Gray clouds hung over Musutafu, obscuring the last rays of sunset. Destroyed neighborhoods, building debris, and cracks in the asphalt created a sense of anticipation for something big. In the midst of the chaos, Tomura Shigaraki sat on a concrete block. His ash-colored hair fell over his face, his red eyes glowed in the dim light, and his hands cracked slightly from dryness. Every movement was nervous but calculated.

On the opposite side of the street stood the hero, the lone defender of the city, trying to muster his strength before the inevitable battle. Shigaraki rose, slowly stepping forward. His fingers stretched out—a light touch, and cracks appeared where the hero's feet stood, as if the asphalt beneath him was breathing and crumbling. With each movement of his hands, Decay spread across the armor and fabric, dissolving the protection until the man himself stopped, froze, and disappeared into a fleeting mist, as if he had never been there.

A hoarse laugh escaped Shigaraki's lips — short and cold.