He awoke once more in the darkness—not because his eyes had lost their sight,but because the world before him held no light that could be called life.
"Where am I…"His voice was nothing more than the breath of a dying man—soft, ragged, as though even his body itself did not wish to hear it.
Yet the first thought that surfaced in his mind was not death.Not pain.Not even hatred.
…it was the fear that she might have seen.
"No one saw me then, right…? No one saw the kind of beast I became when I lost control…"
He moved, but the effort dragged him instantly into pain.Barbed wire pierced his back, threading through muscle like a needle from hell.The chair he sat upon was not a prisoner's seat—it was a throne crafted for a demon meant to suffer punishment.
"This isn't capture… this is punishment…"
BANG!!
The warehouse doors slammed open, blinding light stabbing into his pupils.The blindfold was ripped away.The blurred scene sharpened slowly—the masked face of Shigaraki.
"Awake already, hero? Sleep well?"The voice was that of a man who delighted in cutting animals apart, then stitching them back together in ways that should never exist.
Before he could answer—
CLANG!A rod of iron smashed squarely into his forehead.Warm blood traced down his brow, along his cheek, dripping to the ground—drop by drop… by drop.
He did not cry out.
Because he had endured far worse before—in wars where even beasts never returned alive.
Shigaraki struck again.And again.And again.
Like a child battering a doll.Like a man trying to kill something that simply refused to die
But he stayed silent…He stared back…and smiled—a madman's smile, a grin that should not exist in this world.
"No gun, no blade, no steel… none of it can touch me, you piece of trash."
That was his answer.
Shigaraki bared his teeth, then clamped his four-fingered hand around his throat.The world shrank.His breath vanished.The beat of his heart slowed…weakened...faded.
But before the final shadow swallowed him—he was released.He coughed—coughs so violent it felt like he would vomit up his very soul.
"Good luck, bastard… six hours from now, I'll see you in hell."The masked figure turned his back,walking away.
Leaving behind a man—and bombs planted throughout the warehouse—and a clock ticking its way down into hell.
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Song: Nobody - what we feel is enhanced
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He sat there, unmoving.Barbs drove deeper with every breath.Blood spilled…Thoughts spun.
…And his eyes closed.
Once more—in dreams—he returned to a crueler past.
The night he was taken as a prisoner of war.The day he first learned the meaning of death without dying.That day, they pumped experimental chemicals into his veins.His mind twisted.He wasn't driven mad by pain—he was driven mad by fear of himself.
He smelled blood.He heard the laughter of a deranged doctor.He saw his comrades split open before his eyes.He smelled entrails spilling from stomachs still warm.
"Why…?"The old question echoed once again.
"Why me?""Am I really that wretched?""Is there no God in this world?""And if there is… is He laughing while watching me die every single day?"
He opened his eyes again.Blood dried on his skin.Barbs dug deep into his flesh.5 hours and 27 minutes remained.
But his eyes had changed.
No fear.No hope.Not even a prayer.
Only… hatred.
He hated everything.He hated the air that still let him breathe.He hated the beat of his heart that refused to stop.He hated the river that reeked of blood.He hated the people who passed by, who did nothing but watch.
But the thing he hated most...was himself.
The self that never died.The self that still lingered.The self that remained "Ryojin Kazuma."
He grieved.He raged.He hated.He envied.He… hurt.
Emotions stormed through him like a raging typhoon, devouring every shred of sanity he had left.He wept quietly—not because he was weak,but because there was no one left to see him cry.
No one to notice his pain.No one to rest a hand on his shoulder and whisper, "It's alright."No hope at all.
In that darkness, his eyes burned red from endless tears.Blood dried and crusted on his face.Barbs pierced deeper into his flesh.But the sharpest pain wasn't in his body...it was in a heart trampled again and again.
He sat surrounded by dozens of bombs,less than six hours left to live.And he didn't even know if anyone was coming.Didn't know if anyone remembered him.Didn't know if his love had ever meant anything.Or if it was just… the foolish dream of a stray dog.
In the silence, he whispered softly to himself:
"Help me…"
A voice no one heard.A plea no one listened to.A cry no one cared for.
He wept in silence,with a broken heart,in a frozen world,in a destiny he had never chosen.
And then…from the shadows of the warehouse,came the faintest sound of footsteps.So faint they were almost nothing.
…but he heard them.
Eyes heavy with exhaustion cracked open slowly.The steps drew closer…Or was it just another voice in his head?
Was it the God he despised?
Or was it… her?
No.There was no one.
It was the lowest point of a man's life—at the bottom of a chasm with no light, no one, not even the echo of his own voice.He sat there—Ryujin Kazuma, once the mad dog who never bowed to anyone.But at that moment, he was nothing more than a breathing corpse.
Then the hallucination appeared.It was his shadow—not an ordinary shadow, but a faceless version of himself.There were no eyes, no lips, only emptiness—pure blackness where life should have been,and blood dripping slowly,like a god had painted him but forgotten to give him a soul.
It asked him—
"Why don't you resist fate?"
Ryujin's answer was faint,like the whisper of a child no one could hear.
"I've given up… I surrender."
"I'm just a rat in a cage…""Just a dog being dragged by the neck to slaughter…""I'm nothing but a lump of flesh in this world…"
There was no reply.No comfort.No tears.Only that shadow standing beside him, asking again—
"And now… won't you struggle one more time?""What's left of me inside you… isn't just you.""You still have someone who loves you—someone to go back to."
Those words drove into his heart like nails.
The darkness in his head began to retreat.Memories surged back like waves:Momo—who smiled at him even when he had lost all faith.Mina—who filled his bleak world with her laughter.Eri—the little girl who called him father.Aizawa—the man who was like a father to him.
The echoes of old laughter.The sound of living.The light he thought extinguished—it returned.
His fingers twitched.Then his palm.Then his legs.And then… he tried to rise, from the thorns that bound him.
Like a soul called back from hell.Like a beast regaining its senses.
A heart once dead began to beat again—louder, fiercer, more violent.He looked back at the hallucination.His voice still cold, yet carrying a spark of light.
"Thank you."
And with that, the shadow dissolved—along with the last drop of blood.Leaving him seated alone—not as a man who had lost,but as one who chose to "not die yet."
Because he would return to her.He would return to "bark" once more.Because this world had yet to see the real him.
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Song : Before The Dawn : Andrew Kawczynski
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The countdown had less than two hours left.A faint, cold click echoed from the bomb's embedded timer.
"Tick tock… tick tock…"
But Ryujin didn't fear it.Didn't flinch.Because he… no longer had time for fear.
He opened the shop inside his mind—nonsense in the real world,but here, in his world, it was truth.It was a weapon.It was survival.
Steel chains laced with thorns bound his wrists,tight as death's embrace.Cutting them failed.Prying them failed.Burning them failed.They were designed to kill him slowly—without choice.
But Ryujin thought differently.
He laughed, madly, inside his head.Then decided—
"Fine… then let it all come off."
Yes.He would cut his own wrists free.
He twisted his arm.Bones cracked.Tendons snapped.Blood sprayed in hot streams.
But he didn't stop.He couldn't.He had to survive.He had to go back to her.He had to go back to his family.
Until finally—one wrist tore free.
His scream ripped through the air—not the cry of a man defeated,but the roar of a beast clawing for life.
He bit into a vial of high-grade healing serum from the shop.Shattered the glass with his teeth.Forced the burning liquid straight onto the gaping wound.
The raw, red maw of flesh writhed.Torn tendons stitched themselves.Tissue reknit.Bone fused.
It burned—like fire devouring his entire body.But he endured.This was no time for drama.This was survival.
He did the same with the other wrist.Blood spurted like a fountain from hell.And still, he did it.
Not enough.His ankles were shackled too.
With trembling, broken hands,he crushed the suppression lock.Summoned a blade from his Quirk.And sliced through his own leg without hesitation.
Blood gushed.He staggered.Nearly collapsed.But he didn't stop.
"Just a little more…"
He drowned the wound in healing serum.Tendons lashed together.Bones fused.Flesh knit back—as his screams shook the silence.
Until, at last—
He stood again.
Not as a hero.Not as the chosen one.Not as a protagonist.
But as a mad dog—a beast that had just clawed its way out of hell.
"It's time… every last one of you will pay."
The bombs ticked down—only 15 minutes left.He broke into a run.
Pain tore through his arms.Pain ripped through his legs.His whole body shook—but still, he ran.
He ran like a wolf freed from its chains.Like a beast torn from its cage.Like hatred itself, given flesh.
He ran toward the battlefield.He ran toward the clash of titans.
He would not stop.He would drag his enemies down to hell with him.And he would soak this earth—with the blood of every last one of them.