The night outside the hideout was cold and hollow. Asphalt still smoked from the fires inside, its surface glittering with fragments of broken glass.

Y/N stumbled out through the mist, her body trembling. She coughed hard, the sound echoing in the dark, and dropped to one knee. Her vision pulsed—bright, then black, then bright again. Every nerve in her body ached from the strain.

Too many shikigami. Too many bindings. Even divinity had limits.

She pressed a hand to her temple, feeling the echo of her creatures still raging somewhere far away. Their cries were like fragments of her own thoughts—powerful, loyal, and now dangerously thin.

With a weary sigh, she slid down until her back met a jagged rock jutting from the cracked ground. The stone was cool against her spine. She exhaled, slow and deliberate, trying to steady the tremor in her fingers.

That was when the shadow fell over her.

A massive silhouette blocked out the dim starlight. The man who stood above her was huge—armorlike muscle under a long black coat, his presence pressing down like a mountain. He clicked his tongue once, the sound sharp and disapproving.

Y/N didn't even lift her head at first. "If you're here to fight," she said quietly, "you'll have to get in line. I'm done for the night."

The man didn't move. Then a new voice filled the space between them—smooth, cultured, and cold.

"How disappointing."

It wasn't the man's voice. It came from somewhere within him, layered and resonant.

All for One.

The air itself seemed to bend around the sound, as if the world recognized it and recoiled.

"So this is the god the others whisper about," the voice mused. "And yet here you are—shaking, exhausted, barely able to stand. I expected more from a being who claims to have created everything."

Y/N finally raised her eyes. They were tired, yes—but still luminous, still carrying that impossible calm that made mortals flinch.

She smiled faintly. "Creation's easy," she murmured. "It's keeping everything from falling apart that takes the real strength."

For a heartbeat, the man—All for One's vessel—hesitated. The air hummed with tension, the night watching in silence.

Y/N let her head rest back against the rock again, the faint trace of her smile still there. "So," she said softly, almost to herself. "Are you here to end me, or just to watch the stars?"

The great voice chuckled, low and deliberate.

"Neither," it said. "I've come to learn."

The air split with the sound of a single snap.

For a heartbeat, the night itself seemed to hold its breath. Then the man before her—massive, terrible, ancient—changed.

The darkness that clung to All for One began to ripple and twist. His form buckled inward, bones and muscle bending where they shouldn't. In seconds, the towering figure had become a sleek, black panther, its gold eyes burning with outrage.

It lunged.

Y/N didn't even flinch.

Another snap—brighter, colder.

The world stilled. The panther's roar cut off mid-sound, its body fracturing into a thousand ribbons of light before collapsing into a lifeless heap of flesh.

"You're not worth my time, sorcerer," Y/N said evenly, brushing invisible dust from her fingers.

A third snap, softer this time. The body at her feet convulsed once—then fell still, head rolling free in a quiet, final gesture.

No blood.
No sound.
Just nothingness.

The door behind her creaked open.

Shigaraki and Kurogiri stood framed in the doorway, bathed in the pale light of the burning hideout. Their eyes went wide as they watched All for One's body slump to the ground.

"...Master?" Shigaraki's voice cracked, hoarse and uncertain.

Y/N turned halfway, giving them only a sidelong glance. The glow in her eyes dimmed to something almost human.

"You're not as pathetic as he was, Shigaraki," she said quietly. "And don't worry—he's not dead. He's back in Tartarus, where he belongs."
She paused, almost smiling. "I just teleported his mind out of that shell."

Shigaraki stared at the empty corpse. It didn't bleed. It didn't rot. It simply wasn't.

"Why?" he rasped. "Why take him from me?"

Y/N stepped closer, her steps slow and deliberate, power humming faintly around her like a heartbeat. "Because he's not your father," she said, her voice soft but cutting through the air like a blade. "He was using you. You don't even realize it, do you, Tenko?"

She knelt beside him, close enough for her words to land like confession. "It was I who gave you your power—the ability to rot, yes, but also to cleanse. To strip away what the world no longer needs."

Her hand rose, brushing against his cheek. "I'm not afraid of you, Tenko. I never have been."

His eyes trembled. Tears welled up, catching the dim light like broken glass.
"Why... why didn't you come to me before?" he choked. "Why didn't you stop me?"

Y/N's gaze softened, but her tone stayed steady—eternal. "Because this was always your path. You were never meant to be his pawn. You are meant to be the leader of what comes next—of what he built, but twisted."

She stood, extending a hand toward him. "I will not stop you. But I will not lead you, either."

For a long moment, Shigaraki said nothing. Then, with a snarl more wounded than furious, he grabbed her offered hand with all five fingers and yanked her forward, his other hand closing tight around her throat.

"You're wrong," he hissed, voice shaking. "I don't care who made me."

But his quirk didn't activate. Nothing crumbled. Nothing turned to dust.

His eyes widened. "What—what's happening? Why isn't it working?"

Y/N met his gaze with quiet certainty. "Quirks don't work on their creator."

She pried his fingers from her neck, unhurried, unbothered. "Now," she said, brushing off her collar, "if you'll excuse me..."

She turned and began to walk, her limp slow but steady, the night swallowing her form in shards of light.

Behind her, the League stood in silence. Shigaraki stared at his empty hands, trembling, while Kurogiri's mist flickered faintly in confusion.

And on the asphalt, the body of All for One lay perfectly still—no blood, no decay, only a faint mark burned into the ground where a god's power had passed.

The night had barely begun to fade when the heroes found her.

Y/N lay sprawled across the cracked sidewalk, her white clothes streaked with blood, the air still trembling faintly from the power that had torn through the city.

For a moment, no one moved. Then a single, familiar voice broke the silence.

"All Might, over here!"

The Symbol of Peace was the first to kneel beside her. His shadow fell over her still form, broad hands trembling as he reached down.

"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice raw with fear he didn't dare show. "Please—please, don't—"

Her lashes fluttered, and a faint, almost playful smile curved her lips.

"Don't worry, Toshi," she murmured, her fingers brushing weakly against his cheek. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

And then her eyes rolled shut.

Her body went limp in his arms as the glow around her faded—the overwhelming divine light she carried retreating inward, folding into itself until only a fragile human heartbeat remained.

All Might's expression broke for a moment, something ancient and exhausted passing through his eyes. Then he gathered her up carefully, cradling her as if she were made of glass. "Hang on, Y/N. Just hang on."

The escort team moved fast. Sirens wailed. The ground blurred past beneath their boots as they rushed her through the ruined streets and back to U.A.

The infirmary lights were harsh and white.

Recovery Girl moved with brisk efficiency, muttering under her breath as her cane clicked against the tile. Her quirk flared again and again, soft green light flowing into Y/N's broken form, knitting bone and sealing torn flesh.

"She's stubborn," the old woman said finally, wiping her brow. "Her body's fine—better than fine, really—but something in her mind's... somewhere else."

The monitors beside the bed beeped steadily.
Alive. Stable. But sleeping too deeply.

Hours later, while the rest of Class 1-A sat in separate rooms answering grim questions about the League's attack, Aizawa stood alone with Detective Tsukauchi in the hallway outside the infirmary.

The underground hero's face was unreadable, but his hands were shoved deep into his pockets to hide how tightly they clenched.

"How is she?" he asked quietly.

Tsukauchi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's alive. Bones healed, vitals steady. But she's not waking up yet."

Aizawa's eyes narrowed slightly. "Coma?"

The detective nodded. "Yeah. Doctor says it's not medical—more like her body's... reclaiming itself. She pushed too far."

Aizawa looked through the glass window at the sleeping figure. Tubes, bandages, the faint rhythmic hum of machinery—and yet, somehow, even like this, there was an aura about her. Like the air around her still remembered what she was.

He exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of concern showing in his tired gaze. "You'd better wake up soon, Y/N," he murmured. "The kids are worried. And so am I."

Inside, Y/N didn't stir.

But somewhere deep beneath the surface of her dreams, something ancient shifted—light flickering faintly, like the heartbeat of a god waiting to rise again.