#hero captivity

Read part one here // Continued from here

THIS SERIES HAS NINE PARTS??!?! IT DOESN’T FEEL THAT LONG, MAYBE FOUR OR FIVE WOW!!!

*~*~*~*~*

Hero woke up buried under extremely heavy sheets. It felt like a net of blankets weighing down on her, like a giant warm hug of safety. The first thing she did when she woke up was nestle deeper into the warmth, letting out a light hum as she did. She was entirely too comfortable, her mind rosey and hazy, exactly how she liked it.

A heartbeat steadily under her ear, warmth radiating off her mattress. The fog in her mind turned thick, impenetrable and she wanted to be sick. The warmth around her clawed at her desperately, trying to lull her into a false sense of security.

She had bolted from the bed, backing up until she hit the wall behind her, before she properly opened her eyes. Her chest heaving with heavy breaths as she glared at the man in her bed.

Flynn peered at her with one eye open, casually throwing an arm under his head to prop himself up. “Mornin’,” he said, his voice low from sleep.

Hero would not stop their pacing. Left side, right side, ramming into the metal cage- as if it would change anything. Clang. As if the headache from the fight wasn’t enough. As if hero’s endless muttering would make a key materialize in front of them.

Another scream. Hero flinched. Again.

“God- how do we get out of here.” Hero whispered. “We aren’t gonna make it. He’s going to come back and-” Hero let out a short breath.

6 steps. Turn. 6 steps. Turn. Maybe if they hit the gate again, right shoulder this time…

Breaking spirits

Read part one // Masterpost // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to @dutifullykrispyland and that one choking anon who i thought of when writing the end of Ambrose’s scene :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jude smiled a toothy grin, his mouth wide like a shark’s, as he observed Ambrose with smiling eyes. “So you want to know about Supervillain, huh? Why?”

“I want to get in contact, shake his hand.”

Jude’s eyes flashed. “A fanboy are you?”

Ambrose smiled coldly, one hand on the barrel like table, pinky finger drumming a beat. “Something like that.”

“Mmmm, interesting. You want to join his squad, or are you just a groupie?”

“Supervillain has a squad?”

A flash of canines. Jude sat back in the booth, one hand on his chin in a mock contemplative expression. “Hmm. You’re not a groupie then, are you, stranger? You seem more like a fisherman to me.”

HEROIC BETRAYAL (6)

Part one here

Continued from here

This part has had so many drafts, so so many, because I couldn’t get Supervillain right at all, and today? For some reason! It all just flowed! So you are in luck! It’s the paddy’s day weekend, struck gold! Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

They walked in a tense silence that made Hero squirm. The two of them were always chatting, or having banter back and forth. When they fell into a silence it was an easy one that never felt awkward or uncomfortable. Now, with Flynn marching Hero up a set of stairs, it felt as if they were two strangers. As if Flynn was actually a Villain.

He is, a voice sniped in the back of Hero’s mind. Flynn is a villain. The lie was his Hero façade.

Hero kept their guard up as they stepped through the door at the top of the stairs. Hero expected to be greeted with the view of a warehouse, or some top secret villain base. Maybe something from the movies, or an equal to the Hero tower HQ.

Instead, their gaze found a house. Hero frowned, wanting to turn their head and comment on it to Flynn but they didn’t. They refused. Flynn didn’t deserve their comments or thoughts on anything anymore.

“Through here,” said Flynn, pulling Hero to the right. Hero caught only a glance of the framed pictures hanging on the wall, of Flynn and Villain as children and a man and woman smiling in the picture above them. Hero swallowed.

Were they in Flynn’s childhood home this entire time?

It’s not what Hero expected at all. It was clean, almost pristinely so with wooden oak floors and a warm, homely feel to it. Clean and yet lived in.

Hero closed their lips, and just let Flynn guide them through another door into a dining room. Hero’s brows raised to the ceiling, looking at Flynn in question before they could help it.

Flynn curled his top lip inward, his tell for when he was embarrassed. “Supervillain insisted,” he said by way of explanation and brought Hero to the end of the table. It sat six people, two chairs on each end and two on both sides.

Flynn pulled out Hero’s chair and quirked his lips at them. “Can I trust you not to do something stupid?”

“You can always stop me if I do,” Hero replied sweetly, sugared smile not quite meeting their eyes.

Flynn’s smile was cold in return. “I can. Or Villain, whichever is quicker.”

Hero felt that cruel pang of betrayal bloom in their heart like a rose’s thorns wrapped thick around it. Hero didn’t reply to that, they just sat down on the chair lifting their handcuffed hands onto the wooden table and let Flynn push in their chair.

Flynn sat beside them, on their right. Hero could have laughed at the horribleness of it all. Flynn sat on Hero’s right because after endless sparring they had both realised it was Hero’s weaker hand. If Hero was going to do something stupid, going for their right hand side would be easier to subdue than their left.

How had they not seen the warning signs? How had they not realised that Flynn was working against them this entire time?

Hero trusted them. They thought if the world ever went to shit, or turned against them, Hero could turn to Flynn and still find a home in him.

Now all their trust was twisted against them mercilessly, and Flynn was a stranger who could smile at them with a bloodied face — and possibly broken nose — and threaten to have the person who broke it hurt them more.

Hero heard movement and voices behind the two doors in front of them, different than the door that Flynn and Hero entered the room through. There was a lively bustling of movement and then a man in his late thirties, early forties walked through the doors with a wide friendly smile holding two plates of something.

He had wavy brown hair, slightly overgrown around the edges, some strands tucked behind his ears Hero noticed. His eyes were sea-coloured, somewhere between green and blue, but shining with a happiness that Hero didn’t expect of Supervillain.

Then it hit Hero that they were staring at Supervillain. The Supervillain! Hero’s nemesis, their foe— the man who was always one step ahead of Hero. Hero glanced at Flynn, almost mutinously before Supervillain drew Hero’s attention back to them.

Supervillain set a plate of food in front of Hero with a big smile, then walked around Hero and placed one in front of Flynn. It was what looked like roast chicken and green beans and roast potatoes. Hero stared down at it, their mouth watering slightly and a gnawing yearning in their gut for food.

How long had they been here? Overnight at least because it was day time at the moment. Hero looked at Flynn. Flynn glanced at Hero then to Hero’s plate and dragged it over to him.

“Hey—”

“Relax, I’m just cutting up your chicken. You’re not getting a knife.”

Hero waited, watching Flynn cut up the food. Then they sat back against their chair, eyes going to the doors to see Supervillain was gone. Flynn pushed Hero’s plate back in front of them. Then Supervillain came through again followed closely by Villain, a shadow like fist holding something that was dropped in front of Hero. It smacked against the table lightly with a bounce and Hero realised it was a plastic fork.

Everyone else had proper utensils.

Hero waited until Supervillain and Villain sat down before speaking. “If you think I’m eating this, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Supervillain’s smile didn’t dim. “As you like it, Hero. Though, if I drugged you with the chicken or the vegetables I would have drugged us all.”

Hero didn’t move to grab the fork, no matter how much their stomach wanted them to. Flynn grabbed Hero’s plate, “we can swap if you like.”

Hero’s head snapped to him. “And how do I know this wasn’t all some planned ploy?”

“You don’t,” said Flynn honestly, meeting Hero’s gaze earnestly. Hero had to look away before they cried. Stupid fucking Flynn.

“If I may,” said Supervillain, his voice smooth and steady, drawing Hero’s gaze. “If I wanted to starve you, I wouldn’t have plated you up a meal. I would have handcuffed you to the chair and let you smell the food and watch us eat.”

Hero swallowed, gaze hardening into a glare as Supervillain tilted his head and shrugged lightly. “However, if you don’t want to eat I won’t force you.”

Hero sat back stubbornly, eyes not leaving Supervillain as he tucked into his divine smelling meal.

“Flynn said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I do,” Supervillain replied. “As soon as we have eaten. It’s bad for the stomach to mix work and pleasure.”

Hero blinked at him, then stared back at their plate. The steam was still rising from it, begging for Hero to eat it. Hero swallowed again, finally reaching for the fork that was discarded in front of their plate.

Nobody at the table made any remarks as Hero took their first bite of chicken. They didn’t even feel eyes on them as they ate, and with every bite the possibility of the food being drugged became less and less important as they filled the hole in their stomach.

All too soon their plate was empty and Hero set their fork back on the plate, sitting back in their seat, satisfied. Supervillain smiled at them from across the table.

“Well?”

Hero swallowed. “Really good.”

Supervillain’s smile beamed at them. “Good. Flynn, would you and Villain mind cleaning up?”

Flynn’s eyes went between Hero and Supervillain, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Supervillain looked at him. It stifled the words in his throat and he nodded and gathered his and Hero’s plate. “Sure.”

Villain did the same with their and Supervillain’s plate. “Thank you. We shouldn’t be long.”

Flynn cast one last look over his shoulder at Hero, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. Then the double doors shut on both of them and it was just Hero and Supervillain alone.

Hero’s chest got tighter at the realisation. How many times had they longed to get to sit down with Supervillain and pick his brain on his strategies and plans? How long had they wanted to know his motivations behind it all? What the bigger picture was…

Now, Hero wanted to be anywhere but here.

Supervillain leaned forward, elbows resting on the table hands folded in front of him. “Flynn tells me you’re a fan of mine.”

Hero scoffed and looked away. “I’d hardly call myself a fan.”

“Of course,” he replied pleasantly. “A hero would never admire a villain after all.”

“That’s in the job description.”

“Tell me, did you ever admire Flynn?”

Hero’s eyes snapped back to Supervillain. His smile was less pleasant now, more shrewd. Intelligent, inquisitive, intimidating— his eyes narrowed in curiosity, the corners of his lips still quirked into a smile.

“I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? He was always a Villain.”

“Yes. However, that is not what I asked you.” Supervillain said lightly, not letting Hero off the hook. Hero swallowed in reply. “Did you ever admire Flynn?”

“Yes,” said Hero patiently. They couldn’t lose their cool now, they had to match Supervillain’s relaxed demeanour. “He was my partner. Obviously I admired him.”

Supervillain let out a breath. “Tut, tut, Hero. He’s a villain. How can a Hero ever admire a Villain?”

“If you want to get into some philosophical debate I’d rather Villain bash my nose against the bars of my cell again.”

Supervillain’s lips pursed. “If you like.”

The words ran like cold water down Hero’s spine. “However,” he continued, “I’d rather pick your brain before Villain rips it from your skull.”

Hero swallowed the lump that was rising in their throat. How can he be so nonchalant about telling Hero that he had no reservations about Villain killing them? It isn’t anything like Hero thought he would be.

“You wouldn’t let them,” said Hero licking their lips, making an effort not to make a face at the taste of salt and iron of dried blood dancing along their tastebuds.

Supervillain’s smile was pleasant. “No?”

“No,” Hero echoed then swallowed. “Even if you did let Villain hurt me or torture me, or whatever, you wouldn’t let them kill me. You’d rather draw it out slowly.”

Supervillain raised his hands, elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers, resting his chin on them as he stared at Hero. His sea green eyes looked stormy now, the twisting murky colour piercing through Hero’s soul. His smile was anything but friendly now.

Now, he looked like Supervillain, like Hero expected him to be. Confident, perspicacious, formidable. This was the opponent Hero had been playing alongside across the city for months now. Hero noticed their heart beating faster in their chest.

“And you say you’re not a fan,” Supervillain said, a perceptible knowing coating every smooth syllable.

“I’m not a fan of you hurting people. Killing people.”

“And yet it’s all you heroes ever seem to respond to.” Hero’s retort died in their throat. “If it takes violence to goad you out of your precious hero tower, then I will resort to violence.”

Goading? What goading? Hero’s brows furrowed down over their eyes, shadowing them slightly as their mind ran over Supervillain’s words.

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed fondly. “Flynn said you have a look when you’re trying to solve a riddle, this must be it.”

“I don’t have a look,” Hero spat, ignoring the blush that coloured their cheeks.

“Of course you do, dear Hero. We all do. That’s why in poker you have to learn to mask your tells.”

“Are we playing poker, Supervillain?”

“No, hardly. Though I’d wager I could win your money as easy as it took me to tank that developmental property on seventh.”

Hero hope their glare was burning a hole through Supervillain’s skull until they realised they were playing right into his hands and dissolving. Hero licked their lips and leaned forward in their chair too, hands clasped on the table in front of them.

“This wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, was it? You wanted me to follow Villain. You wanted them to catch me,” Hero said. Them was much easier than saying Flynn out loud.

Supervillain smiled appraisingly. “Yes.”

“And bring me here to meet you.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Supervillain’s eyes flashed, something glinting within them. “Because Hero, I’ve wanted to meet you as much as you’ve wanted to meet me.”

Hero held up their cuffed hands. “Couldn’t have done it more civilly?”

“Oh please,” Supervillain scoffed, resting his palms flat on the table and pushing his chair back. Hero’s heartbeat quickened as Supervillain stood up and started making his way slowly, predatorily slowly, towards Hero like a cat playing with a mouse. Hero wanted to not move, to not show him the effect he had on Hero, but their body didn’t get the message. The closer Supervillain came to Hero the more they shrunk back into the chair, hands braced on the table ready to spring to their feet and — and then what?

Supervillain stopped beside Hero’s chair, one hand on the back of it, the other hooking a finger around the small length of chain that kept Hero’s wrists locked together. He pulled it up, Hero’s arms going with it involuntarily until Supervillain held Hero’s arms up high over their head.

Hero grit their teeth as their shoulders strained from their sitting position.

“We both knew one of us would have to be in chains for us to be able to chat,” said Supervillain tilting his head. All friendliness had melted from his face leaving a cold grin and hungry eyes feasting off the sight of Hero at his table. “I just decided it wasn’t going to be me.”

Hero tugged their arms down suddenly but they may as well not have for the lot of good it did them. Supervillain leaned down, his face close to Hero’s as he grinned.

“You should have struck first, little Hero. Then maybe the roles would be reversed, but as of right now—” Supervillain’s eyes darkened. “I control the board.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

-athena (@andtheysaidspeaknoww

Intoxicating Fear — part X

ATHENA?! BADASS IN THE ARENA?! UNMATCHED, WITTY AND QUEEN OF THE BEST STRATEGIES WE’VE SEEN?!

I am honoured, I have always loved your work except for a couple questionable things with Medusa but I understand…

Of course! This is for you @andtheysaidspeaknoww I hope you enjoy it <3 I also want to dedicate this part to @xxgalgurlxx for making ART of the boys™️ which I’m attaching to the bottom because it is so cool and I love it a lot :;) ENJOY SOME FLUFF/comfort for Kit (Hero).

Also! In case you haven’t seen Hero and Villain have names now! Hero’s name is Kit, and Villain’s name is Ambrose. I will link their character descriptions here.

Read part one here

Continued from this part here

I hope you enjoy this part!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit cleaned his arms of the leftover blood, gritting his teeth and hissing when the water ran over his cuts. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to ignore them as much as possible, but it was hard to when they still hurt. When Kit stood from the bath his tracksuit bottoms clung uncomfortably to his legs. He stepped out with a squelch of his socks hitting the tile and dabbed the towel gently over his arms.

The towel came back with bright red streaks across it, and he wanted to scream. He can’t even have a towel in his own fucking house. Kit stormed out of his bathroom and straight into his room, slamming the door shut. Just for effect. Just to show Ambrose that he was pissed, and he would let him know it.

Though, now that he thought about it, the sadist probably got off on his anger or something.

Change out of those clothes.

The command echoed off the walls of Kit’s skull, but he just stood with his back against the door, hands on his knees. His breaths coming out laboured and rattly. Kit tightened his grip on his knees until his knuckles turned white, trying to hold himself back from obeying Ambrose’s command.

If he fought it long enough… when Superhero came back, he’d see.

Kit squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth as he felt his body fighting against his mind.

Come on, Kit pleaded with his limbs. Please. Listen to me, not Ambrose. Obey me.

Even if Kit wanted to disobey this particular command, he couldn’t fight the damp coldness permeating from the wet clothes. If he stayed in them any longer, he’d probably get sick for real. The sleeves on his shirt weren’t wet per se, just damp, cold and irritating. And his tracksuit clung to his legs awkwardly making Kit feel colder than he actually was.

Kit let out a sigh.

He would change, he decided, and that was important. That Kit decided to change, not Ambrose and his stupid power.

Kit took his hands off his knees and straightened up before stepping into the room and grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up over his head. Once his shirt was off, he already felt ten times better as he obeyed the command got out of his wet clothes. He quickly slipped out of his tracksuit; the soggy fabric slapping wetly against the wood. Kit took his socks off and dropped them on the dirty pile to bring to Ambrose.

He opened his wardrobe; eyes drifting lazily over the selection of clothes and froze. His eyes caught the multiple cuts on his inner wrist, and he wanted to throw up. Kit swallowed the dry lump in his throat as he reached over gingerly to run his finger down along one of the deeper cuts. He felt the ridges the knife created against his skin, the valleys between the flesh of his wrist and how much was cut away.

Kit stepped back, casting his eyes to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. It wasn’t like they were the first scars Kit ever had, but it didn’t feel like a scar he got from fighting some random Villain. It was so much more personal than that.

So much more violating because Kit had done it to himself, but it was Ambrose’s marking. His brand. His sign of ownership over Kit his strings. Ambrose decided exactly how many cuts, the varying depth of each of them. A cruel, insidious reminder that Kit really was nothing except what Ambrose wanted him to be. That even if Kit fought tooth and nail against Ambrose, he would never be able to win.

A sudden, helpless fury overtook Kit, the energy coursing uncomfortably under his skin. Tight and wired and itching to be released. Kit drew his fist back and punched the wall of his wardrobe, and without waiting delivered a second harder punch.

“Kit?” Ambrose called from some other part of the apartment. “Everything okay in there?”

Kit swallowed a sob, a mix of anger and despair clogging his throat. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and swallowed again before calling back: “yeah fine.”

Kit pretended it didn’t come out as pathetic as it sounded, because that’s all he could do anymore. Pretend. Fool himself. Cower in his imagination away from Ambrose. Make himself appear more like a Hero and less like a… Fuck, what even was he anymore?

Kit grabbed a black crew neck jumper from his wardrobe and another pair of slate grey joggers. He slipped on another pair of socks before scooping up the wet clothes and walking out their door.

“Here,” Kit grumbled, handing Ambrose the wet clothes. Ambrose smiled down at him.

“Thank you, Christopher.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kit snapped. “It’s not my name.” Ambrose grinned and pinched his cheek like Kit was a child.

“But you did such a good job following orders,” Ambrose cooed. Kit slapped his hand away with a huff and turned on his heel towards his room again.

He hadn’t even taken a step forward when Ambrose spoke. “Ah, where are you going?”

Kit’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “To my room. Is that allowed?”

“Hmm… why don’t you ask nicely?”

Fury winded through Kit again as he turned, eyes blazing at Ambrose who stood with the wet clothes still in hand just smiling at Kit’s anger.

“Haven’t you humiliated me enough already today?” Kit demanded.

“Clearly not if you think you can take that tone with me,” Ambrose replied nonchalantly, cocking an eyebrow at Kit when he took a step forward.

“Please, just give me peace, for…” Kit said all anger leaking from his frame once he knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with it. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, licking his lips before continuing: “For an hour or two, I’ll be good I’ll just go into my room and make no noise or do anything bad I promise just please can I have a moment alone? Please?”

Ambrose said nothing for a minute. Instead, he just drank in the desperation oozing from Kit’s tired frame, his sunken shoulders and his hands out, palms facing up as if to show he was no threat.

Begging.

Maybe Ambrose’s lesson finally sunk in this time. Maybe he did crack a little of Kit’s usual steel resolve.

Ambrose inclined his head. “Fine. I didn’t really have anything else planned for the day anyways, so your time is yours.”

“Thank you,” Kit said with a breath. Closing his eyes and savouring the moment. Kit turned for his room again, walking towards it waiting for Ambrose to speak again. To laugh or say “gotcha” and force Kit to do another horrible thing to himself or…

Kit’s hand touched the handle of his bedroom. The cool metal beneath his palm and fingers a shock to his system, that Ambrose was actually allowing him to relax. Kit licked his lips in anticipation and opened the door. Before he walked in though, Kit looked over his shoulder at Ambrose. His dark eyes were following Kit the whole way, and when they met Kit’s the corner of his lips twitched up with amusement.

“Thank you,” Kit said again, forcing his gratitude and relief into his voice. Ambrose blinked, tilting his head slightly as if trying to see from what angle Kit was trying to get over him. “Really.”

Kit turned again and walked into his room after that, letting the door close behind him. Ambrose stood rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door where Kit had disappeared.

He swallowed, only remembering the wet clothes in his arms. Ambrose cleared his throat, ignoring whatever that was all about and focusing instead on getting the clothes out of his arms.

Perhaps he went too far… perhaps he did more than crack the little Hero. Ambrose’s gaze flickered back to the door.

Only time would tell.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

This is @xxgalgurlxx art for Kit and Ambrose. Which I love, thank you again <3

Intoxicating Fear (Xii)

Part one here || masterpost || continued from here

Hello!! Yes!! Thank you for the ask! Intoxicating fear is always being worked on in the background, it is one of my on-going series!!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit sat at his kitchen table. His apartment was quiet. Distantly he checked his phone to see two hours had passed, and he was still sitting at his table, staring at his door.

This had to be a joke.

A dream.

Kit clicked his fingers and felt electricity running through his index finger and thumb. He stared at the lightning, so familiar, so achingly his.

No compulsion muting it in his brain. No Ambrose, just Kit. Something wet hit his cheek and Kit flinched, eyes darting back to the door, around the room. Searching for Him.

Kit didn’t— he never cried before him. Never. He wasn’t weak, he was… he was…

He was…

Kit stood so suddenly the chair fell backwards, his chest tightening around his ribs. He whirled at the crash, stumbling back against the table and flinching again. He couldn’t breathe. His entire arm cackled into a glove of electricity sparking off of it, spitting tiny bolts at him but he still couldn’t— breathe!

Breathe! Just breathe!

Kit stuttered out laboured breaths, gasping and gasping and not getting any oxygen and he clutched his chest, just above his heart, his ears rushing as if he were beside a waterfall but he wasn’t.

The air was getting thinner. It seemed like every exhale had diminished returns on inhales and his lungs couldn’t function properly enough for him to catch up and bring them to balance.

He felt something bubbling under the surface and he gasped, curling in on himself as it built and built and gathered and grew and Kit couldn’t breathe he needed to— Kit felt a rush of pain arch from his brain to his chest and a bolt of electricity erupted from Kit’s chest and sent him flying backwards. His back thumped against the wood, stealing the air from his lungs and then he was sliding down the door until his arse hit the floor.

He stayed there for a minute, blinking, finally able to take a breath. Then he dragged his knees up to his chest, resting his crossed arms on them and dipped his head and he started to cry. The sobs wracked through his entire body, from his toes to his head. His muscles seemed to tighten and release with every wheeze of breath stuttered out through trembling lips. Streams of snot and tears pooled on the floor beneath him but he couldn’t find it in him to notice or care.

After a while he raised his head and bit his arm to stop himself from screaming out every little injustice Ambrose had inflicted upon him. To him. At him.

Even now, even this… pathetic wallowing was only happening because Ambrose allowed it. He needed to stop crying and get up and do something!

He could run away. As soon as the thought entered his brain it started to melt away until the urge was gone and he was back on the floor fighting with himself.

He had to tell Superhero, warn the Heroes about Ambrose, about what he could do and they could— the thought dissolved in his mind, like sugar in water, and Kit was left sitting on the floor.

He could alter the rhythms of his nervous system and—

Kit stood suddenly, furious. His mind recalling the last conversation he had with Ambrose vividly.

Kit stared as Ambrose retracted his hand and walked towards the table. He tilted his head at the Villain. “What brought all this about?”

“Hmm?” He asked, even though Kit knew he heard him just fine.

“Why the change of heart?”

Ambrose let out a soft sigh as he plucked Kit’s phone from the table and turned back to face him. “I believe I already made my intentions clear, Kit.”

“Clearly you didn’t if I’m asking for clarification.”

Ambrose’s left eye twitched. Imperceptible, and yet Kit noticed. He’s noticed a lot of hidden things about the Villain despite his best efforts of ignoring him.

“Do you want a long winded explanation followed by a beating or can I just leave you here with a couple of commands and be on my way?” Ambrose asked with a polite smile. Kit’s eyes widened. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward unconsciously at the thought that Ambrose was going to give him his freedom — today?!

Ambrose chuckled, nodding his head at the chair that Ambrose previously sat in. Kit was walking forwards before he even thought anything more about it, eager. Too eager, but Ambrose knew he was eager so what would he really be hiding?

“Good lad,” said Ambrose with a happy hum undercutting his words. Kit stared up at Ambrose, waiting for him to turn and face him even though Kit knew that Ambrose didn’t have to look at Kit to use his powers (or did he?) but he waited patiently anyways. Then his patience abandoned him and Kit found himself reaching out to tug at Ambrose’s shirt like a child who was lost and trying to find their parents.

Kit retracted his hand and sat back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest with a soft tch. “Do you wanna get out of here, or what?”

Ambrose finally turned to face Kit with an amused smile on his face. “I do, so be good for me.”

Ambrose stared down into Kit’s eyes, his lips that unnatural shade of red as he spoke his commands without stuttering or second-guessing once. Kit kind of hated him for it.

You can’t run away. You can’t disappear. You can’t kill yourself. You can’t move apartment. You can’t warn your Hero friends about me.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed at the last one, but Ambrose just smiled knowingly. “Oh come on. We both know you would try and worm your way out of this if you had other Heroes support. Besides, you don’t want anyone else to get hurt do you?”

Kit didn’t answer him.

“Good. Now,” Ambrose hummed, grabbing the side of Kit’s head resting his thumb just under Kit’s cheek and angling his head up. Kit’s hand shot to Ambrose’s wrist on instinct, not knowing what Ambrose was about to do. “Relax, Mallory. This is just to ensure you comply with the terms of our deal.”

Kit wanted to properly fight against him now. Kit was hoping he would be able to find a loophole in the agreement given time. That he would somehow be able to leverage it against Ambrose and turn it on its head but he can’t do that if Ambrose forces him to obey.

“Isn’t the whole arrangement supposed to be about obedience?” Kit tried. Ambrose’s dark eyes stared down at him impassively.

“What?”

“Our deal,” said Kit again, licking his lips trying to get some moisture back into them. “We shook on it. Don’t you trust that I’ll obey because I don’t want someone else to get hurt?”

Oh Kit, Kit flinched when he heard Ambrose’s voice in his head. It felt unnatural. Wrong. The fucker’s eyes practically sparkling down at him. That really is a valiant effort on your part, but we both know why you’re really hesitant.

Kit didn’t even have time to pull away before Ambrose was speaking.

“You will obey the terms of our—” Kit only managed to register the words before he was turning his head away and pushing Ambrose’s hand off him. Ambrose just tightened his grip and tilted Kit’s head back to look into Ambrose’s black hole like eyes. “Agreement. Our deal. No take backs, no work arounds, no loopholes.”

Kit froze as he felt the commands pierce his brain like ice shards, sending a shiver down his spine and working through every muscle in his body, binding Kit to their deal.

Ambrose let go of Kit then and smiled down at him. Kit sat in the chair, not wanting to even look at the villain beside him. It all felt too real. Too final. He felt disgusted with himself for even allowing this to be his only recourse to a semi-normal life.

Ambrose set Kit’s phone down on the table. Kit stared at it numbly. “Well, that’s that then, Mallory. I’ll be off. I put my number in your phone, so I can contact you if I need to but otherwise enjoy your freedom.”

Kit stared at the table and didn’t glance up or react in anyway. Ambrose grabbed his overcoat and put it on, then walked to Kit’s front door and opened it.

Kit’s heart ached as he remembered the time he had tried to escape. How perfect it would have been if he had just been fast enough.

Ambrose stepped outside the door and Kit jumped to his feet. “Wait!”

Ambrose glanced over his shoulder at Kit, a smile on his too red lips. “Don’t tell me you miss me already,” he said, voice coy because he knew, didn’t he? He fucking knew the compulsion was still there for Kit and didn’t think of lifting it.

Kit didn’t dignify his teasing with a response and instead walked towards the door, towards Ambrose who stepped back out of his way and leaned against the railing opposite the door.

Kit had two feet out the door before a searing pain brought him to his knees gasping out in a silent scream. Above him he could barely make out Ambrose’s too bright eyes and knowing smile. Then the pain vanished as suddenly as it had begun. Kit threw himself forward onto his hands and knees and sucked in lungfuls of air.

“You fucking… dick,” Kit wheezed.

Ambrose shrugged above him. “I couldn’t help myself, how funny would it have been if for the first time I give you your freedom you can’t leave the house.”

Kit glared up at him, pressing a hand against the door frame to support him as he got to his feet. “That’s not our deal,” Kit hissed.

Ambrose rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Kit. It wasn’t like I was going to leave it on you. I just thought if you forgot maybe I did too.”

“I don’t want this compulsion in my head to obey a deal that you yourself won’t stand by!” Kit spat, before he could think he had his hands curled into Ambrose’s overcoat pressing him against the railing further. “I want a failsafe.”

Ambrose tilted his head, smile gone from his face as he thought it over.

“A fail safe?”

“Yeah,” Kit pressed. “If you break the deal, then the compulsion fades.”

Ambrose didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he pursed his lips and nodded putting his hands up. “Okay. Fair is fair. Kit, if I break our deal then you can too.”

Kit felt the command run through his body only this time he didn’t shiver. Kit stepped back and let Ambrose go.

“Satisfied?”

Kit didn’t reply. Instead he walked back into his apartment and slammed the door in the telepath’s face.

“Dick.”

Kit's mind reeled as the memory hit him harder than an anvil dropping on his head. To be fair that was most of his experiences with Ambrose anyways, but he had to do something! There had to be a way to somehow tiptoe 'round the terms of their agreement.

No, Kit thought mutinously. He couldn’t do anything about it until Ambrose broke the deal first. He could however leave his house and enjoy some fresh air for the first time in— weeks?! Months?! He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember the last time he was free of Ambrose. He needed to put runners on and get out and just go out. Just run.

He could sort everything out after he was finished. Everything else could wait. He had to talk to Superhero, and catch up on all the life that he missed while Ambrose was puppeting him in his head.

He just wanted a few hours that were Ambrose free and just— just Kit’s.

He grabbed his keys after yanking on his runners and for the first time, in a long time, Kit left his apartment. He took in a breath of fresh air, feeling the slight static in the air and the rumbling of power lines below the surface.

He felt good.

He didn’t realise his eyes were their electric blue, but even if you told him he wouldn’t have cared.

Ambrose stood across the way, watching as Kit took off running down the street, sparks kicking off his heels every time they connected with the path. They weren’t all Kit’s blue either, some, a very little amount were the same untamed red that Ambrose had only witnessed once before.

Kit turned the corner out of sight and Ambrose left him to it. He had work to do.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Instant Regret

Part One here // Continued from here // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit jerked awake suddenly, letting out a sharp cry as he moved, the motion pulling on his arms without mercy. His feet almost slipped at the movement, but he caught himself before he fell. A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes met the concrete wall in front of him.

He didn’t even get a moment of blissful ignorance, couldn’t even pretend maybe this was all some bad dream and he’d wake up in his bed safe and sound.

The feeling of his power buzzing under his skin wasn’t even a familiar comfort. It was there, he could use it. If he needed to, he could use it. But, if he wanted to stay awake and alert, he couldn’t. He didn’t exactly enjoy frying himself with his own electricity.

It was cruel.

It would have been kinder if Omen had just put him in power dampeners. At least then he could pretend that he couldn’t do anything to save himself.

Kit shook his head. No. He refused to be defeated. He’d get out of here. Get away from Omen, somehow. Starting with the fucking water he was standing in.

Kit looked down to assess his situation while he had a moment of peace. His feet were fully submerged in the clear water up to his ankles. It was just a normal basin. Kit should be able to kick it over. Kit did just that. He kicked the edge of the basin, but it didn’t budge. Kit tried again. All it did was splash some water out. Kit frowned, leaned forward to get a better look then winced as his arms groaned in the chains.

The edges of the basin were bolted down into the ground, or, no, not the ground, some other heavy thing, like a wooden platform.

Fine. The water wasn’t going anywhere but that doesn’t mean Kit had to stay in it.

Kit looked down, lifted a foot, balancing it on the edge of the basin and tested putting weight on it. It slipped down the edges into the water with a weak thunk.

Alright. New plan.

Kit lifted his other foot and ran it down his rolled-up trousers, drying it off slightly before trying again. He got his foot up on the ledge and nearly cried as the weight in his arms lessened.

Okay. Okay. Now the other foot.

He could do this, Kit nodded to himself, bracing his shoulders as he held his weight on his arms above his head and lifted the other foot out of the water.

He got the second foot on the side of the basin, balancing on the first and the pressure on his arms felt as light as a feather.

Kit just stayed there, panting, still as a statue. Oh god that feels so good, he just needed to enjoy it. He was okay. This he could deal with. Kit closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

Slowly in through the nose, long and deep, expanding his chest and filling his lungs with sweet, stress-free air.

Holding it there for a moment.

Then a drawn-out exhale until his entire body deflated like a balloon.

And again.

And again.

He repeated this for another while before finally risking a glance up at his arms to see exactly how they were strung above his head. The metal cuffs were padlocked to a chain that ran up to a hook in the ceiling. The hook curved in and around and it was far too high for Kit to even think about trying to get the chain free.

So his arms were still stuck above his head. Okay. That’s okay… Kit felt the familiar flare of panic rear it’s mighty head in his gut, but he pushed it back down.

He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. Panicking right now wouldn’t help him. He just needed to pause and breathe…

Kit looked down to his feet again. He risked stepping a foot down onto the platform the basin was attached to but it stretched his arms awkwardly, so he stood on the side of the basin again and let out a quiet whine.

“I like that sound,” Omen purred behind them. Kit flinched but thankfully his balance kept him up on the side of the basin, arms relaxing slightly above him, still numb. “Make it for me again.”

“Let me go,” Kit said instead, his voice sounding even more pathetic than his whine.

“Hmm,” is all Omen replied. The sound of his shoes clacking against the concrete was the only thing Kit was focused on at that moment in time. The footsteps and how he got closer and closer, winding Kit’s nerves tighter and tighter until the footsteps stopped.

Kit’s breath hitched.

A hand bunched into the back of his shirt and Kit could barely let out a cry of protest before he was yanked backwards, his feet splashing into the water and his arms felt like they were ripped from his body.

“That sound was even better,” Omen said, a smile in his voice as he walked around to Kit’s front, so Kit could witness Omen in all his horrifying glory.

His face looked paler in the dim lighting, as if he were never touched by sunlight. His raven hair was half tied back so strands didn’t fall around his face, hiding all the sharp edges of Omen, his cheek bones, his jaw, the razor-sharp curve of his smile. He wore a black button up shirt today, the top button undone, no tie or suit jacket. He reached a hand up to Kit’s cheek and Kit flinched back, cursing himself silently for it.

“Ever heard of personal space?” Kit bit out with a huff. Omen smiled. He just kept smiling and Kit wanted so badly to just rip it from his face. Just once, to see it slip, but that would leave Kit in a worse off predicament. His body still ached from the last time Omen had got too close.

“Yeah, I know about personal space. I’m just not a fan of it with you. You know, it’s hard for me— this,” Omen said, gesturing between the two of them, grin getting wider. His bottomless black eyes were even smiling. “I’m not used to not using my powers on people. Y’know, knowing exactly what they’re thinking. It’s strange.”

Kit scoffed, “right. So, when you can’t invade somebody’s brain against their consent, you’ll just invade their personal space instead?”

“Hmm,” Omen hummed as he placed a hand on Kit’s throat and squeezed until Kit’s feet were splashing up water, and his face turned red. He finally let go and stepped back, his heels hitting the basin’s edge – gasping in air greedily, swallowing oxygen like it was a limited resource.

Well, with Omen’s mood swings it was.

“You put it very succinctly. I just need to know, need to see your fear you’re so desperately trying to hide from me. Need to feel it, do you know what I mean?”

“No, sorry,” Kit said, and even Omen raised a suspicious brow at Kit’s seemingly empathetic tone. “I’m not a sociopath so I recognise normal human emotion without having to be weird about it.”

Omen shrugged, unbothered. He began unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves slowly, black eyes focused on Kit’s the whole time.

“I imagine it’s not unlike your weirdness, Kit,” Ambrose said, his voice like liquid silver, charming and smooth. Kit understood the term silver tongue when Omen spoke. It’s like you wanted to hear everything he said, hang onto every word. Even without Omen using his power on Kit, his voice still affected him to some extent.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life. We didn’t get powers to squander them and sit in an office all day drinking coffee with normal humans. We’re all weird, even you and your sensitivity to electricity,” Omen said, unbuttoning his second cuff and starting on his other sleeve. He levelled Kit with his black eyes. “My guess is you can feel the electric currents in the environment around you. Am I right? In the air, in the water, in our bodies?”

Kit didn’t say anything, just stared at Omen as he spoke. “Static electricity doesn’t affect you? No?”

Kit must have given something away because Omen smiled.

“Hah, you’re lucky. It can be a real bitch, but I respect you want to keep your power private. My point is, that normal people are affected by static electricity, and you have a resistance to it. That little spark show you exhibited yesterday told me you don’t have full immunity, but a normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“What’s your point?” Kit snapped, tired with Omen’s villain monologue. He stepped up to Kit, grabbed Kit by the collar of his shirt and yanked him down, causing Kit to cry out.

“What did I say about being nice to me? Didn’t I say I could make things uncomfortable for you?”

Kit’s screams faded into loud groans of pain as he bit down on his tongue, but Ambrose pulled him down harder and Kit couldn’t bear the strain as he cried out.

He reacted on instinct.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

It just happened on reflex.

The strain on his arms, it felt like he was going to pop, and Kit just needed Omen to let go of them, to just stop—

His legs shot up and kicked Omen back. His foot planting squarely on Omen’s chest and knocking him back a couple steps. Omen’s dark eyes went wide with surprise, and he let go of Kit. Kit’s foot landed on the edge of the basin giving Kit some relief from the strain on his arms.

Nothing moved between them.

Not even a breath.

Kit was too scared to dare breathe, to blink, to do anything other than stare at Omen with wide eyes, too stunned to do anything.

Omen’s face cracked. A shocked laughter escaped him, filling the silence of the room. He clapped his hands wordlessly as his melodic laugh filled the air and the dread in Kit’s gut only increased when he should have been reassured.

Omen finally composed himself, and stood up taller than before, delight shining on his face. “You— are just full of surprises, Kit. Here I thought you were deathly afraid of me, and yet, if there was someone I was deathly afraid of… I know I wouldn’t have kicked them of all things.”

“No, no, Omen,” Kit pleaded as Omen advanced on Kit. “Please, I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did, Kit,” Omen said, putting a hand on Kit’s shoulder, and shushing him as Kit flinched. “Ssh, Sssh, sweet Malyn, look at me…”

Kit was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Look at me,” Ambrose commanded, and Kit opened his eyes, still shaking his head at the villain.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” Omen told Kit, putting a finger under Kit’s chin, stopping Kit from shaking his head. Kit couldn’t fight the shiver that ran under his skin at how close Omen was. What he could do to Kit… without touching him. He didn’t even need to touch Kit for his power, he could do it from across the room. He just wanted to show Kit that he could do whatever he wanted, and Kit would just have to deal with it. The fear came back with a jolt and Kit fought back tears at the overwhelming helplessness of his situation.

“Omen—”

“Hush. Let me bask in your fear, I haven’t seen it all day. It’s like nicotine, it makes the day a bit better, makes the air you breathe a bit cleaner. You’re practically shaking! Look at you, I have one question for you. Are you paying attention?”

Kit nodded because he couldn’t trust his voice.

“Good,” Omen praised, “very good. Now, tell me why you fear me so much.”

The chains above Kit were shaking, his teeth rattling in his skull. It was a cold fear that washed over him at the question, at what Omen could do to him.

What Omen could do to him…

And Kit was powerless to stop them, he had no chance.

“Omen… please,” Kit sniffed, fighting the tears back, but the villain heard his voice crack.

Omen sighed and stepped back, removing his hands from Kit. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

“You know, I really do hate to do this to you,” Omen said. That was all he said. He let Kit’s mind conjure up the rest. Then he felt the icy chill of Omen’s power tugging at his mind and Kit jerked forward in his chains.

Tears streaming freely now.

“No Omen! Omen! No, wait! Wait!”

“You’re just going to go for a little nap for me. Maybe you’ll be more agreeable when you wake.”

“Wait, no! Please!” Kit called into the darkness as Omen blocked Kit’s sight first. He struggled in his chains, trying to gain purchase on anything but he couldn’t hear Omen around him. He couldn’t hear.

Kit’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, blood rushing through like a tsunami’s unforgiving tide.

“Omen, wait!” Kit cried and gasped when he felt Omen’s hand on his hair, yanking his head back harshly.

This time when Omen spoke it was in Kit’s mind.

Nighty night, little Kit.

The last terrifying thought paralysed him as Kit was dragged into unconsciousness, kicking and screaming: how does he know my name?

Kit went still in his chains. Omen double checked his mind to make sure Kit was unconscious then he stepped back away from the hero, walking around to face him. He rubbed his chest from Kit’s kick, still stunned at him for having the audacity to try something like that.

Ambrose smiled to think of it.

He was right for taking Kit.

He was going to be so much fun to break.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Intoxicating fear (II)

A crude awakening

Part one // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

A snap of fingers in front of Kit’s face and his eyes snapped into focus, his body jolting forward slightly. Kit blinked, head pounding as he tried to take in his surroundings.

His head was fuzzy, memory hazy as he tried to remember how he got here. Wherever here was.

He was standing up, his arms above his head. When he tried to pull them down, he heard the snap of chains. Warning bells sounded clear in his mind as he tugged them down again, but they didn’t budge.

Kit groaned as he looked up to see his hands locked into metal cuffs, attached to a chain that went all the way to the ceiling.

“Good. Very good, Malyn. So responsive. So suggestible,” a silvery voice purred behind Kit.

Kit froze for a split second before his reflexes kicked in. He snapped his fingers on instinct reaching for the electricity in the air. Familiar blue lightning sparked to life and Kit screamed as his entire body jerked in the chains. His body ceased, winding tight as his own electricity was weaponised against him. Kit grit his teeth as his body was forced to endure. The chains holding him up rattling as Kit’s body fell like dead weight once the electricity ran its course through Kit’s body.

A couple aftershocks jerked Kit’s muscles in his shoulder, and Kit sucked in a second cry of pain at the strain on his shoulders.

A cool hand rested on the back of Kit’s neck. Kit froze again, his muscles in his legs riding out random spasms from the aftershock as Kit forced his legs to stand himself up straight. His feet slipped as he tried to get his balance, accompanied by a sloshing sound. Kit glanced down to see his feet in a basin of water. His shoes and socks taken off and his trousers rolled up to the knees.

“You’re not as bright as I heard you were, Malyn,” said that horrible voice behind him. Kit’s heart thundered against his chest, as the hand slinked around Kit’s neck to come and stand in front of him.

It was Omen.

It was Omen.

Kit knew it was Omen, obviously, he just didn’t really want to believe it.

That meant that Omen had actually taken Kit against his will. Taken him and made him forget the way to Omen’s fucking dungeon, and Other Hero was still at the fairground.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Hey, Malyn. Calm down,” Omen said, his voice so far away. Kit’s head dipped, gasping on air, trying to breathe, but his body wouldn’t let him. Instead, he was panting, chest rising too quickly and falling too shallow for him to take in any oxygen.

Fuck.

Not in front of Omen.

He was trapped with Omen.

Tears streamed down his face as the realisation settled loud into Kit’s mind.

No one knew where he was.

No one was coming to find him.

He was chained in front of Omen, his… the—

Two hands on his cheeks and Kit’s wide eyes went to Omen, recoiling as much as his chains would let them.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

Kit gasped, looking into those dark eyes and wanted to cry as Omen spoke again: “Oi, Malyn. Relax.”

Kit’s body obeyed the command. His lungs forced to breathe, his muscles unwinding from tightness against his will, his mind still screaming at him as his body flooded with the ice coldness that followed Omen’s commands.

“There we go,” said Omen, grinning, as his thumbs rubbed the tears from Kit’s cheeks. When did he cry? “I knew you were scared of me little hero, but having a panic attack over me? I’m honoured.”

“G-go fuck yourself,” Kit ground out with a shiver. Omen tsked stepping back away from Kit, his grin spreading into a horrible smile on his pale red lips. Kit yanked at the chains holding him up and tried to steel his expression into a (hopefully) threatening one.

Omen hummed, tilting his head as he slipped his hands into tailored trouser pockets.

“Hmm, I think you should be nicer to me, Malyn,” Ambrose said, smile and happy tone contrasting his words: “If you piss me off I might just forget to come down here and give you food and water, let you use the bathroom. Keep disrespecting me and I’ll leave you to die in a pool of your own faeces. Understand?”

Kit didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to agree. He didn’t want to do anything other than not be here. Not be standing in front of Omen, the man who ruined his life. Fucking Omen of all people! Forcing his body into a synthetic calm.

Kit licked his lips, asking: “What do you want with me?” He cursed his voice for coming out quiet. Quieter than he’d like to have it be in front of this monster.

Omen’s smile seemed to grow if that was even possible.

“I want to know why you fear me so much,” Omen said, amusement lacing his curiosity. He didn’t get closer, he gave Kit space, but his eyes. His stare. It felt so invasive.

Too invasive.

“You can just look, can’t you?” Kit snapped, pulling at his chains. Omen’s eyes flashed at the emotion, flicking lazily up at the chains then back at Kit.

“You know, Malyn. Taking you was a spur of the moment thing, so I had to prepare all this for you,” Ambrose said, gesturing to the chains and the water. “To keep you. To hold you. I know Superhero, know how hard he tried to keep you secret from me.”

Omen stepped forward and Kit flinched. Then cursed himself for it as Omen let out a dark chuckle.

“I don’t think I’ll get used to that. That raw, primal fear— like I’m the most repulsive person to ever live.”

“You’re a villain,” is all Kit said in reply, cursing the croak in his voice.

Omen cocked an eyebrow. “You flinch at every villain? Then you don’t have the stomach for the job, hero. Sorry to be the one to tell you.”

Kit’s hands balled into fists above his head as Ambrose took another step closer. Kit forced himself to stay still.

“What’s with this stupid game of cat and mouse, huh?!” Kit demanded, leaning forward slightly. If Omen wanted to close the gap to intimidate Kit, why shouldn’t Kit do the same? “You can read minds. Just take all the information you want and leave me alone!”

Omen grinned. His eyes drilling into Kit’s. Kit suddenly became very aware of his body, his heart drumming against his ears as Ambrose said nothing. He just stared.

“Here’s the thing, Malyn. I know you’re new on the hero/villain scene so I’m willing to go easy on you,” said Omen casually. He walked around Kit, past Kit’s line of sight. Kit tried to turn to follow him with his eyes, but his body wouldn’t move. He was forced to stare ahead as Omen continued.

“I’ll tell you why I won’t take your source of fear from your beautiful, terrified mind. It’s because—”A hand went to the back of Kit’s neck, fingers lacing through his hair and yanking his head back. Kit cried out as he found Omen’s cold eyes staring down at him. “—you protest too much. Clearly, that’s part of why I’m so terrifying to you, isn’t it? You want it to be easy like it was with Mentor. You want me to twist your mind until you can barely see straight.”

Kit tried to yank his head free, but Omen wrenched him further down and Kit hissed through gritted teeth. His shoulders screaming at him to stop struggling.

“I’m not going to do that, Malyn. You’re going to tell me why you’re afraid, and I’m going to be there. Watching every micro expression on your face as you do. Maybe there’ll even be some more of your delicious tears…maybe not.”

Omen wrapped a hand around Kit’s throat, grinning as he felt Kit swallow under his palm. He tightened his grip, and that’s when Kit’s fear took over. Blinding and incapacitating as Omen cut off his air.

He couldn’t breathe.

Omen was above them drinking in every pathetic struggle. Kit’s arms pulling at the chains, his feet slipping in the water below, every effort in his body to try and get a sliver of air into his lungs.

“Listen to those sounds you make, Malyn,” Omen said, his silvery voice the only solid thing Kit had as he desperately thrashed in Omen’s grip.

Omen watched, basked, waited until he saw the electric blue flash through Kit’s eyes. He waited a beat longer before seeing Kit’s resolve settle.

Omen let go at the last second.

The last second that Kit’s power took over in his panic and his body erupted in crackles of lightning that coursed through Kit’s veins and he screamed.

Every fibre of his being lit on fire as his electricity burned through his nerves, tearing them to shreds and leaving only pain in its wake. His jaw was clenched so hard he thought his teeth would break from the force; his neck stretched at an awkward angle as he twitched unable to correct it. Black encroaching on his vision as his body ceased against his own ability.

A normal person in Kit’s circumstance would be dead by now. In a basin of water, his wrists trapped in metal it turned his body into a perfect conductor. Omen may as well have put Kit in an electric chair.

Kit should be dead, but his ability, stemmed from a sensitivity to electric currents rippling through the air, also gave him a certain robustness to electricity. He thought meant he could withstand electric currents passing through his body easy.

That was until now.

Until Omen used Other Hero against him.

Until he nearly burnt himself unconscious not a few minutes ago.

He should be dead.

Except he just hung limp in his chains. His feet had slipped and so his toes were the only part of him on the floor; his were knees bent from exhaustion. All his body weight rested heavily on his toes and wrists. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself up.

Omen walked around Kit at some point during his second taste of his own power and dipped his head, so he was eye level with Kit.

Kit didn’t even have the energy to move his head as Omen took his chin in his cold grip, tilting Kit’s head to meet Omen’s black eyes.

“See? All this effort to try and escape me out of your delicious fear. Why in the world would I just take what I want when you’ll destroy yourself not to give it to me?”

Kit was happy that the darkness around his edges flooded his vision, and he was dragged blissfully into unconsciousness.

*~*~*~*~*