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The bed was almost too comfortable. Izuku’s body sank into the mattress, which memory foam conformed around him. Like slowly being pulled into the earth, rising dirt coming up to swallow him whole. The blanket tucked up over Izuku’s head. He didn’t enjoy the stifling feeling of his breath blowing back in his face, trapped underneath the blanket with him. However, entombed under the blanket, Izuku could pretend that was the source of the all-consuming darkness.
Face pressed into the pillow, the slightest wetness of drool lingering on the fabric.
There was no warning. No sound of a door opening or footsteps pacing in.
“Good morning.”
Was it morning? Izuku had no way of knowing. Words slipped easily from his father’s lips, covered in sweet honey to disguise the rotten, poisonous lies. Or perhaps the truth was the true poison. Painful, stabbing, stomach-clenching, failing when you needed them the most, but rearing their heads when they needed to stay buried.
Touch. Izuku flinched. The world remained whole. Not exploding into a million separate pieces, tasting the agony of death, only to be forcibly shoved back together again.
The hand caressed Izuku’s forehead, the whisper of a hole brushing against his skin. Years ago, he would have screamed or fought back. Izuku stayed motionless, a prey animal praying for the predator to pass.
The hand drifted upward, carding through Izuku’s locks, twisting around curls. “Did you sleep well?”
He slept. That was enough. And at least when he arose, the nightmares remained waiting to tear him to pieces.
Izuku’s head slumped forward, allowing the gentle contact. Nails scratched lightly at his scalp, sending tingles down his back. “Hmm. I’ll have your dosage adjusted. The current amount doesn’t appear to be working.”
The fingers paused, waiting for a response.
Izuku’s throat hitched. “I will do as you say, Father.”
A pleased hum, “What a good boy I have.”
Izuku should have known better. Should have been wiser about his attempt to tackle the guards and break out. He’d been too weak after weeks of poor food followed by sessions strapped down in Overhaul’s nightmarish laboratory. The first two guards Izuku managed to take down, but the third and fourth had been too quick.
The nauseating disorientation of drunkenness slammed into him like a truck, sending him staggering to the ground. The following sharp slice of a pointed arrow cutting through skin sealed his fate.
Motionless on the ground, his muscles tense and unmoving, Izuku stared at the pristine white tiles. Drool pooled in his slack mouth, dripping out of his lips and puddling beneath him. Even swallowing was more than he could manage.
The sharp click of approaching footsteps signaled his doom. Paralyzed on the floor, Izuku could only see the pristine white shoes and black pants.
“I thought you were smarter than this,” remarked a cold voice.
Overhaul crouched down, gloved hands resting over his legs, a vulture perched over a rotting carcass. He tilted his head, beaked mask curving towards Izuku. “You know what we are capable of. You’ve experienced it firsthand, and yet, like the other miserable filth, you underestimated us.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I suppose I expected better. But I suppose the cursed offspring would be as stupid as its father.”
A finger curled under the thin plastic glove, pulling the lip up. Izuku’s heartbeat picked up, and hairs rose across his body. His muscles tried to tense, preemptively reacting to the pain it knew was coming, but Chrono’s quirk kept him still.
The glove slipped, falling onto the floor.
A hand stretched out to him, no hole in the palm, but pristine, scrubbed fingertips. They hovered an inch from Izuku’s bulging eyes.
“Perhaps this lesson will finally teach you the futility of resisting.”
The fingers made contact.
Izuku’s world shattered into agony.
Izuku walked the length of the room, counting his steps as he did so. One hand rested against the wall, guiding his progress from one end to the other. Back when he attended UA, a five-mile run followed by a grueling training exercise was typical, his body easily adapting to the strain. Now, his legs wobbled as he walked, as though the muscles had forgotten how to work after being destroyed and remade numerous times.
His bare foot bumped into the end of the wall, his big toe scraping the corner. Izuku turned. Then started walking the next length.
Father had furnished the room simply. A bed. Plush carpet. Nothing else. A table appeared for some meals, only to disappear after they were finished. Izuku didn’t bother asking where it went.
Surrounded by darkness, there was little to keep him entertained or chase away looming thoughts. He traced the patterns in the wallpaper, feeling out the faintest texture. Middle and ring fingers curled along the flourish and scrollwork patterns, allowing the spirals and swoops to guide his progression forward.
If he took his time tracing the wallpaper, the walk between corners stretched out into hours.
When he woke up, his muscles trembled with the familiar electric ache of being torn apart then forced back together. Chrono’s quirk should have worn off long ago, but to Izuku’s body, that didn’t matter. Simply existing in a huddled, hurting ball on the bed was almost more than he could manage.
They hadn’t bothered to do more than toss his body on the bed. In the cold, sterile air, Izuku shivered. He needed a sheet. Even a flimsy, bleach-brittle sheet would help.
In the darkness, Izuku stretched out his hand searching for the rough, scratchy fabric. The room was darker than usual. He’d noticed a tendency to keep it dark, only turning on the main lights when delivering food or grabbing him for experimentation, but it felt different. Usually, light peeked through the crack under the door or weakly shone from a dim night light. It was enough to provide a vague outline of shapes and let Izuku pick his way through the room.
This darkness was absolute. Izuku lifted his hand and waved it in front of his face.
Nothing.
A total blackout.
Izuku’s heart rate picked up. With unsteady fingers, he prodded at his eyes, searching for the plush press of a blindfold.
Unnatural, flat, hairless skin slipped under his fingertips. His eyelashes and eyebrows were gone. Not simply plucked away, but absent as though they never existed. Izuku’s gorge rose as he felt the area where his eyes should be. There were no eyelids, at least none he could feel. The skin felt warped, sealed and pressed over. Burying his eyes under his own flesh.
“No. Oh, please no.” Izuku’s nails pressed into his skin, searching for a crease, like he could peel back his own skin, escape the darkness, and bask in the dim light of the room. “I can’t. I can’t.”
Izuku had a mom. Time and darkness stole her appearance from him. Izuku tried to rebuild her image in his mind. Green eyes, the color of his. Round features. Curly hair that was… long? Or had she cut it so that it tickled the bottom of her chin? A wobbly smile.
He focused in on the wobble, the corners of her mouth struggling to remain upright. Creating an illusion of happiness. She… was never happy with him. Her eyes heavy, body slumped. Carrying stress and worry Izuku was too incompetent to relieve. Too selfish.
Within his memory, her features warped, stretching long, eyes bulging, cracks spreading across round cheeks. Less a mother and more a monster, her voice shrieking, “Why did you abandon me?!”
Izuku curled into a ball, pressing his face into his knees. Fingers gripped the edges of silky pajamas as he rocked. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He hadn’t abandoned her. Or at least, he hadn’t meant to. She told him to run. He was a good boy. He listened to his mother and did what she said.
“Get up. You’re wanted.”
A bruising grip dug into Izuku’s arm, hauling him out of bed. He stumbled over his shaking legs, able to only feel where he was going. His feet burned against the icy concrete, but shoes were a privilege, so Izuku curled his toes and walked faster.
Footsteps followed around him. Two? Three? Or were there more guards? No one spoke. The walk was accompanied by the shuffling of feet, the rasp of a hospital gown, the heavy gasps of his own breathing.
Izuku counted the steps. Before, it had been to help him create a mental map and plot an escape. Counting had become a habit, even as plans of escape suffocated in the dark. The most exciting part of his day, counting steps between his prison room and Overhaul’s lab.
How many times had he walked the route? Would it ever stop? Or would Izuku’s feet engrave a smooth dip in the floor, a hollowed-out section for travelers to follow and know that he had been there. He was here. Not dead. Not yet.
The smell of grilled meat and vegetables, steamed rice, and simmering soup should have aroused hunger. Saliva should fill his mouth, coating his teeth in preparation for a meal. Within the network of his body, gastric acid should seep into his stomach, and his pancreas should secrete insulin. Biologically, humans were wired to respond to the delicious wafting smell of food.
Izuku felt nothing.
“Lunch is ready,” said his father. The bed dipped under his weight as he sat close. An arm curled around Izuku’s shoulders, tugging him against his father’s broad frame. “Glazed yakitori, grilled vegetables, steamed rice, and miso soup.”
Izuku licked his lips, not out of hunger, but a lack of words to say. No plate rested in his lap, easily positioned so he could feed himself. No, Father preferred to do that himself.
A knife scraped across the plate. His father hummed to himself as he prepared Izuku’s meal. “Open up.”
Izuku’s lips parted. Chopsticks slid a morsel of food between them, depositing a payload on his tongue, then retreating. The chunk began to dissolve in his saliva as Izuku chewed, mashing the bite into a swollable consistency. His throat bobbed, the food traveling through the esophagus to Izuku’s stomach. Father had the chopsticks resting at Izuku’s lips before the bite hit his stomach.
His father noted what each bite was—miso-glazed eggplant, tender, juicy chicken, warm, fluffy rice. Without the commentary, Izuku wouldn’t have known. Each bite was no more than jellied mush on his taste receptors, sustenance to consume for survival, and no more.
At least he was granted the dignity of a meal and not the ache in the crook of his elbow as nutrients were delivered via IV. For that, he opened his mouth and accepted every bite.
“Thank you,” Izuku said once the plate was scraped clean and his stomach warm and full.
His father’s hand brushed over his stomach. “It will take time for you to recover from malnutrition. However, I take care of my own. I always do.”
Overhaul didn’t have a medical degree; Izuku was certain of that. Back when he’d had his eyes and could see the laboratory, Izuku had been simultaneously shocked and horrified by the space. Unlike Doctor Garaki, who was fond of darkness interrupted only by the glow of test tubes, Overhaul’s laboratory was blindingly bright. Medical instruments gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light. Every time he stepped inside, he reflexively winced, struggling with the blinding light.
Izuku didn’t struggle with the light anymore.
“Come on,” a voice grunted, then shoved Izuku forward. Disinfectant scalded in his nostrils, and Izuku coughed, struggling with the chemical smell burning his throat.
“Disgusting.”
Izuku clamped his hands over his mouth, preventing spittle from flying. Overhaul had “remade” him over lesser crimes than coughing on him.
“Get him in the chair. I’ve wasted enough time waiting for him.”
Hands clamped onto Izuku’s arms, hauling him up, his feet dangling, before throwing him onto the medical chair. With brusque familiarity, they ripped his hands away from his mouth, pressing them down onto the armrests, and began tightening straps.
Ankles, thighs, waist, chest, biceps, wrists, and forehead. Each cinched until the strap dug into his skin, leaving grooves in his flesh that lingered once he was released. Izuku wheezed, fear and pressure stealing his breath.
He could hear Overhaul stepping through the room. Hear the clink of tools set on a tray, then rolled towards him. Finally, the elastic snap as a fresh pair of medical gloves slapped against Overhaul’s wrist.
Cool gloved fingers pressed against Izuku’s sealed-over eyes. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
The door creaked as it swung.
The very act of creaking open was an oddity considering Father hated anything functioning at less than perfection, and because during Izuku’s wanderings around the wall, he had not once felt a door. No crack between the wall and doorframe. No handle in which to hold and use to swing open.
Izuku froze in his route around the room, shoulders instinctively hunching down, body tensing in preparation for hands to yank him away, dragging him down the hallway to Overhaul’s lab. Chest clenching, his heart pattered quietly against his rib cage as though if it were too loud, he would be heard and punished.
He waited. One minute. Two. Time stretched into five. Nothing.
Still, Izuku struggled to move. He remained paralyzed, like a rabbit frozen in the underbrush, waiting with twitching fear as a predator stalked through the forest. Months ago, Izuku would have bolted for freedom, pouring strength into his legs as he bounded through the open door, attempting to outrun the predator snapping at his feet.
However, his legs remained disconnected. Ignoring any signal to step closer or farther away. An open door meant visitors. Meant a failed escape and agonizing pain as Overhaul tore his body down to molecules, then reshaped it again, every nerve screaming as it were remade. Izuku had always had a high pain tolerance, but that did not mean the pain didn’t hurt. He was tired of pain.
Finally, the door creaked closed and settled back against the wall with a soft shipt.
Only then did Izuku suck in a rattling gasp of air.
With no way of tracking the time, Izuku was unable to determine how much of his day was spent strapped against a chair in Overhaul’s laboratory. Under the clinical slice of the scalpel, time dragged, lengthening each agonizing second of pain. Overhaul did not appear to take pleasure in Izuku’s pain, but he was not gentle either. His “work” required sacrifices of flesh and blood, of which he took abundantly from Izuku.
By the end of a session, Izuku slumped against the straps, sweat prickling along his hairline despite the chill of the laboratory. Fresh cuts burned as they were cleaned with alcohol wipes. Unable to see the guards stepping in to drag him back to his room, Izuku focused his attention on his hearing. Searching for the tap of shoes or the swish of the door opening.
“Did you know on average the human body contains somewhere between 4.5 to 6 liters of blood?” Overhaul remarked, his voice coming from Izuku’s left side. The mask Overhaul wore gave his voice a muffled, almost nasally quality, yet it never failed to bring prickles along Izuku’s skin.
Muscles contorted, attempting to open eyes sealed in darkness. To track the threat looming beside him.
“If you do the math, that is about one and a half gallons.”
It wasn’t funny, but Izuku almost laughed at the mental image of a blood red gallon of milk held within Overhaul’s hands.
“Seven to eight percent of your body is blood. It’s utterly disgusting, splattered across the room. A filthy mess.”
After a session, Izuku was supposed to go back to his room. Unless Overhaul wanted answers.
“I would prefer to avoid making a mess. All that I require of you is a location.”
Izuku wished he was capable of producing tears. “I don’t know. Please, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know!” he begged. Perhaps weeks ago, he would have kept a secret, but the repeated use of Overhaul’s quirk had destroyed his resolve. He couldn’t cope with the agonizing pain of destruction and formation over and over and over until Izuku wasn’t sure if his aching skin and muscles were actually him or a skin puppet recreated and shoved with a consciousness.
He died. More times than he could remember.
“Please, I don’t know. I’d tell you if I did,” Izuku croaked.
He sat in breathless silence, waiting for an answer, wishing he could see Overhaul’s expression and know the answer before it came.
“Pity. It appears clean up will be required after all.”
Izuku screamed as bare skin touched his face.
Sitting on the shaggy carpet floor, Izuku lay slumped against a chair, his head resting in his father’s lap. A broad hand carded through Izuku’s hair, teasing ringlets around curls and scratching lightly at his scalp.
The hand could turn firm at any moment, tightening around a fistful of hair, pulling up until Izuku’s scalp burned and he wheezed from pain. Or the hand could press flat against his head, the bottomless hole in the hand activating, sucking power out of Izuku, or shoving one into him while he begged for mercy.
The hand did none of that. So Izuku did not move from his position lying on his father’s lap, head cushioned against silky dress pants.
He could not see what his father was doing, but from the rapid clicking of a keyboard, he was working on a laptop. Perhaps if the upper half of his face wasn’t a smoothed-over section of skin, he’d be more curious about what his father was working on. Knowing Father, it benefited no one but himself.
The keyboard clicking paused. Then fingers touched Izuku’s face, tilting it up in the direction of Father. One hand cradled his cheek, squishing it slightly, while another traced along the planes of Izuku’s face. Fingertips glided around his mouth, traced his nose, and caressed where his eyes should have been. Izuku’s skin tingled, body posed between relaxation and terror, waiting for the touch to turn painful. Goosebumps prickled along his limbs in anticipation. Still, the touch remained gentle.
“Hm. You are a handsome boy. A shame what Overhaul has done to your face.”
Embarrassment burned in Izuku. He tried to pull away, but the hand tightened, and Izuku went limp and compliant.
“Very good,” murmured Father, continuing to stroke where Izuku’s eyes should have been.
“That weakling did not appreciate what he had. The treasure in his grasp. However, I see your true value, my son.”
Izuku didn’t know if an answer was required. Overhaul had fluctuated between wanting silence or an answer that Izuku could not give. “Thank you, Father.”
Father hummed again. “I will see if I can find a quirk to fix the damage.”
A brief flash of revulsion hit Izuku’s stomach, but faded in the realization that he’d be able to see again. “Really?” he croaked.
Father’s smile was audible. “Anything for my son.”
“I have been patient. Patient for far longer than you deserve. All I’m asking for is a simple answer. A location.”
Overhaul’s interrogation sessions have been increasing in frequency and length lately. Izuku no longer walks back to his room, but wakes up there hours later after passing out screaming. The straps had tightened another notch as his muscle mass decreased. Thick, metal-reinforced straps dug into his skin, preventing him from shying away.
Izuku wheezed; hot streams of blood dripped down his face. It mixed with saliva in his mouth, coating his taste buds with the taste of copper. However, spitting it out would result in punishment. “I don’t know,” Izuku gasped. “I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t know where his base is, and I don’t know where she is. I haven’t even met her!”
Izuku’s answer does not pass muster. Someone grabs his hair and yanks his head back. His scalp burns in pain, and his head arches far enough back that his neck aches, the skin pulled taut. A knife’s edge plays across his skin, pressing close to his jugular vein.
Are they going to kill him? The thought should fill him with dread; all he feels is numb acceptance.
“You are his son. You must know something.”
“I don’t.”
Izuku fully expected the blade to plunge into his neck and for hot blood to gush out. The blade almost did so, the edge pressed deeper, and warmth bubbled up, but it did not commit.
“I should have known that the disease of heroism had infected you,” sneered Overhaul. “Deluded by grandeur and notions of self-sacrifice, you’ve lost all sense of self-preservation.”
The scalpel retracted from Izuku’s neck, but the hand in his hair did not let go. Straps loosened, and then hands dragged Izuku upright, pulling him out of the chair. After hours restrained and seated, Izuku’s legs wobbled, unable to support his weight. He wasn’t made to move far, though, before he was forced onto his knees, a warm body beneath him.
Izuku squirmed, but the hands gripped tighter, holding him there. He had been positioned over a man’s midsection, the body beneath him still warm. For once, the touch didn’t harm or hurt as skin met skin. Labored breaths filtered from the man’s mouth.
“Since pain to yourself does not appear to motivate you, we will try another way. You will inflict pain on this man until you give me the answer I want.”
Both Izuku and the man’s breathing hitched. Izuku could not see him. Did not know his reaction. Did not know why the man did not move, though he suspected Chrono.
“Please, I know nothing! I don’t! I don’t know where All for One is!”
Overhaul snapped, and hands settled on top of Izuku’s, forcing him to lean down and over. Together, they reached for the man’s chest, but instead, found a hole. Izuku gagged, flesh squelching beneath his finger.
Still, the hands covered Izuku’s, forcing him to reach down into the hot wet cavern. Together they tore and ripped, warmth splattering Izuku’s face as he sobbed. He could taste copper more than ever, but it was no longer only his. Bones snapped. Organs squelched. For once, Izuku was grateful he could not see. That he did not have to bear witness to the horror beneath him.
“No, no, no, please,” he begged, the words turning into babble as the hand’s grip tightened. The body underneath him squirmed, breathless wheezes of agony. Pain Izuku was causing.
“Where. Is. Eri?” Overhaul demanded.
Izuku desperately wished he could give the answer. “I don’t know!” he wailed.
“Not good enough.”
Beneath him, the blood seeped into his clothes.
“Continue.”
Father visited every night to tuck Izuku into bed. His mom had stopped doing so years ago, once Izuku began staying up late watching hero clips and scribbling in his journals; however, the one time Izuku questioned why, his father remarked, “I am making up for lost time.”
The answer made Izuku’s chest warm. He didn’t bother questioning it again.
Instead, he waited for his father to appear and pull the sheets up over him, tucking them around his body. Unlike his small, squeaky bed at Overhaul’s base, these sheets were silky soft, almost too soft after weeks of coarse fabric against his skin.
Father kissed Izuku’s hair, then settled on the bed next to him. Occasionally, he would stay for a while and talk to Izuku, his deep voice soothing Izuku to sleep.
“I was reviewing your childhood photos today. You were an adorable child.”
Izuku hummed and buried his face into the pillow. He was not adorable any longer.
“Of course, you always wanted to wear your All Might costume. A hideous excuse of fashion worthy only of the dumpter, but you always were so pleased to wear it.”
Izuku hadn’t thought of All Might in a long time. The hero and his catch phrase, ‘I am here!’ was a distant dream, faded with time.
Father sighed, “I never did understand your obsession with it. Or heroes in general. In the end, heroes save no one and resolve nothing.”
Bile burned Izuku’s throat as he struggled not to remember the body beneath him and the sensation of blood drying on his hands. He had not only failed to save, but also inflicted pain himself. In the end, the man died, and it was Izuku’s fault.
For several long minutes, Izuku lay silent while Father stroked his hair.
“I realized today that I have been woefully neglecting your education. Of course, your recovery is my top concern, but you take after me with your intelligence. To fail to provide a proper environment to learn would be a waste of your potential.”
School. For a brief moment, Izuku imagined walking the hallways of UA again, dressed in the uniform, his tie around his neck, backpack slung over his shoulder, talking excitedly with friends. Then reality returned. How could he ever face them? His teachers… All Might, they’d be so disappointed in him.
“How would you feel about continuing your education from home? After all you’ve been through, I’m afraid UA’s curriculum would prove detrimental. You need additional time to heal.”
“Whatever you would like, Father.”
Father hummed, “I’ll see to finding a tutor for you then.”
Izuku didn’t know how he got back to the room. At some point, his mind went blank. He must have been cleaned and sanitized, though, as his skin stung and the scent of bleach burned in his nostrils. Running his fingers through his hair, the strands felt brittle from harsh chemicals, though a hint of dampness remained.
“Ha.” Izuku gripped his hair. “Heh. Ha aha.”
When he pulled away, a chunk came out with it. He ran his fingers over the breaking strands, but then it was the warm body beneath him, the squelch, squish, squash of internals. Blood staining his clothes, seeping into his skin.
“Heh. Aha ah ha-”
He paced the room, bumping into objects. His shins ached as he collided with the bed, the walls, then the door, but Izuku couldn’t stop moving. His unsteady feet slapped against the cold tile as he walked back and forth. Weeks, or was it months? of captivity had robbed him of previous strength. Muscles ached, but Izuku couldn’t stop.
“Ha ha ahh-”
He’d killed a person. Tore them apart with his hands. Worst, Overhaul would keep punishing Izuku through painful experimentation or… or whatever today had been. He wanted Eri back, but Izuku didn’t know. He didn’t know where she was or where his father was, yet he was the one suffering.
For a brief flicker, Izuku hated Eri. She was the reason he was in pain.
“Hah. Haa-”
Wasn’t that heroic of him. Hating. Wishing that another person suffered instead of him. He was just like Father, wasn’t he?
His hysterical laughter grew louder until it became a throat-ripping scream. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
No meaningful words. An empty shriek of pain and fear and hate and disgust. He was never getting out.
Sitting on his knees, Izuku stared blankly up at the darkness where his father stood. Compared to Father’s stature, Izuku was tiny in comparison, and kneeling did not help. However, Father had entered outside his usual time and asked Izuku to kneel on the floor.
He had done so, dropping gracelessly. The fibers of the carpet brushed against his knees, and he fought the urge to twist his fingers within them, holding on for stability. Instead, Izuku threaded his hands together, grip tightening until blood flow cut off.
“I have been very pleased with your behavior as of late,” Father said.
One of his hands rested on Izuku’s head, stroking his hair.
“Thank you, Father,” Izuku whispered.
“You have endured a great deal, but like myself, my son is not one to give up. It was no easy task, acquiring this quirk, but I could not abandon my son who has been so faithful as of late.”
A lump swelled in Izuku’s throat as he remembered years of hiding and fighting back against his father. His reasoning had felt important then, but what had it gotten him?
“I will also admit, I have missed your eyes. When you were younger, they shone with admiration and love. I would like to see that again.”
“F-father?”
“Yes, I believe this quirk has given us both what we desire.” Father’s hand drifted down, latching over Izuku’s nonexistent eyes. “Stay still, son.”
Izuku stiffened as the sensation hit him. The feeling washed over his whole body, but instead of a sharp burst of pain as he exploded into non-being, the quirk twisted him, like every atom in his body was rewinding. An itchy, prickling sensation rippled across his skin, a half-whine catching in his throat. Father’s grip remained tight as the sensation increased.
Finally, Father pulled away. Izuku slumped, but hands caught his shoulders. He felt weaker... smaller even, closer to the floor than he had been before.
Wheezing, Izuku blinked rapidly– he paused. Then, with trembling fingers, he brushed against his face. Eyelashes tickled fingertips, and tears swelled in his eyes. He- he could see.
He stared at his hands, the scars from the sports festival replaced with unblemished skin. Taken back to before Overhaul, before UA, before hero training, when he was still innocent to the world's cruelty.
Izuku sobbed, and tears rolled down his face.
The darkness had been vanquished, replaced with beige carpet and black, shiny dress shoes. Izuku’s vision followed the dress shoes to pressed grey dress pants, to a crisp white shirt, to his father’s face. Somehow, he didn’t look a day older since the last time Izuku saw him.
His father’s red eyes crinkled, and his mouth curved in a pleased smile. “Hello, my son.”
“Thank you,” Izuku gasped, hugging his father. His face barely reached Father's stomach, but he didn't care as he hugged him close.
Thank you for saving him.
As a villain of centuries, All for One had visited many villain hideouts, yet Overhaul’s ranked as one of the most disappointing, feeling more like a sterile hospital ward rather than a villain’s lair. The long, stretching tunnels twisted in a confusing maze would have been a decent choice if All for One did not have a tracking quirk. As it was, All for One strolled through the complex, air blasting any one of Overhaul’s beaked minions into bloody splatters. If any of them survived, they would make adequate nomu material.
“You,” snarled Overhaul. Three of his guards flanked him, their quirks tantalizingly tempting. All for One was more than tempted to relieve them of their quirks. If they were stupid enough to confront him, then they did not deserve them.
All for One adjusted his cuff links. “I’m here to collect my son.”
Overhaul gave an ugly laugh. “It took you 6 months to do so. I’d ask if you don’t like him or are simply incompetent, but I don’t care about either answer. I want Eri back.”
“Oh? Who’s that?”
Watching Overhaul’s eyes bulge with rage was a treat. “You stole her from me. She was fulfilling a higher purpose. Raising the Shie Hassaki back to their former glory and ridding the world of the quirk disease.”
“Tch, that was the best use you had for a quirk that powerful?” All for One’s smile widened, flashing white tombstone teeth. “I certainly made better use of it.” Fixing the damage All Might gifted him had been child’s play with Eri’s quirk.
Veins swelled on Overhaul’s forehead. “Chrono. Rappa. Take care of him!”
The two Shie Hassaki were as strong as one of Japan’s top 50 heroes, and one was armed with quirk-suppressing bullets. Most heroes would be easily defeated or at least struggle to win.
The two lasted 15 seconds, then their headless bodies dropped to the floor.
Overhaul stared at the splattered blood, violently rubbing his own arms. “Disgusting.”
Anyone so revolted by blood wouldn’t last long as a villain. He should be thanking All for One for the early retirement. A burst forward with springlike legs had him in front of Overhaul and the villain struggling to remove his gloves. All for One chose to ease the process by removing his arms.
Screaming, Overhaul crumpled to his knees, falling into his proper place below. The pain had to be excruciating. Tears blurred the villain’s eyes, and he gagged behind his mask.
“Much better,” All for One purred. It never ended well when upstart groups thought to challenge him. Overhaul should have known better.
“I have a son to reunite with, so I’ll make this quicker than you deserve.”
His hand latched onto Overhaul’s face, obscuring his vision. First, he extracted overhaul, neatly slotting the quirk into his own hoard. “There, you’re finally pure,” he mocked. For one disgusted by quirks, he hadn’t avoided using his own.
Ignoring the blubbering mess beneath him, All for One sorted through his quirks, attempting to determine the best one to deliver Overhaul’s punishment. One would cause Overhaul to bleed from every orifice. Another would explode his heart. One gem from decades ago could be used to melt his flesh off.
Compared to other quirks, rewind was rather painless; however, he rather enjoyed the irony. Overhaul screamed as he recognized the quirk’s effect. In less than five seconds, he went from a bleeding, crumpled vermin who dared to challenge All for One to then disappearing from existence. No mess. No sign of a body.
The rest of the way to his son’s room was peaceful. No other minion dared challenge him. Passing by the laboratory, he made note to have the data collected. If Overhaul was as good a scientist as he was a villain, then the data would be garbage, but it was worth checking.
His son was kept towards the back of the complex behind a heavy-duty steel door. All for One flicked his hand, and the door unlocked.
On a bed, a hunched figure lay in a curled body. A head with green curls lifted up. The upper half of his face appeared sealed over; where once had been eyes was blank skin, and his nose was distorted, not unlike All for One’s visage after his fight with All Might. However, despite the warped appearance, All for One would always know his son.
“Hello, Izuku. I’ve come to take you home.”