MHA : Shoto Todoroki - Modern-day Terrorist

I staggered upon arrival, one hand on my stomach.

There was a hole from my hip to my navel, blood flowing down my thighs.

I grabbed my stomach, my fingers bumping against raw flesh, grimaced while tending to the crude wound, my eyes scanning the battlefield for Dad.

It took me a moment to realize I couldn't feel him.

Dread pooled in my gut.

The world suddenly felt cold, devoid of the only aura, the only source of warmth I had ever known, more necessary than the air I breathed.

I had never realized how dependent I was on my ability to sense him without seeing him; my inability to find him terrified me.

I moved forward, stifling a groan of pain, and my shoe hit a rock—

I stumbled, my legs momentarily refusing to move, nervous spasms making my calves tremble.

Terror blurred my vision, compressed my throat, turned upside down my stomach.

It can't—he can't—

There was blood, too much blood, blood everywhere, and he—he—

A spike of pain lit me up from the inside, eclipsing the physical pain, setting my nervous system on edge, igniting my body so violently that, for a fraction of a second, my brain blacked out, and I didn't remember who I was.

I took a step forward, stumbled, uncertain, stopped, moved forward again, hesitating, before my legs gave out.

Blood—not his, just blood, not his—splattered my pants.

I crawled to him, bits of rock digging into my hands and knees.

My shaking fingers hovered over his skin, afraid that if I touched him, I'd only hurt him more.

I gently brushed the sticky hair from his face, suddenly aware of the smell, his smell, powerful and detached, floating in the air, potent in a way it had never been.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve, chin trembling, clenching my teeth to avoid collapsing—focus on the wounds, look at the damage—not allowing myself to look into his still, glazed eyes, refusing to—

A sob shook me.

I forced myself to think, to analyze, because there had to be a damn solution, and if I found it—

There was a gaping hole in his chest, a pit where his heart should have been, and where there was only a half-crushed organ.

"It's going to be okay, Dad," I murmured in a strangled voice. "I'm going to heal you, okay ? Hold on, I promise it'll get better."

I removed my jacket, folded it, and put it under his head. The ground was hard, uneven. He'd be more comfortable this way.

My hands trembled as I held them, joined, above his chest.

My vision was blurry.

I wiped my eyes with a furious, trembling gesture, forcing myself to focus on the task.

It took me three tries to activate Mystical Palm jutsu.

My glowing hands sank into the hole.

My fingers were stained with warm blood, more brown than red.

He didn't react. His chest didn't move an inch, as hard and rigid as stone.

"It can't be pleasant to feel someone else's hands fiddling with your ribcage, right?" My laugh was dry, nervous, more of a croak than anything else. "It's gonna be okay, I'm here, it's gonna be okay, I swear it's gonna be okay."

'I hope you never abandon me'

The faint light of the jutsu turned into an intense, blinding pillar of light, so powerful it illuminated the entire battlefield, so blinding it seemed I had trapped a sun between my fingers.

The shadows of giant arms and broken rocks stretched for dozens of meters.

My eyes were fixed on the hole, the wet hole, the hole of crushed flesh, the hole that wasn't closing.

My hair fell in front of my eyes: I pushed it back sharply, smearing blood on my forehead and eyebrows, then plunged my hand back into his chest.

"It's going to be okay," I murmured, refocusing on my task. "It's going to be okay."

My voice echoed in the vast silence around us, and I ignored the surge of fear and despair that threatened to engulf me.

Dad needs me like I need him—I can't give up, I can't, I can't.

"He's not breathing. Keigo, give him mouth-to-mouth."

I looked up, meeting his gaze.

He stood on the other side of Dad, his face shrouded in darkness, his eyes two yellow slits glaring at me.

His wings spread wide, suddenly, as if he was about to swoop down on me, before they closed, and I knew he'd changed his mind.

I removed my mask so quickly that I nearly tore it off.

I pinched his nose with one hand, blowing large, regular breaths of air into his mouth, performing chest compressions on what was left of his heart.

One, two. Shock. Air. One, two. Shock. Air. One, two. Shock. Air. One, two. Shock. Air. One, two. Shock. Air. One, two. Shock. Air.

Shock, shock, shock.

Someone was breathing nearby, short and intense gasps that verged on panic. The only thing I noticed was that it wasn't Dad's.

My hands were sweaty, and his heart slipped between my fingers.

I increased the voltage and—

There, his heart had jumped !

I leaned forward, licking my dry lips, sharingan fixed on the heart that twitched between my fingers. It was a movement lighter than the wind but I had felt it, it had moved, he could live, he would live—

Why wasn't it moving anymore ?

I increased the power of the shocks, a dull, continuous hum filling my ears, drowning out the blades whirling above my head.

"Don't do that to me."

My shoulders began to tremble.

I continued diligently with the chest compressions but everything was blurry.

"Please, Dad, don't—"

My voice broke.

Don't leave me alone.

The cells weren't reforming, the blood wasn't flowing back, the hole wasn't closing, his heart wasn't beating.

I grabbed his icy hand—the one I had healed just a few minutes earlier—and held it between mines, resting my forehead on his rigid fingers.

He was cold and I felt cold.

Because I had already died once I knew it was impossible that I would ever see him again after today.

Even if I lived a thousand years, even if I spent every fraction of every second searching for him, I would never find him again.

I had lost him for this life and all those to come.

I cried, tears and blood mingling on my cheeks, pooling at my jaw and falling on his cold, cold hands.

I grabbed onto his body with the might of a child who refuses to let his parent go despite knowing that it is inevitable.

He was already dead when I arrived.

 END OF PART 2