The blue fluorescent lights glow in the darkness, illuminating the countless rows of weapons decorating the walls of the small room. Each one is held over a glaring spotlight, emphasizing their deadliness and roughness. Like a display in an art exhibition, Izuku imagines they'd be painted red. A crimson, ruthless color that would mar their entire surface.

Looking down at himself, he takes a moment to marvel at the familiar black armor adorning his entire body. The technical department had gone above and beyond in keeping it spotless and in peak condition.

One would never even begin to imagine the horrors this suit had gone through nor the havoc it had reaped. However, looking at it now, flashes of images, clear as photographs, filters through his eyes, replacing the scene before him with tattered flickers from the past. Faded, almost transparent, but oh so clear in his mind. Dark red, and dripping, coating his hands almost entirely. He can feel them, the memories, coiling inside of him like a snake, ready to rip him apart from the inside out. The smell of scorching flesh mixed with the overpowering scent of decaying bodies. Sounds louder than his own raging thoughts echoing through his mind like a broken record. His ears ring at the sheer recollection.

Chaos. Pure and raw following in his wake.

He remembers it all with striking clarity. He feels nothing nonetheless.

An emptiness, like a wound, bleeding and gaping, rips him at the seams. He remains unmoved even so. Unperturbed at the destruction he caused with his own two hands. This suit being nothing but a tool used to reach his objectives.

The black, almost midnight-colored scales slowly retract off of his frame as he presses the emblem near his heart. Like particles scattering and collapsing in on each other, they create a small cacophony of whirring sounds. A hum that follows each glowing particle as it retreats off his figure and into the black metal cuffs adorning both his arms and legs like shackles.

The visor on his head retracts into two small antenna-like earpieces behind his ears, hidden within the strands of his white hair.

He'd forgone his usual disguise to fit into his mission. The white hair feels both agonizingly familiar and all too wrong at once. Having gone on innumerable missions with this provisional dye he ought to be used to it by now. He was not Izuku Midoriya today, nor was he to be Akatani Mikumo.

The monitor on his right glitches and bursts into life. A shaded figure speaks up, voice low, commanding.

"It's time Artic, sources detect multiple intruders at one of UA's on-campus facilities. Orders are to lay low but oversee the outcome. You are to get there, at once. Over and out."

Well, it seems his mission would start a little earlier than anticipated.

____________________________________________

It's not surprising really, how fast he gets there. The air whips past and around him as he races towards the dome. The structure grows the closer he gets. His suit was always remarkably useful when it came to speed and mobility. The levitation pull and thrusters installed in it allows him to fly swiftly to whatever location he's given.

Setting his visor to infra-red, he confirms his suspicions instantly. The USJ practically glows with the number of heat signatures that pulse and move inside of it.

He decides to land on top of the dome, his orders were clear, after all. He was to observe without interfering. That meant he just had to find a good vantage point.

However, the moment his eyes take in the situation, he finds himself moving without his consent. A sharp, excruciating pain making itself known at the base of his neck as pinpricks seem to travel throughout his whole body.

Both his body and mind are screaming at him to stop. To obey his orders. However, something within himself pulls. It feels as if he's being shredded, cut in half from the inside out. As if something tugs at his body with all its might, urging him to move despite every fiber of his body and mind screaming, ordering him not to.

Despite the pain, despite the red flags blaring in his mind like warning signs, he runs.

_____________________________

Aizawa doesn't think he's ever been this desperate before in his life. Maybe to a lower degree on some of his past missions. However, it was not like this, never like this. This raw, overwhelming desperation that's currently coursing through his veins as he watches through one half-lidded red eye, the villain reaching for his students. His other eye is shot, he's not even sure it's there anymore. He can't get himself to care though. Not now, not when Shigaraki's hand is mere inches away from making contact with Asui. Not when he remembers the excruciating pain that radiated through his elbow when the villain had used that cursed power on him. Not when he can still feel his own flesh turning to ash right before his eyes.

He wants to shout, to move, to do anything in order to stop his students from getting hurt. They were just kids damnit. The Nomu doesn't let him. Its heaviness weighs down on his back, crushing his lungs in an overpowering hold. Both his arms are shattered, the smell of copper is omnipresent around him as he feels his blood slowly but surely seeping into the ground beneath him.

He can feel his vision dimming, his awareness fighting a losing battle as the fatigue and blood loss catches up to him. He wills his eye to stay cooperative, wishes his quirk wouldn't give up on him when he needed it the most. However, he knows he won't be able to keep it up.

Shigaraki's hand is making contact by now. Long, pale fingers close in on their prey, and it feels like his eye is on fire.

The villain doesn't seem surprised when his quirk fails him, only turning to grin sadistically at the downed hero.

"You're so cool, Eraserhead." He snarls, a smirk stretching his features. "If only it was enough"

It's only when he feels a heavy, meaty hand enclosing on his hair, pulling painfully at the strands, that he realizes what going to happen next.

The last thing he sees before his head is shoved into the asphalt is a black blur knocking into the villain just as his quirk gives up on him.

He's too far gone to make any sense of it. He just hopes that whatever it is, it can save his kids.

______________________

The glass glints as it shatters beneath his feet. Raining down onto the area below him. The first thing he finds when he lands is a dozen villains rushing at him.

Without faltering he rushes past them, hands outstretched and aimed at the ones currently in his field of vision.

Three villains, each with some kind of weapon equipped. It's almost laughably easy to take them down.

"What the hell!" One of them shouts, his eyes widening as his gun gets dismantled right before his eyes. His comrade's weapons following suit a moment later.

He incapacitates them quickly and efficiently, making sure not to leave any lethal damage as he dashes through them.

It seems none of them are really thinking this clearly, for a new batch of villains charge at him, shouting profanities as they rush towards him. This time, it seems like they're mutation types. All of them have some kind of transformation quirk. It's not like it was going to make any difference, anyway. As calm as ever, he raises his hands again, this time aiming for their bodies instead.

Watches through passive eyes as one of the villains with a blade mutation to his arms shrieks in agony as his hands pulse, veins protruding dangerously as Artic steps closer to him.

He stops himself from going any further though. If he could avoid making lasting damage or using lethal force, he would.

The rest of the fight goes similarly. It seems they at least had some kind of survival instincts.

Making quick work of tying them up, he heads for his next objective.

As fast as his body is, his mind is even faster. So when he sees the villain reaching for the girl with the green hair. His mind instantly connects all the information they've gathered on the league until now. Specifically the evidence he found near the gate the other day.

Pushing the girl and her smaller classmate out of the way, he makes sure to deflect the hand reaching for them. In doing so, Shigaraki's fingers brush against the side of his visor but he manages to avoid any actual contact with the appendage. Painfully aware of the white peeking out of his helmet, he's suddenly very glad for his decision to dye them.

"An unknown player." The villain snarls, his hands coming up to scratch at his neck. "What makes you think you can interfere with my fight NPC?"

Not bothering with idle chit-chat, Izuku elects to charge at the man instead. Just as his leg is about to make contact with the man's side, something intercepts him.

As the dust settles he finds his field of vision almost entirely encompassed by the hulking creature.

Dark, rotting skin reaches for his leg, meaty arm engulfing the appendages almost entirely if not for Izuku's quick reflexes.

Dropping his torso low, he flips himself, his foot catching onto the creature's chest as he dodges and puts distance between himself and his new target.

The hand villain, Shigaraki, his mind supplies, doesn't seem happy about it.

"Nomu. Kill him."

It's only when he's dodging over and over again, every time barely managing to evade the creature by mere inches that he thinks that maybe, he didn't have any other choice on this one.

The Nomu's speed is inhumane, his strengths, from what he's seen and the dents and craters the monster leaves in the ground in his wake, leaves him with only one option.

His quirk hasn't been used to its full potential since his last mission.

He doesn't want to use it. Never wanted to.

He thinks about the alternative. Eyes subconsciously straying to the two students currently huddled up near their fallen teacher. He feels his doubts shatter instantly. Resolve strengthening.

Eyes zeroing on the creature's form, he takes a moment to concentrate. Gaze immediately honing on the composition he perceives on the monster. Analyzing his form and more importantly, his weaknesses. Honing on the exposed organ at the top of his skull, he pulls his hand into an all too familiar form. Thumb and index forming a gun, he whispers under his breath one word.

So quiet he doubts anyone hears it.

Boom.

The Nomu's body drops a moment later. As if a puppet with its string cut, it crumbles in on itself and crashes with a thump onto the dirt.

___________________________

Tsuyu doesn't know what to think anymore. What to make of the boy standing just a few paces in front of her. At least she guesses it's a boy, from his height and hair. However, his armored costume doesn't let her see any defining features.

He came here, seemingly out of nowhere, saving them and fighting off the villains.

It doesn't prevent the fear that builds inside her as she witnesses the power he displays.

Taking out the Nomu, the weapon these villains made for the sole purpose of defeating All Might of all people.

She watches, as if in a daze as the villain seems to get both angry and panicked after that. Shigaraki, she thinks the warp villain called him, starts to shout about unfairness and cheaters before they finally decide to retreat. Their mission having failed since they no longer had their weapon nor their original target.

The relief she feels when the villain warps away is short-lived, however. Dread pools in her stomach as the boy turns towards them. She can't help but feel her body grow stiff under his watchful stare. Following his gaze to the man lying in from of her, she feels her despair returning at full force.

Sensei is bleeding out, body too still and too cold for her to feel any kind of relief. She knows he's lost too much blood. Knows that if help doesn't arrive soon, he'll die, that is if he's not already.

Mineta is not helping her growing panic at all. The shorter boy is a mess of snot and tears as he sobs frantically next to her. As if begging the armored boy to spare his life.

It feels like she's watching from a distance. As if she's underwater and everything is dimmed and muted. Her thoughts flow at an agonizingly slow pace, even Mineta's sobs, seem far away.

The boy in black approaches them as if he's trying not to startle them.

Slowly and carefully, he crouches in front of the downed body of her teacher.

"W-what are you d-doing?" She finds herself asking before she can think twice about it. "D-Don't hurt h-him." Her worries outweigh her fear it seems.

The boy doesn't even react to her question. Instead, his arms come up towards Aizawa's forehead. His movements are gentler than she expected someone like him to be capable of.

At first, nothing happens.

She watches with bated breath as the boy's hand makes contact with the hero's skin. Hears the hitch in the man's breath as a golden red light starts to envelop his body.

Izuku for his part is focused on his task and nothing else. The man before him wasn't going to survive otherwise. He can feel as his quirk starts working. It's always been risky to use this aspect of his power. He's only ever used it once before.

One mistake, one miscalculation and they would both die.

His mind works on overdrive as he wills his powers to work. His quirk, Sight, as the doctor had called it allowed him to integrate, analyze, identify and take in all sorts of information on an object, whether it was organic or not. He could, therefore, manipulate it to his will. The decomposition aspect of his quirk, however, held far less backlash and side effects than the regenerative one.

Feeling the effects finally setting in, he releases his hold on the underground hero.

Body swaying with the effort to stand up, he takes off immediately. His visor alerting him of the rescue team finally arriving. His job here was done.

He doesn't look back, so he misses the gasp the hero students let out as they stare onto the newly healed form of their teacher. The awe written on their features as their gaze follows after him is evident. Nor does he notice the other students that had witnessed his actions. Having reached the central area earlier.

It's not until he's crossed the boundary leading out of UA's campus that he feels it again. The crushing pain emitted from his neck. Electricity surges through the cuffs on his hand and the next thing he knows he'd plummeting down. Consciousness barely holding on long enough to see dark figures making their way towards him.

____________________________________

Three years ago; Service year #5

The golden glow and heat sears into his eyes, flames flickering as they burn and expand throughout the field as if following behind the entity before them.

The lieutenant crouches low behind the tranches, his squad following his lead and waiting for his signal.

Despite the flames, the night is cold. The wind, icy and unforgiving, the kind that reaches and seeps into one's very bones. Freezing them from the inside. However, gazing onto the battle, no, massacre, his mind corrects, he thinks that he would have felt this coldness anyway. This deep-rooted dread sinks into his guts.

The child before him rushes through the battlefield, moving too fast for his eyes to take in everything that's happening. Bodies drop in his wake, the ground is wet as if rainwater has ravaged the field. Its red color betrays it.

His uniform almost dwarfs him entirely, his small frame is only betrayed by the brutality he's displaying.

The boy's white hair almost glows in the dark like a halo, a contrast to the red coating his body. The snowy strands move with the wind as he dodges and evades the enemy's attacks. Between his gritted teeth, he holds a knife, glinting in the moonlight with every move he makes. One hand clutches at his sword, tip already dripping as he slashes his way almost too easily through the soldier's defense. His other hand mimics that of a gun, fingers positioned as if he's pointing at something with his index finger and his thumb. He knows better than to compare it to something as childish as finger guns. He's witnessed the power behind those hands too many times.

The horror that grows in his chest doesn't come from the boy's actions though. Despite his swift, ruthless attacks, his eyes remain as cold and impassive as ever. If not for the flames reflected in those toxic emerald eyes, one would think they held no light. No sign of life.

His features are still and devoid of any hint of remorse or any kind of emotion as he takes down one man after the other. It's unsettling and morbidly fascinating to witness.

This feeling reminds him all too well of the icy, frozen exterior of a lake. So still and cold, yet hiding an inferno underneath it.

As the fighting dies down and the boy finally stands still. Almost as if shutting down, standing among the carnage and havoc he just wreaked, the fire enclosing in on him only serving to emphasize the sheer destruction he inflicted. The lieutenant can do nothing but stay there, as if he too was frozen by the boy's sheer coldness. Those eyes settle on him, meeting his own with a gaze so empty it feels like he's going to sink into them. Drown in the void they hold.

Static breaks him away from his daze, his radio lighting up with life as the general asks for a report on the situation.

The only thing he can get himself to say, as his finger presses the red button on his communicator is the raw reality that settles in his mind. A truth he can no longer make himself deny.

"I think we may have created a monster."