MHA: Echoes of the Breach

AN: We should hopefully return back to semi-canon events either next chapter or the one after, it depends on how long I want to make it so we'll see next week. other than that, review please, more feedback means I can better my writing, even if it's just the review equivalent of a thumbs up, the added inspiration will help me work harder on making better content.

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He was sinking.

The water around him was vast and endless, stretching in every direction with no bottom in sight. The weight of it pressed in from all sides, cold and suffocating, dragging him further into the abyss.

His head was already below the surface, his vision blurred by the darkness that crept in from the edges. His legs wouldn't move, no matter how hard he willed them to. They were heavy—dead weight—refusing to obey, refusing to fight.

His right arm was the only part of him that still reached, still fought, stretching toward the surface, toward the sky beyond.

Then came the hand.

It was wrong.

The texture was uneven, shifting, like something caught between forms. Leather-like in some places, smooth scales in others. Deep blue veins pulsed just beneath the surface, glowing faintly with an unnatural light. The fingers were long, too long, the joints bending almost human—but not quite.

He would have mistaken it for a Kaiju's limb if it wasn't so eerily human.

It reached for him, slow and deliberate, drifting closer through the water like it had all the time in the world.

Shinji's breath caught—not that he could breathe down here. His body was frozen, limbs refusing to obey, his mind caught between horror and recognition.

Had he seen this before?

Had it touched him before?

The hand flexed, fingers twitching as if testing their movement. The veins pulsed again, the glow intensifying.

Then, without hesitation, it grasped his wrist.

A sharp, searing cold shot through him, deeper than the water, deeper than the abyss itself. It wasn't just temperature—it was something else entirely, something that wormed its way beneath his skin, into his bones, as if it was pulling something out of him.

The stars above flickered.

The abyss below stirred.

And the hand tightened its grip.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't kind. It wrenched him upward with an unnatural strength, dragging him toward the shimmering surface with a force that sent the water around him spiraling. His body remained limp, unwilling, his mind still sluggish from the cold that had burrowed deep into his bones.

But the feeling—that sickening, gnawing sensation—didn't leave.

It lessened, yes. The sharp edge of it dulled as the abyss receded beneath him, but it didn't go away.

Something had changed.

The water broke around him as he was pulled up, the surface shattering like glass. He inhaled sharply—too sharply—his lungs burning, his senses spinning. The air was thick, oppressive, wrong. It smelled of static, of something that shouldn't be.

And then he saw it.

Him.

No sneer. No mocking grin.

The Specter stood before him, still wrapped in its ever-shifting corruption, a fractured reflection of himself. The darkness that clung to its form pulsed and wavered, shifting in patterns he couldn't quite understand.

But its expression was… different this time.

No arrogance. No cruelty.

Just confusion.

Just curiosity.

Shinji felt his breath catch, his body still thrumming with the remnants of the cold, of the touch that had pulled him out of the abyss.

The Specter tilted its head slightly, its eerie, too-familiar eyes locking onto him with something close to wonder.

"…You're different," it murmured, voice softer than before, lacking its usual taunting lilt.

Shinji's fingers twitched.

So was it.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, he wasn't sure who was supposed to be afraid of who.

The Specter's grip on his wrist loosened, but the phantom cold remained, lingering beneath his skin like something alive, something waiting.

Shinji inhaled shakily, his breath sharp in the thick, heavy air. His body still felt wrong, still felt like something was burrowing into his bones, but it was weaker now—distant, like an echo instead of a presence.

The Specter tilted its head further, watching him with an expression that was almost… fascinated. It had never looked at him like this before.

"…You're different," it murmured again, softer this time, like it was trying to puzzle something out. Its voice, though still his, lacked the usual edge of mockery, of taunting superiority.

Shinji swallowed, his throat dry despite the fact that he had just been drowning.

"So are you," he muttered, forcing the words out.

The Specter blinked slowly, considering him. "Am I?"

Shinji clenched his fists. "You tell me."

A flicker of something passed across the Specter's face—hesitation. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Shinji caught it.

It didn't know.

It didn't understand.

That was new.

For as long as this thing had haunted him, it had always been the one in control. Always the one looming over him with a knowing smirk, dripping with arrogance, with certainty.

But now?

Now, it was looking at him like he was the thing that didn't make sense.

Shinji exhaled slowly, steadying himself. His muscles still ached, still felt like they weren't entirely his own, but he pushed past it.

"You pulled me out," he said, testing the waters. "Why?"

The Specter didn't answer immediately. Its fingers twitched slightly, as if it was still remembering the feeling of grasping him, of pulling him free.

"…You were sinking," it said finally.

Shinji narrowed his eyes. "And that mattered to you?"

Another pause.

Then, finally—honestly:

"I don't know."

That hit harder than Shinji expected.

Because for the first time, it wasn't lying to him.

The Specter wasn't pretending to be above him, wasn't sneering down at him like it knew something he didn't.

It was just… standing there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Shinji flexed his fingers. The cold still hadn't left him, still pulsed beneath his skin in a slow, rhythmic way that made his stomach twist. But the longer he stood there, the more something else became apparent—

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be afraid anymore.

Not of this.

Not of it.

Because for the first time, it was hesitating too.

The Specter held his gaze, unreadable yet unthreatening in a way that set Shinji further on edge. This wasn't how their encounters usually went. There was always a game, a cruel mockery, a reminder that it knew more than he did.

But now?

Now, it was looking at him with something closer to uncertainty.

Shinji swallowed, shaking off the lingering weight of the cold that coiled beneath his skin. His wrist still burned where it had grabbed him, but the sensation was dulling—not gone, just… fading.

Like whatever had just happened had cost the Specter something too.

He took a step back, just to see if it would react.

It didn't move. Didn't lunge. Didn't taunt him.

It just watched.

Like it was trying to figure him out.

That unsettled him more than anything else.

"…You don't know why you did it?" Shinji asked carefully, his voice steadier now.

The Specter blinked, its head tilting slightly. "I thought I did," it murmured, almost to itself. "But now…"

Its fingers flexed—his fingers. They still moved like his own, but something about them felt off, like it was testing a foreign limb.

"…It felt wrong to leave you down there."

Shinji's breath hitched.

That wasn't an answer he had expected.

He had braced for condescension, for cruelty—some smug remark about how pathetic he had looked, about how he had always been drowning, that this was just his natural state.

But there was none of that.

The Specter just stood there, watching him, its expression still unreadable but lacking the mockery that had always been there before.

Shinji exhaled slowly.

"…You care now?" he asked, skeptical.

The Specter flinched. Just barely. If he hadn't been looking for it, he wouldn't have caught it.

That reaction sent a different kind of chill down his spine.

"No," it said, too quickly.

Shinji narrowed his eyes. "Liar."

The Specter's fingers twitched. Its mouth opened, as if to spit back some retort—some defense—but nothing came.

Because it didn't have an answer.

Because it didn't know why it had saved him either.

Shinji swallowed, pulse thrumming in his ears.

For the first time, he wasn't sure who was more shaken—him, or the thing that had been haunting him for months.

"…Then what are you?" he asked.

The Specter didn't reply immediately.

For the first time, it looked uncertain.

And when it finally spoke, its voice was quiet.

"I don't know anymore."

Its own words hung heavy in the space between them.

Shinji stayed silent, watching carefully, waiting for the usual smugness, the usual act—but none of it came. Instead, the Specter's gaze drifted, distant, lost in something Shinji couldn't see.

It was remembering.

Not like him—not like his own fractured recollections, where faces blurred and voices faded before he could grasp them.

No, this was different.

The Specter knew exactly what had happened.

And for the first time, it looked like it wished it didn't.

"We made a deal," it murmured, its voice carrying a weight Shinji had never heard from it before. "And in doing so, you gave me deeper access to you."

Shinji stiffened. The memory of that moment was still hazy, but he felt the truth of it.

That deal—it hadn't been fully conscious, had it? The Specter had been there, whispering, offering—and he had taken the out it had given him.

Because it was that, or die.

The Specter exhaled—when did it start doing that?—and its shoulders tensed, as if the memory itself unsettled it.

"I was going to use it," it admitted, its voice quieter now. "That door. That… connection." It looked down at its hands, flexing its fingers again, almost like they weren't its own. "I was going to take over. To help you become perfect."

Shinji's breath hitched, his muscles locking up, but the Specter didn't move toward him.

Didn't try.

It just stood there.

"But then… something changed."

Shinji forced himself to breathe. "…What?"

The Specter hesitated, its form flickering for a brief second.

Then, almost reluctantly, it said,

"I don't want to anymore."

Shinji's mind stalled.

That—

That didn't make sense.

This thing—this presence—had been clawing at him for months. It had been lurking in his mind, watching, waiting, digging deeper every chance it got. And now it was saying it didn't want what it had been fighting for?

Shinji's voice came out slow, cautious. "…Why?"

The Specter's expression twisted into something like frustration—at itself, at him, maybe at both.

"I don't know," it admitted, almost bitter. "I was certain. I was sure. But then—"

Its voice caught, and Shinji saw something new flicker across its face.

Guilt.

It looked away, its fingers curling into fists.

"I feel bad," it muttered.

Shinji's stomach dropped.

That was wrong. That was backwards. The Specter didn't feel bad about anything. It had never shown an ounce of regret, never wavered, never hesitated.

And yet—

Here it was, standing before him, admitting that the thing it had always wanted now made it sick.

Shinji swallowed.

"You regret it," he said, testing the words.

The Specter let out a sharp breath, hands tightening.

"…Yes."

And Shinji had no idea what that meant.

The Specter's form flickered again, like it was unstable—like the words themselves were wrong somehow, fighting against something fundamental within it.

But it didn't stop.

It exhaled shakily, its fingers unclenching as it finally met Shinji's gaze again. Its usual confidence, its usual certainty, was gone.

"I—" The Specter swallowed, its voice quieter now, raw in a way Shinji had never heard before. "…I'm sorry."

Shinji froze.

The words felt impossible.

This thing—this presence that had haunted him, tormented him, tried to become him—was apologizing?

And worse still…

It meant it.

The Specter wasn't mocking him. Wasn't twisting the words into something cruel or condescending.

It was genuine.

Shinji's chest tightened, his breath coming slower, heavier.

He didn't know how to process this.

"…Why?" The question barely made it past his lips.

The Specter's expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, quietly—almost painfully—it said,

"Because I see it now."

Shinji narrowed his eyes. "See what?"

The Specter exhaled, shaking its head, its form shifting slightly before stabilizing.

"You," it murmured. "I see you."

Shinji's heart pounded in his chest.

The Specter ran a hand down its face, looking… tired. It had never looked tired before. It had always been this ever-present, unshakable force—a reflection of his worst instincts, his worst thoughts.

But now, it looked like it was struggling.

"I thought you were weak," it admitted. "I thought you were nothing without me." Its fingers curled slightly. "I thought you needed me, that it would be better if you let me in. If I became you."

It inhaled, slow and uneven.

"But I was wrong."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and real.

Shinji's hands clenched at his sides. He didn't know how to respond.

"I watched," the Specter continued, voice quieter now. "I felt what you felt. I lived it with you, and I thought I understood. I thought I knew what you were." It looked down at its own hands again, like it wasn't sure they belonged to it. "But I didn't. Not really."

It lifted its gaze back to him, and there was something almost human in its expression now.

"I don't want to take your place anymore," it said, softer this time. "I don't want to take you back to that place anymore."

Shinji swallowed hard, his mind still racing to keep up.

"…Then what do you want?" His voice was hoarse, hesitant.

The Specter hesitated, its form flickering again, but this time, it steadied itself before answering.

"I don't know," it admitted. "But for the first time, I think… I want to find out."

Shinji wasn't sure what was more unsettling—everything the Specter had just confessed… or the fact that he believed it.

Shinji swallowed, his mind racing through everything the Specter had just admitted.

It didn't want to change him anymore. It felt bad for trying. It was apologizing.

And that shouldn't be possible.

Not for it.

His fingers twitched at his sides, the phantom cold still lingering beneath his skin, a reminder of how deep this thing had dug into him.

Shinji exhaled slowly. "When you used that connection," he muttered, half to himself. "When I let you in—when I gave you that door…"

The Specter tilted its head slightly, waiting.

Shinji narrowed his eyes, trying to piece it together.

"You must have… changed," he said carefully. "You didn't just get access to me. You—" He hesitated, the words catching in his throat, feeling wrong to say.

The Specter noticed. It always noticed.

Shinji swallowed again, then forced it out.

"You became more… human."

The Specter flinched.

Not in anger. Not in mockery.

In discomfort.

Shinji felt it—the way the word sat heavy between them, how the Specter's form flickered ever so slightly. Like it hated the implication but couldn't deny it.

Shinji's fingers curled into fists. "That's why you care now," he continued, voice lower. "That's why you hesitate. That's why you—" His breath caught. "That's why you regret."

The Specter clenched its jaw, its form flickering again, its fingers twitching like it wanted to deny it—like it needed to deny it.

But it didn't.

Because it couldn't.

Shinji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You weren't supposed to feel," he muttered. "You weren't supposed to change. But when you reached deeper into me—" He met its gaze, steady and sharp. "You did."

The Specter swallowed, looking away for the first time.

It didn't argue.

Didn't fight him on it.

Because Shinji was right.

And neither of them knew what that meant.

The Specter was silent for a long time.

It didn't argue.

Didn't lash out.

Didn't try to twist his words into something else.

Because it believed him.

It knew he was right.

Its form flickered again—less from instability and more like it was processing, like it was coming to terms with something it didn't quite understand.

"…That was the plan," it finally admitted. Its voice was quiet, almost hollow. "To make you perfect. To shape you into the predator you were meant to be. No hesitation. No weakness."

It looked down at its hands again, flexing its fingers like they weren't quite its own.

"That was what I was."

Its jaw tightened.

"But now…"

It trailed off, staring at its own reflection in the black water below them.

Shinji watched, his own breath steady but uncertain.

The Specter exhaled slowly, like something in it had broken—something it hadn't realized was even there.

"I don't want that anymore," it muttered.

Shinji narrowed his eyes. "Then what do you want?"

The Specter hesitated.

And then, for the first time since its existence, its voice was steady, certain.

"I want you to live."

Shinji's chest tightened.

Not survive.

Not fight.

Not become something greater.

Just live.

The Specter met his gaze again, and this time, there was no arrogance, no malice, no hunger for control.

Just… understanding.

And for the first time, Shinji wasn't sure if it was his reflection anymore.

Shinji stared at the Specter, searching its face for something—anything—that would make this make sense.

This thing had been haunting him for months, whispering in the back of his mind, shaping itself from his worst instincts, his rawest fears. He had thought—assumed—that it was just a manifestation of his trauma, a cruel reflection of himself that his mind had created to torment him.

But now?

Now, it wasn't just some intrusive thought clawing at the edges of his psyche.

It had changed. It had regrets. It had wants.

And that meant it was real.

"…What are you?" Shinji finally asked, his voice quiet but firm.

The Specter blinked, its form stilling for a brief moment. Then, it let out a slow breath, rolling its shoulders like it was shedding a weight it had been carrying for too long.

"I'm a parasite."

The words came without hesitation, flat and matter-of-fact.

Shinji's stomach twisted.

He hadn't expected an answer so direct.

The Specter tilted its head, watching his reaction carefully. "I thought you knew."

Shinji's jaw clenched. "I thought you were just my imagination. Some… twisted part of me. Something my mind created to cope."

The Specter exhaled sharply—not a laugh, but close. "You weren't wrong." It lifted its hands, flexing its fingers again like it was testing them. "I was a reflection of you. I used you to shape myself. To grow. But I'm not just that anymore."

Shinji swallowed hard. "You're not just a parasite."

The Specter's fingers twitched, its form flickering slightly.

"…No," it admitted. "Not anymore."

Shinji exhaled, his mind racing.

This thing—it had burrowed into him, latched onto him when he made that deal. And it had planned to take over, to twist him into something else.

But instead, it had changed.

And now, the thing that was supposed to consume him just wanted him to live.

Shinji took a slow step forward, his voice steady. "So what happens now?"

The Specter hesitated, then answered honestly.

"…I don't know."

Shinji's hands clenched at his sides. His fingers curled so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, but he barely felt it.

A parasite.

A thing that had been feeding on him, waiting to take over. Something that had latched onto him when he was weakest, that had whispered in his ear, pushed him, warped him—

And now it was nice?

Now it wanted him to live?

That was supposed to fix everything?

Shinji exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You don't know?" His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, something simmering beneath the surface. "You don't know what happens now?"

The Specter's expression remained unreadable, but it didn't respond immediately.

That pissed Shinji off even more.

"Are you kidding me?" He let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "That's it? That's your answer? After everything? After months of you digging into me, pushing me, twisting me—now, all of a sudden, you just—what? Grow a conscience? Decide you don't want to take over anymore?"

His voice rose slightly, his breath uneven.

"I died out there. Do you get that?" His jaw tightened. "I was gone. I fought, I bled, I barely made it through, and you were there through all of it. And now you want to stand here and say 'oops, my bad, I changed?'"

The Specter didn't flinch. Didn't argue.

It just listened.

That only made the anger burn hotter.

Shinji took a step forward, his chest heaving. "You wanted to make me a predator—a perfect killer. You wanted to be me. And now that you actually got into my head, now that you became something more than just a voice in the dark, you changed?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "That's not how this works."

The Specter finally spoke, its voice quiet. "I know."

Shinji gritted his teeth. "Then why?"

The Specter's gaze didn't waver. "Because I didn't understand you," it said simply. "Not really."

Shinji exhaled sharply through his nose, his frustration not fading. "And now you do?"

The Specter hesitated. "…I understand enough."

Shinji ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly, trying to work through the tangle of emotions clawing at his chest. His mind was still screaming at him, still trying to process everything that had led up to this moment.

Everything he had been through.

Everything he had lost.

And now, this thing—this parasite—wanted to coexist?

He turned back toward it, forcing his breathing to steady. His voice was quieter now, but the edge hadn't left.

"So what are you gonna do now?"

The Specter didn't answer immediately.

Then, finally—

"I don't know," it admitted again. "But I meant what I said."

It stepped closer, its voice steady, almost careful.

"I don't want to take over anymore."

Shinji exhaled slowly, his hands still shaking. He didn't know if he believed it.

He didn't know if he could.

But for the first time, the Specter wasn't pushing him.

It was waiting.

For him.

Shinji exhaled sharply, trying to quell the roiling frustration in his chest, but it refused to settle.

The Specter had spent months digging into him, whispering in the dark, pushing him toward something he hadn't asked for—something he hadn't wanted. And now, now, after everything, it was just waiting?

Waiting for him?

Like it was his decision?

Like it hadn't already done irreparable damage?

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

"You don't get to just say that," he muttered, voice low and strained. "I don't want to take over anymore. Do you even hear yourself?" He shook his head, his breath uneven. "You don't want to? Like you suddenly grew a moral compass?"

The Specter didn't react, just continued to watch him with that unreadable expression.

Shinji scoffed, rubbing a hand over his face. "What, am I supposed to be grateful? That you changed your mind? That you decided I get to keep my own body? That I get to keep being me?"

The Specter tilted its head slightly. "Would it help?"

Shinji's eye twitched. "No!"

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—

"…I didn't expect it to."

Shinji exhaled, forcing himself to breathe, to think, but the emotions—frustration, anger, confusion—kept spiraling. He felt like he was losing his grip on what was real, on what this even meant.

Because he could feel it, deep down, in the parts of himself that he didn't understand—the Specter wasn't lying.

And that only made it worse.

He glared at the Specter, jaw tight. "Why?"

It blinked, tilting its head the other way. "Why what?"

"Why stop?" His voice was sharper than before. "Why not just do it? You had the access, you had the opportunity. You were right there." His hands trembled. "So why?"

The Specter was silent for a moment. Then, with a slow, careful exhale, it said—

"Because I saw you."

Shinji's breath hitched.

"I thought I understood," the Specter continued, voice quiet. "I thought I knew you. But I didn't." Its fingers twitched slightly. "I thought you were weak. That you needed me. That I could make you stronger. That you'd be better if you let me take control."

Its gaze flickered, like it was remembering something distant.

"But I was wrong."

The words felt final, heavier than anything else it had ever said to him.

Shinji stared at it, heart hammering against his ribs.

The Specter met his gaze, its form flickering faintly at the edges, but not from instability—

From certainty.

"You didn't need me," it admitted. "You never did."

Something in Shinji's chest tightened.

He should have felt victorious.

He should have wanted to throw this thing's words back in its face, to tell it that he had always known that.

But he hadn't.

He had believed he needed it. He had leaned on it in ways he hadn't realized until now.

And that terrified him.

Shinji swallowed hard. "…So what now?"

The Specter exhaled again, slower this time.

"I told you," it murmured.

"I just want you to live."

Shinji clenched his jaw, trying to push back the knot in his throat. His hands were still trembling, but it wasn't from anger anymore.

He didn't know if he could trust this thing.

Didn't know if he should.

But for the first time since this nightmare began, the Specter wasn't his enemy.

And that might've been even scarier than if it still was.