The instant the Butcher opened the grotesque mouth in his stomach—
Just as Shigaraki appeared about to charge straight into it—
He flicked a handful of sealed vials into that gaping maw.
Then, with a clean sidestep, he slipped past the Butcher's grasping arms.
Before the larger man could adjust, Shigaraki seized his arm, shifted his weight, and—
Using leverage and momentum—
Slammed him into a brutal over-the-shoulder throw.
The Butcher's massive body crashed to the ground—far from the stacks of frozen meat.
Only after creating that distance did Shigaraki stop.
He didn't follow up.
He simply watched.
A faint, amused smile tugged at his lips.
"You like eating so much, don't you?" he said lightly.
"Then enjoy the special dish I prepared for you."
"What—?"
Still dazed from the throw, the Butcher didn't immediately understand.
Then—
A sharp, tearing pain erupted from his right arm.
He looked down.
Where Shigaraki's hands had gripped him—
His flesh was turning to ash.
It spread rapidly.
Before he could even process what was happening—
Thud.
Something hit the floor.
His right arm.
Detached.
Reduced.
Gone.
"My—my arm!!"
Panic seized him.
Instinctively, he activated his Quirk—Two-Mouth.
He began burning through the stored flesh and bone within his body, attempting to regenerate the limb.
His Quirk allowed him to store consumed meat and skeletal matter, increasing strength and restoring injuries.
But no matter how much he expended—
The wound refused to heal.
Only a thin, pitiful layer of raw tissue sprouted at the stump.
That was because the residual Decay lingering at the severed site continued to erode any new growth.
This wasn't the uncontrolled Decay of early days.
Shigaraki had refined it.
Wounds inflicted by him were now far harder to recover from.
That lingering destructive interference—
That was training.
"Damn you, brat—!"
The Butcher finally understood.
He wasn't winning this.
He wasn't even competing.
But before he could spit out more curses—
Agony exploded inside his abdomen.
His stomach-mouth convulsed violently.
Blood poured out—
Not from previously consumed meat.
From himself.
"What did you throw into my mouth?!"
He writhed on the ground, both mouths vomiting blood, body spasming uncontrollably.
The scene was grotesque.
Pathetic.
"Well," Shigaraki said calmly, "one vial was industrial acid. The other was an oxidizer concentrate."
"I might be forgetting something."
He tilted his head thoughtfully.
And he wasn't lying.
He truly didn't remember the exact cocktail.
He'd had Kurogiri acquire strong industrial reagents through black-market channels.
He only personally recognized the aqua regia and nitric acid labels.
The rest?
As long as it melted things efficiently, he hadn't cared.
Originally, he'd considered crafting some kind of irritant-based explosive—something like a tear-gas compound using highly pungent additives.
But that idea had two flaws.
First, it was messy to test. He had no interest in choking on fumes during experiments.
Second—
That would've been too merciful.
For someone like the Butcher?
Temporary pain wasn't enough.
So he replaced the irritants with aggressive chemical corrosives.
And judging by the Butcher's current condition—
The flavor profile seemed… effective.
Watching the man convulse, bleed, and howl—
Shigaraki concluded one thing.
After today—
He would never casually eat food offered by strangers again.
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