Everything is blue, it’s what Hell looks like.
He pays no mind to the monsters around him. They don’t matter, he knows that for a fact, the only monster that’s truly a threat to him, and a very, very, very big threat he is, is the one standing above him, slamming his boot into his mouth, making Hawks groan as he feels a tooth crack, bits of it falling onto his tongue with blood that gushes from his lip.
His head turns to spit before the second kick lands, pushing him further into the rough ground, forcing another gruff sound from him as he feels the pressure on his jaw ready to snap.
He spits more blood and bone, wide eyes dart to the flames rushing to his face, hand reaching up to take his ankle, but not before the flame reaches him, first devouring his hand and then searing into his face before he can pull it away, the damage already done. He doesn’t even have a piece of his mind to scream before the fire reaches a wing as well, holding it, ripping it, he feels feathers being eaten and finally wails, eyes rolling as it passes the flesh, the muscle, and his back bows, struggling to cope with the pressure being put on it. He yowls, reaching a hand out to pull himself away, undamaged eye staring wide at the gravel, and he’s going to die, he’s going to die, and all he can do is put up a fight and he’s going to die and they said they wouldn’t let this happen this shouldn’t be happening.
The left side of his face screams in agony with him, and he stares ahead, waiting. Needing. Begging.
Dabi’s grin only grows. It only grows, splitting across his face, staples threatening to rip from their places and making the gouge that grows from his smile stretch and stretch, grotesque flash of teeth peeking through the seams. Blood streams down his cheeks, along his jaw and dripping from his chin, but he hardly notices. All that exists to him is the screams that leave the man under him, and the way his wing crumples in his grip, breaking and tearing pathetically as he twists and pulls.
He’ll rip it off. He’ll rip it all off. Tear it - him - to fucking shreds. Everything in his chest soars at the thought, and another savage pulse of flame pours over his feathers, charring everything it touched to ash.
Laughing, he grabs at Hawks’ hair and yanks him up, staring straight into that pleading, desperate face. He caresses it for a brief second like a lover would, wondering if, in that moment, a montage of their nights was playing through his head like a melody, just like it was doing his. If he could taste every fucking memory soiled and rotting through, decaying into sopping, writhing waste, just like he could. None of it meant fucking anything anymore. Hawks was as good as dirt to him, now, it was as easy as that. He wouldn’t mourn him at all.
But he’ll enjoy every second of his death.
“Worth it?” he asks him simply, thumb brushing upwards, along the bone, then across his lashes. He could already see the damage to his eye but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t hurt him enough to satisfy himself. His teeth grit and he suddenly lets his thumb plunge forth, as forceful as he could manage, dirty nail piercing through, bursting through, spatter of fluid spraying onto his face, spark of flame rising from his knuckle and rocketing towards his skull as he digs and digs and digs into the socket. In seconds, he’ll be nothing left but a putrid corpse for his monsters to chew apart. And he couldn’t fucking wait.