『 Chapter 26 』
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Hate ran deep in her bones and winded through her marrow. It was hard to tell where the resentment started and where she ended. Sharp and hot when heat bubbles up underneath her skin, blazing froth from the sea when it washed up against her shoes, everything in the district of Hosu made her want to rupture.
She hates this city, she hates its people, she hates its heroes and those who respect them, she hates its sky and it's foamy clouds, she hates its twisting skyscrapers and reflecting windows, she hates its streets and its signs, its restaurants and businesses, she hates its waterline, she hates its sunset over the horizon here, she hates its scent of cherry in the air, she hates herself.
The ire flows through her like molten concrete. With time it cracks and becomes more volatile, long and winding fissures and imperfections are glanced over without a second thought. Years pass and it only gets worse, melting like liquid under the presence of the sun whilst its integrity slips past the point of return. While it may be covered over with a new layer, the deficiencies never leave, the anger raw and everlasting, profound and cavernous.
Just being in Hosu leaves her red in the face, screaming in the night into her pillow, unable to get a good night's rest. When anyone talks to her she desires to spit in their face in deep loathing to leave her alone, even the citizens she was guided to watch over and protect. Her muscles are always tense and her knuckles blanch with any movement.
The unsettling feeling that resides in her stomach has become second nature during the internship. No matter how hard Manual tried to get her attention, trying to teach her and guide her as a hero, she was just always so on edge. She would spend more time grumbling to herself rather than listening to what he had to say. On more than one occasion she silently hoped that her behavior wouldn't be reported back to Aizawa, but then again, she didn't care.
She felt physically ill. No matter how much or how little food she ate her stomach always twisted into knots, unable to be satiated. Her head would swim with migraines and her focus wouldn't be able to center on anything for an extended period of time. When they would patrol on the east side of the city the feeling grew worse, the closer she was to the pier the more silent she got and the more quivering her hands did.
There is nothing about this place that she liked. With every turn she saw something that reminded her of the accident, whether it would be a poster in the window reminiscing on a lost family member or the streetlights above the crosswalks, everything jump started her memory. Oh, what would she give to watch this place burn to the ground in a shrouded twister of porcelain flames with violet hues? Caused by nothing except her own hands and her vehement desires.
What would she give to feel the shards from the glass towers raining down over her as they melt into the abyss, to feel the heat blistering back on the skin of her face—leaving her warm from her fingertips to her toes, to feel the tears evaporate off her cheeks as she releases the sob she's holding onto for so long, to feel the sense of dread and the weight of the world in guilt as she knows she's caused this.
She pondered to what she would sacrifice to hear the shrieking of roasting wood and the pops of tree rings in the park, to hear the bending of skyscraper beams as they come tumbling down, to hear the billowing waves of the ocean mix with the roaring flames, to hear the radio silence after the blaze has ended, maybe for once the city could be quiet.
Maybe that's why she doesn't feel so horrified when Hosu is being burned around her.
She's oddly conflicted as she watches the city go up in flames. It's what she wanted, after all, to watch this cesspool of death and nightmares fall to the ground. The buildings crashed and the streets alit in ruby red flames, the scared rush of the heroes and their desperation to fix the problem, it was picture perfect.
Hosu is associated with so much damage that she's happy to see it wither, but, then again, in her dreams of this happening there were no people around. No casualties. Just silence amongst the cinders. But there's screaming here today, and it makes everything feel so, so wrong. For half of a second, she doesn't mind it, ignoring it like background noise, but something shifts and she realizes that she's supposed to be training to become a hero. Huh, how could she forget something like that?
Everything she desired to take place was happening. The thought crossed her mind that she manifested this, but she never believed in stuff like that anyway, so the thought left as soon as it appeared. That's quite morbid, is it not?
Y/N didn't expect to feel so apathetic in the midst of chaos, how very unheroic of her. Though, it's not like she hasn't experienced this before, USJ was just as bad of a clusterfuck as this. But maybe it's because something in the back of her mind is tearing her away from this commotion, the yelling of the supposed heroes and the screeches of the people around her. It all feel very distant, like her unconscious mind is telling her that the problem will solve itself and her motivations should be redirected somewhere else.
The thing that catches her attention the most is not the cries for help or the orders of those above her, but instead it's the words leaving from Manual. His yells of Tenya into the night leave her breathless, the heat and misplaced joy seeps out of her bones and is replaced with overwhelming derision and contempt. Things have changed, wires sparking a little to cause an explosion with a gallon of gasoline.
"Sunwalker! Where are you going?!"
She bursts away from the scene like a rocket launch, feet feathering the concrete as she runs gracefully, dogging debris and other obstacles. Her path is far away from where she is now, and with her practically quirkless for today contrasting with Iida's speed quirk, she doesn't have much time to waste.
He's going to be angry, without a doubt. Manual is pissed, watching not one, but both of the students in his care flee the epicenter of destruction. He couldn't tell if they were leaving out of fear or with another agenda in mind, but either way, they had disregarded his authority and left him alone.
It doesn't take long for her to snap her helmet shut, the piercing shrieks of the Nomus leave ringing in her ears like fireworks, but her suit's AI waters down unnecessary noise to keep her focused. Goddamnit, she should've been watching him. Though it is not her duty to look over him like a babysitter, she is the only one who knows his state of mind and what he is set out to do—therefore making her one of the only people who can try to stop him.
"T.R.A.V.E.S.T.Y, I need you to find Iida and lead me to him!" Y/N states as glances at some totals in the corner of her visor, seeing her heart rate and other vitals. But, in a short second, there is directions and a map of the city replacing it. She blinks in surprise.
"After hacking into nearby security film and CCTV cameras, I have tracked his presence!"
She doesn't even know what to say, just shocked at the piece of technology's ability to find her target so fast after she had asked it too. Y/N hadn't used T.R.A.V.E.S.T.Y too much other than in class trainings, she had wondered what else could it do. It's power seemed limitless and oh so helpful.
The AI doesn't account for her lack of words. "Follow the directions in the corner of the screen, Miss Hidaka, and you'll reach his location in about 34 seconds if you continue traveling at an average pace of 22 kilometers an hour (14mi/hr)."
The next thirty four seconds feel like decades, and eons pass until she's lead back to the alleyways near Manual's agency. She can hear the slickness of a liquid and a squelch of a wound. Metal grinds against the ground and there's a grunt in pain, and a deep voice she doesn't recognize.
Soft streaks of moonlight filtered over the tall, brick walls on either side of the alley. Small spurts of overgrowth flourished in the faraway corners, trying to pry through the concrete. Here it reeks of grime and blood, and the faint scent of gasoline and ash flickered through the air—the aroma of cherries not to be found.
Her classmate is sprawled across the rough and unrelenting ground, his visage in the ugliest grimace she's ever seen. There's a man standing over him, the deepest shadows of the night curving around his sides. His silhouette stretches taller as he twists his figure to face her, who's standing wide open in the middle of the entrance to the conflict.
The alleyway stills. Tonight isn't cold or warm, for temperature is but simply a background decoration. There is no wind, no breeze through the winding city roads; instead, the world stops as everything sits unwavering, almost placidly. Heavy air, as if gravity was stronger here, falls on the skin and stays in place, steadfast in the spring night.
A katana is pursed through Iida's shoulder, the blade near the hilt reflecting like a faraway star. She can smell the coppery blood flowing underneath Iida from where she stands, yet he remains fixed to his spot. It's a surprise he's not resisting, but it seems as if his expression is contradicted what his actions are.
Before she can register anything, a pocket sized throwing knife spins towards to her, taken by surprise so much she doesn't even flinch. It knocks off of the front of her visor, two centimeters above the center of her eyes. It dings off of her helm without making a scratch, as the helmet is the strongest part of her suit.
The ploy is not used to kill, for Stain doesn't kill aimlessly—but instead he distracts. The blade is a diversion while Stain takes his longer sword out of his victim, aiming its tip at the temple of the hero in training who writhes at his feet.
So much happens so quickly that Y/N doesn't even realize that she has taken her own katanas out, it's simply an instinct. The two hilts slide into her palms, perfectly sized and the grips curve with the groves in her gloves. She's reading in the corner of her screen, her AI finding some more information and displaying it in the corner of her eye, but it's hard to read as the biggest threat she has ever faced in her life is only standing a few good meters away from her.
There's a flash of a crackling green, a zipper in time as it bounces around the atmosphere before taking strike at the villain. A shout follows a fist slamming against the cheek of the well-known murderer while a jet of wind streams back from the impact, alighting the still air into a battlefield of the highest consequences: life or death.
Without Midoriya, Iida would've been dead.
Ḩ̷̢̥̫̭̬̔̇͋̍͐́̈ȩ̴̨̘͍̥͔͓̳͌̇͂̐̿̽͝͝ ̶̘̏̂w̷̛̹̤̪̍̉͋̕o̴̝̭̟̜̲̒̏͂͊͗̕͝͠ū̷̗̣̗̻̦̭̒̐̄̀͂̾l̴̫̞̣͝d̷̨͌̅̇̑̓̀̊͝'̵̧͎͕̳͈̃͌̿͛v̴͍̱͙̦̹̓́͘̚͝e̷͉̙̰͗͑͆̏̿͆͝ ̸̱̭̍̉̄̌̾b̵͙̹̈́̚è̷̡e̴̫̹̓͌̔̚n̷̰̬͉̜̭͕͚̜͆̓ ̶̝͔̽d̵͖̺̦͉̺̱̟̥̃͐̿̆͘è̶̲̓͘a̵̢͇̤̱͎̞̱͋̉͑̆̋̅͂ḏ̸̫̒̓̈͗̿ ̵͇̮̱̽̀̀̆̓̚b̵̢̼̗͇̔̋̅͒͝͝͝ĕ̸̝͇̖͒ċ̷̖̠̫͕̤̾̚̚å̸̢̨̗̺̗̀̍̋̂͝ṵ̴̙͐̉̊͆̽s̴̼͙̖̗̖̱̾̒̓̈͝e̸̼̖̲̜̝̦͉͌̆͑̔͒͗́͜ ̴̧̹̜̠͓̻̪̓̆̊̆̈́͝ő̴̢̬f̸̝͇̖͓͋̅̇̀̕ ̶̖̮͖̭͗y̶̗͙̝͕͗̋̽͆̂̚ő̸̡̢͈̞̤̖̓ͅͅû̶̹̜̻͋̀͑͒̕,̸̞͇͍̱͎̖̓̉͘ ̵̝͔̰̯̤͓̞͐̿̀̓̊y̴͖̆ǫ̶̥̝̟̗̏͆̾̃͋̄̅ų̴̼̤͉͛̈́͘͜ ̶̧̢̬̥̟̯͐̈́̽͜s̸̯̙̉͛t̸̢̥̳̄͑̈́̅͝u̶͕͊̇p̴̨̢̪̗͔͎̣̒͒͗̀̈́i̷͉̭̼̎͆͘͝d̶̨̩͓̺͕̈́̓͗̂͝,̷̛̪͉̱͓̞̳̀͐̿̈́͐ ̸̣̎̌͗͘͘f̶̙̥̤̭̰̜͒͂̒̂̒̔u̴̘͇͖͕̇̓̎̓c̴̢̰͉͈̼̙͍͈̈́̐͛͂̀̾͝k̸͖̭̞͉̗̈̊̾i̴̫̯̣͘ͅǹ̶͈͕̟̿̀̏́̈́̕͝g̵̨͕̼̩̥̘̣̅͌̄̄̓̚ ̵̧͉̞͎̲̍͐̊̄͑̂ŵ̸͇̦̮͈̿̚ͅậ̸̝̞̈́s̷̞̃̊̾͗̓t̵̳̭̱̮̥̂̌ĕ̸͙̤̲̦̱̦͒̋ ̷̩͙͉͔̥͈̿̆o̷̳̫̙̓̓́͗͊͜f̷̦͈̝͕̺̜̉̂͐͌̿̃͊̚ͅ ̸̨̙̥̪̙͔̱̖̍b̴̖̞̤͙͋̈́͛͊ŗ̸͉͇̩̪̙̣̊̐͊͒̈͂͠ẻ̴̢̛̜̥͍̬̮̯͐̾͐̄̒̂ͅȁ̵̛͓͒̾̃͂t̴͙̒̅̈́h̷̘̠̤̤̓̔̓͊̊́́.̷̛̘̞̟̮̊̀͝͠͠ ̸̪̎̅̄̍͑͝Y̸̨̬̙͇̰̙̿̀̒͌̀o̶̠̽̊ự̸̜̹̪̲̙̐̒͑́̌͘'̶͇̹̯̃̀́̽͋͂̈́̕r̴̼̫̠͍̲̙̐͑̀͑̉ȅ̷̹͆̏̾̈́̉́͜ ̵̨͍͎̝̜͒̉̓͘͠s̶̟̖̠̼̏͝ơ̷̺̤̹̱̎̍̽̓͊̚͠ ̵̳͓̱̏̄g̸̼̺̾o̷̢̭͈̮̎͜d̴̲̮̍̈͂̎d̵̰̈́̿̋̓a̶̰̙̮͆͗̓m̸̞̳̲̞̈͒̀̕͝n̵̟͓͊́͌̐͒̎̓͜ͅ ̶̦̈́̍̍̏͒̇̉͋i̴̜̟̖͎̻͍̬͕̔̍̓̌̊̀̃n̷͓̗̬͈͔̙͋̇ć̷͙̟ả̸͖̖̪̃̊̆͂̍͜p̶͙̭͕̙̫͙̠̭̊̀̉͝ả̵̼͕̥̄̓͘͠b̷͔͙̙͕̄ͅḻ̷̰͋̽e̶̜̟̓͗͗͐̉̅́͐ ̴͔̋̾̏̓͊̒͘͠o̷͎͔͐̆̀f̸̨̰̫͕̤͔̽ ̶̨̱̙̽̓̈́͂d̶̥̟̃̏̀͘͠ō̴̙̩̩̗̜̖̄͒̈́̊̑̏͝į̸͇͔̪͇̤͉̈́̍̃̒̀n̷̜̝̠̑͜g̸͇̺͍̭̰͖̈̈̈́̓̀̚ ̷̝̘̰̎̎͋̇ä̶̛̫̪́̾̇̃̍n̵̰͔͉͇̣̹͑̔y̵͕̺̹̱͠t̶̫͍͍̉̉ḧ̴̭̞̼́̔í̵̥́̋̏̇͐̿͆n̵̜̝̖̰̩͗͒̐̀̂̇́͠g̴̝̦̮̦͓̻͔͆̃̏͊͜,̴̨̨͖̝̫͓̫͓͗͐ ̸̦̫̦̹̹̟̹͌y̴̥͍̘̰̱͑̄͝ơ̶̡̤̯̜͊̐́́̑͛̉͜ͅụ̷́͒͝ ̸͓̮̠̀̊̿̀w̷̝̝͌̈̕͘o̶̢̘̰̙͓̐̑̽̎̑̈́̄̚͜r̶̘̙̺̻͗͆̇́̓̓̆͠t̵͇̮͉̖̣̱́́̔̅̏͐͝͝h̸̡̩̀̇̔l̵̲̝̯̉̑̈́̏̆̄ę̶̛̋͗̊̌͆̅͝s̴̤̰͖͗̇̇̾s̵̞̠̬͔̘̿ͅͅ ̶̣̗̝̈́̏f̶̜̹̳̺͎̈̂̄͊͌̆u̴̥̳̯̰̟̩̿̍̀̄͋c̸̩̰̟̼̫̍ͅk̸̢͓̙̠̟̼͆̀͛ỉ̵̛̟͋̍̓͋͜͝͠n̵̢̙̤̻̥̟̰̔̂ͅg̸̡͇͓͍̩͙͉̃̇͆͑͝ ̵͎̼̩̹̖̳̯̀̊͂̓̈̚͝s̶̖͙̰̞͕̜̟̜̿̽̈̚͝c̷̨͚̘̪͝ũ̵͕̭̺͇͍ͅm̸͎̠͙̯͉͚̤͚̅͊͗͑.̵̮͎̊̒̀̄̕͘͝ ̷̡̮͕̒͑̋̐Ÿ̶̡̬͎̟́̄ͅö̷̧̦̬͔̳͋̏̏͌͠u̶̱̝̝̾̈́ ̸͎̳̖̬͚̻͚̜́̒́̅͘͘ẇ̸͖̖̪̗̌́͛ẽ̷̛̤̰̦̝̜̋̌̆r̶̢̢̪̻̠͖̮͌e̷͙͇̋ ̶͕̥̤̃̓͂̔̒͠ä̶͈̳̥̤̺̠̿͗̌b̴̛̗̼̦̂̉̅̃̕ỏ̵̯̅͜͝û̶̮̖̱̰̗̻̤͓̏̽͒t̵̲̪͔̠͆̎̏̇͂̌ ̵̲̗̩͉͓̾̾̈̉͝ţ̸̜̣̼̰̑͛̓̐̚ȯ̷̳͉̎̋ ̷̛͕̳͙̥͍̈̍̂̕̕͜͝͠w̵̢̡̗̻͙̗̠͌͗̈̊̕a̴̹̜̓̔̾̅͒t̵̨͈͍̺̭̦̥̾c̵͚̺̩̉͊͑͛̀͜h̴̡̻͕̻̙̯̘̯̎͗́̐ ̷̲̘̅̅̂̀̀̈́̒͌y̸̮̳͙̝̔̔̑̇͗͘ͅö̵̡͈͇͍̗̖̝͂͆̅ͅȗ̶͔̮͕̻̥̠̼̈̓́̈́̀͠͝r̴͉͈͆̎͑̑ ̶̡̰̞̺̫͔̠̍̓́͋ḟ̴̣͓̮̝̻͠r̴̭̭̖̠̎̌̐͜ĩ̶̘͆̌ē̸͖̥̟̰̖̰n̸̨̳͔͂d̸̠͉̰̈̕ ̶̡̡̱̹͙͔̻̲͆͊̔̇͂͂̚d̵̨̡̛̮̙̱̲̥͛͒ͅi̷͖̼̘̅̃̅͂͗ẻ̷̹͓͉̌͐̈́͒̿͘̕,̸̧̞͉̲̘̭̱̒̽͐͗̀͛͐ ̴̰͛ą̴̥͕̣͓͓͉͌̏ṉ̴̢̦͆̿̈́͠ͅď̷̳͉͙͐͌̾̅̓͌ ̴̲̣̝͎̀̈́ẏ̴͕̖͚̱́̋̈́͘o̵̟̼͛͆̚ú̵̟̖̩̝̍͜ ̸͓̯̈̉͋͆̋̈́̚͝d̸̪̪̬͉̼͆́̈́̉̊̍͠͝ͅį̵̨͎̘̲̰̤̃̃̈́͆͝d̷̤͔͈̝̪͑̊ ̵͎̣̗̺̋͂́͗̕͝ṅ̴̛̗͙̱̣͙̋͛͘ơ̶͚̫̭̬͓͔̈́͋̓̆̀̿t̸̢͎͓͆͛͌͆ͅh̸̳̩̻̱̮̕i̶̖̫͎̗̠͍̒̎͝ͅn̷͍̻͙̯̯͑̇̀̍̇̉ġ̷̫̞̠̩̹̞̞͔͋͝͠,̷̨̧̗̘̼͝ ̷̤͊̇͆̄̒̏͘͜ą̷͈̻̪̠̆̀͗́̀l̷̨̜̯̙͎̩̉̆̀̂͠l̴͓̰̜̰̩̓ ̵̨̲̻͈͚̓͊̿̃̕y̴̲̥͎͎̼̑̅͛́̚̕͝ͅo̸̢̡͖͔̙̤̙͂͊͜u̵̢̜͙̾́̂̽͆ ̴̤̜̫̩̬͇̍͗̿̂d̶̬̦͍̳͔̽̈́̀̐̾̿̍ī̶̛͇̳̲͖̠̙̊̅͑̏d̴̢̃̈́̀̇͌̆͆̿ ̷̪̝̲̭̈̄̔̏̇̇͝ͅͅw̴̩͚̆̇̆̿͗̒͗ã̸̦̙͎͈̲͙̉͌̇͒̽̏̊ś̶̯̿̓͛ ̴̲̎̓͒̓͘͠w̵̛̻͉̖͋͌̓͗̌̓a̶̟̥̝͓̬̤͈͘t̴̛̠͂͛̆̊̑̾́ͅc̶̣̫͈͖̊h̶͕͖̹̫͖̣̓͊͌̍ ̷̡͓̙̗̞̻̏ĥ̷͚͙̱̔͑͋͊͘į̸̦͗̈́̈́̚ͅm̵̡̢͙̜̤̳͓͒̊̒̆̐̀ ̸̨̭̥̹͋̆́͝u̸͉̰̮̳̟̖̝͠n̶͓͇͙͖̍͋͗́̍̚̚d̵͍͌̎̀̐͂e̶̡̡̮̖̦̝̮͓̔̔͂̊̇r̷̛͍̘̀͆͑̇͘ ̴͎̓͊t̷̨̟̼͓̭̿̀̕͘h̸̛͈̱̹̤̤̣͑̌͊͂́͒̈́e̷̹̖̫͖̦̭͊͝ ̷̧̪͈͙̻̅̒͛b̴͚̖̮̤̣͚̮̞́̐̉̑̎̽̚ľ̶͚̙̙̣͝ą̷̨̠̖̯̉̄̉̅͋̄͝͝ḑ̷̢͇͈̟̙̬͖̔̽͒͐̇̋̀̚ę̸͍̺̰̟̲̗̃͛͊ͅ,̴̲̦̍͌ ̵͈̱̳̠̺̼̞̓͑͑́̅͂n̵̢̢̮͓̪̠̺̽̅͐͛̅́o̵̳͖̪̱͙̪̰̔̈́́̀̈̋t̴̘̉̉̐̉͠ ̵̳̝̙̥͐̄̆̊̌́̚͠ͅe̵̺̭̾̒͐͑͆͑v̴̠̗̠̍͐̔̋̈̋̚͘e̵̯̯̙͙̋n̵̨̲̦̱̭̣̱̒͜ ̵̧̢̢̥͇̩̟́̈̐͐m̵̨̼̰̞͊o̴̧̮̐̑̑̈́̇̉̏̎v̶̢̯̙̰̪͖̰̌̏̆̂̇̉̽̊͜i̷͖͔͐͒̃̈n̷̖̲͉̘̒ģ̷͔̞̘͔̝̱̠̇.̶͚̻͖͓̒̊̎̋̌͆͠ ̴̢̬̗̙͂͒͗̑̄̕H̴̜͇͚͉̖̯̿͆̈̈ͅͅõ̴͎̍̐ͅw̷͇̪͎͆ ̴͔̼̱͕̉̊̀̈́͛͐́͆ͅc̷̡͖̼̅̌̋̚͝a̵͓̗̺̦̘̓̒͒͘̚n̴̩̱͕̤̝̥̆̚ ̸͓̥̠̦̏͑̏̚͘y̵͇̓õ̶̧̧̧̘͙͗̑ͅü̸͖̩̬ ̸͉̭̪̰̜̞̪̑͊̀͑̄̊̆͠c̸̨͉̬̘͉̫̀̋̐ą̴̧̜̩̗̻͆̓̾͒̊̚͠͠ͅl̸̟͙͚̀l̴̨̨͕͔̆̏͛̚ ̴̨̼̠̟̯̀͜ỷ̵͇̄̂̈́͌̿͝ǫ̵͖͙̙̩͗̿u̵͕̼̮͔̓̍̓ȑ̴̜̾͋͌̉s̸͇̳͚̞̳͇͖͗̄̈̌͘e̴̥͔̐̒͋͌̋͆̚͜͝l̸̜̓f̴͍͎̯̬̟́̽̊̀̈́̈́͑ ̴̛͚̪͓̌́̀̒a̸̧̦̩̣̟͖̖͗̈́̋̽͊͘ ̸̪̭̦̄̿h̶͎̘̭̔̽̎͘̚͝e̵͕̅̒̓r̴͗̀̚͘̚͜o̷͈̗̥̲͚̅͌̀͌̓̂̐̊͜͜?̶̩̏̕ ̴̜̎͊͛̽͂̕F̷̖̽̓ĩ̶̟͙̼͆̈́̾̈́̈̃r̵̹̜̆̊͆̚s̶̛̠̦̹͋͒̀̐̂̕͝t̸͙̞̤͌̈͑͑̅̂́ ̸̛̩͖̣͌̓͌̕͝R̸͓̯̝̥̥̺͛y̶͓͛̇̍̃̈́o̴̟̖̗͂̋̃u̸͔̮̾̆̐́͠,̶̗͈̘̝͍̰͒͋̏͗ͅ ̸̒̏͋̋̇̈́ͅt̶̝̯͂ḩ̷͓̠̅̍͐͑̕ẽ̷̮̣̔́̒͝ń̷̦̎͊̑̓̃́̚ ̷͔̭͍͚͋̂͗̔͊̂̃͘Á̴̼̫͎ḯ̶̩̳̮̜͈͕̟̎̚z̷̡͔̱̳͙͇̒̓̕͠à̷̯͝ẅ̶̛̫́ä̴̜̘͕͖̱̬,̴͓̳̫̼͓̳͓͛̿͋͛ ̵̤̜̰͋͌̀̅͒͠͝ả̸̛̤̙̙̯̮̅͠n̵̩̩͍̜͆̾̃̓̆͛d̵̰͑͗ ̸̭̳͙͗̐̒͌ņ̷̢̯̟̔̈̆ǫ̴͓́̑̊w̴̡̧̤͚̠̺̓͛͆̊̉̕ ̵̧̱̏̽̀́̉̏͛I̴̧̘̙̦̹̭̫̐̓̾͘͝i̵͇̰̬̪͔̩̲̎̑̓̽̆͂̀͝ͅd̴̤̜̺̪̎͗͝a̴͖̭̱̰̋̌́̈́͂̕.̷̨̢̣͖̟̘̟̱̅̎̃͂̔̓̂͝ ̸̺͖͔͚̣̑͌̔͋̆̃̾͝ͅÄ̵̜̬͓̬̼̩̙̦͆̓l̴̝̏l̴̨̮̦̣̪̟̇̒̕ ̷͖͐̐ͅẙ̵̧̡̞̤̪̉̀̇̉̿͐̍ǫ̶̨̖͔̜̳̫̂͒̔u̷̧̡̻̜̯͉̫̾ ̵̨̢̤̗̞͕̥̓͑͊̕d̸̰̅̒͋̿̇o̴̧̡̳̰̜͙͈̊̓ ̴̭̘̯̘̻̠́ĩ̴͖͕͙͐s̴̲͚̖͊͒̈́̈̀̀͌ ̷̹̬̥͉͍̦̏́͝ͅh̶̛̫̼̭͉͍̎̃͊́u̶̪̝̍͗͆r̴̢͈͈̲̻͓̪͋͋̅͝ͅt̸͓͓͇̥͋̇̂̉̊̿ ̷̬̓̀̏̓̌̇̓̕p̷̺̼͖͓͋͑̇ẻ̴̢̙̭͍̺̂͐͂̃ő̸̙̘͍̭̼͋̑̀́̎̕͜ṕ̸̛͚̲̬̮̉̔̊̍l̸̢͇̭͈͙̘̳̈͝ê̵̘̰̫̄,̴̦̅͜ ̵̮̫̬͊̓̂̋͠ͅí̸̧͖̭͕̺̠̯̬̂̀̄́̓͠t̵͕̟̹͉̰̹̀͌'̵̧͖̱̘̙̖̈́͋́̂ś̷͕̟͍̪̞̥̈́̓̊̀͐̽ ̵̨͉̞͙̹͉̈́͠͝f̴̱̦͍͌͊̒̉̿ṳ̷́̉͊͘c̴̡̨̧̭̬̘̱̳̋̌͆̒̀͊̔k̷̛̹̊̒̓̅͂̅̽į̷̋̈́͌̽̆͆̈͠ṇ̴̦͊̾̇̈́͛̋ğ̸͎̗̎͠͠ ̸̙͉̘̲͔͕̲̾̽̓ṇ̸̭̥̾̆͐͌͌́̄͝ȍ̸͉̟͖̪͋̅̒̓ ̷̛̳̑̿͆͛̾͆w̸̡̳̠̜̗͎͙͇͗͋͊o̸̧͛̄̆̾̔n̸͚̻͈͉̰͎̊̿̚d̸̛̝̰͇̲̭͕͛̎͋͆͆̎̀ẽ̸͍͙̟̆͛͛r̴̨̩͙̤̐̌̂͑̈͛̑ ̶͙̬̾̊͆̂̈́y̵̝̦͋̃̽̊͠͝ͅo̵̳̟͘ű̵̩̪̬̋͋͌̂̌̐ ̸͙̙͘h̴͙̱̣̅̌̂̽͌̈̿̅ͅu̴̟̻͇̣͑͂͜ŕ̷̢̹͖͚̜̳̌͜t̷̙̱̃̄͑̓͝ ̶̡̼͕̭̟͕̳̐̀͛̌̌̒y̸̡̡̤͓̳͛o̴̱͌̌̈͒ų̷̮̻̭͈̘̯͛̌͜ŗ̴̟̠̼͍̬͂̎͂̕͝s̸̜͖͓̰͓͖̔́̓̉͋̀͠e̴̺̟͎͈̎́͊̿͗͛̾͜l̷̺̦̳͇͋̔̅̔f̶͓͖͎͕͉̊̚ͅ.̷̟̈́͛̓̈́̋̈́̕ ̷̛͙̒̀̉͑͛̋F̴̦̪̱͊̃̚͝ư̸̬͚̲̯͈͔͙̲̒̈́̒͗c̴̠͙̭̱̹̱̒̽̒̍̓̅̄k̷̢̹͕̱̹͕̾̑̓̀͒̈́̇ͅ ̸̧̧̡̼̳̭͚̃́͑̆̕ŷ̴̢̛ͅơ̴̘͕̩̘͚͎̓̅u̴̢͖͚̯̽̀̾̋̅͌͌̂,̷̡̡̤̞͉̗̃̾͊ ̴͕͙̜̼̙̜̪̀̈́͌͛̈́̈͝y̷͇̽̈̀̅͛͘͠͝ọ̴̈͆̑̽ų̴͉̜̖̠̇̿͛́̒͒̌ ̷̤̮̥̍̏s̴̳̰̺͈̠̬̽́̃͒͆t̸̢͇̱̱̼̤͛̓͗̂̑̈́̎͝u̵̧̧̮͓͖̰̥͂͐̓͊́̋̍͜p̶̝̳̻̖̲͓̉͊̔̎͝͝i̸̡̯͚̰̗̜̘̇̑͌̒͊͝d̶̬̟͊͑͊͋͆͠ ̶̟̯͛̏́̑m̷͎̯̭͇̫̑́̈́̓͊̕͜ͅu̸̘̘̺͂̇͛̓͗͆̏̿r̸̭̄̄̈́̈́̾̒̀͘d̸̨̘̫͎͓̱́̒̀ę̵̧̯͍̥͔̝͂͛̉̏̀̑͘ṛ̴̦̰̩̽́͠e̴̳̗͔͍͗r̴̛͕͂͑͝.̵̡̧̖̗̱̬̈́ ̸͕̮̣͛͜ͅŶ̶͕̎ơ̸̗͔̞̱̊̓̈́ŭ̵̱̿̍͠'̴̖̖͆̒͆́̆͂͘̚r̸̻̭̻̱̙̘͠e̸̛͈̭̰̩̖̠̔͐̉̓̚͝ ̷̧͍̲̯̲̝̟̋͛̽̃n̸͎̏͋͆o̴̠̝͌́͆̾ ̷̭̖͙̭̅b̷̖͗̓̀̓͌̿̂͠é̶̤̘t̸͉̟͎̹͐̈̈̚t̸̢̟͕̬̮͍͈̲̉̅̓̕͝e̶̫̰̣͕͂͑r̷͎͔̟͖̲͎̲̒̓̌̈́̚ͅ ̸̡̹̠̱̐̌̾̀̀̿ṭ̷͐̆̌́͘͝h̸͍̾͊͊a̸̝̅̂̿͌͛n̶̡̘͍̙͔̦̑͊̅̅̔ ̵̡̡̮̱̫̜͌̀̾̀͜ͅŚ̶͇̠̟̃̏͑͒̾̏͌t̴̢̥͇͇̽̆̆̂͂͝͠a̶̢̧̢͈͍͗̓̒̾ḯ̶̺̗̻͌n̴̥̬̈́̒̿ ̶̹̦̘̎̉̌̔̚͝͝h̵͚̑̆̔̋͊͝i̴̤̼͙̦̮͋̍m̷̰̟̘͈͍̎͌͌s̴̟͈͉̥̋̕e̷͈͎̣͈̣̍͐̃̌̅̏͘l̸̮͚̙͍͈͓͑̈̔̓̾f̶̨̼̝̜͉͓̳̪̐͊̄̂͝.̴̧̆̈́͊ ̸̬͉̭̼̞̜̯̇̄̀̑̆̀̚G̸͕̩̠̯̜̘̦̊͌̋̀o̷͉̠̰̬̺͐̓͑̀ ̷̣̪̺̈̂̓̕ô̷͕̟̎́f̶̳͓̹͊̈́f̴͇̹͂̃́́̍̓̇̏ ̸̨͚͕̏͆͂y̵̬̥̬͓̮̝͆̇͛͗̊͗̓ơ̶̘̹̜̲̩͔̠̳͆͆́̽̚͝ų̵̥̪͕̠͆̈́̏̈̑́͜͜r̷̖͓̝͊s̷̟̦͚̼̹͋ȩ̵̗̣̭̝̻̔͗͂̕͜͠l̴̖̜̝̪͋̂͝f̸̢̤̤͚̻̟̲͔̀͛̚,̸̢͇͊͗͑͝ ̴̢̥̣͙̝̹͓̥̿̐y̷̼͚̒̐̌̑ȍ̸̢͇̦̻̝͛̈́̎u̸̩̘̥͕̟̳̬̽͆̆͠ ̷̳̝͕̳̣̯̖͗̚ü̵͈̘͖̗͈̱̔͋̅n̶̡̺͒̿d̴̮̮̦͎̤̣̝̍̔̕ͅę̷̫̻̲̿ͅs̴͓̤̅́̈́̋è̸̅͐́̒̌̚͝ͅr̴̡͓̝̹̒̋̽̔͘v̴͚͖̭̀͛͊̽̕͘i̵̧̩̻̟̱̮̟͙̚n̷̛̞̯͓̫͖͍̺̳̋̈͝g̸̤̫̼͍̰͛̏ ̸̢̹̲̦̱̦͖̗͋ḩ̷̩̫̊̆ǘ̸͚̙͋̌͛m̷̯̩̯̦͙̣̀͒͆̑͗̈́̍̚a̸̩͇̅̈́̉̊̆̂̿̽n̷͉̰̫̫̪͇͓̓̈́̄̅̈́͊͒̚ ̵̨̲̞̪̣̼̮̹́͆̉̀̐̈́b̵̜̪̬̥̃e̸̛̙̟͓̳̼̰̻͙̒͊̅͆̈́͘͘i̴̥̠̮̯̩̽̔̅͒̂n̴̢̥͖̻̮̻̅̒̚͝ģ̶̨̠̺̘̦̲̓̈́̏ͅ.̴̤̙͙̻͗̔̄̄̂͝
It's back. She doesn't even know what to say or think, hell, she doesn't even know how to breathe anymore because, holy fuck, the voice is back. She didn't think it was actually there after she gave her speech on her hero name, but now she knows it's real. Why now? Of all times in the world, why now?
She quickly realigns one of her blades with the holster on her back. Now, with her current free hand, she uses it to tap the side of her helm, not even having enough oxygen to mutter the command to open it vocally. The two halves slam open east and west, dry air rushing down her throat like a dam had been burst wide open. A few breaths are all that's needed to calm her down, the world around her distracting enough for her not to focus on herself.
With the short time Stain has been thrown back, Midoriya takes initiative. His head turns over his shoulder, seeing Hidaka's helmet has opened suddenly and she's desperately trying to breathe, but is smoothening back to a normal pace. He prioritizes the conditions of the two people on the ground with bleeding wounds, as a hero should.
"Iida, we have to get to a more open street!" Midoriya advises.
"I can't move my body," Tenya huffs angrily, seething that two of his classmates were intervening with his goal of eliminating the illusive hero killer, "I think it's his quirk."
"Yeah, no shit." Y/N says, which is followed by a simple, steel sharp: "Mask."
"Copy."
The tone of voice she's using is the same one she used during the Sports Festival, Izuku notices. Words that hold chilling promise, a conviction so profound it rattles his bones and sends centipedes crawling up the ladder of his spine.
She's dangerous, when she gets like this. Acting with reprisal and wrath, saying things she'll regret, no filter left. Selective hearing, only tuned into the radio wave of violence and action, so on edge that her instincts evolve as if she's been awakened for the first time in centuries. Not quite villainous, but so emotionally and morally detached from heroism she might as well have forgotten what she was supposedly striving to become.
"Does his quirk have to do with cutting someone els—"
"Akaguro Chizome, known previously as the vigilante: Stendhal. Currently known as the villainous hero killer: Stain."
Though her mask obstructs her expression, from the way she spits her words, the listeners know that Y/N's face is stoke cold—reading nothing but the facts her AI has pulled up for her on the inside of her visor. She is undoubtedly absolute, there is no one who would ever question her integrity when someone speaks like she just did.
"Quirk: Bloodcurdle. User can paralyze their target by ingesting their blood, blood type determines the length of paralyzation. In descending order of time, B, AB, A, O. Maximum paralysis time last eight minutes."
There's a pause in Stain's movements. His pale fingers visibly tense around the katana hilt in his hand while his thin lips pull sideways. Y/N walks forward, standing next to Midoriya but on the side closer towards the two people who had wounds. Without her quirk, pursuing the villain would be a death sentence, it would be best for her to stay on defense.
Stain's lips turn into a sinful grin, large and sweeping across his visage. His sharps eyes squint while his head tilts sideways just the slightest. The killer's voice drops a few octaves, becoming shallow and sinister, deathly calm. He is earnestly intrigued, without a shadow of a doubt. How peculiar.
"How do you know that?"
Deku takes off at him, verdant green lightning crackles across his body, and Y/N finds it strangely reminiscent to her mother's hero days. Red, glowing stripes are so bright they push through his hero suit, brightening up the musty alleyway that reeks of coppery blood.
He's like a star in the night, lighting up like a cold fire, an icy wind spread across the world. It showers her in hope that causalities could be avoided. Jade emeralds and cardinal rubies glistened like diamonds and it took her breath away. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be as good of a person as Midoriya—and she sometimes wondered if that was true about everyone else too.
But then he falls as the tip of Stain's tongue meets his sword, a few, measly drop of blood absorbing into his taste buds. Deku's joints cave in, collapsing under his weight and sprawling onto the concrete in the same fashion as Iida.
"Heat on your six!"
It's the quick direction from T.R.A.V.E.S.T.Y that causes Y/N to drop to the pavement, watching as a spiraling plume of golden orange flames blast over her head, pushing back the Hero Killer who was already advancing towards her after incapacitating Izuku. Her blades clatter loudly while the fire roars above her head.
A familiar face approaches her side as she stands, his left hand curled up at his side, readying himself to use his flames again. Then, there's a sudden quake underneath her feet, so she widens her stance in retaliation. A slope of ice sweeps Deku, Iida, and Native back towards the two able-bodied fighters, giving them a layer of protection and distance from Stain.
From the edge of her peripheral, she sees Shouto glancing at her oddly, eyeing the two swords in her hands. "I'm on medically induced quirk prohibition." She explains why she's not using her flames simply, her eyes never leaving Stain as he has stare down with the two, pyrokinetic teens.
As odd as the one-sided hatred and mutual rivalry between the two recommended students is, there was no tension between the two in a moment like this. It's as if their relationship from the recommended exams to the Sports Festival never happened in the first place, but instead, they were just...colleagues? No, that wasn't the word to use. Something more than that.
But, there is no anger, no malice, just a silent agreement to take the bastard down. Easier said than done. Shouto and Hidaka breathe in sync, a muted understanding of their thoughts as they weaved a plan together, words not had to be said, but said for the sake of today, a day of growth.
"Handle the long range attacks, I got your back when he closes in." She states while skillfully spinning her blades, watching with a careful eye at the movements of the villain before her. "Don't let him get to your blood, he'll paralyze you if he ingests it. We're stalling for their paralysis to wear off and for the pros to get here." Using 'they' to refer to Midoriya, Tenya, and Native.
A heavy weight feels lifted off of Todoroki's chest. There is room to breathe around her and maybe—
Shouto is roughly bumped to the side by his female companion as she watches a small throwing knife be flung towards his unarmored form. Luckily, her reaction time only allowed the edge of the knife to graze his cheek, but Stain's already upon the hero of fire and ice.
Stain's long, slimy tongue slithers past his lips while he throws his katana in the air. His hands pull Todoroki close, only centimeters away from what the villain needs, but the razor sharp possibility from Y/N's dangerous slash leaves him pushing back from the two, her own dual sided blade so close to dividing his tongue in two.
All eyes turn towards the spinning sword in the sky, falling in a practiced twist of speed and height—Stain was smarter than to throw his largest blade with a random amount of strength and trajectory. The thing the two teenagers failed to anticipate was Stain's explosive speed and second-to-none improvisation skills.
As if it was all in his plan, Stain leaps upwards off of Shouto's jutting ice, the hilt of the katana sliding into his palm. He quickly throws two oddly shaped daggers, landing them in the boy's arm, but the sword is another story. This time, he is not aiming for Todoroki, but instead the girl at his side. With Stain's speed and momentum, Y/N isn't fast enough to bring one of her blades forth in time. She doges enough so it doesn't hit her vital organs, but it's not enough to avoid the hit altogether.
The slash stakes it's claim on her left arm. A single, sweeping curve from the lateral side of her inner elbow reaches to the base of her pinky finger. It splits through her hero suit and parts the skin like the Red Sea, oozing and spurting frothy chunks of carmine blood that only burn and disintegrate the arm portion of her costume more. Billowing gas flows away from the gash, but being outside makes the problem nonexistent as the cyanide floats away into the sky, not staining the lungs of those nearby.
It feels as if death itself had ran his boney finger across her skin, intense and frigid. The slice doesn't hurt, but she can tell that it's pierced her veins as the bumps and groves on the blade nick and rake through her muscles, leaving notches where it connects. What is left when Stain pulls away is a gory mess of spurting red that trickles like running water.
Stain jumps back, leaving himself a decent gap between Hidaka and Shouto, knowing they wouldn't attack him. His immoral smile glows with his red eyes, the moonlight reflecting off of them just right. The sword is covered in blood, drenched at the tip as it drips down towards the handle. He stands relaxed, as if mocking the girl as he keeps eye contact, knowing her blood is within reach.
He doesn't hear what she says, but she mutters a word, and then her helmet opens once again. His tongue is already reaching, ever so slowly towards his sword, but then Stain sees that she's looking back at him, and her look makes him falter.
It's like looking into a mirror. Her smile, like his, is barred with mocking shame of unworthiness and unharnessed fire. In her eyes lies an emotion so abominable it should never be said allowed. A look too deep and corrupt and oh, so cold. Her hues glint like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, misleading and heinous, rotten and aloof, malignant and internecine.
With this pause, there's a creaking, a shriek of rust and the bending of metal. Suddenly, the blade snaps away from the hilt and clatters roughly against the ground. A putrid, tainted smell of almonds wafts over him, causing him to release a rancid, lung-racking cough while his eyes water. When he looks, he watches as the only long-ranged weapon he had melts at his feet, the steel dissolving in the blood he has just taken.
"Aww, does Stainys little blood quirk not work on someone like me?" Hidaka cackles, mocking a pouty voice of a child as she stands up straight, not focusing on the new wound bleeds from her arm.
The handle is still in his hand as he stares at the girl, thoughts flittering through his head as he questions what has just happened. She looks almost disappointed, watching as he didn't get the chance to ingest whatever in the world acted as her blood that made it so much different than everyone else's.
"Please...stop..."
With Iida's voice, Midoriya flashes forward past Hidaka and Todoroki. Things happen much quicker know as Stain changes up his movements, moving faster and more unpredictably. He's wild and unrestrained, having lost his most used cutlass, he loses his long range advantage and has to settle with projectiles and mid-ranged blades.
Tenya's voice is strained, overcome by emotion. There are tears of frustration in his eyes as he watches Todoroki launch a blast of fire while Hidaka parries away a stray throwing knife. Their eyes are trained on the villain, both of them crying out in sync when Deku is slashed again. Shouto steps forward in anger, yelling as Izuku falls and shooting a flowing plume at Stain.
"If you want us to stop, stand up!"
Y/N turns to face her dual-styled partner, hearing a conviction and inspiration in his voice that she's never heard before. She doesn't know how to react to it, not understanding how much a single person can change in such a short period of time. It's exhilarating, adrenaline fueling.
She turns her body away from Stain, squatting down slightly while her hand extends towards her fallen classmate. Iida stares at Hidaka's hand, the dark gloves giving him an outlet in this time of need. And just for a second, she allows her head to turn towards Iida Tenya, her classmate, her internship partner, her class representative, and most importantly, her friend.
Her eyes fall onto his. (Eye color) meets red, and for once, her stomach doesn't lurch. There's no reminder of what she was, or what she still is, but red, instead, serves as a reminder of what she will protect, what she will save, what she will avenge.
"Act like the hero you what to become, stare at the future you want and grasp it! I believe in you, Iida." Y/N says.
There's a second that passes, followed by the scream of her name. She can't even turn her head the whole way around before she sees the whites of Stain's eyes. A decently sized knife lies in each of his hands, both set in an arcing swoosh to each side of her neck.
A tug on her extended hand pulls her away, Iida screaming with the whirring of his engines. There's a flash of blue, a screech of the sound barrier and the burst of speed.
She's pulled behind him as Tenya sends a swift kick to Stain's core, pushing him back enough so Todoroki can blast him again without endangering his peers. When he lets her go, Shouto is pushing Iida back again, Stain threatening to careen in his direction again. It's no surprise, Iida and Native are his targets after all.
With the villain focused on the boy in the suit of armor, Y/N quickly makes her way over to Midoriya, who's still propped against the wall. He can't move, and she suddenly worries over his wounds as if Stain might have made a life-threatening slash.
Over the roar of fire and the clinking of ice, Y/N hears Todoroki and Iida yelling to each other, there's a few grunts in pain and she can hear the graceful streak of a knife in the air. While her mask is still open, she's moving her gaze over the paralyzed boy in front of her.
"T.R.A.V.E.S.T.Y, can you asses his injuries?"
"There's a decently deep cut on the anterior side of left ankle, stitches will most likely be needed." The AI says as it's voice reverberates through the open helm, giving Izuku a chance to hear his assessment. "The wound may debilitate walking and other movement, but it is not life threatening. But, your gash on the other hand—"
Deku screams as he looks over Y/N's shoulder at Iida and Todoroki. His body moves a little, showing his ability to control himself is coming back. They're both distracted from what T.R.A.V.E.S.T.Y says as they face their two fellow classmates, both paling at the sight of two knives sticking out of Iida's arm.
Y/N's trying to help Midoriya up, but he's moving rapidly, anxiously to be able to move on his own again without the help of someone else. How ironic is it that one time he tried to help her and she pushed him away, but now with the roles reversed, he's doing the same? Irony at it's finest.
His body starts to light, pushing Y/N away lightly as he suppresses a groan in pain as his cut drips blood down his red shoes and onto the concrete below. He turns to bounce off a pillar of ice while following it with a leap from the brick walls, exploding into the sky like a cannon.
She sees Iida on the same trajectory as him, the electric blue of his engines contrast with the black of night and the shimmering porcelain of his armor. Y/N stares as they arch like shooting stars, blistering in power and strength. Todoroki and her are practically cheering, their eyes to the sky as Midoriya's fist meets Stain while Iida's leg does the same. Both are moving in opposite directions, both hitting their target with opposing forces.
There's a sickening crack, and Y/N can't tell if it came from Stain or Midoriya's arm, in which he is cradling after the impact. Iida slaves his second foot against Stain, in which Todoroki blasts him with fire yet again. Both of her attacking classmates are falling, but Shouto catches them with a sheet of angled ice.
Stain lies unmoving on a tall pillar of icy death. Silence overtakes the alley, heavy breaths fall from the students lips as they watch the villain, unblinkingly, for any sign of movement. But there is none, and the air falls still once more, but the scent of cherries is still not to be found over the reek of spilt blood.
Y/N puts her katana's away and helping tie the villain up with the rope they found in the dumpster. She has little hopes that it is very strong, so she bounds him many, many times. There isn't a lot of talking, just slow, lackadaisical movements, a few actions muttered here and there.
She feels inadequate, among her three fellow trainees. Each of them left their all against the antagonist, and she feels as if she's done nothing. And, it's sorta true.
When she first arrived, she did nothing, and her lack of action almost killed Iida, and without Midoriya he would've been gone. She couldn't even defend Shouto from all of Stain's knives, like she said she would, and now he has two wounds in his arm and a cut on his cheek. Nothing—she feels like nothing.
Though, when the group makes its way into the street, her head starts hurting. A rhythmic, deep thrumming ring in her temple, but it's slowly rising in speed. Suddenly, she can tell her heart rate is rising too, every beat of the drum in her head is in tune with the cadence of her heart.
A large group of heroes flood around them. She stands back, not liking proximity with so many people. Currently, she can feel a chilling coolness of sweat on her hairline and dripping down the sides of her face. She taps the side of her helmet to open it as she is starting to breathe a little heavier now, more labored.
She's standing back, watching the half a dozen heroes pester the three boys, looking at a tied up Stain, questioning what happened, calling an ambulance and addressing their countless wounds...wounds, wait, didn't she have one of those—
There's so much fucking blood.
Her entire arm is covered in red, the dark of the night making it deep and oily. The split is the entire length of her elbow to the knuckles of her fingers, the skin peeling away with the acidic blood sizzling when it overflows onto the pavement below, staining its cleanliness with the crimson liquid.
She's shaking violently, hearing an ugly squelch and seeing a short fountain spurt of blood with every pulse her body gives. The meat of her arms is scarlet and clotted, burning when it connects with air. She wonders how many tendons or ligaments have been sliced, she can see the cuts across her veins and lose sense of the heat in her fingers. Her skin has been completely covered, eyes blurring with red and the edges of her vision swirl.
"T.R.A.V.E.S.T.Y, can you...a-asses this?" She whispered, not being able to bring her voice any higher.
"Multiple radial artery lacerations on anterior side of left forearm. The wound needs to be closed quickly. Extremely life threatening, will bleed out in about eleven minutes without action taken."
Y/N stumbles to the side, the words of her AI hitting her like a truck. It's a spear that strikes through her stomach, ripping apart everything and leaving her breathless.
She cradled her arm close while she walks forth silently. Cyanide drifts from the wound and spins around in the sky, a few puffs of it drift towards her, pulling her into a memory of the second day of school with the battle trial. The room filling up with smog and mixing with poison, what a way to start Yuuei.
Her shoulder shrugs her helmet off her head, it clutters to the ground ungracefully, the AI powering down without its desired user attached to it. Without it, she feels lighter, the airy sense in her toes drift up around her and prods at her skin like safety pins.
"Hey, Shouto,"
She addresses the boy in a faint tone, too woozy to even realize she used his first name. He turns to her, shocked to hear her trying to talking to him when she had only viciously ignored him the last week.
"Can you seal this for me?"
Her injured arm extends out, the massacre of a wound out for all of the heroes to see, countless gasps follow and they're already closing in. Todoroki's eyes widen as he steps forward, almost lightheaded himself at the sight of so much blood with such a gory laceration.
Hidaka's knees give out and she collapses, falling harshly against the pavement with no one to catch her. Arduous and strained shrills of air leave her lips, eyes shutting in shock while the deep sky filled with stars never stops spinning.
The distant whirs of the ambulance sirens and the flashes of red and blue lull her into the darkness.
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Meitheal- irish. [team]