TheFanficGOD
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MHA100- Done Deal!
🕑 Added 2025-05-06 19:49:11 +0000 UTCMAN! 100 chapters! Hope you like this one!
--
Izuku came next. From above. “100%!”
He dropped like a missile, landing on Chisaki’s left side, cracking part of the fused flesh open. Steam burst from his boots. Lightning snapped through the air.
Mirio tackled him from the opposite direction, targeting joints.
Nejire hovered above, charged another shot.
“Ryuu, now!” she yelled.
[Endless Momentum: 90%]
I broke left.
My boots skidded across the blood-slicked floor, sparks trailing behind me. I used the tilt in the terrain to springboard off a slab of collapsed ceiling, twisted in mid-air, and SLAMMED the pipe into Chisaki’s arm, snapping it at the elbow.
He roared.
He touched himself to heal, his body slowly patching up, but the wait was getting longer. He was slower now.
I dropped to the ground, rolled to absorb the momentum—and then spun, slamming the beam into the back of his knee.
CRACK.
He dropped half a foot. Snarled. Twisted.
His claw missed me by inches.
His other arm slammed down.
My body dodged automatically.
The floor cracked behind me.
[Last Second Save – Successful.]
My ribs grazed a spike but I didn’t stop. Couldn't stop.
Because—
[Endless Momentum: 100%]
My body felt weightless.
Every step like a thunderclap. Every blink like a strobe.
I ducked under his claw.
Vaulted off a floating chunk of wall.
Spun in the air once—
And drove the entire fucking Divine Beam into his chest.
"DIVINE DEPARTURE!"
The support beam hit like an extinction-level event.
Chisaki's entire torso compressed inward with a thunk that sounded like the air itself gave up trying to carry sound. The force rippled outward, slamming debris into the walls, sending shockwaves down both ends of the corridor.
He flew—actually flew—backwards.
Not like a fall.
Like he had been erased from gravity.
He slammed into the wall so hard he took half of it with him.
Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Bones jutted at wrong angles.
And just before he collapsed—
He dragged Chrono across the floor with a flick of the terrain using Mimic’s power.
The fucker.
The ground shifted, curling toward his limp arm. Chrono screamed—but it was too late. Chisaki’s hand met his face. The wall swallowed both.
Fusion.
Final form.
Are we in a fucking Dragon Ball battle or what?
How many more evolutions is this crusty bastard gonna go through?
First he was a smug sociopath in a Halloween mask. Now he looked like a kaiju fucked a cement mixer and got possessed by the ghost of a malfunctioning blender.
Chisaki. Chrono. Mimic.
Three Quirks.
One body.
All problems.
His eyes blinked in sync with the pulse of the walls—the entire fucking compound was an extension of him now. The ceiling pulsed. The floor breathed. Pipes slithered like metallic veins. Every tile twitched underfoot like it wanted to grow teeth and bite.
"You took everything," Chisaki said.
Nejire fired again. Her spiral blast curved mid-air, aiming for his exposed flank—a mouth opened in the wall and swallowed it whole.
"What the?!" she shouted, jerking back. A fleshy tendon lashed out of the ceiling and scraped her side—drawing blood. Her momentum faltered.
Izuku dashed to cover her, 30% One For All lighting up like a goddamn thunder god. He did not make it.
A tendril slammed into his side, catching him mid-dash and sending him flying.
"DEKU!" Mirio shouted, and without hesitation—moved.
Phased through the floor. Reappeared midair. Caught Izuku like a human shield and tanked the impact against the wall.
Hard.
Both of them crumpled.
Mirio groaned. Izuku gasped for air.
Nejire dropped beside them, shielding with her arm, blasts barely keeping the walls at bay.
That left me.
Alone.
“Alright. Fuck you. Let’s throw everything we have.”
I cracked my neck.
The room didn’t attack me.
The compound did.
Walls cracked open like lungs choking on bile. Spires launched. The floor folded into spirals, disassembling under each step like it wanted to unbuild my path before I could touch it. Stone tendrils lashed from overhead like a gorgon on meth.
I ran up a collapsing pipe. Vaulted from a wall shard to a blood-veined pillar. My hand caught the edge of a jagged slab. I flung myself forward like a missile made of anger.
Chisaki's fused body twisted to intercept. His arm lashed out—not an arm anymore. Just tendons, stone, and raw Quirk hate. A living whip of Chrono’s time delay and Mimic’s concrete chaos.
I ducked low. The whip scraped my back—skin peeled, nerves screamed, but I grinned.
He tried to close the gap. Wrong move.
My foot slammed into a chunk of ceiling that Mimic hadn’t unglued yet, and I launched.
The wall behind Chisaki exploded open like a blister popping—Nejire’s spiral. She had bought me the window.
He turned to block.
Too late.
My makeshift weapon—a rebar rod fused with lightning from a half-ruptured cable—hit first. The shock detonated on contact.
BOOM.
Sparks flew.
Chisaki screeched. His armor buckled. His leg gave way.
I landed in a slide, spun, kicked off the ground.
The rod snapped. Fine.
My fists were faster.
I opened up on him. Street brawler mode.
Left hook to gut.
Right elbow to jaw.
Knee to ribs.
Headbutt to mask.
The mask cracked.
Finally.
"You’re not a plague doctor," I whispered, voice dripping acid. "You’re just a roach in cosplay—desperately clinging to relevance like your dead daddy’s lab coat gave you trauma and a god complex. That mask ain’t medical, it’s a muzzle. Aesthetic-ass life support for your ego, wrapped in leather and delusion. You ain't curing disease, Chisaki—you are the disease. A glorified germ with a fashion kink and abandonment issues. Step out of that hazmat fantasy and all that’s left is a rat with a meltdown button."
Then I smiled. "And I just pressed it."
He roared.
[Rage Bait Activated]
The entire floor fell—literally.
Chunks of the battlefield collapsed inward as Mimic’s Quirk tore the structure into vertical death spirals. One of the hallways folded like a mouth, stone teeth jutting out. Chisaki lunged, wrapped in tendrils of time-slowing hair and sinew-laced concrete.
A claw hit my arm. Pain lanced through.
[Cheat Death Activated: Damage redirected to non-lethal zone.]
I twisted mid-air. Blood sprayed.
Then—
Everything slowed.
[Adrenaline Rush Activated.]
[Storm Fist – Fully Charged.]
My bones snapped into clarity.
Time didn’t slow—I sped up.
I saw every fiber of his next move. The way his chest expanded before his spine surged out to impale me. The twitch in his eye before the wall shifted again to crush me in place. I read him like a badly-written fanfic about bats and menaces.
I leapt.
Spun mid-air.
Coiled my body back.
My right fist surged with heat and pressure—Storm Fist crackling, gathering raw elemental force. Static arced around my wrist. The wind curved around me like it knew what was coming.
My body twisted like a rubber band wound to hell and back.
Then I unleashed.
“KING—”
My fist rocketed forward, glowing, howling.
Chisaki’s eyes widened.
Mimic’s walls stalled.
Chrono’s threads snapped mid-air.
“KONG—”
I hit center mass.
Not armor.
Not limb.
Core.
“GUN!!”
Impact.
Not a punch—a nuclear baptism.
The ground cratered.
The shockwave annihilated every nearby wall.
Chunks of flesh-stone and screaming rebar shot out like shrapnel.
His body detonated.
He flew backwards, slamming through wall after wall like a meteor screaming regret.
Through steel.
Through concrete.
Through a fucking support beam.
Gone.
Silence.
Steam hissed from my arm. Blood dripped from the cracked knuckles. My shoulder was dislocated. Everything hurt. Even my asshole.
But I smiled.
Because Chisaki was lying like a corpse with delusions of grandeur—face-first in his own bullshit, twitching like he still had dignity left to lose. Arms splayed, ego leaking, mouth still moving like anyone gave a damn what came out of it. He was not just on the ground; he was the ground. Flat. Cracked. Walked on. Forgotten.
He coughed, blood dripping from the side of his mouth.
One eye hung low, swollen shut. His limbs spasmed once, twitching from the trauma my fists delivered like love letters written in blunt force trauma. He reached—barely—fingertips brushing over his own ribcage like he could still play god with one functional lung.
And somehow, that withered sack of arrogance still worked.
Flesh rippled. A wet, meaty crack echoed out as the fusion between Mimic and Chrono peeled apart—veins unraveling, muscles unstitching with the sound of overcooked meat getting separated from bone. Their bodies slopped off him like expired meat off a hot bone.
He panted. Fixed, but not healed. I saw the Quirk working—tissues realigning, but slower. Sloppier. Imperfect. The edges weren’t clean. Like his power finally realized it had a limit, and that limit was me.
I walked.
[Quest: Eye for an Eye – Active
Target: Kai Chisaki
Objective: Recreate the suffering he inflicted upon Eri.]
I knelt beside him, taking my time, like a surgeon who just found out the patient was a war criminal. I reached into my pocket—and by pocket, I meant Inventory, because the system had stocked me like a discount war crime simulator.
Two thick plastic restraints came out—the kind used to zip-tie heavy gear, designed to lock tight with no exit unless you were willing to lose a wrist. I grabbed his half-healed arms, gently, and tied them with an efficiency that felt criminal even to me.
He didn’t fight.
Not like the fucker could.
I looped them three times over each wrist. Then one final band around both, pulling tight until I heard his joints creak.
Click.
Hands secured.
No touching.
No Quirk.
No hope.
"Even if you wanted to heal yourself," I murmured, "you couldn’t now."
His head lolled back. Blood bubbled at the edge of his lip.
I smiled.
And from my other pocket came the rest.
A scalpel. Stainless steel, still glinting despite the filth on my gloves.
A tray. Cold, dented, sterilized only by the violent heat of my hatred.
I held them up like a chef at a back-alley Michelin-star meth lab.
"Oh, I am going to smear every ounce of this human shit across your face. Then I’m going to inject things into your veins that even viruses swipe left."
I leaned closer. "You are germophobic, right?"
His eyes widened.
Ah. There it was.
Panic.
The kind that buries itself in bone marrow and whispers, You are going to die in filth.
I rolled my shoulders. "Eri screamed. Not once. Not twice. She screamed until her throat was raw, didn’t she?"
I tapped the tray. Clink.
"She bled too. I saw the scars. I counted them."
Still silent.
So I whispered, "Now it’s your turn."
I dipped a stick into the tray—smearing what looked like brown-red grime. Reality? It was a concentrated cocktail from the Underground Medical Market—bacteria cultures banned in three countries, human shit, animal feces, many more nasty things and something a guy named Dr. Caustic cooked in a toilet. It stank. Like regret and gangrene had a baby and named it Chisaki.
He gagged the moment it hit his nose.
I leaned in, took a bunch on a stick, and smeared it across his face.
Slowly.
Lovingly.
Like I was painting a masterpiece titled "Fuck You."
The shit-sludge sizzled against his skin like regret was corrosive. Like his sins finally wanted in through his pores.
He writhed, face twitching like a bug was crawling under his skin.
His arms tried to move—no dice. The restraints held. Tight. Unforgiving.
"You’re going to feel unclean, Chisaki," I cooed. "You’re going to sit in your own filth, wrapped in my vengeance, and every second, your skin will scream to be washed. But guess what?"
I held up the syringe—fat, full of a thick black liquid. It wobbled in the light like it had ambition.
I jammed it into his arm.
He hissed. Tried to thrash.
"That little cocktail I just slipped you? Yeah, that was a drug I scored off this absolute freak named Mokami. Said it’ll curse you with acne so violent your face turns into a horror map—permanent, incurable, and bursting with the kind of smelly pus that makes dead animals gag. You will wake up every morning reeking like roadkill fucked a septic tank.
And the best part? You will have to clean it. Forever. Every pimple. Every ooze. Every squelch.
Think of it as skincare for the damned.
But hey, silver lining? No one’s gonna rape you in prison. You’ll be the human equivalent of chemical castration. A walking anti-lust PSA. Honestly? You should thank me. I just saved your tight little dignity from getting shanked by someone named Bubba with 'alpha wolf' tattooed on his ass."
His pupils dilated. Sweat poured from every inch of him. He was still trying to process what I had done to him.
I wasn’t done.
"One more thing."
I lifted the scalpel.
I shaved—tiny, symbolic but very painful cuts.
One across the forearm, right where his tendons. One across the thigh, to mimic surgical nerve probes. Then—
Three on the spine.
Vertical. Clean.
"That’s for the clamps you used on her back."
His body jerked.
"And this..." I pressed the blade into the top of his hand, slow enough to make him feel every cell splitting—
"...is for when she cried and you did not stop."
Chisaki coughed again. Blood and bile.
I pressed the tray against his face and forced it in.
"Eye for an Eye. Bitch!"
--
Nighteye pulled out another restraint, this one locking around Chisaki's fingers, keeping them together, useless.
Police were already flooding in, moving fast, securing the rest of the compound. Yakuza members were getting hauled out, some too fucked up to move on their own. The fights were over. Every last one of them was caught.
Eraserhead finally let his capture weapon loosen, stepping back, but he kept his eyes on Chisaki, ready to erase his Quirk again if needed.
We left the compound. I pulled out my phone and sent a text.
"Put the device. You can take him, kill him. The fuck ever you want."
Delivered. Read. Deleted.
Comments
Marvin Baltes
ok, forget what i said before: this is violent karma incarnate on its ugly side. just what he deserved.
TheFanficGOD
He couldn't use his new Ultimate Move in exam. Now he did
hector lyng
Excellent chapter, I was waiting for the Galactic Impact, but I liked the King Kong Gun.
TheFanficGOD
Thank you 🫀
SacredLoneWolf
Damn just damn I’m speechless 😶 also congrats on a 100 ch it’s a great story
