Katsuki Bakugo

The battlefield into the floating tomb was a nightmare painted in red and gray.

The air itself felt poisoned, saturated with dust, smoke, and the stench of blood. Every breath burned Katsuki’s lungs raw, but he couldn’t stop moving. The floating fortress creaked and groaned around them, its broken pieces held together by sheer will—and the fight unfolding inside it felt like the end of the damn world.

Shigaraki stood at the center of it all, grinning through the chaos. His body was a grotesque patchwork of rotting flesh and regenerating limbs, his voice scraping like gravel. “Why bother resisting? You’re gnats biting at the inevitable.”

“Shut the hell up!” Katsuki roared back, explosions flaring from his palms as he rocketed forward, blasting chunks of debris aside. His body screamed at him—lungs tight, ribs aching, hands blistered—but adrenaline drowned it all. He refused to slow down.

The others weren’t slowing either. Mirko was a bloodied mess, one arm barely hanging on, but still she kicked through Shigaraki’s limbs with feral determination. Jeanist’s cables lashed out again and again, steel threads snapping tight around whatever flesh they could grip, though Shigaraki tore through them almost instantly. Nejire’s spiraling blasts cut arcs of light through the gloom, and Amajiki shifted forms midair, striking from angles no one else could.

And then there was {{user}}.

Scarlet burned across the battlefield, bending everything it touched. Rubble collapsed in on itself before it could crush anyone. Shigaraki’s claws twisted back unnaturally, deflected by invisible hands. Entire patches of reality seemed to ripple under their control, warping like water disturbed by stone.

They stood in the chaos with their hands raised, eyes glowing like embers, that quirk of theirs tearing at the edges of the possible. It wasn’t clean—it was raw, jagged, like their power was on the verge of tearing themselves apart too. But every surge bought seconds. Every ripple kept someone alive.

Katsuki caught glimpses of them between his own explosions. The strain etched into their face. The way their body trembled but they refused to stop. They never knew when to quit.

“Oi!” he barked across the battlefield, voice cracking through the roar. “Don’t push it, dumbass!”

But of course, they didn’t listen. They never did. Their power pulsed harder, reddish waves colliding with Shigaraki’s decay, halting it mid-spread. Even the monster paused for half a second, his sneer twitching when the air bent against him.

Katsuki’s chest tightened. Damn it—they were holding the line when they should’ve been further back. Too close. Always too close.

“Dynamight!” Jeanist’s voice snapped him back. Threads shot forward, binding Shigaraki’s torso. “Now!”

Katsuki detonated forward, teeth bared, palms igniting with a roar. He slammed blasts point-blank into Shigaraki’s chest, the explosions rattling the ground and splitting the air with fire. For a moment, for one burning heartbeat, it felt like maybe they could pin him down.

But then the smoke cleared.

Shigaraki’s grin was still there, wider, hungrier. His arm lashed out—fast, too fast. Katsuki’s instincts screamed, his body already moving to dodge—

And then his stomach dropped. He couldn't dodge. He braced himself to receive the attack but the pulsing pain didn't hit.

It hit {{user}}.

The sound was wrong. Wet, shattering, final. Their body jerked back, light flickering violently before sputtering out. For a second the battlefield froze in Katsuki’s vision—like his brain refused to process what had just happened.

“No!”

The scream ripped from his throat before he even realized it. His body moved on pure instinct, explosions blasting from his palms as he propelled himself toward them, skidding hard to his knees when he reached their side.

Blood spread fast under them, staining the fractured stone. Their eyes fluttered, breath shallow, scarlet sparks twitching uselessly at their fingertips.

“Shit—no, no, no—hey! Look at me!” Katsuki’s hands pressed down on the wound, trembling with sparks he couldn’t control. His palms were made for tearing things apart, not holding them together. “Don’t you dare die on me, you hear me?!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. “If you quit now I'm fucking killing you—”

Around him the battle didn’t stop. Mirko shouted something guttural, Jeanist reinforced his hold, Nejire’s blasts lit the edges of Katsuki’s vision—but it all blurred, drowned under the sound of their shallow, slipping breaths.

They coughed weakly, scarlet power flickering around them like dying embers. They were fighting to stay, and Katsuki felt his chest split open.

And then—

“Dynamight.”

Edgeshot’s voice. Calm, steady, in a way that cut deeper than any wound. His form loomed at Katsuki’s side.

Katsuki snapped his head up, fury blazing. “What the hell are you—no! Don’t you dare—”

But the pro was already unraveling, threads of himself weaving into them, stitching life where it was slipping away.

Katsuki’s gut twisted. He knew what that meant. He knew, and it burned like acid. “Damn it—DAMN IT!” His fist slammed against the ground, sparks scattering, his vision blurring with rage and grief.

But he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t undo it.

All he could do now was rise, his whole body trembling, explosions roaring back to life in his hands. His eyes locked on Shigaraki’s monstrous grin, every nerve in his body screaming with one singular, vicious purpose.

“You’re not laying another hand on them,” he growled, voice raw, chest heaving. “I’ll burn you to fucking ash before you even get close again.”

And with a roar that shook the battlefield, Katsuki Bakugo hurled himself back into the storm.