum of machinery the only sound as they continued to sink lower into the unknown. Katsuki was already on high alert. He could feel it—the tension, the shift in the air as they approached whatever lay at the bottom of this ride.

Finally, with a soft ding, the room stopped. There was a hiss of air, and one of the plain gray walls slid away, revealing a shimmering portal that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly glow. Katsuki's eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling in his throat. The Hand's entrance into the Twilight Market.

He remembered what Tokoyami had told him before. The first level of this pocket dimension was a security floor. They'd be walking right into enemy territory the moment they stepped through the portal. There'd be guards waiting on the other side—masked thugs doing security sweeps, making sure no one slipped through unnoticed.

Tokoyami glanced at him, his face calm as always. "Once we're through, stay close. The guards won't hesitate if something looks off."

Katsuki didn't need to be told twice. He rolled his shoulders, the muscles in his arms tensing in preparation. "Tch. Just get us through, bird-brain."

With that, Tokoyami stepped through the portal, Dark Shadow swirling protectively around him. Katsuki followed right behind, his heart pounding in anticipation as the shimmering energy swallowed him whole.

On the other side, Katsuki felt a slight shift in gravity—a weird, disorienting sensation like stepping into a new world. The air was cooler, and the space they entered looked like the first floor of a high-tech skyscraper. Sleek, metallic walls stretched up into the distance, and bright lights illuminated the wide open area. The floor was polished black marble, reflecting the eerie glow from the ceiling.

Katsuki's eyes darted around, taking in everything at once. Dozens of guards in ghoul masks roamed the area, each one heavily armed, scanning the people moving in and out. They were patrolling, checking for anything suspicious, their eyes sweeping over the crowd like hawks. Katsuki noticed that there were at least a dozen different portals scattered around the edges of the floor, each one leading to who knew where. People moved through them, coming and going like this was just another day in the office.

"Tch. Busy place for a black market," Katsuki muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low as he adjusted the skull mask on his face. His gaze flicked to the guards again. They weren't amateurs. These guys were well-trained, methodical in how they moved, their weapons always at the ready.

Tokoyami leaned slightly toward him, his voice barely a whisper. "Stay focused. We'll blend in for now, but once we move past this level, we'll need to be more careful. Don't draw attention."

Katsuki and Tokoyami moved in sync, slipping through the crowd like shadows themselves. Their steps echoed off the polished marble floor as they approached a set of sleek, metallic stairs spiraling upward. It was a stark contrast to the grimy subway they'd come from—a sharp reminder that this wasn't some low-level operation. This was the Twilight Market, and it was organized.

The stairs led them to a wide checkpoint at the top, a row of security stations lined up like at an airport. Each checkpoint had a set of armed guards wearing ghoul masks, their eyes scanning every person who approached. Above each checkpoint, glowing digital signs showed numbers ranging from one to six. Each checkpoint was clearly for different access levels, with higher numbers meaning more restricted areas.

Katsuki's eyes flicked to the glowing number five over a checkpoint to the far left. Without a word, Tokoyami drifted toward it, Dark Shadow swirling ominously behind him, like a living cloud of menace. Katsuki followed, keeping his skull mask firmly in place, his red eyes scanning the guards as they walked. He could feel the shift in Tokoyami's air—gone was the calm, quiet demeanor of his usual self. Now, he radiated an icy indifference, the kind of cold professionalism Katsuki knew all too well. It was the mask Tokoyami wore when he was fully undercover, when he needed to become someone else to blend into the shadows.

As they reached the checkpoint, Dark Shadow emerged fully, producing an ID with credentials that were anything but fake. Katsuki's eyes narrowed slightly as he caught a glimpse of the ID card flashing under the light—name, access code, credentials—all legitimate. He hadn't expected Tokoyami to have actual clearance for a place like this, but it made sense. Tokoyami had been working undercover for years, deep within the underworld. His access here wasn't forged; it was earned.

The ghoul-masked guard took the ID from Dark Shadow, their posture rigid, professional. They scanned the ID, and did his retinal scan, their eyes flicking between Tokoyami and whatever information appeared on their screen. After a tense few seconds, the guard nodded. But then their gaze shifted to Katsuki.

Katsuki could feel the guard's suspicion from behind the mask. He crossed his arms, trying to look as indifferent as possible. Tokoyami didn't blink, didn't react, simply spoke in that cold, detached tone. "He's with me."

The ghoul-masked guard's eyes flicked between the retinal scanner and Katsuki, suspicion clear in their posture. Tokoyami's credentials had been processed without issue, but Katsuki? He was still an unknown, a wild card in a place that didn't tolerate unpredictability.

"Retinal scan," the guard said, gesturing to the scanner. Katsuki stepped forward, his muscles tight under his skull mask, feeling the tension rise.

Katsuki lowered his head just enough for the scanner to line up with his eyes. The machine blinked and beeped as it processed his retinal data, and he could feel the coldness of the guard's gaze even through the ghoul mask. His red eyes were still a dead giveaway, but thanks to the clear contacts he was wearing, the system was being fed falsified data—something Tokoyami had prepped well in advance.

A few seconds ticked by, the scanner humming softly as it verified the results. Katsuki held his breath, waiting for the inevitable approval.

Finally, the machine beeped in confirmation, a green light flashing on the console.

"Take off your mask. We need to verify your face."

Katsuki's muscles tensed. Shit. This was where things could go south. The whole damn point of the skull mask was to keep his identity under wraps. The fake backstory Tokoyami had created—about him having a quirk that made him exhale toxic gas—was solid. But apparently, the guards weren't going to let it slide without making a fuss.

"That's not possible," Tokoyami said sharply, his voice taking on an edge Katsuki hadn't heard before. "His quirk produces toxic fumes. Removing the mask here would be a hazard."

The guard stiffened but didn't back down. "We still need visual confirmation. Regulations."

One of the armed guards fluttered closer watching the exchange. The whir of a camera moving caught Katsuki's attention as his fists clenched at his sides. He was about two seconds from ripping the checkpoint apart when he saw Dark Shadow shift. The usually calm, stoic creature suddenly flared, its massive claws twitching with barely concealed irritation. Katsuki caught the flash of its glowing eyes narrowing with barely restrained aggression. The air around them seemed to darken, the weight of Tokoyami's presence shifting into something colder, more dangerous. Dark Shadow wasn't just a passive observer anymore—it was fucking pissed.

Tokoyami remained calm, though Katsuki could sense the underlying tension. "If you force him to remove the mask, you'll be dealing with the consequences. I suggest you reconsider."

For a tense moment, no one moved. The guard's fingers twitched toward their weapon, their eyes flicking between Tokoyami and Katsuki. For a hot second, it looked like things were going to escalate—Dark Shadow's massive form loomed closer, its swirling darkness nearly touching the guard. Katsuki could feel his own pulse quicken, his fingers itching to blow something up.

But then, another guard—one wearing a slightly different uniform, likely a supervisor—came rushing over, leaning in to whisper something into the ear of the one holding them up. There was a brief, tense exchange—too quiet for Katsuki to hear—but whatever was said made the guard instantly straighten, their tone shifting.

"My apologies, sir," the guard said quickly, stepping aside. "His ID has been cleared. No further disturbance. Please proceed."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut as he followed Tokoyami past the checkpoint. Once they were through and out of earshot of the guards, Katsuki let out a low growl. "What the hell was that about? You got some special privileges or something?"

Tokoyami didn't break stride, his tone as cold as ever. "Years of work. It's not uncommon for certain people in the Market to have unique clearances. They've been briefed on who I am, but that doesn't mean they won't question anything that looks off."

Katsuki just scoffed, at this point he didn't care, whatever got him in. They quickly approached another set of elevators, sleek and metallic, built into the wall. Above the doors, a panel displayed various color-coded levels, each representing a different clearance tier.

Katsuki's eyes swept over the numbers—Thirty-seven floors in total—but the buttons for the last ten floors were conspicuously absent. The top levels were hidden, off-limits to anyone who hadn't been personally escorted by The Hand he assumed. Katsuki's gut told him those floors were where the real dangerous shit went down.

Tokoyami reached out and pressed the button for floor fifteen, his expression remaining cold and indifferent. Katsuki glanced at the panel, noticing the different colors lighting up, corresponding to the access level required for each floor. The lower levels were bathed in green, likely for more common visitors. As the numbers climbed, they shifted into orange and then red—an indication that the higher they went, the more restricted the area.

The elevator doors slid open with a faint hiss, and both men stepped inside. The interior was just as sleek and cold as the rest of the place, a minimalistic design that felt all business. The walls of the elevator shaft were made of glass, giving them a full view of the floors as they ascended.

As the doors closed with a soft whoosh, the elevator hummed to life, quickly shooting upward. Katsuki's eyes darted to the glass, and he found himself staring out as they ascended. The market spread out beneath them like some kind of twisted city, each floor a different world, a different layer of corruption.

The first few floors passed quickly, each one revealing a new piece of the underworld. There were massive markets stacked with illegal goods—quirk enhancers, black market weapons, and tech that made Katsuki's skin crawl. People moved about with a casual air, like they were walking through a damn shopping mall. The next few levels showed high-end restaurants, casinos, and lodging, places designed for those with enough money to spend on luxury even in the middle of this cesspool.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed as they passed a floor with a dimly lit arena. Inside, a fight ring was in full swing, surrounded by a crowd of people yelling and cheering for the bloodsport below. Fighters—some clearly using their quirks—clashed in brutal hand-to-hand combat, their bodies colliding with sickening force. No rules, no mercy. Just raw violence. His lip curled in disgust, but he kept quiet.

Further up, he caught glimpses of darker things. People being led in chains, faces hollow, eyes vacant. Trafficking. Katsuki felt his blood boil, but he forced himself to keep it together. Blowing their cover now would get them both killed. But for the briefest of moments, someone looked up at him.

Their broken eyes met his—a hollow, empty gaze filled with terror and pain. Their face was pale, gaunt, skin stretched tight over their bones, and their eyes... their eyes were filled with the kind of fear Katsuki knew all too well. A fear that spoke of desperation, of having lost everything. It was the look of someone trapped with no hope of escape.

For a split second, the world around him seemed to still. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut—the way he'd found Izuku all those months ago, bloodied and broken, terrified of what had become of him, barely clinging to life. Katsuki's chest tightened at the thought, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

And just like that, they were gone as they ascended to the next floor, his heart pounding in his chest. His jaw tightened, and a deep, seething anger burned in his veins. This place—it was more than just a black market. It was a breeding ground for suffering. People were being bought, sold, and discarded like trash, their lives worth nothing to the monsters that ran this empire.

A single thought seared through his mind, sharper than any of the rage he usually carried.

When he took out Odd Eye... when he destroyed the League of Villains... he was going to tear this place down. Every single one of these bastards was going to burn. The thought burned through him like a fire, but he swallowed it down for now. He couldn't act yet. He had to focus on the mission, on taking down the bigger threat. But one thing was certain: when the time came, the Twilight Market wouldn't survive Katsuki Bakugo.

The elevator hummed brought him back as it continued its ascent, passing level after level of organized chaos. By the time they hit the twenties, the floors looked even more exclusive—private rooms for meetings, VIP lounges for high-ranking clients, and more refined, but no less dangerous, markets.

Finally, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open on level fifteen.

They stepped out into what could only be described as the heart of the Twilight Market. The space was massive, a sprawling network of stalls, shops, and private booths stretching out in every direction. It was like a twisted version of an upscale bazaar, where every dark desire and forbidden deal could be satisfied. The air buzzed with the low hum of negotiations, whispered conversations, and the occasional clink of money changing hands.

Tokoyami glanced at Katsuki from the corner of his eye, his voice low and controlled. "Welcome, to the Twilight Market."

Chapter Text

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Scars

Over the next few days, Katsuki made it a point to familiarize himself with the ins and outs of how the Twilight Market worked. It was an intricate web of corruption, greed, and power, where information was as valuable as the goods being sold. Each day he spent here, he peeled back another layer of the Market's twisted operations, studying how the criminals moved, how the deals were made, and most importantly, who held the power.

On the first day, after their unsettling introduction to the Market, Tokoyami had taken care of the essentials. They made a stop at a backroom tech shop on the fifteenth floor, where a man who clearly owed Tokoyami more than a favor had whipped up an ID with credentials for Katsuki. The ID listed him as "Ryuji Hozumi," matching his cover as the toxic-gas-quirk user with ties to low-level underworld operations.

Along with the ID, Tokoyami handed him a small black case. Inside was a portable quirk dampener, a sleek piece of tech the size of a credit card. Just like the one back in his office, it created a localized sound shield—a bubble of silence around him, masking any conversations or movements within a certain radius.

"You really won't need it unless you're meeting with reliable contacts," Tokoyami had said, his voice cool as he handed Katsuki the case. "This place is always listening."

Katsuki had snorted in response, tucking the dampener into his jacket. The sound shield made sense—there were eyes and ears everywhere in the Twilight Market, and the last thing they needed was someone overhearing something they shouldn't.

There was also a burner phone, a few other electronics for bypassing security measures, and parting words from Tokoyami that still echoed in his mind: "Be careful. There are eyes everywhere and nowhere."

That warning stuck with him. The Twilight Market had a way of making you feel like you were being watched, even when there was no one around. The walls, the cameras, the people—everything seemed designed to keep tabs on everyone's movements, and Katsuki had no intention of being caught off guard.

Tokoyami had also mentioned that he had contacts on some of the floors—people who could help Katsuki gather information or even hack into the sellers' databases if needed. But so far, Katsuki hadn't reached out to them. He preferred to operate alone, relying on his own instincts and skills to navigate the Market. Still, knowing the option was there gave him some comfort, even if he wasn't willing to admit it.

After Tokoyami had left him, Katsuki spent his first few days blending in, watching, listening, and learning. He tore through every floor he could access in the Twilight Market, trying to sniff out any trace of the League of Villains. He moved through the crowds with his head down, skulking like one of the scumbags he was pretending to be. His skull mask stayed on, and his eyes were sharp, but no matter how hard he looked, he kept hitting walls.

He was sure one of the League's lackeys would show up somewhere, maybe some loser buying quirk enhancers or sneaking around the black-market tech stalls. Katsuki had been staking out every shady deal, listening to every low conversation, but all he got was silence.

Nothing. Not even a whisper of the League, the serum, or ZENITH.

It pissed him off. There's no way these assholes weren't here.

They had to be working the Market somehow—maybe through buyers, maybe moving supplies. But they weren't showing their faces. And it wasn't for lack of effort. Katsuki stalked nearly every floor that was selling gear and chemicals, watching criminals barter over weapons, quirk enhancers, and black-market goods. Still, no League members, no familiar faces. Just a bunch of shady nobodies. And Katsuki was almost sure as hell they wouldn't be sending some random to collect supplies like it was a grocery run.

"Tch," Katsuki growled under his breath as he walked through yet another useless floor. He'd been at it for hours, scouring the Market like a damn bloodhound, but it was like they were ghosts.

One floor, though, had caught his attention. Floor eighteen. That's where the Market kept most of the high-grade chemicals and lab components. Shady stalls selling lab-grade quirk enhancers, dangerous tech, and everything in between. Katsuki had figured this was the spot—if the League was looking for chemicals to create the serum or anything related to ZENITH, they'd need this kind of gear for their experiments.

So, Katsuki had been staking it out for a while, hiding in the shadows, watching buyers come and go. He'd spent hours watching, waiting for someone to slip up.

But nothing. No one who looked like they were tied to the League. Just random dealers stocking up on supplies, selling quirk enhancers, chemicals, and sketchy equipment to whoever had the money.

Katsuki leaned against a dark corner, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as another group of buyers left a stall with bags full of dangerous-looking chemicals. It all screamed illegal as hell, but none of it was what he needed. No faces he recognized. No one worth his time.

Katsuki had already been heading out, more than frustrated as he weaved through the crowd, ready to call it a day. He'd had enough of watching dead-end deals for one day. That was until he passed by one of the stalls.

"How much for Azo-Stabilene and plutonium?"

He nearly stopped dead in his tracks. Plutonium? That wasn't something you heard being tossed around like it was a damn quirk enhancer, and It sure as hell wasn't something that came up in casual conversations in the Twilight Market. Plutonium was one of the chemicals on Izuku's list—the ones tied to the EcksTerminus serum.

Without turning too quickly, Katsuki adjusted his path, casually walking past the stall where the voice had come from, pretending to check out a display of quirk-enhancing serums. His ears were locked in, though, catching bits and pieces of the conversation between the buyer and seller.

The buyer—a tall man dressed in a sleek, dark coat—was leaning over the counter, voice low but laced with frustration. "I don't have time for this. I need both of them, don't make this harder than it needs to be."

The seller, a greasy-looking guy towered over the other man, was clearly uncomfortable. He didn't seem nervous though. If anything, he looked suspicious.

His voice was cautious, like he was measuring his words carefully. "Plutonium's not something you just pick up around here," he said, scanning the man in the coat with an uneasy glance. "And I don't exactly have Azo-Stab lying around either. Even in this market, you're asking for something... dangerous."

Katsuki kept his head down, pretending to inspect the vials in front of him, but every sense was on high alert.

The man in the coat slammed his hand on the counter, silencing the seller immediately. "Don't bullshit me, I know you've got access. I've heard about your sources." His tone was dark, threatening.

The seller frowned, folding his arms, more cautious than afraid. "Where'd you hear that from?" he asked, voice cold.

The buyer smirked, his demeanor shifting from impatient to smug. Without a word, he reached into his coat, and with a smooth motion, pulls out a small metallic cube, no bigger than a sugar cube. Katsuki watched as the buyer snapped his fingers. In a blink, a briefcase materialized, pixelating into existence. Some kind of pixelation quirk. Katsuki glanced over just in time to see the case snap open, revealing stacks of neatly bundled cash.

"Or better yet," the buyer said smoothly, "I've been looking for something else. Xenthium-47."

Another chemical of Izuku's notes. It was one of the more rare, synthetic elements that could amplify quirks beyond their natural limits. Combined with plutonium, it was a nasty mixture capable of causing unimaginable damage. The fact that this guy was casually asking for it meant he wasn't here for small-time deals.

At the mention of the rare compound, the seller's eyes narrowed, suspicion growing sharper. "Xenthium-47?" he repeated slowly, his voice dropping. "That's not something I deal in lightly."

The buyer chuckled softly, his confidence unwavering. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out another small metallic cube, holding it between his fingers as he toyed with it.

"You think just flashing some cash is going to get me to trust you?"

The buyer leaned back, unbothered by the seller's change in tone. "Let's just say a certain someone with a high standing in the League told me this is where he got it."

The seller's eyes flashed with a mix of interest and suspicion. "Who?" he asked, his voice edged with caution.

The buyer casually tossed out a name like it was nothing.

"Knives."

Katsuki's pulse quickened. Knives—he knew that fucking name. That bastard had been on his shit list for months. One of Odd Eye's top cronies—slimy, dangerous, and always ready to slice through anyone who got in his way. Katsuki had crossed paths with him more than once, and every time, that smug piece of crap had slipped through his fingers.

He'd been the one who had killed Shinsou.

If this guy was dropping Knives' name, he wasn't bluffing. The League was definitely involved in this, and that meant this deal was much bigger than just a simple chemical exchange.

The seller's expression hardened, his earlier hesitation giving way to something colder, more resolute. He leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his chest as his eyes flicked from the buyer to the briefcase and back again. "Knives, huh?" he muttered, a trace of skepticism creeping into his voice. "Even if you're dropping League names, it doesn't change the fact that you're asking for things I don't have right now."

The buyer's confident smirk faltered. "What the hell do you mean? I thought we had a deal."

The seller's gaze narrowed, unfazed. "Maybe under different circumstances. But most of the chemicals you're asking for? The League's already cleaned me out." He jerked his thumb toward the back of the stall, where the dim light barely revealed a vault.

"Azo-Stabilene, Xenthium-47, and plutonium—they're rare for a reason, and your pals from the League bought up most of what I had left. Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't."

The buyer's eyes flashed with anger. "Bullshit—"

Katsuki slipped away from the stall, keeping his movements casual as he melted into the crowd. His heart pounded with the familiar rush of adrenaline, but he forced himself to remain calm, blending into the sea of criminals, traders, and scumbags that filled the Twilight Market. He kept his head low, watching the buyer out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the conversation to wrap up, his fingers twitching in anticipation. This the fucking lead he'd been looking for.

The buyer cursed under his breath, slamming the briefcase shut and glaring at the seller. But he knew when he was beat. With one last look of disdain, he turned and stalked off into the crowd,

Katsuki waited just long enough for the buyer to gain some distance before pushing himself off the wall and following, his movements smooth and calculated. He wasn't about to lose this damn lead.

The buyer weaved through the bustling crowd, minding his own business like he was walking through a regular mall. Katsuki kept his distance, slipping through the shadows like a predator stalking its prey. The skull mask concealed his features, but his eyes were locked onto the buyer's every movement, never letting him out of his sight.

Eventually, the man reached one of the sleek elevators that lined the far side of the market floor. He stepped inside without hesitation, pressing the button for the lower floors. Katsuki followed, slipping into the elevator a few seconds later, his gaze flicking to the digital display above the doors.

The elevator hummed, the numbers flashing by as it descended. eleven, ten, nine... Katsuki's eyes narrowed when the elevator finally stopped on...

The second floor.

Katsuki's gaze swept over the scene as the elevator doors slid open. He stepped out onto a floor unlike the others below. This wasn't just for the scum who lurked in the shadows of the Twilight Market—no, this was a floor for outsiders—people from the surface world looking for a different kind of thrill. No IDs, no shady connections, just high-paying customers, eager to taste the forbidden.

But there was one key difference—security.

His eyes flicked to the checkpoint ahead, where armed guards stood behind reinforced barriers. If you didn't have the right ID, you weren't getting anywhere near the elevators. These outsiders, the ones coming here for clubbing and entertainment, they didn't have access to the deeper parts of the Twilight Market. They were allowed in through one heavily-monitored portal that entered and exited the same way. The guards weren't here to protect the clubbers from each other, but to keep them from wandering into places they shouldn't go.

Oncee past, the space was dominated by two large, high-end nightclubs that pulsed with neon lights and the low thrum of bass-heavy music. Each club was distinctly different, catering to different types of clientele. One, on the far left, was called Eclipse, its sleek exterior bathed in a deep blue glow, the doors guarded by bouncers wearing black suits and earpieces. It looked like the kind of place where underworld elites gathered to make quiet deals over expensive drinks.

The other nightclub, on the right, was called Afterlife, its exterior bathed in dark red neon. The line outside was long, filled with people who looked like they had more money than morals, all waiting to get inside. The bouncers at this club looked more like enforcers—bigger, meaner, and clearly ready to handle trouble if it came their way. Katsuki could hear the pounding music and see the flashes of light through the doors—this place was loud, chaotic, and exactly the kind of place where shady things could go unnoticed.

Katsuki's eyes flicked back to the buyer, who had stopped near the entrance to Afterlife. He was on his phone, speaking in low tones, but from the way his body language had shifted, Katsuki could tell he was in the middle of an important conversation. The buyer's eyes darted around, scanning the crowd as if making sure no one was watching him too closely.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes, slipping into the shadows behind one of the nearby columns, watching the buyer closely. The man's voice was too low to make out the details of the conversation, but Katsuki didn't need to hear the words to know that this was a critical moment. The buyer finished the call quickly, his posture shifting from tense to relaxed, before slipping into Afterlife like he belonged there.

"Tch," Katsuki muttered under his breath. He had two choices—wait outside and hope the guy came back, or follow him inside and take a risk. He didn't need to think twice.

With a confident stride, Katsuki approached the entrance to Eclipse, his skull mask casting a faint shadow over his face. The bouncer at the door eyed him for a second, clearly sizing him up, but with a quick flash of his ID—the one Tokoyami had arranged—Katsuki was waved through without issue.

The moment Katsuki stepped inside Afterlife, it hit him like a freight train—an assault on the senses that almost made him want to turn around and blow the place to fucking hell. It was loud, chaotic, and filled with everything he hated about the underworld. The bass-heavy music thrummed through the floor, vibrating up his legs and into his chest, a constant reminder that this place was alive, and it fed on excess.

His sharp eyes scanned the room, instantly taking in the mess of bodies, dancing, drinking, and doing God-knows-what to keep themselves numb. Neon lights pulsed overhead, flashing red and blue in rhythm with the music, casting a distorted glow over the whole scene. It wasn't just chaos—it was excess in its rawest form. Half-naked dancers hung from platforms suspended from the ceiling, their movements almost hypnotic as they twisted and spun, lithe bodies slick with sweat and glitter. One of them, a woman with pale skin and neon-pink hair, was practically glowing, her body emanating some kind of gas as she moved. It poured off her in thick, hazy clouds, drifting through the air and enveloping the crowd below. Katsuki could tell by their glazed-over expressions that they were high as a kite, inhaling whatever mind-bending shit she was leaking.

He sneered beneath his mask. This place was a goddamn cesspool.

There were people everywhere, lounging on plush, oversized couches and dark corners, their faces flushed from a mix of alcohol, drugs, and whatever else they were indulging in. Some of them barely looked conscious, their heads lolling back as they took hits from vials, snorted powders, or just let the dancers' quirk-induced gases do the work for them.

"Tch, disgusting," Katsuki muttered under his breath, his jaw tight as he pushed his way through the crowd. He kept his eyes locked on the prize—the buyer. No way he was about to let that bastard get away now.

The buyer was easy enough to spot through the neon haze. He was at the bar, casually grabbing a drink like he didn't have a care in the world. Probably thought he was untouchable. The guy looked relaxed, completely at ease in this den of filth, which only made Katsuki want to grab him by the throat and start shaking him until he spilled everything he knew. But that would blow everything. He couldn't risk it—not yet.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed as the buyer finished his drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar and flashing a quick grin at the bartender before slipping away toward the back. Toward the VIP section.

Of course. Because it wasn't enough to just be in this damn cesspool—he had to be in the exclusive cesspool.

Katsuki's lips curled in disgust as he watched the man disappear past a set of velvet ropes guarded by two massive bouncers. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just stroll past the bouncers and demand entry.

For a moment, he stood there, watching the bouncers and assessing his options. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling, where the platforms suspended above the dance floor swayed gently, lit by neon lights that cast an eerie glow over everything. There had to be another way into the back. Places like this always had more than one way in and out—especially for the scumbags who wanted to stay hidden.

His sharp gaze swept over the platforms until he spotted it—a dark, metal walkway suspended near the ceiling, leading toward the back of the club. Bingo. The walkway had to connect to somewhere past the VIP section.

Katsuki smirked beneath his skull mask. Time to get creative.

First things first, he made for the bar, the last thing he needed was to draw suspicion by making a beeline for the ladder he knew had to be hidden in the shadows somewhere. He needed to look like he belonged, just another guy indulging in the shit this place thrived on.

He had to push through the usual crowd of drunk idiots and half-conscious club-goers. A woman in a glittering, too-tight dress stumbled into him, her eyes glassy and unfocused, clearly fucking several drinks deep. She slurred something incoherent about wanting to dance and tried to lean against him, probably thinking he was just another easy target in this sea of bodies.

"Tch. Get lost," he growled under his breath, shoving her off him with barely any effort. What the hell was it with drunk people thinking they could latch onto him like some kind of support beam? Did he have 'free ride' tattooed on his forehead or something?

As he approached the bar, Katsuki signaled to the bartender. He didn't give a damn about the drink itself—just needed a reason to be standing there. The bartender handed him a glass of something that smelled strong, and Katsuki took it with a grunt, his eyes still scanning the room.

There. Off to the side, near the back of the club, was a narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms. He downed the drink and strode down the L-shaped hall, spotting a ladder at the end of the hidden bend, almost hidden by the shadows and neon lights, the kind of detail most people wouldn't notice unless they were looking for it.

Katsuki waited, leaning against the wall, his eyes darting between the hallway and the crowd, watching for a break in the foot traffic. A few more seconds. He could feel his muscles twitching, eager to move, but he had to play it cool. He bent down to tie his shoe, glaring at the people around him. The last thing he needed was to attract any more attention.

The moment the hallway cleared, Katsuki moved. He turned toward the hall, eyes scanning for anyone who might be watching.

No one.

Perfect.

With ease, Katsuki grabbed hold of the ladder and pulled himself up, climbing quickly and silently. The thrum of the music below masked any sound he might've made, but he didn't take chances. He climbed with precision, muscles tense and ready for anything.

Once he reached the top, he found himself on the metal walkway suspended above the chaos below. From this vantage point, the club looked even more twisted, like a hive of insects crawling over each other in the neon glow. Katsuki sneered. He'd never understand why people were drawn to shit like this.

Katsuki crouched low on the metal walkway, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos below as he moved silently along the darkened path. From up here, he had a perfect view of the writhing bodies on the dance floor, the neon lights casting twisted shadows that made everything look even more grotesque. People grinding up on each other, hands wandering where they shouldn't be, and half-conscious morons completely losing themselves in the drug-induced haze. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and something even fouler rose up to meet him, making his nose crinkle in disgust. Fucking animals.

Katsuki's lip curled as he spotted a group in one of the booths below, half-dressed and sprawled out on top of each other. One of them had a needle hanging from his arm, his eyes glazed over as a girl with glowing skin exhaled clouds of smoke directly into his face. Seriously, what the fuck.

He kept moving, keeping to the shadows as he looked for his target in the VIP section. The heavy bass of the music pulsed through the metal beneath him, but he didn't let it distract him. His focus was razor-sharp, his red eyes scanning each secluded booth below, waiting for the right moment.

As he peered over the edge of the walkway, he saw a booth draped in heavy black curtains. Inside, a couple of guys were engaged in what could only be described as a business deal, but it wasn't the kind you'd ever see in the daylight. Piles of cash were laid out on the table, alongside a case filled with vials of glowing liquid that made Katsuki's stomach turn. Quirk enhancers. The kind that turned weaklings into walking time bombs.

He moved on, crawling closer to the end of VIP section, his eyes darting from one booth to the next. It was all the same shit—dealers, buyers, and lowlifes making deals with lives they didn't care about. But none of them were the guy he was tailing. For a second, he thought he'd lost the guy.

Then, finally, he spotted him.

The buyer from earlier was sitting in a booth toward the far end, his back turned to the rest of the club. The guy was sitting alone, one leg crossed over the other, looking smug as he lit up a cigarette. The faint glow of the cherry illuminated his face just enough for Katsuki to see the cocky smirk plastered across it. Typical. The bastard probably thought he had the world at his feet, doing deals in some sleazy club like he was untouchable.

Katsuki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, keep puffing away, asshole. Not like your time isn't about to run out.

He settled into position, perched like a predator above the booth, blending into the metal rafters and the dark as the pounding bass from the club below drowned out everything else. The guy didn't seem like he was in a rush—just sitting there, smoking like he owned the place, completely unaware of the danger lurking just a few feet above him.

Ten minutes passed. Katsuki's patience, while usually thin, held strong. He was used to waiting for the right moment, even if he hated every second of it.

Finally, movement. A hooded figure glided into the booth, moving with a smoothness that made Katsuki's senses prickle. The person sat down across from the buyer, but the shadows were too thick, and the hood too low for him to catch any details other than some tuffs of white hair.

He strained to hear over the thrum of the music, but the club was too loud, the distorted bass reverberating through his skull. Still, something about the hooded figure wasn't sitting right with him. The height, the build—it didn't match anyone from the League. Too short for Knives, too muscular for GloomGazer, and definitely not Vortex... thank fuck. Maybe this was a new player, someone not yet on his radar? Either way, something was off.

He watched as the buyer leaned forward, talking low and fast, his cigarette dangling from his lips. Katsuki couldn't make out the words, but he could feel the tension in the air, crackling like a fuse about to reach its end. The hooded figure didn't react much, just sat there, still as a statue. Unreadable.

The buyer snapped his fingers, and that pixelated distortion rippled through the air again. The space in front of him flickered for a split second, and suddenly, a sleek black device materialized on the table. It looked like nothing more than an ordinary computer drive, but Katsuki's eyes sharpened at the sight. What the—

Before he could even process it fully, he faintly caught a few words through the noise.

"Was able to hack the server and data caches..."

Was this person someone else connected to the league? They had to be.

And as if to answer his question, the buyer's voice cut through again, this time laced with nervous energy. "You sure you wanna fuck with the League?"

Wait. So, this wasn't some League operation. Was he tailing a dead end. Fucking hell. Who the fuck was this. The hooded figure spoke. Their voice was low, cutting through the noise like a blade.

"Pixel," the figure said, the single word sharp, laced with warning.

Pixel froze mid-sentence, eyes widening. It was clear he hadn't expected the hooded figure to say his name. Katsuki smirked from his perch, watching as the buyer's bravado faltered for a second. It was always entertaining watching some cocky bastard realize he wasn't as in control as he thought he was.

Pixel stammered something, trying to regain his composure, but the hooded figure cut him off with a slow tilt of their head. It wasn't an aggressive move, but something about it made Katsuki's instincts buzz. It was a silent command, dripping with authority.

"Shut up," the hooded figure said, voice calm but firm, like they were giving an order that had been given a hundred times before. "I didn't pay you for your opinions."

The buyer raised his hands in a mock surrender, flashing that shit-eating grin again like he was backing off. Whoever this hooded figure was, they weren't messing around.

"Hey, you do you, Reaper. I'm just sayin'."

Katsuki's brows furrowed at the name—Reaper. He'd heard that somewhere before. The memory tugged at the back of his mind, flickering like a half-formed thought. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position in the dark, keeping his gaze locked on the hooded figure.

The realization hit Katsuki like a detonation going off inside his skull.

Reaper.

Just as the pieces began to click into place, the hooded figure reached out to grab the device sitting on the table. That's when Katsuki saw it.

His blood ran cold.

The sleeve of the cloak shifted as the figure extended their arm, and beneath the edge of the fabric, Katsuki caught a glimpse of something unmistakable. A jagged scar, thick and twisted, wrapped around the left arm, just below the elbow. It was old, healed but ugly. The kind of scar that could only come from reattaching a limb.

Katsuki's heart slammed against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. He knew that scar. He knew that arm.

It was Izuku.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Through the Veil

Katsuki's mind spun in a thousand directions all at once, a storm of thoughts crashing into each other as he stared down at the hooded figure below.

No fucking way. No way that was him.

His eyes darted back to that scar on the left arm—the one he knew as well as his own damn reflection. But this... this didn't make any sense. It couldn't be him.

No. Fucking. Way.

Katsuki's throat worked, his instincts screaming at him to move, to jump down and rip that hood off, to see for himself if it was real or just some sick joke. But he couldn't move. He was frozen, his mind torn between disbelief and cold, hard fact. That was Izuku's arm. He'd recognize it anywhere. And not just the scar—the height, the build—it all lined up. More or less.

But why? Why the hell was he here? Why the hell was he going by the name Reaper? And how the fuck had he even gotten into the Twilight Market? This place was for the worst of the worst, people who crawled through the underbelly of society like rats, and here was Izuku, sitting in a booth like he belonged in this cesspool of criminals and killers. Not to mention the amount of fucking security that goes on here.

It's not him. It can't be him. This isn't fucking possible.

But then his eyes darted to the figure's other hand—the one resting on the table. Another scar, thinner but no less familiar, ran along the wrist and palm. A scar from what seemed another lifetime ago, back when they were nothing more than kids trying fighting in the Sports Festival.

There had to be one—some illusion, some trick. But deep down, he knew. His instincts, the same ones that had kept him alive through battle after battle, that were never wrong were telling at him.

It was him.

It was Izuku.

Pixel fidgeted, one hand nervously twisting one of the twists hanging down the side of his head, his earlier bravado all but gone. The tension between them was more than palpable now, thick like the neon haze that filled the air of the club. Katsuki watched from above, his breath coming in shallow bursts, fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. He needed to hear every word of this.

After a few tense moments, Pixel finally reached into his coat and pulled out a slim, metallic USB an and small file. He slid it across the table toward Izuku, his voice a little shaky, trying to regain control of the conversation. "It's... it's getting more difficult," Pixel muttered, still playing with the twist. "Tracking what the League is buying here. They're moving things under the radar now. Their movements are tighter, more... deliberate."

Izuku—Reaper—didn't respond at first, his hood casting a shadow over his face as he picked up the file and began flipping through it, his movements smooth, deliberate. Even with the hood obscuring most of his face, Katsuki could tell Izuku was absorbing every word, every detail.

"Anything on the Nomu?" Izuku's voice cut through the pounding bass of the club like a knife, calm and steady, but there was an edge to it—something cold, something calculating.

A thought fluttered to the front of his mind. Wait, if this was him, did he manage to kill Phazewave? Had he finally figured out they were doing with the Nomu?

Pixel shifted uncomfortably, his hand twitching again as he ran a hand through his twists, like the question made him uneasy. "No," he admitted, glancing around as if checking to make sure no one was listening. "No trace of them. They've gotten real good at hiding their tracks. Whatever the League's doing with them, the experiments, it's deeper than anything I can get to right now. If its even in this Yakuza's database."

Reaper didn't look up, still scanning the contents of the file. His fingers tapped lightly on the table as he considered the information, his posture tense but controlled. "Keep looking," he said quietly, flipping another page. "I need to know everything. If I can figure out where they're doing their research..."

Pixel's fingers twitched nervously, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice even more. "Listen, Reaper, I've been hacking the underground Network for years, and I've never seen anything like this. The League of Villains' digital footprint? It's all but gone. These new firewalls that have been placed recently... they've restructured everything." He rubbed the back of his neck, his nerves creeping into his tone. "It's not just a matter of them tightening security—the Network's practically reinvented their system. I think because of the accuracy of your hits these last few weeks they've noticed. It's nearly impossible to break into now without getting tracked."

As Pixel finished speaking, his eyes darted nervously to the side when a server approached their booth. She had a tray balanced on one hand, her eyes scanning the two men seated across from each other. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, her voice loud enough to cut through the pulsating bass of the club, but with an edge of wariness as she eyed both of them, clearly sensing the tension.

Pixel waved her off impatiently, extinguishing his cigarette. "We're good," he muttered, glancing back at the reaper. His eyes flicked back to the server for a split second, sizing her up as if worried she might overhear too much. She didn't push, turning to leave, but Katsuki noticed Izuku's reaction from his perch above.

Reaper had tensed the moment she arrived, his posture rigid, as if ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. He didn't even glance in her direction, his eyes still locked on the file in front of him, but Katsuki could sense the shift in his demeanor, a predator poised just below the surface.

Once the server was out of earshot, Pixel leaned forward again, lowering his voice even further. "Like I said, man, it's nearly impossible to use the Network without getting tracked now. They've set up trace programs, bots that can latch onto your signal the second you try to breach their walls. Finding the League's hideouts? It's next to impossible unless we figure out a way to bypass those firewalls without raising any flags."

Izuku's fingers stopped tapping. His voice was low, a warning hidden beneath the calm. "I thought you were the best at what you do... I need that information regardless."

Pixel swallowed, his nervous energy practically radiating off him now. He knew better than to argue. "Yeah, I got it. I'll keep digging," he said quickly. "But I need more time to get past the firewall. The League's been keeping a low profile on the net."

Reaper's hand paused over one of the documents, and though his face was still obscured by the hood, Katsuki could almost feel the weight of his stare, even from above. "You don't want them to notice," he said, his voice was strained barely audible, but the threat in it was clear.

Reaper slid a phone across the table toward Pixel, his movements steady and deliberate. "I'll contact you in a week," he said, his voice low but carrying enough weight to silence any lingering objections. "Keep your eyes peeled and keep digging. I want everything, or we're done."

Pixel nodded quickly, his earlier bravado long gone, replaced by a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. "Yeah, sure. I'll—I'll keep looking."

Without another word, the person across from the buyer stood up, pulling the hood tighter over his head as he prepared to leave. Katsuki watched from his perch above, his mind racing, heart pounding in his chest. He felt frozen, torn between two paths. Shit. What does he do?

His thoughts began warring inside him. He wanted to move to confirm it was who he thought it was—before Izuku disappeared again. But there was Pixel, too, still sitting there, still a potential lead on the League's operations, on what they were planning with ZENITH. Katsuki's jaw clenched, the weight of the decision hitting him hard.

It's either chasing after the League... or going after him. Izuku.

Fuck!

For a split second, Katsuki was paralyzed by indecision, his body twitching with the need to act. He could tail Pixel, get more intel, maybe crack open the League's operations... or he could follow Izuku and get answers—answers he'd been desperate for since the day Izuku disappeared.

But what if it wasn't him?

Katsuki's body tensed, the decision tearing at him like a bomb about to go off. The League or Izuku? The fucking mission or—

Without thinking, he made his choice.

Katsuki launched himself down from the metal walkway, moving faster than he could process. His feet hit the ground with a thud, but the pounding bass of the club drowned out the sound, and no one even glanced his way.

Katsuki's eyes locked onto the hooded figure, now exiting the VIP section and strolling through the crowd like he hadn't just been making backroom deals with some Hacker scumbag. He weaved through the bodies, slipping between drunken clubgoers and drugged-up idiots without missing a beat.

The hooded figure was already moving toward the club's exit, blending seamlessly into the crowd as if he belonged there. Katsuki's sharp eyes stayed locked on him, tracking his every move as they both slipped through the throngs of drunk and high club-goers.

He was calm, deliberate, his movements smooth like he had no reason to hurry, no reason to believe anyone would follow him. Katsuki, on the other hand, was a storm barely contained, every muscle in his body itching to tear through the crowd and confront him, to demand answers. But he couldn't risk blowing his cover. He had to play it smart, even if every part of him was screaming to act.

Reaper approached one of the sleek exit portals, the shimmering energy pulsing faintly as people passed through to leave the Twilight Market and re-enter the real world. Katsuki kept his distance, watching as he moved effortlessly past the security guards, not even a second glance thrown his way. He vanished through the portal, the distortion of the energy field flickering behind him like a mirage.

"Shit," Katsuki muttered under his breath, his chest tightening as the seconds ticked by. He had to move fast, or he was going to get away.

He slipped toward the portal, doing his best to keep his head down, his heart racing as he felt the weight of what he was about to do. The security guards barely noticed him, distracted by the crowd as Katsuki briskly walked through the portal, the energy crackling against his skin as the world shifted around him.

The sensation of crossing the threshold between worlds was brief but disorienting—like stepping through a thick curtain of static electricity. And then, just like that, he was back outside, in the real world. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the Twilight Market was replaced by the damp, cold air of Shibuya.

The first thing that hit him was the rain. It was pouring, the water coming down in heavy sheets that splattered against the pavement, soaking through his clothes in seconds. Katsuki blinked, disoriented for just a moment as he found himself in a narrow alley, the faint glow of streetlights and neon signs casting long shadows over the wet concrete.

But the hooded figure was gone.

Katsuki's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat as he frantically scanned the alley, his eyes darting from one shadowy corner to the next. "No, no, no, where the fuck—"

He didn't finish the thought. He caught a glimpse—a flash of a dark coat turning a corner just up ahead. Without a second thought, Katsuki bolted, his feet splashing through puddles as he tore down the alley, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

He skidded around the corner, the slick pavement nearly sending him sliding, but he caught his balance just in time. His eyes locked onto the figure ahead, the hood still pulled low, the rain pounding down on both of them. Katsuki's pulse quickened even more. That's him. That has to be fucking him.

He pushed harder, his legs burning as he chased after the guy, the rain coming down so hard now that it blurred his vision, the temporary hair dye seeping into his clothes. But he didn't care. He wasn't going to lose him again—

Suddenly, the figure stopped dead in his tracks. Katsuki's boots skidding on the wet ground as he forced himself to a halt about two dozen feet away. For a moment, they just stood there—two shadows in the rain-soaked alley, the only sound the steady thrum of the downpour and the distant hum of the city beyond.

Katsuki stared, his mind a mess, a storm that refused to settle. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. The ring around his neck thumped against his chest, and for a split second, the faint heartbeat that had returned to it flickered. It stuttered.

The person in front of him didn't move, didn't flinch. Just stood there, back still turned. Like he was waiting. Waiting for something.

What the hell was he waiting for?

Katsuki's hands hung loose at his sides, the tension in his muscles unbearable. He could feel the heat building in his palms, the familiar crackle of explosions itching to burst free. But he didn't move. He couldn't. He just stood there, staring, heart in his throat, barely breathing. The rain fell harder, drowning out his thoughts, his anger, his fear—everything.

And then, slowly, deliberately, they turned.

For a second, it felt like the whole world had gone quiet. No more rain, no more city noise. Just silence.

A gust of wind blew through the alley, whipping around Katsuki and pulling at the figure's hood. It slid back, and if only for a moment, Katsuki's mind rebelled against what his eyes were telling him.

Izuku's hair was white as snow, falling messily over his forehead and dripping with rain now that it was exposed. Not a single trace of the familiar green remained. Katsuki's mind flashed back to the aftermath of Izuku's brutal last moments with Vortex in the hideout, remembering how patches of green had faded then, as if One For All had drained the very color from him. But this was... this was complete, absolute, like the fight in Hakone truly had taken everything out of him. The vibrant hue that had always been a part of Izuku was gone, replaced by a ghostly pallor that made him look almost ethereal under the dim streetlights.

A jagged healing gash cut across the right side of Izuku's face, intersecting the older one from the collapse, marring the skin where freckles used to dance over his cheek. It was raw, angry-looking, a stark contrast against his pale complexion. Katsuki's gaze traced the line of the scar, a surge of anger bubbling up inside him. Who had done this to him? had it been Vortex... Phazewave?

Katsuki's gaze traveled up from the wound to the one thing that always used to define the person he loved—the vibrant green of his eyes.

But now, they were different. The once brilliant, fiery green that Katsuki had always known—always expressed more than he ever intended—was darker now. Subdued. Like the light in them had dimmed, snuffed out by the weight of everything Izuku had endured. There was no fire, no spark. Just something hollow and far away, a reflection of the horrors and trauma that had carved itself into him.

But beneath that dullness, behind the muted emerald, something else lurked. Something raw. Wild. Dangerous. A small flicker of emotion flashed through them—surprise, suspicion.

But despite the diffrences... this was undeniably the person Katsuki loved more than anything in this godforsaken world. His mind stopped. Completely. For a second, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. How long had it been? How long had it been since he'd seen him? Weeks... months.

The world had narrowed down to just this—just him, standing there, looking at the one person he never thought he'd ever fucking see again.

Deku.

The name rang through his head, over and over again, like some kind of cruel joke. But there he was. Standing there, looking at him, not a ghost, not some figment of his fucked-up mind. Izuku. His Izuku.

Without thinking, without even considering the consequences, Katsuki reached up and yanked off the skull mask that had been hiding his face, the cold air biting against his wet skin. The mask fell to the ground with a muted clatter, forgotten. His heartbeat hammered in his ears, the rain running down his face in rivulets, but he barely felt any of it. His whole world had funneled down to one moment.

For the span of a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Izuku's expression didn't change, his gaze flat, unreadable. A thousand questions surged to the surface, colliding and tangling until Katsuki couldn't tell one from the other. His red eyes locked on Izuku's, searching—begging—for any sign that this was real.

"Izuku..." The name slipped past his lips before he could stop it, barely audible over the rain but heavy with a mix of disbelief and raw emotion.

Izuku's eyes widened at the sound of his name, the recognition flashing in that across those wild eyes like a flicker of lightning in the dark. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. The distance between them feeling both immense and insignificant. For the briefest moment, Katsuki saw something—saw him—behind the mask, behind the DID, behind whatever the hell this "Reaper" was. It was Izuku.

Katsuki took a step forward, body trembling, his hand halfway outstretched like he could just grab him, pull him back into reality, demand answers. "Izuku—"

But then Izuku stepped back, his eyes hardening in an instant, the brief recognition swallowed by a cold, detached expression that made Katsuki's stomach churn.

"No—" Katsuki's voice cracked with something between frustration and desperation, but it was too late. Izuku turned on his heel and ran.

"Shit!" Katsuki's hands clenched into fists, the heat of his quirk sparking against his palms as he bolted after him. "DEKU!" His voice tore through the rain like a gunshot, raw and desperate, but Izuku didn't stop, didn't even look back.

The chase was on, and Katsuki's feet pounded against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as he tore after him. His breath came in sharp bursts, his muscles burning as he pushed himself faster, harder. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to catch up, to not let him get away.

"Deku!" he shouted again, the name tearing from his throat as he watched the figure slip further into the maze of alleyways, darting through the narrow, rain-slicked paths like a phantom.

Izuku turned sharply into a side alley, barely a blur in the downpour, and Katsuki skidded, almost losing his footing on the slick ground, but he caught himself. Izuku was fast—too fast. His movements were sharp, calculated, and Katsuki could barely keep up as he tore through the rain-soaked streets of Shibuya. But he would be damned if he loses him.

Up ahead, Izuku took another sharp turn, disappearing around a corner into a narrower alley. Katsuki's boots splashed through a deep puddle as he followed, firing a blast into the turn, teeth clenching as it drove him into the turn.

Suddenly, a thick wall of smoke exploded in front of him. Izuku had released a smokescreen, a familiar tactic Katsuki had seen him use during their battles, but it didn't slow him down for a second. With a growl of frustration, Katsuki raised his hand and sent a powerful blast forward, the heat of his quirk igniting in his palms as the explosion tore through the smokescreen, scattering it to the sides.

The blast cleared the air just enough for Katsuki to catch a fleeting glimpse of something—movement to his left. He whipped his head around just in time to see a door slam shut in the side of a rundown building, barely illuminated by a dim streetlight.

He changed direction on instinct, his boots skidding across the slick pavement as he made a sharp turn. His foot caught in a puddle, and he lost his balance, falling hard onto the ground, water splashing around him as he landed with a grunt. Pain shot up his side, but he gritted his teeth, shoving himself back to his feet in one quick motion.

Katsuki charged after him, his body crashing against the door as he barreled inside. His breath came in ragged gasps, the damp air hitting his lungs like knives. Inside, it was dark, musty, and dead quiet—no sound except the distant hum of rain and his breath.

He stood there for a moment, frozen, listening—waiting for something, anything. His breaths were harsh, desperate, and his whole body felt like it was teetering on the edge of a cliff. And then... footsteps.

Upstairs.

Katsuki's eyes snapped toward a rickety staircase leading up into the shadows, and before he could even think, he moved. He bolted up the stairs, taking two, three steps at a time, the creaking wood beneath him groaning under the strain. The building was barely holding itself together, but Katsuki didn't care. He had one mission now.

Find him.

He hit the second floor, his eyes scanning the empty, darkened hallway for any sign of movement, any clue as to where Izuku had gone. His breath came in ragged bursts, the exhaustion settling deep into his muscles, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

A creak above him.

Katsuki's eyes snapped up, and he spotted the narrow stairwell leading to the third and final floor. He raced toward it, his boots pounding against the old wood as he surged upward, his focus razor-sharp.

The third floor was as dilapidated as the rest of the building—windows shattered, debris littered across the floor, and old furniture scattered in disarray. The rain poured in through the cracks in the ceiling, the faint sound of it tapping against the floorboards the only sound Katsuki picked up on.

Katsuki stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving, breaths still coming in ragged bursts as he slicked back the wet strands of hair from his face. The long hallway stretched out before him, a dead end with a few doors on either side, leading to rooms that were likely just as decrepit as the rest of the building. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus.

"Deku..." he whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the relentless sound of the rain pounding against the roof. The pounding in his chest, the frantic desperation, was still there, but Katsuki was a hunter now—every sense was sharpened, every instinct telling him to be ready for anything.

His boots creaked against the worn floorboards as he stalked down the hallway, his eyes flicking from door to door, listening for any sign of movement. He took controlled breaths trying to calm the storm of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, ready to spring at the first sign of Izuku.

He started with the first room on his left. There was no door, just an empty doorway with splintered wood framing it, as if the door had been torn off long ago. Katsuki hesitated for a second, peering inside.

The room was small, barely lit by the flickers of lightning outside. It was a mess—overturned furniture, piles of debris, broken glass scattered across the floor. An old, sagging mattress lay in one corner, mold and grime covering its surface. The smell of damp rot hit him instantly, making his nose wrinkle in disgust.

But there was no sign of life.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed. He stepped back from the doorway, keeping his movements quiet and deliberate. Next room.

He moved to the second door on his right. This one was still on its hinges, though it hung crookedly, as if barely attached. Katsuki pushed it open with the back of his hand, the door creaking loudly as it swung inward. He tensed, ready for anything.

The room was darker than the first, the only light coming from a broken window high on the wall. Inside, he could make out the outlines of old furniture—dusty shelves, a shattered chair, and a desk that looked like it had been left to decay for years. Papers were strewn across the floor, their edges curling with age. Katsuki's eyes darted around the space, his ears straining for any sound.

Nothing. No movement, no sign of Izuku. Just more silence, more emptiness.

Katsuki's frustration flared. Damn it, Deku... where the hell are you?

As he neared the third room, he stopped, his hand hovering just over the knob. But then—a sound. A faint creak, like someone shifting their weight. Katsuki paused, his body going rigid. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a cold shiver snaked its way down his spine. He slowly turned, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the darkened hallway behind him.

Nothing.

But Katsuki's gut told him something was wrong. There was a subtle shift in the air, the kind of sensation that was making his skin crawl. He could almost feel the shadows themselves shifting, closing in around him like something was watching, waiting.

From above, something creaked again—a soft, barely perceptible sound, like something moving overhead. Katsuki's eyes darted upward. In the darkness above him, something was perched on the wall.

For a moment, Katsuki could only make out the vague outline of the shape perched on the wall above him. It looked strange, hulking, like some kind of animal head mount, twisted and grotesque. The shadows obscured the details, but something about it felt off—really off. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the shape, trying to make sense of it.

The rain pounded against the roof above, the distant hum of thunder growing louder, but his focus was locked on the object. What the hell is that?

Then lightning flashed, illuminating the hall for the briefest moment. Hollow, lifeless eyes were staring down at him. The exposed brain, the jagged spine fins, the twisted beak-like mouth...

Katsuki's heart dropped into his stomach.

Phazewave's head.

The glow of its lifeless, red eyes cut through the brief flash of light like a twisted beacon.

But then, just as the room plunged back into darkness, he saw it—it moved.

Katsuki's blood ran cold as the head turned, its beaty eyes fixing on him with eerie precision. His chest tightened, air leaving his lungs as he realized... It wasn't a fucking mount.

A sharp, unnatural chittering sound filled the room, echoing in the suffocating silence. The sound was high-pitched, almost insect-like, and it crawled over Katsuki's skin like a swarm of spiders. His eyes widened in horror as Phazewave's head shifted again, its demonic, lifeless eyes locking onto him. The sound of the rain and distant thunder felt miles away now. All he could hear was the chittering, the twisted, insect-like hum that seemed to pulse from Phazewave's very being.

Then, with a low, rumbling growl, Phazewave moved.

The Nomu's massive body phased through, as if it was peeling itself off the wall with unnatural fluidity, limbs stretching out in ways that defied logic. The muscles in its monstrous, hulking form rippled as it dropped to the floor of the hallway with a sickening thud, standing to its full, towering height. The darkness clung to it, wrapping around its body like a second skin, and even in the faint light of the flickering storm outside, Katsuki could make out the twisted sinew of its form.

No fucking way. His knees nearly buckled as he instinctively staggered backward, his boots slipping slightly on the slick floor. Memories of the New Year's Festival came crashing back, vivid and brutal. He could feel the punches, the blood, the way it had nearly beaten him to death that night. Phazewave had been a force of nature, relentless and unstoppable back then, even before ZENITH. And now it was standing right in front of him, alive, terrifying and remade.

Phazewave's head tilted, slow and deliberate, like it was sizing him up, those glowing red eyes narrowing as if—shit—like it remembered him. Katsuki's palms sizzled, crackling with the familiar heat of his quirk, but his body—damn it—his body was shaking. Why was he shaking? Fear was crawling up his spine, squeezing his lungs tight, making his breath ragged. He could hear the tremble in his own breathing, feel it in his legs, which were supposed to move. But they didn't. They locked up like they were glued to the ground as the Nomu towered over him, an immovable wall of muscle and death. Move, goddamn it!

He stumbled back, feet tangling in themselves as Phazewave let out a guttural snarl. It was enjoying this. His panic. His fear. Katsuki swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribcage, brain screaming at his limbs to cooperate. But they wouldn't. Why the fuck won't you move?

Phazewave's eyes—too sharp, too aware—glinted with that predatory gleam, and Katsuki's chest seized. Fucking hell, It remembers. That thing fucking remembers. It remembers him. It remembers the way it almost ripped him apart. Katsuki could feel the scar on his side twinge, that old wound. Fuck, not again.

Then it lunged.

There was no thinking, no time. Just instinct. Katsuki blasted backward with a shout, the explosion barely clearing him from those claws. They tore through where he'd been standing like it was nothing. Shit, shit, shit! He hit the ground hard, skidding across the floor like some goddamn rookie, not a top hero. Legs scrambled under him, barely holding up his weight. Adrenaline pumped through him like fire in his veins as he launched himself into the nearest room, kicking the door open and slamming it shut behind him.

Plan. He had to fucking think of a plan. But all his brain gave him was static, fear clogging up his thoughts, overriding everything.

A second later the door splintered, wood cracking with a deafening snap, and Katsuki's blood ran cold. Phazewave phased through the wall, as if mocking the very idea of barriers. Those claws—corrosive, deadly—slashed toward him, cutting through furniture like it was tissue paper. Katsuki threw himself sideways, just dodging, blasting off an explosion to keep him rolling, palms flaring hot. The air smelled of burning, a mix of fabric and metal seared by that thing's touch.

"Fuck!" Katsuki snarled, gritting his teeth as another explosion sent him flying across the room, just in time to avoid the next swipe. The room flashed bright with the shockwave, but Phazewave barely flinched, staggering for a second before zeroing in on him again, more pissed off than ever, the chittering growl growing louder, more frenzied.

Katsuki didn't wait. Another explosion. He blasted himself through the door, flinging his body into the hallway. It roared behind him, the sound guttural, feral.

But Phazewave was done playing.

The wall behind him shattered. Katsuki felt it before he saw it—the entire building trembled, debris raining down as Phazewave tore through like it was nothing. Katsuki's heart jackhammered in his chest, each beat deafening in his ears. His breath was coming too fast, ragged. His mind screamed at him to move faster, faster, but everything felt sluggish, bogged down by the weight of panic pressing on him from all sides.

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Katsuki yelled, blasting himself down the hall, feet hitting the stairs with a jarring impact. He didn't even think, just threw himself down the steps, crashing onto the landing. Bones jarred, muscles screamed, but he barely felt it. He was running on pure instinct, pure terror. He scrambled to his feet, legs shaking beneath him. He's never—

Katsuki's thoughts were spinning out of control, adrenaline choking his mind. He'd had moments of fear before, plenty of them—hell, he wasn't invincible. He'd faced shit that would make anyone freeze, faced villains that could turn cities to rubble, faced down death more times than he could count. But this? His mind was clawing at the edge of itself, terror pushing him closer to something he hadn't felt before, not this deep, this raw.

He's never felt it like this. His body wasn't listening, the way his fucking legs were shaking, barely keeping him upright, but it wasn't from exhaustion. It's from fear. Pure, unfiltered fear, destroying him from the inside out.

Was it following him? Had he lost it? He paused, panting, trying to catch his breath—just for a second. The stairs behind him were silent. Maybe it—

Movement. From the corner of his eye. Shadows shifted. Katsuki's stomach dropped, and for a split second, his heart stopped.

Phazewave materialized from the darkness, its massive body emerging like a nightmare made real. Katsuki barely had time to react before the Nomu's clawed hand shot out, its fingers locking around his throat. The force was brutal—he was slammed to the ground so hard it felt like his spine might snap in two.

The air rushed out of him in a choked gasp, his lungs burning for it to return, but nothing came. Stars exploded across his vision, the world blurring, spinning. His chest heaved, body instinctively trying to suck in oxygen that just wouldn't come. Katsuki's hands scrabbled at Phazewave's wrist, nails ripping at it's skin, but his grip was nothing compared to the Nomu's crushing strength. He could feel it—the heat, the sick sizzle of its corrosive nails searing his skin. The acrid, burning smell filled his nose, thick and suffocating.

The terror was paralyzing, His heart pounded so hard, it felt like it might rip through his ribs. Katsuki couldn't think straight, couldn't focus— He struggled to suck in a breath, his body shaking uncontrollably as full-blown panic set in.

Phazewave's glowing red eyes bore into him, pure death staring him down, ready to finish what it started at the New Year's Festival. The memories—all of it—came rushing back in a torrential downpour, overwhelming him. He was going to die here. This thing was going to kill him. Phazewave's claws were digging deeper, squeezing the life out of him, and Katsuki couldn't stop shaking. He needed to get up. get the hell up! But he couldn't. The panic had him in a chokehold almost as tight as the Nomu's.

His vision started to blur, dark spots creeping in at the edges. His lungs were screaming, and his thoughts were starting to slip.

Then, suddenly—the weight was gone.

Phazewave was ripped off him, the sudden release making Katsuki's body jerk violently as he gasped for air, his entire body shaking from the adrenaline and fear. His throat burned, each breath like swallowing glass. He coughed, choking, every muscle twitching, shaking. His vision swam, everything spinning, but through the haze, he forced himself to look up. His eyes struggled to focus, mind still reeling from the adrenaline, the panic, the terror that had him in its jaws just seconds ago.

And there, standing between him and Phazewave, was Izuku.

Katsuki blinked, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, that maybe the lack of oxygen had done something to his brain. But no—it was him.

He stood there, soaked from the rain, hair dripping, back straight as a fucking rod, staring down Phazewave like it was just another fucking Tuesday. His snow-white hair clung to his face, those dark eyes narrowed with barely restrained furry, locked onto the Nomu like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Stop," Izuku growled, his voice low and dangerous, filled with an authority that sent a chill down Katsuki's spine.

It wasn't a request. It was a fucking command.

Phazewave snarled, still feral, still wild. The Nomu's jagged teeth gleamed in the flickering light, its claws flexing like it couldn't wait to tear through flesh again—his flesh. Katsuki's throat constricted, the raw panic still clinging to him like a second skin. But Izuku didn't flinch. Not even an inch.

In a blur of motion too fast for Katsuki's panicked brain to process, Izuku's hand shot out and caught Phazewave by one of its jagged teeth. He held it there, gripping the Nomu like it was nothing, forcing its head down to meet his glare. And Phazewave froze.

For a moment, the air went deathly still. Even the storm outside felt muted, like it was nothing compared to the tension crackling between Izuku and the beast.

"I said, stop," Izuku growled, voice cold as ice. His grip tightened on Phazewave's jaw, jaded eyes burning with barely contained fury. "Or we're going to have a problem."

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Dancing with the Reaper

Phazewave's growl lingered in the air, low and furious, vibrating like it wanted to rip the space apart, but it stayed still. The tension between Izuku and the Nomu was thick enough to choke on, Katsuki felt it pressing down on him like a goddamn vice. Phazewave's glowing, murderous eyes flicked between him and Izuku, the beast barely holding itself back from another attack, its muscles coiled tight like a spring about to snap.

Katsuki lay there, heart still thundering in his chest, the haze of panic was starting to lift, and clarity creeped back in. Still, he had no idea what the hell was going on—no idea how Izuku was talking to it, why Phazewave was listening to him, any of it.

His eyes caught the blood first. Izuku's hand, tightening around those jagged teeth, deep gashes opening in his palm, and yet, Izuku didn't flinch. Didn't react. Just stood there, cold, focused, commanding. Blood dripped onto the floor in steady, dark red drops, the sound almost lost under the weight of the storm and Phazewave's rattling growl.

Izuku's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Don't make me tell you twice." It was low, dangerous, the kind of calm that sent a chill crawling down Katsuki's spine. Not the Izuku he knew—the one who was always jittery, always nervous. No, this voice was something else.

Phazewave snarled again, but it didn't attack. Katsuki watched, wide-eyed, as the Nomu trembled—actually trembled—like it was fighting an internal war, its body twitching, deciding whether to pounce or back off. But Izuku didn't budge, didn't flinch. His hand just gripped tighter, and the metallic groan of Phazewave's teeth grew louder, the pressure so intense Katsuki thought it might slice through Izuku's hand.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Phazewave let out a deep, guttural growl and backed down. It lowered its head, backing away, the glow of its eyes never leaving Katsuki. That gaze—it was still full of malice, of unrestrained violence, but it obeyed. It fucking obeyed Izuku.

Katsuki lay there, still gasping, chest heaving like he'd just sprinted a marathon. He still couldn't wrap his head around what the fuck just happened. His body buzzed with adrenaline, still shaking from the panic, but he was more or less himself.

Phazewave melted into the shadows, but Izuku didn't budge. He didn't even release his grip until the Nomu was far enough away, and when he finally did, his hand was slick with blood, the gashes deep enough to make Katsuki's stomach twist. The blood was staining the floor, but Izuku's expression didn't change—not even a wince. His eyes stayed locked on the retreating Nomu, cold and calculating, like a hunter watching its prey.

Izuku flexed his hand, the movement casual despite the deep gashes across his palm. His expression barely changed as he turned his gaze toward Katsuki, meeting his eyes for the first time since they'd come face-to-face in that alley.

Suddenly there was silence. Katsuki's mind started spinning for a different reason. Izuku. Alive.

The rain pounded against the windows, the sound mixing with the ringing in his ears. Everything felt distant, like he was underwater, like his brain was still trying to catch up to the fact that the person he thought he'd lost forever was standing right in front of him. He couldn't fucking believe it. He blinked hard, trying to clear the chaos in his head, trying to process the impossible. Izuku's alive... how the hell is he alive? He'd grieved. He'd fucking mourned. Spent the months before that ripping himself apart with guilt, rage, and now... something was off. Izuku didn't look like the person he used to know. He didn't even look like the person he'd mourned. There was no warmth, no spark. Like these last few months had reshaped him. He was just ust cold, empty eyes staring back at him. Watching him.

For a second, Katsuki didn't know what the hell he was feeling. Was it relief? Was it anger? It was like his brain couldn't settle on anything—every emotion hit him at once, full of confusion and disbelief. He stared up at Izuku, trying to make sense of it, but nothing was adding up.

And then—rage. A burning, searing rage that swallowed everything else. He let Katsuki think he was dead. Izuku abandoned him. He'd fucking left him.

Katsuki's breathing quickened, his hands trembling as he pushed himself off the floor. All those months—

The searching, the guilt, the fucking agony of thinking he'd never see him again. And now, he's here, standing there like nothing fucking happened.

Katsuki coughed, his throat still raw and burning from Phazewave's crushing grip. "You—" His voice cracked, coming out hoarse, barely more than a rasp, but the rage was boiling over, drowning out the pain. He lunged, grabbing Izuku by the front of his coat, yanking him up with all the strength he had left, his grip shaking. "You... fucking bastard!"

The words tore out of him, each syllable scratching against his throat, rough and broken. Izuku didn't move. He just stood there, like Katsuki's anger meant absolutely nothing to him. Katsuki's could feel the heat flushing his body, fists trembling as they gripped Izuku's coat tighter. Say something, dammit!

"You let me think you were dead!" Katsuki's voice was a snarl, raw with fury, his hands shaking with how hard he was holding on. "You fucking left me to rot, Deku!" He could barely see straight, everything swimming in his vision as months of bottled-up everything came spilling out all at once.

He didn't even care that the nickname had slipped out—Deku. That stupid name that felt like it didn't belong to this person, but it came out like a reflex, like muscle memory from years of fighting. But right now that didn't matter. What mattered was the months he'd spent chasing a ghost.

"I looked for you!" Katsuki's voice cracked, his words coming out in harsh, ragged bursts. He pulled Izuku closer, forcing him to look him in the eye. "I thought—fuck, I thought you were gone! I thought—" His hands were white-knuckled, every muscle in his body trembling from the sheer force of his rage, but Izuku didn't react. Didn't move. His face stayed calm, cold, like nothing Katsuki said fucking mattered.

And that—that made it worse.

"You fucking left me!" Katsuki was practically shouting now. His throat hurt, his body hurt, but none of it compared to the weight of suffering he'd carried. The pain, the guilt, the fucking endless waiting. And all for this—Izuku standing there, like a stranger, like he hadn't ripped Katsuki's world apart.

"How could you just leave? Let me fucking follow your shadow. How could you let me think you were fucking dead?!"

The silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating. Katsuki's voice echoed around them, bouncing off the walls, but Izuku's face stayed the same—detached, distant, like none of this was getting through. Katsuki couldn't stop as the rage was roiling inside.

And Izuku, for all his cold indifference, didn't say a goddamn word.

Katsuki's rage flared like a wildfire, hot and uncontrollable, burning him from the inside out. How could Izuku just stand there? So fucking calm, like none of it mattered? Like everything he'd put him through, the devastation—meant nothing. His lip twitched, curling back, baring his teeth in a snarl as he glared down at Izuku. His red eyes felt like they were burning, because now—now they were glowing.

Without thinking, he shoved Izuku hard, slamming him against the wall. The impact sent a crack through the old wood, the sound reverberating through the room like thunder. But Izuku—that bastard—didn't even flinch. Not a damn thing. Just those dark eyes narrowing, a flash of something dangerous behind them. Katsuki could see it—the flicker of darkness, the warning, but he didn't care.

"Answer me!" Katsuki snarled, voice breaking, rough from both rage and the damage to his throat. His irises warped as they glowed brighter, burning hotter with each second, teeth clenched, grip tight as he pressed Izuku harder against the wall. "Fucking answer me!"

For the first time, Izuku's face shifted. The cold indifference melted away, replaced by something darker—something more volatile. His lips twisted into a grimace, and Katsuki could feel the air change between them, the weight of Izuku's darker side creeping in like a shadow, like it was waking to watch. The tension was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. And Katsuki welcomed it. He wanted the fight, wanted to rip everything out in the open.

Izuku's hand shot out fast, grabbing Katsuki's collar, yanking him forward with a force that sent another surge of adrenaline through his veins. Izuku's voice, when it came, was low, seething, barely controlled. "Don't shove me, Kacchan." There was a warning in his tone, a deadly edge Katsuki hadn't heard since the cavern. "You don't know what you're asking for."

But Katsuki didn't give a shit. He didn't flinch, didn't pull back, didn't even think about backing down. He meet the challenge, fury crackling inside them like an explosion ready to go off. Izuku's warning, that darker side creeping closer, none of it meant a damn thing to him right now. He wasn't scared.

"You think I give a damn about that?" Katsuki's sneered, grabbing Izuku's collar even tighter, pulling him close until their faces were inches apart. "You think I care what happens to me—"

Izuku's face hardened, something dangerous sparking behind those wild eyes. He didn't respond with words this time—just action. In a sudden, sharp movement, Izuku shifted his stance, twisting away from the wall, and with a swift, brutal force, he grabbed Katsuki by the arm and shoulder-threw him to the floor.

Katsuki hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of him for a split second, but he barely had time to register the pain before his instincts kicked in. No fucking way was he getting away again.

Izuku turned to take off, but Katsuki was on him in an instant. He lunged, grabbing Izuku around the waist and dragging him down. They crashed onto the floor, a chaotic tangle of limbs and raw fury. Katsuki's teeth clacked as he hit the ground, grappling with Izuku, trying to pin him down. But Izuku wasn't making it easy—his strength was overwhelming, even more than Katsuki remembered.

"You're not fucking getting away this time!" Katsuki roared, voice hoarse and shredded as he fought to keep Izuku down. His fists clenched around Izuku's jacket, and for a moment, he thought he had the upper hand.

But Izuku flicked a hand at him, splattering blood across Katsuki's face, trying to disorient him. Izuku's fist came out of nowhere, a blur, and Katsuki felt the crack of knuckles against his face. Pain exploded through his skull as Izuku clocked him hard, sending a burst of stars across his vision. He reeled back, but his grip didn't falter. He wasn't letting go.

"Goddammit, I'm not letting you run!" Katsuki screamed, his voice raw with desperation and rage. The emotions that been building for so long—they all poured out of him in that moment. "Not again, you hear me?!"

Izuku's face curled into a snarl as they struggled on the floor. Face flickering with fury as he tried to twist out of Katsuki's grasp, painting them both with his blood. But Katsuki wasn't letting go. Not this time. He tightened his grip, the adrenaline coursing through him like a live wire, and with a sharp, forceful move, he swung his leg over, straddling Izuku's waist.

"You're not going anywhere," Katsuki snarled raggedly as he pressed down, his weight pinning Izuku beneath him. His glowing eyes blazed, flashing dangerously as he stared down at him, every ounce of his frustration and fury channeled into holding Izuku in place.

Izuku bucked hard against him, muscles straining, trying to throw him off, but Katsuki held on with everything he had, his fingers digging into Izuku's wrists. The two of them grappled, bodies twisting in a desperate, chaotic struggle. Katsuki could feel the raw power in Izuku's movements, the way he fought back with a strength that bordered on unnatural.

Suddenly, black tendrils shot out—Blackwhip—wrapping around Katsuki's body like iron chains. In one swift motion, Izuku ripped him off and tossed him aside.

Katsuki hit the ground again, hard, skidding across the floor. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood from his face, ready to launch himself at Izuku again, but something stopped him—Izuku's body.

It shimmered, flickering with a strange energy, almost like he was vibrating at a different frequency. Katsuki's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, recognizing the telltale sign of that quirk he'd used to get away from Katsuki the first time. Izuku's entire form pulsed with power, his movements already feeling faster, sharper.

He didn't know what the fuck that quirk was but he remembered the last time Izuku had gotten his hands on him—the way his whole body had felt like warm liquid was being poured into him. If Izuku grabbed him again—if that quirk took hold of him—he wouldn't stand a chance. It'd be over.

Suddenly, Katsuki kept his distance, instincts screaming at him to stay the hell back. His feet planted firmly on the ground, his hands raised, ready to strike. His quirk flared to life, crackling in his palms, sparking like fire ready to explode. He didn't take his eyes off Izuku for a second, his mind thrown into battle tactics, his heart beating out of rhythm. One touch, and he's done. One touch, and Izuku wins.

Izuku took a step forward, and Katsuki flinched, muscles tensing on pure instinct. A hand sprawled out, explosions lighting up his palm, a warning shot more than anything else. He was wound so tight, like a coil about to snap.

Izuku's eyes flashed as he saw Katsuki flinch, with a quick sidestep, he dodged Katsuki's warning shot, his movements smooth, deliberate. His gaze never left Katsuki's, and with a sharp, audible click, Izuku brought his hands together, "First Gear."

There was a faint metallic sound, like gears locking into place, as his body shimmered, the familiar flicker of an iridescent rainbow wrapping around him, amplifying his speed, his strength. Izuku lunged, moving faster than Katsuki's eyes could track. He was a blur, closing the distance between them in an instant.

But Katsuki was ready.

Just as Izuku closed in, there was another click—this time from Katsuki's side. Hidden in his other hand was the dampener, the same one Tokoyami had given him. In a split second, he activated it. The device's barrier shot out, whizzing past Izuku's charging form, expanded in an instant, creating a thirty-foot barrier around them.

The barrier hummed to life with a sharp, mechanical whir, its presence heavy in the air as it spread out. The effect was immediate. The shimmer that surrounded Izuku, that raw, pulsing energy, began to peel away like layers of paint stripped by a high-pressure hose. The flickering light around his body vanished, quirk dissolving as if it had never existed.

Katsuki felt it too—his own quirk snuffed out in an instant. The crackling heat that had been sparking in his palms disappeared, leaving only the weight of his fists. The familiar hum of power was gone, and for a brief, disorienting moment, both of them were left standing there—powerless.

Izuku staggered, his momentum halting as the dampener neutralized the quirk that had propelled him forward with such force. His eyes widened, the realization hitting him as he looked down at his hands, now completely void of that shimmering energy, of One For All.

Katsuki's breath hitched, but a savage grin twisted his face as he stood his ground. "Not so fast now, huh?" His voice was ragged, but there was a grim satisfaction in it. Without their quirks, it was a level playing field—a real fight. No superpowers. Just the two of them. Fists and fury.

Katsuki pocketed the dampener in one swift motion, never taking his eyes off Izuku. Without their quirks, it was all down to brute strength, and he wasn't about to give Izuku any room to breathe.

"Now it's just you and me, shitty nerd," Katsuki snarled, before he lunged at him, no hesitation in his movements. This time, there was no warning shot, no distance. He closed in, fists swinging, aiming to end this.

But now, Izuku fought back like a cornered animal. His movements were frantic, raw with desperation. He wasn't trying to win now—he was trying to escape. To break free. Katsuki felt the wild energy in every strike, every twist of Izuku's body as he fought to get out of his grip. It was messy, violent. Izuku's hands clawed at Katsuki's arms, nails digging into skin, his eyes wide and frantic. This almost felt like he was fighting the Izuku from after the torture, and it hurt to know that this wasn't his fault. That part had been almost innocent, pure in a world surrounded by evil.

Suddenly, Katsuki felt a sharp, searing pain in his shoulder. Izuku bit him. Hard.

"Fuck!" Katsuki grunted, the pain shooting through his body, but he didn't let go. "You think that's gonna stop me, huh?!"

Katsuki gritted his teeth, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder as he shifted his weight, grappling with Izuku's flailing limbs. Izuku tries to scramble away but Katsuki yanked him back by his leg. He wrapped his legs around Izuku's waist, squeezing tight, locking Izuku's arms in place. Then, with a forceful twist, Katsuki got his arm around Izuku's neck, locking him into a chokehold. Izuku bucked, twisted, growling with frustration, but Katsuki wasn't letting go. His arms tightened like a vice, cutting off Izuku's air supply bit by bit.

"Stop it!" Katsuki hissed through clenched teeth. "Calm the hell down or I'll knock you out!"

But Izuku still wasn't done. He screamed, the sound raw and filled with frustration, trying to thrash out of Katsuki's hold, but Katsuki tightened his grip, feeling Izuku's breaths growing erratic against the strain.

Katsuki felt Izuku's pulse hammering beneath his arm, each beat echoing a primal panic he could feel even through the crushing hold. He knew Izuku was fighting back more than just him right now—he was fighting ghosts, memories of the times he'd felt caged, trapped, helpless. The Iron Maiden. The look of horror and aggressive fear he'd seen in Izuku's eyes that day flickered to the front of Katsuki's mind, reminding him just how deep that scar went.

He was putting Izuku through hell, knowing full well what it meant to him. But if letting up now meant losing him for good, Katsuki wasn't about to take that chance. And yet, he was all too aware of how this must feel to Izuku, how every fiber in him was probably screaming to escape, just like it had all those months ago.

Katsuki gritted his teeth, feeling Izuku's breathing grow more frantic now, each gasp more desperate than the last. He tightened his hold, willing Izuku to just listen, to stop fighting him, but the panic in Izuku's eyes only grew, wild and fucking terrified. Katsuki had seen that look before—the raw, cornered desperation, the kind that made people lash out without reason, without logic... because it had to him too. And now it was spilling out of Izuku, overflowing like a dam finally breaking.

"Goddamn it, calm down!"

But Izuku didn't calm down. Instead, he threw his head back and screamed, a sound so raw and desperate that it cut through the air, slicing straight into Katsuki. Izuku's voice broke in that scream, an edge of pure, unrestrained panic spilling out in a way Katsuki had never heard from him.

And then Katsuki saw it—the shadow.

It quivered in the corner of his eye, a dark, looming presence, rippling as if something was about to emerge. The Nomu. Phazewave.

Izuku was spiraling out of control, and that thing—the Nomu—was about ready to come back and finish what it had started.

"Damn it, Deku, stop fucking struggling and listen!" Katsuki barked, trying to get through to him, but it wasn't working. Izuku's wild eyes were locked on something else, fighting for his life. The tension between them grew more suffocating by the second.

"Reaper!" Katsuki growled out, his voice sharper, calling to the part of Izuku he knew—the darker side, the one that was buried beneath the surface. It was a desperate move, but he needed something to snap Izuku out of this frenzy before everything went to hell.

The moment Katsuki said it, Izuku froze. It was subtle at first, like a ripple in the air around them, but Katsuki could feel it as clear as day. It was like a switch had been flipped inside Izuku, something dark and dangerous taking over. Katsuki felt his heart settle in his stomach as he sensed it—the presence of that other side of Izuku, the one that wasn't afraid, the one that had ripped all those people the shreds.

Katsuki loosened his hold just enough for Izuku to breathe, his arm no longer squeezing so tight around his neck. His own breath was coming in rough, shallow bursts, heart hammering in his chest. But now that they were here—locked in this moment—Katsuki didn't know what the hell to do. He was holding Izuku down, but he was scared to let go, terrified of what might happen if he released him, of what might come next.

Izuku's breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling in measured, controlled inhales, as if he were recalibrating, adjusting to the other personality. Slowly, through clenched teeth, he hissed, "Let me go, Kacchan."

Katsuki tensed, his grip tightening for a moment before his brain caught up with the command. There was no familiarity in his tone. Everything in Katsuki was telling him to stay in control, to not trust this shift, but the raw, frantic struggle had disappeared. Izuku wasn't thrashing anymore. There was no fight in his muscles—just stillness. Calculated stillness.

"I swear to God, if you try anything—" Katsuki's voice was low, harsh, filled with warning as he pressed his lips close to Izuku's ear. "I'll knock you the fuck out. I won't hesitate."

Izuku didn't move. His voice was calm, chillingly so, as he repeated, "Let me go."

For a second, he didn't want to let go of the one bit of control he had in this chaotic situation. But then, with a slow, reluctant exhale, he loosened his grip. His arms released the hold around Izuku's neck, and he unraveled his legs from Izuku's waist, muscles burning from the tension as he moved back.

Izuku sat up slowly, rolling his neck with an eerie calm, his movements deliberate and fluid, like the wild energy from before had never existed. He didn't look at Katsuki at first, just shifted his weight, putting a few inches of distance between them.

Katsuki shot to his feet immediately, ready for anything. He didn't trust this, didn't trust the quiet stillness that had overtaken Izuku. His palms itched, instinctively sparking with the ghost of his quirk, even though he knew the dampener was still in effect. But the tension in the air? It was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Izuku slowly lifted his gaze, his movements lethargic but purposeful. When their eyes finally met, Katsuki felt a chill run down his spine. Izuku's eyes were ice—deadly. He definitely recognized that look—this was the same thing that had spawned under the Red Lotus, back during that nightmare fight. The one where Izuku had lost himself completely and torn not just Jet Fuel, but through everything in his path like a beast unleashed. The memory of that massacre still clung to Katsuki like a shadow, the sight of blood and bodies littering the ground, the smell, Izuku charging through the center of it all, unfazed, like he wasn't even human.

But now... This wasn't the wild, uncontrollable frenzy of violence that had torn through people like nothing more than paper. No, this was more refined, more aware—like it had grown into something else. A person. Katsuki almost shivered. Izuku wasn't just slipping into a mindless rage anymore. He was staring at someone who truly had disassociated, split, and that terrifying side of him had become its own entity.

Izuku's detached eyes never left Katsuki's. He couldn't tear his gaze away, even if he wanted to—couldn't stop the way his pulse thrummed in his ears, quick and unsteady. So this was the shithead running the show.

"What do you want, Kacchan?"

Katsuki scoffed, the sound harsh and bitter, like something was crawling up the back of his throat. "What do I want?" he repeated, incredulous, his fists clenching at his sides. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Izuku—no, not Izuku. This thing sitting in front of him. The calm was unnerving, the lack of guilt, the lack of anything resembling remorse for what he had done.

"You really don't give a damn, do you?" Katsuki muttered, more to himself than to Izuku, his voice laced with frustration. About leaving. He crouched down slowly, knees bending as he leveled himself with Izuku, keeping his distance, his sharp eyes scanning every movement, every twitch of this dangerous side.

Leaning closer, Katsuki's voice lowered, but the anger still more than present. "You're not leaving my sight again. You got that?" Izuku's expression didn't shift.

"But I don't want to deal with you," Katsuki added, his voice hard as steel. He stared directly into those icy green eyes, his own burning red irises glowing with barely contained rage.

Izuku's lips twitched, but it wasn't a smile—it was something darker, a flash of annoyance behind that cold stare. Katsuki's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, teeth clenched. "And you—whatever the hell you go by—Reaper or whatever—get the fuck out. I want to talk to the real Izuku. Not you. Bring him back."

The reaction was immediate. The shift in the atmosphere hit Katsuki like a physical blow even with the dampener. Izuku's face twisted into a snarl, his teeth bared, eyes flashing with sudden fury. The calm, controlled stillness shattered, replaced by something far more volatile.

"I am the real Izuku! I'm the one who keeps us alive." The words were spat out with venom, they were low and filled with a barely contained rage. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to lash out. "You think you can talk to me like that? You think I'm some separate thing you can just get rid of?" His voice was shaking now, but not from fear—from anger. "I am Izuku. All of it. Every part. You don't get to decide what's real."

"You're full of shit," Katsuki spat, his tone biting. "I want to talk to him. The one who didn't throw everything away. The one who knew who he was."

Izuku leaned forward, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I am who I've always been. And you're too blind to see it."

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Wounds That Bind

He had been here before—he'd seen this version of Izuku through the USB, through the actions of the last few months, and under the Red Lotus, he was the one who held the reins when everything else crumbled away. And when Reaper wanted control, he dominated the other parts of Izuku without hesitation. No matter how much Katsuki hated to admit it, there was no getting through to the other side of Izuku if Reaper didn't allow it.

Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath, forcing himself to swallow the urge to lash out. "Fine," he relented, unwilling to let go of his anger but knowing this was the only way.

Izuku's sharp gaze flickered at Katsuki's sudden shift in tone, his eyes raking over Katsuki like he was waiting for a trap. But Katsuki wasn't done yet.

"Uraraka," Katsuki started, eyes never leaving Izuku's, watching for any change in his expression. "She gave me the USB you left for IcyHot."

Izuku's eyes widened, just for a split second, a flash of surprise breaking through that cold mask. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a carefully neutral expression. Still, it was enough for Katsuki to know he'd hit something.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" Katsuki continued, his voice hard, but with an edge of something else—something closer to curiosity than rage. "She found it. And now I have it. I've been putting together the pieces—the pieces you left behind, the ones you were having trouble putting together."

Izuku stood suddenly, dusting himself off with a swift, almost dismissive motion, like the tension between them hadn't even touched him. He straightened, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Katsuki.

"Did you now?" Every time he spoke, every time Katsuki looked at him, it felt wrong—like he was talking to a stranger wearing Izuku's skin. And that's what it was, wasn't it?

He wanted to strangle Izuku. God, he wanted to punch him until his fists bled, until he could beat some fucking sense back into him, force him to snap out of this. To rip it out of him. But at the same time, buried deep under all that rage, was something else.

Katsuki wanted to hold him.

Even now, after everything, after the hell Izuku had put him through, Katsuki wanted nothing more than to reach out, to pull him close and cling to him like he had in the months after the coma—when Izuku was warm and alive and felt like home. He hated himself for it, for wanting something so damn desperately that he knew wasn't there anymore. Because this thing in front of him—it wasn't the Izuku he loved. It looked like him, talked like him, but it wasn't him.

His green eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something wild, like he knew exactly what was going through Katsuki's head, like he could see right through the anger and frustration. His lips twisted into a smile—but it wasn't a smile. It was a crazed grin, unsettling as fuck in its coldness, like it had been stretched too far. Almost as if he were not only enjoying what he could see but something Katsuki didn't yet understand.

"I already figured out what they're doing," Izuku said casually, but his voice had an edge to it, a dark undercurrent that made Katsuki tense. "More or less."

Katsuki felt his jaw tighten as he stared Izuku down, not entirely sure if he was bluffing or not.

"I know about Phazewave," Izuku continued, his voice soft but laced with a dangerous certainty. "I know that serum... EcksTerminus... it was used on Phazewave. Some kind of testing—experimenting with it. They're playing with fire trying to amp up the Nomu's."

Katsuki's thumbed at his split lip as he processed Izuku's words, realizing that, while Izuku was dangerously close to the truth, he didn't have the full scope yet.

He watched the madness flicker in Izuku's eyes—the sharp edge of someone who thought they had it all figured out.

But they didn't.

"That's not all I figured out."

The moment the words left his mouth, he saw the way Izuku's attention snapped back to him, the crazed grin faltering just slightly, the furrow in his brow. Reaper was listening now. Good.

"I've been combing through the files you left behind, and I've figured out more than you think," Katsuki said. "In exchange for the information, you're gonna let me join you on your little quest to hunt down the League."

Izuku snorted, the grin returning, but this time it was filled with disdain. "Join me?" He mocked. "You'll only slow me down, Kacchan. I don't need you. I'm more than enough to take them out. You've seen it—you of all people know what I'm capable of." His tone was dripping with the kind of self-assurance Katsuki recognized from the Reaper side of him.

God, it remind him of himself as an idiot teenager.

Katsuki didn't react. He just stood there, arms crossed. He was willing to bet that this part of Izuku—this overconfident, brutal side of him thought it was invincible. It would never admit it needed help. But Katsuki had a trump card, and he was about to play it.

"Oh?" Katsuki said almost casually, but with a dangerous edge to it. "So, you know about the other scientist then?"

Izuku's grin slipped.

For the first time in their conversation, there was a flash of genuine confusion in Izuku's expression. His lip twitched, the dangerous certainty wavering as he took a small, unconscious step back, as if recalculating everything he thought he knew.

"Other scientist?" Izuku repeated, his voice quieter, almost unsure.

And that's when it was Katsuki's turn to smile. A slow, deliberate grin spread across his face as he watched Izuku try to piece it together. "You've been running around with half the story, shit head. And you're not going to figure out the rest without me. Not when you're fighting amongst yourselves in here." He says tapping the side of his head.

There was no hint of amusement left in him now. "You think the League's experiments stop at Phazewave? You think EcksTerminus is the end of the line?" Katsuki scoffed, shaking his head. "There's more. A lot more. And that scientist you don't know about? He's the one holding the key to everything."

Izuku's hands twitched at his sides, Katsuki could see the battle happening behind those green eyes—the fight between Reaper and whatever remained of the other parts of Izuku.

"What scientist?" Izuku's voice was low, edged with frustration. He didn't like being kept in the dark, especially by Katsuki.

And now Katsuki had him. He had him cornered, and they both knew it.

"You want answers? I'll give them to you," Katsuki said calmly but with an edge that let Izuku know he wasn't fucking around. "But we do this on my terms. You take me to wherever the hell you've been hiding out, then I'll start talking."

Izuku's eyes flashed with irritation, his lips curling into a snarl. He didn't like being told what to do he realized, especially not by Katsuki. Because Katsuki wasn't scared of him and Izuku knew that. For a moment, Katsuki thought he might refuse outright—thought Reaper would rear its ugly head and drag them into another fight. But instead, Izuku let out a low, frustrated growl, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to reign in the frustration.

"Fine," Izuku muttered, but the reluctance in his voice was palpable, like he was forcing himself to give in. "But you'd better not waste my time."

Katsuki wasn't fazed. He knew this game, had played it too many times to count. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the dampener he'd used earlier. His grip tightened around it as he pulled it out, his eyes never leaving Izuku's. For the briefest moment, he hesitated, watching the way Izuku's eyes flicked toward the exit, calculating the distance.

Katsuki's blood boiled. This motherfucker.

"Don't even fucking think about it," Katsuki snapped, stepping forward, livid at the fucking audacity. His eyes burned as he pointed the dampener at Izuku. "If you bolt, I'll burn that damn piece of shit hacker you were talking to at the club. I'll torch their contacts to the Ghouls, and then I'll hunt them down myself."

Izuku's head snapped back to him, his eyes wide with shock. The act fell and real surprise registered on his face, he'd had kept his operations secret, tight-lipped and careful. Yet somehow, Katsuki had slipped through those defenses. How?

"Yeah, that's right, asshole. I know about them. I know about everything you've been doing. You're not as invisible as you think, Deku."

"You're bluffing," Izuku muttered, but there was no conviction behind the words. He was testing the waters, looking for cracks. And shit Katsuki was bluffing now, partially.

"Try me. You've been meeting that Pixel fucker, at the club. He was stealing data from one of the sellers who had been selling to the League."

The mention of Pixel seemed to solidify the bluff, and the sharp edge of confidence in Katsuki's voice clearly had Izuku on edge. The intensity in Izuku's eyes burned hotter, but there was no denying the frustration that followed. Reaper or not, Izuku had just lost this round.

"Goddammit, Fine," Izuku growled, practically seething with anger. He finally gave in, the tension still rolling off him in waves. "But you're playing with fire, Kacchan."

Katsuki smirked, satisfied with the reaction. "I'm used to fire. Now, let's go."

The tension between them didn't break as they set off, and about twenty minutes later, Katsuki found himself following Izuku into a shrine. The faint buzz of adrenaline still hummed through his veins, his senses on high alert as they moved through the quiet area.

As they walked through the grounds, Katsuki's eyes the place, scanning their surroundings with suspicion. Izuku, without a word, headed straight for the back of the shrine, his movements sharp, precise. He didn't even bother to glance at Katsuki, as though leading him here was some sort of necessary evil.

Finally, they stopped at a manhole cover, hidden behind a thick patch of trees and debris. Izuku glanced around, making sure no one was watching before he crouched down and pulled it open. Katsuki crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.

"A manhole, really?" Katsuki muttered, but Izuku didn't respond. He just descended into the darkness below, like he'd done this a thousand times before.

Katsuki hesitated for a split second before following him, the old iron rungs of the ladder slick beneath his palms as he climbed down into the black void. The air down here was damp, musty, the faint scent of decay and old, forgotten places lingering in the back of his throat. He landed on his feet and looked around, squinting into the dark.

Katsuki's palms flared, casting the tunnel in a dim, crackling light. The soft pop of tiny explosions echoed around them, illuminating the rusted walls and slick concrete floor as they walked deeper into what looked like an old, abandoned subway tunnel. The light flickered, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the walls, but it was enough to keep the darkness at bay.

It didn't take long for him to realize where they were. The tunnel stretched out before them, long and winding, the air heavy with the scent of decay and rust. Katsuki's eyes widened slightly as the pieces clicked into place.

"Wait... this is the old Ginza line," Katsuki muttered, more to himself than Izuku. "It's been out of service for years."

Izuku didn't respond. He just kept walking, his footsteps echoing down the abandoned tunnel. Katsuki followed closely, his eyes flicking back and forth, the crackling light from his quirk illuminating the way.

They'd walked for a good distance when Katsuki suddenly heard the unmistakable chittering sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His palms flared instinctively, small explosions crackling at his fingertips, lighting the tunnel with a faint glow.

Standing just ahead of Izuku, bathed in the flickering light from Katsuki's palms, was the Nomu. Its massive form stood still, its glowing red eyes zeroed in on Katsuki, glaring with unbridled malice. Katsuki could feel as the warmth leeched from his body. It didn't move, didn't growl—it just stared, like it was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

But before Katsuki could act, Izuku stood taller, trying to seem intimidating as he ever so slightly to a defensive posture.

"Go away."

Katsuki blinked, taken aback by the harsh, defensive tone in Izuku's voice. He glanced at him, noting the sudden aggressive stance. The Nomu's head tilted slightly, the chittering growing softer, but its eyes stayed locked on Katsuki, as if waiting for an excuse to rip him apart. Izuku stepped forward, putting himself between Katsuki and the Nomu, his back to Katsuki as he faced down the creature. "I said go away," Izuku repeated, his tone sharper, more forceful.

For the second time that day, the Nomu let out a low growl, but it obeyed. It turned slowly, its heavy footsteps echoing in the silence as it slinked back into the shadows, disappearing down a side tunnel. Seriously, what the fuck?

"The hell was that?" Katsuki's voice came out harsher than he meant, but he didn't care. His heart was still hammering in his chest from the sight of that thing. His mind was buzzing, instincts flaring hot like they always did when he was around a threat that damn big. "Isn't that freak supposed to be the League's weapon? Why the hell does it act like it's protecting you?"

Izuku didn't stop walking, just kept moving forward, leading him deeper into the abandoned subway tunnel like he didn't just casually command a goddamn Nomu to back down.

Katsuki's scowl deepened as he followed, his boots echoing against the slick concrete floor, each step punctuated by the low crackle of the explosions still sparking in his palms.

"It is," Izuku said flatly, completely devoid of any emotion. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Katsuki's furious gaze with the same cold, calculating expression he'd had since they reunited. "That's exactly what it's doing."

Katsuki stared at him, disbelief and anger mixing in his chest. It is? What kind of bullshit—

"What?" Katsuki spat. "You telling me that thing's just decided to switch sides now, or some shit? That's not how those damn monsters work! They're made to kill us! You not remember the goddamn New Years Festival?" His voice was harsh, the words carrying the weight of everything he'd seen those things do—rip apart heroes, destroy entire city blocks, and nearly kill him too many goddamn times to count. And now  out of all the fucking Nomu, this one was... what, guarding Izuku? No way. No fucking way.

Izuku didn't respond immediately, just turned left into a smaller maintenance tunnel, the walls narrowing, the air growing heavier with the smell of rust and stagnant water. Katsuki growled in frustration, there was no universe where that thing just stopped being a threat, where it just... swapped sides to protected someone.

"The fight," Izuku finally said, voice quieter now, almost distant. "Back in Hakone, after Vortex..." His voice trailed off, and for a second, something flickered across his face—something sharp and dark, a memory that clearly cut deep. "After I killed him—"

Katsuki's thoughts screeched to a halt. Wait, wait, wait, hold the fuck on... did he just say killed Vortex? Izuku—Reaper—fuck, whoever, had managed to take him out? He barely had time to process that when Izuku's pace slowed, his steps halting suddenly. Katsuki, mid-step, was about to snap back, ask how the hell Izuku managed to kill one of the most dangerous members of the League, when Izuku stopped moving entirely.

Katsuki stopped just short of him. Izuku's head lowered slightly, and his shoulders hunched forward, his whole body giving off a weird, almost shaky vibe like he was struggling with something. His hand came up to his face, fingers trembling as they pressed against his temple. What was happening?

Izuku shook his head, almost violently, like he was trying to shake off a fog. His eyes darted around for a second, taking in the surroundings like he didn't recognize where he was. His breathing hitched, and then, slowly, he turned. When his eyes locked on Katsuki, something was different—subtle, but there.

Katsuki tensed slightly. Izuku's gaze wasn't cold and calculating anymore; it wasn't the Reaper staring at him. This was someone else. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a faint glimmer of the person Katsuki once knew, buried under all that darkness. For the first time since they'd run into each other, Izuku looked... out of place.

"He... he let you come here?" Izuku's voice was hoarse, softer than before, almost as if he was talking to himself. His hand twitched at his side, clenching and unclenching as though he was trying to ground himself. He looked around, like he wasn't sure where he was or how he'd gotten here.

Katsuki stared at him, his brain working to catch up with the sudden shift. What the hell? Izuku seemed... completely different now, like he'd just been dropped back into his own body. Katsuki's eyes widened as it clicked. Reaper was gone. The thing that had been pulling the strings this whole time had stepped back, and the real Deku—Izuku—was standing in front of him.

It took a moment for the realization to fully sink in, but when it did, something like relief and caution hit Katsuki all at once.

"Deku?" Katsuki's voice was a low growl, but it wasn't filled with the same venom. It was more of a test, like he wasn't quite sure who he was talking to. He took a step forward, hands still crackling but less aggressive now, his red eyes locked onto Izuku's.

Izuku didn't respond right away, just blinked, his green eyes clouded with something—fatigue, pain, maybe.

Katsuki took another cautious step forward, the flickering light from his quirk casting long shadows across the tunnel walls. His breath was steady, but his heart pounded in his chest, the emotions crashing into him all at once. Rage. Confusion. And something rawer, something deeper he couldn't quite keep from surfacing.

He reached out, his hand trembling only slightly as his fingers brushed against Izuku's chin, firm but gentle, tilting his face up so that their eyes could meet. Katsuki could feel Izuku flinch at the touch, could see the way his body tensed up as if bracing for something, but Katsuki didn't let go. His grip was steady, anchoring.

"Deku," Katsuki's voice softened, the usual sharp edge gone, replaced by something quieter, almost pleading. "Is it you?"

Izuku blinked rapidly, his green eyes still foggy, disoriented. He didn't answer at first, his gaze darting around the tunnel like he was trying to remember where he was, like he was lost inside his own mind. Katsuki's grip tightened slightly, forcing Izuku to focus.

"Izuku," Katsuki said again, the words almost too quiet to hear. The name felt strange on his tongue after all the time spent calling him by anything else. But it was deliberate. He needed to know if it was really him—the real him.

Izuku's lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, as if he were coming down from some overwhelming high, but after a beat, he slowly nodded. It was a barely-there movement, a faint, uncertain gesture, but it was enough for Katsuki to see.

This was when Katsuki realized who this was. The nervousness, the shyness... could it really be him?

"Why would he... let you come down here?" His words were almost frantic, muttered under his breath like he was trying to understand something that didn't quite make sense to him. "He never lets anyone—" Izuku's disjointed thoughts were spilling out, but Katsuki wasn't listening anymore—not to that.

The part of him that wanted to shout, to shake Izuku until he snapped back to himself, was losing the fight against something rawer, something he couldn't suppress any longer. The feelings he'd been trying to bury.

How long had it been, how long had it been since he thanked Katsuki for loving him? For thinking that they were never going to see each other again? How long had it been since he looked into those emerald eyes and seen the person who'd forgotten himselves only to find their path in Katsuki.

Katsuki closed the distance between them in one swift motion, his hand still holding onto Izuku's face as he pressed him back against the cold, damp wall of the tunnel. The motion was sharp, but not violent. Izuku's back hit the wall with a soft thud.

Izuku stilled. The frantic, muttering thoughts that had been spilling from his lips moments ago quieted, his eyes flicking up to Katsuki. He didn't resist. Katsuki's body hovered over his, their faces inches apart, the sudden proximity had a flood of warmth pooling inside him.

How long had it been since he'd seen the person who fell in love with every broken piece of him?

The crackle of Katsuki's quirk, still faint in his palms, flickered out for a moment, replaced by something softer. He raised his hand, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he threw out a series of tiny, glowing sparks—Starlight Detonation. Small, delicate, floating sparks of light that looked like distant stars filled the space around them, casting a soft, warm glow in the darkness of the tunnel. The light illuminated Izuku's face, casting soft shadows that made the raw emotion in his expression even more striking.

Katsuki's other hand slid behind Izuku's neck, the grip firm but gentle, grounding him, anchoring them both in the moment. His fingers brushed against the soft white hair at the nape of Izuku's neck, the touch intimate. He could feel the warmth of Izuku's skin beneath his palm, could feel the tension in his muscles as if Izuku didn't know whether to pull away or lean into him.

Izuku's eyes were darting between the floating sparks and Katsuki's face not sure what was happening. He didn't speak, didn't move.

And out of all the things Katsuki could have said in that moment, with all the shit they had been through, everything they needed to talk about, what spilled out of his mouth instead was:

"What happened to your freckles, nerd?"

The words hung there, soft and almost stupid, but Katsuki couldn't stop them. His thumb brushed over the angry skin of Izuku's cheek, where the familiar spray of freckles used to be. The sight of Izuku without them—it felt wrong. The new additions of scars felt so fucking wrong.

Izuku's lips wobbled, a tremor passing through him. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and his eyes—those damn glassy emerald eyes—began to fill with unshed tears. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Just the faintest, broken exhale, the kind that made Katsuki's heart clench in his chest. Before Katsuki could stop himself, he pulled Izuku into a hug. It wasn't planned, wasn't something Katsuki had thought through, but his body moved on its own, closing the space between them in an instant.

Izuku stiffened at first, as if the warmth and contact were something foreign to him now. But after a moment, the tension in his body melted away, and he leaned into Katsuki, trembling as he clung to him. Katsuki felt Izuku's hands slowly come up, wrapping around him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as though he was afraid Katsuki might disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough.

The first quiet sob escaping his lips like a broken gasp. Then another. And another. Until the dam broke, and Izuku was crying, his face buried against Katsuki's chest. His whole body shook with the weight of it, as though the pain and fear he'd been carrying for so long were breaking free all at once. He cried into Katsuki, his tears soaking into Katsuki's shirt, the sound of his muffled sobs filling the dark tunnel.

Katsuki could feel the pressure in his own chest tightening, the overwhelming flood of emotions hitting him like a wave. The ache in his throat, the heaviness behind his eyes—it was all there, threatening to break him down too. But he held it back. For now. Because Izuku needed him more than he needed to let his own tears fall.

Katsuki buried his face against the top of Izuku's head, his nose brushing through the soft strands of white hair. The faint smell of rain and peppermint—the scent that had always clung to Izuku, that he had known all too fucking well—was still there, even after all this time. It was a small, familiar comfort in the middle of everything that had gone wrong. Goddammit what happened to them?

"Why?" Katsuki's voice was low, rough, but filled with raw emotion. He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his voice steady, but he couldn't hide the edge of desperation. His grip tightened, pulling Izuku even closer as if that would force the truth out of him. "Why the hell did you let me think you were dead?"

Izuku's sobs quieted slightly at the question, but he didn't answer right away. Katsuki's chest heaved with the weight of everything he'd been holding back, the flood of grief and rage swirling inside him.

"You have any idea what that did to me?" Katsuki's voice wavered, and for the first time, he couldn't stop the tremor in his words. "I nearly ripped myself apart from the pain. From losing you."

Izuku's grip on Katsuki's shirt tightened, his fingers twisting into the fabric as if he were trying to anchor himself, but he didn't lift his head. He didn't look at Katsuki. He just cried harder, the weight of Katsuki's words clearly breaking him down further.

"Answer me!" Katsuki demanded, his voice louder now, cracking under the pressure of everything he was feeling. "Why did you do that? Why did you make me think you were gone?!"

Izuku hiccupped, his body still trembling as he tried to speak between the sobs, the words catching in his throat like they were too much to say aloud. "D-during the fight... in Hakone..." Izuku's voice cracked, barely more than a whisper as he forced himself to speak through the broken sobs. "We came across... a lab."

There was silence for a moment like he was trying to gather his already scattered thoughts.

"We were in the middle of... trying to steal what we could," he choked on the words, pressing his face deeper into Katsuki's chest as if trying to hide from the memory. "He thought it was going to be the usual in and out that we had been doing. Infiltrate, steal data, destroy the lab."

"He?"

"Reaper."

Katsuki stayed quiet for a moment, his hands still resting on Izuku's back and neck, holding him in place, keeping him grounded. He could feel the tension radiating from Izuku as he spoke, the weight of what he was saying pressing down on both of them.

"We didn't know..." Izuku's voice wavered, his fingers gripping Katsuki's shirt even tighter. "We didn't know they were already experimenting on Nomu. We didn't know... Phazewave was down there."

Katsuki felt his skin prickle at the mention of Phazewave. Memories of the lab in Toei bleed into Katsuki's thoughts, how he and Shoto had watched in horror before the camera's went out, before the ring died in Katsuki's palms.

"Vortex..." Izuku hiccupped again, the sound broken, like he could barely get the words out before he said the name again with so much hatred. "Vortex... the part of me that Odd Eye brought back wasn't thinking straight," Izuku choked, his voice strained, trembling with barely contained fury as he continued. His body was still shaking against Katsuki's chest, but now it wasn't just from the pain—it was from the hatred burning beneath the surface. "The moment he saw Vortex... everything went blank. Chaos. I couldn't think. Couldn't focus. All I could see—" Izuku's voice cracked, heavy with a rawness Katsuki hadn't heard before. "—all Reaper could see was him."

Katsuki stayed silent, heart thudding as he listened to Izuku unravel the truth, piece by piece.

"All they could think about was what he did. What he did to Kirishima. What he did to you in the park—" Izuku's voice broke again, barely holding together. "I remember it, Kacchan. They remember it. Every second. Every moment when I thought I was going to lose you. I remember the sound of your screams, after Odd Eye put his hands on you, how Vortex tried to drain you..."

...What was he talking about?

Izuku's fingers dug into Katsuki's shirt, shaking. "When the part of me from your past saw Vortex, Reaper lost it. He wasn't thinking anymore—and neither I or the other part couldn't... It was like everything we'd kept buried broke loose, and all I could see was red. The part from the past, and more so Reaper wanted to tear him apart. They wanted to make him feel what he made you feel."

Izuku's words were filled with pure, unrestrained hatred, a venom that Katsuki hadn't heard from him in since the day All Might died.

"He attacked him. Reaper didn't care about the lab, didn't care about anything else. He just wanted him dead." Izuku let out a choked sob, his body trembling as he relived the memory. "We destroyed everything. The lab—it was collapsing around us, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except killing him. He—he knew that we were coming for him. Vortex wanted it. He was toying with us, like it was all some sick game. And then..." Izuku's voice grew darker, a cold fury creeping in. "He unleashed Phazewave."

Flashes of how it pushed Izuku into a corner swept in, the look on his face when he realized he couldn't beat that thing out of sheer determination.

"He didn't fight Reaper directly," Izuku spat, his voice trembling with hatred. "He let that thing do it. Like we weren't even worth his time. Like he could just stand there and watch while Phazewave ripped Izuku Midoriya apart. He tried, Kacchan," Izuku whispered, his voice breaking again. "He tried to fight back, but we wasn't strong enough. He managed to use the second user's quirk..."

Izuku shifted in Katsuki's arms wincing.

"He used Gearshift," he rasped, "twice. You have no idea what that quirk does to you... how it feels like your body's been dragged through hell. It's like running ten miles at full speed without stopping... and we had to use it twice. Each time, my muscles screamed in pain, like they were tearing themselves apart from the inside. I could barely breathe as they kept fighting. My chest... it felt like it was caving in."

Katsuki's grip tightened on Izuku as he spoke, feeling the exhaustion in his voice, the toll Gearshift had taken on him. He could practically feel the aftereffects through Izuku's words—the way the quirk had drained him, left him gasping for breath, weak, on the brink of collapse.

"Reaper managed to damage Phazewave, finally..." Izuku's voice broke, his body trembling harder against Katsuki's. "But it wasn't enough. We were bleeding everywhere, barely able to stand, and I knew... I knew if he didn't get out of there, we was going to die. So some how I pushed to the surface past both of them, shoving them down as I ran. I ran like hell, with my whole body screaming at me to stop, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't..."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to pull away as if he was peeling himself away from something fragile. Katsuki blinked, caught off guard, his hand hovering for a moment as he watched Izuku take a few steps back into the dim light of the tunnel.

"What are you—?" Katsuki started, but Izuku cut him off with a shake of his head, his eyes distant, haunted. He continued walking, and Katsuki, confused but unwilling to leave him alone for even a second, followed.

"I was bleeding out by the time I made it to the hideout," Izuku muttered. He stopped, his back turned to Katsuki, hands trembling slightly as he reached for the collar of his coat. "I didn't even know if I'd make it. I could barely see straight. Phazewave had ripped into me... claw marks so deep I thought it had hit my arteries."

Izuku's fingers fumbled with the buttons of his coat, his breath shallow and uneven. Izuku shrugged off the coat, and it fell heavily to the ground. Katsuki paled at the sight. Bandages—haphazardly wrapped and bloodstained—covered Izuku's torso, wrapping around his chest and waist. The once-white fabric was soaked through with deep crimson in multiple places, stark against Izuku's pale skin. The jagged wounds he could see between the bandages stretched across his back and side, barely held together by the messy. The claw marks—the ones from Phazewave—looked brutal, deep gashes that seemed like they should've killed him on the spot.

Izuku slowly turned to face him, revealing more of the damage. His chest, too, was wrapped in bandages, the signs of recent struggle clear. Katsuki's eyes widened as he realized the fight they'd had earlier—the intensity of it—had probably ripped open those wounds again.

"Jesus Christ..." Katsuki muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he took in the sight before him. "You're still bleeding."

"I was trying to stitch myself up," Izuku continued, his voice steady but flat, as if he were merely recounting facts, "but by the time I was almost done... I passed out. I didn't even know if I'd wake up again." He laughed bitterly, a sound that sent a shiver down Katsuki's spine. "I didn't know how long I was out, but when one of us  finally woke up, Phazewave was standing over me."

Katsuki's stomach churned at the thought. Katsuki couldn't even begin to imagine it—the horror of waking up barely able to breathe, bleeding out, and seeing that thing standing over you. He's been through hell, yeah, but nothing like that. What the hell had kept that Nomu from finishing him off?

"I thought I was going to die, but it didn't attack me. It just... hovered around me, like it was protecting me, guarding me." Izuku's voice faltered, his hands shaking as he touched the edge of one of the blood-soaked bandages. "I don't know why, Kacchan. I don't know why it didn't kill me."

Katsuki was about to open his mouth, some half-formed thought about dominance clawing its way out—because maybe that's what it was, right? Izuku had fought Phazewave and, somehow, in that fight for his life, maybe he'd... asserted dominance. It sounded stupid, but what else could explain the Nomu hanging around like some freakish guard dog? None of it made any sense. And he hated that, hated not having an answer. He hated even more that Izuku was standing here, bleeding out, barely stitched together, while trying to piece together the same nightmare.

But just as Katsuki started to speak, something caught his eye. A soft glow—pulsing, faint but unmistakable—cut through the dim light of the tunnel. The words died in his throat, eyes locked onto Izuku's chest, just above the jagged, bloody mess of bandages, where the transplant scar started.

Around Izuku's neck was a thin, silver chain. And hanging from it—

Katsuki's heart stuttered in his chest and the glow echoed the movement. There, resting against the pale skin of Izuku's collarbone, was a ring. His ring. The one that echoed the rhythm of Katsuki's own heartbeat.

After everything, through all the blood and pain, the trauma and DID, Izuku had kept it. He'd held onto it, just as Katsuki had been holding onto his. The weight of that realization hit him so fucking hard.

All this time... even when Katsuki thought he'd lost Izuku, when he was torn apart by grief and rage, Izuku had never let him go. He'd kept Katsuki close. Maybe closer than Katsuki had even kept him.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Threading Shadows

Katsuki had learned two things real quick.

First, Reaper definitely held the reins, no fucking question about it. It wasn't just a theory anymore—it was fact. The shift had been immediate, like a damn light switch flipping back the second they'd crossed into Izuku's hideout. Katsuki had seen it in Izuku's eyes—the way the confusion, the fear, and the grief had drained from his face, replaced by the familiar, eerie calm. It was infuriating, but more than that, it was terrifying. It was almost like Reaper had allowed that one moment—a tiny sliver of time for Izuku to come up for air—just long enough for Katsuki to see him again, to hold him, to hear the broken part of him buried underneath all that goddamn mess.

Then, just as fast as he'd shown up, Izuku had slipped away again. And Reaper? That bastard had taken over without so much as a fight. Like he'd just been sitting there, waiting for the perfect moment to wrench control back. Izuku barely stood a chance.

Katsuki could see it in the way Izuku's posture shifted, shoulders squaring, head tilting slightly, like some predator assessing its prey. The softness, the hesitation, was gone. What was left was cold calculation, Reaper's ever-present smugness seeping back into every movement. And Katsuki fucking hated it.

But that was the thing that gnawed at Katsuki, the part that didn't sit right, no matter how many times he turned it over in his head. Why the hell had Reaper allowed it? He didn't like Katsuki, that much was clear. Hell, every look that side of Izuku shot his way was filled with cold detachment, if not outright disdain. Reaper had no reason to give him that, no reason to let Izuku surface for those few precious moments. It wasn't just a slip—it had been intentional.

Why?

Why the fuck would Reaper—this icy, unfeeling bastard who seemed dead set on keeping Izuku locked away—let that happen?

Honestly, Katsuki had no fucking clue.

The hideout was a mess, like everything else in Izuku's life right now. It looked like some makeshift command center buried deep in one of the old, forgotten maintenance tunnels. The air was damp and heavy with the scent of rust and stale water, the walls slick with age. The whole place felt suffocating, claustrophobic in a way that made Katsuki's skin itch. With having been kept in a cell and tortured for months, Katsuki didn't know how Izuku wasn't freaking the hell out in a space like this.

In one corner, crammed against the far wall, was a small, ratty bed. The mattress sagged in the middle, the sheets rumpled and barely hanging on. There were no personal touches, nothing that screamed Izuku about it—just a place to crash when the weight of the world got too heavy, or when Reaper decided to shut down for the night.

A desk sat at the opposite end of the room, cluttered with stacks of files, documents, and what looked like spy tech. Some of the gadgets were half-taken apart, wires and circuits exposed like they'd been tinkered with or modified recently. There were surveillance cameras, mini drones, tiny tracking devices—stuff Katsuki had seen used on covert ops but never in the hands of one person.

Then there was the laptop. A Dell Rugged sat open on the desk, the dim glow from the screen casting eerie shadows across the room. The screen showing lines of encrypted code and what looked like surveillance feeds from different locations—places Katsuki didn't recognize but would bet his damn life were connected to the League.

Katsuki's eyes flicked to the side as he caught movement from the corner of his vision. His body tensed instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with that familiar instinct of danger. Slowly, he turned his head just enough to see it lurking in the shadows.

It fizzed into view, like it had peeled itself straight out of the darkness. Its grotesque form shimmered into existence, muscles twitching unnaturally as it came to a stop in the far corner of the room. The thing didn't make a sound, didn't even growl—it just stood there, its glowing red eyes fixed on Katsuki. Staring. Watching. Like it had been the entire goddamn time.

Katsuki's lip curled, the faint crackle of explosions flickering to life in his palms. He had to fight the urge to blow that ugly bastard to hell right then and there. But he didn't. Because, despite everything screaming at him to blast it, he'd learned his second goddamn lesson real quick.

That Nomu wasn't just lurking around for shits and giggles. No, it was definitely protecting Izuku.

It didn't move much, didn't make a sound, but fuck if it wasn't keeping its eyes locked on him the entire time. For the most part, it just stood there, like some freakish gargoyle, parked in the corner of the room, never taking its eyes off him—never blinking, never shifting its gaze, just watching, like it was just waiting for Katsuki to make one wrong move. Not like it would be hard, anyway—everything about him screamed danger to that thing, and Katsuki was pretty damn sure it wanted to rip him apart. Every fiber of Katsuki's being screamed that Phazewave was a threat, that it should've charged him by now, ready to tear him apart limb by limb. But it didn't.

Katsuki had seen Nomu in action more times than he could count. Nomus weren't supposed to act like this. They were mindless, brutal, controlled things—their only purpose being to destroy. That's how it worked. That's what Katsuki had been taught, what he'd experienced firsthand when they'd torn through cities and people like they were made of fucking tissue paper.

Katsuki's mind churned, his thoughts a jagged mess as he kept one eye on the Nomu and the other on Izuku. There was no fucking way this thing wasn't a threat. Maybe Izuku—no, Reaper—shit, whoever, asserted his dominance over it. Hell, maybe the fight in Hakone had been more than just a battle for survival. Maybe it had been a battle for control. And now that Phazewave was self-aware enough to make its own decisions, maybe it had decided the League wasn't worth its time. The Nomu's cold, calculating gaze told Katsuki all he needed to know: this thing wasn't mindless anymore. It was watching. Shit, that's terrifying, Katsuki thought. It was aware enough to choose, to hold back, to think.

He dragged his eyes away from Phazewave, focusing instead on Izuku—who was now pulling himself away from the cluttered desk. Izuku had been going through the USB Katsuki had handed over—reluctantly, of course. The idea of trusting Reaper with any information left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he didn't have much choice. Not if he was going to help take down the League.

Izuku stood, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his face as he moved toward the far corner of the room. Without a word, he crouched by the bed, pulling out a duffle bag from underneath. Katsuki narrowed his eyes, his arms still crossed as he sat in a chair nearby. Izuku didn't say a damn thing to him. He was too busy digging through the bag, pulling out a small pill vial. His hands were shaking, Katsuki noticed. Barely noticeable at first, but there. Izuku popped a few pills, his breath coming out short and sharp. He looks like he's in pain, Katsuki realized, his eyes following Izuku's movements closely.

Katsuki sat up straighter in his chair, his jaw clenched as Izuku started to peel the bandages away. The stark white fabric had been stained with blood, dirt, and sweat—signs of a man who had been running on fumes for far too long. Izuku's movements were slow and methodical as he continued to unwrap the bandages around his torso, each strip of bloodstained fabric falling away like layers of armor he no longer needed. His breath hitched every now and then, barely perceptible, but again, Katsuki noticed. Every slight tremor, every faint wince that crossed Izuku's face didn't escape him.

As the last of the bandages came undone, Izuku paused. Just for a second.

His hands froze mid-motion, the strips of cloth dangling loosely from his fingers. He knew. He knew Katsuki was watching him. it was almost like a part of him wanted to hide, to cover up the damage, to protect himself from being seen. To pretend like it didn't hurt as much as it did.

But the other part? It didn't want to show an ounce of weakness.

That part squared his shoulders.

Katsuki's heart pounded against his ribs, his breath slowing as the last of the bandages came off, revealing what was underneath. At first, it looked like the aftermath of the fight they'd had earlier—bruises, cuts, scrapes—but then he saw them.

The claw marks.

They raked across Izuku's back and side, jagged, angry, and so fucking deep. Katsuki had known it was bad, but not this bad. The wounds looked fresh, like they hadn't even begun to heal properly, barely held together by messy, uneven stitches that seemed ready to pop at any second. Blood seeped through the broken seams, dark and viscous, staining Izuku's pale skin.

For once, Katsuki didn't say a word. No sarcastic remark, no angry outburst. He just... stared. He couldn't help it. The damage was so much worse than he'd thought, so much more than what Izuku had let on.

How the hell is he even standing?

Izuku tore at the last bit of gauze wrapped tight around his chest, the fabric clinging stubbornly to the blood-soaked wounds. He tugged harder, his fingers trembling as he pulled it free, the final strip falling to the floor with a soft, wet thud. Katsuki's eyes tracked every movement, heart pounding like a drum in his ears. It was like watching someone trying to hold themselves together with nothing but sheer force of will.

But Izuku wasn't holding it together. He was coming apart at the seams, and Katsuki could see every crack in the armor. Izuku reached into the duffle bag grabbing clean materials when a roll of gauze rolled off the bed onto the floor.

Katsuki pushed himself out of the chair, moving towards him before his brain even caught up. "You should probably sit down," Katsuki muttered, voice low but edged with concern. "You're still leaking everywhere."

Izuku didn't even look at him, just kept fumbling with the gauze, hands shaking as he tried to gather it all up. One hand gripped his side like he could somehow hold the pain in, but it was clear to anyone with half a brain that he was struggling. Katsuki bent down, picking up the roll of gauze from the floor, his fingers brushing the bloodstained strips of fabric as he straightened back up.

That's when Izuku tensed, his whole body going rigid like Katsuki had pressed a button that triggered some kind of invisible alarm.

"I don't need your help," Izuku spat, the words venomous and sharp, cutting through the thick air between them. He shot Katsuki a glare, eyes dark and guarded, like Katsuki's presence was the last thing he wanted. His voice was low and bitter, like the idea of accepting any help from Katsuki was some kind of betrayal.

Katsuki froze for a second, staring at him in disbelief. The fucking audacity. Standing there, barely held together, leaking blood all over the floor, and he had the balls to act like he was too tough to accept help. To have the damn nerve to act like he didn't need help when he was two steps away from collapsing?

"You're shitting me," Katsuki growled, pushing himself up to his full height, gauze in hand. He leveled Izuku with a hard look, the kind that should've been enough to shut him up. "I'm a certified EMT. I could patch you up, no problem."

Izuku's eyes darkened, his mouth twisting into a bitter sneer. "I don't need you to fix me, Kacchan," he bit back, defensive and angry, like the suggestion that he needed help was some kind of insult. "I can do it myself."

Katsuki's blood boiled. Of course, Reaper took it that way. Of course, he thought Katsuki was implying he was too weak to handle his own shit. Because that's what he does, Katsuki thought, gritting his teeth. He didn't see this for what it was—Katsuki trying to keep him from bleeding out, not trying to baby him. He was being stubborn as hell. Like always.

This—this goddamn attitude? Katsuki knew it all too well.

Hell, it was him. It was like staring into a mirror of his teenage self, and fuck, was it frustrating.

Katsuki stepped forward, his voice rising with frustration. "Did you forget who nursed your ass back to health after the coma?!" he snapped, eyes blazing with fury and something else—something deeper, buried under the rage. "Or did you block that out along with everything else, Reaper?"

Izuku stared him down for a long, painful moment like he was trying to read him, the tension stretching out like a rubber band ready to snap. Katsuki half-expected him to throw another verbal punch, to keep fighting him tooth and nail. He could see it in the way Izuku's lips tightened, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was gearing up to argue, to push Katsuki away again.

But Izuku exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging, and just when Katsuki thought he was going to keep fighting, Izuku relented.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice low, the fight draining out of him. His gaze flicked away, the hard edge softening just enough for Katsuki to see the exhaustion underneath it all. He sat down on the edge of the bed, wincing slightly as his wounds pulled at the movement.

Katsuki knelt in front of Izuku, his gaze sweeping over the torn skin and ragged edges of the wounds that snaked across his side and back. Up close, it was worse than he'd thought. The claw marks from Phazewave's attack were still gaping, some of them barely holding together, the messy stitches already pulling apart. If Katsuki didn't act fast, these wounds weren't going to heal anytime soon. They needed to be restitched, and soon, or Izuku was going to risk infection—or worse.

With a muttered curse, Katsuki yanked the duffle bag towards him, digging through its contents. He pulled out the roll of cling gauze and a few non-stick pads—standard first-aid shit, but it wasn't enough. Not for something like this. He grimaced. There was no proper antiseptic, no sutures, nothing that could actually fix what Izuku needed fixing.

Katsuki sat back on his heels, chewing the inside of his cheek as he mulled over his options. He needed proper supplies. Hell, he was debating if he should risk leaving, just for a few minutes, to go hunt down a pharmacy or—shit, even a hospital supply closet—to get the right materials. He'd be quick, in and out, but leaving Izuku alone... Shit.

He was still debating with himself when the room suddenly shifted.

A shadow loomed behind him, stretching across the floor like something out of a nightmare. Katsuki's body went rigid. He didn't need to look to know who—or what—it was. Phazewave's familiar chittering filled the air, that distorted noise making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Before Katsuki could react, something heavy dropped onto the bed beside him. He turned, eyes narrowing as he stared down at what the Nomu had placed there. His brows furrowed in confusion.

A surgery pack.

Not just any surgery pack, either. It looked like something you'd find at a goddamn vet's office—complete with a sealed pouch of one ought sutures and gauze. Katsuki blinked, staring at the pack for a moment, trying to process what just happened. Where the fuck did Phazewave even get this? It even grabbed the pack with the sterile indicators. The questions popped into his head before he immediately pushed it aside. Nope. Not gonna think about it.

He glanced over his shoulder at the Nomu, it only glared at him, unblinking. The thing stood still, watching, like it was waiting for him to get on with it.

Katsuki didn't waste any more time. He grabbed the surgery pack, unsealing it with quick, practiced motions. The sterile contents were basic, but they'd do. His fingers brushed over the needle driver, the forceps, and the fresh sutures, his stomach tightening. It had been a long time since he'd handled anything like this. But there was no choice. Izuku was sitting there, half torn open, and no one else was going to fix him.

"Hold still, nerd," Katsuki muttered, his voice gruff but not unkind as he positioned himself beside Izuku. Izuku barely acknowledged him, his eyes unfocused, body sagging with what looked like exhaustion. He grabbed a small pair of scissors from the vet's kit and carefully cut away the ragged stitches holding Izuku's wounds together. They were barely doing their job at this point, hanging by a thread—literally.

Two hours. It took nearly two full hours to restitch the wounds. Katsuki's hands worked on autopilot, the prick of the needle through Izuku's torn skin, the soft, steady pull of the thread as it looped in and out—it all came back to him. Izuku hadn't say a word the entire time. He had just sat there, breathing shallowly, wincing every now and then, but otherwise staying quiet. Katsuki knew that this had to hurt like hell. Knew how much effort it took to stay that silent, that composed, when your body was screaming in pain.

When the last of the sutures were finally in place, Katsuki set the needle driver down and let out a long breath. His muscles were aching, shoulders tight from being hunched over for so long, but it was done. He picked up the non-stick pads, pressing them gently over the freshly stitched wounds, and secured them in place.

"Hold still," Katsuki said. He grabbed the cling gauze, unrolling it as he wrapped it carefully around Izuku's torso, starting at his ribs and working his way down to cover the bandages. The fabric was snug but not tight enough to restrict his breathing. The last thing Izuku needed was more discomfort piled onto everything else.

Katsuki's fingers worked quickly, securing the gauze in place with a final knot before he sat back, taking a moment to assess his work. It wasn't perfect—hell, it was far from the neat, precise work of a real doctor—but it would hold.

As soon as Katsuki finished, tying off the last bit of gauze, Izuku jerked back, pulling himself away with a sharp, almost reflexive motion. Katsuki felt a surge of irritation spike through him as Izuku practically tore himself from his grasp. Katsuki bit back a sarcastic "Jesus, you're fucking welcome," watching as Izuku turned to dig through the duffle bag with that same focused intensity.

Izuku's fingers brushed over a dark shirt, and he pulled it out, straightening it before slipping it over his head with a wince. Without looking at Katsuki, he muttered, "Now that you know where I'm staying, you can go home. Come back tomorrow." He paused, his gaze briefly meeting Katsuki's, waiting for him to leave. "I'm tired."

Katsuki's brows shot up, and he scoffed. "Tough shit. I'm not going anywhere. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, and I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He'd made up his mind the second he walked in here—he wasn't leaving. Not tonight, not until he was damn sure Izuku wouldn't bolt the second he turned his back.

Izuku's head snapped up, his expression hardening as irritation flashed across his face. He clenched his jaw, his voice sharp and low. "I'm not sleeping with you here, Kacchan. I don't need you babysitting me." He paused for a second before sensing why Katsuki was being like this. "I'm not going to make a run for it."

Yeah, sure.

Katsuki was afraid that if he left, if he gave Izuku even one inch, the guy would take it as an invitation to disappear. He'd vanish back into whatever other dark corner he'd been hiding in, where Katsuki wouldn't be able to find him again.

Katsuki snorted, not buying it for a second. "Yeah, right. I leave you alone for five minutes, and you'll ghost out of here faster than I can blink. You're not exactly known for sticking around these days."

"Goddammit I'm not running you walking tantrum. I just... I just want to sleep."

Katsuki sneered at the jab, the words hitting him like a slap he didn't see coming. Walking tantrum, huh? He clenched his jaw, forcing down the irritated retort bubbling up in his chest. Instead, he let out a sharp breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Fine. I'll just sit in the chair, Reaper. Don't need to sleep." It was a bold-faced lie, and he knew it. He was running on fumes, barely holding himself together after everything, but he wasn't about to admit that to Izuku. If he had to stay up all night to make sure this idiot didn't make a run for it, then so be it. He wasn't going anywhere.

Izuku glared at him, frustration simmering. "You're impossible," he muttered, but he didn't argue further. With an irritated growl, he reached over to the switch by the bed and flicked it off, casting the room into shadows. The only light now came from the soft, eerie glow of the computer screen, illuminating the room in faint blues and greens.

Katsuki watched as Izuku climbed into bed, his movements slow and weary, each step betraying how tired he truly was. Izuku lay back, exhaling in quiet frustration as he tried to get comfortable. He pulled the thin, ratty blanket over himself, turning his back to Katsuki like he was blocking him out.

Katsuki smirked, unable to resist getting in one last word.

"Goodnight, shithead."

For the next few minutes he kept his eyes on Izuku, watching as his breathing slowed, the exhaustion finally settling over him like a heavy weight. Katsuki was just starting to settle into the uncomfortable chair, preparing himself for a long, sleepless night, when he caught a shift in the shadows.

His heart skipped a beat, but his expression stayed steady as stone, his fists tightening reflexively. That oversized, hulking nightmare was suddenly right there, moving between him and Izuku, its form blocking his line of sight. Katsuki's stomach twisted, but he kept his face blank, his posture unchanged, staring up at it like he didn't have a single fuck to give about the monstrosity looming over him. Instead, he locked eyes with it, raising his chin slightly as he settled deeper into the chair.

"What the fuck do you want, you overgrown sack of shit?" he growled, even as his mind was shouting at him that this was a horrible fucking idea.

The Nomu tilted its head, that unsettling chittering sound echoing softly through the silence. It lowered its face just slightly, getting close enough that Katsuki could feel the heat radiating off it, could see every twitch and ripple in its body. For a terrifying heartbeat, he thought it might actually attack him, might finally make good on all that hostility it seemed to radiate every time it so much as looked his way.

Phazewave let out a low, menacing growl, a sound that rumbled through the air like distant thunder, vibrating through Katsuki's bones. And then, in an instant, it was gone, slipping back into the darkness like a wraith, vanishing without a trace.

With the room quiet now, the adrenaline from earlier was fading, leaving him with the dull ache of every punch, every strain, every damn moment he'd been forcing himself forward on fumes alone. His shoulders ached, his head throbbed, and each time he blinked, his eyelids felt heavier, as if they were weighed down by lead. Still, he stubbornly shook himself awake each time, refusing to give in to the pull of sleep.

Stay awake. Don't give him a chance to disappear. Stay awake.

But his body wasn't listening. Minutes passed, and his head began to dip forward. The sounds in the room—the soft hum of the computer, the faint rustle of Izuku shifting in his sleep—blurred together, lulling him into a state of reluctant relaxation. He blinked hard, his vision blurring slightly, his thoughts drifting, becoming foggy.

Just... a few minutes won't hurt, he reasoned, though he knew it was a lie. His head nodded forward again, his body relaxing as he finally gave in, his consciousness slipping, the edges of sleep creeping in, dragging him down... and before he knew it, he was out.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A Sad Excuse for A Katsu Sandwich

Katsuki jolted awake, the world snapping into focus in a sudden, disorienting blur. For a second, he couldn't place himself—the dark room, the faint hum of the computer, the worn chair under him—until his mind cleared, grounding him in reality. He looked down, blinking at the blanket draped over him. His eyes darted around the dim room, muscles tensing instinctively. The Nomu—Phazewave—was nowhere in sight. Instead, he found Izuku at the desk, his face partially illuminated by the pale glow of the computer screen. Fingers tapping away on the keyboard, brows drawn in that familiar intensity he always got when he was focused.

He shifted, the blanket slipping off his shoulders which sagged with the weight of too little sleep, the tension in his muscles reminding him of everything that'd happened just hours ago. He yawned, reaching into his pocket for his phone. The screen lit up and he grimaced at the "6:00 AM" glaring back at him. A mountain of missed calls and texts from Shoto and Ochako flooded the notification bar, undoubtedly wondering where the hell he'd been these last few days. It had been almost a week since he up and left.

He'd been out for hours. So much for keeping watch, damn it. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. He glanced back at Izuku, who seemed oblivious to his awakening. He was engrossed in whatever was on the screen, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Katsuki watched Izuku, eyes sparking as he took in the details he'd missed in the bleary seconds after waking. Something was... different. The posture, the tension, the way Izuku's shoulders hunched slightly as he worked, his movements steady but lacking the cold precision he'd come to associate with Reaper. This version of Izuku looked worn down, almost weary, his fingers drifting over the keyboard with the methodical focus of someone lost in thought rather than intensity.

Katsuki squinted, mind churning as he pieced it together. Izuku was there, sitting right in front of him, but there was a distinct lack of that hard edge, that ruthless intensity Reaper usually exuded. He leaned forward, unable to resist the taunt bubbling up, needing to confirm his suspicion.

"So, what's the flavor of the hour?" he asked, voice a low drawl that pulled Izuku's attention immediately.

Izuku nearly jumped, fingers freezing mid-type as his head whipped around. The movement sent a wince across his face, a slight tightening of his eyes and a twitch in his mouth as he pressed his hand subtly to his side where Katsuki had stitched him up hours before. The look he shot Katsuki was startled, wide-eyed, almost defenseless. It was a raw expression, one Katsuki recognized, but hadn't seen in what felt like forever.

For a moment, Katsuki's gaze softened, his sharp eyes catching the involuntary shudder as Izuku adjusted in his seat, trying to mask the pain he was clearly feeling. The careful, instinctive motions to avoid tugging at the fresh stitches gave him away, though, and Katsuki tilted his head to the side, studying him.

"Not Reaper, huh?" His tone was quiet but searching, waiting for the reaction that would confirm what he already suspected. Izuku swallowed, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he quickly glanced away, visibly pulling himself back. His expression shifted, the brief, unguarded look slipping behind a practiced wall of reserve, his jaw tightening as he schooled his features into calm composure. The tension in his shoulders seemed to harden, not from anger or irritation but from the same guarded restraint Katsuki remembered all too well—Deku's way of clamping down on anything he didn't want to show.

When Izuku finally met Katsuki's gaze again, his face was controlled, distant, though his hand remained close to his side, fingers hovering protectively near the fresh stitches. "No... it's me," he finally said, his voice subdued, lacking the sharpness that had become so familiar. "Just... me."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, studying the person sitting across from him with a renewed intensity. There was something about this version of Izuku, something that felt like a ghost of the past—familiar yet faded, like an old memory slipping in and out of focus. This didn't feel like the ruthless, calculated presence of Reaper, nor did it seem like the raw, fragile innocence he'd glimpsed before. Instead, this felt closer to the Izuku he remembered, the one he'd trained with, fought with, competed against. The kid who wouldn't back down, no matter the odds. But how could that be?

Katsuki leaned forward, his gaze unwavering as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, of the subtle shifts in Izuku's posture, the way he held himself like he was still fighting off the urge to close up entirely. Katsuki let out a low, almost disbelieving breath, his fingers curling tightly against his knees. It was insane—beyond insane, really—to see that Izuku's fractures had solidified into actual, tangible people. People he could look at, talk to, and know weren't entirely the same. Each side of Izuku had its own flavor, its own presence, and he was just now realizing how different they really were. The quiet, hollow-eyed version sitting in front of him right now was so far from the Izuku who was in awe of the colorful fish in the aquarium of what felt like lifetimes ago. And Reaper? Reaper was something else entirely, something cold and hard, like stone covered in frost.

Yet, somehow, there were similarities woven into each side, moments where he could see the echoes of the same person beneath. This "me" felt more like the person he'd chased into that abandoned building last night.

But Katsuki wasn't the type to accept mystery and guesswork. If he was going to stick around, he needed to understand the full picture.

"How many pieces of you are in there?" he asked bluntly, though he wasn't just curiosity—it was determination, a demand for clarity. "I've seen that Reaper bastard. Seen the other side too. And now this..." He gestured at Izuku, head tilting to the other side as he scrutinized him. "Feels like I'm talking to someone I used to know."

Izuku tensed, his eyes flicking up, something uncertain in his gaze. He seemed to search Katsuki's face, as if weighing how much to reveal, how much Katsuki might already know. There was a beat of silence, and Katsuki could see the walls sliding back into place, could see Izuku retreating back into that distant, guarded posture.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed. "Look, if I'm sticking around, I need to know who's who in there." His tone softened, just slightly. "So, stop clamming up. You know how I am—I'm not going to sit here and keep guessing which version of you is going to show up next."

Izuku exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly as he let out a weary sigh. He looked down, his fingers tracing an idle pattern on the edge of the desk, his gaze far away, distant. "It's... complicated," he began, almost clinically, as if recounting a fact instead of a piece of himself. "There are... three of us. Three... distinct sides. But we share memories, so it's not like I don't know what the others have done or felt. There's Reaper." He hesitated, the faintest hint of distaste crossing his face, as if the name itself held weight. "Then there's... the more fragile one. Izuku, the part that's... too broken to handle this world."

Izuku's fingers continued tracing that idle pattern on the edge of the desk, a small, nervous gesture that Katsuki recognized as something leftover from the past. "And then there's... me," he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet Katsuki's. His gaze softened, and for a moment, the guardedness fell away just enough for Katsuki to catch a glimpse of something raw and familiar, like the echoes of the boy he'd known. "I'm the one you used to know. The one who was there before... before all of this. Before I died."

Katsuki's eyes widened slightly, the realization settling in. He felt so different from the fragile emaciated person in that storage closet where they were hidden waiting to run from the league. Then again Izuku was probably being pulled every which way as he began to unspool inside.

"I go by Deku," he said, the name slipping out like a half-remembered promise, something familiar and worn but still powerful in its own way.

Katsuki's jaw clenched, something in him bristling at the name—part of him had always hated it, resented it even, but now it felt like the last thread connecting them to the past. Without thinking, Katsuki pushed himself up, crossing the short space between them. He stopped just a few feet away, close enough to see every detail etched into Deku's face, every scar, every line of tension he held in place with barely-contained restraint.

Katsuki's fists tightened as he watched Izuku—no, Deku—standing there, guarded as ever, with that distant look he'd seen too many times over the years. Damn it, there was always something going on behind those eyes, something hidden, twisted up in knots, and Katsuki couldn't stand it. He wanted answers, not more of this vague, deflective crap Deku was always pulling.

"Yeah, okay, so you're Deku. But are you even you?" Izuku's eyebrows scrunched together not understanding. Katsuki leaned forward, the words slipping out before he could second-guess them. "How much do you remember of the hours after the collapse?"

Deku's face changed, and Katsuki caught the subtle shift—a flicker of something raw, a flash of pain he knew Deku wasn't planning on showing. His hand drifted to his elbow, tracing that scar like it was a trigger, something anchoring him in place.

"What are you doing here, Kacchan?" Deku's voice was low, almost like he was talking to himself as much as to Katsuki, shifting the conversation away from something he obviously didn't want to touch.

Typical. Deku always did have a way of burying the truth until it was practically fossilized.

"What am I doing here?" he shot back, scoffing. "What do you think, idiot? Like I told the other asshole, I'm not letting you out of my sight after all that bullshit." Deku almost looked annoyed. Katsuki's patience snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. His words came out harsher, sharper than he intended, spilling from the raw wound that had been festering since the moment Izuku had disappeared from his life.

"Or do my damn shitty feelings for you not matter to you either?"

Deku flinched. That clearly hit a nerve. His gaze dropped, a shadow passing over his face, and for a moment, he looked more vulnerable than Katsuki had seen this side of him in years. There was something broken in that expression, a shame that ran deep, woven into every scar and line etched across his face.

Katsuki leaned in, his voice softening but no less intense. "Was it Reaper who made you leave, or was it you? 'Cause I know it sure as hell wasn't the Izuku I knew. And don't try to lie to me."

Deku's lips parted, like he was searching for words, but nothing came out. His hand tightened on his elbow. "Look at me," Katsuki said, his voice barely a whisper now. He reached out, his hand brushing Deku's shoulder, but the touch was met with resistance. Deku jerked back, pulling away with a quick, defensive movement, his eyes averted like he couldn't stand to face him.

Deku didn't respond. He just kept his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor, his shoulders hunched as he pressed his hand tighter to his side. Katsuki could see the shame there, the quiet, lingering hurt that he was trying to hide. "Look at me," Katsuki said reaching out, grabbing his shoulder, but Deku pulled away again, flinching as if the contact had burned him. He looked back toward the computer, his face a mask of controlled indifference, shutting down again, retreating behind those same walls.

A tense silence filled the room, thick with words unspoken, truths neither of them could bring themselves to say. Katsuki's hand hovered in the air, more than fucking frustrated as he watched Deku distance himself all over again.

Then, suddenly, a notification pinged on the computer screen, the sound cutting through the silence. Deku's attention snapped back to it, his eyes narrowing with renewed focus, his hands moving back to the keyboard as he scanned the message. Katsuki's patience was practically nonexistent, but he knew he couldn't push now. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to hold back. Deku pulled up an email now completely focused on it.

Katsuki leaned over, squinting at the computer screen, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had caught Deku's attention. The need to know was eating at him. Who the hell was messaging him this early? And what could be so urgent that it kept yanking him away from every attempt Katsuki made to actually talk to him?

Just as he leaned in a little closer, his concentration broke with a violent start as something large and dark phased right through the wall to his left. Katsuki jolted, barely biting back a shout as he whipped his head around, only to find himself staring into the cold, dead eyes of Phazewave, the Nomu's massive, distorted form towering right next to him.

"Shit!" Katsuki practically fell back, his heart pounding a mile a minute as he glared at the Nomu. "What the fuck, you overgrown meathead?!" he snapped, refusing to let it see just how much it had scared the shit out of him.

Phazewave, seemingly unbothered by Katsuki's outburst, let out a low, guttural growl that rumbled through the room like distant thunder. Then, without even sparing him a second glance, it dropped a crinkled 7/11 bag onto the desk beside Deku with a careless flick of its massive clawed hand, its red eyes gleaming with what Katsuki swore looked like smug satisfaction.

Deku didn't even flinch. He just sighed, reaching into the bag as if having a Nomu delivering breakfast were the most normal thing in the world. He pulled out an egg sandwich and a yogurt, his expression flat, like he'd done this a hundred times before.

"Seriously?" Deku muttered, his tone half-annoyed as he shot Phazewave an exasperated look, like he was scolding a misbehaving pet.

Phazewave chittered, clearly annoyed. But with an irritated growl, it reached into the depths of the shadow and pulled out a second, more battered-looking 7/11 bag. It dropped it on the table with a heavy thud, as if it had no damn patience. Deku grabbed the bag and turned to Katsuki.

Katsuki shot Phazewave a suspicious look, reluctantly reaching for the bag, his gaze flicking between Deku, the Nomu, and the sad, crumpled plastic that had just been unceremoniously dropped in front of him. He pulled out a squished Katsu sandwich and a few spicy karaage, the once-crispy chicken now thoroughly flattened into an unappetizing lump.

He glared at the Nomu, realization dawning with a horrified sort of clarity. It did this on purpose.

That thing had actually gone out of its way to squish the food meant for him.

As if reading his thoughts Phazewave's dead, unblinking eyes stared right back at him, unrepentant, as it let out a chitter that Katsuki could swear sounded like a laugh. A low growl of his own started in his throat, his hands tightening around the plastic bag.

"You... you think you're funny?" Katsuki snapped, his gaze narrowed on the Nomu as he held up the sad remains of his sandwich. But the Nomu just blinked at him, its chittering tapering off with a final, dismissive snort before it phased back through the wall, leaving him sitting there with his mutilated breakfast.

Izuku barely looked up as he continued to eat, his attention glued to the screen, reading the email's contents with that intense focus that had always been a trademark of his. With a small sigh, he finished his sandwich and pulled up a browser, fingers flying over the keyboard as he dove into whatever research he'd deemed essential at six in the goddamn morning.

Katsuki dragged his chair next to him, placing the squished sandwich on his lap and eyeing it with a mix of irritation and disbelief. He opened the wrapper, and the sad excuse for a Katsu sandwich practically disintegrated in his hands, pieces falling apart like it was held together by spite alone. He glared at the remaining scraps in his hands, feeling his blood boil all over again.

Unbelievable. That thing was actually smart enough to be petty. Deku didn't even look over, his eyes still locked on the search results. "It clearly doesn't like you," he murmured, tone nonchalant, as if stating a simple fact.

"Yeah, well, the feeling's fucking mutual," Katsuki shot back with a snort, half an eye on Deku as he crammed a piece of the squashed sandwich into his mouth.

Katsuki tore another chunk of the flattened katsu sandwich with his teeth, chewing with a vengeance that wasn't entirely directed at the poor excuse for breakfast. His eyes flicked between the battered scraps in his lap and Izuku—Deku, Reaper, whoever the hell he was right now. He was pretty sure this was still "Deku," though. He hadn't picked up on any sudden changes in behavior or mannerisms. The guy sat stiffly at the desk, every inch of him radiating focus, his fingers dancing over the keyboard like they were born to do it. The sharp glow of the screen threw pale light across his face, making the shadows under his eyes seem even darker. Katsuki swallowed hard, the food scraping down his throat like sandpaper.

The hell was going on in his head? He looked fine—well, as fine as someone with stitches barely holding their body together could look—but Katsuki knew better. Knew that stillness. Knew that look. Deku wasn't just working; he was running. From what, Katsuki couldn't pin down, but he'd seen this enough times in the past at U.A. to know it wasn't a sprint. This was a fucking marathon.

He glanced back at the computer. Deku was feeding something into the screen now, the keys clacking in sharp, precise bursts. His other hand held the remnants of his breakfast, the egg sandwich half-forgotten, hovering near his mouth like his brain hadn't decided if eating was worth the effort.

The email Katsuki had caught a glimpse of before was still up on the monitor, but now a new program had popped into existence, windows multiplying like hydras as Izuku worked. Lines of code raced across the screen, something Katsuki didn't have a clue how to read, but the intent behind Deku's movements was clear: he was decoding. Katsuki shifted in his chair, leaning closer to get a better view.

"What is it?" Katsuki asked, his voice sharp with a curiosity he couldn't quite bite back. Not that Deku looked over.

"Encrypted message," Izuku replied simply, taking a quick bite of his sandwich like that would be enough to satisfy Katsuki. It wasn't.

"No shit, nerd," Katsuki snapped, crumpling the sandwich wrapper in his hand and tossing it onto the desk with a precise flick. "Who's it from?"

Izuku didn't answer right away, his attention glued to the screen as his fingers moved with machine-like efficiency. He opened another program, dragging and dropping the email into a field Katsuki couldn't make heads or tails of. A soft whirr came from the computer as the decoding process began, and Izuku finally leaned back, tossing the rest of his sandwich into a nearby trash bin like the taste had started to bother him.

Katsuki stared, his eyes narrowing. "You gonna answer me, or is this part of your whole brooding asshole act now?"

Deku glanced over, his green eyes sharp but not quite hostile. "I'll know when it's done." He gestured to the progress bar inching along on the screen. "Takes time."

"Fantastic," Katsuki muttered, leaning back and crossing his arms as he glared at the flashing display. The room fell into a tense silence, save for the faint hum of the computer and the occasional soft ding as Izuku clicked something else. Katsuki tried to focus on the process, on the strange dance of numbers and symbols flashing by, but his eyes kept drifting back to Deku.

Deku. He was always like this wasn't he—always burying himself in whatever new mess he'd gotten tangled in, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces. It's had been years since he'd seen him like this and although it was nostalgic... Katsuki hated it. Hated that even now, even after everything, he couldn't turn it off, this constant need to watch him. To make sure he didn't crumble under the weight of whatever insane mission he was dragging himself through.

"Still watching, huh?" Izuku's voice broke through Katsuki's thoughts, flat but carrying a trace of something that might've once been humor. It wasn't now—not really. He didn't look away from the screen, his hands moving over the keyboard with mechanical precision, but Katsuki caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was trying to hold something in.

Katsuki didn't bite at first. His jaw tightened, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the back of Deku's head like he could bore a hole straight through it. The room felt too quiet again, the hum of the computer the only sound between them. Then Deku sighed, his hands stilling on the keyboard as he tilted his head just slightly in Katsuki's direction.

"You don't have to be here, Kacchan," he said softly, almost too softly. There wasn't any venom in the words, no malice, but they still hit Katsuki like a slap to the face. Izuku's tone was measured, calm, like he wasn't just telling him to leave but making it clear he expected him to. "I can handle myself."

Katsuki didn't respond immediately. The words settled like lead in his gut, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint buzz of the computer monitor. He could feel the weight of Izuku's expectation, the way he was deliberately not looking at him now, like he was waiting for Katsuki to snap. But Katsuki didn't snap. Not yet.

Izuku stayed focused on the computer, his eyes fixed on the decoding process, but Katsuki didn't miss the way his shoulders had tensed, the way his fingers hovered just a little too long over the keyboard. He was bracing himself, expecting an argument. Maybe even expecting Katsuki to walk out. Katsuki scoffed at that—leaving was the last thing on his mind. If anything, the whole mess was only making him dig his heels in deeper.

When Deku finally turned to glance at him, his expression unreadable, Katsuki moved. He straightened, leveling a look at Deku that stopped him in his tracks. It wasn't anger or the usual sharp edge that Katsuki carried into every room he entered. This was something heavier, something raw and unguarded that made Deku blink, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Eventually, we're gonna have to talk about this, you know? The... whatever it is that's between us. The rift. All of it." He kept his voice low, fighting to keep it steady. "You can't just act like it never happened. Like you didn't leave."

Deku didn't react at first, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table. Then, with a sigh, he spoke, his voice colder than Katsuki was expecting. "And what exactly would that change, Kacchan? Talking about it?" He refused to look Katsuki's way now. "It wouldn't fix anything."

Katsuki gritted his teeth, feeling the anger bubbling up again. "That's not the damn point, Deku! You think you can just bury all this, pretend it doesn't exist, and walk away from it?" He took leaned closer. "You can't keep running from the people who give a damn about you."

Deku's hand stilled, his shoulders tense as he finally looked up. "I didn't ask you to care," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Katsuki's jaw tightened, and he leaned in, lowering his voice. "You think the last year and a half meant nothing to me?" The words hung in the air, sharp and pointed. "All of that meant nothing, huh?"

Deku's mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening as he muttered, almost to himself, "You don't understand, Kacchan. You can't even begin to understand."

What the hell didn't he understand? He'd been there through practically everything with him. Katsuki's fists clenched, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Oh, I can't understand? Really?" The words were out before he could stop them. His eyes blazed with frustration, his voice low but vibrating with intensity. "You think I don't know what it's like to lose, to feel like you're drowning? To fight through all this crap alone?"

Deku flinched, just barely, but it was enough for Katsuki to see he'd hit a nerve. For a split second, Deku's gaze softened, a flicker of pain and something almost like regret crossing his face. But then it was gone, replaced by that familiar, distant look, his walls slamming back into place. "This is different, Kacchan. You don't—"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Katsuki snapped, his voice a low growl. "You think I haven't lost people too? Hell, we've all lost something. You're not the only one dragging scars around."

Deku's shoulders tensed, his eyes flickering with something unreadable, and for a moment, Katsuki thought he might finally snap, might throw those words back at him, throw the walls down for once.

Katsuki kept pushing, "I gave everything I was to keep you safe, damn it. Izuku, Don't act like you're the only one carrying—"

He didn't get to finish. Deku flinched at the sound of his name, his hand faltering on the keyboard. And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Katsuki saw the shift. The subtle roll of his shoulders, a minute shift in his posture, like his body was recalibrating. Deku's eyes glazed over for a brief second, and Katsuki's stomach dropped as he noticed the faint flicker, a flash of something too familiar.

Reaper.

The air around them felt charged, a tension Katsuki had only felt in the moments right before things got violent. He watched, warily, as Deku blinked once, then twice, his gaze growing unfocused, his breathing shallow. Katsuki's instincts screamed at him to back off, to let it go—just this once, to keep his mouth shut and let the moment pass.

Katsuki wanted to yell at him, but he forced himself to breathe. The last thing he needed was for Reaper to claw his way to the surface, to twist this argument into something darker, more dangerous. For all his grievances with this version of Izuku, at least he wasn't Reaper. Reaper would be a whole other level of hell, and Katsuki wasn't in the mood for that fight. At least he wasn't mocking him, taunting him with that unnerving detachment.

So, he swallowed the rest of his words, shoving another piece of the mangled sandwich into his mouth as he watched Deku from the corner of his eye. The tension gradually receded as Deku seemed to steady, the flicker in his gaze fading, his posture easing back to something resembling calm. Katsuki felt his shoulders drop a fraction, relief mingling with the irritation still buzzing in his veins.

This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

By the time Katsuki finished his food—if the sad, flattened pile of grease and bread could even be called that—the decoding process was done. A soft chime from the computer announced its completion, and Deku sat up straighter, his fingers darting across the keys to open the message. Katsuki leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as the screen filled with text.

The message wasn't long, just a few lines of neatly spaced words, but the weight in Deku's posture told Katsuki it was enough. He skimmed it, his brow furrowing as he processed the familiar name at the bottom.

Reaper,
Information too sensitive for this channel. Meet me in person at our usual spot. Twelve pm. Be discreet.

—Pixel

Katsuki snorted, breaking the silence. "Pixel? As in the hacker you've been cozying up to?"

Deku ignored him, his lips pressing into a thin line as he reread the message. He seemed to be weighing something, his eyes darting over the screen like he was trying to pull more out of the text than was actually there. Finally, he closed the laptop with a decisive snap and stood, every movement laced with the detached resolve Katsuki had grown to hate. He watched him closely, trying to gauge if he'd truly steadied or if Reaper was still lurking beneath the surface, waiting for another crack to slip through.

Well, Here goes nothing.

Chapter Text

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Whisps of A Memory 

The bass slammed through the club like a heartbeat, vibrating up through Katsuki's feet, rattling his bones. It was suffocating, and it pissed him off that he even had to come back here in the first place. Neon lights strobed across the walls, their relentless glow bathing everything in shades of red and blue, distorting faces and shadows alike. It made him itch, his nerves buzzing like he was wired to the fucking grid.

He lounged—or tried to look like he was lounging—on the plush couch in their booth, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing with barely-contained energy. His dyed-black hair stuck to his forehead, the slick, humid air of the club clinging to his skin. His skull-patterned mask sat snug over his face, but it didn't stop the acrid stench of sweat, smoke, and booze from seeping into his nostrils.

God, he really couldn't describe how much he hated places like this.

And yet, here he was. Because he was here.

Katsuki's eyes flicked to Deku—or at least that who he'd walked in with—hunched across from him. His hood was pulled so low it might as well have been a damn shroud, and his posture was rigid, his scared hands folded on the table like he was trying not to clench them. His drink sat untouched, just like it had since the server dropped it off ten minutes ago. Katsuki wasn't drinking his, either, but at least he wasn't pretending he might.

There was a faint, restless movement along the edge of Deku's shadow. It was subtle, just a flicker, like ink bleeding into water. Anyone else might have missed it, chalked it up to the pulsing neon lights overhead, but Katsuki wasn't "anyone else."

Phazewave had slipped into Deku's shadow the moment they'd left the tunnels, it now blended seamlessly with the darkness that pooled around Deku's feet. Katsuki couldn't see much—just a faint shimmer of something shifting unnaturally within the shadow, a ripple that didn't belong. But he didn't need to see more. He knew the damn thing was there, lurking, waiting. A guard dog hiding in plain sight, ready to tear anyone apart at the first sign of trouble. Well, demon was a more appropriate term.

"Tch," Katsuki muttered under his breath, forcing himself to stay relaxed, his body angled casually against the back of the couch. "Where's your contact? This Pixel guy's late. Thought you said he'd be here by now."

Deku didn't look up from his drink—still untouched, condensation pooling around the base of the glass. His fingers twitched slightly, the only indication that he'd even heard Katsuki. His hood cast a shadow over his face, but Katsuki didn't miss the way his eyes darted to the edge of the booth, like he was nervous.

"He'll be here," Deku said finally, his voice low, barely audible over the pounding bass. Not bothering to look at Katsuki.

"Yeah? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn't look like it." Katsuki's lip curled in irritation. "How the hell do you even trust this guy? You sure he's not screwing you over?"

Deku's gaze flicked to him then, sharp and calculating, like he was deciding whether to answer or shut Katsuki out again. "Pixel's not the problem," he said, his tone steady but distant. "He knows better than to screw me over."

Katsuki snorted, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward again, his voice dropping low. "Yeah? And what happens if he does? You gonna let that thing"—he gestured vaguely at the flickering shadow beneath Deku—"tear him apart?"

Deku finally lifted his glass, the movement slow and deliberate. His hand was steady, but there was a certain weight to it, like he was considering every inch of the motion. But just as he went to sip from it, there was a twitch—a subtle, almost imperceptible jolt through his wrist. The glass tilted just a hair too far, liquid shifting toward the rim before he righted it.

He took a sip, his lips barely brushing the rim before he set it back down. His green eyes glinted faintly under the low hood as he leaned back, his voice dark and cold, cutting through the pounding bass with ease.

"No one knows about Phazewave," he said, the words deliberate and laced with quiet menace. His gaze locked onto Katsuki, unwavering. "And I'd recommend you keep it that way, Katsuki. Unless you feel like explaining why your face got ripped off."

Ah, great so Reaper was out now.

Katsuki's jaw tightened, a growl rumbling low in his throat as his fingers curled into fists. The nerve. The absolute nerve of this asshole, sitting there like he owned the damn place, tossing out warnings like he was doing Katsuki a favor. It wasn't fear Katsuki felt—it was irritation, a slow, burning frustration bubbling up like magma under his skin.

"Watch your mouth," Katsuki shot back, his voice sharp and bristling with heat. "You don't get to talk to me like that, Reaper."

Reapers' lips twitched in what might've been a sneer, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned his attention back to his drink, as if Katsuki wasn't worth any more of his goddamn time. Katsuki's irritation flared, and before he could stop himself from saying something he might regret—or might not—he shoved himself to his feet, hands braced on the edge of the table.

His chest heaved with barely-contained anger, like he was trying to keep from detonating on the spot.

He jabbed a fucking finger at Reaper, sharp and accusing, every ounce of his frustration spilling out like gasoline on an open flame.

"Don't you ever talk to me like you're untouchable, you two-bit knockoff," Katsuki snarled, his voice low but deadly, every syllable packed with venom. His eyes narrowed to thin, predatory slits. "You ain't as scary as you think you are, Reaper. You're just a cheap mask for the kid too scared to deal with his own fucking crap. But keep flexin' your little shadow mutt if it makes you feel big." His lips curled in a sharp, wolfish grin, eyes wild with challenge. "You're still just him hiding under all that edge."

His head tilted ever so slightly, just enough for the edge of his hood to shift, and Katsuki saw it—that faint gleam of his eyes catching the neon light. His fingers tapped once, twice, three times on the table in slow, steady rhythm... Impatiently.

"Sit down," Reaper said, his voice as smooth as broken glass dragged across concrete. Calm, quiet, and laced with just the right amount of threat to make it clear he wasn't asking. "Or leave. Either way, Quiet. We've got company."

Katsuki's eyes twitched. The sheer gall. The arrogance. He wanted to slam his fist straight through the shit nerd's face. He didn't sit, but he didn't move to leave either.

The weight of the air in the booth shifted the second Reaper let out a long, slow sigh. Not an annoyed sigh, not tired—resigned. Like he already knew this was going to be a pain in the ass and had made peace with it.

"Here we go," Reaper muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Katsuki to hear.

The booth's beaded curtain parted without warning, a slow sweep of metal beads clicking softly as a figure stepped through. Katsuki's eyes flicked up instantly, sharp and alert. His gaze locked on the newcomer before the guy had even fully stepped inside.

First thing he clocked was that subtle shift of pixels moving across his skin. He was skinny. Twitchy. About average height. His face angular, sharp in the way that made people seem fox-like—sly, calculating. He wore a loose jacket with too many pockets, hands shoved deep into them like he was hiding something. Black pants, scuffed sneakers, and eyes that darted from side to side like he was checking for traps in every shadow.

But that wasn't what set Katsuki off.

It was the way he stopped dead the second he spotted Katsuki.

Pixel froze like a deer that had just spotted a wolf, eyes narrowing with suspicion as his gaze locked on Katsuki. His eyes darted from Katsuki's masked face to his hands, his eyes narrowing like he was checking for weapons, analyzing threats. Smart. Katsuki tilted his head ever so slightly, a look that was anything but friendly. Yeah, keep looking, rat. See what you find.

Pixel's jaw tensed, his sharp gaze cutting toward Reaper like he was looking for confirmation, for some kind of explanation. His eyes said it all—who the hell is this?

"Who's he?"

His eyes didn't leave Katsuki, like he was waiting for him to make the first move.

Katsuki tilted his head ever so slightly, just enough for his mask to shift under the dim strobe lights. His gaze bore into Pixel, unblinking. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared. The silence stretched out, heavy and uncomfortable.

Pixel's lip twitched, frustration flashing across his face before he shot a glance at Reaper, his eyes hard with suspicion. "You bringing strays now, Reaper?" he asked, nodding toward Katsuki without looking away from Reaper. His voice had that nervous lilt, like he was trying to act casual but couldn't quite nail the delivery.

"He's with me." He didn't offer any more than that, like the matter was settled the second the words left his mouth. His gaze never even shifted from the drink in front of him.

Pixel blinked once, his sharp eyes darting back to Katsuki, scanning him again. This time, the look lingered longer on his hands, then his shoulders, like he was calculating Katsuki's range and reaction speed. "With you, huh?" He snorted, cocking his head to the side as if sizing up the idea. His lips twisted into a half-smile, half-sneer. "Don't usually see you dragging around backup, Reaper. Thought you didn't 'do teams.'"

He turned back to Reaper, but he didn't sit down. Not right away. His hands stayed in his pockets, his shoulders still tense, like he was waiting for someone to throw the first punch.

"You sure you trust this dude?" he flicked another glance toward Katsuki. "Seriously, didn't think you were the 'plus one' type, Reaper."

"Pixel," Reaper said. The subtle flicker of authority was undeniable. Shut up. That was all he needed to say, and Pixel's mouth snapped shut instantly.

The hacker's smirk fell, his face smoothing out into something more neutral, but Katsuki could see it—the shift in his eyes. Resentment. Suspicion. Pixel wasn't stupid, and he didn't like what he didn't understand. Katsuki had seen it a hundred times in people who thought they were smart enough to be in control of the room, only to find out they weren't. It was the same look villains had when they realized they were out of their league.

Pixel's gaze shifted past the swaying beads of the entrance, eyes narrow and alert, scanning the murky depths of the club for any prying eyes or eager eavesdroppers. Satisfied, he turned back to the booth, his movements quick and precise as he produced a small, sleek cube from his jacket. With a casual snap of his fingers, the cube expanded into a solid, glowing hard drive, which he set on the table with a soft clink.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "I've been mining through the mainframe of the Ghouls' systems like you asked. Tough shit, but I managed to jack some intel."

His eyes flicked towards Reaper, then back to the hard drive as he continued, "The second I broke past their firewall, some bastard started tailing my digital tracks, trying to pin down my location—figure out who I was."

Doxxed, huh? Lucky to still have his damn head. The realm of cyber shadows and electronic espionage was not Katsuki's playground, but he understood the risks, the deadly dance of information warfare. He understood why Reaper was using someone skilled.

Pixel wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, a jittery laugh escaping him. "Barely slipped out without getting my ass fried. They're not amateurs." He shot a glance at Katsuki, as if sizing him up again, wondering perhaps how much he understood or cared about the intricacies of digital thievery... or maybe how much he could say in front of him.

"Spill it then," Katsuki growled lowly, leaning forward, his curiosity now a live wire. "What'd you pull from the fire?"

Pixel tapped the hard drive, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm, but a nod from Reaper had the hacker continuing. "Blueprints, communications, some encrypted shit I haven't cracked yet. But this..." He paused, ensuring he had everyone's undivided attention, "This is the big one. I found a roster—names, locations, BOLs. If you play this right, you might be able to finally dismantle the league."

Pixel's hand moved almost instinctively as Reaper reached out to grab the hard drive. With a subtle, but firm withdrawal, Pixel pulled the device just out of reach, his eyes locked onto Reaper's with a new level of seriousness.

"I've got two locations here," Pixel explained, his voice dropping to an even more guarded whisper. "But one of them... it's probably what you've been hunting for." His fingers hovered protectively over the device, a clear signal he wasn't just handing over the data without some assurances. "With this, I'm out. The Ghouls have been twitchy since their backdoor dealings with the league started. I don't plan on being caught in the fallout."

Reaper's expression hardened, the shadows under his hood seeming to deepen. "How can you be so sure?" he pressed, his voice low, almost a growl.

Pixel leaned in, his voice barely audible over the club's relentless bass. "Because they've had a certain someone with a mind quirk making regular appearances there. Someone who can rewrite who you are, what you can do." His eyes darted towards Katsuki briefly, gauging his reaction.

The connections snapped together like live wires. Odd Eye. Could this really be it? He knows Deku had been relentlessly scouring Japan's districts for their hide out for the last few months but still. The idea that they might actually cut the head off the hydra that was the LOV seemed both exhilarating and daunting.

For all his bluster and bravado, he couldn't help but feel a sharp, poignant relief that he had found Izuku when he did. Damn lucky, that's what it was, Katsuki mused internally.

Reaper extended his hand, his palm open and expectant, his dark eyes unyielding as they fixed on Pixel. The silence was sharp, punctuated only by the distant thump of bass through the club's walls. "If that's the case, and you've delivered what I've been chasing," Reaper's voice was low, a controlled rumble of restrained intensity, "then consider our business concluded."

Pixel hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of the moment settling around him. His eyes flickered with a mix of relief and a faint, residual fear as he placed the hard drive into Reaper's outstretched hand.

Reaper's fingers closed around the hard drive, securing the precious cargo with a firmness that suggested he wouldn't let it go until he had wrung every last byte of data from its depths.

With the hard drive now securely in Reaper's possession, Katsuki and Reaper made their way out of the throbbing heart of the club, down to the exits of the Twilight Market. Emerging onto Takeshita Street in the blinding daylight, Katsuki and Reaper slipped right into the buzzing chaos of the crowd like they belonged there. Just minutes ago, they'd been wrapped in the shadows of their own dark dealings, but now, the vivid, relentless energy of the day swallowed them whole, like the Market had never existed. The portal they'd stepped through—tucked discreetly behind a public bathroom—vanished without a sound, leaving almost no trace for the clueless masses caught up in their mundane, routine lives.

Katsuki couldn't help but begrudgingly admire the Ghouls' crafty setup. Hiding portals right under everyone's noses, scattered across the entire city, and managing to stay off the radar of even the sharpest heroes? It was genius—and yeah, a little damn annoying.

Takeshita Street was alive with the energy of shoppers, tourists snapping photos, and vendors calling out the day's specials. The colorful shop fronts and eclectic fashion of Harajuku provided a starkly different backdrop compared to the dimly lit, bass-thumping atmosphere of the Twilight Market they had just left.

"It's almost laughable," Katsuki muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that only Reaper caught it. "With all the damn hero tech out there, you'd think someone would've uncovered this network by now."

Reaper ignored Katsuki's grumbling, his focus already shifting ahead. Katsuki clicked his tongue in irritation, his impatience with Reaper's perpetual calm radiating off him like heatwaves. He squared his shoulders, catching up in a few long strides, his expression hardening as he matched pace beside Reaper.

The crowd parted around them like they were just two more faces in the city's heart, nothing to see here. But Katsuki's eyes, ever scanning, ever wary, caught the slight hitch in Reaper's step as they passed a row of food stands, a vendor's shout about fresh crepes sliced through the din, catching Izuku's attention.

Reaper paused, almost imperceptibly, a reaction so subtle most would miss it. But not Katsuki. He noticed the way Reaper's hood slid back just enough for him to almost see the longing in his eyes—a look that dragged Katsuki back to a different day, under a different sky.

There was a time, not too long ago, when an outing like this would've been filled with laughter, stupid jokes, and that annoyingly pure joy Izuku always seemed to find in the simplest things. Back then, stopping for crepes would've just been a simple date, a time to enjoy each other's company, which Katsuki had truly loved. Now, though? The suggestion came with a weight Katsuki couldn't stand to admit—it reeked of fucking desperation. A weak, fumbling grab for something normal, like they could snatch a piece of that untainted happiness from before Odd Eye had so thoroughly shattered Izuku's mind.

Katsuki watched him, searching for any sign of the old excitement that used to light those expressive eyes. There was a ghost of it there, a brief spark as if some part of him too was remembering that day.

For a fleeting second, it wasn't just Reaper standing beside him, but a shadow of that other, more subdued side. His shoulders dropped slightly, the tension seeping out as if a switch had been flipped inside him. The shift was so subtle, yet so definitive. Katsuki watched intently, his instincts honing in on the change. It wasn't just the body language; it was the entire aura around him that seemed to soften, signaling that Reaper had receded, leaving someone else at the fore.

It took Katsuki a moment to sort through the nuances of his body language, to confirm that it was indeed Deku peeking through, not Reaper. At least he was picking up on the differences on who was present rather quickly.

He also couldn't help but wondered what the hell Deku did with those memories, remembering Izuku had mentioned that most of their memories bled into each other. Did they give him even a sliver of peace, or did they just haunt him? Ghosts of a life that felt too damn far from the mess they were living now?

Deku's eyes, when they briefly met Katsuki's, carried a softness, a vulnerability that was rarely visible when Reaper held sway. The brief glimpse of Deku, the real Deku, was enough to make Katsuki's chest tighten, a mix of something like hope fluttering against the walls he had tried to rebuild around his own emotions.

But just as quickly, Deku's gaze shifted away, his attention flitting back to the crowd around them, the defense mechanisms kicking back in to shield his exposed feelings.

That look in his eyes... it dragged him back to that day. The wreckage, the confession that never left his damn throat, the heavy, suffocating weight of everything unsaid. It could've filled whole damn books if he'd just told him. But then what, he wouldn't have known what to do with those fucking words. Not then. Hell, it had taken him years, years filled with loss, pain, and the kind of raw, grueling self-reflection that only comes when you're constantly staring down death, to even begin to understand the depth of what he felt for the person in front of him.

If Deku had confessed, it might have shattered the precarious balance they'd maintained. Katsuki had always been too hot-headed, too wrapped up in his own struggles and insecurities. He didn't even want to think about that...but still. What did this Deku think of the few months after the coma, of the relationship they'd painstakingly built through trust, affection, and quiet moments alike? Did any of those memories mean to him what they did to Katsuki? Or was it like reading someone else's story, knowing the words but not feeling them?

He scowled at the pavement, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. It was a damn mess, wasn't it? He wasn't an idiot. He knew the complexities of Izuku's condition, the way each personality held fragments of the man he... the man he what? Loved? Could he even admit that, when it felt like loving three different people housed in one body? His heart ached, a sharp, jagged thing that didn't know whether to settle on pain or affection.

The crowd surged around them like a living river, carrying an endless stream of faces, each locked in their own worlds, oblivious to the complex storm of emotions swirling between Katsuki and Deku. The crosswalk light flickered red, halting the flow of people momentarily, trapping them in a moment that felt suspended in time.

As Deku stood waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green, Katsuki couldn't help but close the distance between them, their shoulders brushing slightly. Deku turned his head slightly, his eyes lifting to meet Katsuki's. There was no anger there, no trace of the guarded expression that usually tightened Katsuki's features. Instead, his eyes were open, vulnerable, filled with a longing that stretched back years, reaching into the depths of a past littered with both pain and tenderness.

The usual mask that Deku wore, the one that kept the world at bay, seemed to fade under Katsuki's gaze. It was as if that look, raw and pleading, was a key that unlocked something within him, something tender and fragile that he usually kept hidden beneath layers of self-control and detachment.

A promise he had once said to Izuku floated to the surface. "I'm sticking around, no matter how many fucking times you lose your memories. We'll make new memories, build our future together. And every single time, I'll fall in love with you all over again."

He had meant every goddamn word, a vow not just of commitment but of a relentless, recurring love, one that promised to renew itself, to rebuild from the ashes of every catastrophe they might face. Of all the promises he had made and broken... this one that he would never in all eternity break.

Now, standing at this bustling intersection as the city moved around them in blurs of color and light, Katsuki's hand reached out, brushing against Deku's. The contact was tentative at first, a question posed in the simplest of touches. When Deku didn't pull away, Katsuki's fingers caressed his hand, a gesture so filled with tenderness and yearning that it might have been a plea.

His eyes, those deep pools of ever-changing green, held Katsuki's gaze, and in them, there was a flicker of something that went beyond the boundaries of Reaper's harsh survivalism or Deku's strategic coldness. It was something purely Izuku, a spark of the man who had loved Katsuki with a bright, unwavering flame.

In that moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the noise of the city fading into a distant hum, the crossing light turning green unnoticed. Katsuki's heart thudded loud in his chest, each beat a drum of war and worship, fighting for the future he so desperately wanted.

"I meant what I said," Katsuki murmured, the words barely louder than a whisper but heavy with emotion. Deku didn't seem to place Katsuki's words immediately, the connection to that distant promise perhaps blurred by the fractures in his memory and the shifting dominance of his personas.

Katsuki only traced his thumb one of the scars on Deku's hand, a mark that told stories of bravery and sacrifice, of pain endured and battles won. These scars were texts written on his body, each one a testament to his resilience, to the harsh life they had lived together, through terror and tenderness alike.

"Every single damn time, Deku... whether it's your memories that fade or this shitty world that tries to tear us apart, I'll fall in love with you all over again." Deku's initial confusion melted into a slow, dawning realization.

"I'll keep choosing you, Deku, every version, every time. Because I will never stop loving you."

Chapter Text

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Shadow of A Doubt

Katsuki scowled down at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen where another missed call from Shoto glared back at him. It was the seventh one today—or maybe the eighth; he'd lost track. Either way, the bastard was relentless.

It had been over a week since Katsuki had charged headfirst into the fire, determined to put that piece of shit, Odd Eye, into the ground for what he'd done. He hadn't contacted anyone in all that time, not Shoto, not Ochako, not anyone who might be wondering if he was even still alive. Part of him knew he should call back, especially for all that they'd done for him. He should tell them what he'd found, tell them about Izuku, tell them that... well, that the idiot wasn't dead after all.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

He knew the risk of staying silent. Every day he kept them in the dark, every moment he didn't share what he'd learned, he was gambling with their trust. They deserved to know that Izuku was alive—that he'd survived... and that his condition was worse than previously anticipated. It was so fucking hard to keep quiet knowing they deserved the truth.

But Katsuki also knew what telling them would mean. The second he brought someone else into this mess, the fragile thread holding everything together would snap. The thought of putting someone else in the line of fire was not something Katsuki wanted, especially with all the deaths already staining his hands.

That and Deku, or more so Reaper, would fucking bolt. Katsuki could feel it in his bones, the same way he could feel a coming explosion in the air.

They didn't trust him. Not yet. Not fully. And bringing anyone else into this, no matter how much Katsuki trusted them, would be enough to push him over the edge. He'd vanish again, disappear into the shadows he'd been hiding in before Katsuki found him, and this time, Katsuki might not be able to find him again. As it was it was sheer fucking luck he had found him the first time.

And that thought? It scared him more than anything.

Katsuki shoved the phone back into his pocket with a frustrated growl, pacing the narrow stretch of floor in the cramped hideout. The stale air pressed down on him, carrying the faint scent of rust and damp concrete, but it wasn't the claustrophobic atmosphere that had his nerves fraying.

No, it was the fact that Reaper had shoved his way to the surface and was in one of his damn moods. The asshole wasn't just out—he was in his element. With the hard drive in hand, Reaper had been scouring its contents for hours, his fingers moving over the keyboard with an intensity that bordered on obsessive.

Katsuki let out a frustrated huff, his boots crunching against the cracked concrete as he paced the narrow maintenance tunnel. His body was still coiled tight, every muscle ready to spring like a damn landmine waiting to go off. He had to get out of that room—had to get away from him.

Reaper was a damn bastard on a good day, but tonight? Tonight, the asshole was on a whole new level of insufferable.

It had started with Katsuki asking—asking, not demanding, which was a hell of a lot more patience than he usually had—to see the files on the hard drive. He'd just wanted to know what the hell they were dealing with, maybe find a way to help. But Reaper? The guy had turned on him in an instant, his green eyes dark with disdain as he all but sneered.

"Why don't you leave this to someone with more than a single brain cell? You're just going to slow me down."

It had been a challenge, plain and simple. A deliberate jab, meant to get under Katsuki's skin. And damn if it didn't work. A familiar heat flared in his palms as he fought to keep his temper in check. "Say that again, you smug son of a—"

"I don't have time for your tantrums," Reaper had interrupted, his voice cold and dismissive. "You're here because I'm allowing it, not because I need your help. Try not to forget that."

The words felt like they had struck him, and for a split second, Katsuki had seen red. His body had moved on instinct, stepping toward Reaper with a low growl rumbling in his chest. His hands were already sparking, the heat of his quirk licking at his palms as he yanked Reaper from his seat by his collar. Reaper's hand had shot up, gripping Katsuki's wrist with a strength that caught him off guard. "You really want to do this?" Reaper said, his voice low and mocking, his teeth flashing in a grin that didn't reach his eyes as Black tendrils poured out of his back, spilling onto the floor like living, writhing ink.

But before he could either of them could start swinging, a low, guttural hiss had echoed from the corner of the room.

Katsuki let go of Reaper the moment Phazewave's hiss rattled through the air. That sound—it had been enough to douse even his fury, at least temporarily. He'd stepped back, fists clenched, his entire body screaming for a fight that couldn't happen—not with that thing looming in the shadows, waiting for one wrong damn move.

And now here he was, pacing like a damn caged animal in the maintenance tunnel, scrubbing a hand down his face as if he could wipe all the anger and frustration of the last few months.

His chest rose and fell with each deep, steadying breath, but it didn't do much to settle the roiling storm inside him.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket, and he gritted his teeth, yanking it out. Another text from Shoto. The message popped up on the screen, glaring at him like it had a personal vendetta.

I know you're reading these. Just respond, Kat. Please.

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Sure, he could respond—just to get Shoto off his damn back for five minutes. But what was he supposed to say? Oh yeah, found Deku. Turns out he's alive but kinda cracked, and oh, by the way, remember Project Phazewave? Yeah, it's babysitting him like some kind of horrifying pet from hell. Oh, and the worst of his split personalities is running the show right now, and spoiler: he's an absolute ass. So, all good here!

Yeah. That'd definitely go over great. IcyHot might even send a thumbs-up emoji.

His stomach growled, breaking through his spiraling thoughts, and he glanced at the time on his phone. 7 p.m. Of course. The last thing he'd eaten was that culinary crime scene Phazemates had so graciously dropped off earlier.

It was still insane. That damn Nomu had actually phased into a 7-Eleven, robbed the shelves, and then delivered it—delivered it—like some horrifying Postmates employee with zero stars and an attitude problem. And the kicker? It had crushed his food into oblivion on purpose.

Phazemates gonna roll out a membership plan or what? First delivery's free, but it comes with a side of pure hatred.

Unbelievable.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a string of curses under his breath before shoving the phone back into his pocket. With his stomach reminding him he couldn't live off pure anger and adrenaline, he turned on his heel, storming back toward the room.

The door creaked as he shoved it open with a little more force than necessary, and of course, there was Reaper. Exactly where he'd left him. The bastard hadn't moved so much as an inch, still hunched over the laptop and his notebook, his fingers flying over the keyboard with that same relentless focus. The glow from the screen cast sharp shadows over his face, making him look even more detached, more like some calculating machine than a person.

Katsuki stopped just inside the doorway, crossing his arms as he glared at Reaper's back. "Oi," he called, his voice sharp and loud enough to cut through the heavy silence.

He let loose a heavy sigh, "What do you want now?" he asked, his tone dripping with irritation as his fingers continued to dance across the keys.

Katsuki's eye twitched. "You've been at this for hours," he snapped. "Take a damn break. Eat something, drink some water, do something other than sitting there like a fucking zombie."

Reaper finally turned his head, his green eyes sharp and cold as they locked onto Katsuki. "I'm fine," he said flatly, his voice as mechanical as his movements. "You, on the other hand, are annoying me. So, unless you've got something useful—"

"Useful?" he shot back, his voice rising. "You think running yourself into the ground is useful? You think being a prick to the one person who's actually trying to help you is useful?"

Reaper's expression didn't change, but Katsuki caught the slight tightening of his jaw as he stared at Katsuki, eyes assessing.

"I'm not waiting around for that oversized nightmare to steal dinner again. We're eating, and we're eating something that isn't pulverized into roadkill before it even hits the table."

"You're welcome to leave and feed yourself if you're so desperate. I'm busy."

Katsuki's arms fell to his sides as he stalked closer, jabbing a finger in Reaper's direction. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you. Busy doing what, exactly? Staring at files like they're gonna fall in love with you? And in case you've forgotten, I'm not letting you out of my sight, genius. Damn it, take a break!"

Reaper turned towards him slightly before, sitting a little taller at the attitude in Katsuki's tone. "I don't need a break. And I don't need you barking orders at me."

"Well, too bad, 'cause I'm not asking," Katsuki snapped. His patience had officially reached zero. "And you know what? I'm done trying to talk sense into your smug ass." He took a step closer, his voice sharp and cutting. "Deku! Get out here! Right now!"

Reaper's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't waste your breath. He's not coming—"

"Deku!" Katsuki barked again, louder this time, his voice echoing off the walls. His gaze stayed locked on Reaper, watching for the cracks, the shift. "I know you're in there, nerd. Quit hiding and get your ass out here!"

Reaper's expression went dark as he tried to snarl, "He's not—"

"I'm asking for him, not you!" Katsuki cut him off, his voice thunderous now. He stepped even closer, his fiery eyes boring into Reaper's. "Deku! I know you can hear me, so quit letting this asshole hog the wheel!"

Reaper flinched, just barely, but it was enough. His breath hitched, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as if trying to anchor himself. For a moment, Katsuki thought he might lash out, might drag this into a full-blown fight just to shut him up.

But then Reaper cringed, his eyes squeezing shut as a tremor ran through him. His breathing quickened, sharp and uneven, and Katsuki could see the battle playing out beneath the surface—the tug-of-war for control.

"Deku," Katsuki said again, his voice quieter now, softer but no less commanding. "C'mon, nerd."  Reaper's head snapped up, and the glare he leveled at Katsuki was enough to make even the bravest man think twice. His green eyes burned like molten acid, pupils narrowing to razor-sharp slits. The air seemed to thicken, heavy and oppressive, as if the sheer force of his disdain could crush Katsuki where he stood.

"Shut. The hell. Up." The words dripped venom, each one spat with precision, his voice a low, menacing growl. But Katsuki didn't flinch. If anything, he stood taller, his jaw set, refusing to be cowed by the hostility radiating off Reaper in waves. He knew a scare tactic when he saw one, and he wasn't about to back down. Not from him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, his chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. For a moment, Katsuki thought he might snap—lash out, throw something, anything to regain control.

But then, Reaper's shoulders slumped, the tension bleeding out of him like a balloon slowly deflating. His grip on the desk loosened, his knuckles going from bone-white to flushed as he released the pressure. His head dipped forward, strands of white hair falling into his eyes as he let out a shuddering breath.

Katsuki watched as the change unfolded, subtle at first—a shift in posture, a softening of the sharp lines that defined Reaper's presence. His breathing slowed, evening out into something steadier, though still labored.

Holy shit, it fucking worked.

When he finally lifted his head, his green eyes no longer burned with venom, his whole appearance softening if only a fraction. They were wide, tired, and glassy with exhaustion.

Katsuki huffed, crossing his arms and glaring down at Deku like the world's angriest babysitter. "Let's go," he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Deku blinked at him, his tired eyes darting toward the laptop still humming on the desk. "But... we're in the middle of—"

"Oh, don't even start," Katsuki interrupted, reaching over to close the laptop. "You're not gonna sit here and tell me you're too busy to eat. Don't make me drag your scrawny ass out of here, nerd."

Katsuki's glare deepened as Deku's eyes flickered hesitantly toward his notes as if they might vanish if he didn't keep an eye on them. "But the hard drive—"

"Nothing," Katsuki snapped, cutting him off yet again without hesitation. "How the hell are you supposed to function on an empty stomach? You think you're gonna catch Odd Eye on fumes and a yogurt?" He jabbed a finger toward the door, his voice brooking no argument. "Let's go."

Deku was still rooted to the spot, his eyes darting between Katsuki and the desk like he was still debating whether to argue. But Katsuki didn't give him the chance. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and tossed it at Deku, hitting him square in the chest. "Move it. Now."

And so he did.

Deku followed Katsuki through the bustling side streets of Shibuya, the city's neon glow casting strange shadows over their path. And as usual, the city was anything but quiet—cars honking, voices calling, music spilling out of storefronts—but neither of them said much as they followed the Yamanote line. Katsuki's strides were purposeful, his hands stuffed into his pockets, throwing the occasional glance over his shoulder to make sure Deku was still trailing a few steps behind. Katsuki could see his gaze flicking nervously over the crowds as if every face might hide a threat, and honestly, couldn't blame him.

They wove through the chaos until Katsuki abruptly turned down a quiet side alley. The sudden shift from the lively main road to the dim, narrow passage was jarring, and Deku slowed his pace, stopping just short of where the alley opened back out onto another busy street.

Katsuki turned to him, brows knitting together in confusion. "What?"

Deku's eyes lifted, his gaze catching on the glowing red sign hanging above a modest entrance at the alley's end. The unmistakable logo of Ichiran. His jaw tightened, and he shook his head. "I-I can't," he said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard over the distant hum of the city.

Katsuki frowned, his irritation momentarily replaced by confusion. "What do you mean, you can't? It's ramen, not a goddamn VIP club."

Deku's eyes dropped to the ground, his hands clenching at his sides. "Someone's going to recognize me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's too public."

Katsuki only gave him an incredulous look, eyes raking over the snow-white hair where dark green used to be. That hair alone was enough to make people think he was some weird foreign exchange student, not ex-hero Deku, who in return, gave him a look—a pointed, weary glare that said it all without needing a single word. Katsuki's frown deepened as he recognized it instantly. The bastard didn't even need to explain.

It wasn't just about Ichiran. It was about the fact that Deku couldn't afford to step foot in any public place, much less a damn ramen shop in the middle of fucking Shibuya. Katsuki knew it, and Deku knew Katsuki knew it, which only made the situation even more irritating.

Not with the world thinking he was dead, a vigilante buried in the rubble. All it'd take was one person recognizing him, snapping a picture, and everything would come crashing down. The media would have a goddamn field day if anyone caught so much of a whiff of him being very much alive.

"Right," Katsuki muttered, crossing his arms. "Because what we really need right now is a goddamn media circus."

Deku didn't respond, his shoulders sagging as he glanced back toward the alley's shadows. His expression was guarded, but Katsuki could see the fatigue etched into every line of his face, the way he carried himself like someone teetering on the edge.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his raven black hair as his gaze drifted upward. The Zara sign loomed above them, neon and glaring, and farther up, the Modi building stood like a silent sentinel over the chaos below. He'd dragged Deku out here for a reason—to get the idiot to eat, to force him to do something halfway normal, even if only for a few minutes.  And now they were at a standstill because, of course, Deku couldn't take one fucking step inside without risking everything blowing up in their faces.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he debated with himself. Should he even let Deku out of his sight? It wasn't about trust—he didn't fucking trust him, not completely, not yet—but about practicality. Deku was slippery, had always been. Katsuki had spent enough time chasing him to know that if he gave him even an inch, the nerd would find a way to bolt. And now? Now there were higher stakes than ever before.

But keeping Deku on a short leash, treating him like some fragile thing about to shatter, wasn't going to work either. That wasn't who he was, or how he wanted to be treated.

Katsuki sighed, the sound more resigned than annoyed this time, though the irritation was still there. "Alright," he said, the word heavy with resignation. "You're not walking into Ichiran? Fine. We'll improvise."

Deku followed his line of sight before he blinked, clearly surprised by Katsuki's sudden shift in tone. "What do you—"

"Stay put," Katsuki cut him off, already turning back toward the restaurant. I'll grab the food. Don't move a muscle, or so help me—"

Deku rubbed at his eye, the exhaustion written across his face as he muttered flatly, "I'll stay here. Not going anywhere."

Katsuki froze mid-step, his hand curling into a fist so tight his knuckles popped. His gut churned, doubt and distrust twisting up inside him like a barbed wire noose. And why the hell wouldn't he? Deku had pulled this vanishing act before, disappearing the second Katsuki let his guard down. And shit, he was fucking scared that the asshole would indeed do it again. The thought of it, made Katsuki's teeth grind so hard it was a miracle they didn't crack.

He turned just enough to shoot a sharp look back at Deku, who was now lingering in the alley's shadow. The nerd's gaze was steady but distant like he was watching something Katsuki couldn't see. That look—tired but stubborn—gave Katsuki just the briefest pause. Was it the exhaustion? The way Deku's voice didn't waver this time? Hell if he knew.

"Don't even think about it," Katsuki warned again. "You so much as twitch, and I swear to god—"

"I'm not going anywhere," Deku cut in, not even looking at Katsuki, his focus locked on some invisible point beyond the alley's edge.

For once, Katsuki couldn't tell if he wanted to punch the nerd or believe him. Maybe both.

Katsuki lingered for a second longer, he hated this. Hated the not-knowing, the constant battle between wanting to trust and being ready for the rug to get yanked out from under him. Finally, with a sharp exhale, he turned and strode toward the Ichiran entrance.

Inside, the warmth and savory scent of ramen hit him immediately, but it didn't do a damn thing to ease the knot in his chest. Katsuki ordered quickly, his words clipped as he rattled off the to-go options.

Then he stepped to the side to wait, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as his eyes darted to the door every few seconds.

The minutes dragged like hours. He could feel the impatience buzzing under his skin, his foot tapping with every passing second. It was fucking stupid, really. He knew Deku wasn't in any condition to bolt right now. The idiot was still healing from his wounds. And yet, Katsuki couldn't shake the image from his head, the way Deku had fought him in that abandoned building. Like a wild animal ready to kill itself to get free... how he was ready to push his body past it's already fragile limits.

Katsuki's head jerked up as the sharp sound of his number being called snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. The worker behind the counter held up the bag of steaming ramen, her bored expression barely registering as she repeated the number again.

"Yeah, I got it!" he barked, striding up and snatching the bag with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. He didn't bother to apologize as he pivoted on his heel, muttering a curse under his breath. His eyes flicked to the door as he pushed it open, the warm night air enveloping him as he stepped back onto the bustling street.

He turned into the alley, his boots crunching against the uneven pavement as the noise of Shibuya's chaos dimmed behind him. His gaze darted toward the spot where Deku had been standing, half expecting the idiot to still be there, leaning against the wall like some brooding shadow.

But the alley was empty.

The ramen bag crinkled loudly in his grip as he froze, his stomach dropping. No. No, no, no. God-fucking-dammit this asshole. His head whipped back and forth, scanning the narrow space as if Deku might be hiding behind a trash can or blending into the shadows. "Oi!" Katsuki shouted, his voice ricocheting off the brick walls. "Deku!"

Nothing.

His throat felt like it was closing as that all-too-familiar edge of panic surged in. His fingers clenched around the plastic bag as he spun in a sharp circle, scanning every inch of the alley for a glimpse of frost-white hair or that stupid, oversized jacket. "You've got to be fucking shitting me," he muttered, his voice tight with rising anxiety. His thoughts were frantic, running through every possibility. Did Deku bolt? Did someone see him? How could he have fucking trusted him, dammit?

His teeth ground together, the heat of his quirk flaring faintly in his palms. He could feel it building, the anger, the self-loathing. That idiot had told him—over and over, he'd said it plain as day. "You don't have to be here, Kacchan. You shouldn't be here." And what had Katsuki done? He'd ignored it, shoved it aside, because deep down, he'd thought he could change Deku's mind. Make him stay. Make him see reason.

But no.

He'd been an idiot. A blind, arrogant, stupid idiot to believe, even for a second, that Deku wouldn't bolt the first chance he got.

Katsuki was seething, clenching his jaw as he stormed toward the main avenue. His boots pounded against the pavement as he moved, his breaths shallow and quick. "Fucking idiot," he hissed, his frustration barely masking the fear clawing at his throat. The hideout, he needed to get there before the nerd grabbed everything and disappeared. "If you ran off—if you did this again—I swear to—"

One moment, he was storming forward, half-determined to track Deku down even if it meant tearing through the entire district. The next, a sudden, impossible force yanked him sideways, hard enough to nearly dislocate his arm. Katsuki barely had time to let out a guttural growl of shock before the world around him dissolved into something unnatural.

It was like being pulled underwater, his body weightless, every sound muffled and distorted. A cold ripple slithered over his skin, a sensation that made every hair on his body stand on end. Instinct took over, and he thrashed against the invisible pull, swinging his fist hard at the darkness enveloping him, the bag of food still clutched tightly in his other hand. His fist hit nothing but a cold, silk-like texture, the movement only amplifying the unsettling feeling of the shadows tightening around him.

"What the fuck—?!" he snarled, his voice a sharp bark that echoed into the void.

Before he could process what was happening, the bag of food was ripped from his grasp, the crinkle of plastic the only sound in the suffocating silence. His stomach churned as the darkness shifted again, moving—not just dragging him, but traveling, like it was pulling him through some damn invisible current. The weightlessness made him dizzy, his footing nonexistent, his heart hammering in his chest.

And then it hit him—the cool, slick sensation crawling over his skin, the way the shadows clung to him like they were alive. He knew this feeling. The park. That goddamn fight with the League. The way those mirrors had twisted reality, how the shadows had swallowed him whole before, throwing him into chaos he couldn't control. He remembered the suffocating darkness, the disorienting pulls and drops, the way the floor had swallowed him just like this.

He knew this quirk. This was Phazewave.

"Let go, you freak!" he snarled, the heat of his quirk flickering in the cold darkness.

And then, just as abruptly as he'd been swallowed up, the pull stopped. Katsuki was dumped unceremoniously onto the cold, uneven ground, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain through his shoulder. He scrambled to his feet immediately, his head whipping around as he tried to orient himself. His eyes darted around, scanning his surroundings. The glow of Shibuya's skyline stretched out before him, the hum of the city muffled against the ringing in his ears.

He recognized where he was almost instantly. The Zara building. Across the damn street from the ramen shop. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached, explosions flickering weakly at his fingertips. He barely had time to process how the hell he'd gotten here before a rustling sound yanked his attention to the far end of the rooftop.

He spun on his heel, his eyes locking on the unmistakable sight of the Nomu's shadowy body standing beside Deku, handing him the food he'd taken from Katsuki. Deku glanced at the bag, his expression distant, shoulders slack like he was barely holding himself up. But the moment he turned his head and saw Katsuki—really saw him—the shift was immediate and visceral. His entire body tensed, ready to snap at the first sign of danger. The exhaustion in his eyes evaporated in an instant, replaced by sharp, unrelenting focus. His posture straightened, his shoulders squaring as if bracing for a fight.

"Kacchan? What happened? What's wrong?"

Katsuki's breath hitched, his chest heaving as he took a halting step forward, then another. He didn't even realize his hands were trembling, his entire body so tense it felt like he was going to collapse.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" The words erupted from him, raw and thunderous, a tidal wave of anger that crashed against the rooftop.

Deku flinched, the bag in his hands crinkling under the force of his grip. "Kacchan—"

"No!" Katsuki cut him off, his voice cracking as it surged higher. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, stopping just short of grabbing Deku by the collar. His crimson eyes burned with something more than fury—something deeper, more raw. "You don't ever—ever—fucking do that again! Do you hear me?!"

The distortion of his irises flickered as they glowed molten, reflecting back in Deku's eyes who in turn stared at him, wide-eyed and frozen, like he'd been slapped. His gaze flickered over Katsuki's face, and whatever he saw there made him pale. "I—I didn't—"

"You think you can just... vanish without warning?" His voice cracked under the weight of his words, "You think I can handle that shit again? That I can handle losing you again?!"

Deku's mouth opened, but no words came out. His expression wavered, caught between shock and guilt as Katsuki continued, his voice dropping into a low, trembling growl. "These last few months, I've been running on fumes, holding on by a thread. You were that thread, you stupid nerd. The only reason I kept going was because I knew you were alive out there."

Katsuki's breathing hitched, and he scrubbed a hand down his face as if trying to push the emotions back down. But the dam was already cracked, and there was no stopping the flood. "You don't get it, do you?!" he shouted, the tears finally breaking free, carving silent paths down his cheeks. "I can't lose you again, Deku. I physically—mentally—can't. You think you're protecting me? Bullshit. You disappearing is what's killing me!"

Deku's hands trembled at his sides, the crinkled ramen bag forgotten in his grip, watching as the person who had always been a force of nature, always so unshakable, unraveled right in front of him. He looked mortified as if seeing the cracks in Katsuki's armor had physically shaken him. "I..." Deku's voice faltered, trembling as he tried to find something—anything—to say.

"The day you went after Phazewave and Vortex in Hakone—the day you fought them alone—I almost ended it, Deku. I almost fucking ended it."

The words hit the air like a bomb, raw and jagged. Deku flinched, his body stiffening as the impact of Katsuki's confession sank in. His lips parted again trying to get something out, but no sound came out. The weight of Katsuki's voice, the sheer devastation behind it, cracked that wall he had thrown up between them.

Katsuki's hand tightened around his collar, fist trembling. Those glowing eyes locked onto Deku's, unrelenting and burning with a mixture of fury and anguish. "You think you're protecting me by pulling this lone wolf crap? You think I'm better off not knowing what you're up to, not knowing if you're even alive? Bullshit. That day—" His voice broke again, the words catching in his throat like shards of glass. He forced himself to keep going. "That day, when I thought you were gone, I lost it. Completely. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could feel was this... this goddamn void, this emptiness that was eating me alive."

The bag slipped from Deku's hand, dropping to the floor, his gaze flickering with something Katsuki hadn't seen since he found him—fear. But it wasn't the fear of battle, of facing some new enemy. It was fear of what Katsuki was saying, of the depth of the pain he was laying bare.

Katsuki's trembling hand released Deku's collar, but the tension in his shoulders, the fire in his molten eyes, didn't fade. His breathing was ragged, shallow, each inhale a struggle against the tide of emotions threatening to pull him under. He reached beneath the neckline of his shirt, fingers shaking as they fumbled for the chain around his neck. The metal was warm against his clammy skin.

Deku watched as Katsuki yanked the chain free, the faint glow of the ring catching in the dim light. Katsuki held it out, the metal swaying slightly from the force of his hand trembling. The pulse of emerald light mirroring the beat of his own heart.

"This," Katsuki said, shaking the chain slightly, the faint glow catching Deku's gaze. "This shit was supposed to glow as long as you were alive. You told me that yourself. 'It carries a part of me, Kacchan,' you said. 'A part of my soul.' You swore this thing would never stop glowing, as long as you were out there somewhere, breathing."

Katsuki could feel the pressure start to flow inside him, but he shoved it down. "And it just... stopped." Katsuki's voice cracked, the words coming out in a trembling whisper, choked with pain. "It went dark, Deku. It went completely fucking dark."

Deku's head jerked up, those dull emerald eyes that once sparkled with so much emotion met Katsuki's as the weight of those words sank in. He opened his mouth to speak, but Katsuki didn't give him the chance.

"You have any idea what that did to me? I was in that lab with IcyHot, the one you raided in Toei, and I felt it. I felt the moment that light went out, and I thought—" His voice broke completely, the sentence unfinished as his grip tightened on the chain. "I thought you were gone. I thought I'd lost you. And I... I couldn't—" He stopped, shaking his head like he was trying to physically banish the memory.

Deku's knees threatened to give out, his hands trembling as he took an unsteady step closer. "Kacchan... I didn't know. I—"

"Of course, you didn't know!" Katsuki snapped, his voice a mix of anger and raw grief and Katsuki could see the shadow of someone else watching him through those eyes, but he didn't fucking care. "You didn't know because you didn't bother to tell me what the hell you were doing! You went off on your own, thinking you could handle everything by yourself, and you left me here to—" He stopped again, his voice breaking into a low growl as he dragged a hand through his hair, the chain clinking softly against his chest.

"When that light went out, I lost it," Katsuki said, quieter now, but no less intense. "I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could feel was this goddamn black hole ripping through me, and I couldn't—" He swallowed hard, the tears brimming in his eyes fell faster, carving tracks down his face. "I couldn't handle it. I couldn't fucking survive it."

Katsuki felt the rush of pressure building in his chest again, a wave of molten heat threatening to spill over, to consume him. His breathing hitched, his lungs burning as if the air around him had turned to smoke. He stumbled back, his legs unsteady, each step feeling like the ground might collapse beneath him. He didn't care where he was going—he just needed space, air, something to keep himself from breaking apart completely, from spiraling over that edge.

His back hit the nearest wall, and he slid down, his legs folding awkwardly beneath him as his weight gave out. He sank to the floor, his chest heaving with the effort of pulling in each ragged breath. His hands flew to his face, trembling fingers pressing against his forehead and covering his eyes, as if blocking out the world could somehow silence the storm raging inside him.

The silence around him felt deafening, broken only by the uneven gasps of his breathing as he struggled to rein in the chaos. Breathe. Just breathe. Shoto's words looped in his mind like a desperate mantra, a lifeline to hold onto as the pressure threatened to condense inside his heart.

He fucking hated this. Hated how weak he felt, how raw and exposed he was in front of him—Deku. Reaper. Whoever the hell he was right now. He hated the vulnerability coursing through him like an open wound, bleeding out every emotion he'd tried so hard to keep locked away.

Why the hell did he even bother to say all that?

He hadn't meant to—hadn't wanted to. It wasn't like him to lose control like this, to spill everything out in a torrent of words that he couldn't pull back. Katsuki was the one who held the damn line when it came to emotions, no matter what... or he had at one point.

But now? Now he was sitting on the cold floor, shaking like a leaf, his chest aching with every breath as he tried to process what had just happened. What was the point? What the hell was the point of saying all that?

Deku didn't care. Not really. Not anymore. Maybe he used to, back when things were simpler, back when he was still just that scrappy kid with stars in his eyes and an unshakable belief in his heroes. But now? Now—

Katsuki's spiraling thoughts screeched to a halt when he felt the sudden pressure of arms wrapping around him, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. His breath hitched, his entire body stiffening at the contact. It took him a moment to register what was happening, his mind scrambling to catch up with reality.

It was Deku.

Deku was holding him.

Katsuki's wide, molten eyes blinked in disbelief as he processed the warmth radiating from Deku's body, the trembling grip of his arms around Katsuki's shoulders. His face was buried against Katsuki's neck, and his breaths came in quick, uneven gasps that matched the stuttering rhythm of Katsuki's own chest.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Phantom Touch

Katsuki's head turned slowly, his glowing eyes fizzling out as they locked onto the figure holding him. His breath caught in his throat as he saw Deku—really saw him. The tear-streaked face, the trembling shoulders, the desperate grip of his arms around Katsuki like he was holding onto something he couldn't bear to lose.

Deku was there. Really there. His arms were wrapped around Katsuki with a desperation that Katsuki didn't know how to process. Didn't expect from the person who had looked at him without so much as a hint of warmth these last two days.

And now... now he was clinging to Katsuki like he mattered, like he was precious.

Katsuki swallowed hard, his throat tight, as he felt the warmth of Deku's breath against his neck. He didn't know what to do, what to say. The storm inside him—the anger, the grief, the overwhelming pressure—it all seemed to pause, held at bay by the sheer disbelief of this moment.

"We-I thought I was doing the right thing," Deku's voice cracked, trembling as he choked out the words. His grip tightened, his fingers curling into the fabric of Katsuki's jacket like he was afraid to let go. "I just wanted to keep you safe, Kacchan. We thought—" His voice broke completely, and he buried his face deeper against Katsuki's neck, his tears hot and unrelenting. "I thought if I stayed away, if I kept you out of it, you'd be okay. I didn't know... I didn't know how much I was hurting you."

Katsuki only blinked. It was like every wall Deku had built, every layer of distance he'd tried to maintain, was crumbling right in front of him.

Almost hesitantly, Katsuki raised one arm, his hand hovering awkwardly for a moment before he let it rest lightly on Deku's back.

Katsuki's hand stayed there for a moment, steady and warm against the trembling curve of Deku's back. But then, almost instinctively, his fingers began to move, traveling upward, brushing against the tense line of Deku's spine until they reached the nape of his neck. Katsuki's palm lingered there for a moment, feeling the heat of Deku's skin, the rapid pulse beneath his fingers, before sliding into the unruly mess of white curls.

The strands were softer than he remembered, but familiar in a way that made Katsuki's chest ache. His fingers curled into his hair, his touch firm yet gentle as Katsuki pressed Deku closer.

Katsuki's eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in, his face burying into those messy curls. He stayed like that for a moment, still and silent, as if savoring the feel of it.

"Deku," Katsuki muttered, his voice rough, unsure, as if saying his name might shatter the fragile moment. "You're such a goddamn idiot."

Izuku pulled back slightly, his movements hesitant, His tear-streaked face came into view, his green eyes red-rimmed and glistening with emotion.

Katsuki inhaled deeply before he let out a long, shaky sigh, the anxiety and pressure that had been coiled so tightly inside him finally beginning to ebb away. He leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze meeting Deku's as he dragged a hand through his hair.

"Can we talk, nerd? Like actually talk about what the hell's going on... please? Don't leave me here in the dark when all I've wanted was to be right here next to you."

Deku looked down for a moment, his fingers twitching like they wanted to reach for something—or maybe like he was debating with himself. Katsuki couldn't tell if the hesitation was directed inward or if it was one of those damned fragments of Deku's other selves weighing in.

For a long heartbeat, He didn't say anything. His hand clenched briefly in his lap before he finally pulled back, his arms unwinding from around Katsuki as he shifted to sit beside him.

Deku brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he rested his chin on top. He stayed that way for a moment, his gaze distant, his eyes flickering with something Katsuki couldn't quite place. Then, without looking at Katsuki, he muttered softly, "Can we at least eat first?"

"Yeah, fine," Katsuki muttered, his voice gruff as he pushed himself upright and reached for the crinkled ramen bag lying forgotten on the floor.

But before he could fully get up a ripple spread across the dimly lit space, dark tendrils curling and twisting unnaturally as Phazewave emerged from the murk like a living specter.

The Nomu's clawed hand reached out, snatching the bag effortlessly before Katsuki could react. Katsuki tensed, his fiery eyes narrowing as he watched the creature. Katsuki only clicked his tongue in irritation before he sat back down.

Phazewave cocked its head at Katsuki with an expression that was almost... curious. Its chittering voice echoed faintly as it looked between the two of them. He really hated this fucking Nomu.

"You gonna hand it over, or you just here to make this weird?"

The Nomu extended its clawed hand, holding the bag of ramen with an odd gentleness considering its monstrous appearance. Deku grabbed with so much as a thanks, but Phazewave chittered again, a sound that almost seemed to carry satisfaction, before melting back into the shadows. Its form dissolved like ink spreading into water, disappearing completely.

The sound of rustling takeout bags and the faint clink of plastic containers broke the silence as Katsuki and Deku settled back into their spots on the floor. Katsuki tore open his ramen container with practiced ease, the warm aroma of broth and noodles wafting up to meet him. He twirled his chopsticks in the noodles, taking a quick bite before glancing sideways at Deku. The nerd was sitting with his knees still pulled to his chest, his chopsticks moving in slow, deliberate motions as he lifted a small portion of noodles to his mouth.

They sat in silence, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air between them. After a while and another mouthful of ramen, Katsuki set his container down with a soft thud, his chopsticks clattering against the edge. "Alright, nerd," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "What's the plan here? What's the endgame?"

Deku paused mid-bite, his chopsticks hovering inches from his mouth. His attention shifting to Katsuki, it was sharp and searching, before dropping back to his container. He didn't answer right away, instead placing his food down carefully as if buying himself time. Katsuki watched him closely.

When Deku finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more measured. "I... I need to stop Odd Eye. No matter what it takes, you remember what I told you the day I left."

Katsuki couldn't forget that night even if he tried, the heat, the hostility that he'd realized later on was Reaper taking shape in the kitchen where they'd both said nasty things to each other.

Katsuki also didn't miss the way Deku's tone shifted, the hardness creeping in like a shield being raised. Deku's posture stiffened, his hands tightening around his knees as if bracing himself. Katsuki could feel the shift in the air, the presence of someone else—Reaper—lingering just beneath the surface, as if he too remembered that night. He didn't need to look twice to know that Reaper was watching, coiled like a viper, ready to strike if things went sideways.

"Stop Odd Eye, huh?" Katsuki muttered, his voice low and rough. He twirled a chopstick between his fingers absently, "you're not just talking about stopping him, though. You're talking about ending him."

Deku flinched, just barely, but Katsuki caught it.

"You're still set on that, aren't you?" Katsuki said, his tone sharper now, though not unkind. "Still planning to go for the kill when the time comes."

Deku's shoulders tensed further, his green eyes flicking toward Katsuki for just a moment before darting away again. Katsuki didn't miss the flicker of something in that gaze—hatred, defiance, maybe both. And just beneath that, he could see Reaper's shadow, actually watching them both like a predator waiting to pounce.

The shift was so subtle, Katsuki almost didn't catch the cold shadow in Deku's eyes solidified, and the warmth Katsuki had been clinging to slipped away. Reaper's glare locked onto Katsuki, venomous and unrelenting, his voice low and sharp like a blade slicing through the fragile peace they'd just fought to build.

"So what if I do?" Reaper's words were so bitter, Katsuki could almost taste them. "So what if I go through with it? Does that make me a monster to you? Does that still make me a villain in your eyes, Katsuki?"

The way Reaper spat his name—it wasn't Izuku or Deku's voice. It was something darker, twisted by hatred and the weight of too many broken promises... the promises he had made Izuku. The defensive edge in his tone braced for Katsuki to say yes, for the confirmation that he was just like Odd Eye or anyone else they'd fought to take down. It was almost like he was daring Katsuki to judge him.

Katsuki didn't look away. Hell, he didn't even flinch. "You think I'm gonna start seeing you differently because of that?" he said, his voice low but steady, laced with that familiar Katsuki bite.

Reaper's glare sharpened, a flicker of something—maybe confusion, maybe anger—crossing his features. But Katsuki didn't let up.

"Listen," Katsuki continued, his tone rough but honest. "I've known what you were planning since that day in the park. I know you're still going for the kill when it comes to Odd Eye. And yeah, maybe a part of me wanted to punch the shit out of you for even thinking about try it all those months ago."

He exhaled sharply, the sound more a frustrated growl than anything. "But after everything that's happened—everything we've been through—I can't fucking blame you. I get it, De—Reap. And if I were in your shoes, if it were me? I'd do the same damn thing."

Reaper's eyes widened just a fraction, the venom in his glare faltering for the briefest moment. Katsuki pressed on, his voice gaining strength, like he was driving the words straight into whatever darkness had wrapped itself around the fragments of his soul.

"You're not a damn monster for wanting to end this. You're not a villain for deciding that sometimes the only way to win is to make sure the other bastard can't come back for round two. And you're sure as hell not a villain in my eyes." Katsuki's voice softened slightly, the edge giving way to something raw and real. "You're Izuku. You're my Izuku. Whether you're Deku, Izuku or Reaper, I don't care, you're still mine. And no matter how fucked up things get, no matter how far you think you've fallen, that's never gonna change."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, as Katsuki leaned forward, challenging Reaper to argue.

"You wanna know the truth, nerd?" Katsuki said, his voice dropping into a low, almost broken murmur. "When I thought you were dead—when that ring stopped glowing—everything else stopped mattering. Being a hero? Saving people? None of it meant shit anymore. All I wanted was to find the bastard who took you from me and I wanted him to fucking suffer. I didn't care about justice, didn't care about right or wrong. All I wanted was to find him, to drag his sorry ass out of whatever hole he was hiding in and make him feel every ounce of pain he'd ever caused you—caused us. I wanted to watch the light drain from his eyes while he realized he'd made the biggest goddamn mistake of his life."

His breath hitched, his voice trembling with the sheer force of the hatred bubbling up inside him. "I didn't give a shit about the consequences. Hell, I was ready to burn the whole damn world down if it meant getting to him if it meant I didn't have to feel that fucking void anymore. I wanted him to know what it felt like to be ripped apart, to have everything you care about stolen from you, to be left with nothing but ash and regret."

Katsuki's gaze locked onto Reaper's, his eyes ablaze with unfiltered rage and unrelenting determination. "You have no idea how close I was. I was ready to lose everything—my name, my title, my fucking soul—just to make sure Odd Eye paid for what he did. For what he took from me."

There was shock, maybe disbelief in those emerald eyes. It was like the darkness surrounding him wavered, unsteady, as if Katsuki's words had cracked something deep inside.

For the first time since this fractured version of Deku had emerged, Reaper seemed... satisfied. There was a quiet acknowledgment in his piercing gaze, a sharp, almost imperceptible nod, before the subtle shift began. The atmosphere lightened—not by much, but enough for Katsuki to feel it. Enough to see it.

And just like that, Deku was back, blinking once, twice, as if coming out of a haze.

"I'm gonna be there, nerd. Right by your side. When we find that asshole, I'm not just gonna stand on the sidelines. I want to see it—the moment he realizes he's lost, the moment he knows he's not coming back from this. I want to see him suffer."

Deku's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't interrupt. He just stared at Katsuki, his lips pressed into a thin line, listening intently.

"I've never killed anyone," Katsuki admitted, the words falling from his lips like stones. "Not because I don't think some of the scumbags we've faced don't deserve it—they do—but because it's a line I've never needed to cross. A line I wasn't sure I could cross... but for Odd Eye? I'd make an exception."

The statement hung in the air, charged and unrelenting. He needed Deku to understand—fully, completely—that he meant every single word.

"I don't care if it means getting my hands dirty, if it means crossing every line I've ever drawn for myself. That bastard put us through hell. He made you think you had to carry all this shit alone. He tore you apart, piece by piece. And he's not walking away from that. Not while I'm still breathing."

Deku's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes shimmering, "You...you really mean that, Kacchan?"

Katsuki's expression softened just slightly, but his voice remained steady, unwavering. "Damn right, I do."

Deku nodded slowly as if he was finally accepting that Katsuki's words weren't some fleeting moment of desperation but an unshakable truth. His throat bobbed again, the weight of it all settling inside.

With a steadying breath, Deku rose to his feet, the quiet sound of his boots shifting against the floor breaking the silence. He stood tall, his posture still holding the echoes of Reaper's edge but softened by the unmistakable presence of Izuku beneath. His green eyes, though tired and red-rimmed, looked at Katsuki's with a renewed determination.

Deku extended his hand toward Katsuki, fingers steady despite the shitshow they had just weathered. "Okay," he said. "Let's take down the League. Let's take down Odd Eye."

Over the next few days, Katsuki and Deku dug into the contents of the hard drive, scouring every piece of data like their lives depended on it—which, frankly, it probably did. Whatever Odd Eye was planning with the league was probably nothing short of monstrous. They combed through it trying to find anything that could bring them closer to finding the League and stopping Project ZENITH.

The information about the Kofu Holding Facility was mostly accessible, its structure and layout laid bare like a challenge, almost like the League wanted them to find it, making Katsuki suspicious of the data. Still, he couldn't help but scoff every time he saw a diagram or security detail. It wasn't that the place wasn't fortified—it damn sure was—but he'd seen Reaper tear through a steel door three inches thick.

The Facility was a hellhole masquerading as just another covert League of Villains operation, a typical MO for Deku and Reaper. There were four sublevels, each serving some twisted purpose, embedded into the side of a mountain.

The first sublevel? A stockpile of illegal support items, enough to outfit a small army. "Storage for supplies," the file had said. More like a treasure trove of villain-grade tech and weapons. It made Katsuki's skin crawl to imagine what half that crap could do in the wrong hands.

Then there was Sublevel two—labs. Machines and synthesizers working on that EcksTerminus serum. Katsuki didn't have to be a scientist to know it was bad news. Anything requiring "isotope preparation" sounded like something that should stay locked in a lead box, not pumped into test subjects.

But Sublevel four? That was the one Katsuki couldn't get out of his head. Human trafficking. Cells. "Processing bays," they called them, like the people they held were just items on a goddamn conveyor belt. He'd make sure an anonymous tip went out after they wiped Odd Eye off the fucking map. Still, it was the other location, Numazu, that had Katsuki's hackles up.

"Figures the shittier place is the one locked up tighter than a damn bank vault," Katsuki muttered, his eyes narrowing as he clicked through yet another encrypted file.

The few accessible files about Numazu were sparse, but what they did reveal painted an ugly picture. Notes about "final stages of development," references to a serum EcksTerminus, which Katsuki now dubbed E.T. because honestly, he wasn't going to keep saying that stupid ass name, and multiple mentions of someone by the initials O.D. personally overseeing the work there.

"'O.D. personally monitoring progress,'" Katsuki read aloud from one of the unencrypted documents, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Great. So, that extra said there was mentions of that the grade-A Asshole, Odd Eye, here but there is no official mention of him." He shot a glance at Deku, expecting some sort of response.

Deku, sitting across the table, didn't look up from the stack of notes he was meticulously organizing. His brows furrowed in concentration; his lips pressed into a thin line. But Katsuki didn't miss the way his shoulders seemed less hunched these days, the way the air around him felt less suffocating.

Ever since that conversation on the rooftop, Deku had been... different. Warmer, in a way. He wasn't back to being the starry-eyed nerd Katsuki had grown up with—that version of Izuku was long gone or hidden away so deep inside himself, he'd probably never see him again—but there was a flicker of something familiar.

He talked more, occasionally cracked a wry smile when Katsuki said something particularly obnoxious, and even let out a soft laugh when Phazewave had scared Katsuki half to death for the umpteenth fucking time that day.

Reaper, on the other hand, was still a pain in the ass.

Katsuki could feel it every time Reaper surfaced, which was often. The sharp glares, the biting remarks, the way he held himself like he was expecting Katsuki to stab him in the back at any moment. Reaper didn't trust him—hell, Katsuki wasn't sure Reaper trusted anyone. But Katsuki couldn't shake the feeling that their moment on the rooftop had left its mark. It wasn't like before, where his every word was drenched in venom and disdain, but it wasn't exactly friendly, either. He tolerated Katsuki, and that was putting it generously. He still snapped, sure, but there was something different about the way he looked at Katsuki now—like he was trying to figure out what made Katsuki tick, what kept him so damn determined to stick around.

Katsuki's thoughts were interrupted by Deku leaning back with a frustrated sigh. His hands fell away from the keyboard, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Most of the files about Numazu are locked behind some kind of double-layer encryption. It's... advanced. I can get through it, but it's gonna take time."

"Figures," Katsuki muttered, leaning forward to look at Deku's screen. "What about the ones you've cracked?"

Deku clicked through a few files, bringing up a document that had been partially decoded. The text was fragmented, but key phrases stood out: 'Cloud Nine,' 'subject viability,' and 'final stages of ZENITH.'

Katsuki leaned in closer, eyes fixed on the screen as Deku zoomed out to reveal the encryption program working tirelessly to crack the rest of the files. Lines of code flickered across the monitor, a digital labyrinth slowly unraveling itself, but not fast enough for Katsuki's liking—or Deku's, for that matter.

"How much longer is this crap gonna take?" Katsuki asked, his tone laced with impatience. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as he waited for an answer.

Deku didn't look up immediately; instead, he reached for the mug of coffee sitting beside him. He took a long sip, his expression tightening as if he were steeling himself against a headache. "I don't know, Kacchan," he said, his voice sharp with irritation. "Do I look like I can predict the future? It takes as long as it takes."

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at the snippy response but didn't push it.

"Tch. Yeah, well, I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius with this shit."

Deku shot him a sidelong glare; the kind that made it clear he wasn't in the mood. "Genius or not, this encryption is top-tier. Double-layered, with failsafes built in to scramble the data if the program makes even one wrong move. I'm doing what I can, so unless you want to try cracking it yourself, maybe don't rush me."

The bite in Deku's tone was unmistakable, and Katsuki had to fight the urge to snap back. Instead, he huffed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fine."

He couldn't blame Deku for snapping at him. Hell, Katsuki had been watching him—watching them—for days now. Katsuki hadn't fully grasped how bad it was until now, seeing it firsthand. Deku wasn't just himself anymore. He was a chorus of voices, each with its own priorities, its own style, its own way of looking at the world. Katsuki could practically hear them arguing as he read through the notes, the words clashing with each other like they were fighting for control of the narrative... the muttering didn't help either.

A sharp ding cut through the tense silence, drawing both Katsuki's and Deku's eyes to the corner of the laptop screen. A notification blinked twice, its soft glow against the dimly lit room almost hypnotic. Katsuki only watched as the notification expanded into a web page.

The title at the top of the page jumped out immediately: Dynamight: Missing or On Hiatus? Questions Arise After Prolonged Absence.

Katsuki felt his stomach twist as his hero name stared back at him, bold and highlighted like a flashing neon sign. His fiery gaze darted across the passage, taking in the key phrases that were also highlighted—"Dynamight" and "Katsuki Bakugo."

"The hell is this?" Katsuki muttered, leaning closer to get a better look. It wasn't that the article that caught his attention, because people starting to question his absence was bound to attract unwanted attention on the heroes but...

Deku, still nursing his coffee, didn't respond immediately, but Katsuki could see the way his fingers twitched against the cup, a subtle tell that screamed guilt. When Katsuki glanced at him, Deku's eyes darted away, focusing intently on a non-existent speck on the table.

Katsuki's attention snapped back to the screen, scanning the article. His hero name appeared multiple times, interwoven with the speculations about his recent inactivity, recounting his last major appearance near Shoto's agency, his explosive entry into the scene, and his pivotal role in taking down the villain involved. None of it was surprising—standard media coming up bullshit for their viewers. But the way his name and actions were highlighted wasn't random.

This wasn't just some article Deku had stumbled on.

"You've got some kind of program running, don't you?" Katsuki asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the quiet hum of the laptop's fan. He pointed at the screen. "This isn't coincidence. This thing's flagging my name on purpose."

Deku set his mug down carefully, his jaw tightening. "It's... an aggregator," he admitted reluctantly, his voice low but steady. "It monitors for news mentions, incidents, social media posts—anything connected to you. It's not just for you, though," he added quickly, as if that would somehow soften the revelation. "I have it for... other people too."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, his molten red gaze locking onto Deku. "You've been keeping tabs on me? This whole time?"

"It's not what you think," Deku said, his words coming out in a rush. "I wasn't spying on you, Kacchan. I just... I needed to know you were okay. After everything that happened, I couldn't just—" He stopped himself, his fists clenching in his lap. "I couldn't let myself lose track of you. Not after they almost murdered—"

Deku froze mid-sentence, his jaw snapping shut as if physically holding back the rest of his words. His green eyes flickered with panic for a split second before he looked away, muttering something under his breath that Katsuki couldn't catch. The fuck?

"Oi." Katsuki's tone was sharp. "The hell are you talking about?"

"It's nothing," Deku replied quickly, his voice too tight, too defensive. "Just... forget it, alright? I need to focus on finding a place in Numazu and getting supplies together for the trip. There's a lot we still need to—"

"Like hell it's nothing." Katsuki shot to his feet, gripping Deku by the shoulder before he could so much as think about brushing him off. His fingers dug into the fabric of Deku's hoodie, his grip firm but not painful. "You're not running away from this, nerd. What the hell do you mean by 'after they almost murdered me'?" He added that last word as if finishing the sentence for him.

Deku stiffened under Katsuki's hand, his entire body going rigid like a wire pulled taut. "Let it go, Kacchan," he muttered, his voice low and laced with warning. He tried to twist out of Katsuki's grasp, but Katsuki's hold didn't budge.

And just before Deku could answer—or more likely evade—Reaper shoved his way to the surface, standing to pull away from Katsuki

"He means," Reaper began, his voice cold and unyielding, "You're wasting your breath, Katsuki. that I took care of the bastard who was hired to either kill you or drag you to the League in pieces."

Katsuki blinked, stunned into silence. His mind raced, replaying the last few months in a rapid-fire montage, searching for any moment, any indication that something had been off. But there was nothing. No shadowy figures tailing him, no strange incidents, nothing. His life, aside from the hellscape of Izuku's disappearance, had been routine—or as routine as it could be.

"You're full of shit," Katsuki snapped, his molten red eyes narrowing. "I'd know if someone was gunning for me. No way in hell you pulled this off without me noticing."

Reaper sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation, as if he was dealing with a particularly slow student in a class he didn't want to teach. "You're predictable, Dynamight," he said, dragging a hand down his face. "You have routines. Patterns. You don't change them, and that makes you an easy target. They didn't need to get clever—they just needed to be patient."

Katsuki opened his mouth to argue, but Reaper cut him off with a sharp gesture, his other hand resting on the back of the nearest chair as if to steady himself. "I grabbed him before he could so much as touch your balcony door," Reaper said, his voice darkening with every word. "He was halfway through unlocking it when I yanked his sorry ass into the shadows. Took him somewhere nice and quiet before he could start screaming."

Katsuki's stomach churned at the way Reaper said it, the detached tone making it clear he wasn't just recounting facts—he was reliving the moment in vivid detail. And the way his green eyes gleamed with something primal, something cold and unyielding, told Katsuki that the bastard hadn't gone quietly.

"What did you do?" Katsuki asked, his voice quieter now but no less demanding.

Reaper's lips curled into a dark, humorless smile. "What I had to," he said simply. "I interrogated him. He wasn't a mastermind—just a grunt following orders—but he spilled plenty when I started breaking bones." It took Katsuki a moment to remember the person in front of him was a merciless killer.

"And?"

"And," Reaper continued, his tone dropping into a deadly quiet, "He belonged to a guild—one with a nasty little specialty in assassinations and high-risk extractions. I spent weeks tracking down every single member of that guild. Took out their leader first—an arrogant bastard who thought he could bargain his way out. Then the lieutenants, one by one. Every last one of them." He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, until he was standing inches from Katsuki.

His eyes—bright, venomous green—locked onto Katsuki's with an intensity that made the room feel suffocating. There was something unsettling in the way he watched him, like a predator gauging its prey. Slowly, Reaper raised his hand, his finger extending to trace the hollow of Katsuki's neck.

Katsuki tensed, the touch was deliberate, unhurried, his finger cool against the heated skin of Katsuki's neck. Reaper's voice softened, almost a whisper, as his finger slid along the line of Katsuki's throat. "Just like this," he murmured, his tone laced with dark amusement. "Quick. Clean. Efficient."

Katsuki's throat bobbed involuntarily as he felt the cool, deliberate trace of Reaper's finger against his skin. The sensation sent an involuntary ripple through him that he didn't know how to interpret. Whether it was from unease or something else, he couldn't tell—it made him almost squirm. His mind rebelled against the idea that there was anything remotely thrilling about the bastard's touch, but his body wasn't getting the memo. His pulse kicked up, an unsteady rhythm pounding in his ears.

What the hell's wrong with him?

Katsuki could see it in the faint curl of his lips, slow and knowing as green eyes glinting with something cold and calculating. His finger lingered for a moment longer before he stepped back, his expression shifting into something that might've been mistaken for a smile—if not for the deadness in his eyes.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, his breath coming out in a rough huff as he fixed Reaper with a glare. "You're seriously messed up, you know that?" he said, low and biting. But it lacked the usual venom he liked to throw around, and he hated himself for it.

Katsuki's jaw tightened, his thoughts spiraling as he tried to push past the uncomfortable knot in his chest. He didn't like this, didn't like this side of Izuku. And yet, some sick part of him couldn't ignore the way his pulse had jumped at that touch, the way his breath had hitched before he could stop it.

"Can we move on to the next phase of our planning?" Reaper asked, his voice smooth, almost bored, like they hadn't just had a moment Katsuki couldn't explain and didn't want to dwell on.

Chapter Text

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No Sudden Moves

It took four agonizing days for Deku's hacking program to crack open the encrypted files on the Numazu location. Four days of pacing, of listening to Deku's endless muttering, of Reaper's snarky-ass comments whenever Katsuki opened his mouth. Four days of waiting around, feeling useless as shit, and stewing in his irritation.

In that meantime, Deku had tried—unsuccessfully, Katsuki noticed with smug satisfaction—to get a hold of Pixel, asking him to meet up in their usual spot outside the Twilight Market. Deku said he needed one last favor, supplies that only Pixel could reliably source without attracting unwanted attention.

Naturally, Katsuki called bullshit. He'd infiltrated the Twilight Market himself, had practically full fucking clearance. Hell, he could probably stroll right up to the Ghouls themselves and demand the gear if he really felt like it. But no—Reaper had to butt in, claiming Katsuki wouldn't know the difference between high-tech infiltration equipment and a goddamn toaster, so he should just sit pretty and keep quiet.

So yeah, four days of bullshit.

And now, Katsuki sat brooding on the steps at Yoyogi Park, his elbows resting on his knees, and his patience wearing thin. Deku was a few yards away, casually scoping out the park like it was just another boring October afternoon. Like he wasn't a wanted fugitive, casually blending into the crowd in a way Katsuki could never manage with his explosive personality.

Leaves were drifting lazily from trees, bright reds and oranges cascading like embers against the clear sky. Autumn had fully settled over Tokyo, the air crisp, biting at the edges. Katsuki tugged his jacket tighter around himself, glaring at the leaves dancing through the breeze. Even the damn trees seemed to be mocking him, carefree and unbothered, while Katsuki felt like a lit fuse just waiting for the right moment to explode.

Katsuki's eyes flicked back to Deku, who was leaning against a railing, eyes scanning lazily across the crowd. Casual as hell, as if everything was fucking normal. As if they hadn't spent the last two weeks or so dancing around uncomfortable truths, avoiding conversations they desperately still needed to have. He still couldn't shake the feeling of Reaper's finger tracing his throat—couldn't shake that weird, heated discomfort he'd felt when those green eyes had looked at him like he was prey. He growled softly at himself, irritated that he was even thinking about it again.

Focus, dammit.

Katsuki's narrowed eyes swept the park again, scanning for any sign of Pixel. He didn't exactly blend into a crowd—the guy stuck out like a sore thumb, always twitching, always on edge, like he was two seconds away from bolting. But the usual meetup spot near the stone fountain remained empty, nothing but families and bored teenagers milling about. No jittery informant in sight.

Another dead end—great.

Irritation simmered hotter beneath his skin with every passing second. It seemed that asshole, Pixel, had been serious about the hard drive being the last time he'd stick his neck out. The guy had ghosted Deku completely, radio silence since they'd sent the message.

Katsuki's gaze flicked toward Deku again, still casually leaning. Those green eyes flicking methodically between faces, benches, and trees, as if Pixel might just appear from thin fucking air

That's when Katsuki noticed it again, the subtle ripple spreading from Deku's shadow, tendrils curling lazily, unnaturally against the sidewalk. Phazewave, or "Phaze," as Deku had taken to calling him, much to Katsuki's utter annoyance, lingered close, ever-fucking-watchful. The nickname grated on Katsuki's nerves—who the hell nicknamed a Nomu, anyway?—but Deku insisted, since it was sticking around anyways, Katsuki personally thought it was a waste of breath.

Still, despite his initial protests, Katsuki had grudgingly accepted the ugly bastard's presence. He didn't like Phaze—hell, he barely tolerated the oversized hunk of meat—but he understood why both Deku and Reap kept the damn thing around. Didn't mean he had to like how comfortable Deku had gotten around it, though. Every time Phaze surfaced, Katsuki felt his hackles rise. And each time those glowing eyes stared back, he fought the urge to blow that thing straight back into that hellhole it had crawled out of.

But fine. As long as Phaze didn't turn its claws on Deku again, Katsuki could live with it... for now. But if it so much as breathed wrong in Deku's direction, all bets were off even if the thought of fighting that thing again made him more than fucking nervous.

A soft vibration broke Katsuki's thoughts, pulling his attention down to his pocket. He yanked out his phone, jaw clenching at Shoto's name again flashing on the screen.

Are you safe? Talk to me, Katsuki. No one knows where you are.

The texts had started off calm enough, a simple request to check in. That has been weeks ago... now, they were bordering on desperate, panicked even. Katsuki couldn't bring himself to reply. He tightened his grip around the phone, frustration boiling dangerously. He hated ignoring Shoto, he wasn't proud of leaving the bastard hanging, but he couldn't handle the questions, the concern, because he could risk exposing what was going on... at least not yet.

A rustle nearby caught Katsuki's attention again, pulling his gaze from his screen just in time to see Deku turning toward him. Their eyes met, silent understanding passing between them instantly: Pixel wasn't coming.

Another wasted afternoon. Another dead fucking end.

With an irritated sigh, Katsuki shoved his phone back in his pocket and pushed himself upright. "Guess your informant bailed, nerd," he growled, frustration plain as day in his voice. "So how 'bout we quit wasting daylight and handle this shit ourselves?"

Deku hesitated, frustration creasing his brow as he glanced around once more. "Pixel wouldn't just disappear," he said, quiet but firm. "Something's wrong."

Katsuki scoffed. "Maybe he just got tired of risking his ass for you. Not everyone's as fucking stupid as we are."

Deku's eyes darkened slightly, but before he could respond, his shadow rippled again, Phaze shifting restlessly beneath his feet, echoing Deku's silent agitation.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "Either way, we're done sitting around. I've got clearance to the Twilight Market. I'll get your precious gear myself."

That seemed to set Reaper off. Katsuki saw the instant the switch flipped—the way Deku's eyes hardened, the green turning colder, sharper, as Reaper surfaced, sneering dismissively.

"You'd blow your cover in five fucking minutes, Katsuki," Reaper drawled, voice low and dripping disdain, slipping his phone out of his pocket. "It was already a miracle no one clocked you that first week. Let someone who knows what they're doing handle this."

Katsuki glared at Reaper, jaw tightening as the other began rapidly typing something into his phone. Before he could even open his mouth to snap back, Reaper cut him off without even bothering to look up.

"Don't get your hero panties in a twist. I've got someone else I can go to."

With that, Reaper abruptly turned on his heel and started ascending the stairs, not waiting for a response. Katsuki cursed under his breath, irritation flaring as he quickly fell into step behind him.

"And just where the hell are we going now?" Katsuki growled, his voice dripping with annoyance.

"Our hideout," Reaper replied flatly, glancing back briefly with eyes still sharp and calculating. "I need something from my bag."

The trip back was tense, silence stretched thin between them as Katsuki's annoyance simmered beneath his skin. He couldn't shake the unease churning in his gut at Reaper's vague response, the guarded look in those piercing eyes.

Once inside, Reaper wasted no time, heading straight to his bag and pulling out yet another burner phone. Katsuki dropped into a nearby chair, arms crossed tightly as he watched Reaper type furiously on the small device.

Minutes ticked by, silent and heavy, broken only by the sharp tapping of keys. Katsuki's patience thinned dangerously with every passing second until, finally, Reaper shoved the phone back into his pocket and turned toward him.

"I've arranged to meet the contact. Alone."

Katsuki shot to his feet instantly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Like hell you are," he snarled, eyes blazing fiercely. "You're not going anywhere without me."

Reaper exhaled slowly, gaze narrowed and cold. "Katsuki, I said alone."

"I don't care what the hell you said!" Katsuki snapped, pushing himself to his feet abruptly, the chair skidding harshly against the floor.

Reaper cocked his head slowly to the side, green eyes narrowing as he studied Katsuki. That damn unsettling gaze traveled up and down, sizing him up like he was deciding whether Katsuki was worth the trouble.

Katsuki held firm, his jaw clenched tight, posture rigid. He refused to back down, even as anxiety twisted uncomfortably in his gut. There was no fucking way he was letting Deku out of his sight—not now, not again. Sure, there was some trust between him and Deku, fragile as hell, but Reap? That was a whole other story. Katsuki had no illusions. Given half a chance, Reap would vanish into thin air, convincing Deku it was for the better.

Reaper's lip twitched slightly, as if reading Katsuki's thoughts clear as day on his face. His voice came out slow, cold, deliberately patronizing. Like he was addressing a stubborn kid throwing a tantrum.

"I'm going out, getting what we need, and then I'm coming right back. Right. Here." He paused, letting each word land heavily, like Katsuki was some brat incapable of understanding basic instructions.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed dangerously; skepticism etched across every line of his face. He didn't trust a single syllable out of Reaper's mouth, no matter how convincing he tried to sound.

"Bullshit," Katsuki shot back, voice low and rough.

Reaper let out an aggravated sigh, running a hand roughly through his shock of white curls as though Katsuki's stubbornness was pushing him to his absolute limit. "Look around, Katsuki. I'm literally leaving everything here. You really think I'd leave without my laptop, my notes—all my research? That's months of work."

Before Katsuki could snap back another retort, Reaper's shadow rippled at his feet. In a swirl of dark tendrils, Phaze rose smoothly from the floor, materializing silently to stand beside Reaper. Those fucking eyes locked onto Katsuki's, cold and unsettling.

"And if that still doesn't satisfy your twitchy-ass suspicions," Reaper continued, irritation clear in his voice, "I'm leaving the Nomu here too. If I was planning on disappearing, do you really think I'd leave such a powerful tool behind?"

Katsuki's teeth ground together, frustration warring with grudging acceptance. It made sense—too much fucking sense—but that didn't mean he liked, the logic wasn't enough to soothe the tight knot of unease still coiled inside him.

Reaper clicked his tongue in annoyance, eyes briefly flicking toward Phaze as if considering the idea. "Look, the contact's twitchyand twice as paranoid as he needs to be—but unfortunately, he's the only other person competent enough not to botch this beyond repair."

Katsuki's lip twitched. He didn't like the way that sounded—condescending as hell, like Reap thought he was some rookie liability.

After a moment Katsuki let out a frustrated breath, arms crossing tightly over his chest. He hated this—hated agreeing with Reaper—but at least sending the Nomu along meant he'd have some reassurance Deku wouldn't end up in another goddamn mess. "Fine," he growled out reluctantly. "But take that piece of shit with you."

If he had to pick between keeping Phaze here with him or sending it off to watch Deku's back... well. The choice was pretty damn clear.

"Oh?"

Katsuki rolled his eyes, irritation prickling hotter under his skin. "If you leave it here, we're gonna end up tearing each other apart," he grumbled. "And I don't got the patience for that shit right now."

Reaper raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk as his eyes flicked knowingly toward Phaze. "Wouldn't want that, would we?" He glanced back at Katsuki, eyes narrowing slightly as he added, almost mockingly, "Occupy yourself however you like. Just don't damage anything valuable in the process."

Without another word, Reaper turned sharply on his heel, shadows already twisting around his feet as Phaze silently melted into then, vanishing through the door.

Katsuki glared at the empty doorway, fists clenched at his sides. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath, irritation simmering hot in his chest.

The next few hours crawled by painfully. Eventually, Katsuki had enough of waiting around, deciding he'd swing by Tokoyami's place to grab his shit. He'd been avoiding it long enough anyway. Fumikage's reaction upon seeing him was priceless—relief mingled with surprise.

"I thought the Ghouls had figured you out," Funikage had admitted, worry clear in his usually calm voice. "When you stopped showing up, I feared something went wrong in the Twilight Market."

Katsuki brushed off the concern, grunting a vague explanation about chasing leads before gathering his stuff, trying to ignore Dark Shadow's cautious gaze following him the whole time. As Katsuki turned to leave, Dark Shadow nudged Fumikage insistently, whispering something Katsuki didn't catch.

"Bakugo," he called hesitantly as he reached the door. "Todoroki came looking for you. He's worried."

Katsuki hesitated, jaw tightening. "What'd you tell him?"

Fumikage's expression softened slightly. "The truth. That I didn't know where you were."

Katsuki huffed, adjusting the pack, making to leave when Fumikage says, "don't lose yourself to the darkness. Take care."

Katsuki paused, hand tightening on the doorknob, eyes fixed forward. "Too late for that," he murmured bitterly, leaving without another word.

After picking up food, he finally made his way back to the abandoned Ginza Line. As he reached the access shaft, Katsuki paused, eyes adjusting briefly to the gloom before hopping down onto the rusted rails with a grunt. His boots hit the tracks with a heavy clang, the sound ringing hollowly through the abandoned tunnel.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, running a hand through his hair as he started at the tunnel leading toward their makeshift home. Katsuki lifted his hand, flexing his fingers, and with a quiet chk, a flicker of orange light ignited in his palm. The glow pulsed against the tunnel walls, cutting sharp relief into the gloom.

He stepped cautiously along the old railway tracks, the silence echoing oppressively around him, punctuated only by the soft scuffing of his boots.

As he walked, anxiety coiled tightly in his gut. He couldn't help the intrusive thought that Reaper might've fucking tricked him after all—that he'd come back to nothing but an empty hideout and the mocking silence of Deku gone again.

You're pathetic, Idiot, his mind snarled, bitter and biting. Since when had he gotten so damn paranoid?

He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as he forced the thought aside, jaw tightening with resolve. Deku had promised. Reaper had promised. Katsuki was betting everything he had left on that fragile shred of trust, no matter how foolish it seemed.

As Katsuki finally reached the stairs leading up to platform to their hideout, a wave of tension eased from his shoulders. The trek had been exhausting, and the damn bags seemed heavier with each step. Still, he couldn't shake the stupid uneasy knot still twisting in his gut. He couldn't stop the nagging suspicion—the stupid paranoia—that Reaper had tricked him, that he'd come back to nothing but empty shadows and silence.

But just as he approached the top of the platform, a familiar voice stopped him dead.

"Katsuki."

He froze, heart slamming against his ribcage as dread coiled in his gut. The voice—sharp, clear, and edged with quiet accusation—cut through the silence like a blade.

Fuck. Fuck.

He spun sharply, dropping his bags instantly. His glowing palm illuminated the figure stepping quietly from the darkness behind him, mismatched eyes narrowed in anger and relief.

Shoto stood there, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched in unmistakable fury.

"What the fuck—" Katsuki growled, surprise swiftly turning to anger. "How the fuck did you find me?"

Shoto ascended the stairs, stepping close, anger trembling beneath his icy composure. "Are you serious? I've been calling and texting you nonstop for days, Katsuki. Weeks. What the hell were you thinking, vanishing without a trace?"

Katsuki's fists clenched, fire flaring dangerously in his palm, the flames flickering wildly as irritation surged through him. "Answer my goddamn question, IcyHot. How did you find me?"

Shoto's voice rose sharply, his eyes blazing. "Did you think no one would look? That I'd just sit around and assume you were fine? I thought you were dead in some ditch somewhere, Katsuki! You can't just disappear after everything we've been through!"

Katsuki gritted his teeth, frustration and guilt boiling beneath his skin. "Well, I'm clearly not dead, asshole," he snapped, his voice echoing sharply off the tunnel walls. "So, you can drop the concerned-parent bullshit. I'm fine."

Shoto's eyes narrowed dangerously, a rare flash of genuine anger rippling beneath his normally stoic expression. "You're not fine, Katsuki," he fired back, his tone sharp and unyielding. "You've vanished for more than two weeks without a single fucking word to anyone. Not me, not Uraraka, not even Tokoyami—who, by the way, looked about ready to launch his own search party to comb the black market. What the hell are you doing down here anyway?"

Katsuki's fingers curled tighter, flames crackling furiously in his palm, reflecting the molten anger in his eyes. He didn't owe Shoto an explanation—didn't owe him shit—but the look on Shoto's face made the guilt sting harder than he wanted to admit.

"I had shit to handle," Katsuki muttered defensively, his voice lower but still tense. "Leads I had to chase down."

Shoto stared him down, stepping closer despite the threat radiating off Katsuki in waves. "You're lying," he said bluntly, the accusation hitting Katsuki harder than expected. "You've been reckless, impulsive, and angry as hell lately—but never this careless. Never this distant, at least not from me."

The anger drained slowly from Katsuki's expression, replaced by something more conflicted, a guarded frustration he couldn't mask as easily around Shoto. "Leave it alone, IcyHot," he growled, quieter now.

"The hell I will."

Katsuki stepped forward aggressively, flames snapping in irritation. His thoughts raced, calculating, running through worst-case scenarios like they were second nature.

If the bastard had found this place, then it was compromised.

Didn't matter that it was just Shoto standing there, arms crossed, a mix of anger and relief swirling in his mismatched eyes. If he'd found Katsuki, that meant others could too. And if others could—

Shit, they had to leave. Now. Before someone else found them.

"Quit dodging the fucking question. How. The fuck. Did you find me?"

Shoto's expression barely shifted as he coolly pointed toward Katsuki's bag lying haphazardly on the ground. "You left that at Tokoyami's," he stated flatly. "I figured sooner or later you'd come back for it, assuming you were still alive."

Katsuki scowled viciously, kicking at the gravel-strewn tracks beneath his boots. "Well, congratu-fucking-lations, Sherlock. You found me. Great job," he sneered bitterly. "Now you can see I'm breathing just fine, so why don't you get your ass out of here already?"

Shoto didn't move an inch, matching Katsuki's glare with stubborn defiance. "No. Not until you tell me what the hell you're up to. You don't get to vanish for days and then pretend it's nothing. That's not how this works. The Hero Association—"

"Fuck off," Katsuki growled sharply, frustration bleeding into panic. He had to get Shoto the hell out of here, now. If Deku—no, worse, if Reaper caught wind of this—of Shoto being here, knowing too much, asking too many goddamn questions—things would turn to shit in record time. "I'm telling you, everything's fine, alright? I'm handling shit, and I don't need you breathing down my goddamn neck."

Shoto's eyes narrowed dangerously, ice practically crystallizing around his words. "Everything is not fine, Katsuki. And it hasn't been for a long time."

Katsuki bristled instantly, hackles rising like a cornered animal. "Goddammit, come off with that—"

"I know about the thumb drive." Shoto's eyes, cold and sharp, pinned him in place. "Uraraka gave it to you that day, didn't she? When she showed up at your apartment the day... the day after Hakone."

Katsuki didn't confirm it, but he didn't have to—Shoto wouldn't have said it if he wasn't sure.

"Uraraka was worried when you disappeared without so much as a word. She told me a few days after you left that she gave it to you. She didn't know, didn't think that you'd actually be able to crack it without anyone's help."

Shoto's voice remained steady, but there was something heavy beneath it—something unwavering. "I know you're hurting. I know you've been like this since Hakone," Shoto continued, voice quiet but firm, stepping closer. "You think I haven't noticed?"

His mismatched eyes bore into Katsuki's, filled with something that wasn't pity—something heavier. "That you've been getting worse? That you barely sleep, that you won't let anyone in? That you practically trashed your apartment in a fit of rage."

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring.

"Again, you're not fine," Shoto countered immediately, his voice cooling to something sharper. "You're self-destructing. You think this is helping? Disappearing, burying yourself in this—" He gestured vaguely at the abandoned tunnel around them. "Isolating yourself, throwing yourself into whatever the hell you're planning? You think this is what Izuku would've wanted?"

Katsuki straightened sharply, shoulders going rigid as he bit down hard on his own tongue, forcing back the words threatening to spill. God, he wanted to tell him. Wanted to scream in Shoto's face that Deku—Izuku—was alive. That he wasn't chasing fucking ghosts, wasn't going insane. That all this shit wasn't some pointless self-destructive spiral to rip apart the people who had destroyed his life.

But he couldn't. He'd promised Deku he wouldn't breathe a word—not until Deku himself was ready. Not until he was comfortable enough to let others see the broken mess he'd become. Katsuki clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together so hard his temples throbbed. He felt like he was choking on the truth, his frustration nearly boiling over.

"Katsuki," Shoto continued, oblivious to the turmoil raging beneath Katsuki's stony expression, "you can't keep going like this. You're destroying yourself, and for what? For revenge? For some twisted attempt to fix the past? Izuku wouldn't—"

A sudden, sharp movement caught Katsuki's attention, tearing his gaze upward. A shadow twisted unnaturally along the tunnel wall, spilling outward in jagged tendrils, ink bleeding into the cracks between the tiles. The dark rippled, slow and deliberate, like it was breathing. Then—glowing, inhuman eyes flickered to life in the abyss.

A sharp, chittering growl scraped through the air.

Katsuki's stomach dropped.

Phazewave emerged silently, its massive form clinging to the wall effortlessly, barely shifting as it stared straight at him. Its hollow, burning eyes locked onto Katsuki for a fraction of a second—cold, calculating, accusing—before shifting with slow, deliberate malice toward Shoto. Its body tensed, muscles rippling beneath its leathery, scarred hide, coiling like a loaded spring as it let out a low, chittering growl—a sound so unnatural and hostile that even Shoto froze mid-sentence.

Oh, shit.

Shoto made to turn toward the tracks behind him, toward the source of that awful chittering, but Katsuki reacted instantly. His hand shot out, catching Shoto firmly by the shoulder and forcing him to stop mid-turn.

"Don't. Move." Katsuki hissed urgently, his voice low but sharper than glass, eyes locked onto the monstrous shadow creeping along the tunnel wall. His pulse quickened, every nerve firing with tense anticipation.

Shoto stiffened beneath Katsuki's grip, brows scrunching in confusion, lips parting to speak, but Katsuki tightened his hold. Phaze's growl deepened, echoing through the tunnel in a disturbing, reverberating rumble. Thick strands of saliva dripped from its fanged mouth, splattering onto the cracked tiles as its glowing eyes locked unwaveringly onto Shoto. The Nomu's stance was aggressive, ready to strike at any second.

"... Reap!" Katsuki barked sharply into the darkness, voice echoing off grimy tiles, raw and edged in urgency. He kept the nickname intentional, careful not to let "Deku" slip—not with Shoto present. He glared into the writhing shadows, jaw tight, muscles tensed, fingers twitching reflexively as flames crackled in his palm. "Call off your damn nightmare before it makes a fuckin' mess!"

Silence.

Katsuki waited a heartbeat, then two. Silence stretched unbearably, broken only by the low, menacing hiss emanating from Phazewave's hulking form. It hit him with sickening clarity—Deku wasn't here. Reaper wasn't lingering just out of sight.

The motherfucker had left the damn Nomu behind to guard the hideout, to keep watch over Katsuki while Reaper did whatever the fuck he needed elsewhere.

Of course, he'd pull shit like this.

"Bakugo," Shoto began again, his voice tense, almost questioning. It was soft, his breath barely stirring the air. "What is—"

The Nomu's reaction was immediate—its head snapped toward the sound, a chittering growl rippling through the dark.

"Shut the hell up," Katsuki hissed sharply, voice low but commanding, leaving no room for argument. This was bad—worse than bad. If Phazewave attacked, there wouldn't be time to react, let alone escape unscathed.

This thing was a living weapon, obedient only to Deku, barely contained by whatever fragile command held it back. But right now, Deku wasn't here, and Katsuki wasn't naïve enough to believe that Reap's twisted little pet would hold itself back just because he happened to be in the way.

"For the love of God, IcyHot," Katsuki snapped, voice dangerously low, stepping deliberately in front of him, angling his body to shield him, "do exactly what I say. Don't use your fucking quirks. Don't even breathe too loud. Do you understand me?"

Shoto inhaled sharply behind him but remained silent, tension practically radiating off his body. Katsuki didn't risk a glance back, his eyes kept firmly on the Nomu, refusing to blink, refusing to even fucking breathe.

Katsuki moved slowly, every muscle rigid as he backed Shoto carefully against the tunnel wall. Phaze watched them with unsettling stillness, its unnatural eyes locked unwaveringly onto Shoto as though sizing up its prey, muscles rippling, waiting for a single twitch—a single reason—to strike.

For a fraction of a second, Katsuki blinked, just a blink, nothing more—but it was all the opening Phaze needed.

The Nomu vanished from its spot, the shadow flickering out of existence. Katsuki's eyes widened, his breath caught sharply in his throat before it materialized directly in front of them in a rush of darkness and heat.

Katsuki reacted instinctively, shoving Shoto harshly against the tunnel wall, one arm pressing him against his back, the other raised, crackling with an explosive threat.

The Nomu towered over them, a dark, monstrous silhouette filling Katsuki's vision, its breath coming out in ragged, animalistic snarls. Shoto froze behind Katsuki, his breath hitching sharply, his body going rigid with shock.

Its chest expanded with a deep, shuddering inhale, like it was tasting their fear. And it probably fucking was because Katsuki could practically taste Shoto's fear, sharp and metallic. His own heart slammed violently against his ribcage, a raw reminder of just how much shit they were in right now.

Phaze hissed loudly, saliva still dripping from its jagged teeth onto the filthy floor. It loomed closer, every muscle coiled, ready to rip into them both without a second thought.

Goading them into making a mistake.

"Oi!" Katsuki barked suddenly, voice echoing harshly through the tunnel, slicing right through the tension. His crimson eyes blazed fiercely, meeting Phaze's glowing stare head-on, refusing to flinch despite the terror clawing at his throat. "Eyes on me, asshole!"

Phaze's head whipped toward him instantly, the eerie glow of its eyes intensifying. The creature growled again, a low, guttural threat rattling the walls around them.

"You wanna tear into him?" Katsuki growled out fiercely, his voice rough with the barely restrained fury building inside him, explosive energy sparking to life along his out stretched arm. "Then you'd better be ready to rip right through me first. But we both know that ain't happening, is it?"

He stood his ground, defiant even as he was practically pissing himself, knowing damn well he was gambling everything on the thread of loyalty that bound Phazewave to Deku—and, by some flimsy extension, to him.

The Nomu hissed dangerously, its monstrous eyes searing into Katsuki's. Its hot breath washed over him, rank and acidic, like death itself breathing down his neck.

Katsuki's jaw tightened, muscles coiling with defiance as he refused to look away, refused to back down, no matter how clearly he was outmatched. His voice dropped, deadly serious, each word deliberately sharpened to stab right into that bastard's twisted sense of loyalty.

"No matter how much you hate my guts, you can't lay a claw on me, can you? 'Cause if you hurt me—if you even scratch me—you're hurting him. And you wouldn't dare fucking do that."

Phaze's head jerked violently, teeth bared, snarling viciously as its claws raked down the wall, leaving deep gouges that smoked and hissed from the acidic burn. Its monstrous face was barely inches from Katsuki's own, lips peeled back to reveal rows of jagged, drooling teeth.

But Katsuki didn't flinch. He didn't move a goddamn inch, even when Phaze snapped forward, jaws clicking shut mere centimeters from his nose, the hot stench of its breath washing over him in a nauseating wave. The Nomu let out another violent snarl, frustration evident in the way its muscles trembled, held back by some invisible chain, something deeper, more powerful than simple orders.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Katsuki breathed harshly, heart hammering like it was about to burst straight from his chest, adrenaline pulsing hot and thick through every vein. "You hurt me, you hurt Deku. And by extension, you hurt him—" He tilted his head sharply toward Shoto behind him. "And Izuku would never forgive that, got that?"

"... Izuku?" Shoto breathed softly, voice barely a tremor in the choking silence—but it cut straight through Katsuki's chest like a goddamn knife.

Katsuki's hand clamped down viciously on Shoto's arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise, every finger digging sharply into his flesh—a fierce warning screaming shut your fucking mouth clearer than words ever could.

Katsuki could practically hear the questions screaming inside Shoto's head—probably a hundred fucking questions, each louder and more painful than the last—but right now wasn't the goddamn time.

Phaze's growl reverberated one last time, rattling the tunnel walls before, with one final hateful glare, it vanished—stepping back into shadow like slipping beneath dark water, leaving nothing but the heavy, suffocating silence behind.

Katsuki exhaled shakily, chest heaving as he stared into the space where the Nomu had stood only seconds before. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his hand, sparks fading out to a low glow. His gaze remained locked forward, muscles still tensed and ready, just in case the asshole changed its mind.

"Kat... what—" Shoto's voice shook unsteadily behind him, confusion and alarm lacing every strained syllable.

Feeling the wave of tremors that racked Shoto's frame, Katsuki turned around slowly, still half-expecting Phaze to reappear from nowhere. He stepped aside just enough to peel Shoto off the wall, but the bastard was already struggling for words, eyes wide, chest heaving in rapid breaths.

"What the hell—" Shoto started again, voice cracking slightly, struggling to regain his composure. "That Nomu... Katsuki, what the hell was it—"

But before Shoto could form a coherent question, something in the stale air shifted, sudden and cold. Katsuki's heart stopped, adrenaline surging so hard he tasted metal. Shit. Had the Nomu changed its mind?

On pure instinct, Katsuki whipped around, explosive heat roaring to life in his palm as he fired a blast straight toward the figure lunging from the shadows—but before he could, black tendrils lashed out, knocking his hand aside. The blast erupted, scorching the tunnel wall, sending a shower of sparks cascading down the tunnel.

He didn't even have time to shout a damn warning before the figure tackled Shoto straight to the ground with a heavy thud.

Deku was on top of Shoto, knee pinning his chest, one hand pressed against Shoto's shoulder, the other around his neck. Emerald eyes blazed dangerously, hair wild and untamed, his breath ragged as his gaze locked fiercely onto Shoto's stunned expression.

"Move, and I'll snap your fucking neck," Reaper growled coldly, voice dripping with lethal intent, cutting straight through Katsuki like a blade. The threat was sharp, brutal, and utterly serious.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The Price of Knowing

Shoto's eyes were wide, shock and confusion flashing hotly across his features. "Midoriya?" he choked out breathlessly, barely audible beneath the pressure of Reaper's grip. "How, you're—?"

But Reaper didn't budge, didn't even blink, his face twisted into something fierce, something dark, something Katsuki hadn't seen since that first night he'd found him in that cell. His shoulders heaved slightly, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the tension crackled dangerously around them.

"Reap—stop," Katsuki said sharply, heart racing wildly in his chest, taking a cautious step forward. "That's enough. Let him go."

Reaper's gaze snapped to Katsuki, lips curled into a dangerous sneer, his fingers flexing tighter around Shoto's throat as his furious gaze drilled into Katsuki with venomous intensity.

"You wanna explain what the fuck he's doing here, Katsuki?" he hissed, voice low and edged with cold anger. "I leave for three hours, and you start bringing guests home? And not just any guest—fucking Todoroki?"

Katsuki clenched his jaw, stepping closer cautiously, palms still simmering with residual heat from his earlier stand-off with Phaze. He met Reaper's glare head-on, forcing himself to remain calm despite the adrenaline surging through his veins.

"I didn't bring him anywhere," Katsuki snapped sharply, frustration bleeding into his tone. "He found me. Tracked me down himself."

Reaper's grip tightened further, Shoto's breath coming out strained beneath his grasp, eyes still trying to process how the person above him was still here, still alive.

"Oh, so you're saying you unwittingly led him right here, like a complete imbecile?" Reaper spat bitterly, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. "And to think I was under the impression we'd moved beyond this level of incompetence."

"Oi, that's enough," Katsuki snapped back sharply, advancing closer, eyes blazing like molten embers as he fixed Reaper with a furious glare. "Let him the hell go! He ain't a damn threat—he's trying to help, and you fucking know it!"

Reaper's laugh was bitter, short, devoid of humor. He leaned in closer, his emerald gaze hardening dangerously, a warning Katsuki knew he shouldn't ignore. "You really sure about that?" he sneered coldly. "You think that idiot Kaminari—or any of the others Odd Eye twisted into informants, into weapons—knew what they were? Knew they were walking bombs, primed and disposable?"

His tone dropping to a cruel whisper, head tilting just slightly—mocking, surgical. "How can you swear on your life that he hasn't been compromised?"

A pause—just long enough to twist the blade. "Maybe we should've let Shinsou vet him... oh. Right. We can't."

Katsuki's heart slammed violently against his ribs, his breath hitching painfully at the mention of Denki and Hitoshi. The words sliced through him like a blade, vicious and cruel, striking deep where Reaper knew it would hurt the most.

He had to remind himself this was Reaper, not Izuku... fucking Reaper, the heartless asshole who didn't give a fuck about anyone or anything.

Still, Reaper had crossed the goddamn line, and he knew it.

Katsuki's warped with the heat of his quirk as his Anger surged white-hot through his veins, and before he could second-guess himself, Katsuki stormed forward in a blur of motion, gripping Reaper by the shoulder and ripping him forcefully off Shoto.

"I fucking said that's enough!" Katsuki roared, voice echoing harshly through the tunnel as he threw Reaper back. "He ain't the enemy—you know that, you goddamn bastard!"

Reaper stumbled backward, hitting the edge of the platform, his eyes flashing dangerously as Black Whip exploded from him in a violent burst, tendrils whipping out like razor-sharp blades slicing through the heavy tunnel air. Katsuki barely managed to dodge back, feeling the searing lash skim just past his cheek, missing by mere inches.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Reaper snarled, his voice raw and feral, the sound slicing straight through Katsuki's chest. The tendrils snapped erratically around him, coiling like serpents ready to strike again. "You're not thinking clearly, Katsuki—again. "Keep it up, and you're going to get us all killed. Or is that the goal? Because the last time you let your ego steer the way, you left a trail of corpses. Want a repeat of that masterpiece?"

Shoto scrambled to his feet behind Katsuki, breath ragged as he pressed his leaned against the wall coughing. His eyes flicked between Katsuki and Reaper, wide with shock, confusion, disbelief. "Midoriya...?" His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with disbelief. "You're alive? You're...how—?"

Katsuki's hands trembled uncontrollably as his quirk flared up past his elbows in a cascade of incandescent, distorted energy. His eyes—once a steady, burning red—now pulsed with chaotic, almost violent glows, the raw power surging through him threatening to tear his control apart.

"Don't you ever—" he roared, voice cracking as he advanced, his quirk radiating a wild, almost untamed heat that danced around his limbs like living flame. In that moment, Katsuki was no longer just angry; he was a maelstrom of pure, explosive wrath. His mind was a jumbled mess of betrayal and rage, each beat of his heart echoing like a war drum.

Reaper stood his ground, hunched slightly forward, chest heaving, glowing eyes locked on Katsuki with a lethal, unblinking glare. Fury radiated off him in sharp, suffocating waves, his body trembling not from fear—but from restraint hanging on by a damn thread. His teeth were bared in a half-snarl, half-smirk, a maddening grin twitching at the corners of his mouth like he was daring Katsuki to take one more step.

Katsuki recognized that look.

Unhinged. Wild. The razor-thin precipice between reason and bloodlust.

He'd seen it before—in that cavern, during the fight that days the bombs had tore the city apart, in the goddamn reflection of Deku's eyes when he stood there splattered in blood that wasn't his. Reaper was about two seconds away from blowing, from letting go of every ounce of control he had left.

And Katsuki? He didn't give a single fuck.

"Oh, you wanna drag me through the fucking past, huh?!" he snapped, voice grinding out like gravel on fire. "Then let's fucking go. Let's talk about yours. How many bodies did it take, huh? How many people had to die for you to turn into this heartless, soulless piece of shit?"

"Katsuki—stop," Shoto's voice cut through the tunnel behind him, shaky but firm, like he wasn't sure what he was about to say but damn well knew he needed to say something before they blew a hole in Shibuya streets. "This isn't you. Just—calm down. This isn't the way—"

But Katsuki was already too far gone, already halfway through crossing that line between fury and full-blown combustion. He didn't even turn around—just snarled, heat blistering off him in angry, untamed waves.

Katsuki had barely taken two more steps when the air shifted again. From the blackness beside Reaper, Phazewave erupted violently, exploding outward in a twisted blur of shadow and monstrous fury. The Nomu crashed onto the platform next to Reaper with deafening force, claws scraping harshly across concrete, the sound grating like metal on stone as sparks flew, lighting the gloom for an instant with terrifying clarity.

Phaze's jaws wrenched wide, its muscles coiled grotesquely, tendons flexing with barely restrained eagerness. Then, it roared—a shrill, earsplitting sound that shattered the silence, piercing through bone and marrow, rattling violently down the length of the tunnel until the walls trembled and cracked. Dust and debris fell like rain, coating the air, choking Katsuki's throat as the monstrous cry reverberated painfully inside his skull.

The Nomu's claws gouged impatiently into the concrete beneath it, filled a with hunger, with an excitement, with the raw, sickening anticipation of violence. Its unnatural eyes burned with murderous intensity as it fixed a vicious stare straight at Katsuki and Shoto.

Phaze moved forward with terrifying, lethal purpose—the first step echoing like a death toll. Its jaws opened wide, saliva glistening along rows of razor-sharp teeth, before snapping shut with a violent crack, a clear promise it would rip straight through them both if they were a threat to its master.

Before Katsuki could even move—before he could shout, react, breathe—Reaper's voice cut sharply through the chaos, breaking like thunder through the tunnel, clear and commanding.

"Phaze. Stop."

Instantly, Phazewave froze mid-step, its entire massive frame going rigid like it had hit an invisible barrier. The roar died in its throat, shifting into a low, frustrated growl. Its muscles trembled violently, tendons straining, as though battling against an unbreakable command.

"Phaze, stand down... Now," Deku commanded, voice rough and authoritative, eyes blazing fiercely, but no longer carrying Reaper's venom. He stood, back straightening sharply, the wild fury draining from him almost as quickly as it had erupted. Green eyes flicked briefly to Katsuki, the faintest flicker of worry crossing his features before returning sharply to the monstrous Nomu. "That wasn't a suggestion. Do not make me repeat myself."

Phazewave snarled again, one final defiant, guttural growl—but the fight left its stance, shoulders slumping in reluctant submission. Deku turned slowly toward Katsuki, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows of the tunnel. His eyes—those familiar eyes Katsuki had fought so hard to see again—narrowed slightly, suspicion glittering sharply beneath the green. The quiet rasp of his voice when he spoke sent a chill racing down Katsuki's spine.

"Kacchan—" Deku's voice was low, calm, but it was dangerously soft, and it was more unsettling than any shout could've been. "What exactly does Todoroki know?"

Katsuki bristled at the question, irritation mixing with the lingering adrenaline. "Nothing," he growled, keeping his voice low, wary of Shoto's eyes flickering rapidly between the two of them. "He tracked me from bird brain's place, alright? But he don't know shit—just what he saw now. That's it."

Deku's gaze flicked briefly toward Shoto, cold and assessing, and Katsuki hated it—hated the way Deku was looking at Shoto like he was sizing him up, calculating whether he was a liability that needed removing. It wasn't Reaper. It was Deku, unmistakably, but right now, the line between them felt terrifyingly fucking thin.

"You're sure about that?" Deku asked softly, gaze sliding slowly back to Katsuki. Something dark flickered through those eyes, and Katsuki lifted his chin, jaw tightening painfully.

"I'm fucking positive," Katsuki snapped firmly, stepping directly into Deku's line of sight, blocking Shoto completely from view. His tone held a warning, raw and unmistakable. "He doesn't know anything. Not about the League, not a damn thing about Odd Eye, and sure as hell not what the fuck's going on with you."

Deku studied him silently, eyes narrowing sharply as if searching for a lie, any slip in Katsuki's resolve. For a long, tense moment, silence filled the tunnel, thick and suffocating, until finally Deku let out a slow, sharp exhale, eyes closing briefly as though he'd made some internal decision after arguing with himself.

"Fine," he muttered quietly, black tendrils of Black Whip slithering from him silently, down the side of the platform, hoisting up the supplies while one of the tendrils slithered past Katsuki—just close enough for him to feel the shift in air pressure as it whipped by—grabbing the bags he'd hauled back from Tokoyami's with practiced ease. Without looking back, Deku moved toward the maintenance room, his voice icy as it echoed back over his shoulder. "Get rid of him, Kacchan. Now."

Phaze hissed once, casting a final predatory glance at Shoto before it melted back into his shadow, following Deku without another sound. Katsuki bristled sharply, irritation still sparking through his veins, jaw clenching so hard he swore his teeth might crack. He spun toward Deku, voice snapping with raw, bitter fury.

"Oi!" he barked harshly, fists clenched, voice echoing. "You better not fucking vanish on me again while I'm gone, got it? I swear to God, if you pull another disappearing act—"

Deku paused, shoulders tensing visibly beneath his jacket, before turning slowly, just enough for Katsuki to catch the sharp edge of his eyes gleaming fiercely through the shadows. For a moment, Deku said nothing, just held Katsuki's furious glare—something complicated, twisted silently behind his stare.

Then, with a voice cold but oddly reassuring, he finally answered, "I'll be here."

Shoto stepped forward, clearly still reeling, his voice cracking with a tangle of disbelief and protest. "Wait—Katsuki, you can't just—"

Katsuki didn't bother waiting to listen to his argument. He grabbed Shoto roughly by the arm and dragged him toward the access shaft without a word, ignoring Shoto's confused sputters of protest and half-assed attempts to break free as Katsuki practically shoved him toward the ladder.

"Shut the hell up and climb," Katsuki snapped sharply, glaring fiercely upward, anxiety prickling at his skin. "We talk topside. Move."

Shoto hesitated just a moment, eyes flickering back toward the darkness of the tunnel, before finally nodding and climbing the ladder. Katsuki followed immediately after, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the narrow shaft as they ascended quickly, each rung creaking beneath their weight. Katsuki's mind spun, frustration and panic clawing at his chest as he tried—and failed—to come up with a believable explanation, something, anything, to keep Shoto from digging further.

As soon as they reached the surface, Katsuki hauled himself out of the shaft and lunged forward, grabbing Shoto roughly by the collar before he could so much as catch his breath. He dragged Shoto close, his voice low, edged with barely contained fury and desperation.

"You listen carefully, IcyHot," Katsuki hissed, crimson eyes blazing intensely into Shoto's startled gaze. "You don't say a goddamn word about anything you saw down there. Not to anyone, you hear me?"

Shoto's startled expression vanished abruptly, his eyes narrowing sharply, anger igniting like sparks across his usually impassive features. He shoved Katsuki's grip off his collar roughly, straightening, jaw set with a bitter, seething frustration Katsuki hadn't expected, had never seen from him.

"Don't say anything? Are you fucking serious right now, Katsuki?" Shoto snapped, voice rising dangerously, echoing sharply across the empty shrine courtyard. "How long have you known? How long have you known Izuku was alive? And you didn't think for a single goddamn second that maybe we deserved to know?"

Katsuki flinched instinctively, glancing around quickly at Shoto's outburst. It was mid-afternoon, sunlight filtering softly through the trees, but thankfully, the shrine grounds were nearly deserted—only the distant sounds of the city reminding them anyone else even existed.

"Keep your fucking voice down," Katsuki hissed through clenched teeth, stepping closer, eyes blazing dangerously. His pulse hammered wildly in his ears, tension clawing fiercely at his chest. He couldn't afford anyone overhearing, not the Ghouls, not the League.

Shoto leveled him with a sharp, furious glare in return, utterly unfazed, arms folded tightly over his chest. "Or what, Katsuki? Were you even going to fucking tell anyone?" he demanded, voice rough, barely contained hurt simmering beneath every syllable. "You disappear without a goddamn word for days—weeks—chasing ghosts, and you don't think to tell any of us? Uraraka? Tokoyami? Me?"

He took a step closer, voice softer now, raw with emotion, cutting deeper than any shout could've. "Do you have any idea how that feels? We all lost him, too. We mourned him too, Katsuki. You don't get to keep something like this to yourself."

Katsuki's fists clenched at his sides, his nails biting harshly into his palms as frustration, guilt, and anger warred violently inside his chest. He forced himself to hold Shoto's piercing gaze, crimson eyes blazing defiantly even as his voice came out strained, low and raw with the weight of too many unspoken truths.

"I didn't fucking tell anyone because he didn't want to be found," Katsuki snapped harshly, bitterness cutting through each word. "You think I was tracking him down like it was some kind of fucking rescue mission when I thought without a doubt he had died? I found him by chance—by some lucky goddamn fluke."

He stepped closer, desperation bleeding into his voice, the words sharp as broken glass. "Deku doesn't want anyone to know he's alive. If I breathe one goddamn word to anyone, he's gone. He'll disappear so fucking fast I won't have a chance in hell of finding him again."

Shoto stared back at him silently, expression unreadable for a moment, eyes colder than Katsuki had ever seen them. Then, without warning, Shoto's lips curled bitterly, words dripping with cold irony as they left his mouth:

"Oh, you mean like you did?"

The accusation sliced straight through Katsuki's resolve, sharper than any blade. He flinched visibly, anger momentarily faltering beneath the raw sting of Shoto's words. He could hear the betrayal simmering hot beneath the surface of Shoto's carefully controlled tone—betrayal he knew he'd earned, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Shoto craned his neck to the side, voice quieter now but shaking with restrained fury, eyes blazing. "You think none of us noticed, Katsuki? That we wouldn't put two and two together? When you vanished without a trace, without so much as a fucking goodbye—I thought—I thought the pain had finally gotten to you... taken you."

His voice cracked slightly, and Katsuki's chest tightened painfully. "I thought you'd fucking killed yourself, Katsuki." The words hung between them, heavy and damning. "Uraraka told me about the destroyed furniture, the breakdown, the tears. She told me what you were going through, how badly Midoriya's loss had crushed you this time around."

Katsuki opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words had hollowed him out, carving deep into that gaping wound he'd fought so hard to bury. He stared at Shoto, his mind a chaotic storm, unable to form even a single coherent response. He hated this feeling—this vulnerability, this sharp, raw pain. It was easier to lash out, to bite back, than to confront the way Shoto's anger sliced him open.

"I didn't fucking ask you to care," Katsuki finally snarled, voice rough, trembling with anger and something deeper, more painful. "I didn't ask for anyone's goddamn pity or help!"

Shoto shook his head bitterly, his expression twisted in an angry, pained scowl. "Yeah, well, too damn bad," he snapped, voice raw and tight, seething with a deep, aching bitterness. "I can't exactly help caring about the few people I have left in this godforsaken world."

His words echoed sharply across the empty shrine courtyard, each syllable burning with a pain so vivid it mirrored Katsuki's own—and for the first time, Katsuki truly saw it: the cracks beneath Shoto's stoicism, the raw, vulnerable agony that lay hidden beneath the calm.

"Why leave at all then? If you thought Izuku was dead—if you'd really believed you'd lost him for good—what was the point of disappearing?"

Katsuki stared at him, chest rising and falling roughly, heart slamming painfully inside his ribs. He hesitated, carefully weighing the words that wanted to leave his mouth. Deku—Reaper—they were right. Shoto could be compromised, an informant without even knowing it, and Katsuki couldn't take that risk.

His gaze sharpened slightly, narrowing in wary assessment. Uraraka had said it herself—Shoto knew about the drive. He knew its contents, knew about the leads it held. Katsuki could work with that, but nothing more.

"I left because of the goddamn thumb drive," Katsuki finally said, voice low, tight, clipped. His expression hardened, jaw locking firmly in place. "Uraraka told you what was on it, didn't she? Then you know exactly why I couldn't sit around while that piece of shit still roamed free."

Katsuki ran a hand roughly through his hair, fingers trembling slightly as they tangled through blond strands. His gaze fell instinctively to the soot-blackened fingertips after, permanently stained into his skin from the violence, a bitter reminder of every wound, every scar, every trauma that had etched itself into his soul—each one leading him inevitably to this fucked-up moment.

He exhaled roughly, forcing himself to look back up at Shoto, eyes hardening with reluctant resolve. "I can't tell you anything else, IcyHot," Katsuki muttered bitterly, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Shoto's expression hardened slightly, gaze sharp, assessing. "Because of Deku—or should I say this 'Reaper' personality of his?"

The muscle in Katsuki's jaw feathered, irritation and unease flickering through his eyes at Shoto's blunt mention of Reaper. "This version of Izuku," he said quietly, voice dangerously low, edged with tension, "he's cold. Ruthless."

Shoto's expression didn't shift, only deepened, voice grim with understanding. "I know. I've seen the devastation he's left behind—the labs he's leveled, the villains he's butchered." He paused, gaze steady but wary. "I've seen exactly what he's capable of, Katsuki. Just like you have."

"No," Katsuki growled harshly. "You don't fucking get it. The other parts of Izuku hesitate—those parts are still he's still in there—but Reap?" He shook his head bitterly, voice cracking with barely restrained fury and fear. "Reap won't hesitate. He won't blink. He'll kill anything—anyone—he thinks is a threat. No remorse. No regret."

He paused, meeting Shoto's eyes with brutal honesty, "And I'd really fucking prefer he didn't kill you, IcyHot. So drop it."

He turned abruptly, cutting Shoto off before he could even get another damn word in. "No more fucking questions. You came looking for me to make sure I wasn't dead in a ditch or whatever—well, congrats, I'm still breathing. So you can drop this concerned-parent bullshit and stop butting in where you ain't welcome."

Shoto's eyes flashed with sudden clarity, his gaze sharpening into a careful, wary assessment that set Katsuki's teeth on edge. He watched as Shoto stepped back cautiously, opening a fragile distance between them, eyes sweeping slowly, deliberately up and down—really fucking seeing him.

Katsuki felt suddenly, painfully exposed under that piercing stare, fingers twitching at his sides as he fought every instinct screaming at him to shift, to hide himself, to snap out some biting retort. He could practically feel the cold weight of Shoto's gaze trailing over the pitch-black strands of his hair—nothing like the blond he used to be—and then drifting lower, settling on the mask dangling loosely around his neck. Something bitter and raw twisted deep in Katsuki's gut, tension coiling tighter, colder, waiting for Shoto's inevitable question.

When Shoto finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, softer—hesitant, like he wasn't sure he really wanted the goddamn answer he was about to get.

"You're helping him, aren't you?" he whispered slowly, carefully weighing every word. Cautious but certain. Shoto's mismatched eyes were fixed unflinchingly on Katsuki's, raw and intense, cutting deeper with every passing second. "You're helping him go after Odd Eye. Helping him take revenge."

Katsuki stayed silent. He wouldn't deny it; wouldn't confirm it either, too damn stubborn to give Shoto the satisfaction of hearing him say it out loud.

Didn't fucking matter anyway.

That silence, heavy and suffocating, said everything words couldn't.

Shoto's mismatched eyes flashed painfully, raw and wounded—so filled with goddamn hurt that Katsuki couldn't even look at him. Could barely stand to keep breathing beneath the weight of that stare. For a heartbeat, Shoto seemed trapped, torn between pushing harder or letting Katsuki's stubborn silence win out. But when he spoke again, his voice steadied, quiet yet firm—the piercing frost fading into something heavy, something almost pleading.

"You and Midoriya—" Shoto paused, eyes shifting downward, fists clenched tightly enough that his knuckles bled white. "You're both going to get yourselves killed—or worse—if you try to take on the League alone. You're not thinking clearly. You're in way over your head, Katsuki. You have to see that."

Katsuki scoffed harshly, of course he fucking saw it. Of course he fucking saw it. He'd seen it clearly the moment he broke down in his apartment, surrounded by shattered furniture, grief and rage so thick he couldn't fucking breathe. He'd already made his decision then—had carved it into his bones and branded it across his heart when he thought Izuku was gone for good. Even now, knowing Izuku was alive—fucked up, shattered, but breathing—didn't change shit.

Odd Eye was gonna burn, no matter the cost. Katsuki had sworn to himself he'd destroy that bastard with his bare hands if it was the last fucking thing he ever did, and he fully intended to make good on that promise. Fuck everything else.

Katsuki shook his head bitterly. "This—none of this—is any of your fucking business."

"... If you do this—if you cross that line—there's no coming back. You get that, right? You're gonna end up just like him. Just as bad as that villain you're trying to destroy."

"I don't fucking care," he ground out slowly, voice a rough whisper edged with cold finality. He held Shoto's gaze a beat longer, letting the gravity of those words hang heavily between them before turning sharply.

"Go home," he said quietly, without looking back. "And don't come looking again."

Katsuki was already halfway into the shaft when Shoto's voice sliced through the silence—quiet, fractured, barely above a whisper, but the words slammed into him like he'd back-handed Katsuki physically.

"I can't stand seeing anyone else dead at the hands of that monster, Katsuki. Don't give me another funeral to attend."

Katsuki froze, knuckles white around the metal rung. For a split second, the air was stripped from his lungs, the ache of every loss—every goddamn grave they'd dug—burning through his chest like acid. He closed his eyes tightly, drawing a slow breath.

"Fuck," he whispered bitterly, too quiet for Shoto to hear. Katsuki exhaled harshly through his nose, a sharp 'tsk' escaping his lips, forcing himself to move again, dropping down the shaft without looking back.

landing heavier than he meant to, boots scraping sharply against the concrete. He didn't stop moving—just started walking, jaw set, pace quick and tight with restrained fury.

Shoto didn't fucking get it. None of them fucking did.

If he really understood, he wouldn't be throwing that "no going back" bullshit in his face like it meant something. Wouldn't be looking at Katsuki like he was teetering on the edge of villainy just because he wasn't playing hero by their neat little rules anymore.

Because this wasn't just revenge. It wasn't just about Odd Eye—though yeah, that sick bastard was gonna die slowly, painfully, screaming. That part was non-negotiable.

But that wasn't all of it.

Katsuki's jaw tightened as he stalked through the narrow corridor, the glow from his hands flickering weakly along the broken tile walls. His thoughts turned darker, deeper—into the rot beneath everything they were still trying to pretend wasn't spreading.

It was about stopping whatever the hell the League was building before it decimated the country. For good, this time.

It was about stopping whatever twisted nightmare the League had set in motion—because if ZENITH went live, nothing would fucking matter anymore. How the hell was anyone going to stop a Nomu like Phazewave or worse, with power on par with Shigaraki or All For One? What if there were multiples? If some with power like Izuku couldn't handle Phazewave, how would the rest of the world fare?

That goddamn serum—E.T.—it was at the heart of all this shit. The serum was lethal, downright fucking vicious. So far, the mortality rate was absolute: every subject they'd injected, whether human or Nomu, had ended up a twitching, convulsing mess, dead within hours—every subject but Phazewave. And that monster was barely fucking stable.

But the latest notes had Katsuki's blood running colder than ice. They weren't failing anymore; they were close—terrifyingly close—to perfecting that godforsaken toxin on the Nomu. The last fragmented logs Deku had decrypted were clear: Final phase imminent. Nearing stabilization. Ready to move forward to Project ZENITH: Cloud Nine.

Cloud Nine. The phrase tasted bitter and sour, like bile rising in his throat. Katsuki didn't know what the hell that stage entailed, but he didn't need specifics to grasp its implications. He didn't know everything yet, didn't know exactly what the League was planning—but he knew it was big.

If Odd Eye and the League pulled it off—whatever the hell "Cloud Nine" meant—it might make Shigaraki's warpath look like child's play in comparison. This wasn't about bringing chaos or tearing down hero society. This was annihilation, pure and simple.

So no—he wasn't gonna stop. He wasn't gonna let some half-baked moral plea drag him off course.

But even as that thought simmered through his mind, bitter as poison, Katsuki knew it wasn't just anger or vengeance pushing him forward. It wasn't just about himself or Izuku, though goddammit, that'd always be part of it.

Because as much as he'd come to hate this fucked-up society, despised the blind, spineless sheep who turned their backs on Izuku—on both of them—he couldn't stomach watching innocents burn for the League's twisted ambitions. Too many had died already, too many graves dug, too many empty spaces left in lives that didn't deserve it.

Even if the world didn't deserve saving, Katsuki sure as hell wasn't gonna be the one standing idly by while it went down in flames.

Katsuki sighed roughly, a bitter puff of breath forced harshly from between clenched teeth, as he climbed onto the platform. His muscles were already tense with the anticipation of yet another fight, because dammit—he wasn't leaving this fucking conversation until he'd drilled it into Reaper's, Deku's, whoever-the-hell's thick goddamn skull that people like Shoto were off limits.

They weren't expendable just because they happened to be in his way. Katsuki wouldn't forgive that—couldn't forgive that. The last threads holding his sanity together would snap clean if Reaper crossed that fucking line.

The second he stepped through the door, Katsuki froze, his glare narrowing sharply at the sight greeting him. His duffel bag lay haphazardly on the floor, torn wide open, its contents thrown carelessly across the ground like fucking trash. Among the scattered items, he spotted a familiar crushed piece of tech—the remains of the tracker. Irritation flared sharply, hot and angry, setting his pulse thundering even louder.

"Fuckin' unbelievable," he muttered harshly under his breath, stepping over his scattered possessions. His laptop lay alongside Izuku's, its screen dark and closed, and he paused just long enough to check that it hadn't been smashed in the chaos. The tension prickled tighter along his shoulders as his gaze lifted, scanning the cramped space.

And then he saw Deku.

Sitting on the cold concrete floor, tucked tightly into a corner with his head buried in his folded arms, knees drawn protectively to his chest.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed sharply, anger surging so hot and sudden that he was already halfway across the goddamn room before he realized it.

"The fuck were you doing going through my shit?"  he barked harshly, practically yelling, the sound echoing sharply off concrete walls, raw and cutting. And what the fuck happened out there? Huh?"

No answer.

"Oi—don't fuckin' ignore me, Izuku. I'm talkin—"

But the words slammed to a stop in his throat, choking off sharply the second Deku flinched—actually fucking flinched—and looked up at him, eyes wide and terrified. Tear-tracks streaked down his pale face, eyes red-rimmed, raw with a pain and panic Katsuki hadn't expected, hadn't been ready for.

He froze, voice dying instantly, anger snuffed out in a blink, leaving him standing there, staring.

Tears clung to the corners of wide, glassy eyes. His chest was heaving too fast, shoulders trembling violently as if he'd been trying to hold himself together and was losing that battle by the goddamn second. There was no venom in his expression, no fire, no biting words ready to snap back.

Just panic. Raw and jagged.

And fear.

This wasn't Deku. This sure as hell wasn't Reaper. No—this was Izuku.

His Izuku.

The one who used to mumble facts about heroes and stupid fish in the aquarium. The one who slept in with him, snuggled, and made breakfast in the mornings. The one who had stared at the fireworks like they were the most beautiful thing in the world.

The one that had been buried so deep inside himself by the others that Katsuki had thought he had lost him.

Katsuki's breath hitched, something splintering deep in his chest as he took one shaky step forward, voice barely a whisper now—soft in a way he didn't think he was capable of anymore.

"...Izuku?"

That name—gentle, real—seemed to crack something wide open.

Izuku's face crumpled.

He made a strangled, gasping noise as more tears spilled over his cheeks, and before Katsuki could even move, Izuku curled tighter into himself, shoulders shaking violently as he broke.

Katsuki dropped to his knees without a second thought, hands instinctively reaching out—but freezing midair, hovering just inches away like he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch him.

"Izuku—hey, hey, what's wrong? What's happening?" Katsuki's voice was low, urgent, thick with panic.  "Talk to me. What's goin' on?"

But even as he said it, he knew that there had to be something wrong. Reaper wouldn't let him out like this. Not on purpose. Not when he was this raw, this defenseless. Deku wouldn't either. They were both control freaks in their own ways—especially when it came to keeping this version of Izuku locked down, tucked away where the world couldn't touch him.

So if Izuku was here—like this—then something had to be wrong. Something had to have snapped.

Shit. Shit.

Izuku didn't answer at first—just buried his face deeper into his arms, fists clenched so tight in his hair it looked like he was about to rip it out. Then—through broken sobs, his voice cracked, high and pained like it physically hurt to get the words out.

"They're fighting," he whispered hoarsely, shaking. "Th-they won't stop—they're so loud, Kacchan—so fucking loud."

His fingers clawed harder at his scalp, nails scraping against his skin, like he was trying to dig them out, like he could tear the noise out of his own head if he just tried hard enough.

"Make it stop," Izuku begged, voice cracking completely, raw and agonized. "Make it stop. Please. It hurts—I can't—I can't shut them up—"

Katsuki's hands hovered helplessly in the air, fingers twitching like they were ready to grab hold and do something—but he didn't know if he was allowed. If touching him would make it worse. If it would send the others crashing back to the surface to rip control away.

The crying was getting worse. Harsher. Sharp, uneven breaths heaving out of Izuku like his body couldn't decide whether it needed air or just wanted to collapse completely.

"Kacchan—" Izuku choked out, voice so broken it didn't even sound real. "Help me. Please—I don't—I can't—just make it stop."

Chapter Text

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The Breath Between Us

Katsuki could only hear the rasps of his breathing.

Izuku's breathing was off. No, not off, fucked. Labored, sharp pulls of air that barely made it past his lips. Shoulders rising too fast, chest trembling like it couldn't decide whether to expand or collapse, like each fucking breath was a fight. The way Izuku's chest stuttered, how his fingers curled too tight, how his mouth opened but nothing came out but static and panic, Katsuki knew exactly what this was. Fuck... fuck he was about to have a full-blown meltdown.

His mind went straight to the hospital, back to that day when Izuku had shattered for the first time since waking. The moment that sorry waste of air let words loose like weapons, slicing Izuku apart from the inside. Back when Katsuki had tried to reach him, tried to pull him in, and One For All had detonated like a goddamn bomb. Black Whip had nearly gutted the whole room. Katsuki had gotten tossed like a fucking debris—bleeding, screaming, begging that Izuku would stop before he killed himself trying to escape a pain he couldn't outrun.

If this was anything like the one in the hospital, then they were already on a fucking timer. That same wide and unfocused expression. That same quiet, terrified breath pattern. The collapse before the explosion.

The telltale shimmer of Smokescreen started to pour off him, and faint, wispy curls of smoke began to rise from his shoulders. Katsuki's hands hovered. Just for a second. Just long enough for doubt to sink its teeth in. Reaper might already be watching. One wrong move and Katsuki knew damn well he'd snap back into control, snatch Izuku away behind that sneering, venom-laced mask. What if he reaches out and all he get is Reaper staring back, telling me to fuck off like he some disease? What would happen if he smothered Izuku back down in this state?

Izuku's hands suddenly jerked down, not to cover his mouth or to grab Katsuki, but to claw. His fingers raked at his own neck, nails scraping hard across the skin like he was trying to dig something out or possibly trying to let air in, as if something invisible had its hands wrapped around his throat, choking him, holding him in place.

Katsuki grabbed him.

It wasn't graceful. Wasn't rehearsed. Just pure, gut-driven reaction. He dragged Izuku into his lap with force, because there was no fucking time for subtlety. One second too long and Izuku would start tearing his own skin apart. And if the other quirks came next, if One For All flared like last time, he wouldn't stop at just hurting himself.

Katsuki locked him in tight. One arm across his chest, the other clamped around his waist, holding him still, grounding him with his entire body like he could be a goddamn human straightjacket.

Izuku screamed—a choked, broken sound as he writhed, flinching like Katsuki's grip was fire. But Katsuki didn't let go. "Shhh. Hey. Hey, listen to me. You're safe." Katsuki's voice came out low and fierce, half-growl, half-prayer. "You're with me. Breathe, Izuku, breathe."

Izuku thrashed, legs kicking weakly, body twisting in panic, nails scraping Katsuki's arms, trying to get back to his neck, but Katsuki caught both wrists, pinned them flat against his own thighs and held them there, firm but steady. "It's okay. You're okay. Let me help you, listen to me, you've got to stay here. Stay in your body. You can't let them pull you under..." Katsuki tightened his grip, pressing his forehead against Izuku's hair, trying to anchor him with weight, with voice, with anything that could feel real.

Izuku didn't respond. Just wet, gasping sobs, body convulsing in his arms, tears soaking straight through his hoodie as his face twisted in pain. Deku and Reaper had to be tearing each other apart inside his goddamn skull, but his quirks, thank fucking god, weren't flaring. Katsuki kept whispering, voice low and rough in his ear.

"I'm right here. You're here. You're safe. You're not in the fucking dark. Just breathe. That's it—just fucking breathe with me, yeah. Yeah, just like that—"

But something was off; there was this pricking sensation as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A cold thread down his spine. Katsuki's arms tightened around Izuku just slightly, just enough to press his chest harder against him, to give him something real, something anchored... but that sound. That fucking sound.

He didn't want to look. Didn't want to take his eyes off Izuku, not even for a breath, because he needed him right now, his voice, his weight, his fucking heartbeat, but that noise was not going away. That stare burning into them was not going away, and Katsuki knew. Knew what it meant.

So, he peeled his eyes off Izuku, looking up. A few feet away, hunched low like some obsidian-boned gargoyle carved from the darkness was that fucking Nomu. Its massive body crouched halfway in the dark, halfway out, gleaming with a sheen like oil in moonlight. The thing hadn't made a sound or even disturbed the smoke around them, but it was there now, solid and real, watching.

Its molten gaze was locked on Izuku, wide and unblinking, head tilted just slightly, as if trying to understand the scene in front of it. Fuck, Katsuki hadn't even realized it was so close. He'd been too focused, too buried in the chaos of Izuku breaking apart in his arms, too wrapped up in anchoring the last goddamn thread holding him together to notice the fucking monster slinking out of the shadows before him.

Phaze leaned down, closer, the joints in its neck cracking faintly as its skull cocked to the side with a twitchy, insect-like precision. Katsuki stiffened instantly, locking Izuku tighter to his chest, his eyes fixed squarely on the beast now looming over them.

Izuku let out another sob, broken and desperate, barely more than a breath. "It—hurts, Kacchan... make them stop—" The words hitched on a hiccup, then dissolved into a mess of whimpers, his face buried against Katsuki's hoodie like it could protect him from voices trying to rip him apart inside.

"I know, I know..." Katsuki whispered, keeping his voice low, trying to soothe and shield all at once. He brought one hand up slow, gentle, threading calloused fingers through Izuku's hair, careful not to jar him. His eyes didn't leave Phaze. Not for a second. Its eyes pinned. Mouth curled back into something that wasn't quite a snarl, wasn't quite a grin, just... calculation. An equation being run behind those inhuman pupils.

A shiver ran down Katsuki's spine as it hissed lowly, its pupils narrowing to knife-slits now, thin and gleaming. That's not good.

Was it pissed that Katsuki was so close to Izuku? why the fuck is it just sitting there, act like this? It's never backed down before when it came to challenging him. It sure as shit didn't hesitate with Todoroki and it damn near killed him the first time. So why the fuck is it acting standoffish but hesitating now? He stared harder at the beast, at the way its claws curled into the concrete, at the strange tilt of its head, the low, calculating hum in its throat. Something didn't add... it clicked suddenly.

Dominance.

This thing operated off dominance. Reaper had always walked like a goddamn apex predator, back straight, voice cold, presence undeniable. And Phaze? It followed that like a fucking shadow, a guardian bred not from loyalty, but because he had nearly taken it out. If Reaper was top dog, then Phaze obeyed because it knew exactly where the power lay.

But right now? That wasn't Reaper in Katsuki's arms. Izuku was a trembling, sobbing mess right now. No bite, no command in his voice. He wasn't in control. Wasn't even aware the fucking thing was there and Phaze knew it.

As if the thought echoed, a clicking sound escaped its throat. Not loud. Not aggressive, but... curious. Mechanical. Predatory.

Katsuki's whole body went taut. "You stay the fuck right there," he nearly snarled through clenched teeth, low, sharp, like a warning shot coated in venom. "I swear to every goddamn star in the sky, if you even twitch—"

Katsuki drew a slow breath through his nose, deliberate and razor-thin, like he was holding back a goddamn detonation with nothing but his teeth. Katsuki's jaw flexed hard enough he could feel the tendon in his neck twitch, blood surging hot and furious beneath his skin. It wasn't that chaotic burn of panic or the rage that lashed out when he was cornered. This was focused. A killing fury. Cold at the edges but molten at the core. The heat hit him fast, like it always did, boiling up from his spine, curling through his limbs, pressurizing behind his ribs.

He didn't move, but his eyes burned with the fire of a thousand suns. That molten red, the color of wrath and combustion and the promise of violence, flared aggressively. It was like the coals of a forge catching wind as his pupils shrank into tight, glowing points, irises shimmering with warping heat, distorting, spiraling slightly as if the raw energy billowing through him had torn something loose inside. It was wholly unnatural and otherworldly, as if the fabric of reality was peeling back behind his gaze and daring Phaze to try him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, but it didn't fall; it rose. It glowed faintly, lifting upward like a droplet caught in the orbit of something supernatural. Another followed. Then another. All of them drifting up off his skin in slow, impossible defiance of gravity, glowing like embers plucked from a dying sun.

Every ounce of Katsuki Bakugo, every cell in his body, had just declared war on the very idea that this thing might see Izuku as anything but untouchable.

He didn't know how he'd do it. Didn't have a plan, didn't have a goddamn clue how to take down something like this walking nightmare. It didn't matter that its jaw could bite through the strongest titanium or that its claws could split and dissolve reinforced steel like cardboard. None of that mattered. His body didn't care. His quirk didn't care. Every atom in him was screaming the same thing on loop, rip it apart.

He'd fucking kill it. With his bare fucking hands if he had to. That thought roared through him, white-hot and pure, burning through his fear of Phazewave and replacing it with something worse. He is mine, Katsuki thought viciously, holding Izuku closer, like he could fuse them together if he just pulled tight enough. You don't touch what's mine.

That instinct to protect the person who meant more to him than his own life, boiled inside because that's what Izuku was. Not in some fragile, fairy-tale bullshit kind of way. Not in some I need you to be okay so I can feel whole kind of way. No, this was different. Darker. More brutal. Katsuki wanted him alive because he deserved to be. Because after everything, after all that pain, after clawing his way through goddamn literal hell, pieces of Izuku still held on. Still breathed. Still looked at him like he mattered.

And now he was shaking in Katsuki's lap like a broken fucking ghost, crying until his body couldn't take air anymore, flinching at shadows that weren't even there. and this thing, this freak, was staring at him like he was a slab of meat waiting to be carved open.

Nah. He didn't care how strong it was. Didn't care if it was faster than him or tougher than Reaper at full power or remade using the Quirk Singularity Theory. He would burn through bone if he had to. He'd claw his way down its throat, rip out whatever organs made it move, and spit down the fucking hole.

Even if it killed him. Especially if it killed him.

Katsuki leaned forward just barely, jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth would shatter. He locked eyes with the creature again, slow and deliberate, like he was carving the look into the thing's skull. "Get," Katsuki growled, voice quiet, so quiet. Not a shout. Not even a bark. Just a single syllable ground out like stone against metal. "Out."

The air rippled subtly around him, and the glow in his eyes warped, spiraled inwards like a dying star collapsing in on itself.

A breath passed. "Now," he repeated, slower. Sharper. The word bitten off like an explosion swallowed just before detonation. The Nomu didn't growl. Didn't posture. It only gave a low, reptilian snort that almost sounded dismissive. It stared one second longer, like it was testing just how far it could push before Katsuki made good on that look. Before he snapped and tore the thing's jaw off with his fucking teeth like some feral animal. Without a sound, it melted. Shadow slithered up its limbs and swallowed it whole, dragging the hulking silhouette down into the floor like smoke poured into a drain.

Katsuki was staring at the spot where it vanished, searing his hatred into the floorboards, when a voice croaked, "Kacchan. Your heart—" The words slipped past trembling lips, barely audible, but they cut straight through the haze like a scalpel. Katsuki blinked. Just once. And in that single second, he felt it. He hadn't even realized how hot it'd gotten. The pressure had been building under his ribs, climbing quiet and steady like a fuse winding toward the powder, but he'd been too focused on Phaze, on holding Izuku, on shielding him from everything else to feel it spooling out of control, but Izuku had. Of course, he had.

There was a hand pressed to his chest right over the spot where his ring must've been beating erratically. The fabric was glowing faintly beneath those trembling fingers, the light bleeding through his shirt in thin, frantic flashes of orange, like a warning flare trying to burn its way out of him. It cast faint shadows across Izuku's knuckles, flickering with every wild spike of his heartbeat.

Katsuki couldn't let himself lose it when Izuku needed him calm and present. He exhaled carefully, forcing himself to ease the tension in his spine, to drop his shoulders, to breathe. Not deep, but just enough to bleed off that heat coiling in his chest before it got worse. Before that familiar burn started consuming him. He scanned the space again, eyes flicking toward the corners of the room, the floor, the ceiling, every damn shadow making sure that it was just him and Izuku. Only then did he let the power ebb, slow but steady. The heat receded as he let it seep out of his skin like steam, dissipating in harmless little flickers.

Above him, the last of those beads of light hovered for a moment longer, suspended in the stillness before one by one, they winked out. With them, everything else bled out too. The fury. The bite. That molten intent to kill. It slipped from his bones like steam off cooling metal, leaving only the ache behind.

Sure enough, the glow from Izuku's ring faded, a final pulse of amber dimming beneath his hand before it blinked out entirely, leaving them in the low, muted dark of the hideout. Izuku was still panting, curled in tight, his fingers twitching like they were still chasing echoes of the fight happening behind his eyes. But he wasn't looking inward anymore. His wide, puffy eyes—bloodshot, glassy, and shining with the kind of rawness that came after too many tears in too little time—were locked on Katsuki's. Staring straight at him, like Katsuki was the only fixed point in a world still trying to come apart at the damn seams.

His pulse steadied, slow and reluctant, like his body was still catching up to the fact that the pissing contest was over. The bright, molten-red distortion bled from his irises, receding back into something softer. Something grounded. Something human. Something Izuku could recognize as safe.

Because Izuku was watching him now, eyes still wet with tears and wild from panic, but they held no fear. Not of Katsuki. Even with the last fragments of that warped glow still retreating from Katsuki's gaze, Izuku looked at him like he wasn't something to run from. Like he wasn't a live wire waiting to ignite. Like he wasn't capable of burning down everything around him when he lost control. Izuku looked at him like he was safe. Like Katsuki wasn't the thing that could destroy him.

And somehow, that quiet, broken faith in his eyes hit harder than any scream.

There was only worry. Gentle and aching, carved into every line of Izuku's face. His trembling breaths were still ragged, uneven, and raw like he'd been running through fire, but even now, even like this, he somehow still managed to care about Katsuki first. Like he wasn't the one being held together by fraying seams, both literally and metaphorically. Like he hadn't just tried to claw through his own throat to find air. Like his mind wasn't cracking open, shattering in slow motion right here in Katsuki's lap.

Goddammit, Izuku had never learned how to put himself first. Never figured out how to stop bleeding for people long enough to notice he was bleeding out, too. Katsuki had known it for years, had seen it bleed through into the other parts, because why else would Deku or Reaper try to hold off all those Nomu to let those people escape in that lab back in Toei... why else would he have been pissed that he didn't manage to save those innocent people.

Katsuki softened, the heat receding to warmth. Quiet. Careful. He gently pressed his forehead to Izuku's, holding him steady, grounding them both. Izuku's breathing was still quick, still desperate, but the raw edges were smoothing out, less frantic and more just exhausted. Katsuki brushed his thumb across Izuku's scarred cheek, tender and slow, wiping away the remnants of tears that hadn't even had the strength to fall properly. Izuku shuddered under the touch, eyes fluttering closed like that alone might be enough to hold back the flood, like maybe, just maybe, Katsuki's loving touch alone could hold off the chaos in his mind.

"You want me to distract you?" Katsuki asked gently, his voice barely louder than a breath as his thumb ghosted along the curve of Izuku's lower lip. "From the noise."

Izuku's eyes opened slowly, lids heavy with exhaustion, lashes damp and clumped from the aftermath of tears. Those jaded eyes were rimmed with something so damn soft, something aching, it hit Katsuki like a fucking blow to the chest.

He forgot how to breathe, what it was like to need anything other than Izuku.

Izuku leaned in, just the barest shift of weight, and rubbed his nose against Katsuki's in a quiet, seeking nuzzle. It was fragile. Fragile in the way glass becomes right before it shatters—delicate, dangerous, and holding on by nothing but will. A question asked without a single word and the softness of it, that small, unguarded gesture, cracked something deep in Katsuki's chest. Something he'd buried and welded shut beneath months of pain and guilt and stubborn, ironclad restraint.

Katsuki answered without hesitation.

Katsuki leaned in and closed the space between them, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that was soft at first, uncertain in its edges, cautious like he didn't want to break him, like he was scared of triggering the flip. Their breath caught between them, shaky and shallow, the ghost of a sob still caught in Izuku's throat. Katsuki let his hand slide up to cradle the back of Izuku's neck, fingers threading through sweat-damp hair.

Izuku pressed forward, leaned into it like gravity wasn't a choice anymore. And fuck. That heat, that familiar, aching, all-consuming wildfire, ignited inside Katsuki like someone had struck a match in pure oxygen. He gasped against Izuku's mouth, a sharp, startled breath, and that sound, that tiny, shivering hitch of air from Izuku, like he needed this more than air, that was it. That was the spark.

And for one wild, overwhelming second, Katsuki thought he might cry. Not from pain. Not from fear. But from the sheer, fucking unbearable relief of it, of him. Of having Izuku here in his arms, wanting him back. The pressure in his chest was so sharp, so full, it felt like Void Flare detonating. Like if he wasn't so goddamn busy loving him, right here, right now, he might've broken open from the inside out.

The kiss deepened, no longer slow, and all that carefulness shattered under the weight of everything they hadn't said these last months, cracking open between them like a dam bursting. Izuku's fingers fisted in the front of Katsuki's shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like the gap between their bodies was the only thing still holding him together. Katsuki gave in. Gave him everything. His other hand buried in white strands, tugging just enough to tip Izuku's head, to fit their mouths more fully together, deeper, surer, needier. The arm around Izuku's back anchored him tight to his chest, leaving no space, no air, no room to doubt. Just them, locked together like the cruel world outside had finally stopped spinning.

Fuck, he'd missed this. Missed him. Every inch, every sound, every breath that proved Izuku was still real, warm, his.

Katsuki felt dizzy, like the world had dropped out beneath him and left only Izuku behind to catch him. The softness of his mouth, the heat of his skin under his fingers, the way his breath hitched sharp and sudden as Katsuki deepened the kiss even further.

It felt like coming home, like breaking the surface after being trapped between drowning and fighting, but finally able to breathe. Like the pressure that had been crushing him, dragging him down with every memory, every unanswered question, finally let go. The lead weights had slipped off his shoulders, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't suffocating with grief. The ache in his chest eased, not gone but eclipsed, burned out by something fierce and alive, something so real it almost hurt.

Izuku's hand moved, slipping beneath his shirt, fingers cool against the scorching heat just beneath his collarbone. Each touch came with intent, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing him again from scratch, each scar, feeling each subtle shift of muscle beneath the skin, every part of Katsuki he'd missed in the dark. Katsuki sucked in a breath through his teeth, sharp, involuntary, right as Izuku's nails scraped lightly across his chest, delicate and devastating. He bit at Izuku's lower lip, couldn't help it, and the world fucking tilted.

Fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling, dragging fabric loose from buttons, and Katsuki could hear each soft snap of thread popping like firecrackers, loud in the silence between their mouths. Every pull, every unraveling stitch sent another jolt tearing through him. His pulse stuttered in all the right ways.

He didn't realize he'd moaned, low, rough, almost desperate, until he felt Izuku's lips curl faintly against his own, a hint of a smile. Katsuki shivered, gripping Izuku tighter, his own fingers flexing into the soft, white strands of hair, pulling Izuku's mouth harder against his own, craving deeper, needing more.

It was too much and not nearly enough. Not after everything they'd been through. Not after a fucking year of pulling him from the wreckage of red lotus, of chasing shadow after goddamn shadow, of thinking he'd lost him, actually lost him. He'd mourned him. Burned for him. Cursed this whole twisted, broken society and every thread of fate that dared to rip them apart like it had the right.

Katsuki loved him. Had missed him so bad it hollowed him out and filled the empty spaces with rage just so he wouldn't break.. And now Izuku was kissing him like he felt the same. Like it mattered, all of it. Like the blood and the grief and the goddamn devastation between them had weight.

And it still wasn't enough.

His chest felt raw, exposed, not just from the shirt hanging loose off his shoulders or the jacket bunched around his elbows, but from the way Izuku's touch seared straight through skin and bone, branded deep into his core, like every stroke of his fingers was a promise etched into Katsuki's soul.

He couldn't stand it anymore, needed more, needed to feel him properly—closer, deeper, like Izuku was the only solid thing left in a world splintering around them. Katsuki moved fast. Almost clumsy with how bad he needed this, needed him. He scooped Izuku into his arms without warning, lifted him with ease even as his legs trembled beneath the weight of everything this moment meant. Izuku didn't question it, he only curled into him instinctively, legs cinching around Katsuki's waist, arms winding tight around his neck. He nearly stumbled, something underfoot clattering loudly against concrete as he staggered, regaining his footing just barely. But he didn't give a shit about the chaos, didn't care about the mess Reaper had left scattered on the floor, nothing else mattered right now except for Izuku's hot and uneven breaths against the curve of his neck.

He carried Izuku the short distance to the bed, lowering him almost reverently onto the mattress. Katsuki followed him down, climbed after him, elbows braced on either side of Izuku's head, hovering just inches away. His shirt hung open loosely now, chest rising and falling rapidly, every scar, every mark exposed beneath Izuku's wide, darkened eyes. Katsuki held still for a heartbeat, breath caught, drowning in the way Izuku was looking at him. There was hunger there. And softness. And something so achingly brave in the way he didn't look away, didn't flinch, just drank Katsuki in like he'd been waiting a lifetime for this moment to come back around.

Katsuki's hand slipped beneath Izuku's shirt, fingertips ghosting against warm, scarred skin, craving more. He hooked his fingers around the hem, slowly drawing it up, feeling Izuku arch slightly to help him slip it free. Katsuki barely got the fabric halfway up before something stopped him cold.

Blood. Dark and vivid against his palm, smearing crimson along his skin. He froze instantly, breath catching sharply in his throat. Panic flashed white-hot through him, gaze darting frantically downward, zeroing in on Izuku's abdomen. There, beneath the half-raised shirt, stitches were dark and glistening with fresh blood, staining skin and fabric alike. They'd been healing. Fuck, they'd looked so much better, but now they'd split again.

Katsuki stared at his bloodied hand, heart hammering violently in his chest as dread surged through him, thick and choking. For one raw, unguarded heartbeat, he wasn't here anymore. He was back in the collapse. Hands full of blood, dust, and grime. The taste of ash in his mouth. Izuku's body limp, the weight of it wrong in his arms. That moment when everything stopped and the silence that came after the screaming stopped.

"Shit—Izuku," he rasped, voice shaking, gutted by guilt as he carefully withdrew his hand. "You're bleeding."

Izuku immediately reached for him, panic flaring behind his eyes again. "Kacchan, no—wait, it's fine. I'm okay, it doesn't hurt—" Katsuki jerked away instinctively, fear squeezing his chest tight, heart slamming erratically against his ribs. "Fuck, Izuku—just wait, you're hurt—"

He pushed himself up, his pulse thundering loudly in his ears, gaze whipping to the splotches on Izuku's shirt. How had neither of them noticed? How the fuck hadn't he felt it? The fabric was stained dark with fresh blood, wet in places from wounds that had reopened when Izuku had started tearing himself apart in the midst of his panic attack.

Katsuki took a step back. Just one. But it felt like miles. His hands hung limp at his sides, one of them still slick with red, fingers twitching like they didn't know what the fuck to do. Reaper's pack was somewhere near the end of the cot, and Katsuki moved before the thought even finished forming. He dropped to one knee before yanking open the buckles and tore through the contents until his fingers caught on bandages. Gauze. Antiseptic. Tape. He grabbed all of it.

When he turned back, Izuku hadn't moved an inch. He was still sitting at the edge of the bed like he wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten there, hunched forward, legs dangling limp and useless. His hands were clutched loosely in his lap, fingers fidgeting like he didn't know what to do with them. He didn't look up right away. Just stared down at his palms like they might tell him something he hadn't figured out yet, like maybe if he stayed still enough, he wouldn't fuck anything else up.

But Katsuki could feel the weight of his eyes all the same. When Izuku finally glanced up, there was no panic left, no Reaper or Deku pushing at the seams. Just something smaller. Something quiet and goddamn hollow. And fuck if that wasn't worse.

That was shame.

Izuku's voice came soft, raw. "Sorry. I didn't... didn't know they'd opened up." Katsuki swallowed thickly, setting the supplies down beside him as he knelt by the bed again. "Don't you fucking dare," he said, voice low but firm. "Don't you apologize for that."

Izuku's gaze dropped. "It doesn't even hurt. I just... I didn't think—"

"You didn't think because you were panicking, nerd," Katsuki snapped, quieter this time, but no less blunt. His fingers brushed Izuku's side, peeling the hem of the shirt up with more care now. Izuku opened his mouth again, breath shuddering, and Katsuki could see the apology before it ever left his lips. "Don't," Katsuki said sharply, eyes flicking up. There was no anger, just warning, fierce and protective. "I see you thinking it. Don't say it."

Izuku's jaw tensed, lips trembling around the words he didn't get to speak. He shut his mouth again, throat working around a swallow like it hurt. Like keeping quiet burned just as bad as bleeding.

Katsuki let out a careful breath through his nose, refocusing. He didn't glance back up as he slid the shirt from Izuku's shoulders with slow, careful hands. The chain around Izuku's neck jingled faintly in the silence, catching the low light. Katsuki peeled the shirt the rest of the way off before tossing it aside without a second glance. The blood had soaked through, there were dark stains across one sleeve, smeared thick beneath the ribs. A couple gashes on Izuku's back were starting to seep again, thin red lines carving jagged trails between stitches Katsuki had sewn himself, but the one under his ribs. Fuck, that one was worse. The edges looked angry. Split. Still sluggishly bleeding, like it hadn't quite decided if it wanted to scab or stay open just to spite them.

He should've caught it sooner. Should've known better than to be selfish.

He worked in silence, not because he had nothing to say, fuck, he had plenty, but because the pressure building in his chest was too tight, too heavy, and if he opened his mouth now he wasn't sure what the hell would come spilling out. Better to keep his hands busy. Better to patch what he could.

His fingers moved automatically, muscle memory guiding him in steady, precise movements. He soaked gauze in antiseptic, pressed it firmly against the wound beneath Izuku's ribs. Not enough to hurt, not enough to do more damage, but firm enough to staunch the flow. Izuku hissed through clenched teeth, shoulders bunching up under Katsuki's palm.

Katsuki pressed his lips into a thin line, pausing only briefly to let Izuku adjust, fingers gentle on the bruised skin around the cut. He swallowed down the acidic knot in his throat. Gotta keep it together, asshole, he reminded himself bitterly. He needed him stable, not acting like an idiot.

Izuku hissed softly again as Katsuki dabbed at the front of his ribs, but this time he didn't jerk away. Didn't tremble like before, didn't dissociate, didn't vanish behind Reaper's sneering mask or Deku's wary gaze. Didn't claw at his own throat like he could rip himself free. Katsuki clocked all that in the span of a single, held breath.

Better, he thought, carefully, quietly, like even thinking it too loud might jinx something.

He was more here now. Katsuki could tell by watching the way Izuku blinked slowly, flinching only at the sting of the antiseptic and not at screaming voices no one else could hear. Whatever internal war had been going on between Deku and Reaper wasn't raging anymore. It'd gone quiet—at least for now.

Not that Katsuki had any fucking clue why or how it had finally stopped, though their heated interaction probably had a lot to do with that. Still, he didn't know what exactly what'd snapped, what invisible line had been trampled between the two alters that sent them spiraling into all-out fucking psychic warfare, leaving their most vulnerable self out in the open. But he had a pretty damn good guess.

Shoto.

Had to be. Katsuki's gut twisted tight just thinking about it. The moment Reaper had pinned Shoto down, voice knife-sharp and unforgiving, talking like Shoto was a goddamn risk, a loose end, a threat to eliminate, that must've set everything off. Deku wouldn't have stood for that shit, not for real. Not when it involved someone Deku still saw as something more than a friend.

The two alters probably started tearing at each other the second Katsuki had walked Shoto out. A full-on fight inside one person's head, Reaper and Deku tearing through Izuku's psyche like wolves locked in a cage—no logic, no reasoning. Probably weren't even using words anymore. Just rage. Conviction. Power.

Morals.

That made sense, didn't it? Deku, always the idealist, even when he was broken down to nerve endings and scars, always clinging to that paper-thin thread of mercy, that stupid belief in people. Reaper, on the other hand, didn't believe in shit except survival and preemptive strikes. If someone could be a threat, you ended them before they had the chance to become one. And stuck between them—Izuku. Fragile and bleeding. Literally.

Katsuki taped down the last bit of gauze, his movements slow, methodical, lingering longer than he had to, fingertips hovering against Izuku's warm skin. Not to make some kind of statement, just because he fucking needed it. Needed to feel proof that Izuku hadn't vanished the moment something went wrong. That the scar tissue and breath, and blood meant he was still here.

Finally, he stood. His knees cracked stiffly, slow like he'd aged about fifty fucking years in ten minutes. Everything felt tight, locked up, rigid with tension he hadn't dared release, because if he did, Katsuki wasn't sure what else might come spilling out along with it.

He lingered there, hovering over the edge of the bed, staring down at Izuku's hunched frame like the words he needed were hiding somewhere in the slope of his shoulders.

Fuck it.

Katsuki let it drop to the floor. Then he reached forward, curled his fingers gently around Izuku's wrist, and brought his hand up to his own chest. Right over the scar.

It was a harsh thing, ugly and rigid, still slightly pink at the edges where his skin had torn open and fused back together around the pressure that'd almost killed him. Izuku sat there at the edge of the bed, quiet and watching, his thumb brushing faintly over those puckered, angry lines before pausing when it caught on the edge of Katsuki's blackened fingertips. They lingered there, tracing each finger silently before sliding slowly up, finally coming to rest on the jagged scar etched into Katsuki's chest.

Katsuki swallowed hard against the tightness in his own chest, his voice dropping to something quiet and raw. "You remember that night?" he asked roughly, staring down at the way Izuku's hand still rested against his scar. "First time I came down here. Told you how it felt when I thought I'd lost you. How it nearly fuckin' broke me apart."

Izuku's gaze snapped up to his immediately, eyes darkening with a heavy shadow as he nodded. Just once. Slow, cautious. Katsuki breathed out carefully, measured and controlled even though everything else felt shaky as hell. "Then you should know...I get panic attacks too," he admitted quietly, voice almost a whisper, like even speaking the words could break something open he couldn't close again. "Bad ones. Ever since... fuck. Ever since the League took you that night. On New Year's Day."

He paused, eyes flicking downward as he reconsidered, correcting himself. "No. Actually, they started way earlier than that. After the coma." His throat closed tight around the words, bitter and aching. "After the start of your accident..."

Izuku's expression shifted, turning searching. Katsuki knew exactly what Izuku was trying to do, reaching back, picking through his splintered memories of those few fragile weeks they'd had together after the coma, when Katsuki had pieced him back together one desperate moment at a time, before it had all gone to hell. Katsuki's gaze drifted to the side, somewhere past Izuku's shoulder, lost in that hollow space between memory and trauma. God, it felt like a fucking lifetime ago. Not just in the way people said it, offhand, like some distant memory they could laugh about over beers and bullshit stories. No, this felt like a different goddamn life. He wasn't even the same person who'd collapsed on that building, broken down, sobbing like a fucking child, begging a comatose body to come back to him... he wasn't even the person after that who'd actually let himself believe he'd get years of new memories with Izuku, like they were owed something normal.

It felt like he'd buried that version of himself somewhere in the rubble of the Red Lotus. Lost alongside whatever pieces of Izuku had withered and died there too, with the ash and blood and everything else he couldn't fix.

"Six goddamn years," he murmured bitterly, thumb brushing Izuku's knuckles like he could smooth away the scars with his touch alone. "That's how long I've been dealing with this shit. Panic attacks, nightmares, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. They've been there since the coma."

He exhaled sharply, like the words scraped going out. "They weren't anything... new. Not even back then. I just managed them. Mostly. But when the League took you?" His voice cracked, barely. "That's when everything just fucking started going to shit. After New Year's Day, y-you were just... gone. Like they erased you from my life. Like you never fucking existed."

A beat passed. Katsuki swallowed dryly, and it felt like gravel lodged in his chest. "I kept it together. Somehow. After you left... I tried to fucking fall apart, wanted to. But IcyHot—Shoto and Uraraka, they didn't let me. They held me together as best as they could. Made damn sure I kept waking up, kept showing up." His voice cracked again. "Eventually, I just threw myself into patrols. Recon, raids, fucking anything to keep my brain busy enough that it wouldn't see or feel the shadows every goddamn time I closed my eyes."

Katsuki let out a hollow huff that didn't quite pass for a laugh, pulling away slowly before dropping onto the mattress beside Izuku. "Guess I thought if I just stayed moving, I could outrun it. Outrun the silence. The emptiness. The fact that you had left me behind."

His mouth twitched sharply, like he was biting back a thousand things.

"Six months," he muttered, voice tight with something dangerously close to grief. "I held myself together for six fucking months. Thought maybe if I stayed sharp, stayed angry, I'd be ready when I found you again. Like if I kept my hands busy long enough, I wouldn't lose what was left of you in my head."

Izuku was quiet beside him, watching as Katsuki's voice fractured, raw and splintering. "But Hakone..." Katsuki shook his head once, sharp, eyes shadowed and distant. "That's when everything broke. "The second that ring went dark—it was like someone slammed the fucking kill switch. One second it was there, burning bright like it always did, like proof, y'know? And the next..." He trailed off, lips parting, throat working hard to speak through it. "It just ...it was just gone."

His gaze snapped up to Izuku's, and for a single heartbeat, he felt like that same fifteen-year-old kid who'd held Izuku's shattered body in the bowels of hell. "I thought you were gone. For real, this time."

He looked at Izuku then. Fully. No semblance of the crumbling wall he'd been trying to rebuild. "And that—that was fucking it, Izuku. That's when I lost it, spiraled so goddamn deep I almost blew with enough power to flatten the surrounding region. Panic and agony tearing through me like a fucking wildfire. If Shoto hadn't been there, I don't know if I'd have stopped it. I wouldn't've wanted to... Hell, doubt I'd even still be here."

He looked down again. Quiet. Honest. "I wasn't scared of dying. I was scared I'd survive it." His hand twitched once at his side before he reached up, scrubbing the heel of his palm roughly across his cheek to erase the single, stubborn tear that had escaped.

"This scar..." His fingers lifted, tapped once against the mark etched deep in the center of his chest. "...Was from one of those attacks. I flared too hard, too fast. Burned myself out and cracked something—"

He cut off. The words caught in his throat, refusing to come clean even when his whole chest felt like it was screaming to let it out. He didn't say why. Didn't say what sent him spiraling into such a white-hot meltdown. Didn't say it was because of Izuku. Because he'd left him.

Katsuki gave a long and ragged sigh. The silence filled the space between them as he just sat there, spine bowed forward like the weight of it all was finally starting to settle, heavy and ugly and real in his chest. He eased back, the mattress dipping beneath him as his shoulders hit the cot.

He didn't expect Izuku to follow. But he did.

Izuku crawled up the bed, careful with every movement, like he thought even brushing against Katsuki too hard might shatter the fragile quiet still holding them together. His limbs moved slow, stiff with exhaustion and pain, but still, he came closer. Closer until he was hovering beside him, close enough that the heat between their skin blurred. Katsuki didn't even think about it. He just turned, instinctive, and opened his arms.

He adjusted them wordlessly, pulled Izuku in gently, tucking him tight against him like muscle memory, like he'd done it a hundred times before. Because he had. Izuku let out this tiny, wrecked little breath, curling in against him with no resistance, fitting there like he'd never left at all. Katsuki's chest ached painfully, beautifully, at how right it felt.

He dipped his head down, lips brushing softly against Izuku's curls, breathing him in like he'd done so many times after patrol. "The point I was trying to make..." Katsuki muttered, voice half-muffled in Izuku's hair, "...is that no one's perfect. Not even me."

His arm tightened just slightly around Izuku's waist. "And that's not something you ever gotta apologize for." Izuku didn't answer with words. He just pressed closer, nose tucked under Katsuki's jaw, one arm sliding across his waist as if he could hold Katsuki's fractured pieces together. Katsuki's eyes slipped shut, face buried deeper in Izuku's curls as his free hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along Izuku's spine, reassuring himself as much as Izuku that this was real.

And for a few breaths, they just existed like that. What Katsuki wouldn't give to go to sleep like this again. Izuku's breath slowed against him. One of his fingers curled absently in the hem of Katsuki's pants, like he needed proof this wasn't a dream.

"...What now?"

Katsuki cracked one eye open slowly at Izuku's quiet question. Izuku's voice was steady, but there was a tremor underneath it. Not fear, just a cautious uncertainty at the newfound calm. "They're not... They're not yelling. Or trying to fix anything. Or tearing each other apart. But when they come back, when one of them takes over again..." Izuku hesitated, his hand tightening slightly against Katsuki's side. "...I don't know what's gonna happen."

Katsuki didn't answer right away. Just sighed, low and tired, then muttered against Izuku's hair, "Don't give a shit about them right now." Izuku blinked. "All I care about..." Katsuki said, his voice rough but certain as he snuggled against him, "is being here. With you. Right now."

Izuku went quiet for a long moment, and then a small, genuine smile tugged faintly at the corner of his lips. He didn't lift his head, just pressed his forehead gently to Katsuki's collarbone, voice muffled but lighter as he replied, "Well, you're gonna have to deal with them eventually. I'm not gonna be the one you get when we wake up."

Katsuki groaned immediately, dragging a hand down his face like he'd just been assigned to be the lead on a group project from hell. "Fuckin' fantastic," he muttered. "So, an emotionally constipated bastard or a cryptic shit head. Can't wait."

Izuku laughed. Not loud, not full, but it was real. Quiet and raw and so damn human. It cracked through the heavy quiet like sunlight through fog, and Katsuki felt his chest ache in a different way this time. He let himself sink into it, into the sound, the warmth, the weight of Izuku curled into him.

As the quiet settled gently around them, cradling them softly in its embrace, Katsuki felt the world ease off his shoulders bit by bit, every tightly wound muscle surrendering to the warmth of Izuku's steady breaths against his chest, grounding in a way that almost hurt with how much he needed it. With how long he'd gone without it.

Katsuki's eyelids fluttered, heavier than he remembered them ever being, as if all the nights he'd spent awake, aching and empty, finally caught up to him at once. His hand moved softly along Izuku's back, fingertips gentle, reverent even, tracing idle circles into the curve of his spine, feeling the faint ripple of the scar that started it all. His other arm was curled protectively around Izuku's shoulders, keeping him close.

In that perfect, fragile stillness before sleep, Katsuki pressed his lips softly to Izuku's hair, breathing in deeply the scent that filled every corner of his hollowed-out heart, and groggily mumbled the words, "Love you..."

The words slipped free, whispered softly into the curls beneath his lips as if they'd waited an eternity to be spoken.

It was a soft, quiet thing. Instinctive. Whispered into the curls beneath his lips as if they'd waited an eternity to be spoken again... and maybe that's what made it so real.

For the first time in forever, Katsuki allowed himself the luxury of ignoring tomorrow. He pushed aside Reaper, Phazewave, and every looming battle, letting himself sink fully into the warmth and safety that was Izuku's embrace. He tightened his hold slightly, heart aching beautifully, peacefully, as he closed his eyes and let himself simply exist—because for now, this was enough.

Izuku just lay there, chest pressed to Katsuki's, his thumb now tracing barely-there circles against the star-shaped scar just above Katsuki's hip. "I love you, too," he whispered back.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Bekfest

Katsuki hadn't slept that deep in... hell, maybe since before the festival. Not since shit meant something. Not since everything fractured. For once, he hadn't come up gasping like he usually did when he drifted too deep, ears ringing from the sound of someone screaming his name at the edges of his mind, or of flash-fire memories chewing him up from the inside to the point of cold sweat soaking through the sheets. For once, he'd felt warmth beside him, like the world hadn't burned out completely.

But that peace shattered fast.

What started as a quiet, uncertain morning spiraled fast into a brutal reminder of who he was dealing with. Izuku was right when he said he wasn't the one who'd probably be greeting him when he opened his eyes, and it hadn't been Deku but Reaper. He had been sitting at the edge of the bed, his fingers stained to the knuckles, dark and slick, resting too still in his lap. He was staring down at the soft glow of his ring like it held answers he didn't want, and whatever mood he'd woken up in was something dark and violent, a coiled thing looking for somewhere to strike. One wrong word was all it took. Katsuki pushed back, instinctively sharp-tongued and bristling, he'd said something along the lines of, "The fuck did you do? Who the fuck did you murder this time?"

The result was immediate. Reaper was on him in a heartbeat.

The air left his lungs in a grunt as he was slammed to the mattress, a slick hand clamped around his throat, pinning him with the full weight of his body. The flicker of One For All burned through the contact point like a live wire. Katsuki clawed at the bastard, nearly let loose an explosion out of sheer white hot anger, but Reaper dragged him up nose-to-nose before he could, almost as if he were going to rip out Katsuki's throat with nothing more than his teeth. The warning came low and lethal. "Careful, Katsuki. I'm not in the fucking mood for your games today."

Katsuki had taken hits before. Had been threatened by villains and monsters worse than this. But this? This was fucking different. This somehow felt personal... he had been fucking seething and Katsuki had no goddamn idea why.

And for a split second, Katsuki hated Reaper. Hated him in a way that made his temperature flare. Hated the way he moved like he owned every inch of this body. Hated how he turned something Katsuki loved into a fucking weapon. Hated how he wore Izuku's face and twisted it into something cold and cruel and unrecognizable.

The moment fractured not with them tearing into each other, but with the sharp, clinical ding of Katsuki's burner phone on the desk. The sound cut through the air like a decisive trigger. Reaper didn't spare another word as he shoved Katsuki back down and stood up as if nothing had happened.

Katsuki's blood had been damn near boiling as he nearly, for the lack of a better term, lost his shit, but he forced himself to calm the fuck down. If anyone else had pulled that shit, they would've had their insides painted across the goddamn walls by now. Anyone else wouldn't even be breathing long enough to realize they'd made that mistake. But this was Izuku's body, Izuku's voice twisted beyond recognition, and it was that bitter fact alone that had held Katsuki back, keeping his explosions caged and fury smoldering, red-hot and barely contained.

The rest of the morning was teeth-gritting hell.

Reaper hadn't said a goddamn word after that. Not one. Just moved like a switchblade—sharp, deliberate, every motion cold enough to slice the air open. His presence sucked the oxygen out of the room. Not rage, not theatrics, just that tight-lipped, blackhole kind of fury that made Katsuki's skin crawl. And Phazewave? That bastard had kept to the far corner like a dog fresh off a beating. Passive. Skittish. It hadn't made a sound. Wouldn't even meet Katsuki's eyes. Just stood there like a fucking shadow, twitching every time Reaper shifted, like it was bracing for another round.

Katsuki didn't have to be a genius to connect the dots. Reaper had done something. And Phaze? For all its snarling and swagger yesterday, it wasn't throwing its weight around now. Wasn't defending shit. Wasn't posturing. It was just quiet. Like someone had ripped the violence out of it and left the rest cowering.

Now, Katsuki was standing outside a private bathhouse, steam curling out of the frosted vents like breath from a sleeping beast. The building hunched low and private behind the bones of an old inn, forgotten by the world but known well enough in whispered circles. All that  Katsuki cared about was the privacy, though the place reeked of mildew, hot minerals, and secrets no one asked about.

He'd scrubbed himself clean, skin raw in some places from how hard he'd tried to scrape off the tension, the blood, the heat Reaper had left behind. And still, it clung... but at least he felt fresh. Steam still clung to the back of his neck, curling under the edge of the mask like the poisonous breath of his alias. The burner phone was cold in his hand, slick against his palm. He pulled it from the inner lining of his coat, thumb ghosting over the cracked glass, scrolling through the sparse contact list until he landed on the one that mattered.

Two rings.

"Ryuji Hozumi," greeted Fumikage, steady as ever, but tinged with something else this time. Caution, maybe. Confusion. He was using the alias he'd given Katsuki. "Didn't expect to hear from you."

Katsuki didn't waste breath. "No time for chitchat," he said, tone clipped. "The Tw—Market was supposed to shift two days ago. Where the hell is it now?"

In the stretch of days they'd spent waiting for the files on the lab to finish decoding, Katsuki hadn't just been sitting on his ass while Deku made arrangements for specific tech. He'd put in an order for custom support items, tailored down to the molecule, meant for him and Deku both. Reinforced gear, mods built to help them in the upcoming raid. The ding on his phone that morning had been the merchant. A single-lined message saying his order was ready, except now he had no clue where the damn thing had disappeared off to.

There was a click, maybe a door shutting. Fumikage moving, probably finding a safer corner of the world. That bird brain was smart enough to be paranoid. "I'd rather talk in person," he said finally, voice low and even. "Regarding this matter... are you available to meet?"

Katsuki understood why he was asking to meet, to not talk over the line when there were eyes and ears everywhere, but he couldn't help but grimace at the idea of walking into any shared space with Reaper and Phazewave in tow. That was a recipe for absolute disaster. "I don't have the damn luxury," he muttered. "Clock's ticking and I'm not... exactly traveling light." Fumikage, to his credit, didn't push. But the pause that followed was heavy. He knew something was off. Probably had known since the moment he heard Katsuki's voice.

Katsuki didn't offer an explanation. Didn't say he didn't trust what might be riding in his shadow. Didn't say he'd be dead before he hit the ground if Reaper so much as snapped his fingers. He just stared at the fractured tiles under his boots, where the morning light filtered across the concrete, and as if he summoned it, the shadows at his feet shifted.

It wasn't the lazy sway of the early morning sun, but with purpose. It rippled like water disturbed by something massive beneath the surface. Not enough to draw eyes, but if you knew what you were looking for, it was easy to catch. The shadow pulsed once as a single, sleek, obsidian-like talon crept up from the ground like it was slicing out of oil. It tapped him lightly against his calf before it sank back down. Katsuki didn't react to the gesture, but the message was received. Phazewave had folded into his shadow, and that meant Reap was there too. Embedded somewhere in the same void.

"I understand," Fumikage said eventually, after that long, weighty silence. "But we still need to meet. Things have been... more skittish than usual. Contacts are dropping, sellers are splitting routes. Something's stirring the pot hard enough to make rats scatter. If you're still in the area, I can be there in an hour."

Katsuki exhaled through his nose, short and sharp. Of fucking course.

Katsuki checked the time on his phone. Shit, they needed to start heading toward Shizuoka. The Research Lab wasn't going to stake itself out, and if the data was this close to finishing the decrypt, they had maybe hours before the window opened, and not much longer before it slammed shut. Better to be in position already, boots on the ground and ready for action. He scrubbed a hand down his face and scratched absently at the back of his neck, the skin still warm from the bath and rubbed half-raw. "Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Just send the spot." The second the call dropped, his phone vibrated, coordinates in a secure bubble-text, Fumikage's way of saying keep it quiet. Katsuki slid the phone back into his coat and started walking, boots crunching over gravel as he turned down the small pathway to get to the main road a block ahead.

Katsuki had just rounded the corner when something yanked him sideways hard. He stumbled, caught himself on a rusted signpost with a muttered "Son of a—" just in time to avoid face-planting into a broken vending machine. A set of glowing eyes blinked out from the darkness for a split second, then gone, melted back into his shadow like they'd never been there.

Katsuki blinked, trying to find where the bastard had gone, but all he saw was the flicker of fluorescent convenience store lights reflecting off the puddles by the curb.

And then his phone buzzed again.

> [Unknown]: I'm hungry. Stop and grab something.

Katsuki stared at the screen, jaw slack with sheer audacity. There was only one goddamn person who'd hijack his shadow, manhandle him toward a store, and then text him like he was some Uber Eats runner instead of a war crime waiting to happen.

"Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't realize we were taking fucking breakfast orders now."

Silence.

He turned slightly toward his own shadow. "You want something with protein? A banana? Little vitamin C? Maybe a goddamn juice box while you're at it?" No answer, of course. Just a smug little ripple. Just Reaper crouched in there like they were watching a goddamn puppet show, letting him look insane in public.

Then, louder now—razor-dry, flat as a knife's edge—Katsuki barked, "You've got a whole-ass body, asshole! you got a piece of shit who can phase through fucking walls, and eat bullets for breakfast, and you're telling me to go fetch your food like I'm your personal fucking intern?"

He threw a hand toward the store so hard it almost counted as a detonation. "You want a bento? Great. Crawl your shitty-ass out of my fucking shadow and buy it your goddamn self like a normal fucking sociopath!"

A single pigeon nearby fluttered away like it didn't want any part of that energy, and an old lady walking her dog further up the sidewalk startled, gave him a wide berth, crossed the street without making eye contact, and scurried off faster than her orthopedic sandals probably allowed.

The phone buzzed again.

> [Unknown]: Chicken karaage. And strawberry milk.

Fifteen minutes later, Katsuki had two plastic bags dangling from his wrist and a scowl sharp enough to etch glass. The walk to the meeting spot wasn't long, and they'd made it early—because of course they did. Reap didn't do "on time." He did control, and "early" meant he could scope out the kill zones.

The meeting place Fumikage had marked wasn't just some back alley or rooftop; it was smarter than that. It was a half-demolished pedestrian underpass beneath an old monorail bridge, abandoned when the city rerouted the lines post-war. The top half of the rail still hung above, skeletal and rusted, while the lower walkway was half-choked in ivy and construction debris. Floodlights long dead. City forgets about places like this. People don't pass through anymore. No cameras. No clean lines of sight. It was liminal, just present enough to exist, just forgotten enough to be useful.

Reaper liked it even less than Katsuki did.

Katsuki found a half-toppled support block near the edge of the underpass and sat his ass down on it, plopping the bags beside him with a thunk. He yanked his chicken and egg sandwich and started eating like it owed him rent, chewing through frustration more than hunger.

Reaper and the Nomu had fanned out, silent and ghostlike, sweeping the perimeter like they were prepping for a siege. Phaze melted into a crumbled retaining wall, disappearing into shadow so smoothly it was like he'd been poured into it. Reaper paced higher up, walking the cracked rail spine like it was a tightrope, jacket trailing behind him in deliberate flicks.

Katsuki didn't need to look to feel the tension. He could feel Reaper coiled like a live wire. The presence of someone outside their little hell triangle—someone not curated, not part of the "plan," not under control—it was digging under Reaper's skin like glass splinters. Katsuki didn't bother to offer him comfort. Didn't try to soothe him because the last thing he needed was another fucking altercation. Instead, he finished chewing, licked some grease off his thumb, and muttered through a half-mouthful of egg, "Told you it's not a trap."

Reaper dropped down from the monorail spine, landing without a sound on the cracked concrete across from him. He stood just off Katsuki's left side, not quite in arm's reach, gaze sweeping the ruins with surgical calculation.

Katsuki chugged his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then reached lazily into the second bag. Without looking, he held up the boxed karaage and the strawberry milk, shaking them lightly, like he was offering them to a raccoon.

"Come on, creepshow. You wanted this shit."

Reaper let out a short, irritated huff through his nose before snatching the food from Katsuki's hand with a swipe that barely grazed his fingers. He didn't say thank you as he cracked open the box and started eating in quick, precise bites. Efficient and sharp like everything else about him, like food was just another tactical requirement.

A low ripple of shadow undulated across the nearby wall. Katsuki watched as Phaze phased through the broken concrete like it was smoke, glowing red eyes blinking once as it passed them by. It didn't stop as it dragged its mass low across the ruined flooring before slipping soundlessly into Reaper's shadow, vanishing.

God, he hated how fucking terrifying that thing was.

Reap turned to face Katsuki, his voice cut through the silence between bites. "Tell me, Katsuki, just how far does your faith in Tsukuyomi stretch?" Katsuki rolled his eyes skyward. "Oh, come off your shit. I wouldn't have even sniffed the Market, let alone scored a pass, if it weren't for him."—Wouldn't have found Izuku, either, he added internally. "So, maybe chill the hell out."

He crumpled his sandwich wrapper, pitched it aside, and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Maybe do us both a favor and keep to the fringe. Watch the perimeter, scare the rats."

Reaper's lip curled, half-snarl, half-smirk. "And leave you alone with a variable? Not happening."

A footstep echoed at the far mouth of the underpass. Reaper's head snapped toward the sound. With a soft click of tongue against teeth, he snapped his fingers; gravity seemed to tilt. His body liquefied into shadow and dropped straight through the cracked concrete. The darkness slithered across the ground, a silent sentinel sliding beneath Katsuki's feet

Katsuki exhaled through his nose, then looked up. Fumikage stood at the entrance, half-lit by fractured daylight, cloak brushing ankle-high weeds. He drifted forward like a shade, eyes glinting beneath the hood.

"Bakugo," he greeted, voice calm as ever. "Rough morning?"

Katsuki snorted, understatement of the century.

Fumikage's black cloak whispered as he halted a cautious two meters from Katsuki. From beneath the hood, a single yellow eye lingered on the plastic bag and the faint grease stain on Katsuki's jeans before drifting to the underpass gloom.

"It doesn't matter how rough my morning was," Katsuki said, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "I'm here for one thing, entrance to the Market."

Fumikage exhaled, half sigh, half rasp. Darkness swelled behind his shoulders, condensing until Dark Shadow slipped free—all serrated grin and drifting smoke. The spirit bowed its head at Katsuki, an avian croak of greeting. "Bakugo," it rumbled softly, before tilting sideways, staring at the ground near Katsuki's boots. Its golden eyes squinting slightly in confusion. Yeah, buddy, keep staring. See how long before you notice the apex predators squatting under my feet.

Fumikage spoke, voice pitched low. "I'd advise avoiding entry there for a while. The Ghouls are on edge. Rumor says their mainframe was breached some nights ago—heavy-handed intrusion." His gaze sharpened. "They're on hair-trigger."

Guess that idiot hacker, Pixel, was a lot closer to getting caught than he initially led on. He scoffed, "So what? They'll cool off. I only need the door."

Fumikage's head shook once. "They're posting dead-zone snipers and sniffers at the checkpoint. Anyone with new credentials is bound to be flagged. You step inside now, you'll be walking the barrel of a gun."

A dry breath ghosted across Katsuki's nape, an icy warning that wasn't wind. Reaper's presence pressed up through his shadow like a submerged blade. Katsuki grimaced, jaw flexing. Out loud, he said, "Yeah, well, some of us don't have the luxury of waiting. Clock's ticking."

Dark Shadow's wings fluttered uneasily; it sensed the ripple of malice beneath Katsuki, smokey feathers ruffling, its eyes narrowing. Shit, shit, sht. He needed to get what they needed and get the hell out of here before Dark Shadow realized that Katsuki isn't alone. Fumikage's brow furrowed, but he held his composure. "If you insist, I can arrange a side access, but not today. Give me forty-eight hours to soothe their paranoia." He stepped closer, voice dropping "Bakugo... These people—if they suspect you, they won't kill you. Not outright."

He paused, letting the words hang.

"They'll capture you. Peel you open. Turn you inside out and remake you into something unrecognizable. You think you've seen how far quirks can break a person?" His voice dropped to a razor-fine edge. "You haven't."

For a heartbeat, Katsuki tasted ozone and static, saw Izuku's freckles washed pale under blood and grime, muscles snapping against restraints until they tore. Odd Eye hadn't just hurt him; he'd rewired him, left him a snarling circuit of instinct and trauma, proof of exactly how far monsters could dig before a soul cracked. The memory scorched behind Katsuki's eyes, hot enough to blister. He straightened, teeth bared in something too thin to be a grin. "Yeah," he rasped, voice sulfur-rough. "I've had the preview. But I still need to get in," Katsuki bit out, quiet but unrelenting. "Today. Now. Threat or no threat."

Fumikage stared at him for a long moment, unreadable. The shadows at his back curled tighter around his frame like a cloak of living smoke. "You think I don't understand this kind of rage? I do," he said finally, a rare tremor behind the calm. "I know how hot it burns. I know what it feels like to carry a death you couldn't stop. But your life is not a bargaining chip for vengeance, no matter whose ghost you're avenging."

The words scraped across Katsuki's nerves. A pulse of cold radiated up his spine as the shadow beneath him convulsed violently, sharp and fluid, like oil reacting to flame.

Dark Shadow recoiled, its smoky feathers flaring wide with a low, warning growl. "He is compromised," it snarled, voice suddenly guttural and aggressive. Its wings fanned out between Fumikage and Katsuki like a shield, eyes flashing in primal suspicion. Fumikage's entire posture shifted; he stepped back half a pace, head lifting slightly as he realized what Dark Shadow was sensing before his Shadow lunged.

Dark Shadow moved without warning, a blur of smoke and fangs and talons, sweeping across the ruined ground toward Katsuki's feet. Its mouth opened in a snarl, teeth like scythe-blades aimed to tear into the presence it could feel but not see.

Katsuki snapped his hand up, voice sharp. "Stop—!"

Too late. From the depths of his shadow, Phazewave erupted, an unholy mass of muscle and oily slick limbs surging upward with an otherworldly screech. Its claws met Dark Shadow mid-lunge in a metallic clash, claws slicing against smoke. The impact was deafening, a shockwave cracking through the concrete like a bone snapping under pressure. Phaze's eyes blazed, seething red, its body coiled in a half-crouch, fangs bared and vibrating with a low, guttural growl that sounded like it had crawled up from hell.

Without a sound, a shape rose from the same shadow Phazewave had burst from, standing squarely between Katsuki and the looming figure of Dark Shadow, arms half-raised in a motion that wasn't defensive, but territorial. Protective. The look on his face was unreadable at first... then it cracked into a low snarl.

Katsuki's breath caught. Wait. Reaper... Reaper was shielding him. It didn't compute at first. Not him. Not the cold bastard who carved through hideouts like a flashfire. Not the one who choked him out against a mattress just that morning. But there he was, standing between Katsuki and a potential threat, muscles tense, every inch of him locked in silent warning. What the hell...?

Katsuki didn't even know what part of that hit harder, the fact that Reaper reacted that way, or the fact that something in Katsuki's chest actually stirred at the gesture. Both monsters circled each other now. Smoke and darkness against slick muscle and teeth. The air crackled with tension, thick enough to taste. A heartbeat passed. Another. Neither moved.

"...Mi-Midoriya?" Fumikage's voice cracked through the tense exchange. Dark Shadow froze. The statement didn't register at first, but slowly, almost mechanically, it craned its neck to look past Phazewave. To look at the figure standing before Katsuki, wreathed in a crown of white hair and scars, eyes shadowed, but unmistakably him.

The recognition made the air shift again. Dark Shadow didn't retreat, but it didn't lunge again either. It hesitated, and that's when Reaper moved. He took a single step forward, black whip slithering like vipers from his hands as Fajin lit up his fingertips, but Katsuki moved faster. He grabbed Reaper's shoulder hard, yanking him back mid-stride. "Stand the fuck down." Reaper's head snapped around, eyes blazing with iridescent fury. "He was going to hurt you," he snarled, low and ragged. "I saw it."

"He wasn't coming for me. He was going for Phazewave."

Another second of silence. Heavy, trembling. Katsuki's grip tightened. "You think I can't take care of myself, bastard? You think I need you fucking stepping in and blowing the whole damn operation because your pet monster got hissed at?!"

Reaper's chest heaved, but he didn't surge forward. Just stood there, shoulders locked, vibrating with restrained rage. In front of them, Phazewave snarled again, but didn't attack. Its claws twitched, gaze flicking between its master and the shadow across from him. It didn't like backing down, but Reaper hadn't given the order. And Phazewave only answered to one.

If anyone made a wrong move right now, if one of them pissed Reaper off again, Tokyami wasn't getting a warning next time, just a gravestone. Katsuki released Reaper's shoulder, stepping past him and Phazewave, "This is what I meant by 'not exactly traveling light.'"

Fumikage's expression was a storm behind the mask. But he nodded once, eyes still locked on Reaper, on the ghost he thought had died.

Fumikage's beak parted, voice barely above a whisper. "How is this possible? Bakugo—you told me Midoriya was dead." Katsuki brushed past Dark Shadow, who tracked him with narrowed golden eyes but didn't strike. "Yeah, well," he muttered, shoving both hands into his pockets, "turns out my life's one long bullshit slip and slide."

Behind him, Reaper strode up beside Phazewave—shoulders squared, chin tipped half an inch high. The Nomu's rumbling growl fell to a low, thrumming idle, but those molten-red eyes never left Dark Shadow. Reaper's presence radiated the kind of menace that could make an ordinary thug piss himself, and Fumikage clearly felt it. Even under the cloak, he stiffened, feathers at his nape rising.

Katsuki jerked a thumb over his shoulder, mock-bright. "Bird-brain, meet Reap." His tone dripped with a humor so dry it scraped. "Fun trivia: he's one-third of Deku these days. Real hit at parties."

Reaper's gaze slid to Fumikage—flat, assessing, predatory. He offered no greeting, only spoke in that low, steel-filing rasp. "Your shadow attacks again, you lose your appendages." Dark Shadow hissed at the threat, wings flaring, but Fumikage lifted a hand, reigning it in. The spirit settled, glaring daggers through the Nomu's hulking form.

Fumikage swallowed once, eyes still wide with shock. "Midor-Deku... you—"

Reaper cut him off, voice as precise as a scalpel. "I'm not that impudent, weak halfwit you all mourned. I'm what's left that still functions properly."

Katsuki's fuse snapped. "Watch your damn mouth," he barked, spinning on him. Reaper sneered, lips curling, half-daring him to press it. "Did I stutter?"

Before Katsuki could get a retort in, Dark Shadow stirred again, low and tense. "What now?" it rasped, looking down at Fumikage. "What are we doing?"

The faint whoop of a siren echoed through the distant cityscape, a shrill reminder that their little reunion hadn't gone unnoticed. Fumikage's gaze darted toward the underpass mouth, sharp and calculating. "We're leaving," he snapped. "Now. Before someone sees what they shouldn't."

He turned on Katsuki, cloak whipping behind him. "And you've got some explaining to do."

Katsuki's expression darkened, boots grinding against gravel as he stepped after him. "Not until you tell me where the Twilight Market entrance is."

Fumikage stopped cold, his voice low and flint-edged. "You don't get to demand anything until you tell me what the hell is going on, Bakugo. You show up with this cryptid version of Midoriya, flanked by what I'm assuming is the Nomu from the project you told me of, and you want me to trust you blindly?" His voice tightened. "I'm owed the truth."

Behind him, Reaper snarled, voice thick with venom. "Fat fucking chance." Katsuki didn't even turn around. "Goddammit, shut the fuck up." The words came out clipped, teeth bared. The air dipped to an icy degree. Reaper's eyes flared, catching the fractured daylight like molten steel. That look could have killed a man. A second passed before he looked away with a derisive hiss, stalking a few steps back like a predator re-leashing itself.

The sirens howled again, closer this time.

Fumikage exhaled through his nose, voice tight. "We move. Talk after." He didn't wait, already disappearing into the concrete spine of the underpass, Dark Shadow tailing silently behind him. Katsuki hesitated, dragging a hand down his face, tension knotting between his shoulders. He looked back at Reaper, who still stood half-shadowed in that ruinous light, gaze fixed on Fumikage's retreat like he was debating whether to let him walk away in one piece.

"We really don't have a choice; we need that gear."

For a heartbeat, Reaper didn't move. His jaw flexed, muscles ticking under skin, the silent war behind his eyes barely restrained. Then he seethed—a full-body, volcanic exhale—and without a word, Katsuki fell in behind Fumikage, dragging a hand down his face as Reaper and Phazewave melted into the gloom at his heels.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Five Minutes Till Flatline

Katsuki wasn't expecting to be dragged back here of all places. Yet here he was again, standing at the door of that same nondescript little apartment Fumikage had offered before. Still dim. Still sparse. Still radiating that cryptic bird-boy gloom like the walls were feathered in secrets. Katsuki hadn't thought much of it then, though the problem wasn't really the apartment itself. The damn problem was who was about to be inside a tight box of a space with one door, no exits. Was putting Reaper—a murderous, unblinking psychopath with the emotional range of a brick and the patience of a landmine—within arm's reach of Fumikage, who in his book still counted as a potential threat? Yeah... no. This wasn't particularly a good fucking idea. Not in the slightest.

Reaper didn't like people. Hell, Reaper didn't like anything. Well, maybe himself. And occasionally the sound of his own sociopathic insults. The bastard was a walking middle finger in a black jacket, and cramming him into a confined room with someone who literally oozed darkness felt like lighting a match in a room full of gas and saying, "What could possibly go wrong?" And that's not even taking into account the second biological war crime sniffing around at his damn feet.

Katsuki reached the door, and as if summoned by the sheer force of his irritation, the long, coiled length of his shadow stirred underfoot. A voice slithered up his spine—low, cold, and blade-sharp.

"This is a bad fucking idea."

No shit. At least they finally agreed on something. The growl snaked up his spine, low and laced with disdain, and like some cursed bastard pulling himself out of a grave, Reaper rose from the shadow beneath Katsuki's boots. Shoulders first, then spine, then that smug, holier-than-you scowl he probably practiced in a mirror. He moved as if the world disgusted him on a molecular level, like even existing in it was an insult to his standards. His eyes swept the hall, cold and clinical, and for a second, he seemed to be intensely judging every minute detail down to the fucking welcome mat on the floor.

"If you can't hack it," Katsuki nearly huffed before muttering, dead-flat, "let Deku take the wheel." That seemed to get under Reaper's skin. Katsuki saw the twitch in his jaw. The subtle baring of teeth, like he wanted to bite straight through the conversation. His fingers flexed once at his sides, tight and twitchy, familiar in all the wrong ways. Deku and Izuku would often do that too, but with Reaper it felt more calculated. It was more like he was mentally weighing the pros and cons of murder.

But he didn't answer. Didn't rise to it. Didn't fucking deny it either.

Fumikage, to his credit, didn't so much as twitch at the shift in hostility. Just stood there by the door, arms at ease but posture composed and guarded, like a man calmly watching two live grenades roll into his doorway and politely pretending it wasn't his problem yet. "

Before we enter..." he said, measured and polite as ever, "I'd appreciate it if the Nomu could... wait elsewhere. I'm not exactly comfortable with it in enclosed spaces."

His gaze flicked past Katsuki to where Phazewave lingered in his shadow, a smear of oil rippling at the edges. "No offense intended," Fumikage added, though his eyes narrowed just slightly. Katsuki huffed under his breath, sardonic. "Yeah? Try sleeping with that fucking thing watching you breathe. You'll have nightmares for days."

Reaper didn't gesture or bother to look back at the Nomu. Just growled, low and venomous, "Get lost." He hadn't agreed to the request, though he hadn't particularly reasoned with it either. That was because he didn't have to, Katsuki knew that it wasn't the thing that could break a man in half to fear... it was the weapon who spoke like his voice carried consequences.

Katsuki shoved the door open a little harder than necessary, stepping inside with the kind of casual confidence only half-masked the coil of nerves winding tighter in his gut. The air was stale, still humming with that faint electric tinge of Fumikage's presence, as if the shadows themselves had memory, and in his case, they did.

Reaper didn't follow immediately. He stepped in slow, measured, every move reading like a calculated threat. He didn't bother removing his sneakers. They creaked across the floorboards with surgical disdain, eyes scanning every inch of the place like the walls might betray him mid-step, and he needed to plan an escape route. Ceiling, corners, baseboards, nothing escaped that sweep. Not even the cracks in the goddamn trim.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, and tsk'd, half annoyed, half exhausted. "Jesus. You need to calm the fuck down. We're not here to stage an assassination." Reaper didn't dain to respond. Probably didn't deem it worth the damn oxygen.

Behind them, Fumikage closed the door with a soft click. He lingered near the entry, thoughtful, watching the way Reaper moved through the room, the way he refused to relax even an inch, like tension was the only state his body recognized anymore. Eventually, he moved, but carefully, curving his path in a wide arc to avoid passing too close. The apartment wasn't big, but Fumikage made space like instinct told him exactly where the danger was.

Smart man. Hard to get too comfortable around something that moved like it'd never truly stopped killing. He drifted toward Katsuki's side, slow and deliberate, keeping his voice low. Not quite a whisper, but close enough to slip beneath Reaper's notice.

"What happened to him?"

Katsuki sighed, long and hollow, dragging a hand down his face like it physically hurt to talk about it, and maybe sometimes it did. He didn't look at him when he answered.

"Remember how fucked up he was after Red Lotus? Eyes all wrong. The damn paranoia. The disassociation. The way he kept bouncing from fight to flight like his brain was stuck in a loop like he couldn't fucking tell what the hell was real?" Katsuki exhaled hard through his nose, eyes flicking toward Reaper, still rooted like a statue near the wall, all tension and cold silence. "It wasn't just trauma," he said, quieter this time. "Didn't fucking  go away. It settled. Like rot."

He hesitated. Just for a breath.

"He's not just Izuku anymore. He's three people."

Fumikage's expression didn't shift, but there was something in his eyes, something still and assessing. Not from shock or disbelief, but from that quiet, storm-silent kind of realization. Like hearing the rumble of thunder and knowing the lightning hit closer than you thought.

"Let's sit," he said, gesturing toward the kitchen table, if you could call it that. The thing was barely big enough for two, all mismatched chairs and splintered corners. Katsuki didn't argue. Just dragged a chair back with a creak and dropped into it.

Reaper on the other hand didn't move. He lingered near the wall, off to the side like he didn't belong in the room at all. Arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, one shoulder braced against the far wall as if proximity alone might kill him. His gaze never stopped moving, pinging from shadow to exit to Fumikage, back to Katsuki.

Katsuki slouched deeper into his chair, elbows braced on the table, fingers laced in front of his face like he was praying for patience, and then immediately remembered that wasn't in his damn skillset. "Reap," he muttered, without looking up, "go wait outside."

Silence.

The temperature in the room seemed to dip. He could feel the words forming behind him, feel the bite they carried, feel Reaper debating how many bones it'd take to get his fucking point across. He didn't respond right away, of course he didn't. The bastard specialized in theatrical pauses.

"No," he finally said, tone smooth as glass and just as cutting. "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of optimism. This place reeks of surveillance and self-sabotage."

Katsuki didn't even look at him. "Tch. Then lean on the wall and try shutting the hell up for once."

Reaper's mouth twisted, disdain blooming in the corner of his lip. "Is this your idea of leadership? Barking orders like a half-trained mutt and hoping they stick?" His eyes slid to Fumikage, glassy and cold. "No wonder the League chewed you up."

Katsuki's chair screeched across the floor as he stood, sharp enough to make Fumikage's shadow twitch. "Say one more word like that—"

"Or what?" Reaper drawled. "You'll throw a tantrum? Blow up a chair? Stunning tactical restraint."

"Oh, go fuck yourself. You're acting like this is a goddamn trap—"

"It could be," Reaper snapped, eyes narrowing. "You traipsed in here like a blunt object, Katsuki. No recon. No exit strategy. Not even a fallback if this place locks down. I came to protect your reckless ass, not watch you play Russian roulette with both our lives."

Katsuki shoved back from the table just enough to rattle the legs. "You done? Or do you wanna whip out a measuring tape, too?"

"Gentlemen," Fumikage said coolly, from across the table, arms crossed, eye twitching just enough to betray a deep, soul-level regret about being present for any of this.

"...Are we interrupting something intimate?" The whisper came from just off to the side, lower and dry as smoke. Dark Shadow, half-dissolved against the wall, claws twitching, its eyes flicking warily between the two of them.

Katsuki groaned under his breath. "Fucking Christ." Before dropping back into his chair with a thud and a scowl. Reaper's eyes snapped up, but he kept his mouth shut. Just went back to being statue-still again, sinking into the background and pretending he was part of the wallpaper—murderous, judgey wallpaper.

Fumikage sat straighter, tone brittle with sarcasm. "Now that your egos have finished dueling, shall we return to the matter at hand?"

Before Katsuki could launch into the recap, he leaned back in the chair, jaw working once. "Just so you know," he muttered, half-aimed at Reaper, "I already told Bird-Brain everything up to the point I hit the Market. He knows about the thumb drive. Knows what was on it."

Reaper exhaled through his nose in a sharp, contemptuous huff. The sneer wasn't even necessary, his eyes did all the work. They cut sideways, flat and lethal, the kind of look that came with an unspoken caption: you absolute fucking dumbass.

But he still had to say it, of course he did.

"How profoundly idiotic," he muttered, low and dry as rust. "And here I thought you'd outgrown your flair for sabotage."

Katsuki didn't rise to the bait. Not all the way. Just gritted his teeth and stared at the tabletop like it had insulted his entire bloodline.. "He can be trusted," he snapped. "Tokoyami's not some glory-chasing jackass. If he wanted to fuck me over, he would've let Dark Shadow eat me in that underpass."

Katsuki rolled his shoulders once, like he was physically shaking off the weight of Reaper's disapproval, Then turned toward Fumikage and got to business. He didn't tell him everything. Left out the location of the hideout. Skipped the deeper shit buried in those files Pixel had dug up. Just gave the need-to-know pieces. Enough to thread the needle without handing Fumikage the whole fucking tapestry.

He laid it out clean: tracked a hacker named Pixel, followed him straight to Deku—alive, feral, and carting around a Nomu like a half-trained mutt. Explained the chase. The confrontation. The deal he made with Reaper after. And that was it.

Reaper didn't interrupt for once. But Katsuki could feel the stare. Heavy as a hand pressed to the back of his neck. Not a warning. A threat to keep his mouth in check. He ended it with a shrug that didn't match the tightness wound in his spine. "I've been off the grid since. Reap took me back to the hideout that night. I only came around yesterday to grab my shit."

"And that's when Todoroki decided to play spy," Reaper cut in, voice a precise incision across the conversation. Katsuki sighed through his nose. "Here we fucking go."

Reaper tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "He slipped a tracker into your bag." He said it slowly, deliberately, like the words physically pained him. "Banking on the fact that you'd come crawling back for it at some point." He leaned forward just slightly, enough to press the insult like a thumb to a bruise. "And you, being the dependable creature of habit you are, came crawling back for it." His eyes flashed as they watched Katsuki. "Which led him, shockingly, straight to us."

Fumikage blinked. "Todoroki... knows?"

Katsuki sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose like the question itself gave him a migraine. "All he knows," he muttered, voice flat and pissed, "is that Izuku—Deku, whatever—is alive, and that freaky-ass Nomu is his new emotional support demon."

He let that hang for half a second before adding, bitter as acid, "Went to shit instantly. Reap nearly tore his goddamn throat out."

"Regrettably, I did not," Reaper said, deadpan, like it was still on the table.

A beat of silence passed. Heavy. Still. Then Dark Shadow, voice dry and just a little unnerved, whispered, "Wow. You're really nailing the whole warm reunion thing."

Reaper didn't even acknowledge the jab. "Now that the pleasantries are over," he said, tone sharpened to a scalpel edge, "and you've wrung every drop of intel from Katsuki like a dishrag, perhaps you'll return the favor."

His full attention fixed on Fumikage, predatory. Assessing. "Where's the Twilight Market?"

It wasn't a question really, it was a demand dressed up like diplomacy. Dark Shadow bristled before his partner could speak. The shift was immediate, instinctive, claws splaying just enough to be visible. "I don't like this one," it muttered, coiled protectively near Fumikage's feet. "He's not Midoriya. Not really." The air tightened, and for a moment, even Fumikage looked like he was parsing whether or not he agreed. Katsuki didn't lift his head. Didn't meet anyone's eyes. Just murmured under his breath, tone dry as bone. "No one does."

Smack.

His head jerked forward from the hit—Reaper's hand cracking the back of his skull like a parent swatting a child mouthing off in church. Not hard. Just enough to get the point across.

"Goddamn it, what?!" Katsuki snarled, already half out of his chair but before he could lunge, Fumikage cleared his throat, cutting the tension like a paper fan through smoke.

"Enough."

The single word carried more weight than it should have, and even Reaper stilled. Fumikage folded his arms. "You want a door? Fine. Main entrance is still in Shibuya. Back end of Nonbei Yokocho. Look for a busted vending machine shoved between two izakaya fire escapes."

He tapped the tabletop with two fingers, rhythm deliberate. "Fanta. Coke. Fanta. Coke. Hit the buttons in that order. The 'tap to pay' reader'll blink yellow, only then does it prompt for the code. Type 4-4-4-1-9-1. Six-digit combo. Once that's in, panel slides open left. Ladder drops five meters. You'll be standing in front of The Hand's portal."

"Your alias is still in their system. Greenlit for three more cycles. But after the hacker breach, security's doubled up. They're scanning for everything. Body mass. shadows. heat sigs. If you trigger an anomaly—"

"They'll bury us," Katsuki finished flatly.

Fumikage nodded once.

"Then it's just a risk I'll have to take." Fumikage looked ready to argue, but Katsuki was already pushing up from the table, arms braced against the wood as his chair scraped back hard. "I'm not going in guns blazing," he said. "Just need to grab some custom support gear. Few parts I can't fabricate myself. In and out."

Simple on paper. In practice? A fucking minefield. But what wasn't, lately.

Fumikage's gaze lingered a beat too long, like he didn't quite buy the whole "just support gear" angle, even though it was nothing but the truth. Instead of pushing it, his eyes slid sideways. Toward the living threat still posted like sentient artillery against the wall.

"And what will he be doing while you're in there?"

"I'll stay in his shadow," Reaper replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the damn world. "It works quite well for stealth."

Fumikage shook his head. "Shadow mass pings the density sensors. If the Market's upgraded since your last visit, Bakugo, they'll flag an anomaly before you even reach the floor."

Reaper's eyes narrowed slightly. No concern. Just calculation. "Then I'll thin myself out."

Katsuki's brow furrowed. "Yeah, because phasing out of fucking existence is definitely a casual feature." He squinted at Reaper. "Wait—are you saying Phaze can permeate and run that shadow quirk at the same damn time?"

Reaper's gaze shifted to him, the faintest flicker of interest behind that frosted calm. "Theoretically, yes. I haven't tested concurrent deployment, but the Nomu's physiology should tolerate dual-quirk execution. Density dispersal to bypass the scanners. Optical absorption to erase the silhouette."

Damn. That was a mouthful of science-speak for I'm ninety-nine percent sure it'll work, trust me, idiot. Katsuki tapped two fingers against the table, brain turning it over. Lemillion had to hold his breath to phase. Full stop. But Phaze got that quirk straight from him—same basic rule set. Except Phaze didn't breathe. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

Katsuki jerked his chin toward Reaper. "How long can he go without air?"

Reaper shrugged—slow, dismissive. "Long enough."

"Says you," Katsuki muttered.

Goddamn it. This was turning into algebra: Reap's unknown lung capacity divided by security queue length, times how pissy the guards felt that day. Too many variables. If Reaper blacked out mid-permeation, they'd both end up tagged and bagged.

Fumikage must've seen it in his face. "The proximity scanners are right past the credentialing desk," he said, quieter now. "They pulse constantly. You'll need to breathe before you even clear the portal. And if you get made and get put through an actual machine your both done for. Those scanners pick up any exterior quirks that buggy back to the user."

Reaper turned on his heel with that unnervingly fluid motion, less like a person and more like a threat someone had summoned. "Then we don't tigger the sensors and we'll move quickly," he said, already heading for the door like the matter was long since decided.

Dark Shadow let out a low, uneasy growl. "This plan feels... mathematically unsound."

Katsuki snorted. "Welcome to my life."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

In retrospect, Bird-Brain hadn't been exaggerating. Security on the first floor had been jacked to high hell and back since the last time Katsuki set foot in the Twilight Market. And it wasn't just the usual uptick in body count or paranoid posturing. This place had been upgraded—industrial-grade paranoia baked into the fucking floor.

The second his boots hit the black marble just past the portal, he felt the sharper light, the harsher angles. Air stiff with voltage like the building itself was waiting for a reason to start frying people.

The magnetic field around the portal buzzed behind him, fizzing for a half-second before rippling smooth with a soft hiss. Cameras turned toward him and the people exiting around him, four at once this time, tracking every movement like they were ready to paint him and any straggler as a target. Not even two steps in, and already he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass.

Last time, there had been guards.

Now? There was an army of Ghouls.

Dozens of them in tight formation, masked and armored in matte black tactical gear. They didn't just stand around looking pretty, they moved in overlapping patrol routes, every pivot pre-planned, like they were rehearsing for a massacre. Their weapons weren't standard-issue anymore, either. The rifles were newer, bigger. Even the wall-mounted guns weren't the old bullet-spitting kind. These pulsed with a low electric thrum, as if ready to ionize flesh instead of merely tear it apart. What the fuck did that moron, Pixel, poke at to get the hornets swarming like this?

He adjusted the fall of his coat and kept walking. Measured pace. Eyes forward. People moved past him in either direction—dealers, couriers, clients. No one looked twice at anyone, but everyone looked too long at everything. It was like walking through a performance where the audience might shoot you if you dropped a line. Katsuki kept moving, steps smooth, shadow steady at his heels as he ascended the stairs, though it was longer than it should've been under this kind of light. Reap was down there, suspended in permeation with Phaze tethered alongside, both of them hidden beneath the weight of Katsuki's stride. If either one faltered—if Reaper passed out, if Phazewave wobbled in density—they'd trip the mass sensors and end up dust on a slab.

Notation passed in every blink.

The average person could hold their breath for what? Forty-five seconds? A minute and a half if they weren't panicking? Reaper wasn't average, but Katsuki knew the limits of bodies. Even modified ones. Especially modified ones. He wasn't fucking invincible.

And that wasn't even counting the lung transplant. The accident back then had nearly killed Izuku, leaving one lung obliterated and the other barely hanging on. Katsuki still remembered the gurgling breath, the blood, the panic. What came after was synthetic. Medical-grade, state-of-the-art, sure. But it was still a patch job. A damn good one, yeah, but a patch was still a patch.

That meant time was bleeding. And if he ran out of air down there, if he blacked out in that state? He'd just stay like that. Still encased. Still hidden. Just... unconscious. Suffocating to death in the dark while Katsuki walked ten feet ahead, not even knowing. Katsuki moved with the flow of masked operatives heading toward the checkpoint hub. This had to be fast. Had to be perfect.

Ahead, were the same six security lanes, but now the glass was thicker, the partitions taller, and the guards? Doubled. Each lane had three—two armed, one operating the console. The supervisor station still hovered above, suspended from the ceiling like a spider watching its web. No doubt logging every footfall.

Katsuki didn't slow, veering towards lane five, the same one Fumikage had used to walk him through the first time. Still the safest option. Still greenlit under Tsukuyomi's clearance pool.

He adjusted the fit of his skull mask, tugging it down just enough to keep the edge sealed against his jaw. Then slid a hand into his coat pocket, fingers closing around his slim, matte-black wallet with his clean, fully approved credentials. It had worked flawlessly the last few times he had been doing surveillance and recon for leads on Odd Eye.

He flipped it open and keeping the card ready as the line inched forward, when a high-pitched wail shrieked across the floor, cutting through conversation, footsteps, thought. Every holographic sign above the security lanes blinked red. People froze mid-step. Guards tensed like someone had just thrown a grenade into a crowd. Heads turned. The calm in the air shattered.

Lane three. Katsuki's eyes found the source immediately.

A checkpoint chamber had sealed mid-clearance. Magnetic walls slammed down with a heavy thud. Two guards pressed in, weapons raised. A third barked orders into his mic. Katsuki's heart jumped sideways in his chest.

No. No, no, no, fuck no. A lockdown meant delay. A delay meant Reap was sitting in full-body suspension beneath his feet without air. And if the security system locked everyone in place for five minutes, ten, fifteen—?

He didn't let the thought finish. Could he back out? Leave the line, circle around back out to the real world? Fuck, would that look suspicious? His hand clenched tighter around the ID card, pulse jackhammering against his eardrums. The floor sensors couldn't pick up what was in his shadow—not yet—but if this dragged on...

Someone in front of him snapped, slapping their hand on the counter. "Oi! How long is this gonna fucking take?" they barked at the desk attendant. "I've got a meeting upstairs. I'm not standing here all goddamn day while you sort this shit out."

Katsuki's eyes flicked toward the console operator, expression buried behind his mask.

The attendant didn't balk. "Relax," they said, voice robotic from repetition. "It'll be a minute. Maybe two. They just need to remove the subject."

Remove the—

Gunfire shattered the next sentence. The guards in lane three opened fire in perfect formation, and the man trapped inside the checkpoint chamber dropped like a sack of meat, blood blooming across the marble like a watercolor stain.

Someone near Katsuki shifted, muttering under their breath. "Idiot."

The guards lowered their weapons, reset formation, and flagged the chamber for cleanup. No one screamed. No one gasped. A few eyes turned lazily toward the checkpoint, curious but unimpressed. Some looked mildly annoyed. One man sighed and checked the time on his wrist display.

Katsuki could feel the sweat starting to collect beneath his collar, sliding slow down the back of his neck. The air was cold, but his skin was burning under the jacket. He slid his phone out, thumb twitching once to light up the screen. Only forty-five seconds had passed since the gunshots, maybe less.

That meant it's roughly been Three minutes, thirty-two seconds. Fuck, and the ring that had been been a slow, constant pulse suddenly stuttered against his own heart before it started hammering double-time. Reap’s heart was sprinting or worse, starving. Katsuki fought with himself to keep his pulse from matching the ring’s new rhythm, throat tight. Hold on, dammit. Just hold the hell on.

By the time the red alert lights finally blinked back to green, his ring was still flickering, no longer racing, but uneven, like Izuku was gulping at shadows for air. The line began to inch forward again, it had been just shy of four minutes. Four minutes with Reap suspended in permeation. Four minutes without a single breath.

And now, standing there, feeling the slow crawl of the line finally start again, he could feel the edge of something sharp pressing into his chest—panic, real and thick, that shadow slithering in to remind him of the memories he often wished he could forget.

How long can the brain go without oxygen?

The question echoed. Unwelcome. Familiar. Four to six minutes before permanent damage starts to set in.

He knew that number because he'd lived it. Because he'd stood helpless once, watching Izuku's body struggle on a crumbling floor, half-ruined and desperately gasping for air. Katsuki remembered the way Izuku's chest tried and failed to rise, the sharp hiss that turned into silence, the moment his body tensed, then went slack. Eyes dulling as that small part of Izuku slipped into the void forever. The seconds had stretched forever in that crawlspace. Time bent sideways while he screamed at him to stay awake, to breathe, to not fucking leave.

He swallowed. Hard. Forced it down like it was something with teeth. Don't think, dammit. Just move. Just get through the checkpoint. He's fine. He's fine.

After what felt like the longest minute and a half of his goddamn life, he made it to the front. Katsuki stepped forward, offering the ID card in one smooth motion. Didn't speak. Just met the masked attendant's gaze head-on and held still while the retinal scanner slid into place.

The scan passed. Green blinked across the retinal plate. The attendant reached to confirm the ID, fingers tapping the console.

Then something blinked. A quiet, almost polite warning chirped from the monitor. A single pixel of red flared across the interface, as if the machine had just changed its mind about letting him live.

The attendant's gloved hand froze mid-tap. Behind the mask, their eyes narrowed. There was another chirp, louder this time, more insistent, like metal teeth worrying a bone.

Lane Five's guns pivoted. Just a hair, but Katsuki felt every servo whine scrape down his spine. Sweat prickled, cold as solvent. Fuck. Breathe. No, don't breathe—any hitch, any twitch, and that shadow tether under his boots might jitter, might thicken, might ping.

Another pixel flared red. Two. Then a whole row. The attendant looked up, voice flat as a coroner's tag. "Sir, there appears to be—"

Katsuki never heard the rest. The floor under him pulsed once, like the heart of the building had skipped. Every turret along the ceiling snapped toward Lane Five, barrels charging with that low, hungry whine he'd heard once before on the surveillance camera in Toei, right before Deku had decimated the facility.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chlorine

Katsuki's body was still braced for gunfire when the command hit.

"Sir," the desk attendant said, voice clipped and neutral, "we're going to need you to step through auxiliary density. Just a secondary scan. Likely a sensor misread."

Auxiliary density. Fuck, that meant something had tripped.

A sharp clack tapped against his breastbone, the ring throbbing faster than before. One-two-one-two. Too fast. Almost panicked. His own pulse stuttered, rage flaring sharp and fast behind his eyes. Phaze. That ripple. That flash of red. He should've known. Shit, shit, shit—Phazewave. Goddamn it, of all the fucking times.

He snapped, "The fuck do you mean misread? I've got active clearance, run the damn ID again."

The nearest guard didn't flinch. Just cocked his head slightly, the barrel of his rifle ticking a hair closer. "Standard protocol, sir. Step through the auxiliary scanner."

His jaw locked so tight it ached. Standard protocol his ass. They were seconds away from dragging him behind a wall and turning his insides into a report. Another guard stepped closer, way too close now for comfort, hand hovering near their weapon.

Katsuki's fingers twitched at his side, white-knuckled around his wallet. Every instinct screamed to bolt, to blast, to move, but he couldn't. Not with Reap still suspended under his feet like a loaded mine and the sensor network one hiccup away from full lockdown again. Every muscle in Katsuki's frame coiled tight enough to hum. His eyes mapped the hall in a blink. There were four turrets overhead, two riflemen at his nine and three, one console jockey dead center. Marble floors meant lousy traction. High ceiling vents—blast upward, shrapnel cone, sonic shock might drop three, maybe four before the second wave pours in... no, he needed to stay fucking calm. He swallowed the fire, lifted both hands, palms up.

"Tch. Fine. Whatever," he spat, shoving the wallet back into his coat. "Let's just fucking go."

The pat-down was fast but cold and mechanical. Professional, yeah, but invasive in all the wrong ways. Katsuki didn't glower, didn't growl, just clenched his jaw and stared dead ahead. The guard finished, gave a sharp nod.

"Inside. Arms slightly out. Hold still."

Katsuki forced his shoulders to relax, forced his breath slow and steady. He walked passed the guard, eyes flicking up once to track the thin down-lights recessed in the ceiling. Each lamp pinned a hard circle of brilliance onto the floor; the closer he got, the more it sheared his shadow down to a tight, stunted blot at his heels, as if the light itself meant to crush anything hiding there.

He slid into the scanner chamber with the slow, steady gait of someone measuring the weight of every breath, feeling the slight hum of sensors flicker to life around him. The door hissed shut behind him, cutting him off from the guards, from the exits, from everything. If it pings, he would blow the floor and sprint through the smoke. Elbow up, crater the panel, turrets lose tracking... The blue scan-line swept up his body once. Twice. A third time. He could taste copper, adrenaline so thick it ghosted metallic across his tongue. Sweat rolled down his spine, ready to atomize into an explosion at the twitch of a muscle. Seconds ticked by at a crawl. There was a weak, stuttering flicker against his chest, like Izuku's heart was throwing sparks instead of rhythm.

Then the scanner beeped once, softly. Clear. No density anomaly detected...What? The door slid open. Katsuki stepped out, shoulders still squared to kill. He flicked a glance at the guard's display. There was no red, no warning glyphs, just the bland green of clearance. His shadow stretched across the marble. Smooth. Unbroken.

No. That ripple earlier had been real. It had registered; he'd seen the screen flash red. For half a heartbeat he just stared, confusion curdling with adrenaline. That scan should've lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. But it hadn't. And he had no fucking idea why.

A guard waved him forward, already moving back to their post near lane five as though none of it mattered. Katsuki pushed past the checkpoint rail and slipped back into the crowd's current. Boots struck marble with a clipped rhythm, each step a ticking fuse in his head. Five minutes, fifty-something seconds, maybe more. Reap had to be suffocating in there, still fused inside Phaze's quirk like a damn corpse waiting for a pulse.

He kept his head down, gait controlled, eyes clocking every exit, every turret. A Ghoul guard glanced up, dismissing him after a single sweep of the visor. Good. Keep it that way.

The damn elevator bay loomed ahead in polished steel, blue biometric lights humming like a warning. The plan had been ride the lift up, stay invisible, and slip into one of the shops with no security cams, but that plan had assumed no hitch in their time limit.

Katsuki suddenly spots a restroom sign, black kanji on white plastic. An alcove sat to the left of the main corridor, camera blind spot, no guards within five meters. A single thought cracked across the static in his mind. Privacy.

Ba....dump. The beat that followed now had faded to a thin, sickly thread, each pulse dragging like a dying battery. Heartbeat... slowing.

Fuck the plan.

He pivoted fast, nearly clipping a courier who hissed a curse. Katsuki ignored him and ducked into the service hall under the restroom sign and let the lobby noise vanish like someone'd slammed a lid over it. Anyone watching would've chalked it up to nerves. Nausea. Maybe deal jitters. Fine by him.  A dim strip light ran along the ceiling, cold and narrow, drowning out the pounding rush of blood through his skull. He'd taken four steps, enough to drag his scattered fucking thoughts into something resembling a plan. coax Phazewave out before brain damage sets in. Simple enough, right?

But step five? Step five never came.

The tile melted under his boot like it had turned traitor, not even a goddamn tremble of warning. Just a sudden, slick black maw yawning wide, gravity evaporated like it never existed. One blink and he plunged through floor like a fish choking on air, body flailing for something solid and hitting only the familiar inky darkness, that silk-soft wrongness of shadow. This time though, it was moving with the vicious and relentless speed of a riptide. The current gripped at his calves, hips, shoulders, sliding over skin like cool fabric while yanking him forward with brutal momentum. He tried to brace; the shadow just slithered around the effort and kept dragging him deeper. Silence swallowed every curse he spat, the darkness swallowing each frantic twist of muscle.

Ahead, if there was an ahead, light flickered, pale and distant. The river of shadow corkscrewed, spat him sideways, and then gravity remembered its job. Katsuki slammed into the tile flat on his back, skidding until his boot ricocheted off the rail of a handicap stall, air punching from his lungs. Fluorescent glare slammed into his eyes, the bleach stink of a public bathroom pouring into his nose.

He slammed a fist to the floor, half to push up, half to remind himself the ground was solid again. "You hulking idiot, what the actual fu—"

The words died on his tongue.

Phazewave's head rose from the tile near the wall, gold and obsidian beak glistening like oil. Beneath the floor, shadow mass churned and unfurled like a predator in murky waters. A low, wet growl vibrated the ceramic, and on the tile, only a hand's breadth away, lay Izuku.

Katsuki lunged the span of tile between them, fingers already scrabbling for a pulse. Izuku's skin felt icy, a waxen pallor leeched of every healthy tone. His lips had gone a bruised violet, the color creeping toward his cheeks in branching veins. No rise, no fall of the chest. Just a fragile hush where breath should have lived. No. No, no. Not again. Not fucking again. Breathe, dammit.

He slid two frantic fingers to Izuku's throat. Nothing but silence under paper-thin skin. Katsuki yanked at the chain, seeing the green light shiver once, barely a flicker, and then dim again, its weak rhythm stuttering like a dying spark plug. The countdown in his head swung into a full siren.

Phaze bailed because he'd been too goddamn slow. The thought stabbed hard, but he shoved it away. Guilt later. He tilted Izuku's head, swept a thumb across slack lips, felt the cold tack of drying saliva. Airway clear. Good. He clasped his hands, heel over heel, and planted them center‑line on Izuku's sternum.

"One, two, three—" He drove down, shoulders locked, elbows straight. The compressions rocked the tile, boots squeaking as he found rhythm. Breath hissed through his grit‑tight teeth, counting under his voice. "Four, five, six—come on—seven, eight—"

Thirty beats. He pinched Izuku's nose, sealed his own mouth over lips gone frigid, and forced two strong breaths. His chest barely rose. Too stiff, his lungs are fighting him. He repositioned, laced hands again, and hammered a second set. Sweat dripped from his brow to Izuku's jacket, beading on the fabric.

Behind him, the shadow pool eddied, restless, Phazewave lurking just beneath the surface. Katsuki ignored it, driving steady pressure, every ounce of explosive strength channeled into precision. He'd break a rib if he had to, better broken than dead.

Thirty more. Two breaths.

"Don't you quit on me, nerd." His voice cracked, scraped raw against tiles. He glanced down once at his dangling ring. A faint ember glowed, guttered, held. Still time. Push harder.

Katsuki was counting by muscle memory while the buzz of the fluorescents frayed his nerves. Izuku's sternum dipped under each compression, springing back like thin plywood. Another breath. Another. Still no real movement.

The restroom door creaked open. Footsteps shuffled in, rubber soles squeaking against the wet tile out by the sinks. A careless hum followed, the sound of someone at the sink checking their reflection, fixing their hair. Katsuki held still, fingers laced on Izuku's sternum, the handicap stall door gaping wide in front of him. Goddammit, he forgot to close the damn door.

The stranger angled toward the mirror. His reflection caught the scene in a single, silent frame—Katsuki crouched over Izuku, hands locked mid‑compression, sweat‑slick hair clinging to his forehead like he'd run a marathon in hell. The man's hum stuttered, fell dead. His eyes flicked from glass to open stall, confusion sharpening into alarm.

Panic snapped through Katsuki's veins. Shit, move, close the door, blast him, pick an option, any option—The floor beneath the sinks rippled as silk turned to jaws. Shadow speared upward, caught the man at the ankles, and yanked. He sprawled hard, palms slapping tile, nails screeching for purchase. One frantic, wordless shout bent into a wet gargle as the darkness climbed his thighs, ribs, throat. Katsuki watched it swallow a scream that never escaped, suction so fierce it left streaks of skin on the polished floor. In a single breath the stranger was gone, tile sealing over like water smoothed by rain.

Silence snapped back, brutal and final. The light above flickered once, then steadied. Well, that was one way to take care of a damn issue.

A thin ribbon of black slipped from the pool the Nomu was in, sliding up the stall divider, spiraling around the handle, and jerked. The metal latch snapped shut with a clean click. Another tendril found the deadbolt, twisted, and seated it with a dull clack. The darkness receded at once, leaving the door sealed and the stale air humming with bleach and tension.

Katsuki barely spared it a glance. Both palms returned to Izuku's sternum, fingers interlaced, knuckles white. He locked his elbows, leaned in, and drove the next set of compressions. Izuku's head lolled with each rebound, hair fanning across the floor. Pale lashes fluttered but did not open.

"Twenty‑eight, twenty‑nine, thirty." Breath. Breath. On the second exhale, he felt the faintest tremor under his palms, almost imagined. He pressed two fingers to Izuku's carotid again.

A whisper of pulse, thin as spider silk.

"There you are," he muttered, a savage relief flaring bright and painful. He kept compressions lighter now, matching the fragile beat, coaxing it stronger. The purpling around Izuku's lips receded by a shade, shifting toward dusky pink. His chest twitched, weak but voluntary. Katsuki tipped his ear close, heard a shallow inhale that wasn't his own. The ring against his sternum warmed, a tentative flicker of life. Yes, yes, yes, come on.

Katsuki sealed his mouth over Izuku's again and pushed a long, steady breath. Halfway through the exhale Izuku's chest convulsed. A wet, gasping snarl tore free. His body jackknifed, hands shooting to Katsuki's shoulders with feral strength.

"Easy!" Katsuki barked, voice cracking. He tried to lean back, but Izuku's fingers clamped like talons, nails biting through combat fabric into skin. Wild green eyes—too bright, too fractured—locked onto him. They held no recognition, only raw survival rage. Phazewave recoiled, the pool of dark shrinking tight under the partition, snout dipping beneath the floor as red eyes widened like a skittish animal.

Izuku heaved, the strength came shockingly quick, one heartbeat of weakness, then a violent surge. Izuku hooked a leg, twisted, and flipped their positions in a violent surge. Katsuki's spine hit tile, breath whooshing out. Pain flared between his shoulder blades, but he let it burn. Better this than that awful fucking silence. Izuku straddled his waist, driving an arm across Katsuki's throat, the other braced against his chest as though ready to carve him open, the shadow of green talons phasing into existence.

"Oi, look at me." Katsuki forced calm into the quake of his muscles, adrenaline buzzing so hard his fingers tingled. He could still taste copper on his tongue, maybe from biting his lip, maybe from Izuku's desperate swing, but he held Izuku's stare. "Izuku. You're safe. You're in the Market restroom. I've got you." He breathed through grit-ground teeth, refusing to fight back with the same violence.

Izuku's teeth flashed, breath coming in ragged bursts. His hands were still pressed to Katsuki's throat, not choking now, but still hovering too close, like his instincts hadn't caught up to his reality yet. His wild-eyed gaze was hypervigilant, darting around the stall, like he'd woken mid-nightmare and expected the walls to attack. "It's just me, nerd. You coded out. I hauled you back. You're breathing now."

A flash of confusion bled through Izuku's fury, a twitch in the jaw, eyes darting like he was catching up to a skipped reel. His grip on Katsuki's throat loosened a fraction. Breath rasped out of him, shaky and shallow.

Katsuki shifted his weight, drawing himself upright until they were eye‑level, breath mingling in the tight stall. The fury blazing back at him wasn't Deku‑soft or Izuku‑tender; it was the cold, dissecting glare of Reaper.

And yet the fucking relief crashed so hard it left him swaying.

For a blink the bathroom dissolved, fluorescent glare replaced by that nightmarish emerald blast over Jaku, the scream of shearing re‑bar, Izuku's severed arm glinting in ruin. He'd felt Izuku's pulse vanish before... felt it once, felt it forever. That nightmare had never truly loosened its claws on Katsuki, even after all these years, because every time he closed his eyes, he saw it. Felt it. Heard that last ragged breath. He fought the rising shadow down.

For a long second, neither moved. Water dripped somewhere near the sink. Phazewave's shadow hovered just beyond the stall like a living statue. Katsuki let the silence stretch, then bent forward, pressing his forehead to Reaper's shoulder. The heat of his neck brushed his cheek. The contact wasn't gentle; it was ground zero, raw and unfiltered.

Reaper went rigid, muscles bunching like he might shove Katsuki through the wall. His fingers twitched at Katsuki's throat, half‑ready to clamp down. "I am not Deku," he growled, voice rough as gravel.

"I know." Katsuki's words came out low, rough as broken glass. He stayed right there, eyes clenched shut, reeling himself back from the edge as best he could. The heat of Reaper's skin under his forehead, the steady rhythm of that stubborn bastard's pulse pulled him back from the brink like a slow, receding tide, dragging the jagged shadow of panic away bit by painful bit. Even that stupid familiar smell, sweat and iron and something else uniquely him, cut through the static of Katsuki's fear.

"Doesn't mean I wanted to watch you die."

Reaper's breath seemed to falter, caught between rage and something harder to name. He went still, eyes narrowing. The stall felt too small for whatever battle sat silent between them. Katsuki drew one slow breath, another, feeling the shakiness ease. Then he lifted his head.

Reaper's eyes were taking on that blazing shade of hellfire green, accusatory as ever. "You don't care about me," he said after a second, voice quieter but sharper. "You only care about Izuku. About Deku... I'm a side effect," he said, venom lacing every syllable, but underneath it lay a tremor—fear, exhaustion... gratitude.

"You really believe that bullshit?"

Reap didn't answer, so Katsuki continued. "I care about Izuku... All of him. That means you too, you arrogant bastard." Reaper's jaw flexed, nostrils flaring as his throat bobbed. The black flecks in his jade eyes flickered against the hellfire. "Don't feed me pity."

"Not pity." Katsuki's lips twisted, half‑snarl, half‑confession. "Truth. I hate you sometimes. Hate the way you fucking talk down to me, hate the shit you pull, hate that you push them under whenever you damn well please. But I still love you. Because you're him. All of you is him. The broken pieces, the wrath, the parts that keep him alive when nothing else does." When Katsuki couldn't...

Phazewave's shadow stirred, a restless ripple. Neither man looked away.

"I didn't bring you back for the good parts," Katsuki said, voice shaking now, equal parts fury and confession. "I hauled you back because losing any part of him—of you—is the one thing I can't survive again." For the first time since waking, Reaper's eyes softened, not to warmth, never that, but to bewildered irritation. A crease carved above one brow as if the logic refused to fit.

"You're wrong. It's because of him," Reaper tried again, weaker now. "Don't think me a fucking imbecile—"

"It's because of you," Katsuki shot back. "Every version. He wouldn't fucking be whole without you, and I—" The words snagged on the sharp edge of honesty. He swallowed, pushed on. "I don't want half of him. I want every fucking shard."

Something seemed to shift in Reap as the rigid set of his jaw eased, not all the way, but enough to give the angles of his face a human break. For the first time Katsuki could remember, the mask of surgical disdain cracked, and what was left wasn't rage or calculation. It was surprise. Bare, unguarded, almost fragile. The green in his eyes dulled from cutting glass to bright sea‑glass, still sharp but rounded at the edges, as if his brain had short-circuited on the concept of love and didn't know whether to brace or run.

Katsuki felt the sudden flutter of Reaper's pulse through his ring. That tiny tremor said everything Reaper would never admit. Holy hell. He'd never seen that look on Reap's face, that wide-eyed, almost startled look, as if someone had yanked the floor out from under months of practiced contempt. No snarl, no biting retort. Just a raw flash of what the fuck do I do with that? before the familiar frost tried, and failed, to settle back in place.

Reaper's lashes fluttered once, as awareness sparked. Those emerald eyes flicked downward and caught the reality of their position, knees snug around Katsuki's hips, hands still braced on the solid plane of his chest. A wash of deep color crept up Katsuki's throat. He tried to shift, but Reaper's palms pinned his shoulders with deliberate slowness, as if cataloging the reaction.

The bastard leaned in, a predatory calm coating the sudden crack in his armor, mouth tilting in the ghost of a smirk. He dipped low enough that stark white hair curtained their faces from the fluorescents, his nose brushing the shell of Katsuki's ear. Breath, humid and deliberate, coasted over skin gone hypersensitive. Goose bumps rippled down Katsuki's arms, traitorous and instant. "Hopeless idiot," Reaper murmured, the words soft but edged, nearly a purr. "You always did bleed for monsters."

He drew back with maddening ease, mask of disdain reassembling molecule by molecule. He rose in a single fluid motion, dusted invisible debris from his palms, and stepped off Katsuki like dismounting a training dummy, though he didn't meet Katsuki's eyes. Katsuki pushed off the tile, joints protesting, and rose to his full height. The fluorescent glare felt harsher now, picking out every fleck of dust on his torn shirt, every tremor still skating down his forearms. He steadied himself with a sharp exhale.

Reaper didn't offer a hand. He side-eyed Katsuki as he stood, head canted the slightest degree, that earlier crack in his shell soldering itself shut. Only the barest stain of color lingered high on his cheekbones, proof that the moment had happened at all. For all the venom, all the cold, there was something bruised there, something almost... lost. But just as fast, he turned away, recalibrating, that battlefield logic snapping back into place.

"Get what you came for," he said, voice back to its scalpel edge. "Support gear, intel, whatever. Then leave. We need to get to the research facility as soon as possible." Katsuki opened his mouth, thought better, and just nodded once. No argument left in him. He flexed his scarred hands, sparks whispering up his arms, grounding himself.

Phazewave's shadow slithered across the tile, black as tar, snout gliding between Reaper's boots.  Reaper turned without another word, coat hem brushing Katsuki's knee, and stepped onto the living shadow. It accepted his weight with liquid silence, rippling into a fathomless pool. Silver eyes blinked once at Katsuki, then vanished as darkness folded over Reaper's calves, hips, then shoulders.

"Try to fucking lay low," Katsuki muttered. The surface swallowed the last of Reaper's white hair. Tile sealed smooth, leaving only a faint chill where body heat had lingered.

Ten minutes later, the elevator doors slid open with a quiet mechanical sigh, releasing a wash of cold, recirculated air that pricked the sweat-damp skin at Katsuki's nape. He rolled his shoulders before forcing himself forward, heart still partially jackhammering from the shitstorm he'd just fucking endured downstairs.

That was the damn thing about adrenaline and anxiety; it built quietly, filled every crack and crevice, then drowned you before you even felt the water rising.

The polished doors slid open smoothly, whispering across their tracks, and he stepped out into a corridor bathed in soft, carefully placed amber lighting. Unlike the sterile glare of the lower floors, the twenty-seventh floor was dressed up like a hotel for rich psychos who thought taste meant hiding a deadly weapon in rich velvet.

He dragged himself through the threshold, boots sinking into carpet so thick it almost swallowed the sound of his steps. This level wasn't the dense, cold marble of the checkpoint or the slick tile of that goddamn bathroom floor; this was different, quieter, more dangerous in its civility. He didn't trust it, not the lights, not the muted hum of conversation drifting from tucked-away rooms, not the soft, floral fragrance pumped discreetly through hidden vents to mask the undertone of solder and burnt insulation of this higher floor.

A handful of people drifted up and down the plush hallway, each one dressed like they belonged in a boardroom or a back-alley auction, heels clicking on carpet, hands buried in pockets or clutching sleek little briefcases. Most kept their eyes fixed ahead, pretending to ignore each other, but the air reeked of side-glances and hushed calculations. No one lingered too long; everyone here moved with the kind of wariness that only came from knowing how much shit you could lose in a place like this. One guy in particular stood out. He was hunched in a low-lit corner, suit screaming money, the cut and fabric so sharp it looked like it'd draw blood if you brushed past. Katsuki felt those eyes rake over him cold, metallic, weighing. The man's mouth curled up, smug and reptilian, before he slid into the gloom of one of the side rooms, disappearing as quickly as he'd surfaced. Katsuki bristled but kept moving; he wasn't here for these pathetic extras.

Fumikage's contact, the same shady bastard who'd rigged his credentials, had sworn up and down that this workshop was top-notch. "End of the hall, left at the gold inlay, third door. Don't touch anything unless you're ready to pay for it in blood or cash," he'd said, voice low, breath reeking of clove and something chemical.

It, apparently, was some fancy fucking black-market boutique that dealt gear so damn good, it made hero tech look like overpriced kid toys. Katsuki ground his teeth at the thought, bitterness carving deeper lines into his expression. The idea that these scumbags had their hands on equipment leagues ahead of what heroes could field turned his gut to acid. But he couldn't deny the logic; this place catered to monsters who could buy their way into the end of the world. It shouldn't have been a surprise their tools would reflect it.

A pair of ghoulish masks tilted slightly as he strode by, hidden eyes following his steps with silent assessment. Katsuki didn't so much as break pace, just squared his jaw tighter and kept walking like he belonged here, even if every nerve ending screamed otherwise. Let them fucking stare. If they wanted to see a threat, he'd gladly be one.

As he moved deeper down the hall, he focused his breathing, forcing the tidal wave of emotion from earlier to recede... locking away Reaper's searing gaze, the desperation of dragging him back from death, the sting of bitter truths traded like blows in that cramped stall. He couldn't afford to carry that weight into this place when there were cameras nearly everywhere.

As he walked, white noise generators whispered from hidden alcoves, scrubbing conversations into garbled static as they passed through his ears. High-security, privacy-first. Perfect for assholes who didn't want their business overheard. He kept his stride casual but surveyed every inch, spotting the shop tucked halfway down the second corridor. It was marked only by a discreet brass plaque with kanji etched sharply into the polished metal. Door 2738 glowed faintly ahead, haloed in subdued blue. No guards, at least none visible.

He remembered what Fumikage's contact had said a week ago, when Katsuki was still half-running on hate and caffeine, elbow-deep in prep for this damn op. "Ask for the Wraith," the guy had muttered, barely looking up from his laptop. "You'll want to, if you want gear that hard to source and harder to break. Or if you want to keep your fingers."

He stopped, fingers flexing, palm itching to spark. He blew out a tight breath, ground his molars together, and tapped the entry pad. The sensor chirped, slick and clinical, scanning his biometrics through the high-tech contacts in his eyes. He stepped back, watching as a camera lens slid from the molding and swiveled sharply to face him, adjusting with an audible click.

A soft, neutral buzz resonated behind the panel, and a moment later, the lock disengaged with a clean mechanical snick. He pushed inside without hesitation, the door sealing shut behind him like the quiet hiss of a pressure lock, cutting off the muted noise of the corridor beyond.

The lounge of the shop was all polished dark wood, recessed amber lighting, and sleek black leather, luxury so carefully fucking controlled it looked sterile. He'd been here for three goddamn hours that first time—a week ago, grinding through every second like it was his own personal brand of hell. Not just haggling for a rush order, but fighting for every detail, every spec, every fuck-you clause in the design. Wraith had pushed back on the timeframe, on the tolerances, on the fact Katsuki wanted gear built to survive a nuclear meltdown and still hit like a freight train. They'd argued over materials, over the density of the mesh, over the width of the fucking seams. Katsuki refused to budge. He wasn't settling for standard, not when Deku's life was on the line.

No small talk. No bullshit. Every word was sharpened, every glare a threat. By the time Katsuki slammed his hand on the table and spat the last requirement, even Wraith looked like he wanted to throw him out or maybe try and recruit him.

Now, stepping into the lounge again, the memory scraped raw against his nerves, fingers itching for sparks he couldn't afford to ignite.

Across the room, a mountain of a heteromorph with translucent, insectile wings buzzed impatiently as the attendant adjusted a sleek collar of polished black metal studded with softly glowing nodes. "This one modulates air currents," the seller murmured quietly, tone clinical as he fastened the device in place, "reduces atmospheric friction for improved speed and stealth."

Katsuki ignored them, scanning instead for his contact.

"Mr. Hozumi," someone called, the voice emanating, soft as velvet from the far corner of the lounge.

Katsuki pivoted, spotting Wraith behind a long, immaculate steel table, that had likely been polished until it gleamed like a surgical tray. Wraith was lean and angular beneath his tailored black suit, sharp features shadowed by neatly combed hair and wire-frame glasses. He regarded Katsuki through lenses tinted so dark, his eyes were little more than suggestions of cool appraisal.

Katsuki stalked over, boots muted against the plush blood red carpet. "Tell me you have it all," he growled through his mask, dropping into the cover name with practiced ease. No pleasantries, no patience. He didn't have time for bullshit.

Wraith's mouth quirked, not quite a smile, more like the restrained irritation of someone who'd been working tirelessly on short notice. "You do realize how difficult rush orders are at this level of complexity," he replied softly, flicking a glance down at the datapad in his hand, tone flat. "Just sourcing the materials burned three separate favors."

Katsuki snorted softly. "Yeah, but it's done, right?"

"Of course."

Wraith gestured for Katsuki to wait, then crossed to a recessed panel on the far wall. A safe door, flush with the wood, revealed itself under his touch. He keyed in a sequence with deliberate precision, the keypad lighting in a soft blue rhythm before giving a muted click. The heavy lock disengaged with a layered thunk.

Wraith pulled the door open to reveal a secure alcove, its interior lined with reinforced shelves. From within, he lifted three matte-black, reinforced cases. They held no markings, just the faint shimmer of high-grade steel catches. He set them on the immaculate steel table one by one, their weight sinking into the surface with a satisfying finality.

The first case opened with a pneumatic hiss, revealing state-of-the-art Air Force gauntlets nestled inside protective foam. They were sleeker and longer than Deku's original design, stretching fully past the elbow. Matte black and silver metal interlocked seamlessly with reinforced carbon fiber mesh, subtly woven lines revealing multiple layers of dark green alloy. Every rivet was countersunk, every hinge reinforced, built specifically to allow whoever was at the wheel to deal a blow at one hundred percent without pulverizing bones into dust.

Beside them, folded neatly, was Deku's suit, the color a dark green so deep it could melt straight into shadow if he stood still long enough. The Kevlar threads caught the amber light in faint, almost imperceptible glints, a hidden lattice of strength woven into every panel. Subtle, but brutal in its purpose. Strong enough to take a blade head-on. Dense enough to dampen quirk impacts. Katsuki's throat tightened, a slow constriction that had nothing to do with the tension in his muscles.

The lines of it, the contour of the shoulders, the way the chest panel was reinforced... it wasn't the same, but it was close enough to punch up memories he'd long buried. The old suit. How many times had that damn nerd let it be torn open by debris, dragged across shattered concrete, scorched black from standing between him and an explosion meant to take Katsuki's head off? But there was still that one image that burned brighter than the rest...fabric stretched over heaving ribs, Izuku's hands shaking but still reaching for Katsuki.

Katsuki had ordered this one with those moments in mind, every choice calculated. Better thread density. Reinforced seam work to stop tearing at the joints. Layered padding in high-impact zones without sacrificing movement. Upgrades Deku nor Reap would've never approved of, stubborn idiots that they were. Reaper was probably debating on biting his head off—too much pride in shouldering damage, in proving he could take the hit. Katsuki wouldn't be giving him the fucking option. This suit wasn't about permission. It was about making damn sure that if the world tried to chew him, them, up again, it was going to break its teeth trying.

If Reaper was pissed about it, he didn't show it; the shadow trailing him eerily quiet. There hadn't been so much as a ripple since they stepped off the elevator. Honestly fuck what he wanted. Reap's recklessness demanded more protection than the old suit had ever given Izuku.

Wraith cleared his throat softly, that precise little sound pulling Katsuki's focus back to him. The man's face was a mask of professional detachment. "The gauntlets are constructed from a tungsten–carbide composite," he said, easing one of the gauntlets out of the foam, rotating it slowly for Katsuki. He thumbed a recessed catch along the inner forearm, exposing the shock-resistant polymer lining—thick, impact-absorbing, layered like muscle. "Virtually indestructible under normal quirk stresses. The lining ensures the wearer won't snap their wrists on an overload."

He gave the articulated elbow joint a small twist, the reinforced extension locking forward with a precise click. "Mobility is enhanced through segmented articulation here," he went on, tilting it so Katsuki could see the seamless rotation of the joint. "Improves control. Reduces strain. And as you specified—" he flipped the gauntlet to show the extra plating along the rear elbow, every rivet sunk flush "—maximum protection in high stress areas."

The air smelled faintly of oiled metal and clean polymer as Wraith set it back into the foam with exacting care. His finger shifted, tapping the suit beside them. "This was more difficult. Integrated Kevlar weave, slash-proof, and heat-resistant up to eighteen hundred degrees Celsius. Ballistic layering on vital points such as the chest, abdomen, and back. From what you told me about your partner's... tendencies," he added, glasses flashing faintly as he adjusted them, "it should save them from themselves. Or at least buy them more time before disaster."

Katsuki let out a short, humorless huff. Yeah. Here's hoping. "And the other gear?" he asked, voice flattening as he tore his eyes from the suit. Wraith slid one of the smaller cases forward, the latch snapping open with a clean bite.

"Your request—thermo-reg Kevlar undersuit. Phase-change fibers, graphene wiring woven throughout to disperse excess static charge. Exactly to your specifications."

Katsuki ran his fingertips over the smooth, cool, and deceptively light material. This was the kind of edge he needed. With it, he could push longer, burn hotter, without slamming into the red too fast. His explosions used to be limited to his palms, he'd learned to ride that heat years ago. But now, with the blast roaring through every muscle fiber after his quirk awakening, his core temperature often spiked too fast, too hard. A long fight meant flirting with the edge of cooking himself alive, dancing on that razor-thin margin between lethal efficiency and letting Void Flare take over. Too many times lately, he'd felt the world tilt toward the latter.

This wouldn't stop it, but it'd give him a buffer. A sliver of breathing room he would probably needed in the upcoming future.

"Good," he muttered, forcing his hand off the fabric. He glanced at Wraith, gaze narrowing. "Last item?"

Wraith inclined his head, pushing the final case before Katsuki. This one was smaller, narrower, its profile sleek and unassuming. With a quiet, mechanical click, it opened.

Inside lay a half-mask, nothing like the jagged, snarling demon face he wore now. This was stripped down, all business, matte-black composite polymer and carbon fiber so dark it seemed to drink the light around it, just like Deku's suit. The edges were sharp without being loud, cut to fit tight along his jawline without choking visibility or breath. Built to intimidate, sure, but more importantly, built to work.

Katsuki's gaze lingered, thumb brushing the inside rim where the seal would lock against skin. The idea of covering his face had always been appealing, not to hide, never that, but to control what people saw. To strip away any tells, any little twitch or flicker that could give him away in a fight. It was one of the reasons he'd wanted the damn thing integrated into his suit after the war, make it a seamless part of the gear, not an afterthought you strapped on.

Wraith tapped the edge of the case. "Reinforced ballistic polymer. Integrated filtration and smoke dispersal. Chemical resistance to all common and most unique neurotoxins. Optimized for airflow and long-term wear." His voice dipped, precise and controlled. "No decorative elements, per your instructions. I assume practicality over aesthetics was the point."

Katsuki snorted quietly. Damn right it was. Wraith closed the cases with a quiet, mechanical click, each latch snapping shut with sharp finality. He adjusted his glasses, gaze lifting back to Katsuki. "Anything else catch your eye today, Mr. Hozumi?"

Katsuki's attention drifted toward the far wall, taking in rows of gleaming steel and glass displays, cases holding things that screamed danger and profit in equal measure. For half a heartbeat, he considered it. But they had everything already. Shit, more than enough, considering the fucking fortune this gear had already cost him.

"Nah," he muttered, already pulling his phone from his pocket, thumb flicking the screen awake to check the time. They'd burned enough daylight here, and every extra minute on this floor just meant more chances for shit to go sideways. "That's it. Let's settle up."

Wraith nodded, sliding his terminal device from his jacket. Katsuki keyed in the burner account, eyes locked on the screen as the transfer processed. The total lit up for just a moment, long enough for his stomach to twist at the fat stack of zeros. It was an ungodly fucking amount of money. If it weren't for the fortune he'd built over years of high-risk ops, jobs he'd sworn he'd never take but had anyway to help fund Izuku's hospital bills, this gear otherwise would have been anything but a fantasy.

The phone buzzed once softly, notifying him that the transaction was complete. Wraith pocketed his device, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint, satisfied smirk.

"Pleasure doing business."

Katsuki just grunted, collecting the three briefcases, their weight settling into his grip like a promise he wasn't sure if he wanted to greet. Comfort and anxiety, balanced in each hand. He turned without another word, the plush carpet swallowing his steps until the shop door whispered shut behind him, sealing the luxury away like a vault burying its secrets.

The silence that followed felt heavy, too quiet compared to the soft hum of conversation and white noise inside. Katsuki had just started to make his way toward the elevators when a nagging thought jabbed at the edges of his mind. He slowed, setting the cases down, and pulled out his phone again, thumbs quickly flicking across the screen, firing off a quick text to Reaper.

Got everything. Need anything else before we hit Numazu?

He stood, waiting, glancing at the time again. A minute ticked by, then two. The silence stretched, thickening into something sharper Katsuki didn't particularly fucking like. His brows pulled together, irritation pushing up under the first prickles of unease.

"The fuck, Reap," he muttered under his breath, thumb digging into the edge of his phone. His gaze dropped to the shadow pooled stubbornly at his boots. Voice low, clipped, he called down to it, "Oi, asshole. You awake down there or what?"

No ripple. No flicker. Just stillness—absolute, empty stillness.

Cold threaded up his spine, suspicion spiking like a live wire. He shifted his weight, jaw grinding, counting off another heartbeat. Then another.

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

"Oi." The growl came out tighter this time, muscles winding like springs. Either the bastard was ignoring him on purpose or worse, something was wrong. Still, the quiet held.

Seriously, what the fuck?

"Reap." The snarl scraped out of his throat, every syllable cutting into the dead hush of the corridor, echoing too loud in the absence of white noise. "This isn't fucking funny."

His stare locked on the shadow, pulse hitting uneven beats. He searched for that subtle tell, the deeper black nested inside his own shape, the distortion that always gave Phaze away. But the longer he looked, the less there was to find. No ripple, no edge, just his goddamn shadow, bland and flat against the floor.

Footsteps brushed past as a tall man in a tailored coat, face half-hidden behind a simple black mask, gave him a sharp, annoyed look, eyes narrowing like he was sizing up some damn lunatic muttering to himself in the middle of the hallway before moving on without a word.

Katsuki's focus slid right back to the empty, lifeless shadow at his feet. The tap of his ring against his sternum kept its own steady rhythm, out of sync with the pounding in his chest. The hair along his arms lifted, every instinct setting him off. Something was wrong. No, something was missing. His gaze snapped up, darting quick across the hallway, cutting into corners, alcoves, every strip of darkness in sight. Nothing. No shift in the black. No sign of Phaze lurking.

Reaper couldn't have just vanished. Couldn't have just walk away and leave him standing here. Could he? The bastard certainly could, but why now of all fucking times?

The thought scraped like broken glass through his chest. He felt the press tighten there, lungs crushed under it until the edges of the world started to smear, confusion eating through his insides. Where the hell did that asshole go?

He couldn't have fucking left. Wouldn't have just disappeared without a word. Not after everything. Not after all the bullshit.

"Goddammit, Reap—" His phone suddenly vibrated in his palm, sharp enough to snap through the static. He thought it was Reaper but the name on the caller ID read Tsukuyomi.

Why would... He swipped the call button. "What—"

"Bakugo!" Fumikage's voice exploded through the speaker, ragged and far too loud, like he was already running. "Get out. Now. You've been compromised, get the hell out of there—"

"Hey, Kacchan."

The sound of his voice was bright, soft, so familiar... and so utterly fucking wrong it stabbed through him like one of Knives' blades. His heart hammered once, then stuttered, pain lancing up his throat like something sharp and poisonous.

Katsuki froze. Every muscle seized, his breath hitching sharply as raw, devastating recognition crashed through him, burning white-hot along his nerves. His heartbeat slammed violently against his chest, nearly drowning out Fumikage's yelling. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. It was him, he knew it. That lilt, the cadence, the part of himself that would always, always answer to that sound even if it killed him.

Slowly, painfully, he turned, every inch a fight against the gravity of that impossible sound.

Izuku stood there, fifteen years old, wide emerald eyes shining with a naive warmth Katsuki hadn't seen, hadn't fucking dared to even dream of seeing, in years. His hair was the wild mess of dark green curls, framing a face untouched by scars, by the violence and grief that had stripped every trace of innocence from the person Katsuki knew now. And he was smiling. Beaming, like none of it had happened. Like the past five years hadn't existed.

Katsuki's phone slipped from his hand, hitting the carpet with a dull thud, forgotten. "Izu—" His throat locked, the name splintering before it could leave him. His knees almost gave out, joints liquefying, his whole body shaking under the weight of it.

This was impossible. It was fucking impossible.

This wasn't, shouldn't be fucking real. But there he was. Izuku, whole and shining and so heartbreakingly, devastatingly young. He tilted his head with that earnest, hopeful expression that had long since been burned from his eyes. Every detail was gut-wrenching, the curve of his cheeks, his freckles, the tentative smile, a goddamn beacon Katsuki had spent his whole life orbiting, shoved back in front of him like some cruel, cosmic joke.

Something cracked deep inside, something he'd thought long since calcified beyond repair. Grief clawed up his throat, suffocating him, raw and choking. His vision blurred, eyes burning with a heat he refused to acknowledge, tears stinging like acid. But even as his heart fractured, even as he felt the jagged edges of his soul splinter and his body screamed to run, to reach out, to grab onto him... something in his mind twisted away, warning, shrieking. Nothing this pure survives in his world. Not anymore. Not since—

A deeper voice, forged in years of loss and betrayal, hissed from the deepest part of him... This wasn't real. Izuku, his Izuku didn't smile like this anymore. Izuku didn't glow like this, didn't look at him with clear, unmarred eyes. Izuku was sharper edges and made of shadow, a brittle mask hiding all the broken pieces, all the scars this society had left. This... this was a knife in an old wound, making sure he remembered just how much he'd fucking lost, digging deep just to make him bleed.

This, whatever stood in front of him, was a ghost. A phantom.

An impossible dream.

A pretty lie. A trap.

Izuku's laugh, light as air, trembled out of him, cutting through the core of his. It was that old, ridiculous carefree giggle, the one Katsuki hadn't heard in so long, the one that used to echo him down school corridors, chase him across playgrounds, thread itself through every stupid argument that ever actually mattered. Back then, it had been infuriating. Now, it was worse. Now it was wrong. Rotten. A song you loved played off-key until it scraped bone. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears, shut it out before it could grind against the raw, half-healed wound that voice still carried inside him.

Then that smile, God, that smile, slipped its leash. The corners twisted, pulling wide and sharp, until all the innocence bled out of it. Hope gutted clean, leaving behind something that glittered with pure malice. Watching it was like watching a mask melt in slow motion. All that hope, that softness, gone in the blink of an eye.

Izuku's head tipped to the other side, and those too-familiar eyes caught the light, glinting not with warmth but calculation. "Hello, Ryuji Hozumi," he sing-songed, sugar-sweet, the edges dripping something rancid. "Or should I say... Katsuki Bakugo?"

Katsuki's whole world slammed on the brakes hard enough to jolt the air from his lungs. That fucking voice, at first, it was Izuku's, bright with that underlying tremor of hope Katsuki used to know better than his own heartbeat. But as the name fell from those lips, something shifted. The pitch wavered, twisted, climbing higher, thinner, a syrupy edge crawling into the words... the subtle timbre slid from innocent to off-kilter. Familiar, but not in a good way. Izuku's voice peeled away, flayed down to something else entirely. Something sly, feminine, playful in that razor-wire way.

No one in this hellhole should have known it, should have known his name.

Izuku blinked once, and emerald bled into molten gold. Predatory, hungry, flickering with that feral glint he remembered from what seemed like another lifetime ago, splashed across wanted posters and police bulletins tied to the League's blood-soaked past.

"Long time no see, Dynamight," the voice purred, shifting on a dime, every syllable now carrying that unmistakable lilt. Izuku's face twisted, lines sharpening, mouth curling in a smile that wasn't his... because it had never been his in the first place.

Himiko Toga grinned back at him.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The Waltz of the Wicked

"I knew it was you." Toga nearly purred, tone curling with that fake, sugary warmth that Katsuki wanted to strangle out of her.

He didn't get the fucking chance to hurl an insult or so much as take a step back before the corridor's amber glow bled to red in a single heartbeat. Sirens groaned alive inside the walls, deep and pulsing, like something ancient had stirred and its inhabitants were stirring. The carpet seemed to stiffen under Katsuki's boots, fibers bristling like hackles. Every hidden lens along the ceiling blinked alive.

A steel shutter slammed down over the nearest shopfronts, the sound sharp enough to rattle him. Then all at once, security shutters screamed down over the shopfronts, steel teeth biting floor to ceiling, cutting off side exits one by one.

Move. Move, he needed to get the fuck out of here.

Toga lunged, knives catching the strobe-flash of the emergency light. Katsuki twisted hard, heat ripping off his palms in a reflex blast that painted the walls white, the recoil slamming him shoulder-first into a metal shutter. Toga didn't give him a second to breathe. She came in low, faster than he remembered, A blur of steel and manic fucking glee. It had to be the new gear—smaller, sleeker, wicked little curve to the blades. The first one caught on his jacket, skimming his ribs, while the second one she drove upwards, under his guard, screeching across the lower edge of his mask, the sound like nails on a chalkboard at it cracked and fell away.

Too close. Too fucking close. He needed distance; he couldn't blast her to hell if she was practically on top of him. He shoved his palm into her side and blew her back two meters. She landed in a crouch, giggling like this was all some sadistic damn foreplay. "Oh, you have gotten sharper, Kacchan... let's play for old times' sake."

"Eat shit, you blood sucking cunt."

She lunged again, a feint high before the other blade carved for low, aiming for his gut. Katsuki dropped, rolled, let the blast snap off his back, and caught the edge of her hair in the heat, singeing the tips. Shutters clanged shut somewhere behind him. The whole fucking hall was caging in. Starlight detonation erupted from him, showering the hall as far as he could see.

"Phaze!" Katsuki roared, slamming his palm against Toga's wrist mid-swing. She hissed, stumbled back, but didn't fall. "Fucking get in here already!" There was no answer. No shimmer of shadow, no flex of deeper black slithering up the walls. Just the bitch's laugh, breathless and sharp, twirling around the chaos like she was dancing.

He couldn't breathe right.

Where the fuck were they? Where the hell did they go—?

Toga pivoted, hooking a damn foot behind his knee. Fucking hell, he didn't remember her ever being this goddamn fast. Either she'd been holding back all those years ago, or she'd spent every stupid second since sharpening her claws for moments like this.

His leg buckled, but he caught himself, planting one hand and blasting the floor, launching himself backwards, sliding across debris and slick powder from the blown storefront displays. She gave chase, knives gleaming, itching to make him bleed. Toga was nearly on him when Katsuki snapped his blackened fingers. "Release!"

The world went white.

The stars went off like a goddamn chain of landmines, one after another, a staccato thunderclap tearing the corridor apart. Bulletproof windows exploded and shards of reinforced polyglass shrieked through the air, splintering into razor dust. The floor cracked, displays shredded, smoke and grit billowing outward in one colossal burst that punched the oxygen right out of his lungs before dumping it back in a choking, grit-thick cloud.

Heat clawed at his skin as the firelight and the haze of the alarms danced in his peripheral. When the smoke swallowed him whole, he bolted. His shoulder slamming through a cluster of stunned onlookers just in time for the first wave of ghoul-masks to pour in from the eastern access hall. Their footsteps were in sync, disciplined, practiced.

His boots crunched over twisted metal and scorched tile when he caught the faintest gleam of a rifle... This wasn't just cleanup. This was a goddamn ambush. Sparks rippled over his arms, singeing the sleeves of his already shredded jacket.

Fuck the cover. Reaper can bitch about it later.

"REAPER!" Katsuki's voice tore down the hall, raw, full of the kind of bite that promised he'd throttle him when he got his fucking hands on the shithead... but only the keening whine of the sirens answered his call as he ran. He scanned the smoke again, coughing, searching for a fucking hint of frost white hair, the flex of reality bending around a quirk. Anything.

There was nothing but red light bleeding through the haze, and that fucking laugh again, faint and feminine, circling like she could taste the frustration bleeding off him.

Katsuki's hand snapped to his chest, palm pressing flat against the ring like he could will the answer out of it. He could feel the steady rhythm of his ring. There wasn't a single flicker of distress. Just that constant, infuriating thump-thump like it had all the time in the goddamn world. Katsuki bristled, teeth bared in a snarl that pulled hot across his jaw.

Normal heartbeat... which meant Reaper wasn't here. Not in the blast zone. Not even close enough to feel the fallout. Hell, he probably wasn't even on the same goddamn floor.

Somewhere between the market checkpoint and the chaos erupting now, they'd split. Peeled off. And he hadn't noticed. He'd been too locked in, too focused, too—too fucking distracted. Irritation scalded hot in the pit of his stomach, tangled up with fury, rising in a pressure spike that made every inch of his skin itch for detonation. He had left him, and whether it was on purpose or not didn't matter. Katsuki was in the hornet's nest now, and no one was coming.

A crack of glass behind him snapped every nerve taut. Katsuki spun without thinking, movement fluid, instinct-driven, palm flaring with raw heat as he thrust it forward.

"AP Shot!"

The explosion detonated like a powder keg, cracking the air wide open. Smoke shredded in spiraling tunnels as white-hot light punched through the red haze, searing through storefront debris and warping the corridor into a jagged kaleidoscope of wreckage.

For a second, a stupid, hopeful second, he thought he'd landed the shot. Thought maybe he'd clipped something, that was until movement blurred out of the dissipating dust, fast and serpentine.

Toga came from the flank like a fucking phantom, blades gleaming. Her momentum drove the steel deep, a hooked arc slicing across the flesh of his upper arm. The sting was instant, white-hot and burning, a line of fire that tore muscle and sent blood spilling hot down the inside of his torn sleeve.

Katsuki hissed through his teeth, spinning to retaliate, but she was already pivoting, voice sickly-sweet and breathless. "Oh, Kacchan," she crooned, voice all breathless sweetness wrapped around a jagged little knife. "You know, I wasn't sure it was really you. Not at first." Her eyes gleamed, wide and glassy, glinting with something wrong. "You've been such a ghost lately. Quiet. Careful. Cowardly, even."

"Don't fucking call me that." His eyes blazed through the smoke, locked on her with the kind of heat that melted through bone.

She tilted her head in that same eerie little angle, that same fucking angle, blood-streaked cheekbone catching the light as her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "But I figured... if it was really you, you'd react." Her smile spread. "And you know what gave you away, Dynamight? It was the heartbreak. That raw, gut-deep ache all over your handsome face when you saw a shadow of the past."

"Shut the hell up," Katsuki snapped, low and venomous, heat flaring along his arms again like his body was begging to burn her out of existence. "Go crawl back into whatever sewer pit you oozed out of and fuck yourself while you're at it."

But Toga only sighed, swiping at the blood on her cheek before tasting it. "I would've let you go, y'know. I wanted to. Because he loved you."

Katsuki's pulse kicked. His throat clenched around a breath he didn't take. He didn't move, didn't blink, but something inside him bristled sharp and feral.

Toga's voice softened, almost dreamlike. "And I loved him before the war. The way he loved you." Her hand curled over the hilt of her blade, like she was holding something delicate. "I understood it, because I saw what he saw. You were real. Ugly and angry and brave. You didn't lie about who you were. Even when it hurt. Even when it bled."

The words slithered under his skin, cold and unwelcome. Katsuki's lip curled. This bitch was absolutely unhinged.

She bit her bottom lip. "But the boss?" Her tone shifted. "The Sovereign doesn't like it when heroes meddle in his affairs. Especially hard-headed brutes who don't stop until they're dead." She twirled one of her knives, letting it catch the crimson flash of overhead alarms. "He gave the order. And I do love orders. They're so much easier than choices."

In the span of a breath, the blade flicked again, aimed low. He caught her wrist, fingers locking tight enough to grind bone before he slammed a brutal, sparking elbow into her ribs. She didn't even try to block as the heat bled into Katsuki's other palm, the promise of a blast swelling there, but that's when the smoke behind her rippled.

Another shape surged forward, huge, barreling through the smoke like a fucking wrecking ball. The hit caught him clean across his face and drove him sideways, air tearing from his lungs. His spine cracked against concrete, shoulder ricocheting off the metal framing. His skull slammed into the wall hard enough to jolt the lights behind his eyes into static. Somewhere nearby, a pipe burst from the impact, steam hissing loud over the sirens, adding fresh burn to the mess in his head.

He tasted copper, not only from the split in his lip but from the teeth biting down to keep himself conscious. Katsuki's vision cleared just enough to see a broad-shouldered figure rising to dust himself off, calm as a glacier, stepping over wreckage like it meant nothing. The man swept a gloved hand up over his cropped black hair, pushing it back with casual precision. The movement exposed a brutal scar trailing from the corner of his mouth down to his chin. It was faint but unmistakable.

Katsuki knew that square jaw and bullet-thick neck from the Yakuza files burned into his memory. The Sovereign's enforcer, personal hammer, and last word in any negotiation that needed less talking and more destruction. His right-hand man, Goro Tanabe.

The Fortress.

The bastard looked exactly like the stills. Though here he was wearing a sleek black suit, cut within an inch of tailored perfection, collar pressed sharp enough to kill. Its satin finish glimmered every time the lights hit, clean lines hugging muscle, built broad across the chest, thick through the arms, but graceful in the way a train could be when engineered properly. The jacket flared slightly with each step, revealing iron creeping across his skin like armor knitting itself in real time. The quirk started at his knuckles, coiling up in layered metallic plates across his forearms.

"Cute light trick back there," Fortress said, voice low and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to turn Katsuki into paste. He flexed one iron hand, slow, loud, letting the metallic shift echo in the space between them.

Mocking. Controlled. Unbothered.

"The Soverign didn't think you'd be setting foot back in the Twilight Market anytime soon, Dynamight," Fortress drawled as he leaned in just enough to crowd the space, iron-clad arm flexing like a coiled battering ram. "But to our absolute delight and surprise..."

A grin split his scarred face. Not a smile, but a verdict. "...you just so happened to be flagged in our system. Today of all days."

Katsuki's pulse thundered in his ears, drowning the alarms, the sirens, the ragged drip of blood tapping the tile beneath him. His head spun for half a beat, enough for the dizziness to chase the pain splitting behind his eyes. Flagged. In their system. What the fuck—?

His breath caught sharp in his throat. He'd used Tsukuyomi's alias, masked his gait, disguised his quirk and appearance. Hell, he hadn't even moved like himself. He'd been careful. And still, they'd known. They'd been waiting. Waiting for him.

No, worse than that, they'd planned for him. They'd let him past security, let him get deeper into the market, make an escape all the more difficult. Toga's earlier taunting confirms everything; this wasn't an accident. Wasn't a lucky camera catch or some sharp-eyed merc sniffing his trail. This was a goddamn welcome mat soaked in blood, waiting for his boots to cross the threshold.

The pieces started falling into place with terrifying clarity. Someone tipped them off. Someone fucking—

The punch came down like a missile, iron fist smashing into the wall where Katsuki's face had been less than a second earlier. The force of it cratered straight through concrete, bent the shutter behind it inward with a metallic shriek, and sent a shrapnel spray of dust and rebar arcing through the corridor.

Katsuki hit the floor in a low roll, instinct dragging him sideways. His shoulder ground against the edge of a shattered shelf, but he twisted to fire back, except his left arm didn't fucking answer. It wasn't sluggish. It wasn't slow. It was dead fucking weight.

The motion stalled halfway, a white-hot curse biting into his tongue as the limb hung useless at his side. The skin from shoulder to fingertips felt wrong, distant, like it belonged to someone else. Katsuki flexed, tried to curl his hand into a fist. Nothing. He blasted back as Toga tried to drive another knife into his other arm. Had the nerve been cut? Tendon shredded? No he knew this damn feeling... poison? Goddammit, if it was poison... he fucking hated poison. It reminded him of that bitch Viperess, of that damn night at the festival.

The blade. Toga's fucking knife. That angle, that timing.

His teeth clenched hard enough to ache, heat crackling in the palm of his good hand. Fine. If the bitch wanted to play dirty, he'd just have to burn them both down and get the hell out of here before it had a chance to work. Footsteps thundered behind him, heavier than Toga's erratic pounce, faster than Fortress's deliberate stride. Katsuki turned just enough to catch the silhouettes through the haze, the gleam of matte-black rifles and the glint of snarling ghoul masks slicing through smoke.

Four of them. Maybe five. Too hard to tell through the chaos closing in on all sides. Muzzle flashes stuttered in the dim red light, except there was no sharp metallic ping of bullets hitting metal. No bite of rounds sparking off the walls. The projectiles thunked instead, dull and ugly, sticking into the floor, into the walls. Tranquilizers. Shit, they were trying to take him alive.

"Like hell," Katsuki muttered, voice low and venomous as he dropped his stance.

He pivoted hard, ducking as another dart sliced through the air behind his ear. He fired a tight blast without warning, aiming center-mass on the closest operative. The explosion cracked through the corridor like a thunderclap, hurling the man backward in a tangle of limbs and smoldering fabric.

Another dart grazed his bicep, just above the elbow. The sting came a second later, sharp and clean, like ice water injected under the skin. He gritted his teeth, forcing the limb to keep moving. Keep firing. Keep standing.

Fortress came in from the flank, silent and massive, arm cocked like a goddamn cannon. Katsuki twisted low, narrowly avoiding the iron fist that tore through the space his upper body had just occupied.

Toga was back on him before he could reset, slipping from the smoke like she'd never left it. He juked back, half-rolling into a crouch, good hand already sparking. The world seemed to shrink to fractions of seconds. Dodge left to avoid a dart. Twist right to slip past Fortress's guard. Snap his palm up and detonate a tight, concussive blast at Toga's feet, the shockwave sending her skidding back with a feral giggle.

More darts whistled past. One struck a wall. One struck him hard square in the shoulder, burying itself deep. Cold bloomed instantly. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving. They weren't just aiming to slow him down. They were trying to drop him alive. They wanted him on the ground, twitching in a haze while they dragged him off to whatever hole the Sovereign called a cell.

Not. Fucking. Happening.

The Ghouls were advancing again, rifles up, formation tightening like a net as tranquilizer darts sliced the air in quick, mechanical bursts. Two angles, minimum. No clear retreat. Every step he took was forced narrower, funneled toward containment. Katsuki's lungs swelled on instinct, the heat building in his chest sharp enough to make him wince as an overwhelming surge of pressure crackled against his sternum like something on the verge of ignition.

Fine. Time to level the field.

He shut his eyes and let the charge spike through his body, detonating outward in a raw, unfiltered pulse that burst from his scarred chest in every direction at once. Flashbang Pulse detonated like a warhead, the blinding white flare tearing through the corridor in a single catastrophic wave that rattled the walls and knocked the world off its axis. Katsuki's ears were ringing, a piercing whine that hollowed out the rest of the world, flattening the stupid alarms and gunfire into underwater noise.

The impact ripped his shirt from sternum to shoulder, fabric snapping into fluttering shreds as the blast wave bowled over the first row of Ghouls. The closest two dropped like puppets with their strings cut, armor flaring as they hit the ground, while others lost their firing rhythm, rifles jerking in random arcs as they stumbled and slammed into each other. Fortress staggered back a full step, plates ringing out with a metallic groan like a cathedral bell struck too hard. Toga shrieked and twisted midair, arm flung up to shield her eyes as she crashed against the wall and slid to the floor in a heap.

Katsuki didn't wait for them to recover.

He launched forward, feet hammering through the wreckage, weaving sharp through the dazed mess of Ghouls and scattered gear, slipping just past Fortress's reach as the iron fist came down empty, just past Toga's knives as they slashed wide through empty air. His shoulder clipped a fallen Ghoul, hard enough to jolt the ache in his chest, but he didn't stop. His left arm hung numb at his side, dragging dead with every stride, the spreading venom in his bloodstream making it harder to balance, harder to breathe, harder to hold himself upright. But right now, he didn't have the damn luxury to think about tendons or poison or whatever the fuck she'd stuck him with.

Not to mention he still hadn't seen a hint of fucking Reaper or Phaze. Wherever the hell Reaper was, whatever corner of this market he'd vanished to, he could only hope the bastard was still breathing, and when he fucking found him, he was going to strangle him.

Katsuki cut the corner hard, refusing to break pace. He threw his right palm at the wall, fired a tight, directional blast, and let the recoil whip him around the bend like a slingshot through orbit. Momentum kept him upright. Kept him moving. The hallway stretched ahead like a goddamn lifeline. It was cleaner here, untouched by the earlier detonation, all polished steel and corporate gloss that glinted under the still pulsing alarms.

An elevator bank finally came into view. Mid-stride, he raised his hand again and let a blast hammer into the center seam, dust coughing out in a perfect plume. The next would open the shaft, and if he timed it right, he'd drop through and be gone before they could regroup.

He charged the blast, aimed again and fired... but instead of dropping into the shaft he hit something that wasn't there. Or maybe it was, and wasn't, in the same fucking breath. The impact punched the wind out of him in a single raw grunt. His shoulder rebounded hard off a wall that didn't exist. A sickening pop cracked through his collar, followed by an explosion of white-hot pain that screamed straight down his arm and his head cracked sideways into air-turned-concrete. Stars exploded across his vision. He tumbled backwards in a half-collapse, skidding on tile before his momentum died in a limp, twisted heap.

His left shoulder was out, completely, unmistakably out. The joint burned with the hollow throb of dislocation, everything hanging loose and wrong. The weight of his arm pulled at it like a hook, making his stomach twist. He tried to roll, to brace, and his entire side screamed in protest.

"Fuck—" he ground out, spitting the word out it a hiss, trying not to black out from the pain. Even breathing made it fucking worse; each inhale jostled the loose shoulder, sending sparks shooting across his vision.

He curled in slightly on instinct, panting through it, blinking hard to hold focus. "What the fuck. —"

The elevator shimmered... no, the wall itself shimmered. Like heat warping asphalt in the distance, except this distortion wasn't harmless. It flickered, fuzzy at the edges, and for a beat, the outline peeled off the wall, unraveled like skin sloughing off bone.

There was no shaft or lobby, or path down. Just a gaping black that swallowed depth. Not darkness, but absence. A depthless, inky vacuum so absolute the red lights couldn't reach it. The glow died the second it touched the threshold, like the world stopped rendering past that point. The invisible veil seemed to disintegrate and the temperature dropped by a few degrees in seconds. Air curled against his skin, not just a breeze, but a steady, pulling drag, like gravity was bleeding sideways.

He kicked back a few feet away. That hole he'd opened didn't lead to any goddamn shaft. It was a door into nowhere. It opened straight into the Hand's pocket dimension. Katsuki's stomach hollowed out. He'd almost jumped headfirst into the fucking void.

"Dammit," he hissed, low and shaking, forcing himself upright, bracing against the wall with his good arm, shoulder shrieking in protest. He spun, ready to fight his way back through the wreckage and reinforcements, ready to torch whatever mask-wearing bastards were waiting behind the haze, but he suddenly stopped cold. He wasn't alone anymore.

"Such a mess you've made," came a voice slithering through the smoke before she stepped forward like she'd been there the whole time.

Katsuki pegged her for one of the Sovereign's lieutenants the moment she stepped through the ripple. She didn't announce herself. She didn't need to. People like her didn't demand attention, they owned it. Every inch of her posture screamed control, the kind that didn't waver when blood hit the floor. The kind that made even monsters fall in line. Her beauty was sharp-edged, almost too symmetrical, but there was something wrong at the edges of her form. It shimmered slightly, like her body wasn't anchored the same way as everyone else's. Light bent around her silhouette, not wildly, but just enough to make it look like the wavering surface of hot asphalt. It was as if she wasn't standing in the hallway so much as overlapping it. Her outline rippled when she shifted her weight, never quite staying fixed.

In her hands, she cradled a black rifle long as her arm, its design elegant and merciless. Her gloved finger drifted slowly along the barrel, almost absently, like she was soothing a favorite pet. Her eyes flicked down to meet his, calm and assessing, as if he were the variable in an otherwise solved equation.

"I don't appreciate someone like you," Ogura chided, voice carrying over the alarms like everything else had been lowered just for her. "Filthing up the Twilight Market. You drag your grime in from the streets, punch holes in walls you don't understand, and think you can just waltz out again without consequences."

Katsuki's lip curled into something ugly. "Funny," he said, chest still heaving, "I didn't see a 'no heroes allowed' sign."

Her smile was a hollow thing. No warmth. No threat. Just empty shape. "Heroes," she repeated, the word rolling off her tongue like it tasted spoiled. "They never follow the rules. But then... you're not really a hero anymore, are you?"

She took a half-step forward, and the air warped with her.

"You've been off the grid for weeks. No patrols. No press. No backup. No status. You're just a rogue now. A rabid dog snarling, barking into the dark and hoping something barks back. And here you are..." She gestured around them with a faint flick of her fingers. "Tracking mud across my floors."

"My floors," Katsuki sneered, tone acid. "Could've fooled me. Looks more like a fucking vulture's nest."

The distortion thickened around her. The walls behind her bent slightly, the hallway flexing like a breathing lung, and the pull from the void behind him deepened, stronger now, like something noticed. The air felt thinner. Harder to draw. He could feel the sweat cooling on his skin even as his body burned with effort.

"You have no business here," she said, voice calm to the point of insult. "And yet here you are. Poking around in shadows that don't belong to you. The Sovereign is—" her smile twitched, "—very displeased."

Her fingers tapped gently along the rifle's grip. Not threatening. Just patient. "Do you have any idea how much damage you've done in the span of two hours?"

Katsuki glared, his breathing evening into something sharper, more controlled despite the pain. "Get the fuck out of my way."

She did not such thing. Fucking figures. Katsuki's brain snapped into combat calculus even as his knees threatened to give out. His vision jittered at the edges, just enough of a flicker to piss him the hell off. He forced a breath down, dragging his gaze across the corridor in sharp, surgical sweeps. His thoughts kept pace, but his body lagged by a breath. The delay wasn't fatigue, but rather the poison working its way in.

There were no signs of the Ghouls yet. No heavy bootfalls from Fortress. No taunting lilt from Toga slinking in out of the blood-flecked shadows. Which was wrong. They should've been here by now.

That absence twisted sharp in his gut. Either they were pinned down, or worse, they were waiting. Holding back. Which meant Ogura was high enough in the chain that even the more feral pieces were told to keep their distance. She was center stage. And that was the goddamn problem.

The black behind him still dragged at his back like a low tide, but that exit was off the goddamn table. He wasn't about to take a blind leap into some space-warping hellhole conjured up by whatever the bitch's quirk was in conjunction with the Hands'. Not unless he wanted to dissolve on a molecular level, which, yeah, no fucking thanks.

So all he had was forward. Through her.

His gaze ticked up just in time to see her watching him map it out. He could see the subtle tension around the corners of her mouth, like a jackal watching a wounded dog try to stand. Her eyes narrowed by the smallest margin.

"It's over," she said, raising the rifle in a single, liquid motion, the barrel locking on to his chest. "Give it up. The Sovereign has plans for you."

Katsuki's hand twitched at his side, lip curling against the frustration curdling inside. He didn't fucking move as he tried to calculate if he could get through her fast enough to avoid getting pumped full of lead. He could get one more good blast off before she reacted. Maybe two, if he angled it right.

"You'll make an excellent bargaining chip," she continued, voice smooth as cut glass, "especially against Odd Eye."

Everything in him stilled.

Odd Eye.

The name cracked through his like she'd actually shot him. Was that motherfucker here in the twilight market? Was that what Fortress had meant when he said today of all days? Rage lit his chest like a fuse.

He'd been chasing that bastard's shadow for months. Through smoke, lies, ghost trails and Reaper's fucked up intel. And now, here. Here, in this shitty fucking market, in the middle of a goddamn ambush, his name surfaces yet again like it was just another detail in the script?

He knew Odd Eye. Knew exactly what that smug, gleaming-eyed piece of shit would do with an opportunity like this. Torture wasn't a side effect—it was the point. Katsuki's pain would be a performance, drawn out in technicolor, just so Odd Eye could watch him break the same way Izuku did, especially after fucking over his plans. Just so he could make sure Katsuki felt every second of the pain Izuku had during those months in the Red Lotus. That bastard would salivate for the chance.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me," Katsuki rasped, voice rough and low and shaking with heat. "That smug prick is here? Where the fuck is he?"

"Oh no," she said, almost indulgent. "That eccentric asshole isn't here. He left to go attend some business elsewhere."

Her voice lilted up slightly, calm and cruel in the same breath, like she was savoring the next part. "But the way he talks about you—" she tapped her temple with one gloved finger, like she was quoting some favorite line— "He calls you a pestilence. A virus that can't be cured. Says the LOV should've snuffed you out when they had the chance. Says the way you survived the last encounter was... 'statistically inconvenient.'"

She tilted her chin up, not quite mocking, but more like in fascination. Watching the reaction coil through him.

"He'd sell half his empire for a crack at you. Maybe more. The Sovereign thinks it's a waste, personally. But for Odd Eye, more than anything, Katsuki Bakugo," and fuck her for saying his full name like that, like she owned it, "he calls you his unfinished business."

He didn't wait for her to finish.

Didn't need to hear the next smug fucking line from her mouth, didn't need another inch of rope to hang himself with. Katsuki's instincts screamed louder than the alarms now blaring overhead. His right palm snapped forward, heat ripping up his arm as an AP Shot roared from his hand with a concussive boom that lit the corridor in a wash of white-gold.

He was already running as the blast shattered the illusion like a stone through glass. The figure wavered, unraveled. Her silhouette buckled like a heat mirage, her limbs folding in on themselves, flickering like a bad TV signal before collapsing into a smear of smoke and cold, but not fast enough to blot out the crack of a rifle.

The muzzle flash didn't come from in front of him. It came from behind.

Pain tore through his, hot and concussive, three punches of fire in rapid succession. His breath tore out in a ragged grunt as his body jackknifing forward. The first hit slammed between his shoulder blades; the second caught low, just above his ribs; the third clipped the back of his hip hard enough to spin his weight. The world flipped sideways, red and black and white noise.

He went down hard. His right knee cracked against stone, jarring the whole damn limb. Then his left shoulder, already half-wrecked, hit the floor with an unforgiving force. Pain lanced through it like white-hot wire, sharper than before, loud and sudden and blinding. His vision stuttered. The whole world narrowed around the spike of agony tearing through the joint and bullet wounds, his breath ripping free in a strangled, choked sound.

His ring suddenly flared once, bright and panicked, and he could feel Reap's heartbeat start fluctuating, start to pick up speed. Dammit, Katsuki didn't have the time to think about whether it meant he was in danger or if the bastard was just finally realizing something wasn't right.

He forced his hands under him, muscles screaming, arm twitching uselessly beneath the dislocated shoulder. Blood smeared hot under his fingers, making the tile slick as he scrabbled for leverage, vision swimming from the pain and desperation. The bullets, the fucking poison—they were both hitting harder now, deadening his reactions just enough to matter. Just enough to kill him.

A pair of footsteps echoed across the floor behind him. Leisurely. Confident. Each step a metronome of supremacy. Ogura's shimmering silhouette finally resolved into something somewhat solid in his periphery, rifle steady in her hands, aimed center mass without even a twitch. Fortress loomed behind her, a wall of unmoving brute force, silent and mechanical in his stillness.

Katsuki spat blood to clear his throat, forcing himself to sit up, elbow shaking. His lip curled back in a raw snarl, blood threading from the corner of his mouth. "Come closer," he rasped, "I fucking dare you, bitch."

Ogura's lips quirked, not quite a smile. "You're quite amusing, I'll give you that."

Her finger shifted slightly on the trigger. That subtle flex of control. His body tensed, raw muscle stringing tight as he tried to lurch up again, drag himself one inch closer to something like cover, like offense, like not fucking dying here.

That's when he felt the barest shift in the air behind him, pressure dragging down the slope of his back, the unmistakable sink of someone, something, pressing flush into the ruined line of his spine. It wasn't a blow. Not a strike. Not a kick or a stomp. It was too damn careful, too intimate, the way it settled in behind his shoulder blades, like a lover's touch disguised in malice.

Katsuki's blood turned to ice.

His mouth opened to warn himself, to react, to scream or blast or burn or fucking move, but he was too late.

The knife slid in slow, and he felt the steel before the pain. Felt it part the skin, a hot, unnatural pressure sinking between the bones with a sick, wet resistance, slicing through the muscles of his back.

"Found you~"

Toga's breath ghosted against the shell of his ear, intimate in the way Izuku had once done. His body locked mid-scramble, seized around the blade, every nerve trying to scream at once as white-hot fire tore up his spine. He bucked, or tried to, he gave one yank, one broken gasp when the second hit came. There was a sharp pop against the side of his neck and the cold sting of a needle punching through his skin.

He felt the cold flooding his veins. Not metaphorically. He literally felt the icy pulse shooting through his bloodstream like liquid nitrogen. It chased the warmth out of his limbs with cruel efficiency, creeping from his neck to his collarbone to his heart in seconds.

"Don't squirm, Kacchan," Toga breathed sweetly against his ear, her fingers combed through his hair, low and mock-gentle, streaking blood through the strands like it was some kind of fucking ritual. Her nails scraped lightly across his scalp, almost affectionately... reverently. It made him fucking sick.

"Shh," she crooned, as if to soothe a trembling animal. "Maybe you'll get to see him again soon."

His pulse stuttered. He could feel it. Fucking feel it stop. That violent, traitorous rhythm locking tight in his chest, breath catching hard in his throat as her words sank in like venom-laced hooks.

"Maybe if you're lucky," she went on, mouth brushing the shell of his ear, too close, too fucking close, "you'll get to see Izuku again soon. Or maybe the others. The ones they slaughtered in that war... the ones you heroes didn't save. You remember, right? When AFO and Shiggy tried to this world apart?"

He did. God help him, he fucking did because it haunted him every waking moment of his life. The screams. The ash. The weight of surviving the war. The bodies and wreckage of the city in the aftermath. Ochako's hand still reaching from the sky like help would come, like it hadn't already been too late for the path they were all thrown on. And Izuku—

Deku

—His body slipping from his arms, blood soaking his clothes like he was just another casualty, not his everything. He remembered it all too damn well.

Katsuki tried to move, to throw her off, to crawl, breathe... but his limbs weren't fucking listening. Only the faintest flicker of his quirk along his chest the barest giving indication of his emotions. His arm buckled, knife still buried in his back, grinding against the bone as he collapsed back into her with a grunt too ragged to be called defiance. Toga's arms wound around his chest, loose enough to feel casual, tight enough to make it feel like a cage. The warmth of her body pressed into his back, a jarring contrast to the icy numbness blooming through his muscles. Poison and adrenaline warred beneath his skin, but even his quirk wouldn't answer now.

He could feel it now, feel how everything was starting to slip away. Not just control of his body but rather control of his shitty own fate. Of how his goddamn story was going to end... and he would never get the chance to fucking say goodbye.

No. No. He hadn't shown Deku how much he had truly loved him for who he was before their lives were thrown into chaos, not in the way he had with Izuku. Hadn't told Reaper he wasn't scared anymore, of who he was or of Reaper himself. Hadn't shown them what he meant on that rooftop, hadn't made them truly believe it. And now he could already see the look on their face if, when, the ring went dark.

Would they feel it? The way he had?

Would any one of them come apart at the seams the way Katsuki had when the ring stopped glowing in Toei, mind ripped to shreds from the devastation, screaming for him like they could force him back with sheer will? Would they crumple to the floor like Katsuki had, sobbing into his fucking hands, trying to sear the pain out of his heart just to keep himself detonating?

He couldn't do that to them. Not again. Not when it was his turn to hold the line. Not after promising himself that he would do better, be better for them... not without making this cursed, broken cycle mean something.

Or worse... what if they didn't know? What if he just disappeared? What if this shitty world swallowed him whole and nobody ever knew what happened to him?

This was bad. So fucking bad.

His mind frayed. Reality flickered. The blood on the floor looked like his. He thought it was his. That sticky smear trailing across the tile, too bright to be old, too dark to be safe... it had to be. But it didn't feel like it belonged to him anymore. Didn't register the way it should've. Like it was leaking from someone else's body. Like he was just watching it happen, not living it.

Boots shifted in the periphery of his vision. Not his. Not Shoto's. Not Eijiro's. The posion was bleeding all rationality from him.

Not safe.

Unfamiliar.

He bit the inside of his cheek hard, teeth punching through skin just to feel something, anything. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth and he nearly choked but he clung to the pain like a lifeline. Like it would keep him here. Keep him Katsuki.

"You were always so stubborn, Kacchan. So loud." Toga's grip tightened in his hair, pulling him further from the void threatening to lull him in. "But it's cute you ever thought you had control. Like this world was ever gonna play fair for someone like you."

His heart gave a violent, arrhythmic kick against the drug. His leg jerking as his rage spiked again. But it was all for nothing, useless, heatless. His body was shutting down. The poison was winning. He couldn't even summon enough energy to curse her out.

A faint clinking registered as dark brown Oxfords stopped beside him. Katsuki forced his head to turn, just barely, pupils struggling to track the shape looming just out of reach. Fortress, that bastard, held an Iron Maiden collar out like a gift. It's polished steel glinted stark red with the promise of pain. He remembered the weight of it. Not just the metal, but the meaning. The electrodes. The spikes. The pressure clamp designed to crush will before it crushed flesh. He remembered the beeping. Seen the way it punished Izuku for every stray flicker of resistance. He knew what waited for him. Knew because Izuku had been broken so thoroughly, that every single part of him still flinched if anything touched the base of Izuku's throat.

The thought of Izuku dredged up slow moving memories, some good... some bad. Izuku's smiling face seemed to blurred in his mind as the soundscape drowned. The sirens, the world, they all slid behind a wall of static, a channel going dead.

Only the burn in his chest flickered, not from relief but from betrayal. Cold betrayal, gnawing deeper than the blade lodged in his side or the poison threading through his veins.

Reaper hadn't come.

He tried to bury it. That sharp, twisted feeling coiled just beneath the agony, harder to choke down than blood. But it rooted deep, thrived in the hollow space where hope had flickered. He'd thought maybe, just fucking maybe, Reaper had started to care. That under all that cold steel and venom, something fragile was blooming between them. Not forgiveness, not peace, but something real. A thread. A beginning. Something warm and real.

And now he was choking on the absence of it.

Because Reaper had left him here.

To this. To them. And eventually to the Devil.

Katsuki would've bled for him. Fought for him. Dammit, he had bled for him, over and over, in the face of every goddamn problem this world had thrown them into. He would've burned this damn world to the fucking ground, would have killed people if it meant keeping that connection, whatever it was, alive.

But maybe it had meant something. Maybe Reaper had felt it too, and still chose to walk away. That's what broke something in him. Not the leaving. The choice. The knowing. The fact that it still hadn't been enough, that he hadn't been enough, not for every part of Izuku.

Another clink reminded him of the world beyond, of the horrible fate waiting. The collar would be the end of him. Not the death kind but the erasure kind. The part where he stopped being Katsuki and started being a fucking symbol again. A pawn. A tool. Another ruined thing in Odd Eye's collection.

His quirk flickered uselessly beneath his skin, unable to feel the floor beneath him anymore. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he was still bleeding. The only thing he could vaguely sense was the thump-thump against his chest.

The ring.

That frantic, pulsing glow against his chest. A whisper of light, blinking bright and off-rhythm, like a failing star. But it was still there. Still beating.

Still theirs.

And if that was all he had left, if that fragile thread of heartbeat between them was the last piece of him that he'd ever had, then he'd anchor himself to it until the bitter fucking end.

Let them break him. Let them fucking collar him like a dog. Let them carve the hero out of him until only the hollow shell remained. He'd still be holding on.

Not to hope. Not to survival, but to that one thing no one else had ever given him.

Something worth breaking for.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Inheritance

Reaper

The mind is a strange thing, everyone says that. But that's just layman babble for "we don't fucking understand it."

Thousands of years of dissection, imaging, diagnosis, and humanity still hadn't cracked it. They mapped the folds, ran their little scans, catalogued symptoms like they were building a library, but the truth? They were staring at a machine that rewrote its own schematics mid-collapse and wondering why the manual didn't match. Here's what mattered, what none of them liked to admit. The brain would do anything to survive. Push it past reason, past breaking, and if it didn't die, it adapted. Not cleanly. Not kindly. It rerouted. Splintered. Built fail-safes where logic used to live. They called it trauma. Called it dissociation. Slapped a label on the fallout like that made it less feral.

But what they were really looking at was an emergency override system. Survival mode written in blood and static. And sometimes, that survival meant forging something new. Not a glitch. Not a ghost. A weapon carved from consequence.

Trauma didn't merely carve a scar across Izuku Midoriya's mind; it ripped the casing clean off and rewired the circuitry underneath into something new. Reaper knows this because he is that something. He was not born, he was soldered together in a cell, each jolt of pain another rivet, each scream a drop of solder sealing the plates. But even he wonders sometimes if that's just the cleanest version of this story. Like he needs it to be mechanical, industrial, free of longing, because if it wasn't, if it was need that forged him instead of rage, then what the hell does that make him?

He remembers the exact moment his consciousness coalesced. Six weeks in, when Odd Eye sawed through Izuku's fraying psyche like a bone saw, replaying Katsuki's execution for the one hundred and twenty-seventh encore.

That day, Izuku truly believed the one heartbeat anchoring him to hope had stopped.
Hope, belief... he'd decided that those were fickle little trinkets. Snap a spring past tolerance and it never resets; it warps... it lies.

In the vacuum that followed, where grief hemorrhaged out and agony howled in, Reaper sluiced through the fissures, and a corrosive certainty poured into fresh fractures. He is the hinge on which this shattered soul now swings, the precise instrument fashioned to finish what reality began, and his doctrine is crystalline. Mercy is a weapon turned inward, sentiment a snare, and hope, the most seductive executioner of all.

The strangest thing about being forged in agony, Reaper decides, is realizing the mind he occupies isn't a single pane of glass, it's a cathedral of fracture points, wired together with panic and necessity. One heartbeat he was seamless; the next, fissures spider-webbed across the surface, and the light inside didn't vanish. It just refracted, split across too many spectrums to count. This place, this shared space, feels too alive to be inert. Clinicians stamp the fracture Dissociative Identity Disorder, a sanitized Helvetica that tries to domesticate cataclysm. Reaper scoffs. It wasn't so much an ailment, but rather it's an emergency retrofit. The psyche sheared itself into parallel circuits because survival demanded this, or let complete insanity ravage the mind.

For the past eight months, three distinct consciousnesses, his included, have cohabited this body.

Deku, quicksilver and restless, often murmurs data strings just beneath conscious hearing—motion sensor grid resets every forty‑six seconds, thermal dead zone under the east stair...
Reaper lets the intel surface and sink. Useful. Keep talking.

Izuku, small and dreaming, hums a lullaby off‑key. This part of them floats in trance sleep, tucked behind miles of mental Kevlar. Reaper and Deku wove that cocoon from memory fragments: warm tatami, Mom's curry steam, the rustle of yellow field‑flowers as a younger Katsuki shoved a younger Izuku into laughter, the crackling thunder of All Might's Texas Smash. Every loop of the lullaby is a heartbeat on an EKG. It keeps him sleeping, keeps him safe.

Picture the system as a cockpit with three stations and one command throne. Deku handles navigation, maps risk vectors, argues ethics when his courage outweighs his fear. Reaper flies the jet. Izuku, God willing, never needs to see the sky rip open again.

Most days, those first weeks felt like a cockpit mutiny set to an endless loop. Deku kept elbowing for the throttle, spouting nonsense like "We can flank, we can spare civilians," while Reaper rerouted every watt to the forward guns. Villains were fodder, full stop. Their arguments escalated from snap back bickering to a white‑hot migraine splitting their skull, lightning behind the eyes. Izuku's brain tissue ringing like struck metal as two alters tried to occupy the same synapse for motor control.

The stalemate finally detonated in an abandoned LOV vault beneath Saitama. There were fumes of cordite, half a dozen armed idiots, and one near-fatal misread in Deku's calculus. A ricochet clipped their clavicle; reflex lag spiked; another bullet kissed two centimeters from their carotid. Pain flared crimson, and Reaper felt Izuku whimper somewhere deep in the cocoon. That was it, that had been the last goddamn straw. It wasn't the pain that made him react. It was the sound. That soft, helpless sound that didn't belong in this world and it cracked something worse than bone.

Reaper slammed a psychic bulkhead shut, seized the limbs, and finished the raid in under two minutes. Six heavily armed hostiles down, artery still intact, mission salvaged. When the smoke settled, the hierarchy wrote itself in tungsten. Control was not taken. It was claimed. And from that moment forward, the throttle never left his hands. Deku should be grateful he was even allowed to deal with research, intel synthesis, or tech calibration. Anything involving a raid or combat stays locked behind Reaper's fingerprints. Deku bristles at the leash, but pragmatism trumps pride; stats don't lie, even if kill counts make him grimace.

Reaper could fucking care less about his pathetic morals. He exists for two prime directives. One, to exterminate that parasitic ideology masquerading as a man, Odd Eye, burn his name from existence, grind his bones to radio dust... and two, keep Katsuki Bakugo breathing. Everything else is collateral.

Katsuki—the walking detonation that fucks every clean variable sideways. Reaper has studied him the way a sniper studies wind shear. Obsessively, resentfully, because ignoring the variable is suicide. Katsuki is noise incarnate, hot-blooded, loud, impossible to file away, and yet the cockpit tilts whenever that heartbeat drifts into range. Deku calls it an emotional tether. Izuku, if he were awake, would sigh something tragic about love. Reaper calls it mission-critical volatility and secretly inventories each pulse like contraband jewels.

He hates that Katsuki's voice perforates through the static of his wrath. Hates that the stink of nitroglycerin sweat and half-chewed profanity still registers as home even after Odd Eye tried to counterfeit it a thousand times. Most of all, he hates the historical footage playing in Izuku's memories. Katsuki's fingers carding gently through green curls after a therapeutic bath, Katsuki's throat cracking on a whispered "I love you," the night Izuku had danced with death, their first time exploring each other in the shower. Those soft edges were never meant for Reaper; he was nothing when those scenes were being stitched together, and yet the ache they leave is proprietary.

Jealousy is too pastel a word. What coils in Reaper's gut is a hunter's possessive snarl soldered to a child's fear of being left outside the fortress gate. He envies Deku's ease, the way Katsuki converses with him in shorthand grins and exasperated fondness. He even envies Izuku's naïve claim on memories Reaper can only read secondhand, flickering slides behind frosted glass. None of them understand what it truly costs to fucking keep Katsuki alive. None of them wiped League viscera off their boots while the lullaby played in the backseat.

It was the reason he'd convinced the other to ghost Katsuki in the first place: quarantine the variable, incinerate the board. Annihilate the League, vivisect Odd Eye, salt the crater. Do whatever the hell the math demanded to keep the single heartbeat that never abandoned them alive. Clean break, clean outcome.

That doctrine held for exactly twenty-eight weeks. But on the eve of the twenty-ninth, Katsuki appeared in that rain-slicked alley in Shibuya. Reaper had intended that night to be a seamless exfiltration, a shadow vanishing before dawn, but the moment he'd felt the ring he found on his mother's grave pulse violently against his sternum, he knew the calculus was fucked. He stopped running. Stopped breathing, just long enough to steady the tremor in his hands. Waited, against every instinct, for the inevitable.

Katsuki's footsteps splashed closer, water and adrenaline echoing off concrete until he was forced to turn, forced to meet that wildfire gaze head-on. Reaper felt the cockpit lurch off its course. Tactical distance evaporated. Mission parameters warped like steel under heat. He told himself he was calculating... but when their eyes locked, he wasn't solely a weapon anymore. Just something waiting to be chosen and terrified he wouldn't be.

Katsuki stood in the downpour, disbelief and something rawer etched onto his rugged face, the rain washing temporary dye from his hair like the past was bleeding into the present. Katsuki's voice ripped through layers of camouflage, jaggedly familiar and brutally raw. Calling a name Reaper had spent months amputating from himself: Izuku.

Reaper felt Deku jolt awake somewhere in the background, instinct flaring to intercept, felt Izuku stir softly from behind the mental Kevlar, rousing from sleep for the first time in weeks, pulled upward by the siren call of Katsuki's voice. Reaper locked them both down instantly, slammed the bulkhead, forced the cockpit into stillness. It didn't matter. He pressed the lockdown protocol with surgical force, but his pulse betrayed him, spiking in defiance. 

Fucking traitor.

He knew in those heartbeats he should've vanished, erased this vulnerability from the map. Instead, he'd hesitated, frozen by the surge of recognition and longing that wasn't even his, a stolen ache stitched into him. Reaper didn't believe in ghosts. And yet... Katsuki's voice brought every dead thing inside him to its knees.

Katsuki's outstretched hand had been a lifeline. One Reaper knew better than to touch. That touch would unravel every line of code he'd so meticulously crafted... and still he'd let Izuku take the wheel, allowed Deku to come back for Katsuki after sicking the Nomu on time for the escape. Stupid. Dangerous. Human.

And over the last few weeks, Katsuki hadn't stopped. He wormed his way back into their lives, not with deception, not with subterfuge, but with the same brutal, unrelenting honesty and determination that had always been his fucking calling card. And it worked. Of course, it fucking worked. Deku had gone incandescent with relief in under a week of trying and failing to keep him at bay, it had been so bright it made Reaper nauseous. Izuku, even submerged beneath cognitive shielding, had stirred like spring beneath permafrost—quiet, hopeful, dreaming again in past-tense.

Reaper remained still.

Deliberately, methodically still.

Because, unlike them, he understood what this was, this pattern. He understood what Katsuki had done, what he had unintentionally promised on that rooftop. Reaper should've been satisfied. That level of loyalty should've solidified the bond as a tactical asset. Measurable. Predictable... but it didn't.

Reaper had watched from the edges of Deku's consciousness. Unmoved. Unimpressed. Unwilling to forgive the breach in protocol that Katsuki represented. He had stared at the person who'd once been their axis and wondered if the math could tolerate him reentering the equation without everything crashing to hell.

He stayed back, even when Katsuki said he'd do whatever it took, even if that meant throwing away what he was made to be, a hero, to kill Odd Eye.

Reaper hadn't spoken, though he'd wanted to. Wanted to tear the promise apart, call it a bluff, break it just to prove it could be broken... but he didn't because Katsuki hadn't said it like someone trying to win favor. He said it like a man already on the pyre, flame licking his boots, daring, snarling at the hellfire to burn hotter, not for redemption, but revenge.

His voice didn't waver. His hands didn't tremble and his fucking eyes, those glowing molten eyes that saw through every mask, looked straight at Reaper and meant it.

Reaper didn't know what the fuck to do to handle that sort of emotion, especially from someone like Katsuki, because he knew the asshole wasn't bluffing. He'd seen the devastation on Katsuki's face when he said he almost let himself go. Felt the rupture across their psychic systems like a black hole opening beneath the heart. That wasn't performance. That was death grief. That was the sound of a man preparing to not just self-emulate, but burn down the world around him just to erase the monsters who stole what mattered most.

Reaper had always assumed that if Katsuki ever knew the truth, what Reaper was willing to become, he'd recoil. That he'd choose the softer memories. The gentler ghost.

But he hadn't. He'd chosen this. Chosen him. That shook something loose Reaper didn't have a name for. He still snarled when Katsuki got too close. Mocked him when the conversation veered soft. Pushed every button he could reach, barbed every word with just enough venom to bait a reaction. Not because he wanted a fight, though he never minded one, but because part of him needed Katsuki to snap. To call him a monster. To prove he was bluffing. Tested for inconsistencies in his emotional pattern. Looking for evidence that it had been an adrenaline high, that Katsuki would backpedal, falter, try to compartmentalize again like he always had when things got too real.

But he didn't.

Even when Reaper goaded him. Even when he sliced him with old truths and newer fears. Katsuki never took the bait. He said it again. And again. With the same goddamn conviction, whether Reaper stood in front of him or not. And eventually... Eventually, Reaper started listening.

He didn't thaw. Didn't melt into the warm glow of reunion like the others. But something inside him, a rusted lock, maybe, clicked once under the pressure. He still didn't trust Katsuki, not fully. Not like Izuku did. Not the way Deku wanted to. But he believed him, and for Reaper, that was worse because belief was the seed of hope, and hope was the slowest poison of all.

He'd seen what the poison could do. Had felt it fester in the marrow of this body, the night Izuku let his guard down for the first time in that chamber, exhaustion softening him, hunger dulling the edge of all that vigilance, all that performance. That moment in the dark when Katsuki's body went still and whispered soft reassurances like they were sacred. He'd cried into Katsuki's bloodied and outstretched hand like he was still sixteen. Like love could keep him from cracking. Like saying it out loud, "I love you," might save them from what came next. It didn't. It never fucking did.

When Reaper looks at Katsuki, he doesn't see the mouthy bastard with a temper and a hero complex. Doesn't see the reflexive reach, the muscle memory of a person who'd come to believe touching means helping. Doesn't even see the heartbeat that tethered them all together before everything went sideways.

He sees a body broken open on a table.

Sees steel restraints biting into wrists that should've been hurling explosions. Sees blood pooling too fast, too viscously, too red. Sees muscle spasms turned seizures. Skin split down his chest in surgical slices designed not to kill but to humiliate. He sees Katsuki's jaw clenched so hard he nearly shattered his teeth to keep from screaming. And then, then, he'd seen when that resistance finally broke. When Katsuki screamed anyway. That sound, that sound, etched itself into Reaper's existence like code burned into a hard drive.

So no, he hasn't let Deku surface in the last few hours. Not since they'd accidentally set Izuku loose while they ripped each other apart in the void of his thoughts. Not since Katsuki kissed Izuku with the ferocity of someone whose lungs were burning and had just breached the surface for precious oxygen.

Reaper sees it every fucking time he looks at Katsuki. He sees the corpse. So no, he doesn't see a lover. He sees a liability.  A memory that could just as easily bleed into the now.  And Reaper? Reaper was built to cauterize.

That's why when Katsuki sat up in that bathroom, chest heaving, face pale, soaked to the bone with panic and heartbreak, Reaper should've pushed him away. Should've drawn the line in steel. Should've reminded them both that softness was a kill vector.

But instead, he'd let Katsuki touch him, nuzzle against his neck, and breathe him in. Reaper let himself want it. God, he'd wanted it. Not just the warmth, not just the touch. He'd wanted to belong to that grief-struck desperation, to fold himself into that reckless tenderness and let himself be held just this once and press his forehead against Katsuki's to admit how fucking tired he was. How goddamn cold it had been without him. He wanted to press his lips to Katsuki's throat and pretend their entire lives hadn't gone to shit. He wanted to curl into that warmth like a starving thing and whisper the truth no one was ever meant to hear... Maybe he wanted this part of himself to die.

He didn't, though. Even when his body nearly betrayed him first with the slightest lean, a twitch, a moment of weight surrendered to heat. But instincts, older than he was, burned into his bones, snapped the line.  He froze because that would've meant taking what wasn't his. It would've meant letting Katsuki look at him the way he used to look at Deku... at Izuku.

He couldn't do that.

So, when Katsuki finally stood, shaky but determined, when he'd stepped into the elevator and disappeared onto level twenty-seven, Phaze had surged like a deep-sea riptide beneath the cast by Katsuki's boots. Reaper sinking with it, letting the current pull him sideways into the folds of another shadow, this one trailing from a man who reeks of cheap cologne, nicotine, and corruption. Some assassin, based on the weapons peaking out from inside the folds of an armored long coat, stitched matte-black with ceramic inlays. Reaper felt like he couldn't breathe on the ride up. Every inch of distance from Katsuki felt like peeling frostbitten skin from raw nerves. Good, pain was reliable. It didn't ask questions.

The elevator sighed open like something old and mechanical exhaling its last breath. Steel jaws parted, slow and deliberate, and the host stepped forward onto the twenty-eighth floor, boots scuffing ceramic tile without the faintest attempt at stealth. The imbecile was clumsy, but fast... and more importantly, not Katsuki.

That alone afforded Reaper something he hadn't possessed in what felt like an eternity, space. Blessed, cavernous, merciful fucking space. To be able to think without the goddamn hum of warmth and breath and memory clawing at his insides.

There was only silence now. Cold and unoccupied.

He had time, an hour and thirty minutes, give or take. Long enough to take a look around before needing to rendezvous. Long enough to breathe without the tremor of someone else's emotions fouling the air. And yet the quiet did not bring ease. It soured inside him, thick and inert, settling behind his sternum like acid left too long in a glass. He shoved it down fast and unceremonious. Locked it behind the iron trapdoor where rage could not reach and mutate it.

Above, the corridor unfurled in stark lines and reinforced tile, his host's slow footfall echoed loudly with every step but the clearance was legitimate, and Phaze drifted close behind, anchored to the perimeter of their shadow. Reaper shifted within the Nomu, deeper into the cast, cloaked in silence.

Distance at the moment was critical. Not for this recon. For him. He had time to sort himself out before the walking temper tantrum could even begin to realize he was gone.

To the left, the corridor narrowed beneath a recessed checkpoint. Two guards in full armor flanked the archway, Ghouls fixed in idle stares, long-range rifles slung across their backs, their postures relaxed. One of them barked a careless laugh at something the other muttered, not expecting trouble.

The check point wasn't anything particularly important. Not until he saw the signage behind them marked UPPER ACCESS ONLY in metallic sans-serif. Security rails. Bio-keypads. Reaper stilled for a heartbeat. Then another before the thought slotted into place with the weight of inevitability.

Upper floors.

The servers.

They had never breached past Level Five. The club floor alone was a fucking nightmare, saturated with biometric locks, live-feed surveillance, pressure sensors, and corridor patterns designed to bottleneck even the most adaptive intruders. The security checkpoint on the first floor had been even worse, and getting through meant either burning his identity or triggering a lockdown he might not be able to walk away from.

Katsuki had barely gotten through today, and it had only been because Phaze had intervened at the eleventh hour, jumping the security perimeter when Katsuki had been at the threshold of the checkpoint.

Reaper could've taken the brute force route. Vaporized the door, the guards, the hallways themself with a fraction of One For All's payload, but that wasn't strategy, as Deku had once meticulously argued with him. Anonymity mattered. So did mobility. Getting into the Twilight Market was easy. Getting trapped here meant death. There were no exits, no failsafes, no leverage when it came to that strategy.

Until now.

Reaper watched through the veiled darkness. Measured the guards movements, the biometric drift lag. Calculated the probability of slipping through on the tail end of a legitimate entry or maybe a shift change. Thin odds. Unacceptable, under normal conditions. Laughable even, but this wasn't normal.

Reaper had studied what little intel Pixel had scraped together about the upper floors, fragments pulled from corrupted data clusters the hacker had exfiltrated weeks before Katsuki ever reentered the equation. Sloppy intel, mostly—partial blueprints, mislabeled schematics, blacked-out wings that refused to render on the overlays. Still, it was enough to trace the outline of the space the Hand often created for the upper portion of the Ghouls' operations.

The upper levels began at Floor Thirty and ended at Thirty-Seven. Everything beyond Twenty was off-limits without internal credentialing, such as floor-specific biometrics, pulse-coded encryption, and identity cycling tied to strict approval.

Thirty-five was the server floor.

Reaper remembered the designation with forensic clarity. A buried sub-network labeled CORVUS/NEXUS35, tucked beneath a broken access log. It hadn't meant much at first. But the deeper Pixel dug, the clearer it became.

Nexus35 wasn't just a hub, it was the server spine. It was the bloodstream. Admin overrides. Surveillance infrastructure. Every private deal with high-priority clients. Internal comms for the entire market's lower and upper infrastructure. If there was a puppet master in the Twilight Market, they were pulling strings from floor Thirty-Five.

Above that, floors Thirty-Six and Thirty-Seven were ghost floors. They were executive access only, and no matter how many times Pixel picked through the data, nothing was publicly mapped. No import logs. No patrol routes. Only Rumors filled those gaps.

He'd often heard whispers of the Sovereign's private banking vaults. Of cells.

Reaper didn't care about the politics, could have given less of a shit. The only damn reason he'd turned his focus toward the Ghouls at all was because someone up there made the mistake of marking Katsuki as a high-priority threat.

That mistake had lasted exactly seventy-two hours.

The contract had been clean. Quiet. High-value, short shelf life. Months ago
It hit the dark net for less than an hour before being swallowed whole by deletion protocols—grade-A wipe, triple-layered encryption, no return packet. But the aggregator embedded in Reaper's laptop caught it. Just once. A whisper buried beneath anonymized bid traffic and dummy addresses.

Eliminate Bakugo Katsuki.

Three words. One target.

Reaper had already traced the outbound packet flow. Triangulated the relay to a Naruhata cell. Small. Anonymous. Not native. Contracted through a shadow node linked to the Twilight Market.

That was the piece that mattered.

The Ghouls didn't act without leverage. And the Yakuza didn't greenlight high-profile hits on Pro heroes without an ironclad motive. Especially not someone like Katsuki. It wasn't politics. It was personal.

Based on the tedious research he and Deku had done on all the major villain organizations, Reaper knew the Ghouls didn't move unless it served them, and for the Yakuza to put out a private kill order on a high-profile Pro hero like Katsuki... it had to be for a really damn good reason. Reaper had moved fast, and within twenty-four hours, he found Pixel, an ex-Hero Association hacker, flagged on the freelancer blacklist, logged under likely to accept off-the-books work for discretionary clearance review.

Translation: a calculated liability.

Reaper had confronted Pixel in the underpass outside Daikokucho, a place dense with signal-jamming static and no line-of-sight surveillance. Reaper offered him a sum large enough to shut up whatever moral instincts the little rat pretended to have; it was enough to make him blink, and the unspoken promise to peel him down to marrow if he said no kept the exchange short.

Two nights later, they had their lead.

It had been raining late that night. Pixel had backtracked a burner phone to a fourth-floor unit in east Musutafu. Low-rise. Balcony window aligned with Katsuki's living room. Too convenient to be coincidence.

Reaper had arrived just in time to see the bastard crouched on the balcony rail, one boot planted, the other lifting, arm reaching for the latch with the shimmer of a cloaking quirk distorting the air around his hand.

He never touched the latch.

Black Whip struck first. Threaded around his clavicle and throat in a twin-snare pull, yanking him sideways with enough force to wrench his shoulder out of socket. The body hit the neighboring roof in a twitching sprawl. The assassin barely had time to scream when he was dragged across the tiles straight into the waiting maw of shadows cast by Phaze.

The interrogation lasted hours.

The man had gloves rigged with static charge. Cute. Reaper tore them off first. Then fingers. Then skin. Black Whip wrapped around his wrists like surgical wire, curling through ligaments, peeling tendons back in slow, practiced pulls. He'd rather enjoyed picking the man apart because this waste of space had made the mistake of going after Katsuki.

And Reaper didn't forgive mistakes.

When the man finally talked, it had been worth it. The job had been placed by a broker inside the Market, and he'd said the name Reaper needed to hear: The League of Villains. A name he knew. A name he deeply fucking hated. Of course it had been them. Who else would fucking dare?

Who else had the reach, the gall, the grudge? Someone from their ranks had worked out a deal with the Ghouls' upper echelon, a silent approval to use the Market's resources in exchange for something Reaper hadn't yet uncovered. And whoever orchestrated it had enough pull to greenlight a contract on Katsuki.

He'd banked on it being Odd Eye. He wanted it to be Odd Eye. There was no one else with the gall or the vendetta deep enough to pull the strings like that. Reaper hadn't said a word when the assassin finished his confession, hadn't indulged in cruelty for its own sake. He'd just stood there, eyes flat, pulse steady.

Then he'd fed him to Phazewave.

Deku had flinched at the gore, not physically; he wasn't in control of their body, but the recoil was sharp, internal, laced with that familiar cocktail of horror and moral nausea. Reaper could feel it ripple beneath the shielding, a spike of disgust so pure it might've rattled someone weaker. To Reaper, it was little more than static.

He had earned that kill.

This is a bad idea, Deku's voice threaded in quietly as if whispered from behind a door. Speak of the devil. Whatever you're thinking, this is the part where we turn around. We shouldn't have split from Kacchan. This isn't the play—

It was always a bad idea, with him.

"Phaze," Reaper murmured, the name sharp-edged. The shadow unfurled at the authority, rippling around the assassin's feet like it had been waiting to be named. A Ghoul ahead had just passed beneath one of the flickering overhead strips, boots clicking against steel towards them. Reaper tracked every motion, cataloging every inch between them and the perimeter through the veil. The angles were tight, but he'd already accounted for them. "Follow him."

Phaze slithered sideways, a chittering echoed in their pocket of darkness as it bunched on the edges of the man's shadow. When the two shadows overlapped, Phaze struck.

A single flicker of movement, barely more than a twitch, and the Nomu's mass latched onto the Ghoul's silhouette, threading through the folds of his form like ink seeping through cloth. The guard didn't notice as he turned, retracing his patrol route back toward the checkpoint, unaware of the predators nesting in his shape.

Reaper didn't blink. His breath was still. Calculated.

This is reckless, Deku insisted again, you're escalating—

He didn't respond or bother to entertain this discussion before he tried to shove Deku backward, into the partition where his protests couldn't echo, the part of their mind where soft things belonged. But the resistance met him like a wall. Not from panic or fear. Just stubborn, steady refusal.

The fallout from last night hadn't faded. Not after the way things had spiraled. Not after Reaper nearly killed Shoto, and Deku had thrown himself into the forefront, clawing for control. The fight hadn't been verbal. It had been a full-blown internal brawl, mental and metaphysical, fueled by stress and betrayal and something close to panic. It had been brutal, even by their standards.

Now Deku clung to the surface like a splinter under skin, refusing to sink.

Spare me the commentary, Reaper nearly snarled. Let me do what I do best.

There was no answer. Just that uncomfortable feeling coiled tight in the back of his skull like the beginnings of a headache.

"Phaze," he murmured again, quiet and smooth like the draw of a knife. "Stick close to his center mass."

The guard's pace slowed near the outer line of the checkpoint. He leaned in toward one of the stationed masks, voice low but audible through the veil. "Rotation's almost up. I'll take the handoff and head up to the control center after this pass. Someone radio Cern for me if I'm not back in twenty."

Perfect.

Reaper watched the words settle between them. One nodded, distracted, thumb tapping rhythmically against a tablet while the other didn't even look up. Complacency. The most predictable variable.

The checkpoint itself spanned the entire corridor width, a narrow choke point carved from the Market's reinforced architecture. Harsh white lighting buzzed overhead, casting everything in sterile clarity. Floor-to-ceiling panels housed a mix of biometric scanners and manual override consoles, and behind the thick laminated glass stood four Ghoul, armed but casual, watching the rotation cycle tick forward with visible boredom.

Reaper's eyes swept the walls. Twin-mounted machine guns tracked the corridor from above, quiet for now but powered, their barrels outfitted with high-grade penetration rounds. Kill-on-sight range, no warmup cycle. And at the center, tucked into a recessed slot in the ceiling, was a heavier rig. Different caliber. Sleek casing. The telltale hum of compressed charge. Plasma-based, most likely. Enough firepower to turn a breach into a fine red mist.

Reaper felt Deku's displeasure crawling through the mental partition like heat behind a wall, persistent and impossible to ignore. Not quite words, but a pulse of disapproval that reverberated through Reaper's concentration like fucking tinnitus.

He ignored it. Or tried to as the Ghoul moved forward, boots clacking in slow, even rhythm. The pair clung beneath him like tar in negative space, weightless and still. Ahead, past the two stationed guards, the white polymer tiles end in a single red line—a clean, matte stripe like an arterial boundary stretched across concrete. Reaper knew enough to recognize the pressure and density sensors beyond that line were calibrated to detect infiltration. Anything anomalous, and those guns would hum to life like it was judgment day, and the probability that those guns would shoot through the Ghoul was very highly likely.

The Ghoul stepped forward towards the check station—twelve meters to the red line.

Inside the veil of shadow, Reaper's breaths quickened, inhaling once, sharply. Then again. And again. He took in sharp, rhythmic pulls of air, flooding his system with oxygen. Hyperventilation, yes, but deliberate.

He needed to oxygenate his body, flood his bloodstream if he was planning to get to the other side conscious. He'd counted to approximately five minutes and twenty-seven seconds before he was rendered unconscious at ground level, but he was betting this crossing was going to be much shorter.

"Permeation. Now." He whispered low in their shared space, voice barely more than thought.

Instantly, the world unraveled. There was no transition. No fade. Just an unending darkness. A brutal, suffocating black that swallowed sight, sensation, sound... everything. His lungs stopped registering the pull of air. Ears went mute. Skin ceased reporting pressure, temperature, contact. No body. No limbs. No time. No self.

The Nomu moved them. Tethering to their host's body as they crossed the red line with the same slow, confident stride, boots passing through sensor-primed tile with them in tow. Phazewave's neural imaging had been genetically modified during its research trials with Humarise and the LOV, giving it a special edge. With the EcksTerminus serum, or as Katsuki dubbed it, E.T., its secondary cortex now had some sort of tactile shadow mapping. Its perception continued where Reaper's shut down entirely, guiding the shared vessel through the density-zero threshold.

Reaper had no way to measure time. No external cues. Only the creeping sensation of suspended animation. He couldn't so much as feel the familiar prickle of Danger Sense. Didn't pick up the subtle shift of the guns tracking above or the low buzz of plasma rigs humming on standby, the way the Nomu could. He missed the bead of sweat sliding down the guard's temple, the soft whir of the elevator kicking into pre-cycle.

Reaper didn't know how long it took, but eventually, after what could have been fifteen seconds or fifteen years, reality snapped back. Phazewave's permeation lifted like a membrane peeled away.

Sensation slammed into him. His chest seized as breath flooded his lungs all at once. He gasped sharply, body pulling in air like a man rescued from drowning. He coughed, once, twice, the reflex harsh and unsparing, his body shuddering with reentry. The light that pierced through the veil of shadow from the world above had Reaper squinting as his pupils adjusted.

Gold shimmered at the edge of focus.

Phazewave's maw drifted into view, undulating through the residual dark like something dredged from a trench too deep to name. Its form was never fixed; every ripple of Vantablack's quirk folded outward from its core, shifting in slow, almost predatory rhythm. Limbs reconstituted themselves in silent pulses. Flesh smeared into the veil, then peeled back into substance. Aside from those sunken eyes that glowed like furnace coals, there was no face to read. Just the illusion of one, its body half-melded with the substance of the shadow around them, skin so dark it was indistinguishable from the veil itself.

The scuff of the Ghoul's feet had Reaper look up to find he was standing in the elevator, raising his badge with bored familiarity to swipe it across the embedded reader above the console. A soft ping acknowledged the clearance, and his fingers danced across the keypad. Reaper tracked every movement with surgical fixation, memorizing the keycode.

His thumb hovered for half a second over the floor number before he pressed the button for floor thirty-five. The elevator acknowledged the input with a mechanical hum, and they were off. They were off to a good start.

Reaper could almost feel Deku grumbling, a passive-aggressive pulse at the base of their skull like a migraine gearing up for its third act, but his voice stayed mercifully low. The elevator coasted up, a slow, mechanical lullaby of tension and steel. Shadows flickered as the floor indicators blinked past. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one...

The elevator eased to a stop on thirty-five, and the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. The guard stepped off the elevator without hesitation, one hand tapping rhythmically against his wrist tablet as he moved down the hallway with the casual authority of someone who'd walked this path a thousand times. Reaper and the Nomu moved with him, folded into the veil just off his left flank.

The hallway they walked itself was quiet and unassuming. Polished graphite panels lined either side, sleek and sterile, broken only by the occasional strip of recessed lighting pulsing faintly blue. No signage. No markings. Just a long corridor built to discourage memory. Cameras tracked overhead, dull red LEDs blinking with mindless rhythm.

Ten meters in, the Ghoul approached a reinforced door. There was no keypad this time, only a biometric reader and a narrow lens embedded at eye level. He leaned in slightly, scanned his mask, and the lock disengaged with a low, mechanical thunk. The door slid open inward, smooth and silent on hidden tracks.

A soft ripple of curiosity bled through the mental link. There might be a chip embedded in the masks. I think it acts like a key when scanned. Might be... no, it's probably RFID. Acts like a key when paired with biometrics.

Reaper didn't comment on Deku's brief observation; he only tucked the knowledge away before slipping into the control room. The main floor was cavernous, wider than it should have been, and darker than expected. Rows of flat monitors lit the space in low, washed-out pulses of CCTV feeds and schematic blueprints. Light bled from screen edges in slow, rhythmic flickers, casting long shadows across the walls. A curved central console dominated the room's heart, lined with monitors stacked two, sometimes three high. They rotated through surveillance feeds, market floor layouts, heat signatures, server diagnostics, hallway schematics—layered noise in a symphony of control.

The command desk, lined with twenty workstations, curved out in a half-moon. A dozen or so of them were occupied with techs in black uniforms hunched over their terminals, faces fully covered still, but shoulders slouched with routine. Another two stood near a console at the far right, trading murmured notes. The chair closest to them sat empty, its headset coiled and forgotten on the armrest. To the left, a woman replayed footage frame by frame, her screen caught on the plush carpeted floor of a hall with multiple armed ghouls seemingly gathering for a formation. Others around her seemed to be rattling instructions through an earpiece radio.

A low burst of static cracked through one of the earpieces as a nearby technician leaned forward, muttering under his breath, "Movement confirmed on Sector Twenty-seven... he's headed for the intended target."

Another tech looked up from his console. His gaze drifted instinctively to a second floor that loomed behind glass. Reaper's gaze snapped to it immediately. The upper level stretched along the back wall in a long observation deck, separated by thick, reinforced panels tinted just enough to hide detail. Movement flickered behind the glass. Two figures, maybe three. Watching.

Phaze pulled away from their host and flowed into a nearby blind spot beneath one of the consoles, tendrils curling faintly as they blended into the dark, a growl rumbling through their space. "Directive confirmed from upstairs," one of them muttered. "They want him funneled toward Spectra."

"About time," came a flat reply from the woman scanning hallway footage. She didn't look up, but Reaper tilted his head slightly, tracking the way the upper room overlooked every screen below. Reaper didn't linger. The moment the chatter turned toward directives and upper-level coordination, he moved.

High clearance? He echoed into the dark just enough for Deku to hear across the link.

Feels like it, came the response, low and measured. Could be supervisors. Or handlers. Not enough motion for ground staff. Reaper didn't like being watched, even when hidden. Especially when hidden.

The hum of cooling fans and the low murmur of distant voices muffled the soft drag of his presence as the pair glided across the room's edges, shadow to shadow, bending around pillars and consoles without drawing so much as a blink from the guards stationed around him.

Two seconds. Three if someone flinched well. That's all he'd need, with Phaze moving clean, to rip into the Ghouls, silence the feeds, and turn this entire level into a tomb. To blind the Market. He'd done worse with less. But that wasn't the mission.

Reaper's gaze slid across the banks of displays as they moved. A dozen floors, a hundred angles. Security feeds overlapped with visitor logs, schematic overlays, and live footage of hallways stacked with biometric readings. Most of it noise. All of it curated. Every feed filtered through the hands of the workers below.

His focus narrowed; he needed to find that damn room.

Across the northern wall, tucked behind a column of status monitors, a side terminal displayed a static schematic, a looping blueprint cycling through several floors. Floor thirty-five. He zeroed in on the blinking indicators, reading the rotating tag lines as they repeated: CORVUS—Logistics corridor—Server Spine—Authorized Access Only.

Bingo.

He tracked the blinking section toward the back, where the observation room loomed above. He glanced up again at the glass wall, the faint silhouette of a figure pacing slowly behind it.

Deku's voice stirred in his mind, sharper now. That's it. Server Spine, that's our access point. They'll have everything wired through that hub—communications, logs, biometric archives. And maybe something about Project ZENITH, if we're lucky. But we're not gonna be lucky unless you move. We've wasted enough time; we need to get back to Kacchan.

Reaper exhaled slowly through his nose. Kacchan this, Kacchan that, always bleeding sentiment at the worst possible moment and being a pain in his fucking ass. I'm aware, Reaper answered silently.

He adjusted their path, sliding behind a vent housing and pausing beneath the steel staircase that wound up toward the observation level. The steps were cold-forged, matte metal, bolted directly to the sidewall with no under-support. He waited until one of the techs below pushed back from their console to stretch, diverting the attention of two others with a muttered joke about the Hero Association's reaction to its missing hero.

Phaze caught the flick of Reaper's intent like a pulse through the dark. Together, they slithered up the structure in one slow surge, gliding between risers like fluid smoke winding upward with unhurried grace. Halfway up, Reaper adjusted his internal pressure, lungs tightening. Oxygen management. Muscle awareness. Movement timing. He'd need control once inside in case things took a turn for the worse.

At the landing, the reinforced wall thickened. The door into the upper chamber bore no handle, no visible scanner. There was only a flat industrial design, heat-sealed at the frame, faint current buzzing beneath the threshold. High clearance. Locked tight. But it wouldn't matter.

Phaze reached it without slowing, muscle and shadow shifting with silent intention. Reaper tightened within, syncing breath and awareness as the Nomu activated permeation, warping through the material layer by layer, disassembling atoms just long enough to slip them between.

The door gave nothing. No creak. No alert. Just shadow passing clean through steel. Reaper slid into a corner, just beneath a sprawl of stacked consoles that reached toward the ceiling in a curved tower of live feeds and encrypted command lines. The walls were lined with thick, matte insulation panels, soundproofing built in, and the hum of processors was louder here, layered into the floor like a heartbeat under concrete.

The room wasn't large, but it held weight. Not in size, but in presence. The lighting was subdued, bleeding in from floor-level track lights and the ambient spill of monitors. In the middle stood a raised desk, a command-style workstation molded into the room's architecture, its interface split across five high-res displays.

There were three figures in the room.

One of them paced slowly near the window. They were tall, angular, and wrapped in something that looked like a long coat but shimmered like oil. Each step was measured, precise, shoulders too high and stiff to be human. They moved with unhurried calculation, hands folded behind their back like they were cataloguing every blinking screen below. They didn't look like any of the other Ghouls. They looked like someone who issued their orders.

As the figure passed close to the glass, Reaper's gaze flicked to the other end of the room.

The other two figures at the desk weren't like the others he'd seen through the Market. Their masks were a deep black, not the gleaming silver common to the footsoldiers. These demonic faces reflected no light. Matte, angular, predatory. Designed for command, not intimidation.

The one on the left sat with the ease of someone used to giving orders and watching them obey themselves. His shoulders were squared, hair cropped short, exhaling like the weight of what was before him was taxing, fingers tapping a slow, annoyed rhythm against the edge of a surveillance feed looping Sector Twenty-Seven. The other, half-shadowed near the holos, leaned just enough to the left that the dim projection light caught the edge of their mask, that same pitch-black model, but older, worn at the jaw. Arms crossed. Like whatever they were working on took all its focus.

That's him. Deku's voice broke into Reaper's awareness, a quiet thrum brushing across his mind like the page of a book snapping shut. That's the Hand.

Reaper leaned forward, pressing closer to the veil of Phaze's shadow, his body merging with the curl of it like a second skin, head breaching the line of shadow cast by the corner beam, just enough to get a cleaner angle.

The man pacing wasn't a man. He looked like a tear in the world, stitched into the shape of one. He was humanoid only in silhouette; his entire body shimmered with the texture of something cosmically wrong. Obsidian-black skin flickered with shifting pinpricks of light—galaxies, collapsing suns, a smear of distant starlight trapped inside the void of him. It was as if the void of space itself had been tailored into the confines of a white gold suit. His head tilted as he paused at the glass, listening to an earpiece, and the only visible features on his face were two pinpricks of starfire where eyes should be.

"Make sure," the tall figure murmured, his voice almost impossibly low, "that we lead the target into the lower corridor adjacent to section D of Sector 27. The one Spectra marked."

The Hand, if that's who he truly was, lifted one hand, fingers long and jointless, impossibly delicate as they traced a horizontal line in the air. "That wall will drop once the target hits the illusion. The moment he crosses the threshold, she'll collapse the exit and funnel the space into my slipstream."

One of the masks at the console looked up. His fingers froze mid-keystroke.

"There's no getting out," the Hand finished, a bone white smile stretching across his face as he listened to a conversation through an earpiece Reaper wasn't privy to. "Not through my pocket dimension."

Reaper's brow pulled low. So, he truly did exist after all.

"I want him alive," the Hand added softly, as if amused. "But intact is negotiable."

I don't like the sound of that, Deku murmured. Isn't Kacchan—he's still on that floor, isn't he?

There it was again. Reaper's lip curled, the expression flickering in the dark like a blade catching dim light. Kacchan. Always Kacchan. Always first to the edge of panic the second that idiot was anywhere near danger.

Focus, Reaper snapped, clear enough in the link that Deku flinched. He's not a fucking porcelain doll. There's been no mention of his name or alias. He can handle himself.

He bit back the urge to spit more venom, swallowing it down like acid. It wouldn't help. Deku was all spiraling worry and worst-case calculations when it came to Katsuki. Every time. Like he didn't trust Reaper to handle it. Like Katsuki couldn't handle himself.

How often did he have to remind Deku they'd both practically been trained to be killers with fury and fire in their bones?

The Hand's voice trailed off into silence behind them, but the tension hung thick and clinging, as Reaper eased back into the darkness, shadows curling tight around him once more.

Behind the curved desk, half-shadowed by the ambient glow of cascading feedlight, stood a door recessed into the wall—sleek, matte black, unmarred by keypads or manual latches. Just a single, pulsing line etched above the threshold in red-gold text:

SERVER SPINE—RESTRICTED CORE—AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY

There it was.

And within the span of two heartbeats, they were in.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Intentions Lack Memories

Rows upon rows of black server towers loomed like monoliths, humming with power. Their blinking lights pulsed in a sterile red and green rhythm that resembled a heartbeat. Each one was identical, numbered only at the base, stacked with enough redundant security wiring to suggest someone paranoid had designed this place.

It had taken him three minutes too long to find the main terminal. An irritating waste of time, but predictable as the design of this place was deliberately redundant. Obfuscation by uniformity. Every machine here was dressed in the same skin, indistinguishable to the untrained eye.

They'd come through the only entrance, dropped into the gap between towers, and moved soundlessly through the shadows across the grating. No alarms. No pressure sensors. No visual recognition here, oddly enough. A lapse. Or maybe it was bait.

The mainframe sat on a raised dais at the far end, surrounded by low barricades and a chain of sweeping ceiling cams. He slid past them unseen, tucked low in the crawl of darkness where visibility was minimal. A low thrum of electricity danced above as they reached the console. Reaper pulled out a slim matte black drive from an inner coat seam. A custom rubber ducky USB with a matte finish, heat-resistant casing, and just barely longer than his finger. Phaze let out a low, almost curious chitter as he turned the drive over once between his fingers. No decals. No identifiers. A piece of code made manifest.

"Top slot," Reaper murmured.

Phaze hissed in acknowledgment, tendrils curling from the pool of shadow around him. One wisp darted forward, grasped the drive with eerie precision, and breached their pocket of darkness as the camera made its sweep to the left. One of Phaze's shadows curled tighter around the security port beneath the desk, slim tendrils snaking upwards before slotting the drive into the uppermost port. The Bash Bunny embedded in its grasp blinked once innocuously, deadly. It wasn't your typical storage device, just disguised as one. It was a keyboard in sheep's clothing preloaded with a payload Deku had fine-tuned for weeks across every stolen server they'd managed to get their hands on. Hashcat. Hydra. Backdoors written in five languages and tested on LOV's own defenses during their raids.

The screen flickered to life. Static at first. Then a line of cold green code scrolled up from the bottom, modular injection point confirmed. Access granted. The program launched without delay, and a black console window swallowed the interface whole. Text poured across the heartbeat of silence.

Reaper's eyes tracked the ceiling cams without lifting his head when Deku's voice slid in low and even. Cameras are on a twenty-five-second sweep. Full clockwise rotation. Start and stop lag is about four seconds at three and nine o'clock. You've got a nine-second blind spot on sweepback. I'd move in that window.

Of course, he'd timed it; he lived for metrics like that.

Reaper noted the first one above the leftmost strut. Another, a rotating dome tucked beneath the central spine. Sweep arc matched Deku's timing. The moment the surveillance cameras tilted away on their lazy circuit, Reaper rose halfway from the shadow, fingers already reaching for the console, typing in a command prompt and key phrases for the aggregator. The USB cracked open directory after directory, scraping metadata for anything tagged ZEINTH, Izuku Midoriya, Cloud Nine, EcksTerminus, Odd Eye, or anything even remotely related to the league. Some of the file names pinged with red brackets, classified; others were buried under aliases and intentionally misfiled indexes. Reaper watched as the console parsed through each one, isolating fragments and dumping them into encrypted RAM buffers faster than most firewalls could log intrusion attempts.

Reaper dipped back into the shadow to avoid the camera sweep when one entry stalled for a fraction of a second.

Encrypted triple-layer. Custom lock pattern? Deku again. Reaper's jaw tensed. I can brute it, Deku offered. But it'll draw attention. Trip a code in the secondary node, maybe.

There is no need, Reaper snapped. In case you forgot, we're quite possibly in the heart of enemy territory.

Time blurred as five minutes silently ticked past uninterrupted. The hum of servers and fans hummed into background static, unremarkable. Until one folder blinked red in the feed before being duplicated into their secured directory—[ZL-RSPN//Recovered: Z-Variant Cloud Nine Logs]

Interesting.

He was already moving, shoulders angled out of the shadow, hand ghosting toward the console when a sharp vibration buzzed through the fabric near his hip.

His jaw twitched. Seriously, not now. He didn't so much as glance at the pocket. The log flashing in the terminal was far more compelling than whoever thought they had the right to contact a corpse.

Are you going to answer that, Deku said dryly in his head, the timing almost sarcastic. Or are we pretending that we don't exist?

No, Reaper said flatly, eyes still locked on the screen. His fingers flexed once at his side.

A pause. Then Deku sighed in that particular way he did when he was about to lecture someone in the middle of a burning building. It could be important. Like—cataclysmic-important... maybe it's an emergency and he's trying to text you through gritted teeth. Just check. I'm not asking you to compose a damn sonnet.

Reaper's lips pulled into something that wasn't quite a smile and definitely wasn't kind.

I assure you, it's not that.

Deku muttered something that echoed unintelligible when there was another buzz. Louder this time. Persistent. Almost like—

Okay, I'm serious now, Deku pressed. If this is who I think it is, and you ignore it out of spite, I'm going to replay the full memory of All Might's theme songs on loop in here. Don't test me.

Reaper exhaled slowly through his nose, a hairline crack forming in his composure. He shut his eyes for a single, stilled breath. Yes, because there are just so many people tripping over themselves to ring up a dead man. His voice dripped with disdain, quiet and sharp as glass. Shall I answer with a cheerful 'Sorry, can't talk right now, currently raiding a fortified blacksite for stolen classified intel'?

You're the one pretending you don't care. Deku's tone sobered now. But if it is him, and you don't answer, you're going to regret it. And I don't mean later. I mean, the second you see—

A speaker suddenly crackled to life with a low thud of feedback. "Protocol Omega is now in effect."

Reaper's body reacted before his brain finished parsing the words. He jolted back into motion, muscles snapping taut. Red light flooded the chamber, bleaching the sterile green of the server stacks into something hellish, pulsing like an exposed wound. The air itself seemed to curdle, static thickening.

Deku's voice punched through a half-second later, laced with sharp panic.
What the hell was that? What's happening—? Reap—?

Reaper shoved backward into the deeper crawl of Phazewave's shadows without resistance. The Nomu hissed, tendrils snapping to attention like barbed wire rearing to defend its master. One coiled low around Reaper's thigh as it dragged them both across the server hall's center aisle, slinking into the deep cradle between towers.

That wasn't a general alert, Deku murmured quickly, pulling himself into a sharper presence, the way he did when logic overtook fear. That was an internal directive. Which means we may have tripped something, and this server floor is either compromised or being prepped for a full wipe.

Shit. Shit. Reaper's fingers flexed once, fast before he moved with silent precision, one smooth motion peeling him from the hollowed darkness of Phazewave's veil. His coat shifted like smoke as he emerged, shoulders tense, eyes locked onto the console still blinking with the Z-Variant log mid-process. There was no time.

He reached the terminal and yanked the first USB drive loose, the second a heartbeat after, both vanishing back into his coat with the grace of loaded weapons holstered mid-step.

Scrub it, he ordered low, eyes flicking once to the camera sweep overhead.

Deku didn't hesitate. On it.

Reaper stepped back without another word, letting his consciousness slip into the undertow. Not surrender—just... enough to slacken the leash. Letting Deku pilot.

Code scrolled in fast, ruthless waves. Entire partitions collapsed under a single overwrite loop, every keystroke the rubber ducky had entered was being rerouted through non-existent proxy users.

Thirty percent done. Reallocating script to isolate security buffer overflow— Deku's voice wasn't rushed, but sharp, focused, as if typing and speaking were the same breath.

Across the aisle, Phazewave rose from the floor like something dislodged from hell's basement. Its form peeled upward in jagged pulses, bones grinding audibly beneath its obsidian skin. One elongated arm slithered out, bracing against the nearest tower. The server stack moaned under its strain, metal groaning like a dying animal as nails raked against it.

Phazewave's head tilted, its hollow gaze fixed on the entry hatch like it already saw the breach about to happen. A resonant growl bled from Phaze's core, low and primal. It vibrated through the grating beneath Reaper's feet, through the floor, up his legs, into the hollow center of his chest. It wasn't meant for him. It was a warning to anything stupid enough to come through that door. A threat incarnate.

If any of them have half a brain, Deku muttered, fingers still flying across the virtual interface, they won't come through that door. Not after hearing that.

The final string of commands fired. Done, Deku confirmed. Everything's clean. No trace.

Reaper seized control mid-step, weight shifting back onto the balls of his feet, eyes snapping to the steel bulkhead at the far end of the room.

He let his hands fall to his side half instinct, half warning, before taking a defensive stance. From beneath his coat, Black Whip slithered out slow and hungrily. Tendrils crawled up his arm with deliberate grace, curling into wicked hooks as they reached his hand. At his fingertips, the edges sharpened into jagged claws, curved and obsidian, pulsing faintly with the kinetic intent of Fajin.

The accumulated red charge intertwines with Black Whip's raw energy. The effect was jagged, radiant. A living weapon primed to shred through anything in Reaper's way.

He could feel One For All as well, not just riding his muscles, but alive in them. Breathing with him. OFA had been foreign. A language he didn't speak. A rhythm he didn't dance to. No warm guidance. No gentle counsel from the ghost of past bearers. Just silence. Cold, indifferent silence. The vestiges, once so loud for Izuku, for Deku, had always been silent for him. Not a single whisper since he'd surfaced. Not even a hint of contempt. Just... absent. Like they'd looked at him once, decided he wasn't theirs, and turned away.

Now, after All Might's passing, not even Deku hears them anymore. Whatever had tethered the vestiges to Izuku's soul didn't seem to have survived the fracture. Whatever they'd once been, mentors, fragments, memories, they had either gone dormant... or turned their backs the second the boy they recognized disappeared.

It didn't matter. Reaper didn't need them; he only needed the power they gave him.

He rolled his neck once and took a step forward. The floor hummed beneath his feet. Phazewave stayed coiled beside him like a wraith on a leash, claws gripping the tower with enough force to warp the steel.

Still no movement.

The alarm kept blinking in dull, looping cycles. The speaker that had declared Protocol Omega was silent now, as if whatever had sounded it had also severed its own line. No rush of boots. No gas canisters. No automated defenses storming in from the door.

Nothing.

Deku stirred again, unease blooming through the back of their mind like a creeping vine.

Where the hell are they? he asked, quieter now. It's been minutes. Something's wrong. That alert wasn't fake, this place should've been swarming by now. Could there have possibly been something else that triggered the alarms?

"They're not coming," Reaper murmured aloud, the words slipping unbidden, cold.

He didn't like this. He didn't like delays. He didn't like unknowns. But he knew better than to wait for a wave he couldn't predict. Better to move while they still had the silence on their side. Whatever was coming, if it was coming, wouldn't wait for an invitation.

"We're moving," he said flatly, stepping back from the terminal and pivoting on his heels. His claws flexed once, Fajin's kinetic energy bleeding back into his body in controlled waves as Black Whip retracted like a tide slipping beneath his coat.

We need to get to Kacchan, Deku said, already anticipating him. He's on Floor twenty-seventh floor, if we trail the shadows like before—

Enough. Reaper's voice cracked like frost across glass, flat and lethal. He will manage. He always does. What matters is that we are moving now. His claws curled once, the last remnants of Fajin and Black Whip dispersing into his bones, Phaze's shadows tightening back against his frame.

Silence followed, heavy and stung. Deku receded just enough to sulk in the undertow, but the thought lingered, insistent.

Reaper didn't indulge it. He pivoted, coat whispering across the steel grate, and slid into Phazewave's veil without hesitation, the darkness swallowing him whole. The server chamber, its monolithic towers and pulsing alarms, bled away in one breath as the Nomu's silken shadows coiled around him, drawing him down into their arterial crawl.

They phased through the server chamber, alarms still pulsing to no audience. Phazewave carried him under the control floor in a low tide of black; banks of glass and consoles drifted past above, operators hunched in their glow, none of them looking down far enough to see their own shadows split and reform, their focus wholly on the flashing CCTV footage.

They descended in silence.

Reaper trailed the path they came in on, down the steel staircase that hugged the far wall,  back through the observation chamber. The tension didn't fade with distance. If anything, it coagulated. Became denser. The weight of inaction pressing against his spine like phantom pressure.

Something was off.

Even Phaze seemed to move differently, it was more alert, more deliberate, its slithering tendrils coiling tighter with every step they zoomed through the facility's nervous system. The hum of machinery faded as they entered the security floor again, their passage silent beneath the ambient murmur of nearby consoles and technician chatter.

Phaze skirted the outer corridor, hugging the wall as they phased through the edge of the checkpoint. The secondary elevator shaft sat just ahead, its doors open as security skirted out.

Perfect opportunity for an in and out.

The elevator doors sealed with a hydraulic hiss behind them. Reaper shifted inside the darkness, one hand sliding into his coat as a tendril of shadow reached up to press the button for the twenty-seventh floor. He pulled out his phone, its glow dim in the cocoon of shadow. Two text messages. The name burned against the screen like it had teeth. Katsuki.

His jaw set. Reaper flicked the screen with a thumb, and the messages blinked open. A single line.

Got everything.
Need anything else before we hit Numazu?

That was it. He exhaled once, slow, a sound closer to disdain than relief. If that was all, it wasn't urgent. Typical. The faintest curl pulled at his mouth, not kind. He snapped the phone shut, slipping it back into his coat like the matter was already dead.

You're unbelievable, Deku muttered, his tone equal parts frustration and dread. Reaper merely rolled his eyes. Always so overprotective. Always overbearing. He is a literal walking hydrogen bomb, and still you fret like a mother hen.

The elevator hummed on, floor indicators ticking steadily toward twenty-seven. Phazewave's tendrils scraped faintly against the walls, restless, while it hovered unmoving, gaze fixed on the seam of the doors.

The elevator dinged, and the doors parted; the world beyond them bled red.

Reaper stilled on the threshold. Smoke crawled the ceiling in a thin, jaundiced sheet; alarms pulsed in a slow, arterial strobe that made the corridor breathe like a wounded animal. Far off, he could hear shouts, bootfalls, and a radio bark strangled mid-syllable. No bodies in the frame. No target. Just haze and heat wearing the hallway like a skin.

He did not move. He only looked, catalogued as something cold walked two fingers down his spine, not fear... no, no, it was apprehension sharpened to utility. Phaze chittered low around him, a sound that vibrated through him, and eased forward first, testing the air as if scent alone could read intent. He let it lead. Always let the instrument find the note.

They slid out into the ruin.

The first few dozen feet of the hall seemed to be fully intact, no signs of what had caused the disturbance. Reaper's gaze slid over it, not fooled, waiting for the fracture.

It came quickly enough. A meter further around the bend of the hall and the clean line buckled, plaster blistered, scorched black where an explosion had bloomed against it; ceiling tiles sagged like skin left too close to flame. The acrid tang of nitro hung faint in the haze, thinned but unmistakable. He inhaled once, shallow, and felt it catch at the back of his throat like powdered glass.

Phaze bled to the surface in pieces, eye searching, mindful of the cameras. Its form dragged itself out of shadow like an oil slick forcing bones, half-coherent, its body refusing to decide whether it belonged to this plane or not. A shoulder crested first, followed by the long curve of its ribcage, ribs flexing open as if the Nomu were remembering what a body should be. Phaze kept low, claws skimming the wall's seam, its body stretched lean as smoke against the strobe. The Nomu's head twitched side to side, tasting the wrongness. A chitter rasped through its chest cavity, and the sound crawled up Reaper's spine. He didn't need the warning; the corridor was telling him its story loud enough.

A gouge curved across the tile ahead, a wide crescent scraped deep into the flooring—blast recoil, body used as fulcrum, velocity bleeding into architecture. Reaper pushed to the surface reaching out of the shadows, fingers brushing close but not touching. Still warm. Recent.

Deku swelled in the undertow, pressure without words at first, the way a storm announces itself before it troubles the sky. Anxiety, precise as a metronome, climbing notch by notch. He could feel it try to hook the breath right out of him. Before Deku could shape the first syllable of the question, Reaper reached inside his coat and drew the phone. The screen's glow felt indecent in the red. He didn't look at his hand, didn't dignify the tremor with attention. He simply placed his thumb where it needed to be and hit the call.

The dial tone hadn't finished its second cycle when another sound bled through the haze, faint at first, then distinct. A phone ringing. It had to be his own call, echoing back from somewhere ahead in the smoke.

Reaper's body moved before thought sharpened. He broke fully from Phaze's veil, boots slamming down into the ruined carpet. The sudden return of weight nearly tripped him, but he caught the stumble, cloak snapping around him as he cut forward at a brisk pace. The smoke parted in slow waves around his body, swallowing most of the world, but the tone dragged him on, steady, insistent growing sharper the nearer he got.

Another few steps and the shape revealed itself on the floor. It was an iphone, screen glowing weakly against the soot, Deku's name stamped on it like a wound. Reaper halted, the sound still rattling inside his ear and in the air itself, discordant. Three feet beyond, the shadows broke around a scatter of black cases that were reinforced and military-grade, exactly what Katsuki had come here for. Reaper didn't need deduction to reach the conclusion. These were his.

Reaper crouched low, fingers curling around the phone. The screen went dark as he killed the line, the silence felt heavy, too heavy, a hush so absolute it screamed louder than the alarms.

The backlash hit him immediately. Deku's panic tore through the partition like an unshielded current—raw, all-consuming. A chill ripped down Reaper's spine and spread outward through his chest, his arms, until his balance faltered and his knees nearly betrayed him. He locked them in place with sheer spite, teeth grinding hard enough to creak.

Control yourself. His own voice in his skull, sharp and venomous. He forced his breathing even, forced his grip steady around the phone. But it was a hollow mimicry of calm. His pulse betrayed him, jagged, erratic, out of sync with the steadiness he demanded. The chill wormed its way beneath his skin, into his pulse. His fingers twitched once against the phone, then stilled, but the tremor lingered up his wrist, into his forearm. He ignored it. Tried to. His shoulders drew back with precision, spine straight, every movement deliberate—calculated, controlled. But his fucking breaths came out shallow, faster than he permitted, chest rising before he gave it leave. Keep steady. Keep still.

His jaw ached with the force he kept it shut. But the mask was slipping. Heat built at the base of his skull, cold in his veins, a paradox tearing through his body. The chill Deku had unleashed wasn't fading. It was spreading.

And behind it, pressure.

Deku hammered against the partition, the way an animal claws at glass when it sees blood spill on the other side. His voice wasn't the quiet analyst anymore, it was a raw, ragged snarl that rattled through Reaper like it belonged to something feral.

Do something! Find him! Don't just stand here—

Reaper's teeth clenched tighter. His hand flexed hard around the phone until the casing creaked. "Enough." The word left him as a hiss, venom-laced, but even he could hear the crack splitting through it.

The red strobe washed over the cases again, over the empty space where Katsuki should have been, over the shadows that told no story but absence. Deku's panic pressed harder, icy and merciless, demanding violence, demanding action. The wall between them began to buckle beneath the weight of it, every strike reverberating in his bones, pulling at his composure like thread unraveling.

"Enough," Reaper hissed again, colder. We do not have the luxury of tantrums. If he's gone, then we assess, precisely. Not flail like animals in a trap.

His words however didn't land this time. They ricocheted off Deku's panic like a thrown stone striking the surface of a storm-tossed sea, swallowed whole, dragged under, useless.

Assess? Deku's voice ripped through him, jagged. He could be bleeding out in some damn corner, or worse—dragged, taken—while you stand here reciting strategy! The panic surged, raw and unfiltered, slamming against the partition until Reaper's breath stuttered against his will. Move! Do something!

We don't know that, Reaper snapped, pacing back a step, fingers curled hard around the phone like it might anchor him to the now, the real, the controllable. He needs exactly what I'm already doing. Clarity. Not this. If we expose ourselves, the fiction of our death evaporates, and with it the one advantage we hold over Odd Eye and the League.

To hell with advantages! Deku's voice cracked like glass under a hammer, frantic, breaking the cadence he usually kept. This isn't a game of numbers, it's fucking Kacchan! And you think hiding buys us more than him? You think control matters when he's—

I will not move blind. Reaper's voice cut in, all too even. Too calm. Which meant it was already starting to fracture. The red strobe painted his face in halves, stone one moment, shadow the next, mask and fracture laid over each other. He forced breath steady, body still, as if discipline alone could choke back the storm. Control always matters. The hiss bled out sharp, but something inside the words quivered, a tremor he refused to name. Lose it now, and he is gone for certain. That is reality.

Control?! Deku's voice cracked. Not the usual unraveling, it was grief curdled with rage, terror wrapped around bone-deep memory. You think I care about that right now? That's—he—he could be bleeding out right now and you're playing fucking chess?!

The phone shook once in his hand.

I am calculating, he bit out, teeth bared behind the words. We're in the Black Market. We are infiltrating the Sovereign's stronghold. One of the most secure and secretive syndicates in the world. There are no clean exits, no open windows, no backup en route. We are essentially alone.

He could be dying right now!

Reaper clenched his teeth. Hard. What if we burn everything just to walk into a trap?
His tone flattened, venom sheathed in precision. What if this is exactly what they want... bait? Blood? Proof that a ghost from the past still breathes?

Deku didn't recoil. He raged.

I don't care! I don't fucking care if it's bait! A pulse of grief tore through the tether, reckless, merciless. I'd rather die than wait down here like some fucking tactician while they hurt him! Let me the hell out!

The image of Katsuki on that table, splayed open like a specimen, carved into by hands that didn't know reverence or restraint. The thought lodged like a blade between Reaper's ribs. His body seized, and before he could cage it, his hand flew to his temple, fingers digging hard against the ache splitting through his skull, at Deku trying to wretch the controls.

Black Whip lashed out of him in response, feral, uncontrolled, writhing from him like something starving for blood. Tendrils cracked in the red haze, gouging shallow furrows into plaster, vibrating with a hunger that was not entirely his. Phaze recoiled, hissing low as if even the Nomu sensed the instability.  He cursed under his breath, venom tasting of bile. A whip cracked once against the wall, rattling tile from its seams, before he dragged it back down, forcing it to slither close against his coat, still writhing.

His lungs betrayed him next. Breath coming more ragged, unspooling too fast, a rhythm he could not regulate. Deku's voice hammered from inside, near-feral with grief. Do something, damn you. MOVE!

Reaper's snarl broke through, low, ugly. He stormed down the hall, cloak trailing sharp through smoke-thick air. The phone weighed like a stone in his grip, cold against fingers still twitching with the remnants of the tremor.

"Phaze," he hissed, the word snapped more like a command than a call. The Nomu peeled from the wall with an eager hiss, shadows splitting wide to receive him. He stepped inside its veil without hesitation, the darkness swallowing him whole, but he didn't bury himself deep. No, he clung close to the surface this time, eyes open, breath sharp, forcing himself to witness.

The hall unfurled around them in ruin. Smoke bled in sheets across the ceiling. Fragments of plaster littered the ground like bone shards. Black scorch marks told the story of blasts, each one loud, violent, recent. And always, that undertone of nitro, faint but suffocating, leading him like a thread.

Phaze slithered, tendrils pressed flat to the walls, bending around the corner, passing a pool and splatters of dark viscous liquid, too close to blood for comfort. The guards' shouts echoed further down, frantic, boots hammering in broken rhythm. He ignored them. Slid past. Every step was toward destruction, toward center.

The trail sharpened with each meter. Blast arcs. Burn marks. Gouges deep into tile. The air itself grew heavier until the smoke clotted in his lungs.

Then the corridor broke open.

A clutch of guards pressed to the far wall, weapons drawn but slack, voices clipped and panicked. Reaper stayed pressed to Phaze's surface, eyes narrowing past the veil. And there, spun in the strobe light like some feral wraith, stood Toga.

Blood smeared her chin, her arms, her clothes, fresh enough to gleam wet under the alarm's pulse. She giggled high in her throat, the sound incongruous against the ruin, sharp enough to cut through the chaos of guards barking orders.

Reaper didn't move as his gaze drifted low, following the smell that hit him all at once. Too strong. Too much. Copper-thick and suffocating.

Blood.

It pooled across the floor just ahead of her, spreading wide enough to lap at the feet of the nearest guards. And in the center of it, amongst bullet casings glinting faintly in the strobe, lay Katsuki's ring.

Chapter Text

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Erasure

His ears rang. Not from sound, but from absence, the silence that followed the sight of the ring bleeding out on the floor. The crimson world above narrowed to a high, metallic shriek, everything else pressed beneath it, the guards shouting, Toga's laughter, even Deku's voice. He couldn't hear him anymore. He could only feel him. Thrashing, clawing, breaking himself bloody against the partition. Panic incarnate.

Reaper stood still. Numb. His body refused the next breath, as if the air had turned to smoke and ash. He had imagined a thousand endings, accounted for a thousand failures. But not this. Never this.

Fear. It surged through him like a poison, uninvited, uncontainable. His chest pulled tight under it, ribs straining as though to keep his heart from rupturing. He tried to catalogue, to dissect, but the tremor in his hand betrayed him before his thoughts could align.

He reached for his own chain, fingers digging beneath his collar until the cool press of metal kissed his palm. His ring. The twin to the one lying in the blood. He closed his fist around it, pressing hard enough for the edge to bite his skin.

It glowed. A faint, muted light, more ember than flame. For a heartbeat he almost believed it meant survival. That glow meant connection, meant life. That was what they were meant to represent, no matter when or where either of them was in this godforsaken world.

But there was no thrum beneath it... no warmth. How had he, had they, not noticed the sudden disconnect. There was no steady pulse radiating back into his palm the way it once had. Only light. Cold, indifferent light. His mind tried to parse the contradiction. If it glows, he's alive. Logic dictates it. If it glows, then there is still something, a soul, tethered, still some current running between us. So why is there no warmth? Why no heartbeat?

The panic set in at last, not as a rush but as a collapse. His lungs heaved like broken bellows, each breath shallower than the last, ribcage straining against air that refused to anchor him. His grip on the ring faltered once, tightened again until the chain bit the back of his neck.

No warmth. No heartbeat. No proof. The thought struck again and again, a hammer driving splinters deeper. The glow mocked him... alive, but absent. Present, but void.

The ringing in his ears warped sharper, shriller, until he could almost swear he heard his own pulse drowning beneath it. Fear roared up, hot enough to blister, cold enough to freeze, both at once, impossible to reconcile. His body trembled with it. His control fractured.

And then something darker bled in... Wrath.

It trickled first, a drop of venom in the bloodstream, then spread fast, searing through him like acid. Not panic anymore. Not helplessness. Rage, pure and uncut. Wrath so potent it made his breath steady, even as his chest still shook with the aftershocks. Wrath that did not beg, did not plead, it promised.

It felt familiar. Too familiar. Like that day in the cavern, when the surge of One For All had torn loose the restraints around his neck and something buried deep inside Izuku had clawed its way to the surface. Violence incarnate. Not instinct, not strategy, but pure will to destroy. Reaper remembered the taste of it, the way it had burned through muscle and marrow until there was nothing left but fire and ruin and blood.

He felt Deku clawing still, but weaker, drowned beneath the tide. The partition didn't hold him back as Reaper's fury smothered him. Rage diluted his voice until it was little more than static, faint echoes lost under the flood.

Good.

Reaper's lips pulled into the shadow of something that wasn't a smile. Green light crawled across his skin. First in thin filaments, like lightning threading beneath the surface of his veins, then thicker, brighter, until the arcs snapped at the edges of his coat. He exhaled through his teeth, slow, steady, but the air seared on its way out, chest rattling like something about to split.

Phazewave's shadows buckled with it. The cocoon around him shrank back, tendrils recoiling as though the Nomu itself had flinched. He turned his head toward the darkest part, gaze burning through the veil, and he felt Phaze shuddering under his stare. Sentient, but not stupid. It understood wrath when it saw it.

"Cameras first," he murmured, voice low, measured, venom in every syllable. Smoke Screen's Purple smoke bled from his frame in steady coils, rising from his shoulders, his arms, his mouth, wrath given form, heatless but suffocating. "Then anything that breathes. Start from the elevator. Leave nothing standing."

The screen thickened with every heartbeat until it clung to him like armor, pulsing with the rhythm his ring had once carried. Reaper's first step forward detonated it. Smoke exploded outward, rolling in a tide from his body and rocketing through Phazewave's veil, carpeting the ruined hall in a choking haze. Tendrils lashed out from the Nomu's mass, streaking the walls like oil set aflame, each one snapping into cameras, ripping them from their brackets in sparks and static.

Reaper lunged.

He left the shadows not as a man but as a projectile, cloak snapping behind him like a blade. His hand shot out, Black Whip writhing into jagged claws that clamped around the throat of the nearest guard. Bone crunched under his grip. The man barely gasped before he was hurled sideways into the wall, body folding, discarded as the smoke swallowed him whole.

Above, Phazewave blurred across the walls like a stain moving at the speed of thought, its bulk bending around corners, claws puncturing cameras, stripping metal from the ceiling. Every step carried it closer to the elevator, closer to its starting line of slaughter.

The smoke moved with him, not trailing, but leading, curling ahead in coiled waves as though his wrath had taken the shape of weather. Every whip that lashed from his arm split into claws; every claw tore through armor and flesh like parchment. The second guard folded against the wall, choking on his own blood before the smoke claimed him. The third tried to raise a rifle; Black Whip speared through his forearm, bone cracking as Reaper dragged him forward into a knee that broke his skull flat.

It was not chaos but precision painted in gore.

A distant scream cut through the corridor from the far end, sharp and thin, before Phazewave answered with a roar. It wasn't sound so much as vibration, low and seismic, rattling the steel in the walls until the air itself seemed to ripple. The guards froze, long enough to make the mistake of looking at each other, long enough to hesitate instead of firing.

Muzzles lit through the smoke as gunfire erupted, sharp staccato bursts biting into the haze. Bullets hissed overhead and ricocheted into plaster. Reaper didn't so much as back down. He angled low, body slipping through the trajectories using Danger Sense, claws carving arcs that opened torsos as he wove through them. Every breath steadied, every strike honed, his wrath threading into rhythm. One down. Two. Three. Blood hit the walls in bright fans, smoke carrying it like ink in water.

A plan. Fuck, he needed a plan. He forced the thought to stick even as his body kept moving, carving, discarding bodies like trash in his path. Every breath rasped through his teeth, ragged, but he clung to the calculation beneath the slaughter.

Katsuki. Where?

The thought circled, demanded. He couldn't interrogate corpses, not when they had nothing left to offer. A path was needed, a thread to pull. He wrenched a guard sideways, snapping his rifle in half with a whip, skull cracking against tile until silence. The body fell, and Reaper's gaze cut through the haze, searching.

Toga.

The name hissed through his mind like a blade drawn. The bitch giggling in blood, her hands always too red. She wasn't fodder. She wasn't disposable. She had rank here, pull. If anyone knew where they dragged Katsuki, it would be her.

His chest heaved once, sharp, a tremor shaking his hand before he forced it still. Focus. He only needed to get to her. Get his hands on her. Rip the truth out vein by vein if he had to. The cold adrenaline flooded his veins, and for the first time, Reaper welcomed the chill. He let it sharpen him.

He stepped over another corpse, eyes narrowing into the strobe-lit haze, every fiber of him locked on the only objective left worth breathing for. The cries carried down the corridor like cracks in glass, sharp against the backdrop of gunfire. Phazewave's roar answered again, deeper this time, vibrating through the walls as it shredded through another clutch of guards. The noise drew eyes, drew panic, gave him cover, but it also made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, like watching a storm he'd loosed spiral wider than he could cage.

His gaze swept the haze, every strobe of red light peeling another layer of ruin into view. He searched for her. Toga. Her laugh, her stench, her mania... she had to still be here. Had to be.

His boots squelched, the sound cut sharp against the gunfire, against the screaming, against the pulse pounding in his ears. Viscera spread wide across the hall like someone had tried to drown the whole floor in it. His steps slowed as a subtle green glint caught his attention. Reaper bent, smoke coiling off him like something feral trying to keep distance from the sight. His fingers dipped into the blood, curling slow around the metal. The chain slid through his grip, slick and cold, but the ring held a parallel weight to it, yet so wrong in its placement.

He lifted it, let it rest in his palm. The blood painted his skin in streaks, the silver catching faint against it. He held it there longer than he should have, staring, as if the world might stutter and give him back.

Danger Sense flared. His body snapped sideways on instinct, the heat of a quirk grazing past his cheek, singeing fabric. He bared his teeth, eyes burning with that green hellfire, and his claws writhed in answer. His breath rasped once through clenched teeth, then steadied into a predator's rhythm. He lunged, Black Whip carving through the haze, shredding another man before the poor bastard even realized his shot had missed.

How many had he killed? He didn't know. Didn't care. Their faces blurred into one continuous smear of blood and smoke. Their screams all blended into the same pitch. None of them were her. None of them mattered.

Frustration curdled in his gut, jagged and raw. The smoke was too thick. It cloaked him, yes, but it cloaked her too. Every step was a swing in the dark, every kill a delay. He needed sight. Needed her. He forced the smog to thin, pulling Smoke Screen away with bursts of air. The air cleared in ragged patches, lights flickering back through the haze. His lungs burned at the shift, but he didn't falter when every fiber of him screamed that she still had to be somewhere close. But as the smoke thinned, nothing answered him. No laugh, no stench, no Toga. Only ghouls. Masked, frantic, scrambling to reload or dying on the floor with their insides already painting the carpet and tiles.

His gaze cut to the shuttered shopfronts, steel teeth sealing every exit. She could've slipped. Could've hidden. His claws sparked against the first gate, metal shrieking as he ripped it upward. Empty. Shelves overturned, merchandise scattered, no blood but no trail. He moved to the next, tore it open, smoke spilling inside like he was choking the space to confess. Nothing. Again. And again. Each empty room slammed harder against his thoughts until his pulse was a hammer, pounding out the same message: too late.

He ripped another shutter free and hurled it aside, the clang rattling down the corridor. Still nothing. Not her. Not him.

Phaze slid through the remaining haze behind him like a phantom returning from slaughter. Its form was drenched in viscera, flecks of bone and meat clinging to the dark skin until it permeated, shuddered, and the gore fell away in wet chunks that hit the floor with sickening weight. The Nomu's chest heaved once, a soundless approximation of breath, its head twitching toward him.

Reaper stalked forward, the glow in his eyes cutting green through the smoke, his fists still trembling from restraint more than exhaustion. He stopped close enough that the Nomu's shadow bent into him, and he didn't flinch at the stink rolling off it.

"Find her." His voice was a serrated whisper, words sliding through his teeth like knives. "Himeiko Toga. Track her. Tear the fucking corridors apart if you have to."

Phaze tilted its head, low chitter building in its chest cavity, a sound like nails dragged over rusted wire. Its claws flexed, then shot out, embedding into the wall as if to anchor itself before lurching forward again, tendrils splitting and stretching into every seam of shadow the floor still offered. The Nomu had to know her. It had run with the League in its early days, soaked in their stench until it became part of its marrow. Toga's scent was one it should never forget. That was why he sent it. Not because of loyalty, but because instinct carved into bone didn't lie.

The shadows split into rivers and bled down the hall, probing every crack, every corner. For a minute, Reaper waited, pacing the ruin, ring still clenched so tight in his palm the chain cut shallow trenches into his skin. His wrath burned hotter with every second wasted. Then Phaze reemerged, peeling itself from the wall with its head twitching side to side, claws empty.

Nothing. The answer hit harder than he allowed his body to show. She wasn't here. Which meant she had slipped past him. Which meant he was behind. Rage flared sharp in his throat, but before he could turn it loose, a muffled voice cut through the empty silence.

"...threat on Level Twenty-Seven, repeat—possible Nomu sighting—"

A Ghoul, still somewhat alive, pressing bloodied fingers to an earpiece. Fajin snapped beneath Reaper's feet, every muscle tensing and detonating at once. His body blurred through the haze, and before the Ghoul could blink, black claws punched through the porcelain mask and into his throat. Blood flooded down Reaper's arm, warm and slick, the voice choking off mid-transmission.

Reaper leaned close enough to see the panic flicker in the man's eyes before he twisted. Bone cracked, body collapsing as he ripped the earpiece free. He crushed it between his fingers, plastic and wire splintering like brittle glass.

"Not another word," he rasped, though the man was already dead.

The corpse slid from his hand, crumpling against the wall like discarded cloth. The earpiece was nothing but shards in his palm. Silence settled for a moment, punctuated only by the hiss of a broken pipe and Phaze's faint chitter in the background. Reaper stood still, his breath serrated, Katsuki's ring still cutting lines into his fist.

Think. He needed to fucking think.

Slaughter alone wasn't enough. If he stormed higher, went in guns blazing, smoke choking every floor, he'd give up more than Katsuki's trail. He'd strip themselves of the only advantage still standing: the fiction of death. That they had so carefully curated would go up in flames the second he stepped into the line of sight. Right now, the League, the world, Odd Eye still believed he'd been incinerated, and the Nomu that obeyed him was little more than a failed prototype lost to the fight in Hakone. Burn that veil, and the Sovereign wouldn't just respond; he'd cage them. Corner them. They'd be marked, hunted, erased. A suicide mission.

And yet... Katsuki. He couldn't afford to leave him to hash out an appropriate plan. The ring in his hand glowed with its cold, indifferent ember. Not a hint of warmth or rhythm. Every scenario his mind tried to parse collapsed under that one absence.

But the problem was carved into the blood at his feet. The Ghouls already know now, he thought, jaw tight. One body had made the call. Not complete, but enough. Something else was on this floor. Something not supposed to be here. Something looking for Katsuki Bakugo.

Which meant they know he isn't alone, and they'd already be tightening the noose.

Cameras suddenly dying in static, and the report of A Nomu... made it obvious. Which means somewhere in their comms, they're already shifting resources, already calling reinforcements. Whoever kidnapped Katsuki... they'd be moving him into a secure location.

Reaper dragged a hand down his face, smearing blood across his cheek, and bit back the curse burning his throat. The plan needed to be more than rage. He needed to buy time. To build the kind of plan that wouldn't end in both of them dying—

Screw your goddamn plans.

The voice cut through at last, raw and furious, punching through the partition like it had never weakened. Deku's presence swelled, jagged, hot, blistering through every nerve.

Screw waiting. Screw caution. This is your fault. You separated. You left him. Deku's voice ripped through him, louder than the ringing in his ears, hotter than the blood still dripping off his claws.

You always fucking do this. Pull back, vanish, retreat into that little shell of logic like it's gonna protect you from reality. He was right there. With us. And you walked away because what? It got hard? Because he mattered too much?

The disgust in Deku's tone was acid.

You don't want to feel anything, so you decided that meant we'd be safer if he weren't there?

Reaper's grip around the ring went white-knuckle. Chain cutting so deep he could feel it pressing against tendon. Deku's rage filled their mind, filled their senses, bleeding through every nerve ending like fire.

You think this is strategy? You think this is strength? All I see is a fucking coward with a body count.

A pause. A breath. Then quieter... crueler.

And now you're standing here, trying to play tactician, again, while Kacchan bleeds out on some table upstairs. While they dissect him. While they break him. If they hurt him—Deku's voice cracked, jagged with grief and fury—if they tear him apart, if he's broken so far I don't even recognize him when we find him... I will never forgive you. Not for this. Not for any of it.

The words hit like knives between the ribs. Reaper's jaw clenched until something clicked in his teeth. His lips peeled back, a snarl ripping out of him before he could swallow it down.

And what the hell do you suggest we fucking do? His voice was a whipcrack, venomous, raw. This isn't some lab, Deku! This is the Twilight Market. The most secure blacksite in the eastern hemisphere. Layer after layer of security, armed guards in every corner, cameras in every goddamn seam, all tied to a pocket dimension that can collapse on us the second the Hand decides to twitch his fingers. You want me to gamble his life on recklessness?

Deku slammed back into him, so sharp it rattled his skull. I don't give a damn if it's suicide. You, of all people, know what we are capable of.

His voice thundered inside, furious, relentless, fueled by grief until it was indistinguishable from wrath.

We are one of the most powerful people in this country, and you know it. One For All burns in our bones, and Phazewave isn't some half-dead Nomu anymore. It is catastrophe given flesh. Do you understand? Between us, we are a calamity. And you're standing here, pretending we are cornered. We are not fragile. We are not prey.

Power doesn't mean invulnerability, you half-wit. Reaper's snarl tore through the partition, raw, biting. You think force alone is going to save him? That your reckless devotion will do anything but put his fucking head on a spike faster?! metaphorical claws flexed against the partition until it groaned, darkness dripping off them in slow lines that hissed against the divider. Wake the fuck up. Wrath doesn't make you untouchable—it makes you predictable. You'd drag us both into the jaws just to bleed quicker.

Deku surged, voice splitting sharp inside his skull. Don't you dare. Don't you dare call this devotion reckless. You're the one who abandoned him. You're the one who keeps running from him, running from us. I can't— I-I will not sit in here.

The words battered him, jagged, insistent, thrashing like chains rattling against stone. Reaper's breath hitched once before he shoved it back down. Enough! His tone snapped like bone.

Something inside rippled as Deku rallied, hammering harder, trying to wrest the reins from Reaper's grip. Rage burned white-hot, blistering through every nerve, threatening to spill into his muscles, his lungs, his hands. For a moment, the partition warped under the force, like glass about to shatter.

But Reaper had had enough.

His will tightened like a vice, shadows clawing inward, locking down. The struggle thrashed wild inside, Deku's voice roaring, clawing, begging—SAVE HIM, KACCHAN, KACCHAN!—until Reaper shoved, hard, with the weight of every ounce of his control. He forced him down, farther than before, pressing the panic and rage into a corner so deep it was no longer a room but a cell. The door slammed. Barred.

Silence.

Reaper stood still, chest heaving, ring imprinted into his palm. His lip curled, whispering to himself as much as to the silence behind the partition. "You, the embodiment of poor judgment, will not lead us to slaughter."

Phazewave clicked its tongue, the sound sharp and insectile, head twitching as though it had caught a thread the smoke carried. The Nomu's bulk turned toward the far end of the corridor, claws flexing, smoke shifting with it. Reinforcements. The floor itself seemed to tense, the air pressing thinner, quieter, like the Market was inhaling before a strike.

Then the lights cut out as every fixture along the ceiling died in unison, a single mechanical click before the world dropped into blackout. Reaper's eyes burned their own green glow, embers smoldering through shadow, and he felt Phazewave's chitter echo like static in his chest.

He dragged in a breath through his nose, slow, controlled. His palm uncurled, blood-slick ring glowing dim against his skin. He stared at it for a moment longer, just long enough to feel the weight of what it wasn't giving back. Then he slid the chain over his head, the cold links dragging against his scarred throat, against the nightmare of the past, and tucked both rings beneath his shirt, the muted glow bled faint orange and green through fabric before dimming.

Reaper turned, eyes burning low as he stalked toward Phaze. The Nomu stilled, waiting, acid claws half-buried in the wall. "We're not wasting ourselves blind in their labyrinth," Reaper rasped, voice cutting low, surgical. "We're going back to the control room."

He didn't elaborate, but the truth pressed hard inside. Rushing the upper floors blind was absolute suicide. The Ghouls would already be circling, dragging Katsuki higher into their death trap, sealing every exit behind him. They had seconds before the noose tightened, but seconds weren't enough. Not without sight.

He forced his breathing level, teeth gritted against the urge to run headlong, claws out, until there was nothing left between him and the only person who was worth a damn. That wasn't how someone survived here. That wasn't how he was going to save him.

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It was almost a considerate touch; the upper floor wasn't just soundproof, the glass frosted over with the push of a button. A box within a box, designed to mute important intel, to make surveillance clinical. Which meant no one on the outside could hear when Reaper punched through the abdomen of the first Ghoul, fist bursting out his back in a wet bloom before the body folded to the floor. No one to hear the second when Phazewave tore through the shadows like a breach charge, ripping into him, pinning him down with limbs that split and anchored into steel. His shriek rattled the frosted glass, but no sound carried. Nothing left but the muffled twitch of his jaw, the desperate tremor of his hands trying to peel the Nomu's claws away.

He'd been sitting in silence mere moments before for almost an hour, folded within the Nomu's husk, watching the feeds and the consoles flicker. The two Ghouls had traded strings of numbers, codes threaded into their speech, layered under the mundane directives they spat at the lower floors. Orders to scour level twenty-seven. Warnings that an intruder had breached the lockdown perimeter. Reaper had committed every cadence, every flick of their fingers across the console, to memory.

The floor they'd been on was sealed like a tomb. Every exit shuttered, corridors choke-pointed, squads combing sector by sector. If not for Phaze's permeation, there would've been no escape route, no way to slip between the jaws tightening around them. He would've been caged. Cornered. But now that didn't matter when one of the voices was already silenced, collapsed on the floor in a pool spreading wide under his chair. The other was still alive... barely.

Pinned under Phaze's claws, chest bending under the weight of its bulk, eyes rolling wild behind its mask. A head Ghoul who carried more than just orders. The kind who carried answers.

Reaper's gaze flicked to the consoles once more, feeds still alive, the frozen glass reflecting only the faintest ember of his eyes. Dozens of angles, corridors drowning in red strobe, squads breaking formation as they swept Sector by Sector, while other floors went on about their business, unaware of the chaos. The damage he and Phaze had done was mirrored here in grainy black and white, causing lockdown to spread like a rot through the entire floor.

But not once, not a single frame, had Katsuki appeared.

Not dragged or bound or bleeding. Nothing. It wasn't absence, it was erasure. Like the feeds had been scrubbed of him entirely, excised clean from the Market's eye. And that thought dug sharper than any chains could.

One step closer, and his boot creaked against the tile as he closed the distance, expression carved flat into something colder than intent. His hand twitched once at his side before curling still.

Time to carve out the truth.

The Ghoul continued squirming under Phaze's claws, bones creaking, mask fogged from his own shallow gasps. Reaper dragged the nearest chair across the floor, the scrape muted to nothing by the frosted glass. He turned it once, twice, then lowered himself into it with deliberate calm, crossing one leg over the other.

Blood streaked the back of his scarred hand, tacky and half-dried, catching faint against the green light still bleeding through his skin. He lifted it, tilted it to the glow, watching how the smear warped the color. Admiring it, almost. The work of precision, not accident.

"What the hell do you want...?" the Ghoul rasped, mask splitting under the strain as Phaze squeezed harder. "Do you even know what you've stepped into? What organization you just fucked with?"

Reaper didn't deign to respond, letting the words hang there, letting the panic ferment until it spoke louder than he ever needed to.

A whisper of Black Whip split from his shoulder, coiling lazily across the floor like a serpent. It hooked into the shredded fabric of the corpse at his feet, dragged the cloth across marble until it reached his hand. He caught it without looking, stripped it into a crude rag, and began to wipe slow lines across his knuckles, each stroke unhurried, deliberate. The stain dulled, red giving way to pale skin again, but the pressure of it was still there, ground into his palm, clinging like it wanted to stay.

He let the rag fall at last, a ruined scrap, and only then let his gaze settle on the Ghoul beneath Phaze. His expression didn't change, but his eyes burned hotter, steady, as if he were already measuring how deep he'd have to cut before the man broke.

The silence between them was thin and dangerous.

Reaper leaned forward just slightly, enough to let the overhead track light catch the menace in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was too calm, too level, like a scalpel pressed flat against the skin. "You're going to tell me what the code was."

"What—code—?" the Ghoul rasped, breath catching around the mask's rebreather filters.

Reaper tapped a finger impatiently against the chair. "Phaze."

The Nomu clicked low in its throat, a sound like stone dragged across bone. Its head tilted, maw unfurling in a slow, unnatural yawn, lined with too many teeth. A steel claw slid down, catching on the edge of the mask before tearing it free in one clean pull. Porcelain splintered, shards cutting shallow lines into the Ghoul's face as it split away. Blood welled instantly, thin streams dripping into the corners of his mouth as he coughed wetly against Phaze's weight. Underneath, his skin was gray-pale, mottled with veins that stood out sharp under the fluorescent light. His eyes were jaundiced, sclera stained yellow around irises gone a murky brown, pupils pinpricked from whatever genetic anomaly his quirk had done to him. Sparse black hair clung in damp strings to his scalp, shaved close at the sides but grown ragged on top, like grooming wasn't worth the effort.

Reaper watched indifferently. "Don't insult your own intelligence...The codes," he repeated, calm, steady, almost bored. "The one you kept threading between your little reports. What did they mean?"

"The second they find you, the Sovereign'll turn your fucking insides out. You're not getting past this floor—" Reaper's boot connected with his face. A sick crack followed the strike as the Ghoul's head snapped sideways. Blood misted the air.

The man coughed again, spit laced with red painting the inside of his lips. He forced a laugh, dry and broken. "Even if I told you—you wouldn't—"

Phaze growled, low and insectile, the sound rattling through the room. Its claw flexed, driving deeper into the Ghoul's ribs until the man screamed himself hoarse. Reaper leaned back slightly in the chair, leg still crossed, expression unmoved. "Try again."

The Ghoul thrashed weakly, nails scraping against Phaze's bulk. "Fuck—you. You don't—" His words snapped into a choked gasp as another claw split from the Nomu's mass and punched through his thigh, anchoring him to the floor.

Reaper's eyes narrowed, the faint glow sparking hotter as the man screamed again. "One of you mentioned him," he murmured, tone quiet enough to force listening. "A captured hero. Where is he?"

The man spat blood, crimson flecking across the tile. His eyes darted to the console, then back, wild with something between fear and defiance. "I'll die before—"

"Oh, you will," Reaper cut in. "The only variable is how many pieces the custodian will be picking up when I'm finished."

Phaze answered before the Ghoul could. A nail split off its side, translucent at the edges as it phased through armor and flesh without resistance. The Ghoul's scream came a beat too late, when the claw solidified inside his shoulder. His body jolted, back arching, blood bursting around the point of intrusion. A hissing sound followed, low at first, then sharper. Like water poured on hot iron. An acrid, chemical smell like flesh being boiled alive filled Reaper's nostrils as the man screamed again, ragged and desperate, thin curls of smoke began to leak from his shoulder.

Reaper leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees now, gaze steady as if watching a machine perform to spec. "What's on the last seven floors. Now."

The man shook his head frantically, breath wheezing, pain making his words scatter. "I can't—I can't—"

Phaze twisted sharply and bone cracked like a gunshot. The Ghoul howled, voice shredding into something animal, teeth bared through blood. His defiance fractured in the sound, body convulsing under the Nomu's torture.

Reaper let the silence stretch again, deliberate, the only sound the wet crunch of Phaze's claws adjusting inside flesh. His voice when it came was flat, without pulse. "Where. Is. Katsuki Bakugo."

The Ghoul sobbed against the weight, trembling so hard his mask fragments rattled against tile. His gaze flickered, darted toward one of the consoles as though some hidden thread could save him. But Reaper caught it, eyes narrowing like a predator tracking a tell.

"Phaze," he said without looking away, "twist until it gives."

The Nomu obeyed. The man's scream tore raw from his throat, shattering into hoarse, broken gasps. His resolve bled out with the gush staining the floor.

"I'll talk—I'll talk—" he choked, words barely shaped around the pain. "Just—just stop—"

Reaper rose from the chair with slow precision, boots scuffing against the polished marble as Phaze dragged the man closer. The Ghoul kicked weakly, claws embedded in his shoulder, pulling him forward in jerks until he was at Reaper's feet.

Reaper crouched low, hand curling into the greasy mat of his hair, forcing his head back. His other wrist snapped once, a blur of motion, and Black Whip flared across the joint of the man's arm. Flesh split. Bone popped. The Ghoul's scream shredded the air as his severed hand hit the floor, twitching once before Reaper scooped it up.

"Dinner."

He tossed it into Phaze's waiting maw. The Nomu chortled, a wet, delighted sound as teeth closed around it, blood slicking its grin as it adiably swallowed whole. The Ghoul convulsed at the sound, sobs bubbling in his throat.

Reaper leaned in close, lips at his ear, voice edged with glass. "If you so much as think about lying to me, I'll keep cutting fucking you apart, joint by joint, until there's nothing left but bones for it to gnaw on. Leaving you here for someone to mop up would be charity. Waste like you doesn't deserve charity."

The Ghoul completely broke then, words tumbling, fast and raw between shuddering breaths. "They routed him up. The upper echelon said he was too high-value to kill. I swear it, they said he was a fucking prize. Th-they broke him first. Interrogated him before one of them said he was too unstable, losing blood. The two lieutenants must've hit him hard during the snatch. Wasn't supposed to bleed that much, it wasn't clean—"

Reaper's grip didn't ease.

"—so they rerouted. Moved him to thirty-six. Floor above this one. Containment wing. They—shit—they had to swap the whole corridor into blackout mode to stabilize him. You think this is bad, wait until you hit that level. It's a kill box. They locked it for a reason!"

Reaper's eyes narrowed.

"Why is he still breathing?"

The man coughed blood. "A deal. Something about a trade. With another organization. I don't know the details, just... someone higher up said we were holding him for trade. That he was worth more alive. Said another organization would pay in blood or tech—whatever they needed."

Reaper's jaw locked. Containment. Floor thirty-six. Alive, but a bargaining chip.

Trade.

He didn't need the man to say it. The threads wound together instantly in his mind. They wanted Katsuki for leverage. For currency. For Odd Eye.

The name slid through his mind like a blade drawn slow, and it should have been enough to sharpen his fury, to steady him into the familiar rhythm of wrath. But instead, a cold weight pressed into his chest. Heavy. Inevitable.

If he got his hands on Katsuki—no. It would not be death waiting for him; it would be violation. Death would be a mercy, an ending. Odd Eye did not deal in endings. He did not kill things of value. He unmade them. He refashioned living wills into architecture for his own schemes, and what emerged bore only the faintest resemblance to what had once been. Many people like Denki had suffered that fate unknowingly in the bombings those months ago.

Reaper knew how that sociopathic maggot operated; it was how he even came to exist. Izuku had One For All to buffer the invasion, a shield threaded into his psyche that dulled the blade. Even then, it had bought him the barest resistance against Odd Eye's invasion and had still scarred him. But Katsuki? Katsuki had nothing but himself. No legacy to intercept the blades when they dug in. No divine inheritance to dull the corrosion. And Odd Eye would burrow into him like screw worms under skin, strip him down, and stitch some obedient thing into the wreckage.

The ring at his own throat seemingly seared against his skin as if it knew, as if it mocked him for imagining the outcome. The bile rose bitter at the back of Reaper's throat; his grip in the Ghoul's hair slackened. What if Odd Eye binds him to Project ZENITH?

That word that never left him alone. And if he tests EcksTerminus on him... if they made him part of ZENITH's crucible...

Reaper felt his composure splinter, fear flooding sharp and uninvited into his chest. It clawed higher, hard enough to choke him. Because for the first time since consciousness, the image absolutely fucking terrified him. Not Katsuki dead under the Red Lotus. Worse, Katsuki remade. A weapon Odd Eye could not only wield but parade in his monstrous image.

He'd seen the serum's aftermath in all those underground labs where the air still burned metallic from the stench of blood boiled inside veins. He'd seen husks collapse under its corruption, bodies twisted into things even the League didn't have names for.

Katsuki, subjected to that... The image clawed through his mind before he could cage it. Katsuki's fire turned inside out, rage weaponized, his body unrecognizable, chained to Odd Eye's leash. A fate worse than death because it wasn't an end at all. It was possession.

Reaper's hand curled tighter into the Ghoul's hair until strands ripped free, blood still slick on his knuckles. His chest heaved once, shallow, but not from exertion. From the kind of fear he rarely acknowledged, a fear sharpened into a single undeniable truth.

He couldn't let Odd Eye touch him, not Katsuki.

The silence pressed thick in the soundproofed chamber, broken only by the shallow gasps of the ruin pinned under Phaze. Reaper's gaze burned past him, unfocused, caught somewhere deeper.

This was the axis, wasn't it? All of it, every fracture, every splintered wall inside, had been born from one truth: Izuku Midoriya had broken himself apart to keep Katsuki Bakugo safe. To avenge him. To make sure there was never again a world where Katsuki was taken, hollowed, destroyed by the hands of men like Odd Eye. That oath had carved him into pieces. It had given Reaper shape. It had given Deku his grief, Izuku his trauma.

They had said he would burn the world down for him. And they had.

But what worth was fire if the one it was meant to protect ceased to exist? If Katsuki was bent until he wasn't himself anymore—if Odd Eye's hands rewrote him into a mockery—then the pyre was meaningless. There would be nothing left to shield. Nothing left to save.

A hollow victory that poisoned itself the moment it was won.

Reaper's gaze snapped back into focus, venom flooding his voice as he, with a sharp tug, pulled the Nomu's claw back, metal and flesh peeling wetly from the man's side. The Ghoul sagged, gasping ragged like he'd been given mercy. He hadn't. He yanked the Ghoul's head higher, forcing their eyes to meet. The green glow in his eyes burned low and furious as he bared his teeth.

"How," he hissed, each syllable stretched razor-thin through a haze of Smoke Screen spilling from his mouth, "do I get to him?" His fingers dug into the man's scalp, tendrils of Black Whip coiling lazy around his throat, a serpent waiting to constrict. "And what's on those last two damn floors you're pissing yourself to hide?"

Chapter Text

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Unleash the Nightmare

Plans have always been little more than illusions, and Reaper had no interest in pretending otherwise. Scratch a battle map into dirt, scrawl an outline across parchment, plot a raid on glass screens; it doesn't matter. Chaos dismantled it the second thought moved into motion. Weather shifts. Steel fractures. A single coward runs the wrong way, and the whole thing unravels.

Complex or simple, elegant or crude, nearly no plan survives unscathed. Not because of failure in the drafter's hand, but because variables beyond counting stalk every corner. Here, beneath the Sovereign's twilight, a plan wasn't fragile. No it was a declaration hurled into a pit that could erase entire floors without warning, reshape the Market's bones with the flick of a hand. To strategize here was to defy inevitability. A dare he intended to win.

The Ghoul had already given him everything worth breathing for. Schematics of the upper stack, whispers of Sovereign's suite, the vaults, the nexus where the Market's bones bent under the Hand's control. Reaper wrung it all out of him, leaving only a husk trembling beneath Phaze's claws. What mattered now was not cruelty but calculus. The interrogation was only the opening note. The real question was what came after.

A plan. Fragile by nature, doomed to fracture the moment it kissed reality, but still necessary. Rescue was not enough; simply prying Katsuki out of containment meant nothing if the labyrinth swallowed them in the attempt. The outcome had to be extraction, all three of them breathing past its jaws. Otherwise, this op would collapse into nothing more than theater for villains to laugh at.

If Phazewave had been any other Nomu, he would have discarded it already, burned as a pawn, sacrificed for a minute of blood and distraction. But this Nomu was no pawn. Its existence was already a statistical impossibility, the sole survivor of a serum that annihilated everything else it touched. He had seen the husks it left behind, veins crystallized, organs liquefied, men screaming until their throats split. Phaze was proof of that nightmare refined into something that lived. A weapon no other piece could yet replicate. To waste it now would be lunacy.

Especially with Odd Eye at the horizon.

If the obsession he suspected was real, if that lunatic was engineering something on the scale his instincts whispered, they would need Phaze. Against that caliber of fixation, one blade, no matter how sharp, would never be enough. He'd learned that the hard way in Hakone.

The Market was already stirring. The head Ghouls had gone deathly silent in their control box, and silence spoke louder than alarms. Reaper hadn't waited for the echo. He'd slipped past with Phaze into the upper stack, leaving behind the blood-slick quiet of interrogation for reconnaissance in the Market's lungs and arteries.

Time to save Katsuki had already bled beyond any sane margin, but he had spent the next hour carving roots into the upper floors, laying foundations for a plan that might hold long enough to matter. Every step stolen in seconds. Every breath wagered against the Market's teeth.

Floors thirty-five and thirty-six became his orbit. He traced their arteries like a surveyor in shadow, memorized the pulse of patrols, the way squads bled from one sector into the next. He never touched thirty-seven. That was Sovereign's cathedral, wired to flay intruders on entry. One misstep there and every alarm would sing straight into the Hand's grasp. Better to leave the crown untouched until his blade was already at its throat.

The terminal lifted from the control center sat cold in his palm, its screen bleeding soft static-green whenever he coaxed it awake. Paired with the stolen ear-comm, it gave him ghost-access to the busy traffic that was the black market. Imperfect, but enough to drift through the lattice like smoke, mimic their clipped codes, and slip past scanners that would have picked up lesser intruders immediately.

Through those borrowed veins he mapped both entry and exit. Freight lifts feeding thirty-five's main routes. Refrigeration vaults that hid more than cargo. Crawlspaces the sensors blinked past when they overloaded. Even mapped out the service duct beneath the armory that could potentially lead him under thirty-six's second kill-box corridor and into containment's throat. An exit and an entry, bound by the same fragile thread of time.

But nothing came without cost. Midway through his recon the Market convulsed, some hidden protocol cascading downward, and the twenty-seventh floor, the one he had carved into ruin an hour before, simply vanished. Not locked. Not shuttered. Gone. A seam cut clean out of the pocket dimension itself, as if the Sovereign had grown tired of the stain and ordered the Hand to excise it like rot. Every corpse, every shred of evidence, erased.

It was a warning in the shape of silence. This place did not waste time with clean-up. It reset its board with a flick, and men like him were nothing more than pieces waiting to be removed. It was one of the many reasons to not bulldoze this floor.

Since then, security had doubled. Patrols no longer slouched; they hunted. Checkpoints that had been lax pulsed now with layered biometric locks. Squads carried heavier rifles. Comms clipped into cold code. The silence of two head Ghouls had become its own alarm, and the Market held its breath like a thing waiting to exhale.

Still, he threaded the labyrinth and left his marks. And now, at last, he stood where all those routes converged. A long, sterile hall that curved into the core of thirty-six. Cold light bled across the duct's grate onto his foot; the air smelled of disinfectant and static, scrubbed too clean, too surgical. At the far end, biometric gates loomed like jaws waiting to shut. Beyond them lay hos first checkpoint, the armory, the labs, and the containment cells. Beyond them, if the fragments he'd bled out of the Ghoul were true, lay Katsuki.

The glow under his shirt burned against his chest, faint and uneven, the rings' light bleeding through fabric as if reminding him that the clock had not stopped, that there was still something there. The plan would fracture, as all plans did. The only question was whether he could carry the pieces far enough to reach him.

He dragged a blood-slick hand down his face, smearing along the sharp edge of his cheekbone. The motion didn't clear thought so much as wedge it into place. His gaze slid back to the long, sterile corridor, unflinching in its design. A corridor meant to funnel, to punish. A throat that could close around him the second a single biometric gate read his presence wrong. He let himself stare, just long enough to memorize the cadence of its hum, the faint shifts in light along the sealed gates, before pulling away.

Thumbing the stolen interface woke the terminal and the ghost-map winked into life—no cameras in the main corridors, luck he hadn't expected and would not trust. His luck stopped at turrets, Nodes, rail guns, drone racks, and a constellation of quirk-dampener relays dotted the floor in a neat, malicious geometry.

Dampeners. Of course. They'd be idiots not to bury the kill-switch under a blanket that stole other people's hands.

Past the first corridors to the two individual kill-box sectors, the floor was a minefield of pressure sensors. That detail sharpened his mouth into a line. Phaze could permeate, slip through metal and wall, but the Nomu's signature was not harmless. If Phaze phased him into nonexistence for the push through a sensor field and they weren't certain how far those fields extended, Reaper risked blacking out in the middle of a corridor. The last time he had nearly died... It was the only reason he hadn't had Phazewave bulldoze them through; he could not afford to let their one advantage of stealth become their downfall.

The math was simple and brutal. He needed the turrets offline, the armory's chargers gutted, the dampeners destroyed. The last could not be finesse. Dampeners were the quiet killers here. Without quirks, he would be easy prey, especially with more than two dozen villains trained on rifles and trigger discipline on the larger patrols. He would not gamble on an alternative that tasted like an Odd Eye sadistic torment.

He exhaled, sharp, and moved. His body slipped back into shadow, pulled into the duct above. They moved through the grates seamlessly, dust and old heat clinging to his tongue, the air stale enough to taste. Before long, they were in the sector where everything would begin to unfold.

He slipped into the physical world once more; pressing forward on his elbows, the duct narrowing against his back like a confession of claustrophobia. The terminal's clock ticked in his palm, each second heavy, until the patrol's boots he'd timed perfectly faded past, an electric hum swallowed their trail. Phaze unfurled along the wall like a tide of black pitch, its body shimmered faintly where it didn't belong, a constant bleed between solid and incorporeal, waiting. Patient.

He leaned closer to the grate, voice drawn to a serrated whisper meant only for the Nomu.

"Chaos. That's your gospel." His eyes stayed flat. "Start on twenty-one and burn your way down. Make them think the Market itself is breaking loose. Tear, choke, drown them in noise. Don't stop until I summon you back."

Phaze tilted its head, ember-red eyes gleaming with amusement, hunger threaded through its gaze. A grotesque parody of a bow followed as its skull-wide maw pulled into a grotesque grin, anticipation stitched into every jagged tooth, clicking low in acknowledgment.

"You'll know when to return." His tone was carved in iron. "I'll signal. Until then, feed their nightmares."

The chitter swelled, vibrating the ductwork, almost—mockingly—like laughter, before the Nomu slipped further into the wall. A shadow made carnivore, bleeding out into the ducts.

Reaper stayed still, letting the weight of his own words settle into him like iron chains that he once wore. He'd hidden a multitude of things even from Katsuki. Buried truths in the marrow of his weapon. Among Phaze's composite mess of quirks was one that had been similar to the one in Shigaraki's archives, rethreaded into its genetics during its time in the lab, a blood-seeker. Once a connection was made, it could trace a life through iron and rock, sense its movements no matter the distance. A perfect tether. He could have used it, should have used it, to track Katsuki the second he had reentered the equation.

But he hadn't.

A decision made in Deku's voice. Fear that using it would be a violation, that the man who already hated cages would never forgive being tagged like 'some weak pathetic extra'. So Reaper buried it. Called it restraint, even as every second since was a sickness eating away at his sanity.  Now the irony pressed sharp. The only advantage left was the one he had chosen not to touch because of an imbecile.

The reprimand coiled inside him, bitter and merciless, but he smothered it. Regret didn't open cells. Regret didn't fucking cut dampeners.

He inhaled, slow, tasting iron, and dragged his gaze back to the ghost-map flickering in his palm. Wait for the signal... then the turrets, capacitors, dampeners. The chaos Phaze was about to unleash would buy him only a slim corridor of time. No more. The Syndicate would choke on the noise for as long as it lasted, but once they realized the abnormality on the upper levels, their hunt would turn inward again.

It didn't take long.

The first ripples hit like tremors through a machine. The terminal stuttered, screen bleeding comm static as channels lit one after another. His earpiece crackled, a voice half-choked, barking codes in clipped panic, drowned by gunfire.

Then another, sharper, panicked and layered with interference yelled, "Sector twenty-one—breach! Repeat, breach! Contact unknown—" The line cut off in a scream pitched too high, then silence. Across the display, emergency protocols snarled into motion, power rerouting downward, squads scattering in jagged paths.

Reaper's jaw set. Phaze had begun.

He scrolled the ghost-map with a flick, watching the icons shift. Patrols fractured mid-loop, squads rerouted in jagged lines that no longer matched the order he'd memorized. The Market's bloodstream convulsed, white cells rushing toward the infection, abandoning the organs that mattered most.

Good.

More channels bloomed with noise, overlapping calls, confused orders colliding into each other. "Kill it, kill it, kill—" "It's inside the walls, it's—"

"Shut the lifts down, shut them down!" The Market, normally a clockwork of precision, had begun to stutter on its own tongue.

Reaper kicked the vent free and dropped into the corridor, new shoes striking with a controlled thud. His jacket slid from his shoulders in the same motion, landing in a dark heap on the tile. Underneath was the armor Phaze had presented to him, nudging the folded bundle against his chest until he gave in and pulled it on.

Kevlar caught the sterile light in muted threads, a dark green deep enough to vanish into shadow. Brutal, simple, unyielding. But the lines were familiar, almost painfully so. A lattice of steel echoing the silhouette of himself had worn until it was nothing but shredded cloth and soaked in blood, a vigilante's ghost now reforged into something sterner. The weight of it settled against his chest like memory pressed into steel.

For a moment it almost felt like recognition. As if the suit remembered him even if he refused to remember it. Irritation flared, quick and defensive, but beneath it something thinner coiled. A thing that tasted uncomfortably like gratitude, sharper for how it slipped in uninvited. Of all the faces Deku wore as a hero, it was almost poetic Katsuki chose this version of him to resurrect.

And yet Katsuki's touch, their history, lingered in every seam, every reinforced joint, every calculation to ensure that pride alone wouldn't leave him in pieces. It was a quiet admission stitched into fabric, that in this cruel and unflinching world, someone had expected him to live.

He pulled the cord from the terminal from his wrist, tugging the gauntlet into place with more force than necessary, its tungsten plates locking with a muted click. The weight balanced cleanly along his arm, molded to move with him, not against. He could feel Katsuki in that, too... the refusal to let him burn himself hollow, the insistence that flesh had limits even Reaper couldn't deny.

He bit down on the thought, ground it to ash where it couldn't stall him. Sentiment was poison. He would not call this armor anything more than what it was: a weapon. A tool. Nothing else. He was here to save the person who breathed life back into it.

He flexed his hand once, tested the give, then pulled the mask down in one sharp motion. The seal hissed shut as leather, face guard, and composite plates locked into place. The visor surged alive, sightline flooding with spectral overlays like thermal, infrared, low-light, and tracking metrics synced to his pulse. Every spectrum of vision peeled the sterile corridor open in layers, revealing heat ghosts bleeding faintly through walls, the shifting signatures of guards beyond the kill box.

A quiet hum settled in his ears, bone conduction speakers syncing with the stolen comm, only to hear a heavier voice drop, guttural and commanding. A lieutenant, by the tone. "Seal thirty-five. Rotate units to thirty-four and above. Anything higher is priority lockdown. Containment is not to be compromised. Do not fail."

Reaper turned, deliberate, toward the corridor leading into the outer ring. The first blockade in his path. He stood still long enough for silence to think it had him. Then he moved—sudden, surgical, an arrow slicing the air.

The corridor ahead narrowed into clinical white and steel, geometry sharpened to herd life into tidy ends. Reaper let the killing calm take him as Black Whip bled free, cords uncoiling in a sinuous sprawl, tasting the air for weakness. They writhed, precise as a surgeon's scalpel and twice as unforgiving.

The patrol never saw the thought that ended them. Boots scuffed once, then bone cracked, cloth tearing with it. One cord punched clean through a chest; another ripped an arm out of socket with a wet pop. Men folded where they stood, butchered mid-step. Silence reclaimed the corridor before their nerves finished twitching. The entry way of the corridor ahead tightened into the first kill box.

Black Whip braided across its frame, drawn taut as a sling. Fajin detonated beneath him while he simultaneously ignited Float, hurling him through space with the brutal courtesy of a thrown spear. He became nothing more than a blurred black line through the air, so fast the turrets primmed but stopped at the place he'd just vacated and aimed at nothing but rolling echoes.

He hit one of the station boxes like a meteor. For one breath, the air tasted of ozone and hot steel. Then, the violence resumed as claws and tethers did the rest. Guards were rearranged into grotesque postures of astonishment as blood sprayed in bright, graph-paper arcs across clinical steel, painting the kill-box with the inevitability of death. The kills were not elegant; they were precise. He was not interested in performance, only in the final ledger.

No enemy left to report, no radios left chirping.

Reaper pivoted, the floor sliding beneath his boots as if dragged by gravity itself. He didn't hesitate as a gauntlet, hissing and he flicked it into air-force mode towards the secondary guard station. The blast roared out with such force it warped the corridor's breath, a shockwave tearing through the kill-box. Impact glass ruptured like brittle bone, fragments spraying as the men inside were thrown back in spasms of heat and pressure. Blood misted against the cracks before gravity remembered itself, bodies collapsing in twitching heaps.

Half a second, and he was there. Black Whip speared one through the neck, yanked him off his feet like a marionette. The last managed a strangled shout before Reaper's claws found his throat, ripping through cartilage with a wet snap. Silence reclaimed the checkpoint, painted in arterial arcs across sterile steel.

Reaper's gaze swept across the two shattered stations, assessing by absence. No movement. No residual heat flickers. Every signal in the room had flatlined. Good. He pivoted on his heel, cloak dragging blood across the floor in a crescent arc as he moved deeper into the hall. The next corridor had panels inset into the walls, veins of red light pulsing faintly in rhythm. The first of the density and pressure sensors they'd come across.

He let his gaze track the pattern, counting the glow as if it were a pulse to be dissected. The floor's surface betrayed nothing, but he knew the catastrophic alert that would ripple through the Market with one wrong step.

A control panel gleamed at the junction, its glassy interface humming with sterile indifference. Reaper's gloved fingers ghosted across the surface, coaxing the screen alive. Rows of cascading glyphs, access ladders, command locks. He studied them for a heartbeat, jaw tightening. The input demanded a code sequence. He clicked his tongue once. Tch. he didn't have the time to decipher the codes. Back to the plan he'd already painstakingly prepared. He slid a fingertip to the seam of his visor and fed a countdown into his HUD. Ten minutes. Ten minutes before a patrol traced the trail of bodies back to the actual intruder.

He flexed the gauntlets, feeling the clean balance of tungsten and carbon along his forearms, then coiled himself for the throw. Sensors could not pick up what never touched them.

He detonated Fajin and Float together, body becoming the spear he demanded of it. Shadow and speed. The world blurred as he sailed across the grid without a single kiss of weight on its surface. The corridor howled around him, a plasma turret examining the area but finding nothing to fire at. He landed silent on the far lip, boots and Black Whip catching against reinforced steel as the momentum bled off in one low growl of friction.

The bulkhead loomed. A wall of metal, broad enough to block a freight hauler, sealed like a tomb. He set his hands to the seam, steel protesting as he peeled it back with the inexorable grind of muscle and quirk. The gap widened, just enough for him to slide through sideways, cloak brushing the edge with a whisper that bled into the room beyond.

Inside, the air was colder, denser. Reaper stilled. His eyes swept the angles, hunting for the insect eyes of cameras. There were no cameras and no movement other than what the visor inlay highlighted, faint signatures pacing predictable arcs down a parallel artery.

Reaper didn't spare another second. His body folded low, stride compressing into the predatory crouch of something made for the hunt. The map bled light across his visor, waypoints pulsing like arteries he had already claimed. Three minutes. That was the margin. More than enough for precision. Too little for hesitation.

The corridor ran narrow, steel humming under the weight of the Market's hidden veins. A turret came to life, its barrel ratcheting down to meet him, its targeting system blooming red across his chest. He was faster. A tendril lashed out, tearing the mount free from its housing as if it were made of paper.

He hauled the turret, felt the weight drag through the armor at his back, felt mass and inertia map into the ridges of his spine. It was heavy and noisy as he partially dragged it along, an obscene, useful weight he carried like a grenade.

Boots echoed down the corridor ahead; the patrol was on the wrong loop, probably from the sound of the turret being wrenched free, and they were about to walk straight into the thing he intended to launch. Reaper angled without breaking rhythm, body still bent low, weight balancing as muscles tensed like springs.

The first guard's silhouette flared hot in his vision, lungs glowing inside their ribcage like target markers. The turret sailed like a thrown anvil, a brutal, humming arc. It struck the patrol amid their ranks with the hand-force of a wrecking ball.  Men were hurled into walls, rifles torn from grips, metal and bone answering each other in a short, ugly chorus.

Reaper hit them while they were still falling, a coil of darkness punctured one, and snapped the man backward before the others had time to register the kill. Reaper's gauntlet hissed, pressure detonating in a shockwave that slammed the remaining enemies against the corridor's walls. He walked through the noise as they collapsed, claws finding the last throat in a wet tear of cartilage. His eyes tracked this countdown. Two minutes, thirty.

He ran harder, cloak snapping like a shadow caught in the wind of his own velocity. The Market's arteries bent around him, but his course never wavered.

By some miracle, or perhaps by the sheer velocity of violence, he had carved his way to the hub before the Market's infrastructure recognized the infection. There was yet to be the sound of alarms and frantic call bleeding into the comms about an intruder on thirty-six. However, the comms were far from silent as the roar of Ghouls continuously shouted over one another, a chorus of panic and confusion bleeding raw into the channel.

"—Sector 4b on seventeen! Lock it down, now, it's on seventeen!"
"Containment breach, containment breach, it's not supposed to—"
"It's a high-end Nomu! Repeat, it's a—"

The voices tripped over each other, commands lost in the distortion, half lost in gunfire and the shriek of ruptured steel. He pictured the Nomu tearing its way through bulkheads, bleeding shadow and acid into flesh and circuitry alike, dismantling sectors with patient brutality.

The server hub's bulkhead waited ahead. Not another freight wall, but a layered seal ribbed with biometric locks and latticework stronger than the vault doors he'd passed on lower floors. A room built to outlast siege. His visor bled schematics across its surface, mapping junctions where the spine of the Market touched this artery.

He pulled the terminal from his belt, its screen flaring alive with the familiar static-green. Fingers moved fast, coaxing the cord into the lock's port. The device bled code into the hub's veins, lines of interference crawling across the terminal as the two systems began to fight. He didn't bother trying to finesse the firewall; this wasn't about elegance. It was about the right key in the right lock. And he was banking on if the head operatives could access the main server spine, they would have access here as well.

Seconds bled. The terminal hissed. His gauntlet hovered over the cord, but he didn't pull it free. He forced himself still, shoulders tight, jaw set. Come on...

Another rejection. Glyphs flaring red. The comm in his ear howled with overlapping shouts, Ghouls clawing at their own panic: "We need backup, nothing's hitting it—" Gunfire crackled underneath, a staccato percussion. The floor trembled faintly, vibrations carried through the steel into his boots.

Dammit, come on.

His fingers drummed once against the server housing, controlled and surgical, the only leak of his agitation. He could hear the hum of the servers inside, like a pulse just out of reach, the whole floor's nerve-center behind a few inches of composite and code. His visor flickered as if caught in interference.

He stared at the door, at the armored seam that meant everything or nothing. For one sharp second, he considered the blunt arithmetic of force. Peel the metal away like he'd done before, but it would most definitely trigger every alarm in this building and make extraction impossible. He flexed a gauntleted hand, felt the tungsten settle into his palm like an available verdict. Black Whip welled at his shoulder, patient and coiled.

But before he could come to a decision, the screen flickered, hissed, spit back command errors before suddenly flattening into compliance. A single line scrolled across his visor: Override Accepted.

The hydraulics exhaled, seals retracting with a hiss as the door cracked open. Blue light spilled through the seam like blood from a cut, washing over his visor. Reaper pulled the terminal out of the port and stepped inside, movements sharp and quiet, a predator slipping into the heart of its prey.

He should have seen the camera the moment the bulkhead breathed. He didn't. It caught the edge of his movement, a tiny, insect eye white against the blue, half a breath too late.

"—shit." The word didn't escape so much as grind between his teeth.

The scowl cut his face like a blade instantly, and he lashed out with Black Whip, the tether snapped the housing clean from its mount. Glass spidered, wiring smoked. Sparks like thrown embers hissed across the ceiling. Of course. Of fucking course, that would be the thing to sing.

His visor blinked, five minutes. One camera down, but now his window narrowed... he didn't pause to mourn luck. He worked the room with little to no caution now that he was possibly made, each camera's neck snapped under a focused cord; lenses ground into shards. Wiring shivered and went dead, one by one.

He wiped a smear of blood from his knuckles without looking, then pulled the rubber ducky from his belt pouch, the same injector that had opened the spine not hours earlier, and slotted it into the port with the practiced calm of someone who was moments away from ripping the whole room apart.

The device drew a heartbeat from the machine, then another, and lines of code spilled onto the screen; files such as table reads, access nodes, and subroutines presented themselves to him. He moved through the lists with surgical impatience, a hand that knew how to sever the right tendon to stop a limb.

A gleam of something out of place stole his focus. It shouldn't have, distraction was poison, but the shine drew his eye anyway. It wasn't an ID badge or key. Just a card, lying dead-center on the desk next to some paperwork as if it had been waiting for his hand. Blood-red, edges blackened like singe marks. Gold embossing caught the hub's light and broke it into thin threads, each line cut so clean it gleamed like a crystal. He picked it up without thinking, glove brushing the surface. What the hell is this doing here?

The thought barely formed before the weight shifted in his chest. A foreboding pressure rolled up from gut to face, his danger sense spiking not outward but inward, sharpening, tilting, as if the card itself warped the compass he trusted. He stared at the card and for one thin moment, the rest of the room blurred at the edges.

It was... a tarot card? Ten of Swords in a lattice, hilts etched in a design he didn't recognize but felt he should. The feeling hit sharp enough to taste... iron on the back of his tongue, static crawling behind his eyes, an old ache in the back of his skull, and a pulse of déjà vu so violent it bordered on nausea.

Instinct screamed at him as Danger Sense suddenly flared almost violently, a spike up his spine that burned like current.

He dropped the card instantly, and the card landed face down with a soft slap against the composite desk. It lay there, innocent and pulsing faintly in the corner of his vision, gold edges catching the blue light like a smile with too many teeth. His brows furrowed as he flexed his fingers once, irritation riding high over the sliver of unease and for having given the thing even that much of his time.

He turned back to the terminal, fingers already moving, forgetting the strange item.

First, he aimed for the turrets. He hollowed their mounts out of the network, severing power paths and force-locks. Then the drone chargers for the labs, he ground their charging queues into harmless loops, each rack sighing into uselessness. Next came the pressure and density sensors. The command flags were buried beneath fail-safes and redundant checks, a deliberate, paranoid design. He bypassed the redundancy with false telemetry, feeding the system phantom reports of maintenance cycles until the arrays reset and blinked into standby. The floor's heartbeat stilled. No catastrophic alerts. No kill-box triggers.

Finally, and with the most care, the dampeners. He found the relay network, a neat, malicious geometry stitched through the floor's nervous system. He could have cut them—pulled a knife across a wire and watched the floor hiccup—but no. The Market's architects seemed to love theatrics. He moved subtler, finding the root access, a line of code that corrupted the firmware and wrote itself into permanence. He set the dampeners to a brick state: irreversible, hardware-locked, fatal to restore without a physical replacement of the lattice itself.

He finished the routines with a clean, surgical sequence, logs looped into plausible maintenance, privilege escalations burned into firmware, a handful of backdoors left as breadcrumbs only he could follow if needed from another location on this floor.

The terminal gave him exactly what he came for: armory override, access token pending. He moved the cursor, and a confirmation prompt blinked up in the center of the screen, sterile and absurdly polite: SAVE CHANGES? Y/N.

He considered the question like a verdict. He pressed it.

The server room inhaled and died. Lights guttered. Racks spun down in a synchronous sigh. For a breath the world narrowed to the hiss of cooling fans coming to rest and the tiny, human sound of his own pulse in his ears. The screen stuttered, then went soft; displays collapsed into black. It felt as if the floor itself had held its breath, waiting to see whether some god would blink.

Then, suddenly, the power returned. His HUD stuttered alive the moment the power cycled back, digits bleeding into the corner of his visor, 6:30. A breath of reprieve... until the comms erupted.

"Sector 4A on level thirty-six is compromised. Downed squads are littering the halls." Reaper hissed through his teeth, a sharp sound that fogged the inside of his mask. Four minutes. Whatever margin he'd bought himself in the hub was gone, null. Exposure was inevitable now.

"Commence lockdown. Now."

He didn't linger. In one controlled motion, he yanked the terminal free and pocketed the USB, his cloak snapped back into place, and he was moving, bolting out of the server room into the halls beyond. A few moments later, the same voice crackled back to life. "Lockdown failed. Repeat, lockdown failed. Network—something's wrong with the systems. We can't initiate protocol."

His stride was low, predatory, shoulders canted forward, every motion a spearpoint of momentum. The Market roared around him, alarms bleeding down the walls, the comms still hissing with confusion. But he caught what mattered in their static chorus:

"They can't lock thirty-six, system's are nonresponsive—"

"Override failed, it's corrupted—"

Well then... His lips curled under the mask, a smile without mirth. His sabotage had bought him more than time. It had bought him a sliver of freedom. The Market's own jaws couldn't shut properly, and he had slipped between them just in time.

All he needed to do now was cripple the armory. Reduce it to a ruin and pray the duct was still where the schematics had promised it would be. infiltration depended on that throat being open. If not... he didn't bother finishing the thought. Failure was not a variable he wanted to fucking entertain.

On the surface, he looked calm. He always did, that's just who he was. But under the steel of his composure, thought churned like dark water. The closer he drew to the armory, the harder it pressed against the cage he kept it in... what he was going to find, what state Katsuki would be in when he finally tore into that containment. The image of his cell, of the torture chamber under the Red Lotus lingered in the back of his mind, bleeding in despite every order he gave himself to dismiss it. He strangled the thought, forced it down—but it swam there all the same, cold and insistent.

He dropped lower, body folding into a brutal, animal rhythm. Black Whip lashing ahead like hooked talons as Fajin detonated beneath him in relentless bursts, each strike gouging his steel-toed boots into the floor, leaving furrows carved like claw marks through marbled stone. He devoured the distance in bounding strides, a predator running on all fours translated into human form, shadows trailing his wake like a storm's fringe.

The ghost-map pulsed directions across his visor, and in less than a minute, the overlay opened up into the hallway he needed. The armory loomed ahead, a bulwark of reinforced plating bolted into the architecture like a tumor of steel. Reaper sped up, his body compacted into a spearpoint, and Fajin ignited beneath him with catastrophic force.

The impact was cataclysmic, the bulkhead howled as metal shrieked and bent, then surrendered under the velocity of his body turned meteor. The blast tore it inward, fragments of alloy spinning across the room like shrapnel.  Inside, the armory overflowed with racks of rifles, shelves of support gear, magazines stacked in orderly towers, cases of grenades, and rows of experimental equipment radiated a quiet menace. He hit the ground and rose with the inevitability of disaster.

Reaper moved like there was no tomorrow because, for once, there might not be. He shredded the armory the way he'd become intimately familiar with the way a hand rips a throat free. Fast, brutal, absolute.

Air Force sent racks detonating in showers of sparks and twisted steel. Weapons were ripped free of their housings and hurled into the walls until they ruptured in thunderclaps of powder and gas. Ammunition cooked off in stuttering bursts, the air thick with detonations ricocheting through the confined space.

Support gear clattered into flames, belts of shells unraveling like entrails across the floor. He wrenched an entire shelf of missiles from its moorings and slammed it against the ground, the casings rupturing in sparks and smoke that swallowed the chamber whole. Within seconds, the room was engulfed in fire, every corner alive with chemical shrieks as accelerants ignited, feeding the inferno.

Something went critical as a muffled groan vibrated through the floor, and the back of the room detonated in a bloom of concussive heat. The blast tore through the armory like a living thing, throwing debris outward in burning arcs. His visor flooded with static, heat signatures smeared into incoherent shapes. Alarms shrieked in his ears. Through the chaos he heard shouting, Ghouls setting up a perimeter beyond the armory, but the smoke and fire masked their positions. Gun fire suddenly erupted and he didn't waste seconds trying to pick them out.

He needed that damn duct. Now.

Reaper moved through the burning wreckage, heat licking at his armor, oxygen thinning with each breath. He seized a locker by its edge, muscles straining as the metal screamed against his grip, then ripped it up with a violent twist. He hurled it aside with enough force to crush a Ghoul charging through the smoke, the impact folding bone and iron together in one final shriek. The locker slammed into the far wall and stuck there like wreckage pinned by some unseen god.

Behind it, half-buried under debris and flame, he found what he was looking for, the dark and narrow edges of the service duct. The flames licked at its edges but had not yet consumed it. His visor flickered with warning, timer bleeding red in the corner, the clock screaming the seconds he no longer had. Reaper dropped into the duct without hesitation, boots striking the flimsy shaft with a muted clang that echoed in the narrow dark. The heat of the burning armory bled after him, firelight flashing against the visor's edge. A tendril snapped out above him, curling around the fallen locker he had ripped free, dragging it with violent force across the opening. The metal slammed into place with the finality of a seal. Debris and loose bullets rained down immediately, sparks and half-molten fragments scattering across his back.

He shimmied down, shoulders scraping, body folding into the crawl. The duct tightened around him until it felt less like passage and more like a coffin, steel pressing close enough to scrape his armor at every shift. His elbows dug in, knees dragging grooves, the narrow duct swallowing him whole. Claustrophobia clawed at the edges of his mind, a cold animal rising from the dark water of his thoughts. This was one of the most constricting spaces he'd ever forced himself through, and even with the assistance of float, he was still struggling.

Danger Sense rolled across his skin like static, waves of invisible current licking up his spine. He dragged himself forward faster, muscles working like a piston, each push a low, silent snarl of effort. The duct vibrated with life above and around him. Boots hammered the deck plates, radio chatter clipping into panic as squads tried to cordon off corridors he'd already turned into kill zones. Somewhere above, the Market's systems hiccupped under his sabotage, doors refusing to seal, dampeners bricked, turrets inert. His visor flickered, HUD compressing the ghost-map into a tight line of red arrows leading deeper, slithering past a grid of sensors beeping red in the duct's gloom.

The secondary kill box he'd rendered blind by his hands minutes ago. He kept moving, shoulders brushing the sides, claws gouging at corners for leverage. Sweat slicked his spine beneath the armor as the duct angled upwards, bending him into a tighter crawl, but he didn't slow. The inner ring was close now; he could almost smell the containment cells' sterilized air bleeding into the vents. Where Katsuki waited.

The thought tightened something in his chest, the image of the cell, of restraints, bleeding across his mind again despite every order to smother it. He strangled it into silence, let the brutality of movement replace the ache. Focus. He needed to keep focus.

The duct suddenly leveled out before it shifted steeply downward, the metal slick with condensation. He let himself slide the last stretch, gauntlets scraping grooves, boots catching only when he needed to brake. At the threshold, meters from where the inner ring began, close enough to feel the oppressive weight of what lay beyond, he halted. He went still in the dark. Air rasped once against the port in his mask before settling into silence, his chest a machine wound too tight to release more than measured breath.

He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, let the steel of his composure sharpen to a single point, and sent the command outward. Not a word, not even a whisper. Just intent cut clean and buried deep into the tether that linked him to Phazewave. The signal for its return.

The duct vibrated faintly with the stomp of boots outside, squads scrambling, their confusion turning to organization over the comms still bleeding into his ear. Everything that was left on this floor was rushing inward, trying to crush what it couldn't understand. And when Phazewave's claws rejoined his, the two of them would be penned in, surrounded.

Katsuki.

His throat tightened once, a flash of memory so sharp it was almost physical, the hall he'd been blinded in, the hall Katsuki, Izuku, and the others had been trapped in with Jet Fuel, the look of sheer stubbornness and underlying fear in those ruby red eyes... what would those sharp eyes betray now?

Again, he strangled the images as soon as they surfaced, ground them back into the cold water beneath his composure. Something blinked in his peripheral in steady pulses bringing him back to the present, heat signatures in the immediate vicinity.

When he did reach Katsuki, and he would, there would be no time for slow extraction. No luxury of clean corridors. The Market was already working to close in on them, and its only weak point at the moment was that its forces were torn between two targets.

They would have to break out the instant the cell opened. No patience. No pause. Blow through whatever was left, carve their path straight through fire and ruin before one of the Sovereign's lieutenants appeared to slow the blade. Because if that happened—if someone of weight stepped between him and the exit—they would choke here. Drown here. And there would be no second attempt. There was already chatter of Kurogane and Tazawa on the lower floors, trying to get a handle on things. He didn't want to entertain the idea of who  could possibly be stalking this floor.

Once he determined it was all clear, he floated out from the duct, feet finding the floor with a soft, deliberate impact that swallowed sound rather than made it. The air hit him differently here, it was cooler, recirculated, touched with antiseptic, and the faint metallic tang of suppressed power.

He scanned the perimeter in a slow, surgical sweep. The inner ring's corridor was a cathedral of sterile light: panels inset with microfilaments, conduits running like veins, access ports flanking the walls. Lockdown plates sat recessed, their edges gleaming with maintenance dust. A single camera hung above the far arch, its lens dark as if someone had cut its eye out by hand. Silence pressed heavy and measured; it felt almost deliberate, like the quiet before a storm. He turned to see the double doors at the corridor's end were made of industrial, ribbed steel with reinforced hinges. The key access pad beside them was dead, no amber standby or a polite blue glow.

Reaper stepped forward and tested the door with his hand. There was little to no resistance as the seal gave way with a sigh. The doors opened without complaint, edges whispering on their tracks, revealing the inner corridor beyond.