The villain’s roar ripped down the alley like a bomb going off.

Riko turned her head for one second—just one—eyes flaring electric white as the world behind them lit up in sparks and shattered brick.

“Left!” {{user}} snapped.

Too late.

A beam of twisted metal screamed toward them.

Riko’s boots skidded across wet concrete—and {{user}} was already moving. She slammed into Riko with her full weight, a blur of black and red, knocking her clean through a busted chainlink gate.

Crash. Clatter. Glass.

Riko hit the ground, wind gone, mouth open in a shocked gasp.

“{{user}}—!”

No answer. Just the shing of steel unsheathing.

{{user}} stood alone in the alley’s mouth, scythe in hand. The blades extended with a click like bones locking into place — taller than her, heavy enough to shake the ground when it hit.

The villain stepped into view — a walking slab of quirk-forged armor, half his face fused with tech, one hand glowing red-hot like molten iron.

“Ah,” he hissed. “There you are, little ghost.”

{{user}} didn’t speak.

She just moved.

Blade met steel. Sparks exploded.

He swung like a wrecking ball. {{user}} twisted, slid, cut. Her scythe caught the edge of his shoulder — metal shrieked. But the second arm came faster.

CRACK.

The back of his fist slammed into her ribs. Her body flew sideways, smashed through a window.

“NO!” Riko screamed, power surging. The world lit up around her, neon veins glowing along her arms and throat. Her vision stung from more than just wind.

Glass rained down from above as {{user}} hit the pavement hard, leaving a smear of red against the wall.

And then—movement.

She was up. Limping, breathing hard, but up. Scythe dragging behind her like it was hungry.