This story is not about a clerk with a name echoing coincidence — for that, see Tenko Tejina.
No, this is about the boy who was never meant to become a man — and the man who was never meant to be free.

Tomura Shigaraki (死柄木弔).
Once, he was Tenko Shimura (志村転弧) — the grandson of a hero, the child of a shattered legacy. But names are fragile things. They crack beneath the weight of grief, and his did too.

Molded by hands that only knew how to take, he was raised in the shadow of a monster: All For One, the puppet master who fed him hatred like medicine. Tomura was his masterpiece-in-progress — the one meant to erase the “Symbol of Peace,” and with him, the entire illusion of a just world.

He first stepped into the spotlight as chaos incarnate during the U.S.J. incident — twitching fingers, cracked skin, a boy still unraveling. But he was far from done. With time and fire, he stitched together the League of Villains with ideology and rage, only to later swallow the Meta Liberation Army whole, forging the Paranormal Liberation Front in his image — all ash and ambition.

Then came the inheritance — not just of a Quirk, but of a curse. All For One’s will clung to his body like rot, trying to hollow him out and wear his face. But Tomura clawed back. Through blood and torment, he resisted the possession, refused to be a vessel.

And in that defiance, he found clarity.
Not just the successor — but the rival.
Not a pawn — but the player.
Not Tenko.
Not just Shigaraki.

But the embodiment of collapse, reborn.
Izuku Midoriya’s shadow — his chosen enemy.

Appearance — A Body Remembering Pain

There came a moment when Tomura Shigaraki removed the hand from his face, not in surrender, but as a quiet declaration: I am no longer hiding.

Beneath it — a face carved by time and trauma. Pale skin stretched over a thin frame. Yellowed teeth from a lifetime of neglect, deep wrinkles crowning his eyes like scars from invisible battles. He had clawed at himself since childhood, scratching at the itch of existence — allergies, grief, madness — it made no difference. His lips were cracked, uneven, the flesh marked by a mole and slashes of self-inflicted memory. One eye scarred, the other haunted. His hair — grayish-blue chaos — hung in uncombed clumps around his face, each strand a relic of a boy lost to the storm. And when his eyes flashed open, pupils small in bloodshot red — you saw not sight, but survival.

Once, he looked like Izuku Midoriya. A dark-haired, gray-eyed child with a fragile glow. But his Quirk came not like a gift, but a curse, and it took. Took his color. Took his softness. Replaced his innocence with red eyes and white-knuckled fear. He scarred himself the moment he understood what he had done — fingers to face, horror in his grip, the boy clawing the monster out of himself.

In public, he wore simplicity: red sneakers echoing a forgotten parallel, black pants revealing fragile ankles, and a v-neck shirt under a hooded black jacket. In his pocket — not a wallet, not a weapon, but a hand. His father's left hand. A keepsake of hatred.

But as a villain, Tomura became an exhibit of grief. Fourteen embalmed hands gripped his frame — his skin a gallery of death. A mother’s final touch at his throat, a sister’s embrace on his wrists, grandparents’ weight upon his arms and chest. And on his face — the hand of the man who tried to erase him. "Father," he called it. A grotesque intimacy. Some hands were lost. Some destroyed. One remained — his grandmother Nana’s — a symbol of a legacy twisted.

His appearance changed like seasons — after All For One’s capture, he grew his hair longer, wore a hooded leather coat, carried red cords like veins linking hand to hand. Re-Destro crushed his left hand. He wore suits now, elegant and frayed — red coats with fur collars, braces to keep him walking, prosthetic fingers where flesh had failed. His hair turned white. Not age. Not wisdom. Decay.

By Heroes: Rising, his leg had healed, but the coat — crimson like dried blood — stayed. He wore black bodysuits, enhancements grafted onto him like armor. Capes borrowed from corpses, his figure now broader, his strength now terrifying. His arms cracked, his fingers now pierced with holes — vessels of stolen power.

But the more power he took, the more he broke. Decay wore his skin like rust. Scars bloomed like flowers over flesh. All For One's voice echoed in his bones, turning his eyes white and hollow when the master assumed control. Tomura was no longer just a man — he was a battleground.

During the fight with Star and Stripe, he fused with All For One — a suit for order, sneakers for memory, cloth around his neck like a noose of identity. His hair grew long again, not in pride, but as a symptom. Most of this was torn away in the aftermath. Only his pants and a new cape remained.

Then came the Final War — and his form mutated. His left hand — no longer a hand, but a grotesque bouquet of fingers, branching endlessly. A body wrapped in itself. A parody of evolution. Bakugo struck him, branding half his face and shearing off hair — leaving behind a cracked mask of what used to be Tomura, and what had never truly been All For One.

As damage piled up, his body shifted again — into defense, into desperation. Massive, unnatural. Swollen with fingers. Heads of loved ones frozen at his fingertips. His back sprouted hands. His face was buried beneath them. He was no longer hiding — he was being hidden, even from himself.

And when Erasure faded, his body burst — like a cocoon breaking from the inside. His original self emerged, skin still clinging like a ghost, but his spirit clearer than ever. As Izuku waged war inside his soul, Shigaraki turned monstrous one last time — layers of fingers consuming his frame. A cocoon of fear. A scream in flesh.

But Izuku reached him. Landed the final blow. The body crumbled, but All For One fought to keep it standing — a puppet master in denial. Still, the end came. The vestige burned out. The body, finally free of both gods and ghosts, turned to ash.

Tomura Shigaraki. Tenko Shimura. The boy who became ruin. The villain who wore his trauma like armor.
In the end, even his body could no longer carry the weight of what he had become.

Tomura Shigaraki — A Symphony of Decay and Despair

Tomura didn’t just become a villain. He was composed into one. Each note of his identity plays like a dissonant chord struck in the aftermath of silence too loud to bear. Once Tenko Shimura, a boy with trembling hands and a heart that dreamed of saving people, he was fractured by neglect, drowned in the silence of a world that turned its back on him — until all that remained was the scream beneath his skin.

The scratching—his relentless, raw clawing at his neck—wasn't just a tic. It was a subconscious excavation. A boy digging for the self that was buried beneath grief, blood, and the suffocating touch of hands that once held him lovingly... now rotting remnants strapped across his body. Each hand, a coffin of memory. Each scratch, a desperate plea to either remember who he was… or to forget.

At his core, Tomura was a child forever stuck in the aftermath of an explosion he didn’t ignite. Rejected, not just by his father, but by society’s indifference. He didn’t simply hate All Might — he hated what he symbolized: a shining light too blinding for a boy who was left to rot in the shadows. All Might wasn’t just the Symbol of Peace — he was a monument to a society that chooses who gets saved.

His rage wasn’t theatrical — it was elemental. He didn’t destroy because it was fun. He destroyed because it was the only language he had left. A dialect of decay, one that said “You didn’t see me then, but you’ll see what’s left of me now.”

Yet, amidst the carnage, there was contradiction — a flicker of loyalty, of love, of longing. The way he respected Kurogiri’s counsel. The quiet trust he placed in Spinner and Twice. The way he reassured Himiko that their dreams still had a place in his apocalypse. It wasn’t friendship. It was something more fragile — recognition. They were all broken in the same dialect. And for them, Tomura left room in his ruin.

Underneath the malice, he was haunted. Not by ghosts, but by a boy he used to be — Tenko, with eyes too wide, too hopeful. A boy who loved his dog, who wanted to be a hero. That boy didn’t die — he was buried under rubble and resentment. He cried, even when Tomura laughed. He mourned, even as Tomura destroyed.

When Izuku looked at him, he didn’t just see a villain — he saw a boy with too many hands and not enough held out to him. And in their final confrontation, when everything was ash and air, Tomura finally exhaled his truth: that he destroyed not because he was evil, but because he didn’t understand why the world allowed him to be born broken. He didn’t want pity. He wanted the world to feel what he felt every day — that endless itch of despair, of never being enough.

And yet, in his final moments — when All For One's grip loosened and the decayed pieces of his body gave way — Tomura didn’t crumble. He bloomed, even if only briefly, into someone who could smile... someone who could tell a former enemy to do his best.

In the silence that followed the war, after the screams faded and the dust settled, the echo of Tomura remained. Not as a monster, not even as a villain… but as a requiem. A reminder that even the most shattered soul can carry the faint, trembling echo of something human.

Abilities – “Decay Wears a Crown”

Tomura disintegrates two warriors of the Meta Liberation Army.
Faster now. Sharper. Sculpted in pain and blood by his war with Gigantomachia.

Shigaraki wasn’t just a villain. He was the villain. A singularity. A black hole in the shape of a man, swallowing ideals, heroes, cities—whole philosophies. He surpassed All For One not by inheritance, but by will—a volatile storm of decay wrapped in genius. His very existence warped the battlefield, commanding a legion of monsters with the calm certainty of a god dressed in rags.

In U.S.J., he cracked Eraser Head’s defenses. In Deika, he broke Re-Destro’s bones—and his spirit. He faced Gigantomachia for two weeks straight. No food. No rest. Just pure survival instinct—until the beast bowed to him. Not out of respect. Out of fear.

When Shigaraki rose from Garaki’s table, he didn’t just awaken. He transcended. His gaze alone turned heroes into statues, his aura melted conviction into trembling knees. He didn’t need Quirks to fight. His body, modified mid-metamorphosis, was an engine of destruction—a huskless titan that fought on par with All Might without One For All.

And then there was Star and Stripe. America’s ultimate symbol. Reduced to collateral in his wake. The world began to kneel preemptively—not out of loyalty, but to survive.

Even when his Quirks were erased—he fought. Even when pinned in Erasure cages and fragmented by battlefield designs engineered to neutralize him—he broke through. Bloodied. Laughing. He killed with fingers, not fists. He moved like a ghost and hit like a natural disaster.

His body was more than durable. It learned. It evolved. It adapted to his emotional chaos. If hate made him stronger, despair made him divine.

Only Deku could keep up, and even then, he needed everything. 120% of One For All. All his Vestiges. All his hope. All his pain. And still, Shigaraki won—until the fight moved inside, into soul and memory. Even there, he held ground, until Izuku touched something raw and real in the boy that once was Tenko.

He was born to decay. Raised in ash. Crowned in ruin. A king of dust.

Decay – “The World Crumbles at My Touch”

Tomura touched Eraser Head’s leg—
And a hero’s fate unraveled like ash in wind.

Decay isn't just a Quirk. It's a scream from a broken childhood, echoing through fingertips. It's rot made flesh. It doesn’t just kill—it erases. Five fingers, and you’re gone. Blood, bone, memory, identity—gone. With each brush of his hand, the world forgets something it once loved.

Initially, it was limited. All five fingers had to make contact. But even then, the horror was undeniable. Touch meant death. And amputating the limb might buy you seconds—not salvation.

But hatred evolves faster than hope.

In the crucible of his war with Re-Destro, Decay awakened. No longer bound by fingers. No longer needing permission. Two digits—half a hand—was enough to melt steel, crack concrete, dissolve flesh. His power began to spread. It leapt from person to person like a plague. A ripple of destruction. An avalanche of dust. Entire blocks of Deika City crumbled with a single step. One touch. One intent.

Even the ground beneath him learned to fear his shadow.

But power has a price. His body cracked under the weight of it. Scars bloomed across his arm like punishment from the gods. But Shigaraki didn’t care. His pain was the power.

After the surgery—after his metamorphosis—Decay reached mythic levels. A third of Jaku City vanished into dust in minutes. Buildings, people, dreams, all swallowed. Even stray debris—rubble touched by Decay—was lethal. He could choose now. Precision carved from chaos. He spared allies while disintegrating armies.

And yet, when All For One overtook the vessel—when Tomura’s soul was smothered—Decay died. It was his rage that fed it. His sorrow that drove it. Without Tenko Shimura’s pain behind the mask, the hands lost their hunger. The world was allowed to remain intact—for a breath longer.

Decay was never just about destruction.
It was about letting go.
Of family.
Of safety.
Of love.

Everything Tenko touched…
He lost.

So Shigaraki made sure
The world would know what that felt like too.

Prototype – “Born of Sand and Silence”

Before he was Tomura, before the hands, the decay, the raw scream of hatred—he was an idea. A whisper. A silhouette in shadow.

Sazanka.
“Sand Calamity.”
沙惨禍 — a name like dry wind across bones.

He was sketched with hollow eyes and a mouth that didn’t speak. Not because he had nothing to say—but because no one ever listened. Even then, he was meant to be something... less than human. Just hurt wearing skin.

What’s in a Name?

Names are heavy. Names carry ghosts.

• Tenko (転弧) — “revolving arc.” A child meant to turn, to change the course of a lineage.

• Shimura (志村) — “willful village.” The last echo of a hero's legacy, buried under rubble.

• Shigaraki (死柄木) — “Death. Grip. Tree.” A name that holds death like branches hold rot.

• Tomura (弔) — “Mourning.” Even his first name is a eulogy.

He was built to fall apart.

Popularity – “The World is Watching”

• 19th. 16th. 15th. 24th…
  He slipped through the cracks.
  But then—
  6th. 10th.
  The world finally looked at him.
  Finally saw the monster bloom.

Horikoshi’s Pain – “Drawing Hands is Drawing Suffering”

Horikoshi didn’t just draw Shigaraki.
He suffered him.

Every week, inexpressive hands broke his will. His pen trembled. His tears blurred the ink.
Because how do you draw grief?

And still—he kept drawing.

Because Tomura had to exist.

Gamer Rage – “PvP is Decay in Real Time”

Tomura played League of Legends.
Of course he did.

He raged. He shattered screens. He blamed teammates, cursed the world.
All For One saw this.

And instead of telling him to calm down...
He handed him a new game.
A simulation.
A world to destroy piece by piece.

Literary Bloodline – “Tenko Lives Twice”

Before the scars, there was a oneshot.
"Tenko" (2007) – a war child with hands that kill.

He hated swords. Hated the world. Wanted to destroy it all.

That Tenko became this Tenko.

Same eyes. Same curse. Same ruin.

The Hands – “Wear the Sin”

They’re not accessories.
They’re testimonies.
Each one a death sentence with fingerprints.

• Face – Father

• Neck – Mother

• Upper arms – Grandfather

• Elbows – Grandmother

• Wrists – Sister

• Sides & Shoulders – Strangers

• Back of Head – Nana Shimura (gifted by the Devil himself)

He wears his entire bloodline like a confession.

Izuku’s Shadow – “What If One Bad Day?”

Tomura is Izuku’s inverse reflection.

Same dreams. Same scars. Same trembling hands.
Different answers.

One reached out and was saved.
The other reached out… and no one came.

Izuku became hope.
Tomura became the scream hope ignored.

Blood of Villains – “Legacy Rot”

He carries no real blood from All For One.
Yet he is more his son than anyone ever could be.

He’s the ghost child of three demons:

• All For One

• Destro

• Oji Harima

A cursed trinity, reborn in one boy’s grief.

Mutations & Quirks – “Too Much Power for One Soul”

He’s held the most Quirks in the series.
He became a graveyard of abilities, a Frankenstein with rage for sinew.

But New Order broke some. All For One stole others.
Now? Who knows what sleeps inside him?

Tetsuo Vibes – “Akira Echoes”

His post-Star and Stripe form—
twisted, bulging, grotesque—
a direct nod to Tetsuo Shima.

Both boys.
Both cursed.
Both disintegrated by the very power they wanted to control.

Voice of Trauma – “Speech Bubbles Tell Stories Too”

Jagged speech bubbles. Raspy tones.
Like his words are chewing glass.

But when he remembers who he was—
the voice smooths. Deepens. Humanizes.

It’s not just him talking anymore.
It’s Tenko and Tomura speaking in unison.

Shared Joy – “League Bros with Spinner”

In a sea of blood, he shared a laugh.
Spinner and Tomura.
Two wrecked boys.
Two warriors in a bot lane.
Brief moments where they weren’t weapons.

Death as Poetry – “Ashes to Ashes”

He died like he killed—
decay from within.
But unlike Dabi who burned, or Toga who surrendered—
Tomura chose redemption.

In the last beat of a shattered heart,
he sided with Izuku.
To stop the monster who raised him.

 Echoes of Vader – “The Empire Decays”

Shigaraki is Anakin in rags.
A fallen child.
A tragic knight groomed by evil.

But in the end—
the boy remembered who he was.
And chose the light.

Quotes – “The Gospel of Decay”

“Create a world without All Might... that’s my conviction.”
“Even if I rule the underworld… that weight never goes away.”
“You Heroes built a system that rejected me. Now I reject it.”
“The only thing that’ll save me… is the destruction of everything from that house.”
“Make sure… you do your damn best.”He was never just a villain.
He was a symptom.
He was the crack in the system that no one sealed shut.

Tomura Shigaraki didn’t just want to destroy the world.

He wanted to make sure no one else was ever born in its rubble again.