Trigger Warning:
- pain
- burns
- blood
Death has spared me countless times since I became a villain.
I repaid her kindness by gifting her the souls of others.
Now if she would be so kind as to take mine.
I wish I were joking when I say I would love nothing more than to die right now. There's the pain I've endured since childhood, and then there's this. This unnameable, excruciating thing racking my body in waves. As though my bones snap into pieces, only to be reassembled again. My head demands to split into two, into four, into infinity. If someone were to attach probes to it, fireworks of colors and patterns would appear on the screen. That is how many neurons are signaling the same message to my brain.
Amongst all that pain, I barely feel a needle press into my neck. One second passes. Two seconds. Then ten. One whole minute later, and I feel myself go limp.
The agony ebbs.
All that is left is a physical, mental, and emotional ache. A reprieve. My eyes shut.
"Oh, thank goodness," I hear Mr. Compress say. I do not have the strength to respond. "Let's get you cleaned up."
His arms reach around my back and knees, lifting me in the air. He walks somewhere. Which direction, I do not know. I cannot care. Then he sets me down somewhere. I'm sitting, I realize distantly. My back touches some hard rock surface. No. Not a rock. My hair. Mr. Compress pulls me forward just a bit to undo the hair ties and bobby pins holding my hair up. All the matted blood had hardened it to stone.
A cold liquid crashes down on me. I shudder reflexively at the sensation before easing into it. Water, I notice, after I take a taste. Another waterfall pours down. It is a balm. I manage to find the strength to blearily open my eyes. Dried blood colors the water red before washing away.
A little more energy returns, and I look up at the source of water. A hand pump. Never thought I would see one of these in person. Mr. Compress lifts the lever up and down, and spouts of water come out with every motion. I open my mouth to drink the water. It tastes a little metallic, but it is better than nothing.
This goes on for some time. I cannot say how long. When there is no more water to be pumped, Mr. Compress returns to my side and inspects my injuries. I bet there are many. Though he is wearing his face mask, his grim silence confirms as much.
He removes my boots. Rather, what remains of my boots. Because along with my clothes, they melted in the pyre. The stench of burnt rubber and glue hits my nose. Mr. Compress tosses them aside and looks at my feet. They're badly burnt. Maybe it was the degree of burns, maybe it was the adrenaline, but I did not notice until now.
"You cannot walk like this," he remarks. "Not with scraps of fabric and rubber stuck to them. Damn, Selene! How are you even alive?" I'm asking myself the same question. Wish I knew the answer. Mr. Compress sighs, "We cannot leave them like this. Burns this severe are way too prone to infection. I need something to bandage them up. Thing is, I don't have anything like that." Then his gaze falls to my chest.
You dare take advantage of me!
I am about to use the dredges of my energy to kick him when he says, "Your camisole. It's still a little bloodstained, but it's better than any of the clothes on the dead bodies here. If you'll let me, I can tear it into strips and wrap your feet with it." He shrugs off his outer jacket and tosses it to me. "Use that to cover up."
My voice is raspy and small from all the gasping I did earlier. "Do what you think is best." Saying those six words hurts my throat.
Mr. Compress gets to work immediately. He helps me get out of the wet, dirty camisole, and tugs the jacket up to cover my chest. With half-lidded eyes, I watch him tear the sides of the undershirt into two halves. Then he rips each half into individual strips. His hands are methodical as he pries off stuck material from my soles and instantly covers the wound with the camisole.
I close my eyes again and let him do his work when he speaks again. "I need more strips."
At that, I pull his jacket closer to me, exposing the hems of my trousers. The last garment of my villain outfit. It is also burnt and bloody, but like the rest of me, it got somewhat cleansed with water. "Use that," I croak.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
The noise I emit was supposed to be a guffaw. Instead, it comes out like a crow's caw. "You said so yourself: my clothes miraculously go missing after a massacre. Besides, your jacket is big enough to cover my entire frame."
I hear him gulp before he proceeds ripping the seams of the trousers. The process resumes. By the time my feet are thoroughly covered, my pants are no more than an ugly pair of shorts. There's no point in keeping such scraps. Beneath the cover of the jacket, I take them off.
Mr. Compress turns around to give me privacy as I struggle to wear it. I always knew he was tall, but it is only now that I am aware. His outer jacket usually falls to his knees; in my case, it threatens to swallow me completely and still sags to the ground. I manage to pair the last of the buttons with its holes when I tell him he can turn around.
He bends down and scoops me into his arms. With both forearms under my thighs, I wrap mine around his shoulders and rest my head against his clavicle. When I see my katana sheathed in its cane shaft slung to his side, I feel like I can finally breathe. Comfort is a guest I welcome with an embrace.
He starts walking.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"To find Shigaraki and the rest," he answers.
"Were you engaged in a battle?"
"Luckily, no. I cannot speak for anyone else."
"… Thank you for rescuing me …"
He chuckles warmly. "Your welcome. Now rest. Gigantomachia should arrive soon. "
I take him up on that offer.
I don't know how long I sleep, but I do know that it is disturbed by a stampede. What sounds like the infamous running of the bulls from Spain is heading this way. I squint at the sight. Thousands of black bulls are dashing in our direction. I blink. No. Not bulls. Humans. Humans in bodysuits. Another blink. Twice. Thousands of Twices.
I should be appalled. Instead, all I have the energy to do is to doubt my sanity.
Didn't Twice refuse to clone himself because of past trauma? Or is the effect of delirium?
Turns out I am wrong. Mr. Compress shouts the question I think, and I hear Twice's response: "I overcame it with the power of love and courage!"
If I could snort, I would. Such a heroic answer, but so characteristic with his personality. Even Mr. Compress agrees with me. Twice defends himself by highlighting the importance of us in his life. Again, I wish I could laugh. Not out of amusement this time.
I'm happy for you, Twice. Good to have you back.
But then he exclaims that he is going to clone the rest of the League. Enough to annihilate the Liberation Army. That's a problem. Mr. Compress points out that if we follow through with that, our Gigantomachia trump card will be left useless. And Gigantomachia still has one hour and five minutes left till he awakens.
Brilliant. This is going to be the longest hour of my life.
As if to emphasize my disgruntledness, an eruption of steam from Dabi's battle melts a few hundred Twices. And those liquid Twices rain upon us. Mr. Compress bends down and shields me with his body. I appreciate the attempt, but both of us are coated with brown ooze when the rainfall stops. So much for that hand pump bath. He is as disgusted as I am. But we have no time to complain.
He drags out of the ooze and resumes walking. This time toward the tower because the explosions and screams emanating from there are beacons of our gang's locations.
We're almost there when all of a sudden, the tower collapses. One moment it was there, the next fissures run up the cement, cracking and breaking the structure into bricks and boulders. Blocks fall to the earth with deafening thuds. Such beautiful destruction. There is only one villain capable of such magnificent ruination.
Kill or be killed.
I always admired this quality about him: he took his own advice. We all did. That's why Twice has become a formidable opponent now, Dabi is on par with the ice Army member, Toga defeated numerous opponents single-handedly, Mr. Compress is able to hold me, Spinner is embroiled in his own battle, and Shigaraki has reached the goal first.
Mr. Compress tightens his grip on me before running forward, not willing to miss a piece of all the action. I am eager, too.
But we do not get the chance.
Mr. Compress yells, "Look over there!"
I follow his finger in the direction he points. Alertness overcomes the fatigue. My eyes widen. It. Cannot. Be. There is still a good half an hour left. However, I cannot deny the truth because Mr. Compress saw it first.
Gigantomachia charges toward Shigaraki, pummeling buildings and people in his wake.
"We underestimated him!" Mr. Compress continues. "He wasn't even fighting seriously against us! Gigantomachia is unstoppable!"
Our trump card took action before we anticipated. Not only is the Liberation Army in danger, so is Shigaraki. I turn to Mr. Compress and clench his shirt collar. The gesture switches his attention to me. "We keep going. I can try to protect Shigaraki from Gigantomachia's first attack."
He shakes his head. "Don't be stupid, Selene. Just look at the state you're in. You'll die if you use your quirk again."
"I'm not being stupid. I have a plan."
He vehemently denies my protests. "If we fight that thing now, the League would be done for. We regroup. No complaining, Selene."
I huff in frustration as Mr. Compress chases after the scene again. We regroup with Dabi along the way. I figure that means he defeated his opponent. However, Mr. Compress has the gall to toss me into Dabi's arms to retrieve his phone. Dabi sneers and I gape at him at the utter audacity, but neither of us gets the chance to scold him. Mr. Compress asks Daruma-san's help to transport the League to safety. His plea is turned down.
Dabi adjusts his grasp on me so that I am a body slung over his shoulder. The position is degrading, but I am glad he hasn't decided to drop me to the ground. Still, the stench of burning flesh irritates my nose. Just how long did he unleash flame after flame? "We go after Machia," he declares, leaving no room for argument.
I am repeatedly jostled as Dabi and Mr. Compress make their way to the ultimate arena. Instinctively, I twist the fabric around Dabi's waist to minimize the impact. If he notices, he does not comment.
Both are preoccupied with fending off any remaining Liberation Army fanatics. There aren't many. Like us, everyone has gone to see the melee.
We finally reach the battle site. I scramble to lift myself just enough to see upright. The scale of damage is impressive. More massive than all the other times Shigaraki has attacked. The dust makes it hard to see and breathe. I raise the jacket's collars up to my nose and wait for the debris to settle.
The first thing I notice is that Gigantomachia has ceased his rampage. He is gazing in awe at something beyond him. Following his line of sight, I see what it is. The man I presume responsible for this debacle has lost his legs. Shigaraki staggers toward said man to savor his victory.
The politician and his lackeys arrived before us. The fact that they are not attacking is only further proof of my conclusion.
The silence that follows a massacre is what occupies the arena now.
That is why I do not need to amplify my hearing to listen to what Re-Destro has to say.
"The Superpower Liberation Army is yours to command," he declares, bowing down to Shigaraki's feet.
Gigantomachia weeps in admiration.
Mr. Compress heaves a breath of relief.
The tension that had been coiling in Dabi's body eases.
I imagine Toga and Twice will be elated when they hear the news.
I let go of my deathlike grip on Dabi's clothes and slump again.
Shigaraki grins, "You've got money, right, Mr. President?"
That's when I let out a satisfactory snort.
Note: I have copied some dialogue from one of the English-translated versions of the manga. The links to the chapters are here:
.online/manga/boku-no-hero-academia-chapter-230/
.online/manga/boku-no-hero-academia-chapter-238/
.online/manga/boku-no-hero-academia-chapter-239/