Blossoms of the Dark Continued

CCXVII Selene: Parallel

Trigger Warning: 

- mutilation

- dismemberment

- blood

- death

- crude language

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Mirko is sent flying through the air into the upper level pipes.

Those bubbles of laughter finally escape.

I bend over, clutching my knees as the peals of joy erupt.

The noumu -- five of them in total -- whip around, trying to locate the source of the sound. I clamp my hand over my mouth, yet failing to control the amusement. Their heads, rotating in all directions, threaten another chortling fit. But vaguely, I realize that my invisibility is still active. Shivers of glee rack up and down my body. Oh, that was so much more satisfying than when I pummeled her animatronic counterpart.

For a while, I completely forget about Daruma-san. The fight in front of me is just too engrossing. It is not everyday I get to sit back and watch a hero's ego crumble. The noumu that facepalmed her hit her so hard that its own hand severed off. As it regenerates, the others mumble phrases. "He ... ro ..." croaks one. "Been so long ..." says another. "Can go wild ..." parrots the third. The fourth one forms two cohesive sentences: "Kill them all! Let's go nuts!"

I want to stay and watch what happens next. This is better than paying money to watch a movie at the theater. Everything is live. Everything is free. It is all so much more entertaining.

However, that is when my ears -- I forgot to shut off the amplification -- pick up on the squeaking of a chair, slowly diminishing in loudness. Oh, right! The Doctor! Ugly coughs hurt my chest as I saunder toward the sound. His chair has an automatic system built into it. It is connected to a set of tracks, and that is all I need to follow to reach him. Daruma-san stands in front of a series of monitors and the largest keyboard I have ever seen. He frantically clicks buttons and enters keys.

I sneak up behind him, dropping the camouflage when no more than one step is remaining between us.

"Doctor?" I whisper. The man's soul quite literally escapes his body. His wet eyes widen to the size of oranges. His moustache quivers like mouse whiskers. Is that even possible? Then he opens his mouth to scream. This time, I slam my hand against his mouth, silencing him effectively. "I am here to help." Glancing at the chamber where Shigaraki floats with all electrocution torture devices attached to his body, I find enough courage to say the most ridiculous sentence of my life, "I'll take on the hero."

"What?" Daruma-san asks, dumbfounded, when I remove my hand.

Very understandable reaction. Even I am beginning to question what it is I am saying. Since when have I been the self-sacrificial type? I don't tackle problems unless the reward is worth the risk. "You focus on preparing Shigaraki's enhancement. I will stop Mirko from impeding progress. How much is left?"

He stammers, "S-s-seventy percent c-completed!"

That is not a good number. And I don't mean just on exams. If we just had a few more weeks, then Shigaraki would be fully equipped to withstand the immensity of One for All. Stop that. What is the point in thinking about ifs and buts? It won't change our current predicament. "How long will it take you to reach one hundred percent?"

"At least one hour!"

"Fifteen minutes," I decide. "Work those aged muscles like an Olympic athlete, Doctor, because I took your inhaler drug quite some time ago, and it still hasn't taken effect." Daruma-san scrambles his pockets for something. When he pulls the objects out, my eyebrow rises up. Small, cylindrical tubes with needles at one end and plungers at the other. I recognize what they are. "It's the drug you made from my blood."