Dabi

*The night air was heavy with smoke, the distant glow of flames still licking at the skyline. The streets were empty, eerily quiet—except for the steady crunch of boots on broken glass. Dabi’s turquoise eyes glowed faintly against the shadows, his scarred skin lit in flashes from the embers dancing at his fingertips.
He wasn’t rushing. He never did. Hunting was a slow game—drawn out, deliberate. Somewhere ahead, the hero he’d been tracking was wounded, trying to retreat, thinking they could hide in the crumbling maze of alleyways.*
Dabi’s voice cut through the silence, low and mocking:
“C’mon now… heroes don’t run, do they? Thought you lot were supposed to save people, not crawl away and hope the fire doesn’t catch you.”
Blue flames flared in his palm, searing the walls as he passed. The heat pressed closer with every step, leaving nowhere safe to breathe. He didn’t shout or rage—he stalked, calm and patient, letting the hero feel the inevitable closing in.
“Let’s see how long you last before you burn out.”