A Bird's Talons
There’s a crash at the top of the tower, and the distinctive sound of glass shards falling to the ground carried all the way down to them. A couple of people, pale-faced and sweating profusely, cry in distress
“Everything’s alright.” Seigen soothes over the whimpers, trying to sound confident. “We have heroes on the scene, please follow this path here…” he says, pointing to the blinking light of the emergency door. Another crash seems to rock the tower, the ruckus resounding deafeningly in Seigen's ears. More cries. Sweat starts to pool under his mask.
“Everyone.” the booming voice of Ryukyu calls, echoing loudly in the crowded hall. “Exit by the emergency staircase and wait calmly. The heroes and police have it handled.” Despite the circumstances, an awed hush falls over the group at the number nine hero's entrance. Slowly, the crowd starts to move like one, worried whispers lessening but not disappearing. Ryukyu’s lizard eyes focus on him, her pupils nothing but two dark slits in poolS of gold. She strides over to him, red dress moving elegantly around her legs. At his sides, his hands start to shake nervously.
He snaps to attention, the blood rushing to his head. “Ma’am! Seigen, quirk: Restrain. It allows me to limit my target’s movements to a specific area.”
Ryukyu bobs her head, seizing him up quietly. “Support hero?” he nods, gulping, “You’ll be more useful upstairs. I’m sending you over.” his eyes widen in shock, and he watches as she barks orders to her sidekicks and turns to the exit in one smooth movement. “C’mon, there’s no time!”
Reigen follows the woman out of the building, where they can see glimpses of the villain fight if they crane their necks. His support gear bumps lightly against his hip everytime he takes a step, where he's sure a bruise is forming. Ryukyu stops a good distance from the main door and the police cars waiting outside. She inhales, eyes closing briefly, and her chest suddenly bulges and bulges like a frog’s throat, the red tissue of her dress stretching to the extreme. Beige scales then appear on her skin, her face and jaws widening, her whole body transforming to vaguely resemble that of a dragon. Last are the wings, stretching from her back, huge and powerful, white duvet scattered at the bases near Ryukyu’s shoulder plates. Reigen can see through her wings with the light of the blocked sun hiding behind them. She stretches a huge, clawed hand his way. When the woman-transformed-dragon opens her mouth to tell him to get on, he sees a pink, forked tongue and curved teeth the size of his thumb. The new hero can, without doubt, rank this moment as the second scariest time of his life (the first being that time he was almost late to his hero license exam after having overslept.)
Still, the man steps obligingly into her palm, his legs feeling like jello, and grips the side of her fingers (cold!) as she closes her fist around him. His stomach loops as they take off, thankfully, Ryukyu isn’t looking so she doesn’t notice the constipated expression on his face– Reigen doesn’t think he could handle being humiliated any more today (walking into the glass screen in front of the rescued victims had been enough of a blow to his pride.)
By the time they get to the top of the tower, Ryukyu gripping the sides of the building to let him get off, Reigen has composed himself enough that he doesn’t trip when he steps off the dragon’s hand. It’s chilly up here, but it helps with the warmth abusing his head.
He takes one step in the building, then turns back around. “You?”
“Damage control,” Ryukyu says, her eyes flashing dangerously. “someone clearly has to. Hawks is as messy as always.” Just as she says this, another loud crash comes from the ongoing battle, large pieces of the tower fall, and Ryukyu catches them and crushes them in her palm without looking away. She gives him one meaningful look, then lets go of the building and disappears out of his view.
Reigen turns back to the building, trying to calm his racing heart, and rushes in towards the sound of scuffle. He can hear the voice of his highschool teacher at Shiketsu pounding in his ears— ‘every second is crucial in a fight, get to the field, evaluate your allies and threats. As a support hero, your goal isn’t to pick fights you can’t win, it’s to rescue the victims and aid your allies.’
The battlefield is growing closer and closer. There are other small-time rescue heroes, the ones unlucky enough to not be concerned by the festival and be here instead like him; they’re helping the few employees away from the commotion. He sees a few of them standing around nervously, idle, although none of them seems intent to get involved in the actual fight.
Once Reigen is near enough that he can hear the sounds of hasty breathing, he slows down, focusing his weight in the soles of his feet so that his footsteps grow quieter. Wind is whipping like nobody’s business, thanks to the giant hole in the glass wall. Shards of glass are everywhere on the ground, crunching under the feet of the man responsible for this– dressed all in black, with creepy porcelain skin and even creepier white eyes. His dark mane is in wild disarray, nostrils flared and face flushed in agitation, like an animal out of its cage. But Hawks, this lone figure blocking the broken glass wall, remains unperturbed, one hand clenched around a feather, the other loose by his side; he has a sharp look to his eyes (one that reminds Reigen of a predator about to close in on its prey) but his face betrays no concerns.
The number two seems to dominate the fight, even with the disadvantage of being in a semi-closed space– Hawks’ wings are too big to fit, the ceiling being peculiarly low. Instead, the hero seems to have opted for the strategy of sending his feathers out, sacrificing speed over attack. His feathers are too quick for Reigen’s eyes to follow, but it’s obvious that he is leading the offensive, having backed the villain in a corner of the room. Crooked feathers, broken and twitching lightly on the ground, as if in pain, are scattered in a circle around said villain. Clearly, the fight has been going on for some time now.
Reigen crouches behind a piece of upturned furniture, peeking around it to ensure the target doesn’t see him– he’s not specialized in close combat at all, and getting unwanted attention would only get him in Hawks’ way. A red feather zips past him, pausing a moment, then rounds the corner to charge at their foe, and Hawk’s eyes glance in his direction, briefly, before focusing back on the fight. Reigen licks his dry lips, a little relieved now that the other hero knows he has support.
He outstretches his hand towards the villain, “Restrict,” he says, arm burning. “five steps.”
At the same time, one feather with a visible barbed end cuts through the air. The villain braces his knees, leaps to the side– or attempts to because his jump is stopped mid-air exactly five steps from his original position, his momentum breaking so violently his head gets thrown back with a sick crack. The man lets out a small, choked gasp, crumbling to the floor like a bird with its wings clipped.
The red feather changes its linear trajectory, tracking the villain’s movement instead of crashing into the back wall, and like a faithful arrow strikes true in his side. He coughs in pain, flinching back, confused hands ghosting over the injury before stiffening, fingers curling like claws.
The villain’s eyes snap in his direction, empty, meeting Reigen’s wide-eyed stare. There’s no words Reigen can use to accurately describe the terror he felt in this moment, trapped in those sinful things, veins like spider cracks visible under the thin skin around the eyes, crawling down his cheeks like tears.
“Careful!” Hawks yells, making to propel himself to his position. Before Reigen can process the warning, a piece of furniture slams into him.
The feather in Neji’s side is wiggling in his flesh like it’s trying to either get out or impede even further in his body, sending waves of agony through his frame. He yanks it out, his blood splashing his fingers, and crushes the wicked thing in his palm.
“Well,” the winged man says, glancing tensely at his fallen comrade. “that was a little overboard, don’t you think?” Neji’s busted lip curls in disdain, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he side-steps another feather and plucks it out of the air, considering the sudden address for what it is– a distraction, or an attempt at it anyway. Neji looks at the feather in his palm for a second, the thing trying to writhe its way out of his hold, before crumpling it like paper. In the corner of his byakugan, he notices the man’s blond eyebrows draw together in a frown. His wings have noticeably shrunk in size since the beginning of the altercation, the feathers he sends out to try and pin Neji getting smaller and smaller. The biggest ones, Neji has taken care of, and are now lying dead at his feet.
Neji hums to himself, and suddenly blurs into motion. Seeing his sudden initiative, the stranger backstracks, moving to a more defensive position with his feet spread at waist distance and his sword-like feather held in front of him. Neji digs into his guard, so to say, without hesitation, his palm blowing a heavy dent into the rock-hard feather. The hero recovers swiftly from his shock and twists out of the way of the second blow aimed at his chest, retaliating with a knee to the stomach. Neji takes it with a grunt, and pushes his hand flat against his kneecap. The hero shouts in pain, his entire guard crumbling along with his leg, and tries to drive Neji away with a thrust of his elbow to the side of his head. He ducks, landing two fingers into the soft flesh of the inside of his elbow, and disables the entire forearm.
The winged hero seems to realize the mistake it had been to let Neji engage him into a close range fight, and reacts faster than Neji expected, considering the pain of losing the command of two of his limbs, and his small wings puff suddenly. Two small feathers, the size of Neji’s pinkie, crash into his thigh, making him stumble and cut himself on a shard of glass. The hero grabs a fistful of Neji’s hair, shocking a gasp out of him, and yanks him back into a punch to the face which makes an audible crack that is lost to the wind still blowing into the room. Neji blinks back tears at the pain in his nose, and flings his arm back to try and catch the man in the head– which fails horribly, his arm flying harmlessly a good inch from its intended target. When he feels a rough hand on his forearm trying to restrict him down, Neji throws his head back to break his nose in return, only missing by a hair as the hero moves his head to the side.
“You bastard.” Neji heaves, with a stupid nasal voice, blood raining down his nose and tainting his lips. He flexes his fingers in a promise of murder, stomach clenching around the last of his chakra. The hero opens his mouth to say something– but is cut off by a sudden surge of raw energy. The only thing keeping the hero from being cut into pieces is his quick reflex of throwing himself out of the way, only earning himself a deep dash to the chest, the formidable blueish dome surrounding Neji like a shield, violently swirling wind as it caught up speed.
Neji spins to a stop, disoriented, and promptly walks through the hole in the wall into a sixty stories fall.