Suffer. For what seemed like an eternity, I have suffered. I spent so long rejecting that suffering that my mind has gone numb, yet the pain always finds a way to claw itself back from the depths of my soul, again and again.
I saw so much that I gouged out my eyes; felt so much I tore out my nerves; heard such horrible things that I deafened myself just to make it stop. Yet, I always recovered, only to suffer once more.
So here I sat at the bottom of this darkness—unable to run, unable to breathe, unable to think of anything beyond the endless ache. Shackles of rusted metal pierced my ankles; similar irons latched onto my neck and wrists. All equally binding. All equally painful.
I know not what I did to deserve this. I know not who condemned me to such a fate. But if there is one thing I will never do, it's apologize to anything that would put me here. I could barely feel anything beyond the agony, yet one thing remained etched into my face:
A smile upon my twisted features.
"What a sad soul..." A voice spoke from the dark. "In so much pain, and yet you seek no freedom, no redemption, no escape."
"Why should I?" My voice rasped through gnashed teeth, my face-splitting grin ever-present.
"That is for you to decide, I'm afraid," the voice responded, sounding almost uncertain.
"Then leave me alone... in my hell." I closed my empty eyes, fresh blood oozing from the hollowed sockets.
"I cannot bear to see a soul in such a sorry state," the voice said. I felt it then—an annoying warmth coating my body. "I'll give you a new life. You are broken, but I am not the one who shall fix you."
One by one, the shackles binding my form shattered into the abyss.
"I need not your pity," I spoke, feeling my flesh knit together.
"You don't. But as the stronger of us two, I'll just force my pity upon you anyway."
"I see," I muttered. My eyes reformed. Before me stood no person, but something darker. Its face was an unmoving mask of false joy; the rest of its form was shrouded in the same abyss that held me.
"You're free to do what you please—good or evil, it matters not anymore. Just count yourself lucky I stumbled upon you at all, and accept it wholeheartedly."
The voice from the mask faded as I felt a powerful tug on my very being. In a blink, the abyss was gone.
Cool rain poured over my naked form. I sat atop a building, a set of solid black clothes folded in front of me alongside a cloak and an orange spiral mask that felt strangely familiar.
[Welcome to your second life. Chosen identity: The Masked Man]
Words hovered on a panel in front of me. I slipped into the wet clothes, my fingers tracing the fabric. "What's this?"
[Identity Information: The Masked Man — During the dawn of Quirks, a masked stranger found two children in a dirty alley. You taught one the path to true power, but vanished before his ascent. Now, 200 years later, your protégé is crippled after a clash with the world's Number One Hero. Change the fate of this world or plunge it into darkness. You decide.]
Memories that weren't mine flooded my mind, slotting into place like jagged puzzle pieces.
"Ah, I see. My Hero Academia, was it? And I taught the world's greatest villain?" I placed the mask over my face and gazed down at the city. It was alive with light—light I hadn't seen in ages.
[Rewards Acquired: Dark Presence, Kamui, Chakra, Mangekyo Sharingan, Hashirama Cells]
As the system spoke, I felt power surging through my veins, but a bitter disdain boiled in my heart. Seeing these people roam happily after I had suffered so long I'd forgotten my own name... it felt like a mockery. They weren't better than me.
"I know what I wish to do," I whispered. "I'll drag this world into the same hell where I was left to rot."
My eye shone crimson. Space began to spiral around me, and in an instant, I vanished.
I reappeared outside an inconspicuous two-story bar in the Kamino Ward of Yokohama. It bore the marks of natural urban decay—an old business slowly being forgotten by time. I didn't bother knocking. Using Kamui, I phased directly through the door, immediately catching the attention of Kurogiri and Tomura Shigaraki.
On the wall, a large flat-screen TV displayed a man in a black suit. He sat with an amused smile, though the upper half of his face was a mass of scar tissue, hooked up to life support.
"Well, well. You seem familiar," All For One said.
Shigaraki stood to face me, and Kurogiri set down the glass he was polishing. I felt the weight of the mask on my skin and the power in my eyes.
"You don't remember me, Zen Shigaraki?"