MHA Rewrite: Plus Ultra

Cut back. Moments earlier. All Might leaps across the skyline, Izuku held securely in one arm. Wind roars past. Inside his pocket— A muffled voice: "Ugh... I think I'm gonna hurl..." The bottle rattles violently. All Might lands hard on a rooftop edge— The impact jolts his coat. The bottle slips free. Time slows. It tumbles through open air. "Shiiiiiiit—!" The bottle smashes against the pavement below. Cracks spider across the plastic. It bounces once. "Ow!" Twice. "Ow!" The cap loosens. Rolls. Stops. Silence. Then— A thin line of sludge seeps out. It pools. It quivers. Then expands. The liquid rises, swelling grotesquely, reforming into a towering mass of sludge. A wet, gurgling laugh echoes across the street. Pedestrians freeze. Then scream. The sludge balloons larger, spreading across asphalt and storefront glass. "I'm baaaack...~" A wet, bubbling laugh rolls down the street. Then it stills. Across the sidewalk— Bakugo walks angrily with his friends in the city, shoulders tense, jaw tight. Bakugo walks ahead of the group, hands buried in his pockets, jaw locked tight. He hasn't said a word since they left. Behind him, his friends talk in hushed, unsettled voices. "...He looked really disappointed." "Yeah. Like actually disappointed. Not mad." "Do you think... we crossed a line?" A pause. One of them exhales. "Maybe we should just... lay off. I don't wanna get called a villain by All Might again." Another nods slowly. "Yeah. That felt... bad." Bakugo doesn't respond. His shoulders remain rigid. A long shadow stretches across the pavement. None of them notice. Along the curb, sludge seeps forward, thin and fast. A wet chuckle bubbles from the gutter. "And this time..." The mass rises behind them, swelling grotesquely. "I've learned my lesson." One of the boys turns. "...Guys?" The sludge surges. All three of them are knocked aside, skidding across the pavement. Bakugo is caught dead center. The sludge coils around his arms, climbs his chest, engulfs his face. "What the hell—?!" He ignites his palms on instinct. The explosions thud uselessly inside the mass. The sludge tightens. "No more taking on the strongest first." A gurgling laugh. "You grab something smaller..." It constricts around his throat. "And let the heroes panic." Bakugo thrashes violently. His friends scream. And for the first time— They don't look at him like he's invincible. They look terrified. Scene cuts to Deku. Izuku walks fast. Too fast for someone with cracked ribs. He shoulders past people on the crowded sidewalk. "Watch it—" The man turns, irritation ready— Then pauses. "...Oh." His expression shifts. Concern. Izuku doesn't register it. Tears streak down his face, mixing with dust and sweat. He wipes them away with his sleeve, annoyed they're still coming. Stupid. His jaw tightens. Stupid, stupid, stupid! The words are directed to himself. He bumps another passerby. "Hey— are you okay?" He keeps moving. The rooftop replays in fragments. You cannot become a hero. Power is the foundation. Effort does not change biology. Another voice overlays it. You'll never surpass me. You don't have a quirk. His fingers curl at his sides. So that's it. Born wrong. His breathing turns uneven. He bites down hard enough to taste blood. Unlucky. The word lingers. Heavy. You knew. You knew all along. You just couldn't accept it. You just had to be stupid. A sterile office. White lights. The doctor pointing at an X-ray. "It's the extra joint." His mother's voice trembling. "Izuku..." A small plastic figurine slips from his fingers. All Might. It hits the floor. Clatters. The painted smile stares up at him from the tiles. Cut back to the street. Izuku's jaw tightens. Unlucky. But you still had to let yourself believe, right? Flash— A younger Izuku stands in his room. Hero posters line the walls. His hand grips the edge of one. He pulls. The tape peels slowly. The poster comes down. He folds it once. Twice. Slides it into a drawer. Not thrown away. Just hidden. Flash— A laptop glow in the dark. All Might on screen. Victorious. Izuku leans closer. The door opens slightly. His mother stands there. Her mouth moves. Soft. Concerned. We don't hear the words. He closes the laptop anyway. Waits. Opens it again after she leaves. Flash— Middle school hallway. Shoved. Laughter. "Deku." Flash— Push-ups in the dark. Hands shaking. Shadowboxing. Breathing hard. Flash— Notebook pages filled edge to edge. "How to counter flight-type quirk." "Exploit overconfidence." Back to present. Another explosion cracked through the air, sharp enough to rattle glass. Izuku flinched before he realized he had already turned toward it. His ribs screamed with the motion, but his feet kept moving, weaving through the crowd as people surged in the opposite direction. He only slowed when he saw the smoke ahead, thick and green, rising from the intersection. So that's where it is. He hadn't meant to come. He hadn't decided to. His body had simply followed the sound. Out of habit. Stupid. The Sludge Villain loomed at the center of the street, its mass swelling and folding in on itself like something half-liquid, half-alive. Civilians stumbled backward in panic. Pro heroes were already forming a perimeter. Death Arms charged first, muscles bulging as he shouted, "A child was taken hostage? You coward!" He drove his fist into the creature's core with a thunderous impact. For a fraction of a second, it looked effective. Then his arm sank in. Izuku's eyes narrowed automatically. Viscosity absorption. Of course. Raw force disperses through semi-liquid mass. Basic physics. Death Arms strained. "What is this?! I can't grab hold!" The sludge flexed and kicked him back, sending him crashing into a car hard enough to dent the frame. Predictable. Punch first. Think later. Backdraft sprayed arcs of water at the spreading fires licking up from scattered explosions. "How are things over there? The truck's not here yet?" he shouted. Reactive containment. Managing consequences, not solving the source. Kamui Woods moved more efficiently, snatching three terrified boys out of the blast radius. "I'm not good with explosions! I'll leave it to someone else today!" he called, retreating with them. At least someone understands priority... Mt. Lady rushed forward, then stopped short, glancing at the narrow street boxed in by vehicles. "Ah— wait! I need at least two lanes!" She hesitated, calculating space and collateral damage. Structural constraint. Public visibility. Debut optics. Pros. This is what the world worships. Strong. Decorated. Marketable. And stalling. A faint smirk tugged at Izuku's mouth before he could stop it. Inside the sludge, something struggled. An explosion flared from within, muffled and distorted. The creature tightened in response, compressing inward. Izuku tilted his head slightly, analysis overriding pain. Internal compression. Airway restriction. The hostage is losing oxygen. Impact attacks only agitate cohesion. Fire disperses mass. They're boxed in by the environment and afraid of injuring the target. Another explosion from inside. Weaker. They're running out of time. The crowd murmured behind him. "Where's All Might?" "He'll fix it." "He always fixes it." Of course. That's who they're waiting for. His jaw tightened. And these are the people who told me I can't. Backdraft kept the flames at bay, water hissing violently against the heat. "Thanks for the assist! I've got the fire contained for now—but the truck's still not here!" He glanced over his shoulder. "How are things over there?!" Death Arms wiped sludge from his forearm, jaw clenched. "He's too sticky to get a proper grip on! Every time I try to restrain him, my arm sinks in!" He grimaced as another muffled explosion rippled through the villain's body. "And the kid inside has a strong Quirk. Every blast he throws turns this into a damn minefield!" The Sludge Villain laughed, swelling outward. "Heh..." Another flare detonated inside him. He tightened reflexively, compressing. From within the sludge, a strangled sound. "Gah— Urgh—!" Death Arms stiffened. "He's being swallowed!" The creature lashed out suddenly. "Crap!" Hitchcock dove sideways as a sludge tendril smashed into the pavement where he'd been standing. Death Arms rolled and regained his footing. "It's no use! We don't have the right matchup here!" "All we can do is stall!" Hitchcock shouted. "We need someone with a more suitable Quirk!" "Then hold the perimeter!" Backdraft called. "Limit collateral until reinforcements arrive!" Kamui Woods, positioned atop a nearby vehicle, added, "Don't worry! Backup will be here soon!" "Yeah!" another hero muttered grimly. "I feel bad for that kid, but he'll have to endure a little longer!" Death Arms slammed a fist into the pavement in frustration. "Damn it... If I had enough raw power to just blow him apart—" A civilian's voice trembled from the crowd. "Doesn't this look... bad?" The heroes didn't answer. Because it did. Kamui Woods lands nearby, setting the three boys down behind the barricade. They're coughing, faces pale, uniforms scorched at the edges. Izuku's eyes flick toward them automatically. Kenji. And the other two. Bakugo's orbit. They're shaken. Not angry. Not posturing. Just scared. Kamui leaps back into the fray without another word. Izuku's gaze shifts slowly to the sludge. A child with a strong Quirk is inside. Minefield. Explosions from within. His stomach drops. Explosive output. Strong Quirk. His jaw tightens. Of course. Of course it's him. The crowd shifts again as someone forces their way through. A gaunt man in loose clothing, shoulders hunched, breath uneven. All Might. Not the Symbol. The man. He pushes past a pair of civilians, hand braced briefly against a lamppost as another explosion shakes the street. Damn it. His eyes lock onto the writhing green mass at the center of the intersection. That shithead...! He's gotten bigger. The sludge swells again, compressing inward. Another muffled blast flares from within. All Might's eyes sharpen. A woman beside him clutches her phone. "Why aren't those heroes doing anything?" "They can't," a man replies grimly. "The villain caught a junior high schooler. They'll hurt the kid if they go all out. It's been like that for a while." For a while. All Might's fingers twitch. The first woman frowns. "Anyway... wasn't that villain the one All Might was chasing earlier?" His spine stiffens. The man squints toward the scene. "All Might? No way. He's here?" "I think I saw him earlier—" "Seriously?! Then what's All Might doing?!" What's All Might doing? Standing here. Panting. Out of time. Pathetic... Cuts back to Deku. The sludge pulses again. Another muffled blast from within— weaker now. Not defiant. Desperate. Izuku's eyes narrow. Explosive output decreasing. Oxygen deprivation accelerating. He can almost map it in his head— pressure points, density shifts, the way the villain tightens every time a blast erupts from inside. The pros circle, shouting adjustments, but none of them commit. "He'll have to endure a little longer!" Endure. The word lands harder this time. His ribs throb. His knuckles ache from earlier. His vision blurs slightly at the edges. You cannot become a hero. You need power. You will die. Another compression from the sludge. Inside it, something jerks violently—then falters. They're waiting. For someone stronger. I should just leave. Let the pros handle it. Let Bakugo handle it. Let the teachers handle it. Let All Might handle it. Really... what can I do? My ribs throb with every breath. My side burns where Bakugo hit me. It's a shame I wasn't born lucky. If I had a quirk, this wouldn't even be a question. Besides... Bakugo deserves this. Yeah... I should go home. Have dinner. Study. That's what someone like me does. That's what someone without power does. The chanting grows louder behind him. "All Might! All Might! All Might!" Of course. They're waiting for him. He glances back despite himself. At the edge of the barricade stands a thin man in loose clothes, shoulders hunched, breathing hard. No shine. No smile. No overwhelming presence. Just a man. All Might. He isn't moving. He's just watching. Helpless. You cannot become a hero. The words ring in Izuku's skull. The sludge tightens again. The struggling inside weakens. The crowd keeps chanting. He doesn't transform. He doesn't act. So even he can't fix this. Izuku's hand curls into a fist. Then— An explosion erupts from inside the sludge. Not clean. Not controlled. Violent. Wild. "GET OFF ME, YOU DAMN BASTARD!" Bakugo's voice rips through the street, hoarse with rage. The sludge bulges outward as a blast detonates within it, forcing a brief outline of his shape against the surface. A hand punches through for half a second—fingers clawing at air—before the mass folds over it again. The explosion fizzles. The sludge tightens harder in retaliation. "URGH—!" The sound cuts short. Not defiant now. Strained. The pros shout adjustments. Someone yells for distance. Another warns about collateral. The crowd's chanting stutters. "All— Might—!" Another weaker blast from inside. Smaller. Desperate. Izuku can hear the air leaving his lungs. He's still fighting. Even now. Even when he's losing. His fist tightens harder. A smirk pulls at his mouth. What a loser. Still thrashing when it's obviously over. Well. That's karma for you. Maybe this is what happens when you spend your life looking down on everyone else. He shifts his weight. Right. He'll just keep it up and eventually blast his way out. That's what talented people do. They don't need help. Izuku turns slightly. "I'll just head home." Have dinner. Study. Do something productive. Live the life someone like him is supposed to live. He takes a step. Then another. But it isn't toward home. It's toward the barricade. Toward the sludge. He doesn't register the direction change. One of Bakugo's friends stands frozen near the curb, clutching his bag with trembling hands. Izuku reaches out and snatches it. "Wah— Midoriya?!" The strap digs into his palm. "The heroes will sort this out," he mutters under his breath. "It's not my problem." Another explosion erupts inside the sludge. Weaker. A pro hero notices him slipping past the line. "Hey! You! Stop!" Izuku doesn't stop. He's already running. All Might's head snaps toward the movement. Green hair. Bruised face. Cracked ribs. Is that—?! His eyes widen. The same boy from the rooftop. The one he told no. Izuku is already halfway across the street, sprinting straight toward the writhing sludge. All Might lunges forward on instinct. His hand shoots out— Fingers close on nothing but air. "Kid, don't!" Izuku grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches. His vision tunnels. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to turn back. Stop. Stop. STOP. His legs don't listen. His face is a mess of panic and adrenaline and something fiercer underneath. No... I can't stop... He's almost there now. The heat from the sludge hits his skin. I can't stop being a hero— even if I wanted to! And then he screams. Just a raw, animal sound tearing out of his throat. The Sludge Villain jerks, surprised that a kid is running at him. "What the hell?" Inside the green mass, Bakugo's eyes widen in disbelief. "Deku?!" Izuku spins, using the momentum of his sprint. The bag leaves his hand in a violent arc. It slams into the sludge and bursts open, books and loose papers splattering across the creature's surface. The sudden impact makes the sludge recoil, cohesion rippling. The bag bursts against the sludge. Papers stick uselessly to the surface. "Stationary items?!" the Sludge Villain shrieks. "My one weakness!" Izuku plunges forward and drives himself into the sludge. It engulfs him — hot, suffocating, clinging to his arms like wet cement. The stench burns his nose. His ribs scream as he forces his shoulders deeper. Inside the mass, Bakugo thrashes, explosions bursting in muffled flashes. "You idiot! Now both of us are dead—!" Bakugo jerks his head toward him— And sees him. Deku's face is inches away. Tears cut through grime. His eyes are wide, shaking. His teeth grind together hard enough to tremble. He looks terrified. And he's still clawing. Izuku's hands dig into the sludge, fingers slipping, tearing at the thick mass where it bunches high around Bakugo's collar. He wedges his forearm between the sludge and Bakugo's throat, dragging downward with everything his shaking body has left. The creature ripples in irritation, tightening elsewhere as it tries to swallow him too. "Stop squirming, would ya!" the Sludge Villain snarls, compressing inward. Izuku coughs as the sludge creeps up his shoulders. He can feel it pressing, suffocating, trying to seal him in. He doesn't let go. He rips again. Harder. His cracked ribs flare white-hot. Bakugo's scowl falters for a fraction of a second as he watches the trembling, desperate expression in front of him. Izuku doesn't look brave. He looks like he's about to die. And he's still reaching for him. The sludge tightens again. Izuku's arms disappear to the elbows. All Might stands in the crowd. Watching. His shoulders rise and fall with shallow breaths. The boy is still moving. Still clawing. Still trying. All Might's mouth curves faintly. Not proud. Not amused. Wry. I really am pathetic... To be outshined by a quirkless kid... The sludge compresses again. Bakugo's struggling falters. All Might exhales slowly. He steps back, slipping into the shadow of a nearby building. Out of sight. Steam begins to rise. His iconic smile forming. Muscle fibers swell. Bones crack and stretch. The sound of air rushing into a punctured vessel echoes through the alley as his body expands violently outward. What excuse can I possibly give myself?! A civilian gasps from the edge of the street. "All Might—!" The name ripples through the crowd like electricity. He doesn't waste a second. He moves. A blur. The ground fractures beneath his first step. In less than a blink he is there— his hand seizing Bakugo's arm through the sludge, ripping him free in one decisive motion. Izuku looks surprised. The Sludge Villain recoils, cohesion destabilizing. "...Oh shit." All Might plants his feet. His fist draws back. Wind coils around his arm. "DETROIT... SMASH!" The punch detonates the air itself. A shockwave erupts outward, tearing the sludge apart in a violent vortex. The creature explodes across the street in fragments, blasted clear of the boys and scattered against buildings and pavement. The wind roars. Debris lifts. Silence follows. And where there was suffocation— There is sky. Mt Lady protects the civilians and heroes from the shockwave, everybody straining from the impact. Backdraft throws up a wall of water to deflect debris. Kamui Woods anchors himself with thick wooden roots, shielding the boys he rescued. Death Arms plants his feet, arms crossed defensively as the gale force tears past them. Glass shatters. Paper spirals upward. The sludge is obliterated, scattered into harmless fragments across the street. All Might's attack finally dissipates. All Might breathes heavily. Rain begins to fall. Civilians: Oh... Rain? Don't tell me it's from the wind pressure just now? An updraft developed and... Death Arms Ah... He made clouds? The drizzle thickens into a steady rainfall. All Might lowers his arm and turns toward the crowd, flashing that bright, practiced smile. The street erupts. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" "Yeah!!" "With just one punch he changed the weather!" "That's amazing!" "That's All Might for ya!" All Might wobbles— just slightly— but he raises his fist high into the air. The crowd roars louder. Rain runs down Izuku's face. He looks at All Might. He remembers the rooftop. The quiet "No." The way the word landed heavier than the punch Bakugo gave him. You cannot become a hero. And yet— He was the one inside that sludge first. All Might could move. He just... didn't. Until it was dramatic. Until it was spectacular. Until it was safe. Izuku's fingers curl into his palm. The rain hides the heat in his eyes. He doesn't cheer. He doesn't smile. He just stares up at the Symbol of Peace— And scowls. Bakugo stands stiffly where All Might set him down, breathing hard, soaked and furious. His eyes drift— almost involuntarily— to Deku. Bakugo says nothing. But he files it away. ... Police officers move in, carefully scraping the scattered, twitching remnants of Sludger into reinforced containers. The villain's muffled protests fade as the lids clamp shut. The pros begin regaining their composure. Death Arms rolls his shoulder and strides over, irritation masking lingering adrenaline. Kamui Woods lands lightly beside him, rain dripping from wooden armor. Kamui exhales sharply. "Geez! There's a limit to how rash you can be!" Death Arms crosses his arms. "There was absolutely no reason for you to put yourself in danger like that." Izuku's head turns slowly toward them. His expression is tight. Exhausted. Angry. "What..." His voice is hoarse. "...and do nothing like you heroes—" The sentence doesn't finish. His vision blurs. The rain tilts sideways. His knees give out. Kamui's eyes widen. "O-oi!" He lunges forward and catches Izuku before he hits the pavement, wooden limbs bracing the boy's weight. Death Arms drops into a crouch immediately, concern replacing reprimand. "Is he okay? How did he receive all these injuries?" Izuku's sleeves are torn. His arms are red and raw where the sludge burned. His breathing is uneven, ribs rising shallowly beneath his soaked shirt. Kamui's voice tightens. "He needs immediate attention." A few meters away, All Might is being interviewed but he watched Izuku fall. His gaze shifts deliberately. To Bakugo. The look is not loud. Not theatrical. It's pointed. Bakugo feels it. His jaw tightens. He scoffs and looks away, rain sliding down his face. As if that's the only reason his eyes burn.