I'm drowning.
Not in water.
Not in air.
But in my own fading life.
My vision flickers like a dying lightbulb, dimming with every breath I try to pull in. Each inhale stings—sharp, ragged, like shards of glass slicing through my lungs.
The world around me blurs—colors melting, edges bending—and yet, through the thick fog in my mind, I hear it.
Voices.
Faint.
Faltering.
Like echoes bouncing off distant walls.
"Anos… stay awake…"
I can't tell if it's a command or a plea.
The chaos of the battlefield seeps through the cracks in my fading senses—the distant roar of explosions, the crackle of energy surging, the sharp cries of friends and foes alike.
Izuku's voice—urgent, desperate—cuts through the haze, trying to anchor me to this world.
"Anos! You're not done yet! Fight!"
I want to answer.
I want to scream.
But my mouth won't obey.
My limbs feel like dead weights, cold and unresponsive. A chill spreads through me, deeper than the night air outside. It's a cold that doesn't just freeze the skin—it sinks into the bones, into the soul.
I try to move, to reach out.
But I'm slipping.
Slipping through fingers that grasp at nothing.
There's a pounding in my head now, relentless, like a drum signaling the end.
Every heartbeat threatens to stop me completely.
And yet…
Somewhere deep inside, a spark flickers—a stubborn ember refusing to die.
I am not finished.
Not yet.
But the darkness pulls harder.
My breath is shallow now, and blood—hot and bitter—rises in my throat.
I cough it up, tasting iron and regret.
Was this the price?
To hold the storm at bay?
To protect those I love?
I don't want to go.
Not now.
Not like this.
But my body betrays me.
Coldness drags me down like a tide.
The voices grow fainter.
"Anos… don't give up…"
And then—
A long, endless black.