Izuku's Point of View:
The three villains lay crumpled at my feet like broken dolls. Jarvis had handled his with that terrifying efficiency of his—a single perfect strike, and the man had simply ceased to be a threat. Silk's target had been less graceful. I watched him twitch once, twice, then go completely still, a thin line of foam trailing from the corner of his mouth.
I winced.
Getting shocked in the balls had to hurt. A lot.
"Oh well," I muttered, turning away. "Not my problem. He shouldn't have signed up to hurt a little girl."
"Jarvis." My voice was quiet, controlled. The adrenaline was still there, humming beneath my skin, but I'd learned long ago how to function with it. "Status on Ironhide."
Jarvis uncoiled from his victim and slithered to my feet, his sensor-eyes catching the dim light. "Goro Takamura has retreated to the second-floor observation gallery, sir. He is attempting to maintain control of the situation. In my opinion, he has taken the high ground to observe who has been dismantling his operation."
I frowned. "Trying to look like he's still the one in charge."
"Correct. However, his physiological indicators suggest otherwise." Jarvis paused, and when he spoke again, there was something almost like satisfaction in his synthesized voice. "His pulse is elevated. His movements have become repetitive. He is pacing and adjusting his collar like crazy."
"He's panicking."
"I believe he knows that only himself and his second-in-command remain as active threats. The rest of his operation has been dismantled by an unknown assailant aka you sir."
"Good," I said, rolling my shoulders. The shield sat light against my back, and my claws tingled with the memory of the fight. "Let's go end this. We've spent enough time warming up." I cracked my neck once, then met Jarvis's glowing eyes. "It's time to take that bastard down. But I'd rather not burn down the estate in the process, so I need you both to take out the matchstick first—Wildfire. The fire villain. He's the only real threat to the building itself if he gets desperate."
Jarvis's sleek head dipped in acknowledgment. "Understood, sir. Neutralization of the fire user is our top priority."
From my shoulder, Silk chirped sharply—her version of "consider it done."
I turned toward the corridor that led to the main hall. The sounds of chaos were louder now: muffled crying, shouted orders, the occasional crash of something being knocked over. The hostages were still down there, still terrified, still waiting for someone who hadn't come.
"Move out."
We slipped through the estate like shadows, each of us knowing our role. Jarvis took the vents, his serpentine body flowing through the narrow spaces with practiced silence. Silk stayed on my shoulder until we reached the edge of the main hall, then she scuttled up into the ceiling beams, her crimson form disappearing into the darkness above.
I found a spot in the upper gallery, crouched behind a marble pillar and looked down at the main hall and what I saw was a complete disaster.
The grand party I'd seen earlier was gone—shattered glass glittered across the floor, overturned tables lay on their sides, and the beautiful flower arrangements had been trampled into mulch. But the worst part was the people that were being held hostage.
Men in torn tuxedos, women in ripped gowns, all of them huddled together in the center of the hall like livestock. They were on their knees, hands on their heads, faces streaked with tears and smeared makeup.
The children were pressed into the center of the huddle with the adults forming a protective ring around them. Their shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
My jaw tightened.
And there, standing over them like a prison warden, was Wildfire.
He looked exactly like his file photo—lean, angular, with dark hair falling across his forehead and a perpetual sneer plastered on his face. But tonight, that sneer had shifted into something uglier. He was pacing in front of the hostages, his footsteps leaving faint scorch marks on the marble floor, his hands crackling with small flames that flared and died in rhythm with his agitation.
He also looked pissed.
Good.
A distracted opponent is an easy opponent.
I raised my hand, and made a sharp cutting motion toward Wildfire.
From the ceiling, two shadows moved.
Silk dropped first—a red comet falling directly toward Wildfire's head. He sensed something at the last second, his flames flaring outward in a desperate defensive burst, but Silk was already inside his guard. Her legs hit his shoulder, and before he could even scream, her venom injectors fired.
His body went rigid. The flames around his hands sputtered and died as soon as they began.
Then Jarvis struck.
The cobra dropped from the vent directly above, his sleek body wrapping around Wildfire's torso in a flash. His fangs sank into the villain's neck—not venom this time, but a precisely measured sedative that Jarvis had been synthesizing in his reservoirs for exactly this moment.
Wildfire's eyes rolled back. His knees buckled. He hit the ground like a sack of bricks, unconscious before his body finished falling.
I didn't wait.
I vaulted over the railing, dropping two stories in a controlled fall, my knees bending to absorb the impact as I landed directly on Wildfire's chest. The air left his lungs in a soft whoosh, but he didn't wake up. He wouldn't for a while.
I stood up, brushing the dust off my suit. The unconscious villain beneath me didn't stir—Jarvis's sedative was doing its job beautifully.
A slow smirk spread across my face as I looked down at Wildfire's limp form. The double knee drop had been completely unnecessary but it just felt so right. Dick Grayson would be so proud.
"Robin would be proud of that move," I murmured to myself, cracking my neck.
Then I turned to the hostages.
They were still staring at me with wide eyes, open mouths, and they were completely frozen. A child no older than five peeked out from between two terrified adults, and for a moment, I saw my own face reflected in hers—the same shock I used to feel watching All Might on TV before I was isekaied into this world.
"Run," I said, my voice carrying across the silent hall. "The heroes are outside. Go while you still can."
No one moved even though I literally just saved their mediocre asses.
I frowned. "I said—"
"You need to run, kid!" A man in a torn tuxedo scrambled to his feet, his face pale, his hands shaking. "There are more of them! You can't be here—you're going to get yourself killed!"
Others started nodding, the same desperate warnings spilling from their lips like a wave.
"He's right! Where are your parents?"
"This isn't a game!"
"Someone get that child out of here!"
I sighed and Pinched the bridge of my nose.
Another disadvantage of being a kid. I'd just dropped a villain in front of their eyes, and they still saw me as nothing more than a lost child who wandered into a war zone. No one believed you until you were bleeding or old enough to vote.
"Listen to me—" I started.
CRASH.
Glass shattered above me.
I looked up just in time to see a heavy wooden chair spinning toward my face.
My body moved before my brain caught up—a sharp step to the side, the chair whistling past my ear to splinter against the floor behind me. Splinters skittered across the marble like wooden insects.
At the same moment, I snapped my fingers twice.
Jarvis and Silk moved immediately. The Jarvis started herding the hostages toward the eastern exit with silent, implacable purpose. Silk skittered along the ceiling, dropping down occasionally to guide a straggler or cut off someone trying to run back toward the danger like the idiots they were.
They knew the priority. Civilians first.
I looked up again.
He stood on the second-floor, a mountain of muscle silhouetted against the broken railing and glass where the chair had come from. His shaved head caught the dim light, the jagged scar along his temple gleaming like a warning. His suit jacket was gone, his sleeves torn away to reveal arms thick as tree trunks, already taking on that metallic sheen. His eyes—dark, furious, disbelieving—locked onto mine.
"Look who finally came out to play," I called up to him, my voice light despite the cold settling in my chest. "It's been rather boring taking out your guys." I tilted my head, letting a slow, sharp smile spread across my face. "Though Thorn was a fun little challenge. Let's see if you can be any different."
Ironhide's face twisted into something pure, unfiltered rage mixed with the desperate denial of a man whose perfect plan had just been shattered by a child. His hands gripped what remained of the railing, and the metal groaned under his strength.
Without a word, he launched himself over the edge.
It was a hell of a drop. Might have been the second floor of the estate, but if we were in a regular building, it would have been the fourth floor—easily thirty feet of open air between him and the ground. Most men would have broken something but then again this My Hero Academia universe.
Plus Ironhide wasn't most men.
He hit the marble floor like a meteor.
The impact shattered three ornate tables that had been pushed against the wall, sending splinters and wood shrapnel exploding outward in a jagged cloud. The floor beneath him cracked—actual hairline fractures spiderwebbing out from his landing point, marble dust billowing up in a fine white cloud. For a moment, he was silhouetted there, knee-deep in wreckage, the ruined tables lying around him like kindling.
The sound of it echoed through the hall like a gunshot.
Then—silence.
I let it hang for a beat. Maybe two.
"Damn," I said finally, my voice carrying across the wrecked hall. "You are one fat motherfucker. I mean, you literally broke the floor."
A nerve bulged at his temple it was throbbing furiously and it was impossible to miss. His jaw was clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind against each other.
I chuckled. "Careful there. I don't want you to have an aneurysm before we even start to fight. That'd be anticlimactic as hell."
He didn't move. His eyes, filled with something between rage and disbelief—locked onto me from across the room. The metallic sheen was spreading across his skin now, crawling up his neck, over his shaved head. Fortress Frame activating fully.
He looked like a statue given violent life.
"You," he rumbled, the word vibrating through the air. "You are just a kid. And you claim to have taken out my guys?" A pause, his massive hands curling into fists. "You are the supposed hero who has messed up my entire plan?!"
I tilted my head, letting my smirk widen. "Well, do you see any others here? I mean, I'm alone. No big hero has come running to save the day." I gestured around at the empty hall, the unconscious villains, the splintered wreckage. "I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now. A nine-year-old kid just destroyed your entire operation." I let the words hang. "It's pathetic, honestly."
His hands trembled. Not from fear but from pure, undiluted rage.
"Brat," he snarled, stepping forward, each footfall cracking the damaged floor a little more. "
"Do you have any idea how long I planned this?! Months. Months of work. Decoy attacks, coordinated strikes, bribes, favors—all of it! And you—" His voice cracked with something raw, something almost unhinged. "A child tore through my operation like it was nothing. Like my men were nothing. Like I was nothing!"
He took another step, and the floor groaned beneath his weight. "I was going to be untouchable after tonight. A bomb that could level a city. The Yaoyorozu family under my thumb. Enough money and power to make every hero in this country think twice before coming after me." His eyes burned, wild and furious. "And you took that from me. You took everything. Brat has the thought even crossed your mind that you might die?!"
I laughed.
The sound came out light at first, almost amused. But it shifted as it left my throat—deepened, sharpened, turned into something colder than the marble beneath our feet. The laugh of someone who'd already considered every possible outcome and accepted them all.
His expression flickered across confusion and worry for a moment.
Good.
"Only a fool includes their own death in a plan," I said, my voice dropping to something quiet and absolute.
I rolled my shoulders, settling into my fighting stance.
"It's a good thing I'm not a hero yet," I added. "Heroes have rules that they have to fallow. Heroes hold back in order not to kill villains. Heroes wait for permission in order to step in and safe lives." My claws extended from my fingertips with a familiar whisper-sharp shink. "I don't have those problem."
The Widow's Bracers hummed—louder than before, deeper. I'd cranked the output. The blue electricity I'd been using all night flickered, then shifted, the arcs turning a deep, violent red as the voltage spiked. The crimson lightning crawled up my arms, jumped across my knuckles, and then it found my claws.
The electricity arced from the bracers directly into the mono-molecular filaments, racing along the blades in crackling red veins. My claws lit up like lightning rods, each one glowing with contained fury, the energy dancing along the edges in ways I hadn't intended but absolutely loved.
I stared at my own hands for half a second, watching the red lightning crawl and spark.
Well. That's new.
I'd increased the voltage to deal with his durability but I hadn't expected my claws to start drawing in the charge like miniature lightning rods. The metal composition must have been more conductive than I'd calculated.
Or maybe I just built them better than I remembered.
Either way—
I smirked, flexing my glowing fingers.
My gaze lifted back to Ironhide, and the smile dropped from my face like a mask falling away. What remained was something colder, Sharper and Hungry.
"I'm going to enjoy what I'm about to do to you," I said, my voice flat and even. "For even daring to think of using Momo my friend for your sick desires."
His eyes widened. Just a fraction. Just enough.
"What are you talking about—"
"I saw the messages, you sick fuck."
I snapped my arm forward.
The shield left my grip in a flat, spinning trajectory. But this time, I didn't throw it dry.
I clamped my hand around the grip, let the red lightning build in my bracers, and watched the electricity crawl across the shield's surface like angry serpents. The metal hummed with stored voltage, arcs of crimson dancing along the concentric rings.
Blunt force won't work on him normally, I thought. Fortress Frame is built for exactly that kind of punishment. But if I charge the shield before I throw it...
I hurled it forward.
The electrified disc flew straight and true, trailing red lightning like a comet's tail, eating the distance between us in the span of a heartbeat.
The shield slammed into his left kneecap with a sound like a hammer hitting a steel beam—followed by the sharp, wet crackle of voltage discharging on impact. Fortress Frame absorbed the blunt force, but the electricity? That went straight through his durability like it wasn't even there.
His leg buckled.
THWIP!!
The web shot from my wrist and hit him square in the face—a thick, sticky strand that plastered across his eyes and nose, clinging to his skin like wet cement.
He snarled, clawing at his face with massive hands, fingers digging into the webbing as he tried to tear it free. His metallic skin gleamed under the dim light, but the web held. For a second. Maybe two.
That was all I needed.
I yanked the line hard, pulling myself off the ground and into the air. The world spun around me—ceiling, walls, shattered tables—all of it blurring as I flew toward him like a missile. My shield was already returning from its earlier strike, spinning through the air in a gleaming silver arc. I reached out, caught it by the grip mid-flight, and kept moving.
Ironhide finally ripped the webbing from his eyes—just in time to see me coming.
I smirked.
My hand clamped around the shield's grip as it returned to me, and I didn't hesitate. Red lightning surged from my bracers, crawling across the metal surface in furious crimson arcs. The edge of the shield glowed with stored voltage as I angled it forward—not the flat face this time, but the rim. Concentrated force. Delivered right to the bridge of his nose.
I swung.
The shield's edge connected with a sickening crunch—but it wasn't the full break I'd hoped for. Fortress Frame held. His nose didn't shatter. Instead, the impact glanced off his metallic skin, the electricity discharging in a violent crackle that lit up his face like a strobe.
But it gave him one hell of a nosebleed.
Blood poured from both nostrils in a sudden rush, dark and thick, splattering across his lips and chin. His eyes went wide—shock, pain, and something that looked almost like fear—and his body betrayed him. His back hit the cracked marble floor with a thunderous crash, dust and splinters erupting around him.
I didn't stop.
I kept moving forward, pushing off his chest as he fell, using him as a springboard. My body twisted in midair, flipping once before I landed on all fours, my claws digging into the marble to stop my momentum. The stone groaned under the pressure, fine scratches radiating from where my fingertips held firm.
I straightened up slowly, letting him see my face. Letting him see the cold satisfaction I felt.
"That's for Momo," I said quietly. "The rest? That's for the guards you murdered. And the hostages you terrorized. And every other innocent person whose life you thought was yours to take."
I rolled my shoulders, the red lightning singing along my claws.
"So get up, Ironhide." My voice was soft. Almost gentle. "Because I'm just getting started."
Ironhide rose from the rubble like a mountain awakening. Blood streaked his face, but his eyes—those dark, furious eyes—were fixed on me with an intensity that would have made most men run.
"You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that." He rolled his shoulders, the metallic sheen across his skin deepening. "But guts don't mean shit when I rip your arms off. And after that... Let's just say that your little friend won't be leaving this estate in one piece. Not after I'm done with her and mother."
My blood ran cold.
The words hit me like a physical blow—not because I hadn't known what Ironhide intended, but because hearing it spoken aloud, with that gleeful, sadistic certainty, made it real in a way the dossier never could. Momo's face flashed through his mind. Her bright, earnest smile in the garden. The way she'd leaned into his hand when he patted her head. Her small, trusting voice saying Izuku-kun, please. I don't want you to get hurt because of me.
His feet stopped moving. His arms dropped to his sides. The red lightning flickered on his claws, sputtering like a dying heartbeat.
For one terrible moment, Izuku Midoriya—the boy who had built AIs and companies, who had trained until his bones ached and his muscles screamed, who had faced down two dozen villains without flinching—froze.
Ironhide saw it.
The mountain of muscle let out a low, rumbling chuckle that built into something uglier. He straightened to his full height, blood still dripping from his nose, and spread his massive arms wide like he was welcoming an old friend.
"There it is," he rumbled, his voice thick with mockery. "There's the scared reacting i was waiting for!!!!" He took a step forward, and the floor cracked beneath his weight. "Where's all that confidence now, kid? All those clever words? All that posturing?"
"Well, it's too late for forgiveness now, brat." Ironhide's bloody grin stretched wider, sharp and cruel. "You should have stayed hidden. You should have run when you had the chance. Instead, you thought you could play hero." He cracked his knuckles, the sound like rocks grinding together. "Now you get to watch everything you care about burn."
---
No One's Point of View
Izuku's head lowered.
The shadows from the broken ceiling fell across his face like a veil, hiding his eyes from view. His shoulders, which had been tense and ready moments ago, went completely still. The red lightning in his bracers flickered once—then surged.
It didn't just pulse. It exploded.
Crimson arcs of electricity raced up his arms in wild, rabid spirals, crawling across his shoulders, down his chest, and jumping to the shield still strapped to forearm. The metal hummed with stored voltage, glowing red along its concentric rings like the eye of a waking beast.
Izuku's voice dropped to something barely human.
"You will regret saying that, you bastard."
The words hung in the air for a single heartbeat.
Then the killing intent hit.
It didn't seep into the room—it exploded outward, a tidal wave of raw, predatory fury that crashed against every surface, every shadow, every corner of the shattered hall. The temperature seemed to plummet. The air grew thick, almost suffocating, pressing down like a physical weight.
Ironhide's smug smile vanished.
His eyes widened—just a fraction—and his body went rigid. Not from fear. From recognition.
Izuku lifted his head slowly revealing his eyes.
His eyes glowed brighter than they have had before and his pupils had narrowed into thin slits and his gaze was that of a hunter who had already decided how this would end.
"You will pay," he said, each word slow and deliberate, "for even thinking like that. About my Momo."
His snarl shifted becoming predatory.
His lips curled back from his teeth, and the smile that spread across his face was wrong for a many child to make. It was sadistic, eager, almost hungry. The red lightning crackled along his claws, casting his features in shifting crimson shadows.
"Let's dance," he breathed out in a cold tone.
Then he charged.
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What will happen next? Will Izuku's fury be enough to bring down the monster? Or has he finally bitten off more than he can chew?
Find out next time on Dragon—
My bad Wrong universe.
Find out next time on The Avengers Requiem (MHA).