[I will put it out. If he'd been doubting his first response, their quieting words of reassurance reach him as same as an echo. His palm grows hot, and bright sparks fan from just his left; and threads of flames grow heat in gold to loosen as strings from his fingertips. Streams of light in his upwards slash and ribboning strands of flame skywards.
And then, their lasering heat slips through ice as its fault-lines; splits the air and powdering frost and scatters the limb's weight in segments; flame trails racing along the floor, the lengths of walls and high ceiling; the lingering blaze still left behind now uncontrolled and immediate. He won't hold back—but then, it's the most he's thought to do wherein he's caused the least damage. He owns a monstrously destructive Quirk: one not meant for walls, indoors, containment a risk in its own right. His right arm lifts—a makeshift shield—and makes a barrier of itself with bursts of small, protective waves of cold.
This is, he thinks, is the least he can give.]
Sorry for that- [for all the flames; the way he's still making trouble.]
I'm the one not going all in. I hesitated and put you in danger.
Apologies for the delay!
And then, their lasering heat slips through ice as its fault-lines; splits the air and powdering frost and scatters the limb's weight in segments; flame trails racing along the floor, the lengths of walls and high ceiling; the lingering blaze still left behind now uncontrolled and immediate. He won't hold back—but then, it's the most he's thought to do wherein he's caused the least damage. He owns a monstrously destructive Quirk: one not meant for walls, indoors, containment a risk in its own right. His right arm lifts—a makeshift shield—and makes a barrier of itself with bursts of small, protective waves of cold.
This is, he thinks, is the least he can give.]
Sorry for that- [for all the flames; the way he's still making trouble.]
I'm the one not going all in. I hesitated and put you in danger.