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MHA98- Unleashed Rage
🕑 Added 2025-05-05 21:24:13 +0000 UTCI tilted my head. “Then don’t go.”
Nighteye’s eyes flicked toward me, sharp, but he didn’t take the bait.
Tsuragamae tapped his fingers against the table. “Verification will take time. We don’t have that.”
“Then we go with what we have,” Ryukyu said. “If we wait, they’ll move again.”
“Agreed,” Eraserhead said. “We lock in the location and plan accordingly.”
Nighteye looked at the map again. “Entry points?”
One of the officers stepped forward, marking the screen. “There are three primary entrances. The main gate, an underground passage, and a maintenance route. Surveillance suggests heavy security at all points.”
Mirio crossed his arms. “And emergency exits?”
“Fewer,” the officer said. “Once we’re in, it’s eat or get eaten. And these guys don’t play with their food.”
“Sounds simple,” Mirko said, grinning.
Nighteye ignored her. “We need to divide into teams. Direct engagement, support, and extraction.”
Ryukyu nodded. “Chisaki is priority.”
Aizawa sighed. “And we know he won’t run.”
Fat Gum smirked. “Good. I like it when they stay put.”
Mirko cracked her knuckles. “Then let’s make it count.”
Nighteye glanced at Tsuragamae. “Final say?”
The chief exhaled. “We move tomorrow.”
No objections. Just movement. The meeting was over.
–
Dawn hit like a punch to the face.
No speeches, no last-minute strategy changes. Everyone was already moving.
The streets near the compound were blocked off. Cops in unmarked cars, heroes in position. Surveillance covered the perimeter, but it wouldn’t matter once the first hit landed. The second we moved, the whole building would know.
I stood near Mirko and Ryukyu, watching as the teams got into place. Some heroes looked antsy, fingers twitching, weight shifting. Others looked like they were waiting for their morning coffee.
Mirko rolled her shoulders. "This better be fun."
"Try not to break too much," Ryukyu muttered.
"No promises."
The stench hit first.
Not rot. Not blood. Something worse.
Sterile.
The hallway stretched in front of us like a bad fever dream—white walls, surgical trays, bloodstained floors that someone gave up trying to mop. Stainless steel gleamed under flickering overhead lights, and every echo sounded like it came from a hospital that never discharged its patients.
Nighteye’s voice came sharp and clear through the comm. “Move in.”
And like that, the operation began.
Fat Gum barreled forward first, slamming through the main hall like a flesh wrecking ball. Behind him, Mirio phased through a wall, scouting ahead. The others peeled off—Aizawa, Kirishima, Ryukyu—each branch diving deeper into the compound. Orders barked. Steel creaked. Darts zipped through the air. I heard one crack off a wall behind me.
My fingers curled tighter around the grip of my bat, comfortingly sticky from the last guy’s teeth. No blood today. Just teeth. Real dental plan hours.
The deeper we moved, the colder it got. Not temperature-wise—air-wise. The kind of cold that crawled under your skin and sat in your bones. That special brand of clinical hell you only find in places where bad men do things to kids and call it progress.
A surgical table flashed in the corner of my eye. Leather straps. Scalpel trays. Rust.
That promise?
The promise didn’t just burn—it nested. Grew fangs. Became the goddamn furnace I run on.
"I’m a hero. I fight bad guys. And when I see a cute girl like you? I make their nightmares vanish."
My bat twitched in my grip like it wanted blood.
I was happy to oblige.
Footsteps skidded ahead.
Nejire floated up behind me, boots barely touching the ground. “Something’s wrong.”
I smirked. “What, aside from the child-torture maze and war-crime air freshener?”
She didn’t smile.
We turned the corner—and that’s when the air warped.
My knees wobbled. The floor tilted sideways. The walls stretched, then bent in. My head spun like I’d just huffed two gallons of ethanol through a gas mask.
“What the f—”
Deidoro Sakaki stood dead center in the hallway, grinning like the last shot of whiskey at a frat party. His Quirk hit like a truckload of bad decisions—Sloshed. That was the name. Real subtle.
Behind him, Setsuno leaned against the wall, arms crossed like a bored cashier. And Tabe?
Tabe was drooling. Actively. Viscous, wet strands hanging from his open mouth as he stared at Nejire like she was an all-you-can-eat buffet with legs.
Great.
The dizzy bastard, the discount disassembler, and a literal flesh-eater.
Fucking fantastic.
Nejire dropped lower. Her body jerked mid-air, almost slamming into the ceiling. She righted herself just in time to blast a beam downward, anchoring herself against the hall.
I stumbled to one knee, blinking through the haze. My balance was shot, vision swirling.
Sakaki laughed. “Oooh, someone can’t hold their liquor.”
[WARNING: Debilitation Detected.]
[Skill Activation: Instinctive Awareness – Locomotor correction in effect.]
[Spiteful Resilience – Active: Rage dampening external impairment.]
Good.
'Cause I was about to do something very, very illegal.
“You smell like a midlife crisis that got rejected by a dumpster fire. Every time you walk into a room, it’s like a gas station bathroom threw up on itself and decided to cosplay as human failure. I bet your shadow tries to avoid being associated with you. If I lit a match near your face, the air would file for restraining orders. You look like you tried to drown your insecurities in vodka, but even the bottle said, 'Nah, bro. You’re on your own.'"
He scowled. “Huh?”
Tabe lunged.
He came at me like a feral raccoon dipped in grease, Mouth wide, teeth lacquered in rot, like his last snack screamed going down the wrong hole.
I barely sidestepped. My stomach flipped from the movement, but instinct took over.
Bat up. Swing wide.
Crack.
Tabe’s jaw twisted sideways with a wet pop. He stumbled back, teeth flying like popcorn. Blood sprayed the wall. He screeched like someone unplugged his lunch.
Setsuno moved.
His fingers twitched, and the tip of my bat started to unthread, disassembling.
Big mistake.
I stepped in.
One, two—elbow to his chin, spinning him into the wall.
My bat, half-unraveled, dropped into my hand like a fucking prophecy. I flipped the grip and drove the jagged, half-melted edge right into his mouth.
“Open wide.”
Crunch.
Setsuno’s front teeth shattered like cheap glass. His mouth filled with red. He made a noise that sounded like ‘fuck’ said through a blender and regret.
Didn’t care.
I shoved him back. He collapsed against a doorframe, clutching his face like I had just introduced him to God through dental trauma.
Sakaki staggered, still laughing. “Man, you guys are rowdy.”
Nejire floated behind him, swaying from the lingering Quirk effect. “Ryuu…”
“Yeah.”
I stepped forward.
Sakaki grinned. “You think you’re hot shit, huh?”
I didn’t answer.
I just swung.
He dodged the first.
Barely.
Second—glanced his shoulder.
Third?
Didn’t miss.
Bat met skull with a hollow thunk that echoed down the hallway like a dropped watermelon. He crumpled to one knee, groaning.
“You ever been blackout drunk from a concussion?” I asked, stepping closer.
He looked up, bleary-eyed.
I drove my bat into his body.
And again.
And again.
He didn’t get up.
I pressed my foot into his back, grabbed the back of his hair, and slammed his head into the wall hard enough to crack plaster.
“I’ve had worse hangovers,” I muttered. “You? You’re gonna wake up with a new face.”
Behind me, Tabe twitched. Setsuno tried crawling away.
Nejire floated above, finally regaining control. “Ryuu, we need to move.”
I grabbed my bat, slick with blood, and turned to her. “Lead the way.”
Sakaki coughed behind me, half-conscious.
Kirishima and Suneater arrived just in time—Suneater’s tentacle-arm lashing out to catch Tabe mid-lunge before the bastard could get up for round two. Kirishima bulldozed Setsuno into the wall like a freight train made of optimism and protein powder.
I didn’t stay to admire the cleanup. Nejire and I pushed on. Behind us, I could hear Fat Gum barking orders, holding the flank. Mirko charged ahead somewhere like a fucking looney tune with murder in her thighs. Izuku and Mirio were a few steps behind, close enough to back us up. Somewhere down the branching hall, Ryukyu had already engaged Rikiya Katsukame—big bastard moved like a runaway bulldozer powered by stolen stamina.
We kept forward. The halls twisted again, narrowing, pressing closer like the compound itself wanted to squeeze the life out of us. Pipes hissed overhead. Rust bled from cracked valves.
We turned another corner—and I knew it was a trap the second the door slammed shut behind us.
Metal clanked.
The walls pulsed. The floor groaned. Then—
SHUNK!
Metal spikes tore from the floor and walls like jagged fangs, forming a corridor of death. My reflexes barely caught up before the floor shifted beneath me. Nejire went airborne with a yelp, zigzagging upward just before a spike could tear through her boot.
From the far end of the hall, a man with dull grey hair and expressionless eyes stepped into view, raising a hand. Metal shimmered behind him like it was responding to a conductor.
Hojo.
Metalbender. Trap-maker.
Next to him stepped a lanky bastard in a suit that didn’t fit right and eyes that knew too much.
Shin Nemoto.
Confession Quirk. One question, and your soul spills out like old milk.
His mouth barely moved.
“What are you afraid of?”
I didn’t mean to answer.
Didn’t think. Didn’t process.
I just spoke—like something inside me had been yanked out with pliers.
“Failing her and myself.”
My voice cracked. Like something vital just tore.
“Watching her scream and doing nothing.”
Nejire froze in mid-air. Her eyes flicked toward me—wide.
Hojo’s fingers clenched. Spikes lunged.
I did not dodge.
I charged.
My body moved like it didn’t give a fuck if I got impaled or not.
Every step hit harder. Every twitch meant violence. I ducked under one spike, slid over another, then ripped a loose steel rod from the wall and hurled it.
Hojo tried to form a shield.
Too slow.
The rod punched through his guard and cracked him across the cheek. He staggered—but he wasn’t down. Metal from the floor surged up, forming a barrier.
I kicked off a side wall, launched forward, and used his own metal platform to springboard over the next spike. My boot connected with his chest. He flew back, crashing into his own trap like the world's dumbest Iron Man.
I didn’t stop.
I grabbed a splintered pipe from the ground, swung it like a javelin, and hurled it straight at his head.
He raised a wall—just in time.
I was already there.
Jumped the last spike. Dropped low. Bat in both hands.
SWUNG.
Hit low.
KNEECAP.
Crack.
Hojo screamed—finally—and I pivoted behind him, hooked my bat around his throat, and pulled.
“Wanna see what it's like to be part of your own terrain?”
He gasped.
I slammed his head into the metal spike behind him.
Once.
Twice.
He stopped screaming. Spitting on his face, I stopped. "Fuck face."
Nemoto hadn’t run. Was just standing there. Calm. Hands in his pockets.
“Did that scare you?” he asked.
I walked toward him.
He didn’t flinch.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
I wasn’t.
Until I was.
I wasn’t trembling.
I was vibrating—like rage was trying to crawl out of my skin.
I smiled.
To the untrained eye, it looked innocent—maybe even calm. But from the corner of my eye, I saw Izuku shiver.
He grabbed Mirio’s sleeve and hissed something sharp. “Let’s go.”
Nejire hesitated, floating just a few inches higher, her eyes flicking between me and Nemoto. “Ryuu—”
Izuku pulled her arm. “He’s good.”
He wasn’t reassuring her. He was warning her.
I didn’t look at them. I didn’t acknowledge the retreat. I didn’t give a single shit.
I only had eyes for the man standing ten feet away, face calm, breath even, like he wasn’t about to get broken in ways he couldn’t regenerate from.
I tilted my head. “Ask me what I’m going to do to you.”
I took a step.
"What are you going to do to me?" he asked playfully, like this was small talk. Like we were in a fucking coffee shop and he was asking if I wanted oat milk or regular.
I laughed.
A deep, genuine, bone-scraping laugh. The kind that lives in people who have snapped, who no longer give a single atom of a fuck.
“Oh,” I said, still smiling, “I’m going to make your ribs a wind chime.”
His smirk twitched.
“I’m going to peel your nails off with the blunt side of my bat and make you guess which finger goes next. And when you guess wrong?” I tilted my head. “You’re going to lose a piece of yourself. Slowly. Precisely. Creatively.”
Nemoto took a half-step back, but his mouth still worked. “You’re bluffing.”
I kept walking.
“I’m going to carve my name into your tongue, just deep enough that it doesn’t bleed out. Just enough that every time you talk, every time you breathe, you taste me.”
He paled. Not a flinch. Not a full-body jerk. Just a small drain of color, like the truth was starting to catch up to his arrogance.
“I’ll take your jaw apart,” I whispered. “Piece by piece. I’ll staple your cheeks back so your smile doesn’t fade, even while you scream. And when I’m done with your face?”
I was in front of him now. He hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. Didn’t know if it was fear or the same broken curiosity that drives people to stare at train wrecks.
“I’m going to break your legs. Not at the knees. Not once. No.” I leaned close, voice soft, conspiratorial, like I was sharing a bedtime secret. "It will be one by one. So slow, you will hope you were born boneless."
The man was shivering from sheer fear.
His Quirk made it certain—anything I said came from the deepest parts of me. I was not lying. I was not exaggerating. I was not bluffing.
I was going to do every single thing I had promised.
So even before I touched his clothes, he was frozen. Shaking like his soul was ready to abandon his body. Sweat slicked his temples, soaking his collar. His knees locked. Pupils dilated. Liquids pooled under his feet. Not metaphorical. Literal.
Sweat, piss, maybe whatever pride he had left—all soaking into his shoes.
Our eyes locked.
He wanted to look away.
He couldn’t.
I raised my hand—slowly, savoring the panic that crawled across his skin like fire ants on bare flesh. My fingers were barely inches from his face when—
“Midoriya!” Nighteye’s voice cracked through the hall, sharp as a gunshot.
There will be a second chapter soon.
Comments
Marvin Baltes
yep, karma served as a boomerang
hector lyng
I feel like it's missing more images of the bloody fight, I loved everything.
TheFanficGOD
Thanks!
Lupus Umbras
That is. Creative. I love it
Romero
OH YEAH!!! BARTENDER! BRING ME ANOTHER!
