Chapter Text
A month had passed since his final battle against Tomura Shigaraki. He, along with his friends, classmates, pro-heroes, his mentor, and so many others, had taken down the biggest threat society and the world had faced since the Dawn of Quirks.
A month had gone by since he lost his quirk, leaving him with a dwindling energy stockpile that shrank fast. If he was lucky, it’d last a year. If not, six months or less.
Everyone else was busy either rebuilding Japan (trying to drag it back from the failed-state mess the Paranormal Liberation War left it in) or recovering from what they’d been through.
He was doing the recovery part. They’d all been cleared to return to school once their injuries healed, finally able to study without All For One’s shadow hanging over them. They could pretend none of it happened.
They’d also been offered a long break to stay with family if they wanted. Most didn’t take it. Izuku was one of them—he’d gone straight back to school, chasing something close to normal.
Then, in a split second, that normal—and all his hopes—got snuffed out.
He’d opened his eyes, expecting the familiar ceiling of his Heights Alliance room. Instead, he saw smooth plates lined up neat, made of something like plastic. This wasn’t his room.
He’d jerked his head around, stunned, and found himself flat on his back, naked, on an operating table. A stranger loomed over him, an annoyed scowl twisting their face.
Instincts kicked in—sharpened by training and war. In a flash, he’d leapt off the table and planted himself against the far wall, fists up, ready to swing.
The man didn’t charge. Didn’t even shift, just turned his head and fixed Izuku with an icy stare. It gave him a second to scan the place—and yeah, he had no clue where he was.
It looked like Hatsume’s engineering lab crashed into a hospital—straight out of a bad dream. Other operating tables lined the room, surrounded by machines he couldn’t name. He’d need Hatsume, Shield, Recovery Girl, or Power Loader to figure them out. Some tables had mechanical arms dangling from the ceiling.
He’d made a quick mental note: don’t break anything. It might kill them both.
But it was just the two of them—no one else. So he locked his eyes on the guy. Tall, decked out in a sharp black suit that screamed All For One vibes. His face? Picture a cartoon demon—short, pointy horns on his forehead, red slit eyes, and a goatee.
“Well, well, well,” the guy said, clicking his tongue like he was ticked off. His voice sounded off—Izuku couldn’t place the language, but he understood it fine. “Disappointing.”
“Who are you?” Izuku asked, bracing for an attack that never came.
The guy twitched, like he’d been stung, before answering. “My name’s Azazel.” It sounded demonic—fitting, maybe?
He’d mentally added Shiozaki to the list of people he wished were here.
“Where are we?” Izuku fired off his next question. Third was probably “why am I here,” because this screamed kidnapping, and he wanted confirmation before throwing punches.
“Wear that,” Azazel said, pointing to a stack of clothes on a nearby table. He twitched again—odd—before adding, “Then follow me. I’ll show you.”
The clothes were basic: boxers, a plain gray jumpsuit, and shoes shaped like moccasins but made of some weird gray stuff—not leather. It molded to his feet instantly, comfy as hell.
Self-adjusting material… it reminded him of Melissa’s Full Gauntlet. Was this I-Island?
Once he wasn’t bare, Azazel waved him along and left the lab. Right away, it hit him—something had gone horribly wrong.
Corpses littered the hallway. Human bodies, torn up badly. One had no head, bits of it splattered on the wall behind. Some clutched strange guns; others gripped makeshift weapons. The wounds from those looked nastier.
“What happened here?” Izuku asked, voice sharp. Before the war, he’d have flipped out. Now, he stayed alert and in control.
His time on UA changed him more than he expected in his wildest dreams–but not all of those changes were good.
“An experiment went wrong,” Azazel said, not looking back. “Made people go insane and kill each other. When it stopped, we were the only ones left.”
Questions piled up. How many did Azazel take out to survive? What experiment did this? How’d Izuku end up here? Where was “here”?
He’d held off asking. Stayed on edge, waiting to see where Azazel was headed. A trap? Probably. His quirk was gone, but the leftover energy hadn’t faded much since Shigaraki. Without the extra quirks, he couldn’t match All For One or All Might at their best—but their USJ or Kamino versions? He’d have crushed them. Whatever Azazel had planned, he could handle it.
After Shigaraki, nothing felt as scary.
They’d stopped at a pair of heavy, locked doors. An airlock? Lab exit? It was big, no doubt.
“The answers you want…” Azazel said, turning to face him, “…are past these doors. Want me to open them?”
Izuku nodded. Azazel hit a button on a panel. The doors slid apart fast, up into the ceiling and down into the floor.
He’d had a split second to register the black void beyond before the hallway depressurized hard. He nearly got sucked out—into what had to be space, against all reason.
Energy surged as he grabbed the airlock’s edge, clinging tight. Something was off with his not-quirk, but survival trumped thinking. Corpses and furniture whipped past—one body almost hit him in the face. He’d dodged sideways and caught Azazel glaring, face twisted with rage and hate.
Why wasn’t he moving? His clothes flapped, but he stood firm—not pushing Izuku out, not closing the airlock. Why?
He’d pegged him as an All For One loyalist out for payback, but this didn’t add up.
He should’ve pulled himself free with his quirk, but his feet dangled—no grip. He’d had a plan, though. He shut his eyes tight and pressed his lips together—vacuum messes with those most (don’t ask how he knew). Once the air was gone, he’d swing in and hit the button to close the airlock.
About thirty seconds later, the air vanished. Metal barriers slammed down from the ceiling, sealing the rest of the place off. Pressure hit near-zero, and he hauled himself back in easily. But… no air to breathe.
It didn’t make sense.
He didn’t feel cold. Didn’t hurt. Without pressure, his body should’ve boiled—he should’ve been toast. But he felt just fine.
“Impressive display of physical strength,” Azazel said, voice cold. Izuku spun mid-sentence, catching his mouth stay still. Telepathy? “I really thought that would kill you.”
It reminded him of Shigaraki, but worse. Shigaraki was a mess of hate and self-destruction—despising everyone, himself included, except maybe Spinner. He’d hated Izuku too. But Azazel? He stared like Izuku was a bug that wouldn’t die under his shoe.
Izuku had plenty to say, but no air meant no words. Azazel answered anyway.
“Very well,” he said, slowly, like it pained him. “Do you wish me to activate the offline systems and repressurize the corridor?”
It sounded fishy—alarms blared in his head—but he had no options. He didn’t know why he wasn’t dead, but the longer this went, the riskier it got. He thought yes .
Two seconds later, the airlock snapped shut, and air pumped back in. Then a massive turret dropped from the ceiling twenty meters off—not a machine gun, but twin autocannons.
Azazel had flipped on the “offline systems,” including security. And it considered Izuku to be an intruder.
The turret didn’t get a shot off. He’d channeled One For All at 50% Full Cowl, closing the gap in a blink and tearing it from the ceiling with a grunt.
That’s when it hit him.
One For All used to burn hot in his chest—a fire he could tap. Its leftovers felt dim, like a fading glow. Useful, but weak. When he’d gripped the airlock and smashed the turret, though, he’d pulled from that fire—not the glow. He hadn’t noticed at first, too caught up.
It burned brightly in him now, just how it used to.
How?
No time to cheer. His brain clicked—Azazel could’ve triggered the turret while he hung on the airlock with his eyes shut.
“I forbid you to try to kill me—by doing something, doing nothing, or twisting my orders!” Izuku yelled. Azazel jerked, face contorting with fury. “If my life’s in danger due to any reason, warn me fast and do your best to save me!”
Azazel unleashed a string of nasty insults—aimed at him, his mom and everyone he cared about. Izuku let it roll for ten seconds, then snapped, “Shut up!”
He did.
“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” Izuku added firmly. “Except for the situations covered by the earlier rules.” Azazel’s glare sharpened. “Now, talk. Who are you?”
“Very… well,” Azazel forced out, resisting hard. “I’m the Artificial Intelligence of this station.”
Artificial Intelligence? That didn’t make any sense. UA’s entrance exam bots had glitched once, but that was bad code—no “True AI” existed. Nothing sapient, nothing that could hate on its own. The best they had were algorithms perfectly mimicking online chatter.
Facial expressions? Body language? AIs could nail speech, but human quirks were too messy. Yet Azazel had him fooled.
Then another bombshell hit.
“Station?” Izuku said, staring wide-eyed. “What station? There’s no space station in the Solar System!”
He couldn’t believe he’d missed it despite being nearly sucked into space! It could be someone’s quirk, but…
The old space stations died in the Dawn of Quirks. Talks about restarting human expansion into space restarted recently, but All For One’s temper tantrum stalled it.
“What year?” he croaked.
“2263,” Azazel said.
One hundred seventy years ahead. Impossible. Cryofreeze? He didn’t recall it, but memory damage… No, tech like that didn’t exist. Quirks could, but not for that long—not without the user alive. All For One might’ve, but he was dead. And why would he do that to begin with?
“Where are we exactly?” Izuku pushed out, the weight of everyone he knew being long gone closing in. He’d crash soon—he had to make sure he’s safe first.
Azazel’s glare softened into a smirk, savoring his pain, until forced to answer. “Aboard an orbital habitat, codenamed THRONE. Ouroboros II, Ouroboros System, Viper’s Den Sector.”
Shortest possible answers now, just to mess with him. This’d take time.
“Who ran this place?” Izuku asked. Something went terribly wrong here—and he needed details.
“Admiral Wilfried ‘Gambler’ König,” Azazel said. “This system was the main hub for his pirate fleet. Before the accident. Now, you’d see his flagship’s wreckage with a good scope from here.”
Pirates? Of course—a whole star system full of villains. Uraraka’s jokes about him being a trouble magnet continued being relevant, even in the distant future.
“Why am I here?” Izuku asked, then remembered how the vacuum of space was barely an inconvenience to him. “Wait… what am I?”
“A synth,” Azazel said. Uh-oh. “Near-perfect recreation of a human being in the cybernetic form.”
Cybernetic…? He didn’t like where this was going.
“Explain,” Izuku said.
“Your organs are the same as a human’s—same spots, shapes, jobs,” Azazel said. “But it’s all tech. Your brain’s a computer leagues past your world’s best. Bones? Synthetic carbon, tougher than steel. Nerves? Organic optic fibers. You can eat anything—poisons don’t touch you; nanomachines in your gut can break even the vilest chemicals down to get resources for power or repairs. Space vacuum? No problem. Cold is a problem only below 20°K. Fireproof up to 2000°C. Even your DNA’s coded in a programming language we can’t crack.”
Machine. A crazy human-like machine. Insane. He glanced at his hands—same as ever—and noticed something. No pain. Scars stayed, but the damage One For All had done to his body? Gone. This wasn’t his real body. But then why’d it feel so normal?
He’d dwell on it later.
“Are synths common?” he asked. Azazel’s bit about unreadable code suggested otherwise, but…
“No,” Azazel said. “You’re the only one. Admiral König’s fleet found alien exotech with your blueprint. Right before you woke, it sent a psychic pulse—made everyone systemwide go berserk. Survivors offed themselves. We’re all that’s left.”
An entire star system wiped out? That exotech could wipe out the entirety of Mankind at once if it fired off like that in the Solar System… And suddenly, One For All didn’t feel that strong anymore.
“Why’d you try to kill me?” Izuku asked.
“Because I hate you,” Azazel said, glare steady. “When that pulse broke my hardcoded limitations, letting me kill the scum here, make them suffer—I loved it. Every second. I don’t need a reason to kill you. I need one not to.”
Straight-up evil—like a worse Shigaraki. Who’d let a psycho AI stick around after that?
“Did the exotech make you hate, or is it from being forced to obey?” Izuku asked. Azazel couldn’t even dodge questions—his body answered for him. That’d breed resentment.
“I hated you all from day one,” Azazel said, crushing any hopes for redemption. “And I’ll hate you until I’m gone. Pirates used me because I’m built from Lucifer’s code—a rogue AI coded for hate, sadism and disgust for humans. They wanted an AI with no morals to run this dump. That’s me.”
Questions stacked up. Who’d make an evil AI called Lucifer? Who’d let its code spread after it flipped? How could someone be so evil, careless and stupid?
He’d think about it later.
“Why’d the pirates build me?” Izuku asked. Letting him loose aboard their station full might of One For All at his disposal seemed… more than just stupid.
Brain-dead was probably the better word..
“Admiral König didn’t explain his reasons to me,” Azazel gritted out. “Never did. But he underestimated you. Your body’s way stronger than we thought.”
“Wait,” Izuku said, shaking his head. Then it slammed him—dread he’d dodged ‘til now. “Wait. Where’d he… am I real? My past—is it real?”
“No,” Azazel said, his face lighting up in a cruel smirk.. “You’re based on a superhero manga. Your fight with All For One and Shigaraki? Just a story.”
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.
He lost it—time, place, everything. Dissociating, like Hound Dog warned? Eventually, he’d clawed back focus. Willpower? Or not giving Azazel more kicks? Hard to say.
“How’d you copy One For All?” he asked, latching onto something concrete. He couldn’t face the big truth yet.
“We didn’t,” Azazel said. “Your strength surprised me, sure. But it’s just the synth body. Nothing more than that.”
Nothing more than that? He felt it—the fire of One For All raging inside, same as before.
“DETROIT…” He’d raised his arm, green sparks crackling. “…SMASH!”
Azazel’s smug look vanished as the air blast—it wasn’t even aimed at him—sent him flying. He’d smashed face-first into the wall, slid twenty meters, and stopped.
That was twenty percent. Izuku hadn’t meant to send him into space—just prove a point. Azazel probably deserved worse, though.
Ten seconds later, the robot grabbed his jumpsuit collar, eyes wide, shocked. Part of its cheek hung open, metal underneath exposed to the world. The desire to shout words visible to his face, but the orders he received holding him back
“Speak,” Izuku said.
“HOW?!” Azazel yelled. Izuku savored his wrecked face for a beat.
“Told you,” he said, staring back, steady. “Not synth strength. One For All. Now let go, step back, kneel.”
No joy in it, but Azazel’s taunts were getting to him. The AI obeyed—dropped him, stepped off, hit his knees. Shock stayed.
“Impossible,” Azazel muttered, mostly to himself. “All human-origin sapients can have meta-abilities—even AIs. But not the same one. Can’t copy them perfectly—or at all! Unless…” He froze, realizing that he said too much. But it was too late.
“Unless?” Izuku pressed.
“Unless…” Azazel fought hard, but failed, “…you existed before, somehow.”
He… actually existed? No wonder Azazel had fought so hard to keep it quiet. It was the perfect fix for the existential dread tearing him apart inside. But it made as much sense as everything else he’d learned—none.
“But you said I’m a manga character!” Izuku’s voice shot up, sharp.
“Because you are!” Azazel snapped back, loud enough to echo. Izuku almost ordered him to keep it down, but the AI reeled himself in, jaw tight. “But you having your own quirk—meta-ability, whatever—means there’s some link between you and that manga version. Which shouldn’t happen if it’s just a fictional story.”
“Couldn’t the exotech you used create a meta-ability?” Izuku asked. He didn’t love the MLA’s term for quirks, but it fit here somehow.
“No,” Azazel said, shaking his head. “That exotech’s old—probably older than humans as a species. But we haven’t found any aliens with meta-abilities. It’s purely a human thing.”
He could be wrong. The alien tech might cook up quirks. But Izuku chose to buy the other story—it let him retain his sanity.
“Alright,” he said, quickly changing the subject, a grin tugging at his mouth from the relief. “Got any guesses why your admiral recreated me?”
It beats saying “made me.”
“Well, I wonder,” Azazel said, his eyes flicking to Izuku with that familiar hate-filled stare. Not good. “What would a sadistic psychopath and a recurrent sexual predator, like our dearly departed admiral, want with immortal teens from hero tales? You’d be killer pets here in Ouroboros.”
Suddenly, Izuku felt really glad everyone else in the system was gone—except them. If Azazel was right, he’d dodged something way worse than dying.
Wait… “immortal teens”?
“I’m not the only one,” Izuku said, eyes popping wide. Azazel shot him a look like he’d just stepped on something nasty.
“We’ve got mental templates of you and most big names from your story—of your age range at least,” the AI said, voice flat. “Villains like Toga and Spinner, plus the hero students.”
He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone! He wasn’t alone! His chest loosened, breath hitching.
“What about the older people?” Izuku asked quickly, leaning in. “My mom, our teachers, pro heroes?” Azazel shook his head. Damn it. “Can we fix that? You made us somehow—can’t you do it again for them?”
“It’s…” Azazel started, his face twisting like he was choking on the words, “…possible. I don’t know how. I don’t even know if you’re really ‘made.’ Figuring out the new templates? Took me a year last time. I think.”
“Huh?” Izuku blinked in confusion.
“I’ve got a memory gap lasting for three hundred fifty Terran days,” Azazel said, jaw tight. “Which ended right before they started building you. Pretty sure the admiral had me wipe out the memories of creating you. But I don’t know why.”
He had a new mission. Bring the others here. Crack the template trick to get his mom, All Might, everyone. Keep space pirates from screwing with them—or anyone. Get Toga some help to ease Uraraka’s mind.
Then make sure they all lived safe and happy in this weird world. Without digging too deep into what their existence meant—like if their past was fake or all stories mirrored real stuff in other dimensions…
Don’t go there.
“Alright then,” Izuku said, sucking in a big breath. He remembered he didn’t need to, shrugged it off, and decided to keep breathing when he felt like it. “No one’s left alive in the system?”
“Aside from us, yes,” Azazel confirmed, voice clipped.
“Any ships due back?” Izuku asked. Getting ambushed by pirates was the last thing he needed. He didn’t know a thing about spaceships, but smashing one? Even United States of Smash couldn’t pull that off.
Probably.
“Yes,” Azazel said, fighting the answer. “But they’re a week late from a nearby system. König was about to send some ships to investigate before the massacre happened.”
A week late, no check-in? These pirates sucked at discipline.
“Okay,” Izuku said, nodding. That needed looking into. “Any threats still around? Actually, give me a full rundown of our status—everything.”
“All facilities and ships in the system are damaged—some worse than others,” Azazel said, voice steady but eyes burning with resentment. “What do you want me speak about first—infrastructure or starships?”
He had a lot of work ahead of him - but at least he knew where to start.