It was almost a mansion. A traditional Japanese home, out in the middle of nowhere, so far from Tokyo that Izuku had to request a drive there. Fortunately, Tenkai was aware of Yushiro Yamamoto, the elusive and reclusive artist, and had no issues with giving out the address.

Once one reached the end of the beaten path, after walking through fields of lavender flowers for fifteen minutes, and further up and up a hill, one reached what some affectionately referred to as "the peak of art." A title, more than a name. A mountaintop for people that aspired to be like Yushiro Yamamoto.

Yushiro allegedly began wearing a mask and pretended to be a son instead once his age became questionable.

Not that Izuku had much interest in art, really. He held little appreciation for paintings, and it seemed to him especially odd that someone could become rich and famous by drawing the same woman over and over again. It struck him as a touch obsessive.

Hypocrite that he was, Izuku did not hesitate to ring the bell. It did not make a sound. He knocked instead.

He heard someone inside shift. Izuku waited patiently for a few minutes as that motion made its way towards the front door.

When the door opened, it revealed a young man with sharp eyes. His pale green hair looked almost otherworldly, largely due to the fact that he was standing in the darkness of the home as dusk began to settle outside.

He sounded like a demon. Unlike Nezuko, he did not even attempt to breathe like a person, which made his presence uncomfortable. Izuku bowed.

"My name—"

"I know who you are," Yushiro said. "Izuku Midoriya. Kagura. Demon Slayer."

Izuku nodded. Every time that title was used, he managed to get more and more used to it. At this point it was part of his name just like his hero name, or perhaps more appropriately his 'Ubuyashiki' name.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Izuku asked. Yushiro narrowed his eyes, beckoning him to follow. Izuku did, walking behind the man through the dim hallways, the door closing behind them with a loud thud, until they reached a room that smelled of paint and tears.

Yushiro snapped his fingers, illuminating candles around the place with flames that gave off no heat. Izuku could see them, the endless paintings, from a hundred perspectives, with those same lavender eyes that Nezuko had described.

Tamayo. A demon who had more humanity in her than most humans.

Izuku swallowed. Perhaps him not being into art too much wasn't entirely accurate. In person, these paintings were almost brimming with energy. Power in each and every stroke. Just as Nezuko had described, where she used the sword, Yushiro Yamamoto used the brush.

"If there's one reason that Nezuko's student would seek me out, it's the threat of demons," Yushiro said. Izuku nodded. "Muzan is dead."

"But his cells survived," Izuku said. Yushiro frowned. "A villain by the name of All For One is trying to accomplish what Muzan failed to do. A demon who surpasses the sun."

"He will fail," Yushiro said, turning around. He sat down in the middle of the room, on a small stool that looked worn and torn from years of overuse.

"He will, if we stop him," Izuku said, clenching his fist in front of his chest. "And now more than ever, he may succeed in what Muzan could not. He has the research, he has the technological advancements of over three hundred years, he has the ambition and worst of all, he has quirks to aid him."

"You speak of powers you don't understand," Yushiro said.

"Then enlighten me," Izuku said. "Your demonization was the only one not born of Muzan. What do you know about it?"

"The smell of the Ubuyashiki hangs on you like a curse, your desperation is not mine, your ambitions do not concern me. If I help you, it will be to my detriment, and your benefit."

"My duty, not my ambition," Izuku said. He spread his arms wide. "I didn't bring any weapons with me. I'm just here to talk. And yet, you've been unwilling to listen since I knocked on your door, haven't you?"

"What did you say to Nezuko to let you come in her stead?" Yushiro asked. Izuku blinked. "I know it must have been something. She would have never passed up an excuse to come visit a familiar face—the last familiar face that is not bone and dust."

"She has other responsibilities," Izuku said. Yushiro frowned. "That's what I said. The villain attacked a girl under her protection and stole her quirk. It can turn back time on any person at a pace that might let him stand in the sun. We need the anti-Muzan drug, or at least knowledge of how to produce something with a similar effect."

"Duty, responsibility," Yushiro said, picking up the earlier word with a heavy-set jaw. "You are like me, are you not? A student of someone you consider the pinnacle of what you could be."

Izuku's brow furrowed.

"You understand me, do you not?" Yushiro asked, louder this time. The flames around the room grew in strength. The paintings glowed back, shining in the dark like beacons of hope. "The perfection in the form of a person that continues to be your inspiration. Your reason for existing and not letting the world claim you as it did those dispassionate fools before you."

Yushiro lifted up a mask that sat next to him. It was one he'd worn in many shows. The name 'Yushiro Yamamoto' had become like a title, something people assumed was passed on from father to son, not a man but a family who had shared this obsession with 'Tamayo'.

The mask was that of a stern faced woman, red engravings on porcelaine, fragile and yet somehow perfect. He put it down again.

"You think Nezuko-sensei is that for me?" Izuku asked. He shook his head. "Once upon a time, that might have been true, but I have come to realize that we are so much more than just the people we idolize. If we want to move forward, we have to decide to move past those who inspire us. Otherwise we're just a snake eating its own tail."

"Then I suppose you are not." Yushiro took one last glance at the mask on the table. "What a shame."

"Regardless, I need your help," Izuku said. "Will you aid me? Or will you keep hiding in the shadows, painting pictures of a woman who died to the monster that All For One is bringing back to life?"

"I will always paint, but I can still help," Yushiro said. The table was knocked over as he stood—his calm voice betrayed nothing, but Izuku could hear the way his bones were yearning for something meaningful to do. The mask fell. It shattered against the ground. Perfection made imperfect. "But how far are you willing to go?"

"Until the end of the world," Izuku said. It was not a promise or an oath. Malediction came from his lips and bound him to the end of All For One, or himself. "Until wherever this long road will take us."

All Might knocked softly on the thin door of the hospital room. A voice inside called out to him, and he opened it swiftly, stepping in to find himself face to face with his fellow teacher, Eraserhead. Though he was an accomplished hero, unlike most of the heroes in the staff of U.A., he preferred to leave the hero persona aside as a teacher.

He called it more human and approachable. All Might envied it. The ease with which Aizawa managed to accomplish all those tasks which All Might could never see himself do properly. It was something that gave Aizawa a lot of leeway with how he taught his class, to the point that expelling someone was just accepted.

If Shota Aizawa saw nothing worth saving in you, you were just not fit to be a hero.

"Yo," Aizawa said. All Might blinked at the easy greeting. Aizawa was sitting in bed, and his head hadn't turned into All Might's direction, and yet he felt like he was being watched. "I'd say it's good to see you, All Might, but I'm afraid I'm not seeing much."

All Might wasn't sure if he should laugh along. He frowned instead, walking up to the bed with a small nod before realizing how stupid it was to do so.

"It's good to see you awake," All Might said. His voice was befitting on his deflated form, and yet more beaten down than usual. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

"My decision to fight Himiko Toga was made with the safety of our students in mind. There's nothing to be sorry for," Aizawa said, crossing his arms. "Have you talked to the troublemaker?"

"Young Midoriya is currently preparing for a confrontation," All Might said. "One I've asked him to accompany me for. I understand that asking that much of him might not be appropriate of a teacher."

"Nonsense," Aizawa said, turning his head. All Might tried not to flinch at the dark red splotches under the bandages. "If you didn't ask him, he'd jump into the fray anyway. That kid's just like you."

"No," All Might said, finding himself grinning. "He's better than me in a lot of ways."

"Not in that reckless attitude, that's for sure," Aizawa murmured. "But no, it's all good. If you're going to fight demons of all things, you'll have a better chance with him. His teacher will help too, I'm sure."

"Nezuko Kamado," All Might said, the skepticism in his voice coming out in spite of himself. "A demon helping humans, of all things. I suppose I shouldn't judge, but it makes me wonder."

"She's the last of a long line," Aizawa said. "And not one person who knows the demon slayers has ever had a bad word to say about her. If you can live so long and keep such a good reputation, I imagine some of it must be true."

"People who know demon slayers," All Might said. "You know many?"

"My family, they used to be demon slayers," Aizawa said. "It's why I picked the troublemaker for my class. I thought he'd be a descendant without any self control. I was right, but fortunately not about the bloodlust that these people usually have."

"I suppose there's something we both saw him in," All MIght said, nodding. "I considered making him my successor, but at this point I'm certain he would not accept. The boy is hung up on the legacy and duty of that sword of his."

"We can't understand what goes on in the heads of swordsmen, that's just not our generation," Aizawa said, shrugging. He took something from next to him. A grape. Rather than eating it, however, he held it over his ear. Something snuck out of his hospital gown, up his neck and towards the grape.

"Is… is that a snake, Aizawa?" All Might asked, wondering if he should punch it away. Aizawa nodded.

"A gift from my ancestor," Aizawa said. "He makes for quite a good pet. Maybe not as good as a cat, but useful nonetheless."

The snake seemed somewhat insulted. It hissed in his ear, making Aizawa flinch towards the edge of the bed. After eating the grape, it calmed down.

"I'm not blind," Aizawa said, eventually. All Might blinked.

"The surgery—"

"Saved my life, not my sight," Aizawa interrupted. "But this rascal here, he's about as good as two pairs of eyes. It takes a while to get used to it, but I can see through his eyes."

"Is that an extension of your quirk?" All Might asked. "I know there are some quirks that evolve in response to disabilities which stop their usual quirk factor."

"No," Aizawa said. He crossed his arms, lying down on the bed again as the snake coiled around his neck. "Maybe a quirk of this snake, but quirks weren't around back when my ancestor used the same technique."

"Or maybe they were," All Might said. "Quirk history wasn't my speciality back in school, but wasn't the theory that quirks were a thing for much longer, and were just so subtle that they were undetectable?"

"Maybe," Aizawa said, shrugging. The motion made the snake coil down his shirt again. "Either way, I'll be able to keep teaching, but I'm afraid my heroics end here. It's good that you came here before any reckless stupidity. I need a favor."

"Whatever you say," All Might said. "If it's within my power, I'll do anything you need."

"Keep the kid alive," Aizawa said. "You'll fight, and I know you'll win, because that's what heroes do. But don't let this end like with Sekijiro."

"I'll keep him safe," All MIght said. "Even if you hadn't told me that, I would have."

"I mean what I said," Aizawa said. "Keeping him alive means more than making sure he doesn't keel over. It means you don't end up a corpse he'll have to mourn over every day, get it?"

That was something All Might could not promise.

He had, after all, set out to do whatever it took to end All For One.

If it meant his life, he would do so without hesitation.

"I'll nap," Aizawa said. "I'll see you once I'm out of his awful place and we can have a drink. For Sekijiro."

All Might nodded.

Aizawa did not sound unhappy, but All Might knew that he was mourning a great loss. Sekijiro, Vlad King, was gone.

And just like that, Eraserhead's watch had ended.

Stain sighed heavily, sitting at the edge of the island. Tenko had, as instructed, left the second he had all the people on the ship. Unfortunately his own phone had broken during the fight with Himiko Toga, leaving him stranded and unable to contact anyone.

Unfortunately he wasn't quite dead yet, and the natives of the island had evacuated quickly after the attack as well, leaving him alone in the forest and forcing him to crawl all the way to the port again, hoping a ship would pass.

It had gotten so bad and so hot that he was already seeing things. A goddamn yacht was passing by. What would a yacht be doing here? Who even had a yacht?

The question was answered quickly. A man stood at the side of the ship as it slowed down near the island, staring down at him.

"I don't think I'm rich enough in imagination to pay for a yacht," Stain said, trying to laugh to himself. Fuck, he had lost too much blood. "You think you can give me a lift anyway, or should I just go and drown now?"

"Get your ass up here, Akaguro," the man said. Stain narrowed his eyes, before they widened in recognition.

"Shit, that you, Uncle Yaoyorozu?" Stain asked. "You've gotten old."

"I can take the yacht and just leave without you," Mr. Yaoyorozu said, grinning. Stain shrugged, standing up and leaping over with a single breath. He landed with the grace of a ragdoll, rolling over and into a wall when he couldn't keep his footing. Mr. Yaoyorozu offered his hand, but Stain just rolled over, leaning against the wall as he sat. His stomach growled and his throat was dry. "I might be older now, but you look way worse than me."

"You wanna fight an amped up demon with fifty quirks?" Stain asked. "I don't think someone whose biggest enemy is a piece of iron gets to complain about how my fights go."

"Yeah, maybe," the man shrugged. He raised his hand, waving. The ship began to move, back towards the main island. "But when I look at the way you end up after a fight, it makes quite a difference to Izuku."

"Yeah, and unlike me he gets it on with your daughter," Stain said. Mr. Yaoyorozu frowned. "You really need to loosen up some. I ain't that kid you used to know."

"No, you're just a crude husk of what's left of him," Mr. Yaoyorozu said. "But I know your heart's in the right place, even if your hands are stained with blood. I need something from you. Call it a favor for helping you out here."

Mr. Yaoyorozu walked around the yacht, behind a wall, and picked something up from a chest, walking back to Stain and showing it off.

"The fuck's that?" Stain asked, looking over to the bundle in Mr. Yaoyorozu's hands. The man grinned, unwrapping it from the thick cloth, revealing a blue sheath in which no doubt lay a Nichirin sword.

"Your father requested one last blade, a few weeks before he passed," Mr. Yaoyorozu said. "One for his son, he said."

"If you're going to lie to me, come up with something better," Stain said, frowning. "I'm already beyond pissed. There's no need to bring that bastard up and try to paint him as a good person."

"He wasn't a good father, but that doesn't mean he didn't care for you in his own way," Mr. Yaoyorozu said. "Whatever your feelings about him are, you need to accept this."

"I don't like handouts, uncle," Stain said, pushing the sheathed sword away, even as the blade sang for him to accept it. "I don't believe you do this out of the goodness of your heart."

"You can believe what you want," Mr. Yaoyorozu said. "I have no reasons to lie, and you have no reasons to believe me. But if you're going to help my future son-in-law, you will need this sword."

He hesitated once more, but it was clear that his resolution was faltering. Stain was not someone who liked to accept help. He offered it when someone needed it, like with Eri, but he would never wish to be in the position of someone who couldn't dig himself out of a grave.

It was when Mr. Yaoyorozu held it over into the ocean as if to drop it overboard that Stain sighed, standing up. He took the sheath and tried to ignore the man's satisfied smile, putting it on his back and tying it tight. Having only one arm would be such a bother.

Sighing once more, he took a breath and grabbed the hilt.

Stain drew the sword.

It lost all brightness, and the blade turned into a red so dark it could swallow the light of the sun. Despite all that, the engravings on the side were still bright.

ANNIHILATE EVIL DEMONS.

The creed of the Hashira.

"You did the same for that kid?"

"No," Mr. Yaoyorozu said. "We engraved something else for him. I don't think he's paid attention to it too much though. There's a lot on his mind."

Stain grinned, sheathing the sword on his back with a motion that was so natural to him. The blade hummed. "I guess my father paid for this thing, then."

"All debts are paid," Mr. Yaoyorozu said. Stain's grin widened, his eyes moving to the stump that was his left arm.

"No," Stain said. "Not all debts."

Chapter 45, upcoming:

The End Of A Long Road Part 4

"This isn't a message, it's a provocation," Nezuko said. "He wants us to come and fight him."

Izuku's hand twitched near his sword. "I say we accept that challenge."

"We will," Nezuko said, nodding. "But on our terms. He is trying to rush us—the anti-demon drug is not synthesized yet."

Izuku's eyes moved towards his mother. She looked so tired again, but her eyes shone with a purpose that made Izuku's heart jump in joy.

"How long?" Izuku asked. Inko turned to him, the fire in her eyes intensifying.

"Less than twenty four hours."

Two days was a long time to keep All For One waiting. Especially with a drug that might not work.

"We have to fight," Momo said, her own hands twitching at nothing. Tenko and All Might nodded. Stain leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "We have to stop them."