TheFanficGOD
patreon
MHA99- Overhaul
🕑 Added 2025-05-06 01:34:40 +0000 UTC“Midoriya!” Nighteye’s voice cracked through the hall, sharp as a gunshot.
Rock Lock barreled in from the left, slamming a wall panel open like it owed him money. “What the fuck—”
They made a mistake.
They stepped between me and my prey.
I was so lost.
His Quirk brought out the truth—and rage with it. The kind of rage that boiled under your skin for months, years, lives. Rage you learned to tuck into neat little jokes, sharp little quips. Rage you dressed up in sarcasm and handed out like party favors.
People like to pretend the truth sets you free.
No.
It burns you alive.
And Shin Nemoto lit the match.
The second that confession left my mouth—“Failing her and myself”—it was like someone turned the oxygen back on in a room filled with gas.
I saw red. Not in metaphor. Not in poetry.
In intent.
Rock Lock put a hand out like he was going to stop me.
I nearly broke his arm.
My body moved like they were the next threat—obstacles between me and my hunt, and I was about to steamroll them like a freight train made of trauma.
I don’t even remember moving.
But my hand was on his wrist. Tight. Too tight. Nighteye’s chess piece had already been thrown—he missed. Or maybe I dodged. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t here. I was somewhere deep, somewhere where bats don’t miss, where threats don’t get warnings, where children don’t scream and get ignored.
Nighteye’s voice rose again, sharp. “Midoriya! Stand down!”
Stand down?
Like fuck I would.
I bared my teeth.
Then—fingers.
Soft.
On my arm.
Not grabbing. Not pulling.
Just… resting.
“Let’s go, Ryuu.”
Uraraka.
“Overhaul is the main target.”
Next to her, Tsuyu stood, her eyes on me.
I looked at Nemoto.
He was shaking. Barely upright. Mouth open, breath ragged.
I had won.
And I hated it.
Because it was not enough.
But the mission was not over.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And the world came back.
This time, I did not bury the rage.
I delayed.
"Let's go."
The corridors curved into tighter spirals, the compound folding in on itself like it was trying to protect something deeper, darker—its black little heart. We caught up to Izuku and the others near one of the split chambers. The hallway pulsed with combat noise—grunts, metal crashing, walls cracking.
We passed an open door.
Fat Gum was in the middle of a fucking brawl, going full sumo tank against Rappa. The bastard was throwing punches like cannon blasts, one after another, with the kind of rhythm only people addicted to pain could achieve.
Kirishima was down but breathing, face bloodied, trying to get up again. Sun Eater had his tentacle arm shielding the side. They were holding off Hekiji.
Rappa let out a barking laugh, knuckles red. “THIS IS A FIGHT!”
I turned to Uraraka and Tsuyu. “Assist them.”
Froppy launched herself forward, her tongue whipping across the room like a grappling hook. Uraraka took a breath and followed.
Then we hit it.
The Final Door.
Big. Reinforced. The kind of door they use to hide sins they never want aired.
It didn’t last more than a second under Izuku’s punch.
Steel peeled like fruit skin. Concrete buckled. The hallway screamed open.
And inside—
Plague Mask.
Kai Fucking Chisaki.
Calm.
Collected.
Rotten.
He stood in the center of the chamber like a man preparing a meal, hands behind his back. Next to him, two Yakuza lieutenants—Toya Setsuno and Chrono.
I grinned. “You escaped with your tail between your legs, Chisaki. You fled like a rat who just realized he ain’t the lab tech—he’s the test subject with daddy issues and a superiority complex duct-taped to his spine. You strutted around with that plague-doctor mask like some edgy anime villain, but the second shit got real, you ran faster than your relevance.”
Chisaki didn’t react.
His eyes flicked toward me with that same clinical detachment he used on Eri. The same stare doctors give cadavers. The same expression sociopaths practice in mirrors until it looks like humanity.
“You talk too much,” he said.
I laughed.
A laugh that came from somewhere deep. The kind of sound that makes your spine tickle with the wrong kind of curiosity. The kind of laugh people hear in therapy ten years later and still piss themselves.
“By the end of this battle…” I took a step forward, dragging my bat along the ground, the sound of metal on concrete screeching like nails across a chalkboard. “I will make you regret saying that.”
“I will make you beg me to speak. You will pray I am still talking. Because the moment I stop running my mouth…”
I raised the bat, rested it over my shoulder like a sledgehammer full of childhood trauma and spite.
“…my bat starts speaking.”
I charged.
Chisaki's hand moved, touching the wall behind him. Concrete surged up into jagged, flesh-colored spires, all laced with pulsating veins like the compound itself was infected with his Quirk. The wall behind him breathed. Breathed.
My bat came up, and with a downward swing I slammed it into the first wave of organic concrete—it exploded, chunks flying like shrapnel.
Izuku blurred to my left, 20% One For All lighting up his limbs. A green bolt of divine teenage rage.
Mirio phased through my right, fists cocked, eyes sharp.
Behind me, Nejire lit the hall in blue, her hair trailing like a comet.
We hit him like a pack of fucking consequences.
Chisaki surged forward.
His body mutated mid-stride. One arm bloated, blackened and veined, claws warping out of what used to be a hand. He lashed out.
Izuku ducked under it, shot forward and uppercutted his ribs, sending a shockwave through the room.
Chisaki grunted, absorbing the impact as the flesh molded around it like armor.
I slid under another mutated swing, kicked off the ground, and brought my bat down on his exposed back.
It thudded hard—he hissed—but he didn’t go down.
Mirio dropped from the ceiling like a ghost, phasing through Chisaki’s shoulder and landing a blow to his neck.
Chisaki staggered.
Nejire let loose a spiral wave that slammed into his gut, and for a second—just a second—he stumbled back, reeling.
Mimic and Chrono charged like synchronized guard dogs, their movements crisp, mechanical—trained puppies.
Mimic dove into the walls like a fucking poltergeist, turning the ground beneath us into a shifting, lurching nightmare. Floors buckled. Ceilings bent. The whole goddamn compound started spasming like it had indigestion and we were the spicy leftovers.
Chrono flicked his hair forward like a shitty ballerina with a god complex, clock-hand strands whipping toward Mirio.
Izuku blurred sideways—“I’ll take Mimic!”—and was gone, vaulting between spasming walls like he was sprinting on a metronome set to die.
Nejire floated up, eyes narrowing, tracking Chrono’s trajectory. “Get in close. I’ll pin him.”
Mirio dove into the chaos with a smirk, because of course the dumbass had fun dodging time-stabbing hair. He phased through the first volley, twisted in midair, and shoulder-checked Chrono hard enough to send his hair scattering like splinters.
That left me.
And the disease in human skin.
Chisaki ran toward me.
His hand brushed the wall beside him—and the world responded.
The corridor split open like a wound, bone-white walls rippling and reshaping into organic forms. Flesh and stone fused. Veins ran through the architecture. Spires twisted into claws. The whole fucking room started breathing. The floor felt alive.
“You took my tool,” Chisaki said, his voice as flat as a diagnosis. “I will take your life.”
I spat at his feet. “Try it, you knockoff Plague Inc. mascot.”
He lunged.
I met him head-on.
Bat versus Quirk. Rage versus delusion.
His hand lashed out—not to hit, but to disassemble. Stone, metal, air—me. He was aiming to pull me apart on a molecular level.
Too fucking bad.
System surged.
[Endless Momentum: Active.]
[Warpath Stack: Building.]
[Combat Intuition: Focused.]
[Spiteful Resilience: Stabilizing.]
[Analyze: Locked on Target.]
I slid under his first swing, the floor behind me ruptured where his hand struck, sending shards spiraling past where my head had been. The bastard missed by inches. Inches were all I needed.
I twisted, bat arcing up in a diagonal slash across his exposed side.
CRACK.
He grunted. Didn’t stagger.
Fuck it—again.
CRACK-THUNK.
Bat to ribs. Bat to thigh. Bat to shoulder. Each hit slammed into his body like punctuation in a death sentence. My arms screamed. My grip bled.
Chisaki absorbed it.
His flesh reformed. Shifted. Bones snaked under his skin and reassembled. His entire arm regrew backward, then reversed forward with a squelch. Veins slithered like worms across his skin, pulsing with each heartbeat like maggots in meat.
I smiled. “You’re really proud of that Quirk, huh?”
He didn’t answer. Just swiped again.
I dodged left. A spire shot up. I jumped it, landed on it, and launched myself off—right into his chest. My shoulder slammed into him. He stumbled.
“Too bad you’re still just a bitch in a bathrobe playing god in a basement.”
He snarled, voice finally cracking. “You do not understand what I am building.”
“I understand you’re compensating for a dick so small even microscopes ask for better lighting.”
He roared. Actually roared.
His body surged. Limbs expanded. Arms became tendrils. One slammed into the ground beside me, missing by a hair.
Mirio blinked in, tossed a punch into his kidney. Chisaki snarled, twisted, swung—and Mirio phased out like a ghost flipping him off.
“Nejire—NOW!”
Blue light exploded from the side. A spiral wave of crackling energy slammed into Chisaki’s face, sending him skidding.
I dashed after him, swinging mid-air—bat met jaw with a snap.
Izuku cried out, “Be careful!”
Nejire turned—just in time to see the entire goddamn room lunge at her.
The walls convulsed like muscle, flexing inward. Veins bulged across the surface. From the ceiling, jagged tendrils of stone and meat lashed down like whipcords. The floor buckled beneath her, a mouth-shaped pit snapping open with spiked teeth of reinforced rebar.
It was Mimic. The whole room was Mimic now.
And Chrono, bastard that he was, stood atop a floating shard of broken metal like some discount clock god, his hair twitching outward like needle-thin blades aimed directly for Nejire’s throat.
Nejire didn’t scream.
She grinned.
“About time you focused on me.”
She shot skyward, a pulse of spiraling energy blasting from her feet, throwing her into the air with the grace of a missile and the wrath of a pissed-off demigod. Chrono’s hair speared through the space she’d just occupied, puncturing the floor in a six-pronged pattern. The ground cracked beneath the force.
Nejire whipped mid-air and fired.
Her hands glowed with power, spirals of heat and force launching toward Chrono. He danced sideways, skipping across floating debris like a show-off with a vendetta. His hair lashed out again—this time catching her across the thigh. A gash opened, blood blooming.
She did not flinch.
Instead, she somersaulted, redirected her momentum with a wave blast to her side, and slammed both feet into his platform.
Chrono went flying.
“Eat concrete!”
His shard crashed into the wall, burying him in splinters and broken stone. Though, she slowed down as well.
Meanwhile—Izuku dropped.
Full speed. 20%. Boots lit up with the green blaze of One For All as he slammed both fists into the ground.
“SMASH!”
The quake rolled across the battlefield like a seismic wave, disrupting Mimic’s control over the terrain. The living walls spasmed, losing cohesion, opening up gaps as the floor retracted in a sharp inhale of confusion.
And that was Mirio’s cue.
He phased through the wall, ghost-slid across the terrain, and reappeared with his fist cocked back like a cannonball.
“Chrono!”
The bastard had just started pulling himself up when Mirio planted a punch directly in his sternum, launching him backward so hard his body created a perfect outline in the wall like a bad cartoon.
Chrono coughed blood and crumpled to the floor, twitching.
“One down,” Mirio said, wiping his knuckles.
After making sure Nejire was okay, I charged once again. Mirio and Izuku got Mimic.
He was waiting. Arm regenerated, body still twitching from the damage we had done, but standing firm. That cold, dissecting stare hadn’t faded. His fingers flexed.
I leapt in, body twisted, bat raised high—
And then his hand brushed the ground.
A section of floor disassembled under me like snapping Jenga pieces. I landed hard on my shoulder, rolled through it, and kept coming.
Chisaki moved.
Not fast—surgical. Efficient. He was trying to trap me, control my movement, break rhythm. But I was not moving like a student. I was moving like a fucking riot.
Left jab, duck under his swing. He countered with a mass of veined stone erupting toward my gut—I flipped back, caught a pipe mid-motion, and spun it like a baton.
A flash of steel surged from below—his Quirk disassembling the floor again. I leapt—
His fingers grazed the bat for half a second—enough. The metal hissed and folded in on itself like melting tinfoil.
I dropped it.
“You bastard,” I growled.
“Stop clinging to garbage,” he said.
I rushed him barehanded.
[Endless Momentum: 70%]
The System pinged that stat like it meant something. Well, it did.
Chisaki surged again, the grotesque fusion of Quirk and architecture roaring with every twitch of his fingertips. More of the floor peeled back into meat-colored, vein-laced fangs. Spikes shot toward me—three in sequence, perfectly aimed.
I dropped, tucked into a slide, and flipped off the first shard, vaulting over the others. A chunk of concrete sliced my jacket open—right shoulder. Just cloth. For now.
He came from the right.
That swollen, malformed limb of his swung like a demolition arm.
I pivoted off my momentum, using it to redirect his own blow. My body twisted in mid-air, and I snapped a sharp front kick into his gut, bouncing off the muscle-dense armor like a pissed-off pinball.
It bought me space.
Just enough.
Nejire looped overhead like a jetstream of wrath and glitter, firing spiral energy right down on his blindside. It hit like a damn comet, slamming Chisaki back into a jagged piece of wall. Concrete pulsed around him, absorbing impact.
“Thanks for the setup!” she called.
“Always happy to be the trampoline,” I called back.
He was recovering—too fast.
I broke left, sprinted off a tipped gurney, then bounded up a wall. The hallway turned sideways in my vision as I ran along the wall, my feet ignoring gravity, momentum flooding my limbs like lightning in my veins.
[Endless Momentum: 75%]
I leapt—twisting corkscrew—my heel slamming down on Chisaki’s shoulder as he tried to counterstrike Izuku.
CRACK.
His collarbone shifted unnaturally.
Izuku blitzed in. “SMASH—20%!”
Foot to chin.
The shockwave lit the room. Chisaki reeled back.
Mirio ghosted through his chest and punched his spine from behind.
Nejire spiraled low, her energy trailing behind her like a comet tail, dragging through Chisaki’s right side with a screech of burning flesh.
He roared, finally—his mask cracked. One eye swollen.
[Spiteful Resilience Active – Pain Threshold Decreased.]
[Gambler’s Grit: Moderate HP. Crit Chance Increased.]
He was bigger now. Uglier. Stronger.
So was I.
I tore a support beam off the wall and spun it in my hands like an overgrown tonfa. Reinforced metal. Jagged edges. Heavy enough to hurt.
My arms ached. My lungs were burning. But my hatred had oxygen left, and that was all I needed.
[Improvised Weapon Combat – Bonus Damage Applied.]
[Warpath Momentum – Stack Level: 3.]
I launched myself forward.
He disassembled the floor mid-step.
I vaulted off a tumbling bedframe, spun, and drove the beam down like I was trying to shatter the earth.
It landed.
Right in his spine.
He snarled and twisted—but I was already gone.
Izuku came next. From above. “100%!”
Daily Meme
Comments
TheFanficGOD
She bonks perverts in after life now
SacredLoneWolf
rip bat-chan she was my favorite 😭
hector lyng
Holy crap you did great, thank you so much for the episode
Romero
Thank you!
