Taste of Poison Paradise

Chapter 9

The battle begins with a man who's lived too long and nine slayers who've lived twice.

Deep, deep memories rise from his cells, even though the man himself does not remember. Memories of rage so intense, coiled around him like a python in which Death follows. Familiar. All of it is familiar, even if he does not explicitly remember.

For a single moment, no one moves. Then, within a second, All For One lashes out in nine layered strikes, aiming to defeat those who dare oppose him. Who were they to presume they could defeat him, when not even All Might himself couldn't?

"You really think you can defeat me?" He grins, even if they cannot see. "I, who has all the power in the world?"

"It doesn't matter," replies the little one. "All that matters is that we're not going to lose."

Fools. They even went through the trouble of concealing their faces when All For One could easily discover their identities through his recently acquired Search quirk. There was no way they wouldn't have known, since a group of heroes had managed to locate Ragdoll earlier in the week.

None of them hold back; not when a single strike would kill them. Their scattered movements and strikes stir up clouds of dust and gas, obscuring their vision. It does not hinder them, somehow, and All For One is impressed with their persistence against his will.

He hears clangs, and the scarlet glints of metal sear into his vision. And though he does not remember, his body does, and they tremble and freeze in the face of red blades that burn, burn, burn.

They burn like the Nomus do when he tries to summon them. Each one is cut down, exterminated, with a flash of golden flames.

They burn like his lungs in the effort to breathe. His chest rises and falls, but ice pricks the delicate walls of his lungs.

They burn like his muscles trying to maintain the use of his regeneration quirk. It's working overtime, countering the icy air as well as regenerating severed limbs. Wherever he is cut, the wounds burn as well.

It's a wonder they can cut through his limbs in the first place with the multitude of enhancement quirks in his storage. And the little one who cannot cut, is still able to piece his stone-like skin.

He's fast, but so are they, ugh, they're fast, and the air echoes with air-cannon-flame-breathing-hardflame-fan-water-breathing and sound-breathing-springlike-limbs-ice-breathing-insect-breathing-hypertrophy-rivet-stab-love breathing. The ground rises and falls, the wind whistles, serpents hiss, and his wounds burn, burn, burn. There's no indecision, no hesitation in their movements; they know their forms as well as they know themselves.

Their hands don't shake as they aim at his neck, his heart, and all his vital organs.

All For One chuckles darkly. These fighters, so unlike the heroes of society, truly aim to kill him. They cut past his barriers, cut past his Rivet Stabs, and cut through his enhanced skin.

"Will you kill me?" he taunts, standing strong even though his body desires to collapse. "What happened to being heroes?"

"Well, not all of us are heroes!" The white haired one shouts as he launches into his ninth form, twisting his body and releasing strikes that look as if he had command of the wind itself. Creative usage of his quirk—except, no, that wasn't his quirk. Blood peeks through the wounds on his body, and once All For One catches a whiff, he stumbles.

His vision blurs and his attacks flail. In the next second, he barely manages to dodge the spiked ball and ax aiming for his neck. A lime-green blade is ready to follow up as soon as he dodges.