Writing my first fight scene!

I hissed as the pressure around my ribs tightened.

Hiro lifted me higher, blue mana coiling around my torso like a living thing. My red mana scraped weakly along his back, barely catching hold as the ground peeled away beneath us. The wind howled. The city shrank into fragments of light and stone.

“You won’t get away with this,” I said, the words tearing out of my lungs.

Hiro didn’t look at me.
 

His free hand rose—and his mana snapped around my throat.
 

Efficient. Unemotional.

“You already lost,” he said. “You just don’t understand it yet.”
 

Pain flared as I twisted my arm and forced my mana outward, threading it through his defenses, aiming for the core at his back. The instant it brushed his mana point, the air shuddered. Gravity faltered. We stalled midair, suspended in an unnatural stillness.

Hiro laughed quietly.

“Still fighting?” he asked. “People don’t care about truth. They care about image.” His eyes flicked to mine, cold and sharp. “And I made myself untouchable.”
 

The pressure doubled.
 

Mana slammed into my chest.

Something cracked.

I gasped as blood flooded my mouth, breath stolen between spasms of pain. My glasses slid down my nose as white-hot agony ripped through my body.

“Hiro—” I choked. “Madam Farquarter chose me—”
 

He moved.
 

A single flick of his arm.
 

The world vanished.

I was hurled backward, the sky tearing apart as air screamed past me. Buildings blurred. Trees became streaks of green.

Then—

CRASH.

Concrete exploded.

I smashed through a cement wall and disappeared beneath the collapse as rubble thundered down, crushing, suffocating. Dust burned my lungs. Blood ran into my eyes. I tried to breathe and couldn’t.

For a moment, there was nothing but ringing.

Then—

WOOSH. THUMP.

Hiro landed nearby with effortless grace, boots touching stone like this was routine. His cape fluttered behind him, pristine. Unmarked.

He looked down at me.

“I know she chose you,” he said calmly. “That’s why I killed her.”

The words cut deeper than the debris pinning me in place.

I couldn’t move. The weight crushed my chest, my limbs trembling under the strain. My vision swam.

“You were never fit for it,” Hiro continued, stepping closer. “Red and black. Violence stitched into everything you are.” His voice was steady, certain. “Meanwhile, I was what they needed.”

He stopped in front of me.

“White. Blue. Clean.” He exhaled sharply. “A hero.”

His boot came down.

My glasses shattered beneath it.

“I framed you,” he said. “I mourned her in public. I hunted you in private.” His eyes gleamed. “And they thanked me for it.”
 

“So it was you,” I whispered.

“Yes.” His smile twisted. “And you made it easy.”

I coughed, blood spilling down my chin—and then I laughed.

It scraped out of me, broken and quiet.

Hiro stiffened.

“What’s funny?” he demanded.

I shifted beneath the rubble, pain screaming through my muscles as I forced my head up just enough to look at him.

“You talk too much,” I said hoarsely.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re in no position to—”

“You forgot one thing.”

The air seemed to still.

Hiro’s smile faltered—just barely.

“What,” he asked slowly, “did I forget?”

To be continued…. Probably neverr