Ultra Blue Violence (Dabi)

Chapter Ninety-Five: Millibar

A bead of sweat trickled down Miya's forehead, tracing a slow, burning path around her right eye and down her cheek. She felt it, but the exhaustion anchoring her body to the kitchen stool was too overwhelming to bother wiping it away. Her head lay slumped over her left arm, which was bent against the cold, unforgiving surface of the kitchen counter. Her right arm was outstretched, twitching slightly as hot flashes of pain surged from her shoulder, sending shocking jolts straight to her brain.

The fabric of her suit was fused to her skin, a grotesque mess of melted material and charred flesh. Lady Nagant, her face set in grim determination, worked tirelessly with a pair of kitchen scissors to cut through the suit at Miya's elbow. The thick, damaged material was stubborn, resisting every desperate hack, but Nagant bit down on her lip and persisted. The sound of fabric tearing was loud in the otherwise silent kitchen. Finally, with one final wrenching motion, she freed Miya's arm from the suit, tossing the ruined fabric aside with a look of barely contained disgust.

"I've seen worse," Lady Nagant muttered, trying to offer some semblance of comfort as she looked at Miya's scorched arm. The sight of it was enough to make her stomach churn, but she kept her expression neutral.

"Yeah," Miya murmured, her voice muffled by the crook of her elbow. "Me too. And that was a new suit." Her lips curled into a bitter pout, a fleeting attempt at humour that fell flat.

"The worst is over," Nagant said, though the words felt hollow even to her. She rummaged through an overturned first-aid kit, finally finding a packet of burn cream. With practiced hands, she gently applied the cool gel to Miya's injuries. The relief was immediate, but it did little to soothe the underlying pain. "It's unfortunate you can't get serious medical help," Nagant continued, her voice softer now. "This might get infected. If it does, you could be looking at a fever or worse—amputation."

Miya scoffed, though her voice was weak, her words slurred like someone teetering on the edge of consciousness. "At this point, just put me out of my fucking misery."

Nagant shook her head, a flicker of pity crossing her face. She couldn't help but see herself in Miya—a victim of a system that had chewed them up and spat them out. Both had been raised to be weapons, their innocence stripped away and replaced with cold efficiency. They had been hated, feared, and eventually, they had become what society loathed most: villains.

But there was a difference between them. Miya, Stardust, had been given a chance to make a real difference, a choice that Nagant never had. And in her own twisted way, Miya had succeeded where Nagant had only survived.

With methodical care, Lady Nagant began wrapping Miya's arm with a roll of bandages. She started at the fingers, securing the wrap tightly around Miya's bruised knuckles, and worked her way up the arm, ensuring the bandage was firm but not constricting. "I'll have to head out and get you antibiotics," she said, her tone all business now. "You'll break out into a fever if this gets infected, and that's the last thing you need. There's a pharmacy on the corner not far from here. I'll be less recognised than you right now."

A faint smirk tugged at Miya's lips. "Nice," she said, amused by something Nagant couldn't quite grasp.

"Just stay here," Nagant instructed, turning to leave. "Don't go anywhere."

Miya lifted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. "You're going to leave me here alone with him? Is that really a good idea?"

"If you kill him, I'll come after you," Nagant shot back, her voice laced with a threat as she moved toward the door.

Miya let out a dry laugh. "Okay, okay. But I might hurt him."

Nagant whipped around, pointing a stern finger at Stardust. "Not a hair out of place on his head."