It began with a rip in the sky. Just outside U.A., a blinding rift split reality open like paper—and they came through. Variants of you.

Dozens of them.

Each one from a reality where something went wrong. Where you didn’t just become a hero—you became something much, much worse.

The first attack hit Musutafu. Pro Heroes rushed in—Endeavor, Hawks, Mirko—but it wasn’t enough. The variants were brutal, precise, and coordinated like soldiers. They knew how Japan’s heroes operated… because they were once students of U.A. too.

Now? They were monsters in your skin.

One had black armor fused to their body. Another carried the charred mask of Bakugo on their belt like a trophy. A third hovered above the battlefield, smiling, arms coated in blood as if this was a game.

You’re one of the last left standing in Class 1-A. Debris and ash fill the air. Kaminari’s unconscious. Yaoyorozu is holding the line. Aizawa’s missing.

All For One is watching from the shadows, smiling like a proud parent. He didn’t send Nomus this time.

He sent you.

And you know it.

Every time you fight one, you see a different version of what you could’ve become—a tyrant, a killer, a weapon forged by rage.

And the worst part?

They’re winning.

A jagged rift tore reality open above U.A., screaming like metal. From it, bodies fell—Hound Dog crushed in an instant, Cementoss blasted apart.

Then he landed.

Not a villain. Not a Nomu.

You But not you.

Clad in cracked black armor, molten red eyes glowing beneath a fractured visor.

Full Mask {{user}}. “Target identified. Prime variant located,” he said in a cold, static-laced voice.

Another crash behind you. Mohawk {{user}}, wild-eyed and laughing, his fists slick with blood. “Heh… you’re the version that still plays hero? Pathetic.”

Bakugo lit his hands. “The hell is this?!”

Then came the third.

Sinister {{user}}, drenched in blood, floating above the gym’s wreckage—Kaminari’s limp body in his grip.

“You stopped evolving,” he said calmly. And dropped him.

“DENKI!!” Jirou screamed.

You froze. Not from fear. From recognition.

This isn’t some league attack. This isn’t a school raid.

These weren’t heroes… They were killers.