Once Again From Better Days

He heaves a breath, trying to level his emotions and failing miserably. Anger courses through his blood. Toga has caused Izuku to bleed too many times, and Katsuki hates the way she unsettles him. Her words manage to find their targets in the weak points of his defences.

He bares his teeth. The fire of his explosions almost feels like it has spread from his palms to the rest of his body.

"Get out of my way," he snarls.

Toga says nothing in reply, but continues to block his progress, that cruel smile playing at the corners of her lips. She continues to taunt him. Her movements are too quick to take any significant damage from the explosions he sends her way. She's always a moment out of reach, an instant too fast for him, slipping through the tips of his fingers. He wonders just how many years she's trained to be a villain.

A tremor that doesn't belong to his explosions shakes the ground. Katsuki halts, breath coming heavily. Could that be a sign of Izuku's fight? Has he made it to where Overhaul is? The children? He feels the panic rise in his c.h.e.s.t. Izuku may have fought against Overhaul and survived last time, but that's no guarantee. He has to get there. Quickly.

At the opposite wall, Toga lands delicately and adjusts her knife like most people would adjust a watch on their wrist. Katsuki turns his gaze back to her. She's too strong to knock out quickly and leave behind (if he could have managed that, he would have by now). If he runs toward the direction that the tremor came from, she'll just follow him, unless–he glances up.

Toga raises her knife to attack. She bounds toward him, and the blade makes a silver arc through the air. Katsuki attempts to dodge, but the tip of the knife manages to scratch his cheek. It stings, and warm blood drips from the injury, but Katsuki can't hesitate. He jumps back, putting as much distance between the two of them as he can with a single movement. She follows almost instantaneously, and the glint of her knife flashes through the periphery of his vision. 

The space between them is closing, but this much is enough. She's too focused on him to dodge in time. Instead of aiming his palm toward her, he aims it upward. The explosion that follows shakes the passageway from end to end. Clumps of dirt and rock rain from the ceiling, and a cloud of dust erupts into the air. 

Katsuki raises his arms to shield himself from the worst of it. As the dust clears, he scans for any sign of his opponent. Some of the rubble moves. A moment later, Toga's face appears, covered in grime, and blood dripping from her hairline to her chin. The lower half of her body is trapped, but she struggles to raise herself on her forearms. She falls with a thud .

Toga heaves a sigh, managing to raise her head just high enough to glare at him. "Aren't you going to finish me off?" She asks. She sounds annoyed–tired, even–and in no way scared for her life.

Katsuki hesitates. "I'm a hero." Both arms drop to his sides.  "I won't kill unless I have to."

"Oh, that's right–you won't kill, but you'll let someone sacrifice themselves for you. What a hero you are."

He freezes. It feels like his heart forgets to beat and the floor tilts, and for a breath, it's all he can do to stay standing. She can't– And he didn't–

"Shut the f.u.c.k up," he roars, trying to drown out everything else with the sound of his anger.

Another explosion thunders as he slams his hand into the ground next to her head, close enough that she jerks her face away. She coughs through the cloud of smoke as it envelops her head, but as the last wisp disappears, she clenches her teeth and fixes him with a steady glare.

"I don't want him to die yet either. If you want to save him you should go. But," she snorts mirthlessly, "I probably shouldn't get my hopes up, you've never managed to save him before, have you?"

In the silence that follows, he feels warm blood drip down his cheek from cut Toga left. The anger within him changes. It was all directed toward her before, but now it threatens to turn inward. It's a different sort of fury. Instead of raging through him, it is quiet. It bears the burden of guilt–the burden of knowing  she has a point.

"Shut up," he hisses. He spits the words with force, but without the usual volume. His throat is tight. He can't muster the air to yell, and somehow he feels like he's lost the right to. 

He turns his back to her. His mind is reeling, but his determination is still strong. As he walks away, Toga's voice echoes in his ears.