oh, to be freed of law and morals.

The street lights provide little exposure to the hazy figure opposite the Hero. Yet, in this faintness, he recognised perfectly the breathtaking sculpture of the Villain's features.

Hero readies his brass knuckles, both palms balling into sturdy fists, ready to launch the first offence before—

"You should run."

A moment of pause, until a slightly irked Hero scoffs, "So you can start chasing?"

Villain smiles, shifting to a purposeful grin that showcases the sharpness of his teeth—fangs. Each sharper than a razor, bigger, resembling much more of a canine.

"Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight," His velvety voice starts counting.

"What the fuck—" Hero frowns, his weight leaning back, "You're serious."

"Fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five,"

Hero stays unmoving, observing with reluctant interest to what should've been his duty tonight.

Red lips as red as blood, black of hair tousled to the side. Brown overcoat covering a three-piece suit.

A frame obviously taller than his, even from a distance.

"Fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two,"

Bright red irises adorned the gaze designed to captivate. Swirls of black vines emerged from the pale complexion of his neck.

And Hero bolted.

"You put a worm in me."

Protagonist says, their expression flat as opposed to being immensely frightened as they had been just days ago.

"All Monty did was to absorb the lingering poison after you were in touch with that mist." The indifference in Antagonist's voice remains, "And other health-related benefits, did you know your blood pressure's pretty high? Monty helps you with that too, just so you know."

"A worm!"

A stronger emphasis, hopefully to emphasise the seriousness.

"Monty!" Antagonist insists, "I made Monty, don't worry! Which means, Monty'll love you and your internal organs as much as I do."

"Well," Protagonist massages their scalp, "how'd you like it if I put a worm in you?"

It feels like a dream,

Your car broke down in the middle of the storm, in the middle of the night — right after a concert night with your friends, which you later found a mansion, not far from where you were all left confused and scared.

They invited you in, gave you and your friends each a towel and a hot cup of tea while promising there will be help in the morning.

You politely declined the first sip, heading to where they said the bathroom is — as you couldn't hold that particular urge.

Right after, you didn't immediately come back downstairs. Barely noticing the low and desperate whimpers of your friends just below the stairs. Instead, you feel a sudden pressure of drowsiness.

You walked to the nearest bedroom, to the softest bed you swore you've ever lain on.

It was then, you felt a pair of arms encircling your torso. Lips nearing to your neck — planting a gentle kiss, before,

"Shh, go sleep, my love." A soft seductive voice commands.

Your eyes trembled upon registering the uncanny sharpness emerging from her mouth — yet, despite it all, you couldn't care less.

"You've robbed out of your childhood. Forced to mature quickly, all while barely knowing the love and the warmth of those who raised you. You tried, and tried, to be even to my level, to be the Saviour that everyone dreams of."

Hero snorts, casting their eyes away from Villain's scrutinising gaze.

"Oh, how they've invested in you — assembled and reassembled your anatomy, kept you hidden most of the time like their precious arsenal," Villain continues, "only for you to lose."

"Shut up." Their tone was heavy, laced with threat, but Hero still refused to look directly at the sharp, merciless pair of dark garnet eyes.

Villain raises Hero's chin, growing impatient with the continued defiance, "You've already lost. Why do you still need to play the hero?"

Instead, a single tear ran down their cheek. Hearing it escaping for the first time from someone they loathed possessed an effect they never thought to hurt this much.

They failed, they lost, and they must've disappointed so many who once believed them.

"Most absurd is," Hero scowls, "you cuddling me to sleep on the basis of a fever—do you really have a fever?"

"Mmhm, all thanks to you." Villain craddles Hero closer, full lips settling to the top of Hero's head.

"Then, why are you the big spoon?"

"The sick one gets a pass, now hush and sleep."

And they did, a blissful one — surprisingly even to Hero, who has been suffering from recent episodes of insomnia.

"You know," Hero starts, "all my life I've been so, so afraid of the Dark. A shapeless fear and you have the foggiest idea what it wants from you."

A swallow, hesitating as she avoids Sidekick's gentle gaze.

"But now, I realised I've been conversing with it all along." Hero sighs softly, pursing her lips then, braves herself to look up — up to the boundless abyss of a flawless mimicry.

'Sidekick' smiles, "How long have you known?"

"I think you're getting better at your pick-up lines, dearest Hero."

Then, they fight.

A curious and majestic sight, between a clash of wits and of swords where neither falters in the dance.

Hero, brazen yet sturdy.

Villain, composed yet mocking.

"You're angry," Villain hums softly, "so, so much anger contained and," His pale hand creeps to Hero's forehead, "tension. This stress isn't good for you, darling."

"You literally kidnapped me when I was recovering, which pretty much should explain the whole thing." Hero says, nodding along with eyes darting around the interior of what seems to be an elegantly decorated bedroom.

Villain snorts, "This? This is called a vacation. Why else would I bring you to my personal villa?"

Hero almost can't believe what they're hearing — mouth opening agape as they struggle to decipher what hidden meaning would that imply.

Hero stares at the clock, at each ticking marking just how long they've found themselves lost and worse, in Villain's indefinite captivity.

"It's not as bad as you think," Other Villain says, "we're not letting you out there again, Munchkin."

Hero manages a swallow, turning to Villain — who appears before them in a cloud of smoke.

"Never see yourself as a prisoner." Villain caresses Hero's cheek, "No matter what they say, you're ours now. From back when I saved what's left of you from the battle and on to eternal."

A part of Hero wanted to argue, like they've always had.

But another part, somehow, affirms.

"Consider this your retirement and us as your wonderful partners," Other Villain grins, "ready to properly love you this time!"

Villain's height towers over Hero, drawing them closer for an embrace.

"You don't have to be scared." Villain kisses the top of Hero's head, forming calming circles on their back — as they've always had before the war and all, "No more of that fighting nonsense and duty-bound."

"So, let me get this straight," Hero raises a hand, "after throughly beating me out there, you're here now, treating my wounds and my twisted ankle, while also feeding me soup?"

Villain raises a brow, "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Yes," Hero rolls her eyes, hands moving to cover her face—as if hiding an embarassment that shouldn't have been hers. Then, she places them both by her sides, leaning onward to Villain, "have you considered that maybe it's not the usual procedure between the Chosen One and the Harbinger of Ruin?"

Time, he needs to check the time.

Below the softness of his pillow where his tired head rests, a sense of unease grows. The blanket long discarded away—he had been the type to move around in his sleep, especially after those exhausting days of chasing tirelessly the city's most wanted, all day and all night long.

And this, what should've been the first time in weeks that a time for a good night's rest had finally arrived—instead, he was struck with what the medical world enlightens as sleep paralysis.

He hears the sound of the door to his bedroom being unlocked from the outside, eyes darting awake in a sudden jolt as the intruder reveals himself to be none other than Antagonist.

"Right, sorry about the timing but really," Antagonist enters, closing the door behind him, "this is the only occasion where I can meet you alone."

Protagonist forces his body to move, dread suddenly upon him—knowing far too well of the things Antagonist had been known for.

All that which had been sufficient to keep Protagonist on a frantic manhunt outside of his official hours, even in the expense of his own health.

But none listens to his demand.

"I've no idea you'd be this tired tonight—" Antagonist pauses, then grins, "oh dear, really? Now?"

Another effort to move exterted, only resulting in a low groan.

"Well, how convenient," Antagonist steps closer to the other side of his bed, slumping down then turns to Protagonist's side, "is this recurring?"

Protagonist could merely manage a glare.

"I'm worried, that's all!" Antagonist pets the top of Protagonist's head, "You haven't been resting properly and the bags under your eyes had been nothing but both concerning and frightening."

The still-immobile Protagonist frowns, clearly disapproving of the touch.

Antagonist shifts closer, "Don't give me that look. You should be thankful it's me and not your boss who barges in to give you more tasks." And closer, "In fact, this is a very happy occasion, where I think,"

Antagonist lips sweeps Protagonist's cheek, a smug grin grows—as if declaring his winning.

"you'd allow me the chance to be kinky with you now, right? I'll be better than the last time, I swear."

Her flames had not quite died, just yet.

Protagonist pants, amid the struggle to keep her speed, to be faster—faster than the thing that gives chase relentlessly, of a slower pace, yet consistent. A stalker who looms closer should the Protagonist stops to catch her breath.

Desperation began to fill her eyes, the dark woods offer little to no help of her plight nor did it console the fact that she's there.

No longer in a dream—as real as that damned deal earlier had been.

Or perhaps, she could climb up. Hide until dawn arrives—then her soul to be left intact, preferably without an alteration of its ownership. After all, the deal says only to escape its grasp until the sun sets its first light, without specifically mentioning hiding as something she wouldn't be permitted of doing.

But on a gloomier prospect, Protagonist knew well why that thing didn't act clever despite its immense power, nor did it gain speed; as It meant to tire out Protagonist—to catch her at last when she no longer possess the strength to continue even a mere walk.

Her thoughts juggled when she slows down. Sounds of broken branches heard just nearby, enough to send her once again on a state of most alert. What once had been stable, is now in disarray.

By the stars, what did they say?

A barrier, you dimwit!

She stopped in a sudden halt, direction turning to her back — to where the footsteps were. Hands forming the shape to invoke a protective barrier, while her mouth chants an ancient draconic tongue.

And that thing, finally, showed itself.

But you know they weren't there.

Their mind elsewhere replaying the awful memory forever etched to their mind. Lips parted as if the horrors were replaying before their very eyes. And they'll look away moments later, occasionally in the state of holding their tears, gritting their teeth, telling themselves it was merely nothing. Assuring themselves, solemnly, deeply, forcibly even, that the present would do them no harm.

Their partner, or pseudo-caretaker if you will, snapped them out of it. A pat on their shoulder or simply reaching out to hold their trembling hand. Not a single word uttered, but their eyes speak it all. The look of understanding, a genuine inclination to empathy.