(A/n:- This can be graphic for some so read at your own discretion.)
He raised his hand, green static crawling up his arm. In it, a sphere of swirling, compressed light pulsed—the merged consciousness of the seven One For All vestiges, ripped from their world.
"What is that?!" Kazuki screamed, struggling.
"Your new tenants," Izuku said. He placed his hand over Kazuki's heart.
''Biology Hacking. Reality Hacking.''
He began the forced installation.
Kazuki's back arched violently against the straps. A guttural, raw scream tore from his throat, a sound of pure, unmediated agony that should have been impossible for a human vocal cord to produce. It went on and on, rising in pitch, cracking, breaking, then rising again.
His bones began to crack.
Not breaks from impact, but from the inside, as if new structures were forcing their way out of the marrow, pushing through solid bone like parasites hatching. Ribs splintered into jagged shards, then re-fused in wrong positions, clicking back together at angles that made no anatomical sense.
His spine popped and twisted, vertebrae grinding against each other, his back arching so far backward that something snapped—then re-snapped, correcting itself, then snapped again.
The sound of it was wet and dry at the same time. Cracking twigs mixed with squelching mud.
His skull expanded. Not much—just enough for the watching eye to notice. The bones of his face shifted, jaw unhinging and rehinging, cheekbones flattening and reforming. His teeth fell out, then new ones grew in, sharper, wrong. He choked on his own blood and teeth, gasping, drowning.
His muscles writhed under his skin like snakes in a burning bag. Tearing. Re-knitting. Expanding. Contracting. His biceps bulged to twice their size, then shriveled to nothing, then bulged again.
Strips of muscle tore free from bone, dangling under his skin like loose cables, then reattached to the wrong places. His left arm now pulled in the opposite direction of his shoulder joint, twisting his whole torso.
He screamed again, but the sound was wet—his lungs were being relocated, pushed aside to make room for something else. His diaphragm spasmed, locked, then unlocked, leaving him gasping for air that wouldn't come.
His veins glowed.
Golden light first—soft, almost beautiful. Then the chaos. Multicolored haze—red, blue, green, purple—surged through his circulatory system like liquid fire, burning through him from the inside. Every vein became a visible circuit board of agony under his skin, pulsing with stolen souls.
He vomited. Not just stomach contents—light. Streams of multicolored energy poured from his mouth, mixed with blood and bile and chunks of something that might have been organ tissue. The light burned his throat coming up, then his throat healed, then burned again.
His eyes rolled back, then forward, and now they weren't his eyes anymore. Seven different colors swirled in each pupil—Yoichi's gentle green, Nana's determined blue, the Second's fierce red, all of them trapped, all of them feeling what he felt.
His fingernails fell off. His toes curled and locked. His skin rippled with shapes beneath it—faces pressing outward, then retreating, then pressing again.
"P-PLEASE..." Kazuki begged, his voice a thousand different tones layered together. "KILL ME... JUST KILL ME... I WANT TO DIE... PLEASE... PLEASE LET ME DIE..."
But death would not come.
His heart stopped. Flatlined. He felt the silence, the absence, the drift toward darkness. Then his heart restarted—not beating, but sparking, electricity jumping between chambers, forcing blood to move through sheer will of stolen power. He came back screaming.
His ribs cracked again. His spine twisted again. His veins burned again.
"IZUKU!" he shrieked, the name tearing out of him like a physical thing. "BROTHER! PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING! JUST LET ME DIE! LET ME DIE!"
Izuku watched. Calm. Still. His face held no expression at all.
"You're not dying, Kazuki." His voice was soft, almost gentle. "You're being remade. There's a difference."
Kazuki's body convulsed again. His pelvis shattered and reformed. His intestines looped inside him, rearranging themselves into patterns no human should survive. He felt every inch of it—every twist, every tear, every wrong connection.
His skin split in a dozen places, light pouring out, then sealed shut. Split again. Sealed. Split. Sealed. Each time a new nightmare.
"I CAN FEEL THEM!" Kazuki wailed, clawing at his own chest even through the straps. "THEY'RE SCREAMING! THE DEAD PEOPLE INSIDE ME! THEY'RE SCREAMING AND I CAN'T—I CAN'T MAKE IT STOP—"
The seven vestiges were not silent passengers. They were conscious, aware, trapped in the same flesh prison. Their terror and rage and despair flowed through Kazuki's nerves like electricity.
He felt Yoichi's centuries of grief. He felt Nana's guilt over leaving her son. He felt the Second's fury at being helpless. All of it, all of it, flooding his mind at once.
His nose bled. His ears bled. His eyes wept blood and light.
"PLEASE..." His voice was failing now, reduced to a raw, animal croak. "MERCY... HAVE MERCY..."
Izuku leaned down, close to his brother's ear.
"Did Inko show me mercy when she neglected me? Did the world show mercy to the children in Facility 13? Did your precious heroes show mercy to the people they locked away and forgot?" He straightened up. "Mercy is a luxury for those who have never been wronged. I have been wronged by everyone, Kazuki. Including you."
Kazuki's body seized again. This time, his left leg snapped at the thigh, the bone punching through skin, then pulled back inside as if reversing time, then snapped again. The pain was so immense that his mind tried to shut down—but the merged souls kept him conscious, kept him feeling.
"I can't... I can't take it..." he sobbed, drool and blood mixing on his chin. "Please... just... just a second of peace... one second..."
"No peace," Izuku said. "Not for you. Not ever."
The transformation continued. His skeleton finished its reshaping. His muscles settled into new configurations. His veins dimmed, the light sinking deeper, becoming part of him.
But the pain didn't stop. It would never stop.
Kazuki lay on the table, breathing in ragged, uneven gasps. His body was no longer entirely human—taller, broader, with subtle wrongness in every proportion. But his eyes, still human, still his, stared at the ceiling with the hollow look of someone who had seen too much and would never unsee it.
"Izuku..." he whispered, barely audible. "What have you made me into?"
Izuku looked at his brother—his vessel, his prison, his message to the world.
"A witness," he said simply. "You will watch everything from inside that shell. Every death. Every scream. Every moment of justice. And you will remember that you could have been standing beside me, if you had even once treated me like family when I needed it."
He turned and walked toward the door.
"The pain will fade to a dull ache eventually," he added without looking back. "But you'll always feel them. The seven souls sharing your body. Their thoughts. Their memories. Their regret. You'll never be alone again, Kazuki. That's your punishment. That's your gift."
The door closed behind him.
Kazuki lay on the table, breathing in ragged, uneven gasps. His body was no longer entirely human—taller, broader, with subtle wrongness in every proportion. But his eyes, still human, still his, stared at the ceiling with the hollow look of someone who had seen too much and would never unsee it.
He thought it was over. The pain had faded to a dull, throbbing ache. The seven voices in his head had quieted to whispers. He could almost breathe.
Then the door opened.
Izuku stood there, silhouetted against the light from the hallway. He hadn't left. He had been watching. Waiting.
"You know," Izuku said, stepping back into the room, "I realized something while you were resting."
Kazuki's eyes widened. "No... no, please... it's done... you said it was done..."
"I lied." Izuku's smile was gentle, almost kind. "I wanted to see how you'd look when you thought the nightmare was over. The relief in your eyes. The hope." He tilted his head. "It was beautiful. And now I get to take it away."
He raised his hand.
Biology Hacking. Reality Hacking. Error Inducement.
Kazuki's body unfolded.
Not transformed—unfolded, like something that had been folded wrong was now being pulled apart to see how it worked. His limbs elongated, stretching to impossible lengths, joints bending backwards, then forwards, then sideways. His spine arched and kept arching until his head touched the back of his knees.
The screaming started again. Louder this time. Because he had tasted relief, had tasted the possibility of peace, and now it was being ripped away.
His skin turned gray, then black, then translucent. Veins became visible ropes of pulsing light. His face melted, features sliding down like wax, reforming into something with too many eyes and no mouth, then a mouth with too many teeth and no eyes, then a face that was almost human but twisted in a permanent, silent scream.
"HOW MANY FORMS CAN YOU TAKE?" Izuku asked, his voice cheerful, curious. "Let's find out."
Crack. His body compressed into a ball of flesh and bone, then exploded outward into a spider-like creature with too many legs and Kazuki's face on every segment.
Squelch. He became a puddle of organic matter that tried to crawl away, leaving trails of blood, then solidified into a kneeling human figure that begged with a mouth that opened sideways.
Pop. He stretched into a thin, wire-like creature, then snapped back into a twisted approximation of himself, then melted again, then reformed, then melted—
Each transformation came with pain. Not just physical—existential pain. The pain of being unmade and remade, of having your very concept violated, of knowing that you were nothing but clay in the hands of a god who hated you.
Kazuki's mind broke somewhere around the seventeenth form. Then it healed, because Izuku wanted him conscious. Then it broke again. Then healed. Then broke again.
"I could do this forever," Izuku mused, watching his brother cycle through a hundred different monstrosities. "But I'm getting bored again."
He snapped his fingers.
Reverse.
The transformations reversed. The spider-form collapsed. The puddle congealed. The wire-thin creature thickened. Form after form dissolved backward until Kazuki lay on the table, gasping, human-shaped again.
But not his shape.
The body on the table was smaller. Softer. Feminine. Brown hair splayed across the pillow. A kind face, frozen in an expression of absolute horror.
Nana Shimura's body.
Kazuki—trapped inside, feeling every part of this new form—looked down at hands that were not his. Small hands. Slender fingers. He could feel the ghost of a wedding ring that had never been his, memories that were not his bubbling up from the vestiges inside him.
But he was not alone in that horror.
Inside the merged consciousness, the seven vestiges experienced everything.
Yoichi, the first, felt his gentle soul crushed by the violation of Nana's form. He had loved her like a daughter, passed the torch to her believing her to be worthy of the legacy previous six users had left behind, and watched her sacrifice everything. Now her body was a prison for a man even more dangerous and monstrous than his own brother.
The second user, the one who had wielded ''Gearshift'', the quirk that let him control the speed and motion of anything he touched, raged against his chains.
But there were no chains, only the suffocating closeness of being merged. His quirk, once the ultimate expression of control over movement, was useless.
He could not move. He could not shift. He could only feel—every transformation, every moment of agony transmitted through Nana's stolen nerves.
The warrior who had fought All For One with relentless fury now experienced helplessness so profound it threatened to unmake him entirely.
The third user, the one who had wielded ''Fa Jin'', the quirk that stored kinetic energy for explosive bursts of speed and power, wept without eyes. His quirk fed on motion, on momentum, on the thrill of battle.
Now there was nothing to store, nothing to release—only the endless accumulation of Kazuki's panic, Nana's soul's violation, the collective terror of seven souls pressed together. Every stored quantum of fear built inside him with no release valve, crushing his spirit with each of Izuku's blows.
Hikage Shinomori, the fourth user, who had lived eighteen years in hiding with One For All and developed ''Danger Sense'', screamed silently into the void. His quirk was supposed to warn him of threats, to let him survive in a world that hunted him.
Now danger was everywhere, constant, inescapable—and he could do nothing with the warning. Every transformation Izuku threw, every transformation he forced, every moment of agony in Nana's body triggered his Danger Sense into a permanent, shrieking alert that would never end, because the danger would never end.
Daigoro Banjo, the fifth user, the Pro Hero known as Lariat who had wielded ''Blackwhip'', felt his vibrant, energetic soul crushed into dust. Blackwhip was emotion made manifest, willpower given form—the quirk of someone who fought with passion and heart. Now his emotions were only terror, only horror, only despair.
And Blackwhip, trapped inside this merged prison, lashed out uselessly against nothing, tendrils of dark energy writhing inside their shared consciousness with nowhere to go, no enemy to bind, no ally to protect. The hero who had loved fighting for others could only watch as another was destroyed.
En, the sixth user, the stoic hero who had passed One For All to Nana, who had loved her like a daughter, who wielded ''Smokescreen'', felt his wisdom curdle into horror. Smokescreen was a quirk of escape, of concealment, of creating space to breathe and retreat.
But there was no escape here. No space to create. No smoke thick enough to hide from the green-glitching god who owned them now. All his years of training, all his hard-won knowledge, every lesson he had taught Nana about survival and sacrifice—useless. What knowledge could prepare a soul for 'this'?
And Nana Shimura, the seventh user, the one who had wielded the stockpiled core of One For All before passing it to Toshinori, felt everything through her soul's connection to Kazuki's body.
Every transformation, every heal. She felt Kazuki's panic in her nerves, felt her own sacred soul reshaped and broken and restored, felt the collective agony of the six men whose souls were merged with hers.
The woman who had smiled as she faced death, who had passed her torch with hope, who had believed in a better future—she experienced a terror so profound it made death seem like a mercy she would never receive.
She felt his panic as her voice left his throat. She felt her own sacred form defiled, used, worn like a costume by a stranger.
Their collective horror was a symphony of despair.
"What..." Kazuki's voice came out in Nana's warm, maternal tone. "What did you...?"
Inside, Nana screamed. My body... my face... how dare you... how DARE you...
Izuku clapped slowly, applause echoing in the small room.
"Perfect," he said, with genuine admiration in his voice. "You wear her well. The first user's vessel, given the seventh's face, in the last's body. Poetic, don't you think?"
Kazuki—in Nana's body—tried to move, but the straps held. His new body was weaker, more fragile. He could feel the weight of breasts that weren't his, the wrong center of gravity, the way his—her—hips curved against the table.
Inside, the second user raged. 'Fight! Fight! Use something! Anything!' But there was nothing to use. They were passengers. Prisoners. Witnesses. As if he already started losing his mind.
"Please..." Nana's voice, but Kazuki's desperation. "Please stop... I can't... I can't take any more..."
Izuku walked to the table and cupped Nana's face in his hands. Kazuki felt the touch through her skin, felt the wrongness of it, felt the ghost of Nana's consciousness screaming inside him at being defiled this way.
Nana's anguish peaked. 'His hands on my face... my face... I trained heroes... I gave everything... and now this... this child wears me like a mask…'
"You look just like her," Izuku whispered. "The hero who passed the torch. The grandmother of the man who became Shigaraki. She's in there with you, you know. Feeling everything you feel. Every transformation. Every moment of agony."
Kazuki's—Nana's—eyes widened.
"She's been screaming louder than you," Izuku continued, his voice soft, confiding. "Imagine her pain. Watching her body used like this. Feeling your panic, your fear, your humanity polluting her sacred soul.
She would rather be dead. But I won't let her die. I won't let any of you die, afterall who is a better audience to see the world getting destroyed than the very people who vowed to protect this world."
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