Author's Note: It's been asked, but you can find the up-to-date story (with a grand total of 101 chapters as of uploading this) over on spacebattles.
My Bloody Academia
A minute had passed since Matoi's ejection.
Sixty seconds to come to grips with the difference between himself and Mister Vlad King.
"RRAAAAAGGGH!"
Anyone else would have been flummoxed, which was a word he'd picked up from Yaoyorozu.
But the opportunity to seriously throw down with someone stronger than him was an opportunity he couldn't pass up!
CRASH!
"Is this seriously the best you have to offer?"
Following his expulsion of Matoi, Sekijiro Kan quickly restrained himself. Instead of launching an all-out assault, he'd held himself back, allowing the teen to gather his wits, formulate some form of strategy and hold his ground. Yet it appeared Kirishima was as hard-headed as Tetsutetsu, "I'm disappointed," consecutively stronger punches rained upon the bulwark of hardened blood blossoming from his vambrace like flowers. Crosses, hooks, jabs and uppercuts. Even a few boxing moves he hadn't expected. Each attack cracked his aegis, every strike pushed deeper, forcing him to exert more and more energy to repair the damage. At the current pace, in a matter of minutes, he'd need to gather his breath, "I expected more from the hero calling himself Red Riot."
Kirishima wanted to tell Vlad King to go to hell.
But he couldn't do that until he actually landed a punch on the guy.
"Give it a rest, would ya?" shaking away the soreness building in his fingers, the hotheaded teen backpedaled, sweat creeping between contours of hardened skin and muscle, "Your reverse psycho mumbo jumbo isn't going to work on me."
"Is that so?"
Aware of movement in the distance, Sekijiro lowered his arm, "Then perhaps it's time we take things up another notch."
Through the visor provided by his costume, dark red eyes subtly narrowed. Although lacking Matoi's grace and fine control, he did not need anything more than to desire change for every square inch of his makeshift shield to simultaneously liquify, return to its normal state and flow through the openings in his gloves. The crimson tidal wave achieved its intended purpose, distracting the hotheaded student. In seconds, every drop of blood was back where it belonged. Beneath the midday sun, sweating profusely thanks to spandex, high-weight bracelets and simply because it was that goddamn hot, Sekijiro waited until Kirishima was prepared before charging forward not as fast as he'd moved against Matoi, but fast enough to make the difference meaningless.
His first punch missed – a straight jab to the solar plexus – signifying the hero-in-training learned at least one lesson from Matoi's overconfidence and bravado.
But the uppercut to Kirishima's stomach after deftly avoiding a haphazard yet dangerous counterattack was more than sufficient to knock the wind out of the teenager's sails.
And send him crashing into the nearest wall.
"You have potential," a lack of surprise adorned the hero's gruff façade when Kirishima recovered quicker than anticipated, leapt back onto his feet, spat out a mixture of spittle and blood from biting his cheek, and charged forth. All while roaring at the utmost top of his lungs, "But you're too straightforward," instead of countering the telegraphed punch, Sekijiro leaned sideways, waited until Kirishima overextended himself, grabbed the boy by his throat and slammed him back into the wall already bearing his silhouette, "I can see your moves coming from a mile away."
Head ringing from the impact and a cool warmth trickling from his hairline near the scar above his eyebrow, Kirishima swung his legs and stomped the older hero square in the chest.
As hard as he could.
Several times.
Until Vlad King finally let go.
"So what…" taking a moment to catch his breath, Kirishima rubbed his throat, "…so what if you can read me like an open book!" he wiped a hand against his mouth, painting a streak of crimson on hardened flesh. This was the guy who trained Ryuko? Damn, no wonder she was so strong. If he had a bastard like Vlad King personally beating the shit out of him, he'd be freaking tough, "As long as I can hit you, it doesn't matter how straightforward I am!"
It was going to seriously suck in the morning, but forcing his Quirk to harden and strengthen every inch of his body, Kirishima charged the hero, arm cocked over his shoulder.
A punch Vlad King caught with barely a grunt.
"On the contrary – "
Both of their arms quivered, yet it was the naïve student and not the experienced hero whose expectations immediately crashed and burned, " – it's a matter of life and death."
A fist planted itself into Kirishima's stomach.
Followed by a knee to the underside of his chin.
All culminating in the hero grabbing his face and smashing him head-first into an empty two-story single-family home.
"Therefore, allow me to give you some friendly advice," holding the teenager more than a foot above the ground, Sekijiro barely acknowledged Kirishima's struggles as blood gushed from his vambraces, "From what I've gathered, your Quirk hardens your body, significantly increasing your physical strength and endurance," far more blood than Matoi could produce in her lifetime or several lifetimes, enveloped the student before hardening into an inescapable prison, "But that power means nothing without the intelligence to properly utilize it!"
It was finished.
Yet Sekijiro refused to allow himself the courtesy of breathing a sigh of relief.
He might have incapacitated Kirishima, but the battle wasn't over.
She approached from the direction he'd thrown her, walking unencumbered despite crashing through the side of a single-family domicile. Her footsteps were soft, yet burdened with purpose. And she appeared, from an impartial perspective, rather annoyed. Or perhaps 'pissed' better fit her description, "I'm disappointed, Matoi," a growl forced its way from the depths of his chest. Feigned arrogance wasn't difficult to accomplish. Not when he was genuinely disappointed, "You had three hours to devise a strategy," he yanked his hand away from Kirishima's bloody prison, leaving him free to glare at the perpetually angry girl, "Yet your partner was almost completely in the dark about my Quirk and abilities. If this were a real battle, your reckless disregard could have killed someone!"
"Ugh…"
Contrary to his expectations, Matoi's annoyance wasn't directed at him, "How the hell did he capture you?"
Ryuko stared at Kirishima with noticeable frustration, refusing to acknowledge Vlad King in any way, shape or form. One eyebrow twitched, the other settling into what could only be called consternation. Her chin was cut deep enough that it dribbled blood onto her costume. There was another cut on her cheek. Somewhere in her hairline, blood flowed from yet another wound, trickling down her face and separating on the bridge of her nose. The right half of her costume was tattered and torn from crashing through several walls, sliding on asphalt and slamming through the front door of another empty house. She favored her left side, no because of some painful injury or sprained ankle, but to help distribute the weight from the enormous axe resting on her shoulder.
A dangerous and vicious-looking weapon about half the size of the one she'd swung forever ago.
"Don't worry about me," Kirishima might've been trapped by Vlad King's Quirk, but that wasn't enough to stop him from trying to escape, "Get out of here! As long as one of us gets to the exit, we'll both pass!"
"Tch," her eyes snapped back to Vlad King, "If I wanted your advice, I'd ask for it."
It might've been the four or so liters of blood resting on her shoulder or a concussion from crashing through more than a single house, but Ryuko didn't like how long she was thinking about running. This was a test. And despite his bombastic, over-the-top, weekend morning cartoonish villain attitude that made her cringe every time he opened his mouth, Vlad King wasn't a pushover. He was strong. Nowhere close to Couturier's bullshit power, but getting those stupid cuffs on him would be far more trouble than it was worth. If she listened and turned tail, Kirishima wasn't going to die. Aizawa would probably say he was disappointed. But this was a test. The only thing that mattered was passing.
But her decision to fight or run never passed the planning stages.
"Go ahead, Matoi. Run away."
Because at the same moment she'd decided to make a break for the exit, Vlad King overplayed his hand, "But what about your partner? Are you willing to leave your ally to the hands of a villain to escape?" something close to a glower pulled on the teacher's chiseled jaw, "I thought you were better than that, but it seems I was wrong."
Acidic bile rose in the pit of her stomach.
Ryuko knew what he was doing.
But that didn't stop her from being pissed.
"First – screw you," despite the darkness gnawing at her thoughts, Ryuko lifted the axe off her shoulder, "And second," chapped lips twisted into a snarl as unadulterated annoyance filtered through her soul, "You're not in any position to talk shit! As long as he's – " she snorted at Kirishima, " – stuck like that, you're a sitting duck!"
Her weapon on choice undulated, every inch of the blade and handle liquefying until enough blood to paint the street red floated around her fingers, halted from splattering over the ground by nothing more than her Quirk. The taste of bile rose up her throat. The encroaching darkness retreated as three liters of blood passed through her costume, filtering through her skin and returning to her arteries and veins, providing a sudden rise in her blood pressure. Which left only three-quarters of a liter hovering around outstretched fingers.
How she knew the exact volume probably had something to do with her Quirk.
"And that means," Ryuko smirked, purely for the hell of it, as the remaining blood condensed into a small marble, "There's no way you're gonna enjoy what's coming!"
"Don't test me, Matoi."
A villain did not address her by name.
"You so much as fire that in my general direction and you'll be expelled before the day's over," not amused by the presumed threat, Sekijiro growled.
"Geez, aren't you cranky?" it was different from the normal Armor-Piercing Blood Bullet, a name she thought was awesome no matter how many times Mina or Toru said it could use some work. Thrusting her palm towards Vlad King, who reacted by tensing, her smirk developed into a full-blown grin, "I didn't forget what you said," and when she suddenly decided to aim downwards instead of forward, she watched the guy's face turn an amazing shade of bright crimson, "BUT YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT HITTING NOTHING!"
BOOM!
Sekijiro realized a moment too late what Matoi had been planning.
It was devious.
It was underhanded.
And worse of all, it was brilliant.
As a hero, he was privy to a lot of things. He'd witnessed actions that defied physics itself. And fought against villains capable of harnessing their Quirks to such degrees that he would call it unnatural. When Matoi released the small yet deadly orb of blood, nearly a liter condensed into a space smaller than a marble, there was a moment when the world appeared to stop. Time froze as the projectile crossed a distance of less than two feet faster than a genuine bullet. And when it penetrated the ground, traveling deep enough to reach the fake sewers the principal installed for authenticity, the sheer force liquefied asphalt. Pavement buckled around Matoi, rising and falling like waves on the ocean. Followed by a deafening boom as the atmosphere was forcibly expunged only to immediately crash inwards and rebound a second time.
The precision and control necessary for Matoi pull such a dangerous stunt was mind boggling.
As acrid smoke washed over Ground Delta, obscuring everything in a haze of brown, grey and black visible from the parking lot outside the facility, he covered his mouth, "You think you're quite clever, don't you?"
In all honesty, this was an infuriatingly clever tactic.
He should have known better than to presume Matoi wouldn't exploit a loophole in his orders, "But a smokescreen doesn't work without targeting the eyes!"
A shadow in the darkness.
He lashed out with a barely restrained haymaker, intent on ending this charade before she pushed herself too far and injured herself.
Only it wasn't Matoi.
It was the top half of her costume.
Floating mid-step behind the genuinely stunned teacher, Ryuko wore a frown that could've soured milk. Naked from the waist up except for a sports bra and bruises her costume had concealed. Well-toned abs stood out. Defined muscular not to the same extent as Kirishima, Bakugo or Izuku, but far more developed than any other girl in her year with the singular exception of Kendo, propelled her into position. Disheveled hair caked with blood and whatever composed the noxious smog clinging to the ground appeared to move. Locks of navy blue chaotically fluttered as crimson spread from the bang hovering over her left eye. Deep red saturated her hair, spreading root to root, bang to bang, until every strand shimmered.
"Looking for me?"
A hint of pain hugged her voice.
Inside her body, every drop of blood ignored the natural order of things. Twenty-seven liters danced to her specific demands, delivering oxygen and adrenaline to muscles struggling to not tear themselves apart. A speckle of blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. Multiple cuts opened on her shoulders and arms and stomach. Blood spewed onto the street as she focused everything into pulling off a single punch. Her heart felt like it was literally on fire. Every heartbeat sent waves of pain crashing against her mind.
This wasn't Vlad King's move.
This was her improvement on his move.
Everything moved in slow motion – the smoke, Vlad King recalling the blood trapping Kirishima against the wall, everything.
But it was too late.
He was too slow.
Body on fire, blood burning and heart struggling to keep pace, Ryuko clenched her fingers, crimson bursting between white-knuckled joints, sucked in a deep breath and roared.
"BLOODY OVERDRIVE!"
