Journey through all the multi-verse

Momo's POV

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded. How did everything escalate so quickly? Kirito didn't do anything wrong—he hadn't even thrown a single punch! All he did was dodge the attacks of those boys, who had exhausted themselves trying to grab him. Yet, here we were, surrounded by accusations and misunderstandings.

I recalled how calm and composed Kirito had been during the skirmish with the older boys. It was as if he wasn't even trying. He moved with a grace that seemed almost second nature, his focus sharp but his demeanor unbothered. I couldn't help but feel amazed. Even now, as High Rider, Endeavor's sidekick, approached him, Kirito's stance shifted. He went from looking mildly bored to alert, focused, and… excited? The change was instantaneous, and it left me fixated on him.

But I was too worried. I didn't want him to get into more trouble. My own indecisiveness paralyzed me, leaving me unsure of how to intervene. Kirito must have sensed my anxiety, though, because he turned to me and gave me a genuine, confident smile. It eased some of my worries, but the pit in my stomach remained.

Facing the hero, Kirito smiled, his tone light yet challenging. "Let's dance."

High Rider introduced himself formally, announcing his affiliation with Endeavor. Kirito, still calm, asked if there was a way to resolve this misunderstanding peacefully. But the hero, convinced by the fabricated accusations of Lickter and his lackeys, ignored him. High Rider reached out to grab Kirito by the collar of his kimono, but Kirito simply sidestepped the hand. Again and again, the hero's attempts to grab him were met with effortless evasion. Each miss seemed to frustrate High Rider further.

"Hold still, you brat!" High Rider shouted as Kirito slid under his outstretched arm.

By now, the commotion had attracted the attention of the entire party. Adults, teenagers, and children gathered to watch, some even recording the encounter on their phones. The crowd's murmurs grew louder as Lickter and his friends egged the hero on.

"What kind of hero are you if you can't catch one kid?" they jeered.

The taunts only seemed to embolden High Rider, who finally lost his temper. "Special Move: low-power heat shot!" he announced, adjusting his visor to unleash a burst of flame at Kirito.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by cheers from some onlookers who were impressed by the flashy display. I, however, was horrified. My hand flew to my mouth as I watched the hero attack Kirito, who had done nothing to warrant such aggression.

Kirito, undeterred, ran straight toward the flame. To everyone's astonishment, he dropped to his knees, slid under the burst of fire, and sprang up with incredible agility. Using the momentum from his slide, he leapt into the air, executing a spinning front kick aimed at the hero's head.

High Rider raised his arm to block, confident it would be enough. But Kirito's kick broke through his guard, connecting with the side of his head and bringing the hero to one knee. Kirito landed gracefully behind him, his back turned to the hero. High Rider quickly retaliated, swinging a powerful punch toward Kirito, but Kirito anticipated the move. He spun beneath the attack, closing the distance between them. With a series of precise strikes—two to the hero's armpit and a palm strike to his lower jaw—Kirito rendered High Rider's arm limp and his aim facing the roof, making his blast ineffective. Three more rapid blows to the chest and neck brought the hero crashing to the ground, unconscious. The fight had lasted no more than twenty seconds.

Kirito moved like a dancer in this battle, every step deliberate, every strike efficient. I could barely believe what I was seeing. High Rider—a trained pro hero sidekick—had been incapacitated by a child. The fluidity of Kirito's movements made it look effortless, yet the precision of his strikes hinted at immense skill and training far beyond his years.

The crowd fell silent, stunned by the sight of a child defeating a pro hero's sidekick. My relief was palpable. I thought it was finally over, that we could clear up this misunderstanding and resolve everything peacefully. But my hopes were dashed when another figure entered the fray.

"Luchador special move: Luchador light tackle!" came a booming voice.

A hero wearing a red cape and a luchador mask soared through the air, aiming a surprise attack at Kirito. My heart sank. The hero was coming from behind, and Kirito couldn't possibly see him. But once again, Kirito defied my expectations. At the last moment, he jumped high into the air, avoiding the tackle entirely. The masked hero rolled to recover and turned to face Kirito, who landed gracefully, then assuming a combat stance.

The crowd erupted into cheers once more. The masked hero basked in the applause. "Villain, you may have defeated one of my colleagues, but you won't get past me! You're facing the Masked Luchador now!" 

Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. I wanted to cry, to scream, to make all of this chaos stop. I wanted to explain that Kirito wasn't a villain, But I couldn't—not with the crowd cheering and shouting all around me, drowning out everything else. Then, cutting through the noise, Kirito's calm voice reached me, pulling my focus back to him. 

"So… you wish to dance as well?" Kirito said, his tone calm yet brimming with excitement. His confident eyes and smile made me pause. Despite everything, he seemed entirely in control, and for a moment, I believed he could handle whatever came next.

Kirito POV

How did things escalate so quickly? My mind swirled with memories of the chaos that brought me to this point. All I wanted to do was help Momo out of an awkward situation. One moment, I was fending off a group of older boys, who thought they could intimidate me, and the next, I found myself facing off against a hero. Beating him wasn't the hard part—his fighting was clumsy and predictable. But now? Now I was staring down a half-naked man in a luchador mask. Seriously, this was getting inconvenient to downright ridiculous.

Yet, despite the absurdity of the situation, I couldn't deny it—I was excited. Each stronger opponent sent a surge of adrenaline rushing through my veins, my blood boiling in anticipation. I was beginning to crave the challenge, the thrill of testing my skills against powerful foes. Was this… the Uchiha blood in me? The stronger my opponents, the more my blood boiled with excitement. Every clash, every strike, fueled me, pushing me to test the limits of my skills. Was I… enjoying this? No, worse—was I becoming a battle maniac, just like my ancestors?

"Oh, God," I muttered under my breath. "Am I turning into another Madara?"

As if summoned by my thoughts, I could've sworn I heard a deep voice grumble, Brat, followed by Hashirama's booming laughter echoing in the distance. I shook my head, dismissing it as my imagination. Focus. There were more pressing matters at hand. I refocused on the fight ahead. This wasn't the time for idol thoughts.

The luchador hero was… big, to put it mildly. A wall of fat with just enough muscle in key areas to suggest his fighting style revolved around wrestling. He charged toward me with the confidence of someone who thought size alone guaranteed victory. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. Using my smaller size to my advantage, I slipped past his strikes, weaving around his blows with a mix of Taijutsu and the fluid movements of airbending and waterbending.

His attacks were wild and slow, relying on brute strength. It wasn't long before his frustration became evident. Desperate to turn the tide, he roared out, "Special Move: Luchador Boost!"

What happened next caught my attention. His body transformed before my eyes—his fat seemed to melt away, replaced by dense, rippling muscle. His speed and strength surged. I couldn't help but grin.

"Well, isn't this interesting?" I murmured , feeling my blood race in excitement.

We clashed again, and this time, his movements were sharper, faster, and far more dangerous. To match his newfound strength, I began enhancing my body with chakra, keeping my movements sharp and deliberate. As we clashed again, our strikes and counters became faster, more intense. His punches carried the force of a wrecking ball, while my movements were like a blade cutting through water.

"Impressive," I said, sidestepping a particularly vicious punch. "How many times can you boost yourself like that?"

"Ten times," he replied with a grin, charging at me again. "But there's a limit. Once I hit my max, I'll turn into a skinny, fragile man."

"And you're okay with that?" I quipped, dodging another strike.

"It's the price of greatness!"

"Sounds fun," I said, dodging another swing.

"What's your quirk, kid?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

I shrugged, playing coy. "Who knows?"

His confidence was infectious, but I remained cautious. But In truth, I wasn't about to reveal anything about myself My uncle's lessons echoed in my mind: Information is key. Show your opponent only what you want them to see. I had no intention of revealing more than necessary. The more your opponent knows, the more they can use against you.

So, I stuck to my plan. My taijutsu and chakra enhancements would be enough. If I absolutely needed to reveal a technique, I'd stick to fire bending—just enough to keep them guessing.

 The fight intensified as the Luchador called out, "Boost times three!" His body swelled with even more muscle, and his fighting style shifted. Gone was the straightforward wrestler—now he moved with the precision of a boxer and the ferocity of a kickboxer. His strikes came faster, his movements sharper.

The battle tempo changed. For the first time, I found myself on the defensive, my chakra-enhanced body barely keeping pace. But I didn't falter. Instead, I embraced the challenge, pushing myself harder. The exhilaration of the fight coursed through me, and I couldn't help but respect the hero for his skill and determination.

Our exchange left the crowd on edge, their cheers and gasps filling the air. By the end of this phase, we stood at a stalemate. The Luchador had small bruises and sores, while I remained unscathed, my breathing Slightly heavy.

Before we could continue, another hero entered the fray. My attention snapped to him as he strutted forward in a colorful bodysuit that made my eyes hurt. Topped off with ridiculous sunglasses, he introduced himself as "Emotion Man."

"Oh, great," I muttered. "As if this wasn't chaotic enough."

The two heroes conversed briefly before teaming up against me. Emotion Man took a support role, firing beams of energy that radiated raw emotion—sadness, exhaustion, anger. I dodged them while keeping the Luchador engaged in close combat, but the dynamic had shifted.

"Playing dirty, huh?" I called out, leaping over a blast of energy and aiming a kick at the Luchador.

Since they didn't want to fight fair, neither would I. My next move was less elegant but undeniably effective—a solid kick between the Luchador's legs.

The crowd winced in unison, a chorus of "Ooooh!" echoing through the party. I could hear the men groaning in sympathy. Seriously, who doesn't wear a cup in a fight?

But as the Luchador crumpled slightly, a beam from Emotion Man struck him from behind. I sensed the emotions coursing through it—encouragement, anger, and pure determination. The boost gave the Luchador a second wind.

"Boost times ten!" he roared.

In an instant, his body transformed into a behemoth of pure muscle. Before I could react, his massive hands clamped down on me, pinning my arms to my chest. He lifted me effortlessly, his grip like iron.

"Finish it!" he shouted to his comrade, his voice strained. "I can't hold this form for long!"

Emotion Man charged his ultimate attack, shouting, "Nightmare Beam!"

I struggled against the Luchador's grip, channelling fire bending to escape. But before I could unleash it, the beam hit me with full force, a wave of dark purple energy filled with intense negative emotions. The impact sent a searing pain through my body, and my vision blurred.

I felt my go limp and my eyes felt heavy unfocused. The last thing I saw as before slowly succumbing to unconsciousness was seeing Momo crying.

Kirito Pov.

Darkness.

It wasn't the comforting kind you'd find in a peaceful night or the gentle embrace of sleep. No, this darkness was alive. It was suffocating, crawling over everything I loved with malicious intent. I felt its pull even as my body lay limp, consciousness slipping from my grasp.

Then came the nightmare.

My home—our sanctuary—stood before me, but it was no longer safe. The grand Japanese mansion, once brimming with life and warmth, was crumbling. Shadows spread like ink across the floors and walls, swallowing the intricate woodwork, the lush gardens, and the laughter that had made the house a home.

I tried to move, to fight, but something held me back. Black chains coiled around my body, heavy and cold. They pinned me in place, forcing me to watch as the darkness consumed everything.

"No!" I screamed, thrashing against the restraints. "Leave them alone!"

The void answered with silence.

One by one, the people I cared for vanished. The homunculi maids were the first to go, their serene faces etched with fear as the shadows devoured them. Tamayo's clinic and Uncle Iroh's tea shop were next, the memories of their aromas—herbs and oolong—fading into nothingness.

I sobbed, struggling harder, but the chains only tightened, biting into my skin.

Then, they came.

The ANBU and the White Lotus arrived, their weapons gleaming with resolve. They stood firm, forming a line of defense against the encroaching darkness. I watched, heart pounding, as jutsu and bending arts lit up the void in bursts of light. The clash of power was breathtaking, but it wasn't enough.

The darkness retaliated with relentless tendrils, consuming them one by one. Their screams echoed, searing themselves into my mind as they disappeared into nothingness.

"Stop it!" I begged, tears streaming down my face.

And then there was only one left.

Uncle Iroh stood alone, his flames burning bright against the shadows. He moved with the grace of a master, his every motion a symphony of control and power. His fire bent and twisted, roaring defiantly as it scorched the tendrils that reached for him.

But even he couldn't hold them back forever.

The darkness surged, its tendrils growing faster, thicker, more aggressive. They wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso, eating away at him piece by piece.

"Uncle Iroh!" I cried, struggling harder against the chains. "Fight it! Please!"

He turned to me then, his expression calm, his eyes filled with unwavering love.

"Remember this, my nephew," he said, his voice steady despite the encroaching void. "It is through passion that we firebenders gain strength. With strength comes power—but power must be tempered and controlled. Do not let it control you."

The darkness surged, but Iroh's smile only grew. In one final act of defiance, he ignited his entire body, transforming into a blazing Eastern dragon. Its roar shook the void, and its radiant flames pushed back the shadows in a blinding wave. For a moment, the darkness faltered, revealing shadowy figures lurking within the void.

Then, he was gone.

The weight of his loss crushed me. My chest felt hollow, my cries tearing through the silence like shards of glass.

But the nightmare wasn't finished.

"Kirito"

Her voice—a soft, melodic call—pulled me from my despair. I looked up to see her running toward me, her kimono billowing as if caught in a nonexistent wind. The shadows surged behind her, faster this time, hungrier.

"No! Mama, run!" I shouted, reaching out as far as the chains would allow.

She was close—so close—her hand outstretched to meet mine.

But the tendrils struck.

They wrapped around her legs, pulling her back just inches from my grasp.

"Mama!" I cried, my voice cracking with desperation.

She turned to me, her face calm despite the void devouring her.

"My sweet baby boy," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "I am so proud of you. You've grown into someone strong, someone kind. I love you, Kirito."

Her words cut deeper than any blade. As the darkness consumed her, the smile on her face never wavered.

"I love you too, Mama!" I screamed, but it was too late. She was gone.

The chains slackened, but it didn't matter. I crumpled to my knees, my body shaking with sobs as despair clawed at my heart. My home, my family, my world—everything was gone.

The darkness, satisfied with its feast, turned its attention to me. Tendrils slithered up my arms and legs, their cold touch burning into my skin.

"Maybe... maybe this is better," I whispered, tears falling freely. "Maybe if I become nothing, the pain will go away."

But as the void crept higher, something stirred within me.

A flicker of warmth.

Memories flooded my mind—sparring with Uncle Iroh, helping Mama in her clinic, the laughter of the maids as they chased me around the mansion. They weren't just memories; they were reasons. Reasons to fight. Reasons to live.

"No," I growled, the spark igniting into a raging inferno. "I'm not going back into the void. I'll save them. I'll save them all!"

Blue flames erupted from my hands, burning through the chains that bound me. The power surged through my body, overwhelming and all-consuming. My muscles tore, my bones ached, and my veins burned as if they were being filled with molten fire. My eyes stung with an unbearable pain, blood—or were they tears?—streaming down my face.

I screamed, pouring every ounce of my rage, love, and determination into breaking free.

With a final, deafening cry, the chains shattered, and the darkness around me ignited in a blinding blaze.

The shadows recoiled, revealing a towering figure—a massive, monstrous form that loomed over me. Its jagged edges shifted like liquid shadow, its glowing eyes fixed on me with malice.

I didn't hesitate. Pivoting midair, a burst of blue flames from the bottom of my feet pushed me forward, at the figure, flames engulfing my fist as I drove a knee into its side. The impact sent it flying, the shadows screeching in protest.

As I landed, the ground lit up with blue flames, casting the void in an eerie glow. Above me, the crimson moon hung in the sky, its three tomoe spinning ominously.

And then, I felt it.

A familiar presence—a surge of power that wasn't my own.

The white fox appeared, its fur gleaming with black and red markings, its ten tails swaying in unison. It circled me protectively, its growl a low, rumbling threat to the shadows that dared approach.

Together, we stood against the encroaching darkness. I clenched my fists, flames sparking at my knuckles.

"I'm getting my family back," I said, my voice steady, resolute.

And this time, the void would break before I did.