Blood sprayed from the long gash across his forehead.
The moment the blade struck, Kirishima twisted his head, letting the knife slide off instead of digging deeper.
He tucked his chin and activated [Hardening], protecting his eyes from harm.
Even so, as his [Hardening] cracked, the blade scraped along his forehead bone, its sound echoing throughout the lodge.
Without a moment to register the pain, Kirishima lunged forward.
He activated [Hardening] on the hand that was covering Bakugo’s mouth—its skin transformed into a deadly blade that jabbed the villain’s wrist, forcing him to release his grip.
Then, pulling Bakugo toward him, he slammed his body into the villain.
The two were hurled through the open door of the lodge, tumbling across the ground.
For a brief moment pinned atop the man, Kirishima seized his chance—kicking the still-disoriented foe before rising to his feet.
With the door still wide open behind him, he snatched a phone from his pocket and hurled it outward, shouting, "Don’t come out! Call the police, a hero, or your parents—anyone!"
Only then did the man shake his head and stagger upright.
The kindly expression he had worn until now was completely gone.
Instead, his face had twisted into a demonic sneer as he spat, "You insolent brat, I’ll leave you in a state where neither living nor dying is an option. Do you really think stepping outside will change anything? I’ll carve those little brats alive before your eyes, cook them, and force-feed them to you."
"Your face suits a lowlife reduced to cannibalism. If you were planning to kill us anyway, why waste your breath? Bring it on, trash!"
Kirishima laughed as he mocked him.
The sight of that repulsive creature spouting nonsense—as if he’d ever had any intention of sparing them—was utterly laughable.
Meanwhile, Kirishima could feel his body trembling under the man’s sticky, murderous intent.
It was as if something deep within him was awakening for the first time in a long while.
Vitality surged through him, and his spirits soared.
*Ah. Feels like I’ve come home.*
Peaceful days had stretched on for far too long.
Now was the time to set aside the image of a good, obedient child.
A time of blood spattering and bone grinding awaited him.
A moment when a single mistake would mean the difference between life and death—a time when those who knelt were separated from those who looked down on them.
The moment when beasts clashed, trying to rip each other’s throats apart.
"Yeah. Words are useless. Let’s start by slicing off your arms and legs, then we’ll talk, you insolent little brat!"
The man muttered under his breath before charging forward.
Kirishima wiped the blood from his forehead that blurred his vision and thought, *This definitely isn’t a combat Quirk.*
The man showed no signs of exceptional physical prowess or an emitter-type ability like fire or ice—
all he did was swing the knife aimlessly at Kirishima.
He might not have much experience fighting unarmed, but his attempt to slash at the arm Kirishima held out was adequate.
Constantly on the move to avoid being pinned, Kirishima parried the knife with his [Hardening]-reinforced hands.
Even if their raw strength were equal, it was nearly impossible for a child to defeat an adult.
The disparity in striking power due to body weight, the loss of initiative from a reach disadvantage, and the gap in physical durability—all these factors favored adults in combat.
With strength alone roughly even, victory was far from certain.
*Well, normally, no. Only normally.*
Standing at 131 centimeters, Kirishima was noticeably taller than the other children.
Considering the man’s height was about 160 centimeters—a bit shorter than an average adult Japanese male—this fight wasn’t entirely hopeless.
The overwhelming gap in ability had cracked the supposedly unbreakable wall of impossibility.
At last, his patience gave out as Kirishima sidestepped the straight stab.
Simultaneously, he drove his hand into the man’s right flank.
His [Hardening]-sharpened fingertips found the perfect spot—the liver.
*I win!*
Kirishima was certain of his victory.
The liver, rich with nerves, was a vital spot; a blow there could knock someone out or bring them to their knees with a single punch.
There was no way to remain standing after being jabbed with something so sharp.
"Tch. Not bad, kid."
Yet even as his hand plunged into the man’s torso, Kirishima’s face hardened at the mocking sneer on his foe's lips.
The sensation of his hand driving into flesh felt wrong.
There was no resistance—no tearing sensation as if slicing through skin and muscle.
A jolt, as if it had pierced his very spine, shot through his mind, warning him of imminent danger.
Kirishima tried to pull back immediately, but his forward momentum made it difficult.
In that split second, the man’s hand shifted.
"I’ll give you credit for making it this far, kid, but it’s over now. My Quirk is [Predatory Metamorphosis]. By consuming a person, I transform into them. It isn’t a flawless process, but when I turn into a fat version, I can sometimes shrug off attacks like yours."
The man's body slithered downward like mud.
Out from within emerged a thin, stick-like figure in his forties.
Regaining his composure, the man smiled again and said, "As promised, I’ll feed you your friends. I’d love to serve a gourmet feast to a kid who fought so hard, but those cute little brats have likely already contacted someone outside—so time’s short. You’ll have to settle for them raw. After all, it’s all your own fault, isn’t it?"
Kirishima clutched his pierced flank and staggered backward.
He had activated [Hardening] at the moment of impact, but it was too low-level—the effect shattered without mercy.
Though it lessened the wound’s severity, the injury remained dangerously deep.
Deep enough for him to sense defeat.
*So what!*
Kirishima grinned.
So what if he had a gaping wound in his stomach—was he supposed to crawl to the killer and beg to be eaten?
There was no room for retreat.
The only path was forward.
Then all he could do was press on and fight.
"If you’re going to yap like that, at least kill me or chop off my arms and legs first. You sound like a rookie!"
With that shout, Kirishima sprang forward and threw a punch.
His right leg contracted then expanded, propelling him off the ground.
His left leg braced firmly against the earth, its sudden stop redirecting his force.
His hips and waist rotated, amplifying the power rising from below.
Even his relaxed shoulder shot forward as if wrenched from its socket.
At last, his hardened fist shattered its target.
The movement—rehearsed tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of times—unfolded like a perfectly choreographed scene.
Kirishima felt the man’s jaw crumble as his punch connected.
"Hah! I’m still not dead, you brat! Come on! You’re old enough to know this, aren’t you? If you want to kill someone else, you’d better be ready to die too! So let’s take this all the way—let’s see who lives and who dies!"
After delivering the blow, Kirishima dropped to one knee, yet his voice blazed like a roaring fire.
The air prickled with murderous intent—pain in his wounds seared like flames, and even his enemy’s face contorted in fury.
His blood boiled.
"Y–you... I’ll ki–"
The man, clearly shocked, toppled backward onto his rear.
With his jaw broken and speech rendered nearly impossible, all he managed was a choking, ragged sound.
Kirishima laughed heartily at the pitiful spectacle before him—a villain acting shocked simply because he’d been hurt was utterly pathetic.
"What’s wrong? Regretting trying to eat us now? You shouldn’t have done it in the first place."
He would fight on until his last breath.
If he lost an arm, he’d rely on his legs. If his legs were gone too, he’d crawl and bite.
As long as his body could move, he wouldn’t stop until the very end.
Isn’t that the spirit of anyone who fights with their life on the line?
The man, clearly no fighter but just a coward who preyed on the weak, probably didn’t understand that at all.
"I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll definitely kill you!"
"Bring it on! Try it!"
The frenzy of battle seized Kirishima.
He pushed himself upright and advanced on the man.
The irate man swung his knife wildly.
Kirishima dodged the blade and delivered a clean punch to his face.
The honed fist sent blood streaming from the man’s nose.
His cheek swelled and the skin around his eye split open.
While the man’s face turned into a bloody mess, Kirishima wasn’t spared either.
Cuts and stab wounds marred his body, and a deep laceration in his thigh had already compromised his mobility.
The man screamed in disbelief that a child could beat him.
"Aaaagh! A kid! A kid! You think you can kill me the way other kids have?"
Ignoring the man’s incoherent shouts, Kirishima continued to throw punch after punch.
As he battled on the blurred line between conscious strategy and instinct, the man began to feel fear.
He wanted to gouge out Kirishima’s eyes—those eyes that seemed to stare vacantly.
He wanted to snap the arms that came at him with such impossible speed.
He wanted to sever those legs that danced both within and just outside the blade’s reach.
"You little bastard!"
At that moment, Kirishima’s right fist smashed into the man’s temple.
The man crumpled to his knees.
Kirishima’s right hand hardened into a lethal weapon.
He intended to kill him—there was no safer way to subdue this monster.
The man’s tongue had gone slack, leaving him only gasping for breath, while his eyes still held the desperate pleading of those he had once preyed upon.
Kirishima sneered.
For all his filth, couldn’t the man display even a shred of dignity in his final moments? Was his pride reserved only for when he threatened weaker children?
*Well. That’s probably why he lives like this.*
Just as Kirishima drew his hand back to stab the man’s throat, his body froze.
The explosive rush of adrenaline that had carried him this far faded in an instant.
The backlash from his violent movement—as blood continued to gush from his side—washed over him.
Pain radiated from his cuts and stab wounds, seeping through his entire body.
He couldn’t move, as if pinned beneath a pair of steel scissors.
He only needed to reach out one more time, yet his shoulder and arm felt as though they had turned to stone.
"Keh... kh... Y-yeah. You’ve reached your limit too. Kihihi. You’re done for."
Even with his face ruined, the man laughed.
Like any other villain, this twisted little demon was, in the end, still human.
Even an adult would run if confronted by someone brandishing a knife with lethal intent.
But what about this demon of a brat?
He had charged in with reckless excitement.
All that talk about having caught his friend or planning to kill them was nothing more than an excuse.
As one broken by circumstance, the man knew one thing for certain:
Even now, that brat—glaring at him with clenched teeth and an arm hanging limply—was utterly consumed by the madness of battle.
"Ha. Damn... my body stops here."
Kirishima tried to move, but his already battered, exhausted body sank further with every passing moment.
He glared at the man laughing in delight, yet his body would not respond.
A sudden silence fell between the two combatants, both rendered incapable of further movement.
Between their crossed gazes, twisted malice and madness churned and swirled.
For a brief moment, the man began to stagger to his feet.
His pupils were unfocused, his body swaying as though the shock had not yet subsided—but he didn’t care.
Slowly, very slowly, he picked up the knife he had dropped and raised his bloodstained hand.
The air was so taut with tension it felt as if the knife might slip at any second.
"Kirishima!"
The tightly shut door of the lodge flew open, and children burst out running.
Kirishima wanted to yell for them to return inside, but no sound came from his battered lips.
*Don’t come out. You idiots.*
He barely managed to twitch his stiff wrist a few times in a feeble attempt to signal them back, when the man’s hand—hoisted with immense effort—crashed down along with the knife.
Until the very end, Kirishima fixed his unwavering gaze on the man.
The blade swept mercilessly toward Kirishima’s head.
Then, in a split second, a deafening blast tore through the air beside his ear.
It was a gunshot.
Kirishima felt his strength drain away as his body tilted, and with his heavy, fading eyes he thought, *I’m the one who should finish this...*
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