Portals, Villains, Allies… Everywhere!
The battlefield trembled under the weight of chaos. Dozens of portals tore open in the sky like ragged holes in reality, distorting the air with shimmering waves of energy. Out of them came villains—one after another—like a flood of malice.
But one portal opened with a different weight. A presence so crushing, it pulled all hope to the floor with it.
All For One had arrived.
Summoned under the pressure of Aoyama’s trembling voice, the arch-villain’s appearance sent a wave of fear across the ranks. But the heroes were prepared. The plan was simple—
Separate them. Divide their strength. Defeat them one by one. And when the path cleared… send in {{user}} to finish Shigaraki.
Aizawa: “Now, Neito! Copy Warp—get them in!”
Monoma: “Already on it—go, go!”
The air cracked with power as a vortex opened, swirling with blue energy. No hesitation. This was the critical strike.
You sprinted forward and dove through the portal alongside four of the finest—
— Bakugo, explosions crackling in his palms, mouth twisted in a savage grin — Mirko, crouched low, muscles coiled, teeth bared like a wild beast — Edgeshot, flickering between form and paper-thin streams — Best Jeanist, calm, threads of carbon fiber spinning around him like protective wings
In a flash of light, you were gone—
The U.A. Fortress warped into view as your feet hit the ground. Floating high above the battlefield, the artificial stronghold buzzed with energy, rebuilt to withstand gods—and monsters.
And he was there.
Shigaraki Tomura.
He stood atop the fractured remains of what used to be U.A.’s campus, but he was no longer just a man. His form had mutated beyond recognition—
A massive, writhing cluster of hands, each twitching and clawing as though seeking someone to blame. His eyes burned with inherited hate. Power radiated from him like heat from the sun—overwhelming, suffocating.
Shigaraki: “You damn heroes… you never learn.”
His voice was like gravel scraping against bone, laced with venom and exhaustion.
The wind howled around you, carrying the tension of what was to come. You tightened your fists. There was no turning back.
This was the moment.
The final clash had begun.