Chapter Text
The endless sky greets him first. Gray clouds cover the expanse, the threat of rain growing with each rumble of thunder. It takes him a moment to remember, but a moment is all he needs. He is thankful for the minor mental quirk a member of the community so graciously provided him, albeit under the threat of death. It is a useful tool in organizing his thoughts; the centuries of people, plans, and powers all rising to the forefront of his mind.
He is known as many names. To his followers, he is a teacher, the rightful professor of true quirkhood. To his enemies he is all for what they stand against; the one who dares to fight against the fake morality of society the heroes pretend to uphold.
At the present moment, the only sensation All for One could feel was shock. Such a dizzying and uncomfortable feeling. He immediately determines this is not something he enjoys, at least not this version. Still, it is surprising he feels anything after he failed in finishing off the blond fool who harbored his brother’s quirk; that it had been him instead who was defeated. Embarrassing. What has the world come to?
Strangely, there is no taste of blood on his tongue or any sort of aches and pains from the carnage that would have killed a normal man a thousand times over. No, there is nothing. Nothing at all.
He analyzes the fight. He remembers the glint in the other man’s eyes, the fist pulled back just before he delivers the blow. But after that…it’s darkness. Curious.
It doesn’t take him very long to piece the answer together.
Floating above the battle gives quite a lot of insight into his current body or rather, the lack thereof. Still, his foot jerks at the sight of All Might, immediately cutting downward at the man’s neck. It slides through and phases out the other side. His opponent doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even see him. It tells All for One everything he needs to know.
Of course, his delipidated corpse below the hero helps too. It is the primary evidence of his demise. He turns away, not used to seeing his visage so besmeared. His fingers travel upward, feeling out the features to make sure it did not follow him in death. There is none. It is very little relief, but he clings to that, using it to ground his mind.
So this was death then. How quaint. So there was something of an afterlife in this retched world.
Anger is the next emotion that fills his being. It is a cold, insidious rage that builds in his stomach, spreading through his limbs like a virus. Everything he had built up, all his plans, his projects, his connections—they were gone. The threads he has so carefully crafted have been cut and damned if he wasn’t furious with it all.
He had been so close to creating a Quirk paradise, so close to gathering enough of an army to take on the so-called Heroes that he failed to account for the centuries-old thorn in his side. Typical. His baby brother always did like to create trouble for him.
He leaves the scene. What’s done is done. There is nothing left for him here.
He spends the next several hours analyzing the fight. His newest obsession. All Might’s tactics were brutal, but so was he. So how did he lose? All Might clearly lost many of his organs. Any regular hero would have died on the spot. But, alas, his brother’s quirk must have given the bastard the strength for one more blow, a punch that cost All for One dearly.
So dearly.
He tries to find some connection, but none of his disciples show even a modicum of realization at his presence. The good doctor has vanished, not surprising since his benefactor just had his face punched in. It leaves him out of sorts. What does he do now?
It aches. He has so few connections now. What does he do but follow that one?
He licks his lips, heading in the direction he long since abandoned. Humans pay him no mind as he flies through, blind to the man who would have brought them into a new era if things had gone his way. This hatred burns. He uses it as fuel to guide him down the narrow alleys and tunnels, finally arriving at the home he could never return to.
Night has already overtaken the sky, painting the place in a mixture of faded colors. The residence sat in a small apartment complex, nestled between a small park and a collection of restaurants. It is small. Peaceful. Unassuming, his mind provides, the perfect place to keep a low profile. Though he could have flown up, he chooses to walk instead, reveling in the familiar stairway he had spent but a scant few years climbing until he could no longer do so lest he endangers the two important occupants.
The names slip away from him with each step until only Hisashi Midoriya remains.
He scratches the back of his neck, a habit he crafted for the persona to appear relatable. His gait takes on that of a tired businessman, home after a long trip overseas. The transformation is seamless, like slipping out of one shirt into another.
Confusion rattles him. He stops on the second to last step. What is he even doing here? Why is he drawn to this place time and time again? It isn’t as if he hasn’t had families before. Marriages of convenience had become a common occurrence for him over the years. Adopted children, widows, it was all too easy to create the image of a perfect stable family. Appearances are a Japanese businessman’s weapon of choice after all.
He spots her in the window. His breath hitches. She is as beautiful as the day he first saw her. It scares him that even in death she makes his body burn with a feeling he could not describe.
It is a relief she will never know. His preparations before his fight with All Might would allow her some respite, at least for now. She would continue believing he was overseas, sending money home to her and her child until their dying breathes. It was a clean cut plan. They would die believing him to be an absentee father and husband and he could continue his work, his plans, with them none the wiser.
Except now, that is no longer the case. He wants…what does he want now?
He phases through the entrance. It does not take him long to find his clueless widow. He cannot help reaching out, fingers sliding through her form, unable to reach the woman. Another painful punch in the gut. She doesn’t react to his arm halfway through her chest. How could she? He wants to laugh. Isn’t there some old movie premise like this? He pulls away, hands curling into fists.
Slowly, she pats the excess floors off her hands then cups the dough, stretching and rolling it like the dutiful mother she is. One finished, she begins to cut them with her knife, completely forgoing the perfectly usable cookie cutters in the cabinets. He smirks at her misshapen cookies then scowls when he sees whose face they resemble.
He doesn’t let the resentment get to him. He is above that. Of course regular civilians would find a muscle brained idiot to be fascinated. It reminds him of his childhood, his younger brother’s obsession with comic book superheroes both adorable and exasperating.
He continues to glare at the food. All Might’s smile seems almost mocking, laughing at his predicament. A unbridled rage wars with his colder clinical nature. Would this be how he is remembered? Another stepping stone for a government’s dog?
The anger spills over. He cannot help but whisper into her ear, “How would you feel to know your husband was murdered by the very person you’re making sweets out of? How does it feel to be ignorant of reality? What a perfect little lie you have here. You get to live your little housewife fantasy while your spouse is rotting in a ditch.”
It is callous and cruel. A better man would feel ashamed by his words, but All for One is not a better man. He is a practical one. A realist. And a very angry realist at that. Blowing off steam is a natural human response, he reasons, besides, it’s not as if she heard him.
She never would again.
Still, there is a bitter taste in his mouth after the words left his lips. She does not deserve his ire; All Might does. The thought reins in his darker tendencies. He drifts off to the next occupant, hoping he finds something more interesting.
As expected, the boy is sitting in front of the living room computer. Though the child has yet to enter grade school he was already typing up a storm, fingers dancing across the keys like a madman.
What has spurned such an interest in computers, he wondered. The doctor’s diagnosis of quirkless must have truly impacted the boy. A tinge of pity plays over his brow. All for One had been in the first-generation during a time where the quirkless outnumbered those with quirks. It is no surprise that the boy ended up as such, but he imagines it still stings the child to know he would never have the same powers as his peers. At least not without All for One’s intervention. But that plan would never come into fruition now.
Quirkless or not, it did not mean his son would be without a future. Why, with such a handle on computers at the age of five he could very easily be a business analyst or electrical engineer, both still highly valued fields in this time period. He leans forward to see what kinds of mischief the boy was getting into.
His frown deepens.
“Of course it’s him. It’s always bloody him,” he sneers, venom riding his tongue.
All Might, All Might, All Might. Even in All for One’s death he still provokes him, infecting his family like a disease. The Symbol of Peace struck a pose on the screen, causing his child to clap enthusiastically, a wondrous look in his eyes.
“Why him?” He says, leaning over the computer chair to glare at his murderer.
“Because he’s All Might,” a voice answered back. “He’s the best of the best and I wanna be just like him!”
All for One freezes. Though he is no longer alive his heart still skips a beat, or it feels as such. His eyes travel down, resting on the small boy in the too big of seat.
“Izuku?” He tests, analyzing the boy’s features for recognition.
The child lights up. His lips pull upwards into an innocent grin as words roll off the boy’s tongue like a waterfall, “You’re back! Oh, how was your trip? Did you see any superheroes? Did you see All Might? He’s my favorite. Did you know that he—”
All for One tuned out the rest of the boy’s babble. He is too busy with the cogs slowly whirling in his mind, churning out something brand new. His back straightens as a new emotion wiggled through, displacing the anger and bitterness, if only for now.
Oh, he thinks. Oh my my my.
His smile revealed a sliver of white teeth.
I can use this.