Reborn from the ashes from hell

3 POV

Terror. That was the only thing visible in the crowd's eyes.

Whether they had witnessed it unfold before them or through the distant safety of a television screen, no one could deny what they had just seen: a boy—barely more than a child—engulfed in a fiery light that stripped his flesh away until nothing remained but a fragile skeleton, and then... nothing. Just a faint scorch mark on the ground, no larger than a child's shadow.

Silence swallowed the entire arena. Not a breath dared break the stillness. It was the kind of hush that didn't beg for peace, but for confirmation. No one moved. No one blinked. It was as if time had lost its meaning, folding in on itself in the face of what had just occurred.

And then—movement.

A single hand, charred and trembling, reached out from the ash. Slow. Groping blindly through the black dust like the fingers of a corpse clawing its way from the grave.

Gasps echoed.  Every eye fixed on the scene with unspeakable horror.

The hand curled, trembling, and another emerged beside it. Both arms pressed against the ashen floor with unsteady force. It looked as if the very ground had become a threshold, and something—someone—was crawling back from the depths of nothingness.

And then, like a phoenix reborn, Izuku pulled himself free from the ashes.

What was left of his clothing clung to him in burnt, ragged strips, fire had taken bites from the fabric. He looked at his arms his skin, remarkably untouched. No blood. No burns. No remnants of old scars or past wounds. It was as though his entire body had been reset—purified by flame.

But that wasn't what made the crowd hold their breath anew.

From his back, stretching upward and outward in jagged defiance, was a pair of wings.

Not wings of fire a deep, ominous red, darker than fresh blood, yet vivid. They looked too heavy for him, as though they didn't belong.

Izuku didn't seem to notice what just happened the in chaos everyone around him. He stood there, unsteady, confused, eyes wide as he slowly turned in place, scanning the motionless crowd. His expression was blank, just bewildered.

Then his gaze dropped to his arms. He stared at them like a man seeing himself for the first time.

No cuts.

No bruises.

Not even the old scar he'd always had on his wrist.

Gone.

As if history had been erased from his skin.

He swallowed. His gaze flicked behind him. Slowly, he raised a hand and grasped one of the wings. The moment his fingers closed around it and he noticed the redness, he ripped it out without hesitation.

A fresh wave of shock rippled through the spectators. He didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He merely stared at the wing in his hand, now lifeless and still, before tossing it aside.

Then he turned, seized the second wing, and tore it from his back with equal violence.

The wings fell to the ground in eerie silence.

But the silence didn't last.

A sudden whoosh—soft, yet unmistakable—rippled through the air. Flames began to consume the discarded wings. They didn't burn like ordinary fire; no smoke rose from the pyre, only heat. Within seconds, the crimson feathers were nothing but a fresh puddle of ash on the floor.

Movement stirred in the crowd at last.

Midnight was the first to react. She sprinted across the space, heels clicking against the floor as she made her way toward the boy. To reach him before he did something worse.

Behind her, murmurs spread like wildfire. The crowd came back to life, unsure of what they'd seen, unsure if they had truly watched

Izuku didn't seem to care. He stood amid the ashes, breathing softly, blinking as if waking from a long, forgotten dream.

The as I'd in time loop he feel backwards