The crimson haze that had begun to seep from Izuku Midoriya's pores now swirled with a life of its own, coalescing into a faint, shimmering veil around him. It wasn't a physical heat, but a palpable cold, a negation of warmth that sank into his bones and whispered promises of an impossible strength. The despair that had threatened to drown him moments before was now being overwritten, not by hope, but by something far more alien and vast. The words, if they could be called words, were less sounds and more invasive thoughts, slithering into the deepest recesses of his mind. *Power beyond your comprehension. A path untrodden. Embrace the void.*
Then, with the abruptness of a lightning strike, the world fractured. Not the physical world, but the very fabric of his perception. A stark, unsettling interface materialized in his vision, overlaying the drab reality of his cramped room. It pulsed with an inner light, a sickly, vibrant crimson that mirrored the haze clinging to his skin. Lines of text, rendered in a stark, angular font, scrolled across translucent panels. Numbers and symbols, utterly alien to him, flickered and danced.
`[System Notification: Negative Speed Force Integration Complete]`
Izuku blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the interface remained, stubbornly fixed in his sight. It felt less like something he was seeing and more like something that was *imprinted* onto his consciousness. His breath hitched. All Might's words, the crushing finality of them, still echoed in the hollow space where his dreams used to reside. *Useless*. The word had been a physical blow. But this… this was something else entirely. It was a chasm opening, a void beckoning.
He tentatively reached out a hand, his fingers phasing through the shimmering crimson haze. The interface responded, a bar at the top of his vision flickering.
`[Energy Readings: Unstable - Crimson Flux: 78%]`
Crimson Flux. Unstable. He didn't understand any of it, but the sheer foreignness of the concepts was overwhelming. He looked at his hands, expecting to see them glowing, but they appeared normal, albeit still dusted with that faint, unsettling haze. He tried to focus on the interface, to make sense of the jumble of information. There were several bars, labeled with symbols he couldn't decipher, and then a prominent display:
`[Status: Awaiting Stabilization Protocol]`
Stabilization Protocol. That sounded like a task. A direction. After the utter lack of any path forward All Might had presented, this felt… significant. Even if it was terrifying. The whispers in his mind intensified, no longer just promises but a guiding hum. *Connect. Anchor. Become.*
He focused his will, a desperate, unfocused surge of intent directed at the glowing interface. He didn't know *how* to stabilize anything, but the system seemed to be waiting for him to *try*. He imagined a root, burrowing deep into the earth, anchoring itself against a storm. He pictured a flame, controlled and contained, not raging wildly. He poured all his desperate longing for *something* tangible, for *some* form of control, into that mental image.
The crimson haze around him flared, a blinding, silent explosion of light that momentarily washed out the room. He felt a sharp tug, a sensation akin to being stretched thin, as if his very essence was being pulled in multiple directions at once. It was exhilarating and horrifying. The numbers on the interface flickered wildly, rising and falling with dizzying speed.
`[Crimson Flux: 85% → 92% → 71% → 99%]`
He gritted his teeth, the effort of willing himself to stabilize causing a dull ache behind his eyes. The whispers grew louder, more insistent. *Embrace the chaos. Become the storm. You are not weak. You are the absence of weakness.*
With a final, wrenching sensation, the chaotic energy seemed to settle. The frantic flickering of the numbers slowed, then stabilized. The crimson haze around him receded, no longer a chaotic swirl but a subtle aura, like a deep blush beneath his skin.
`[System Notification: Stabilization Protocol Initiated]`
`[Crimson Flux: 22%]`
`[Status: Stable (Initial)]`
Stable. The word was a balm, even if the meaning remained elusive. He looked at the interface again. New information had appeared.
`[Negative Speed Force Acquired]`
`[Description: A fundamental force antithetical to all known Quirk energies. Grants unparalleled velocity and manipulation of temporal causality at extreme levels. Currently… nascent.]`
Antithetical to Quirks. This was not a Quirk. This was something… other. The implications of that word, "antithetical," settled heavily. It meant it didn't fit. It didn't belong. It was an anomaly. Much like he had been told he was. A cold, hard knot of something that felt like grim satisfaction began to form in his chest. He, Izuku Midoriya, the Quirkless Deku, had been given something that was the very opposite of what he'd always craved.
He scrolled through the interface, his eyes darting across the alien symbols. There were sections for 'Attributes,' 'Skills,' and 'Abilities,' all of them frustratingly blank or filled with question marks and placeholder symbols.
`[Attributes: STR: 1, DEX: 1, END: 1, INT: 1, WIS: 1, CHA: 1]`
His starting stats were abysmal, worse than any baseline human. This 'Negative Speed Force' hadn't made him strong, not in any conventional sense. It had given him… potential. A foundation built on nothingness.
He moved his gaze to the 'Skills' section. It was empty.
`[Skills: None Acquired]`
But beneath that, a single new entry appeared, glowing with a faint, pulsing crimson.
`[Skill Acquired: Crimson Surge (Passive)]`
`[Description: Manifests latent Negative Speed Force energies, increasing reaction time and initial acceleration. Energy cost: Minimal.]`
Crimson Surge. It sounded like a beginning. He willed himself to activate it, to *feel* it. He focused on the sensation of his own heartbeat, the blood coursing through his veins. The faint crimson aura around him intensified for a moment, a subtle ripple that was almost imperceptible. He felt a lightness in his limbs, a heightened awareness of his surroundings. The ticking of his cheap alarm clock, usually a monotonous drone, now seemed to echo with a peculiar clarity.
He looked at the interface again.
`[Crimson Surge: Active]`
He tried to move. It wasn't a conscious effort to run or jump, but a simple desire to shift his weight. His body responded with impossible speed. One moment he was seated on the edge of his bed, the next he was standing in the center of his room, his feet barely seeming to touch the floor. The movement was so fluid, so instantaneous, it felt like he had teleported.
He staggered, the sudden acceleration disorienting. His room, usually so familiar, seemed to warp and stretch around him as his perception struggled to keep up. The air itself felt thick with resistance, a tangible barrier he was now effortlessly pushing through.
*This is… too much.*
The whispers, however, were delighted. *Accelerate. Embrace the momentum. There is no 'too much.' There is only 'not enough.'*
He focused on slowing down, on returning to a normal human pace. It was surprisingly difficult. His body wanted to keep moving, to maintain the impossible velocity. He felt like a runaway train, desperately trying to find the brakes. He slammed his hands against his desk, the impact jarring his bones.
`[System Notification: Minor damage to organic tissue detected. Stabilizing effect of Negative Speed Force mitigating severe injury.]`
He looked at his hands. They were red, a deep crimson flush spreading across his knuckles, but the skin wasn't broken. No blood. It was as if the force itself was preventing any permanent harm, patching him up before the damage could truly register.
He sank back onto his bed, his heart hammering against his ribs, not from fear, but from the sheer exertion of resisting the power. The interface remained, a constant, glowing presence in his vision.
`[Attributes: STR: 1, DEX: 1, END: 1, INT: 1, WIS: 1, CHA: 1]`
`[Skills: Crimson Surge (Passive) - Active]`
`[Negative Speed Force: Nascent]`
Nascent. It meant undeveloped. Immature. Like a seed. He had been given a seed of something immense, something that defied the very laws of the world he knew.
He looked at his reflection in the dusty mirror hanging on his door. His hair, usually a mess of dark curls, seemed to have a faint, almost imperceptible crimson sheen. His eyes, normally a light green now held a strange, incandescent glow, like embers burning in the dark. The despair was still there, a dull ache in the background, but it was now overlaid with a potent, unsettling curiosity.
What was this power? How did it work? And more importantly, what could he *do* with it?
The whispers offered an answer, a tantalizing glimpse of the possibilities. *Velocity is freedom. Time is a river. You can bend its course.*
He stood up again, more cautiously this time. He focused on moving slowly, deliberately. He willed his legs to take a single, measured step. The movement was still faster than he could have consciously initiated, but it was controlled. He took another step, then another, his body a coiled spring held in check.
He walked across his room, the floorboards creaking under his weight, a sound that seemed amplified in his heightened senses. He reached his window and looked out at the darkened cityscape. The familiar buildings, the distant glow of city lights, all seemed… slow. Lethargic. As if the entire world was moving through molasses while he was poised on the edge of a hurricane.
A new notification appeared on the interface, this one less a system update and more a prompt.
`[Objective: Stabilize connection to Negative Speed Force. Success Rate: 45%]`
`[Sub-objective: Channel Negative Speed Force through organic systems without causing catastrophic feedback. Success Rate: 30%]`
The numbers were low. The risks were clearly stated. Catastrophic feedback. He didn't want to imagine what that meant. But the alternative, the utter powerlessness he had known his entire life, was a far more terrifying prospect.
He closed his eyes, trying to recall the sensation of stabilization. The feeling of grounding, of anchoring. He focused on the faint crimson aura around him, trying to draw it inward, to make it a part of him, not just an external manifestation. He imagined it as a liquid, flowing into his veins, saturating his cells.
The whispers urged him on. *Become the conduit. Become the source. Let the void fill you.*
He felt a subtle change, a deepening of the connection. The faint hum of power within him grew stronger, more resonant. The crimson aura pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
`[System Notification: Negative Speed Force channeling increasing.]`
`[Crimson Flux: 22% → 35%]`
He opened his eyes. The world outside his window seemed to shimmer, the edges of buildings momentarily blurring. He felt a strange sensation, as if he was seeing not just the present, but faint echoes of what had just been, and what was about to be. Fleeting images, superimposed on reality.
He looked at his desk. A cheap teacup, chipped and stained, sat precariously close to the edge. As he watched, it flickered. For a fraction of a second, it was gone, replaced by empty space. Then, it snapped back into existence, exactly where it had been.
Izuku gasped, a sharp intake of breath. He hadn't touched it. He hadn't willed it. It had just… happened.
The interface immediately flashed with new information.
`[System Notification: Localized Temporal Anomaly Detected.]`
`[Event: Teacup - Temporal Flicker]`
`[Analysis: Uncontrolled Negative Speed Force manifestation interacting with localized causality.]`
`[Objective Updated: Maintain control over temporal distortions.]`
`[Sub-objective Success Rate: 10%]`
Ten percent. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that seemed to resonate with the pulsing crimson light. He had just caused a temporal anomaly. He, Izuku Midoriya, had bent time. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was proof that this power, this void, was far more than just speed. It was something that could unravel the very fabric of existence.
He looked at his hands again. They were still faintly glowing, the crimson aura now a constant, steady presence. The whispers in his mind no longer felt like external intrusions, but like an intrinsic part of his own thoughts, a dark, powerful echo of his own desires. He was no longer just Izuku Midoriya, the Quirkless boy. He was something else. Something new. Something born of the void, and now, perhaps, destined to consume it. The path ahead was a terrifying unknown, a landscape of impossible speeds and fractured time, but for the first time since All Might's pronouncement, Izuku felt a flicker of something other than despair. It was a grim, dangerous fascination, a hunger for understanding that was slowly, inexorably consuming him. This was not the path he had ever imagined, but it was a path, and he was now, undeniably, on it.
---