Chapter 11 - Loss
A chill crept in first.
Then came the dust—and beneath it, the faint, sweet rot of soil.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She stepped back, but her spine hit the sink. The voice rasped low, each syllable scraping the air—laughter that sounded like bones grinding together.
Mirko steadied her breath and met his gaze.
“Get out of my sight, phantom. You’re dead.”
“Did you… see it yourself?”
In the blink of an eye, he was beside her—as if he had torn through the air itself.
The cold clung to her skin, and stayed. Mirko’s breath caught. Her heartbeat pressed hard against her ears, a sharp, suffocating thrum.
A thin line of cold sweat ran down the back of her neck. Shigaraki’s mouth slowly split into a grin. Dry lips parted, and laughter leaked out with his breath.
His gaze drifted down to her arms.
A pause. The grin widened.
His fingers traced the air, gliding through nothing. Mirko’s hands moved on their own, clutching her arm.
The pain came rushing back from under her skin. The tearing, the smell of metal and blood—it all roared back, until she couldn’t tell if the pain was memory or flesh.
Mirko ground her teeth and glared straight at him.
“You’re nothing but a shadow I made.”
Her voice shook, but her eyes never looked away.
Shigaraki tilted his head, a crack of laughter breaking through his throat—too thin, too human.
His lips cracked with the sound of rustling paper.
“I’m not,” Mirko said, her voice rough and steady. “But you’re dead—along with All For One.”
At her words, Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed. A rasping laugh scraped up from his throat.
His mouth twisted, splitting wider into a warped grin.
His hand drifted down, pointing at her leg—a gesture to something that shouldn’t exist.
Mirko’s eyes followed him before she could think. A heartbeat of stillness—then something twisted beneath her skin.
Her heart lurched hard against her ribs, then faltered. The feeling in her leg vanished in a flash—then came rushing back.
“...!”
The air scraped her throat. The warmth along her skin drained away all at once.
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A brittle, cracking laugh tore through the air—dry enough to scrape the walls.
A sound that shouldn’t exist rang out. Metal against metal.
And a sudden weight pressed down on both her arms.
Her body locked in place, the weight on her arms cold and impossibly real. She turned her head—silver glinted where skin should have been. Metal plates overlapped, joint upon joint.
Each tremor in her fingers brought a faint creak—a whisper of metal grinding on metal. In the mirror, her arms caught the light—silver, jointed, unreal.
“...!”
Her breath tore out of her, ragged and uneven.
Before she could even react, another metallic clack rang out. This time, the sound came from below.
She looked down—flesh gone, replaced by a cold, gleaming prosthetic.
Her breath came out in broken bursts. Her heart hammered—metal against metal. Cold replaced warmth, as if oil had taken the place of blood.
Shigaraki’s low laugh seeped beneath her skin, humming through her bones like static.
Mirko squeezed her eyes shut. Her breath came in harsh, uneven pulls—drawn in, then released in a long, trembling exhale.
She whispered the words to herself. Cold sweat traced down her neck, each drop a reminder she was still alive. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
“...!”
Tamaki and Nejire were standing in front of her.
They smiled at each other—soft, unguarded, the kind of smile that belonged to people untouched by pain.
Under the soft glow of the lights, their eyes were warm—so warm it hurt to look at. Nejire’s blue hair swayed like waves, and Tamaki’s fingers gently closed around her hand.
The air shimmered with the scent of champagne, the clink of glasses, laughter threading through it all.
Mirko swallowed hard. The scene before her looked like something woven entirely from the word happiness.
Then—a low, dry voice slid into her ear.
In that instant, her vision warped. Light flashed—and the world folded in on itself.
A flash of white—then a photo filled the air before her, bright as a front-page headline. Flashes burst like stage lights, too bright to bear. Komori and Kuroiro stood shoulder to shoulder.
They were holding hands, smiling toward the cameras. The headline blazed before her eyes—
“A New Hero Couple Is Born!”
Mirko’s fingertips trembled. Her heart slipped lower, heavy as stone.
A whisper slid into her ear.
The voice was quiet, yet it curled through her thoughts like smoke. Mirko couldn’t look away. The brighter the smiles on the screen grew, the darker the space around her seemed to sink.
Another scene began to bleed through the light—soft at first, then clearer.
Kendo and Tetsutetsu, Monoma and Pony, walking together down a festival street.
The night shimmered with waves of light, and beneath the streetlamps, their laughter overlapped—bright, easy, real. Their smiles glowed so vividly it made her chest ache.
“Don’t they make you sick?”
Her breath hitched. The laughter on the street blurred, melting into a sound she couldn’t name.
Shigaraki threw his head back. The veins in his neck bulged, creaking as his head jerked back.
His red eyes flashed. A dry, splintering laugh tore from his throat. Cracked skin twisted; his broken fingers quivered and shook.
His voice broke into a rasping laugh.
He took a step closer.
Another step, and his grin stretched wide, splitting his lips.
Mirko’s fingertips trembled. Pain shot through her—raw, electric.
Old agony clawed its way up her limbs, nerves blazing alive. Nerves burning like live wires in her arms and legs.
Then—
Shigaraki’s laughter burst out first—harsh, dry, endless.
Then came others. Nejire. Tamaki. Komori. Kuroiro. Kendo. Tetsutetsu. Monoma. Pony.
One by one, their laughter merged, until the air itself began to shake. A storm of laughter spilling through the air.
Laughter. Or maybe screams.
She couldn’t tell anymore. Only the echo stayed, gnawing at the dark.
Mirko’s rabbit ears quivered. A high-pitched ringing flooded her ears—thin, endless, alive. The world lurched—light, sound, every sense collapsing inward to a single, blinding point.
“Mi—!”
“Rumi!”
A heavy hand gripped her shoulder, shaking her hard.
The smell of dust vanished, replaced by the sterile scent of the office.
When her mind lurched back into her body, Hawks was there—hands gripping her shoulders tight. His golden eyes were wide, urgent.
Mirko gasped, her breath coming out tangled and uneven.
She looked around.
Beside her stood Aizawa, his one visible eye sunken deep, quiet but raw with worry.
Mirko couldn’t speak for a long moment. The ringing still lingered faintly in her ears.
“Damn it…”
Her head bowed, shoulders rising and falling. Her fingers still trembled, almost imperceptibly.
The world had stopped shaking—but inside her, it hadn’t.