#kit mallory

How long had Omen left him here? He was parched, he realised as he swallowed. His saliva like sand as he glanced around the room as far as he could see. His head pounded when he tried to look out his periphery, a flash of intense, glaring light ignited in his brain when he did. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and hung boneless.

His power buzzed through his veins, humming under his skin, mocking him. It was cruel. It would have been kinder if Omen had just put him in power dampeners. At least then he could pretend he couldn’t do anything to save himself. As it was, his power was there; 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, but what could he do against the villain that destroyed Noble? He wasn’t even a proper Hero yet, he hadn’t debuted officially… not that he minded, but if Omen could take down the Superhero of the city what hope did Kit have against him?

Kit shook his head. No.

No.

He refused to be so easily defeated. He wasn’t going to help Omen by destroying his hope. He’d get out of here. He would! He’d get away from Omen… somehow. Pins and needles erupted in his legs, and he grimaced as he began to shake them out. He gasped, grasping pathetically at the cuffs as he almost slipped again but caught himself in time. He glared down at the basin of water. He’d start with that; he couldn’t do anything about the cuffs right now.

At least he had a moment of peace from the villain. His feet were fully submerged in the clear water up to his ankles. It was just a normal looking basin. He should be able to kick it over. He glanced up, trying to get a grip of the chains but he couldn’t reach them. Fuck. Fine. He lifted a leg and kicked the edge of the basin, but it didn’t budge. He 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.

“Ugh, FUCK!”

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.

Carefully he lifted a foot and set his sole 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 loosed a breath as he got his foot up on the ledge and nearly cried in relief 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, drying it on his trousers again. The moment he got his second foot on the side of the basin, balancing on his opposite ankle, he almost sank with the relief in his arms. The pressure alleviated, he felt as light as a feather, as free as a bird… in a cage, but still.

Kit remained as still as he could, basking in his brief respite.  

Oh god that feels so good. He just needed to enjoy it right now. He was okay. This he could deal with. Kit closed his eyes and took a couple easy 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 he felt a little better, his head a little lighter, his shoulders less stiff. His head cleared enough so he could finally take stock of his situation properly. He glanced up at his wrists 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.

Which meant for the moment his arms were stuck above his head. Okay. That’s okay… that’s fine. A sudden hot flare of panic reared its 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… panic only benefits the enemy, that was one of Noble’s lessons. One of the lessons Kit learned on the streets as well.

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, the cuffs too far up so he stood on the side of the basin again and let out a quiet whine.

“I like that sound,” Omen purred behind him. 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 snapped instead, his voice coming out tired and raspy, the words scraping against his throat.

“Hmm,” is all Omen replied. The sound of his shoes clacking against the concrete was the only thing Kit focused on. The villain’s smooth, confident footsteps. How Omen grew closer and closer, winding Kit’s nerves tighter and tighter until the footsteps stopped behind him.

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. His scream turned into a breathless curse as the fall yanked at his wrists, the fire in his shoulders re-ignited with a vengeance as if his arms were being ripped from his body.

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

The villain’s 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, exposing 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 pale hand up to Kit’s cheek. Kit flinched away, water sloshing, cursing himself silently for his fear. Omen dropped his hand for now, slipping it easily into his trouser pocket.

“Ever heard of personal space?” Kit snapped. 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.

“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. His bottomless black eyes grinning. “Not using my powers on somebody, not knowing their every thought. It’s strange. Quaint. How do you live like this?”

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

“It’s not that I can’t invade your mind, Atlas, it’s that I won’t. An important distinction to remember.”

Kit screwed his lips up. “Fuck you. You’re fucking weird. I want to feel your fear,” Kit mocked, mimicking Omen’s posh accent, though the effect was diminished through the voice changer. “Don’t you have your own fucking emotions, prick? I’m Omen and I am socially inept, so I need to read people’s thoughts, but not yours Atlas. No, I just want you to know I can because I am a big stupid bitch.”

Omen laughed at Kit’s outburst which just made his irritation grow. “You put it very succinctly. There’s something so… different about other people’s fear, Atlas, but yours? Hell, it’s like a drug… like an adrenaline rush if you will, because you’re just absolutely terrified, aren’t you? 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. 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,” Omen said, his voice flowing like mercury, 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. “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 him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him down with one hand, while the other went to Kit’s cuff enclosed hands and tightened the metal until it bit deeper into his skin. Kit cried out as Omen put more pressure on his arms, cursing.

“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 Omen 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.

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

His legs shot up. His foot planting squarely on Omen’s chest and knocked him back a couple steps. Omen’s dark eyes blew wide, and he finally released 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. He wanted to apologise suddenly, which was ridiculous but he just–

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, Atlas. Here I thought you were deathly afraid of me, and yet, if I was deathly afraid of somebody… I know I wouldn’t have kicked them of all things.”

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

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

Kit was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Look at me,” Omen 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 him; he had no chance.

“Omen… please,” Kit sniffed, fighting back tears, but the villain heard his voice crack through his mask. Omen sighed and stepped back, removing his hands from Kit. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

Omen’s grin remained on his face. It remained, but something shifted, something changed, something unknown to the human eye but Kit could feel it, in the knot in his gut, in the dread that fell like a cloak over his shoulders. Omen chuckled, and it sucked all the air from Kit’s lungs.

“You know,” Omen began conversationally as he began to circle Kit, “I was thinking about what you said. How I retired after the fight I had with Noble.”

Kit bristled but at least he could finally breathe now. He hated when the villain said Noble’s name; it felt wrong, like a demon saying God’s name without any retribution. No divine smiting or punishment, like it was inconsequential.

“It’s the only fight you’re recorded to have had.”

Another soft laugh echoed through the bare, concrete room. “Careful, Atlas, you sound like a fan. But you’re right. I only ever fought Noble, so I guess it must have been hard for your little Hero agency to gather a proper profile on me, right?”

Kit rolled his eyes. Fingers in his hair yanked his head back. He cried out, cursing as his feet shot up the side of the basin, scrambling as he tried to pull his head free.

“Have you forgotten your manners already, Atlas?”

“Ngh, get off me!”

Omen clicked his tongue and yanked harder. “You’re like a bold child.”

“Fuck you! FUCK!”

“Go ahead. Curse. Swear. Struggle. It won’t get you anywhere,” Omen told him, his voice droning and anything but bothered while Kit’s scalp was on fire. He struggled to try and keep the weight off his shoulders, but every time he adjusted even a centimetre Omen would pull harder.

It wasn’t until Kit’s back was bent at an unnatural angle, his eyes facing the ceiling and the ligaments in his arms being ripped from the bone that he finally cried out: “SORRY! I’M SORRY! PLEASE!”

Omen released him instantly. Kit sprang back to his standing, gasping as tears streamed down his cheeks. He panted as he tried to catch his breath, his body screaming at him for being so disobedient.

“See? Was that so hard?” Kit whimpered in reply; his chest ached from the strain. His ribs felt like there were in a hydraulic press, squeezed together and flattened as he hung, every breath was just a little bit more difficult, a little more laboured. “Now, I’m guessing you heroes have no profile on me, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Kit answered, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel the villain’s smirk behind him, but he didn’t want to cause himself any more pain as he stood there so he bit his cheek.

“Good,” Omen hummed, walking back into Kit’s line of sight. Kit didn’t take his eyes off the Villain as he walked towards the wall in front of Kit and leaned against it, hands casually in his pockets. His obsidian eyes flashed with an awful knowing. Kit bit his cheek harder, trying to stop himself from saying anything that would antagonise the bastard. “Telepathy is just one part of my powers, you’ve experienced first hand I can make you do what I want, but I don’t need to be in your head to compel you to obey.”

A molten hand of fear wrapped around his heart and squeezed, burning like cold fire in his chest. “What?” Kit asked, his voice quiet. Omen seemed to like when he spoke and engaged in conversation. Fuck, was he really considering appeasing a villain? His muscles screamed yes, to not agitate Omen more. His body couldn’t take it and he’s only been here for… for… however long. A day? Maybe two? Maybe less? No, Omen changed clothes… and it was night when he was taken so he assumed it had to be at least a day, right?

“Yeah. Verbal commands are just as effective as mental ones. I guess they both come from the same source, right?” Kit’s heartrate picked up in his ears as he stared wide-eyed at the villain. “So, I don’t need to get in your head to enjoy my influence over you.”

Kit shifted, trying to stand up taller, pulling on his too-tight cuffs just to do something. It was pathetic. He was trying in vain to prepare for something he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fight back.

“I’ll take your silence as awe.” Kit swallowed down a curse and settled for glaring at the villain. Omen tilted his head. “Or maybe it’s just confusion,” he suggested with a shrug, crossing his arms across his chest. “Maybe an example will help.”

“NO!” Kit’s eyes widened impossibly further. “NO! Please! Please, I’m not confused. I’m not, I swear. Please!”

Omen’s lips quipped at the edges. “So mannerly, Atlas. You’re learning.”

“Please,” Kit begged. “Please, please, I’m sorry.”

Red the colour of bright, fresh blood flooded Omen’s lips. “Still, I think it will be helpful to remind you of what happens when you’re disrespectful.”

“No! NO! DON’T! Please! I’m sorry.”

“What’s bizarre is that my ability can bypass things like logic and self-preservation in your brain,” Omen continued, his eyes darkening. “If it’s something you can’t physically do, your body won’t recognise that and keep trying, no matter how much it hurts.”

Kit’s lips curled back over his teeth, panic flooding his body as he cursed. “You’re a fucking sadistic piece of shit! Let me go!”

Omen grinned with too red lips. “I don’t plan on letting you go,” he said with a shrug. “In fact, I want to keep you, and if I’m not going to let you go…” Omen paused. Kit swore he wouldn’t be able to hear the command over the rushing of blood in his ears. “Then you don’t need your mask, do you?”

Kit stepped back but he didn’t get anywhere. “Wait, please. Omen–”

Omen tilted his head to the side. “Funny how you remember your manners after being threatened. You see how that shows me negative reinforcement will work with you, Atlas?”

“No! Please, don’t remove my mask, please. Please. I’m begging you, please,” he couldn’t remove his mask. Then Omen will know what he looks like and Kit and everyone he knows, and loves, will be in danger. He wouldn’t be able to go outside, continue his normal life… he would… god he’d be fucked, forever.

“I didn’t say I’d remove your mask, Atlas, don’t worry.” The mirth dropped from Omen’s eyes, replaced with a cold glee. “Because you’re going to do it for me. Take off your mask, Atlas.”

Kit blinked. Then, like he too often did, he spoke before he thought. “Sure, no problem, man, I’ll take my mask off as soon as you let me out of these cuffs.”

Omen stared. “Take off your mask, Atlas.”

“Like I don’t know, you said you could command me to do it.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to be nice, right? You can do it your way, you can try, or you can disobey and then I’ll force you.”

Kit blinked. He glanced up at his hands in the cuffs, then looked back at Omen. He blinked again. “Are you stupid? I- I can’t!”

“You haven’t even tried yet.”

“Are you–” Kit shook his head. “No, actually. Don’t answer. I have my answer, you are fucking stupid. My hands are currently locked above my head.”

Omen’s black eyes lazily traced up Kit’s arms to the cuffs, as if confirming they were there before he nodded. “They sure are.”

Kit scoffed. “So?!”

Omen rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I tried doing it the easy way. So, Atlas, take off your mask.”

Kit didn’t feel the viscous icy sludge flood his skull before he was moving, yanking his arms down from the cuffs. He tucked his elbows close to his head and tried in vain to press the release clasps on his mask. He knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere though, so he went back to plan A, pulling viciously at the cuffs that wrapped snugly around his wrists.

“FUCK! PLEASE! Stopstopstopstop,” he pleaded, crying out as he felt his wrists become slick with blood already.

Omen slipped his hands into his pockets again and shrugged. “Why would I tell you to stop now? The blood could act as a lubricant to–”

“Let me go! Stop! Please, fuck, fuck. AGH!”

“–help you achieve your goal faster; I don’t want to impede your progress like that. That would be cruel.”

Kit screamed as his legs lifted and he jumped, slamming back to his feet and yanking down with his entire body weight as he crouched. “Please, Omen…” Kit cried as he jumped again. He felt his skin rip, the metal biting into the bruises and already split cuts. “P–ple- GAHH FUCK!”

He jumped again before Omen said: “alright, you can stop. It would kind of ruin the mood if you degloved yourself.”

Kit sagged immediately, whimpering as he tried his best to lift his hands above the biting metal, blood running down his wrists and forearms as he bit his cheek, trying hard to compose himself in front of the villain. He didn’t notice Omen approaching, he didn’t notice the hand reaching for him and slipping under his chin, not until his head was gently tilted up as he hung.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just listen to me?” Kit couldn’t stop himself from trembling as he raised pained gaze to the bastard in front of him. A hand ran through Kit’s hair, combing through it softly. Warm bile climbed Kit’s throat as he tried to pull away weakly. “See? That’s the look I wanted from you. That, right there, your fear. How desperate you are to hide it from me, Atlas. Your stubbornness, even when it would help you to submit to me, look at you. Even now you’re glaring at me like an angry little puppy.”

“Fuck off,” Kit croaked. His stomach turned at the look of pure delight that flashed across Omen’s eyes, how happy he was at Kit’s continued defiance. This guy was fucking sick. What the fuck? How did Noble even…

A lump formed in Kit’s throat.

Right. Noble didn’t escape him. Noble didn’t survive him. He was forever imprisoned in his own mind, a prison of Omen’s design. Kit didn’t… his knees buckled, and Kit slumped further into Omen’s hold, whimpering at the pain, pain, pain dull and throbbing through his body aggravated by every miniscule movement.

Omen crouched so he was looking up at Kit, inky eyes gleaming like polished coal. “Atlas, Atlas, Atlas,” he tsked. “This is only some light torture. Doesn’t your namesake hold up the world on his shoulders? You can’t even hang from yours for a few measly hours?”

Kit glared at the villain, but there was no real bite behind it. He was tired. He was scared. No, he was terrified out of his mind, and the only thing keeping him up right now was the villain’s hand under his chin, but he wasn’t about to tell the bastard that.

“Who filled your head with the ideals of being a hero, hmm? Because clearly, you’re not cut out for it.”

“Fuck you!” Kit spat. His head whipped to the side, and he cried out as the chains above him jangled, rattling with the force of the slap that echoed around concrete.

“You’re like a feral cat someone just found on the street,” Omen said with an amused scoff. Kit swallowed the comment and tried to smother it in the back of his mind, because that one hurt. Just the shock of being slapped somehow stung more than a punch, it felt more personal. Kit hissed as the chains pulled taut and he tried to push himself up. “Even now, you’re just misbehaving for the sake of it.”

“If I’m such a fucking hinderance,” Kit hissed through clenched teeth, “then let me go you bastard!”

Omen smiled. “Come on, Atlas. I’m enjoying our,” his eyes flicked to the chains, “hanging out.”

“Fuck you. Fuckyoufuckyoufuc–” Kit tried to pull himself up and was half–successful this time before his foot slipped in the water and he bit his lip to dim his scream. Hot, thick iron filled his mouth from biting his lip too hard and he moaned a muffled groan.

“But clearly you’re not,” Omen sighed theatrically and dropped his hand from Kit’s chin. Kit whimpered as his entire body slumped in the chains. “And as my guest, it’s only right that you’re comfortable right?”

“Wh– what?” Kit lifted his eyes to follow Omen’s movements as he went to the corner of the room and started unwinding something. Kit squinted and realised it was a rope that was attached to the – “no, no, wait! No! Hold on!” Kit scrambled to get his feet under him in time, but he was too late.

Tension freed from the chains holding him up with a whoosh and Kit’s body dropped like a sandbag. He tried to angle the chains away from his face as he fell. He collapsed into the basin, his chin slapping off the edge and blood flooded Kit’s mouth, threatening to drown him as he mewled, trying to lift his limbs anyway but they were too heavy, and Kit was too weak.

He only barely heard footsteps before a hand grabbed the chains connected to his cuffs and Kit whimpered as his entire body screamed at him, blood pooling out over his lips, down his chin and beneath his mask, spilling into the basin of water below.

“Look at me.” Kit obeyed. This time there was no glare, no neutral features, nothing Kit could do to hide the pain from his gaze and his body as he silently begged Omen with his eyes to be gentle. Omen looking ravenous, drinking in every little detail he could see. At least the mask covered Kit’s lower half of his face so he couldn’t see Kit’s lips trembling. Omen crouched again in front of Kit and grinned at him. He put a hand in Kit’s hair and Kit winced, bracing for the pull, the pain.

So, when Omen ruffled Kit’s hair he stiffened completely. “You are just adorable,” Omen cooed. Kit wanted to bite him, to curse, to throw a fit but his body was too tired. He glanced down at his wrists and saw the damage his struggles to take his mask off did. A sudden wave of dizziness and nausea rippled through Kit’s body, and he slumped forward. His head hit Omen’s chest, and he shivered, unable to pull himself up as he closed his eyes.

“Please,” Kit begged, his voice so small. “Please just let me go.”

Hands went under Kit’s arms in reply and pulled him from the basin. Kit cried out as his limbs were aggravated and warned him to still, but he couldn’t stop the villain from lifting him over the basin. Kit’s knees hit the concrete with a dull thud followed by his feet after the sloshing of the water, but Omen kept dragging him until Kit was in the villain’s arms.

“No,” Kit protested weakly, trying to push himself away from the villain’s chest, but Omen didn’t seem to mind. It’s not like Kit could go anywhere anyways. Instead, Omen grabbed Kit’s cuffed hands and unclipped them from the chain. “No, get off.”

Omen whistled as he saw Kit’s mangled wrists. “Oh… that looks like it hurt.” Kit hissed when Omen ran a thumb over the wounds. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean them for you.”

“Just let me go,” Kit whined. Omen cooed at Kit again and dragged him back to his chest, wrapping his arms around Kit and hugging him to his chest. He put his hand in Kit’s head and pressed it to Omen’s shoulder. Kit shivered. This was worse. This was worse than hanging by his wrists. This was worse than trying to unmask himself. This was worse than frying himself with his powers. “Please, pleasepleaseplease.”

“Shhhh, Atlas,” Omen said, running his hand soothingly through Kit’s hair. Kit whimpered, his body too heavy to move or fight the villain off of him. Ice rushed through Kit’s mind, and he shot up with the last dregs of adrenaline left on him, but Omen simply pushed him back and shushed Kit again as Kit’s body slumped against his will.

“Ng… no, no, no.”

“You’re just going to go for a little nap for me, Atlas, you need your energy.”

Kit’s lips didn’t move, his mind seemed to shut down as he fought his eyes from closing. “Don’wanna.”

“You’re just so cute,” Omen cooed. His soft voice and his fingers running in a steady rhythm lulled the last fight from Kit as his body lost all tension and Kit lost the battle as his eyes closed, and he slumped boneless against the villain. Omen smiled as he felt the hero give into his command.

Oh, this hero was too fun, well worth taking. And he held out for so long, fighting him with everything he had left… and after dangling like that for two days, to have that much energy still. He was strong and stubborn and fiery and didn’t know what was good for him.

Omen frowned. This wasn’t like him. This wasn’t like him at all, he didn’t take Heroes. He didn’t fight heroes; he was barely a villain for crying out loud and then that water hero just… Omen sighed. He was here now. Omen was being impulsive and dumb, reckless, but the hero was far too interesting to just let him go… eventually he will, he decided. Wipe the hero’s mind and let him go about his life again, but for now…

Omen smiled down at the slumbering hero. For now he could have his fun with the curious little heroling.

***

Continued here

Tag-list: {lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts

@whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @theauthorintraining @izzygraney @mis-graves @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dreaming-awayy @mononeigbour @notactuallyluska @stefaniesblogs @lindsay00000008 @xenlust @mj-or-say10

@honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @whump-till-ya-jump @whumplicity @bluzluna

@acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @ravenqueen21

Nathan pushed Kit’s head back and rubbed something wet on Kit’s arm as he stood with a sigh. Kit glanced down and saw bright red, oily blood. Blood? Kit reached his hand up tentatively to his face. Blood ran from his nose and coated his lips and must have dripped onto the villain’s hand while he was inspecting Kit.

“I was hoping to have more fun with you today,” Nathan muttered, irritated, running a hand through his hair as he turned his back to the hero. Kit watched him wearily, tilting his head back slightly and pinching his nose to try and stem the flow of blood. He didn’t understand. Couldn’t this bitch heal people? Why wasn’t he— “Yes,” Nathan interjected and Kit stiffened. He forgot the bastard could read his thoughts. “I can heal you. But the most plausible reason for your nosebleed is that your brain has been subjected to too much mental strain.”

“You don’t think it could have been your attack dog throwing me down the stairs or beating me yesterday, no?” Kit snapped, but there was no real bite to it. Despite his forced sleep he was exhausted. He hated how he always woke from it too, sluggish and tired like he had a restless night’s sleep, but this time was ten times worse, like a hangover after a pub crawl. Fuck…

Nathan looked over his shoulder at Kit and pinned him to the spot with his dead eyed smile. “You’re so lucky I can’t hurt you right now, little Hero.”

It should have been a relief, but the words sent shivers down Kit’s spine. “What? … I mean, I’m not complaining but—”

Nathan scoffed and paced up to the large windows that overlooked the green, perfectly maintained garden – or grounds, Kit should say.

“You are so clueless. I don’t know how Oskar finds anything likeable about you.”

“Why?” Kit asked before he had the sense to stop himself. “Jealous, prick?”

In a flash Nathan was in front of Kit again, silver eyes the darkest Kit had seen them, darker than concrete, or gunmetal or slate and Kit jumped back with a primal fear. His legs suddenly under him, pushing him up and his arse on top of the sofa’s back, his back hitting the wall, hands up ready to defend himself. The movement was too quick, too sudden and a wrathful ringing shot from his spine into his skull and Kit cried out, slumping forward.

A hand grabbed his wrist while another grabbed his shirt and pulled him down onto the couch again as Kit made sounds of groaning protest mixed with hisses and gasps. Nathan jerked him forward and slammed him down, so he was forced to lie flat on the sofa again.

Metal eyes swirled with malice that — to Kit’s shock and horror — was the second scariest thing happening to him at that moment. “Fucking lie down, and stay down,” Nathan hissed.

Kit frowned up at the villain, the shrieking pulse attack dying down the less he moved as he stared up in confusion. Nathan didn’t use his abilities to compel him to stay down. He seemed to do everything in his power to show off his abilities, so why not now? The answer was there somewhere, in his mind, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to reach it, it was too far away or obscured by heavy steel wire bristles with the consistency of cotton and the opaqueness of marshland fog. The more he tried to reach for the answer, the harsher the pain flared.

Nathan stepped back once he sent a warning look to Kit, and Kit didn’t really have any fight in him to protest his forced position. Not that he wanted to either. It seemed to be the only thing that didn’t jostle his brain like it was thrown in a washing machine.

Once Kit’s pain subsided, he silently took in the villain by the fireplace. He turned his back to Kit again, refusing to show him any expression that may flitter across his features, but his muscles were wound tightly, his grip on the mantel piece white knuckled as he stared into the flames licking against wood. Kit glanced at the fire itself and groaned as a thin blade of pain stabbed into his eyes and raced into his skull like he was having a migraine.

He lifted the blanket and threw it over his head before he asked from beneath the covers, “where’s Rosey?”

He heard a huff of annoyance, and then a disgruntled: “he’s in work.”

Kit frowned. He knew that obviously Ambrose had to work, and he must have a good job from how big his fucking house is, but it made him seem more… human. Less monstrous. Still, Nathan knew Ambrose, so maybe this was a time for Kit to get some information on his past tormentor…

Wait, past tormentor? Are you forgetting that he forced us to sleep here the last time we saw him?

The thought swirled in his mind like a plug being released from a sink, the water glugging and hypnotic to watch as it rushed down the drain. Ambrose was the reason Kit was here in the first place… well, no, that’s not true either. Kit’s a hero, it’s his job to fight villains and he knows the consequences can sometimes be… uncomfortable. Like daily torture and being held against his will, he knew well enough from Omen, but—

If Ambrose is such a bad person, why does he insist on staying here with a man he clearly dislikes?

Kit groaned as his thoughts sped through his mind, bombarding him with too many questions and no answers. If his thoughts could pick a side whether Ambrose was good or not that would be helpful, but he couldn’t even force himself to think, his brain felt like it was burning over a cold fire and he just wanted to sleep.

“Uh,” Kit began, licking his lips. He winced at the sound of his voice echoing in his skull. God he could really do with some painkillers. “So, what does Ambrose do?”

Nathan scoffed. “You don’t know?”

“Well, we’re not exactly best friends.”

“And yet he’s willing to stay here with a man he ‘clearly dislikes’ for you,” Nathan repeated, his tone hard. Kit sighed. The mind reading shit was getting exhausting. Maybe he should just think instead of speaking from now on since all these bastards can hear his thoughts anyways.

He heard Nathan sigh. Then footsteps approach. He peeled the blanket down and peered over the edge to keep the villain in his sights. But Nathan wasn’t really paying him any attention. Instead, he walked towards the armchair where Rosey sat yesterday and settled into it heavily, smoothing the lines on his forehead with his fingers.

He looked… tired. Not as menacing as before.

“I can still kill you, Kit, don’t push me.”

“If you kill me, then Rosey leaves,” Kit replied softly. Curious silver eyes met his blue and frowned. “And I know you don’t want that.”

Nathan sighed again. “No. You’re right. I don’t.” He raised his chin to inspect Kit, his gaze roaming Kit’s face critically before something changed in his features and he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs and clasping his hands between his knees.

“But you know what? I think we could help each other, you and I.”

“Why would I ever help you?” Kit asked, genuinely baffled. Was this man okay? I mean, obviously not but…

Nathan tilted his head, a smirk on his lips. “Well, you want to know more about Oskar, and so do I. I’ve been out of his life for years, I don’t know what kind of person he has become, and you don’t know what he was like years ago.”

“You mean, you want me to give you information on him so you can manipulate him easier?”

A storm flashed across Nathan’s face like lightning and disappeared just as quickly. Kit’s heart jumped in his chest for the moment it was there, and he hated himself for being so fearful of the giant fuck in front of him.

“Not manipulate,” Nathan hummed, amused now as he leaned back in the armchair. “More like… elucidate me on what kind of things he’s interested in now. I only want what’s best for Oskar.”

“Okay, well I don’t know what elucidate means, dickhead, but if you really wanted what’s best for Ambrose, you’d let him make his own decisions, and not have to hold me hostage to get him to be near—”

Too far.

Kit had gone too far.

In a blink a hand wrapped around his throat and slammed him further down into the couch, until Kit felt the wooden frame beneath the cushion dig into his spine. A burst pulse beat strummed through Kit’s nerves, and he gasped but there was no air as Nathan tightened his fingers around Kit’s neck. Kit grabbed his wrist, clawing at it with his nails but Nathan didn’t seem to care, not even when Kit drew blood.

“Just give me a reason, you child. One fucking reason to keep you alive. I have plenty for why you should die.”

Kit gasped and writhed under the villain, bringing his legs up to kick at him, but Nathan batted them away easily and climbed on top of Kit, continuing to choke him until Kit’s eyes began to roll back.

Rosey… hate you… I die… Kit forced himself to think as his vision blackened around the edges. Fuck. Fuck! He was going to die. Nathan was going to kill him and he’d never be able to tell everyone who the real Supervillain was; he’d never be able to clear Mentor’s name and– Oxygen rushed into him and he gasped, his voice rasping desperate coughs as he sucked in too much air at once, wheezing as he grabbed his throat gently and tried to soothe the bruises that were no doubt starting to form already.

Nathan’s lips turned up in disgust as Kit struggled to catch air in his lungs and regulate it around his body again. “You are nothing,” Nathan hissed, leaning down until his face was inches from Kit’s. Kit tried to turn away but Nathan grabbed his cheeks and turned him back to face the monster above him. “Do you understand? Oskar will get bored of you, like he gets bored of all his toys and throw you away when you seize to be entertaining.”

Kit coughed, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to focus his gaze. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Is that what he did to you?”

The punch wasn’t expected. Instead of going for his head, Nathan slammed his fist down into Kit’s gut, between his ribs and he curled up on instinct, expelling whatever breath he for too short a time with an oomph.

“I can’t hurt you, Kit, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find other ways to make you suffer.”

Kit curled around himself, trying to quiet his thoughts, but he couldn’t help wondering what the hell Nathan thought a punch was if it didn’t fall within the realm of hurt.

Nathan clicked his tongue against his teeth as he looked down at Kit and shook his head before climbing off him. He didn’t get much relief because in the next moment Nathan grabbed Kit by the arm and yanked him off the couch. Unprepared to be dragged and with his legs still caught in the blanket, Kit yelped as Nathan dragged him off the couch, his knees, thankfully, hitting the ground first before Kit could slam headfirst onto the wood.

“You’re fucking pathetic,” Nathan snarled as Kit slammed his free hand out to catch his upper body while Nathan kept a firm grip of his other arm. “Get up.”

“Okay, alright. Just give me – ngh fuck, okay!”

Kit crashed into Nathan’s torso as he yanked the hero up suddenly. Kit put his free hand out to grab Nathan’s shirt and steady himself on his feet. The world spun in colours of deep forest green and dark mahogany floors and the burning, searing heat of the flames coiled within Kit’s stomach, mixing with nausea, threatening to climb his throat and spew its contents if he wasn’t careful.

He screwed his eyes shut as he gripped the giant’s shirt in a white knuckled grip and tried to catch his breath. Something warm dripped over his lips but he was too overwhelmed to realise what as he panted, “please, just give me… gimme a minute, please.”

Nathan didn’t reply, but he didn’t yank Kit again which he was grateful for. “You’re pathetic.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Kit replied, trying to stand upright on his own, but it wasn’t working very well. His legs felt like they were new, and hadn’t been used yet, still trying to adapt to his body. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he saw a pool of blood on the floor below him and he frowned. Blood… what… what the fuck have they done to him? Why was his nose still bleeding? He didn’t…

He lifted his head slowly to look into Nathan’s face. His jaw was clenched, eyes hard, and he looked like he wanted to beat the shit out of Kit, but there was something else too. Something concerning him, but when Kit tried to search for the answer his brain flared like throwing flour onto a fire and Kit cried out.

Something solid went under him, keeping him up and for a moment Kit thought he was back on the couch, but he was still holding Nathan’s shirt, grasping it tightly. Nathan stepped in and grabbed the skin under Kit’s eye and pulled the eyelid down, while pulling the top one up. He frowned and stepped back, dropping contact and turned away, running his hands through his hair and sighed.

“Fucking babysitting… this is not what I had in mind when I agreed to let you stay here,” he seethed, but not to Kit. The solid weight holding Kit up tilted him back slightly, pushing against Kit’s calves until he was sitting on an invisible chair in the air. Distantly Kit realised it was Noble’s power Nathan was using to pick him up, and he wanted to be sick. “The things you do for love, hmm?”

Kit blinked stupidly as Nathan headed for the door and started carrying him along, his hand splayed as he levitated Kit to follow him. Kit groaned as the world passed in his periphery vision, making him queasy. He closed his eyes at the motion, listening to Nathan grumble about he had to look after Kit, as if it was an inconvenience that Kit broke under the strain of the mental torture Nathan and Jude put him under.

And Ambrose.

Kit frowned at the voice in his head. The one that sounded suspiciously like his own. Just angrier. No, no… Rosey was protecting him, he was helping him.

Your nose didn’t bleed until Ambrose commanded you again, right?

A deep furrow formed between Kit’s brows, blaring the pounding of his headache. No, he answered. No, Rosey was trying to protect me from whatever Nathan was going to do.

Yeah, the voice snickered viciously. Keep telling yourself that. God… you’re exactly what he wants you to be, you know that? You’re his perfect little puppet now, so wrapped up in his strings that he’s got you thinking you can still have independent thoughts, draw your own conclusions. That you have a choice; free will.  

“I can,” Kit mumbled, reaching his hand up to his temple. A hiss escaped his mouth at the heat from his temple mixed with the freezing temperature of his hand.

See? Not even any blood in your hand, just empty, hollow wood. Perfect to mould.

“Shut up,” Kit said listlessly, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. Grey eyes appeared in front of him and Kit blinked, trying to focus. Lips moved above him, and someone was speaking but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart and the voice in his head.

But Ambrose already made you into what you are, didn’t he?

“’m not… ‘m me…” Kit protested.

Grey eyes flashed red and Kit jerked back as the world slowly melted away, leaving him face to face with the same eyes that terrified him more and more everyday he saw them.

Kit’s face peered down at him and grinned wolfishly, like he could just devour Kit in a single bite. Kit flinched back but he didn’t get far. The red eyed version of Kit smiled wider as he started circling Kit. Kit’s breathing picked up as he tried to turn and keep the red eyed monster in sight, but he couldn’t move. His body too weak to obey him, to listen to him.

“Look at you,” the other Kit said, his voice distorted as if spoken through an old radio, his voice booming like lightning strikes smashing the ground. “So vulnerable. Your precious Rosey just left you like this, Kit.”

“S-shut up,” Kit managed, trying to get any vantage point but his body wouldn’t respond. Why wasn’t Nathan saying anything? Surely, he could see this other Kit too, right? Unless… unless he was doing this, getting into Kit’s head trying to make him see–

Kit threw his head back and screamed as a searing heat dug right between his eyes. The pain was blinding, scorching any remnant thoughts in his head except the need to get away, to escape the pain.

“Would you look at that…”

Kit grasped his chest as his heart boomed too fast in his chest, his cheeks were wet, but with blood or tears he couldn’t tell. What was going on? He… he…

“I can touch you, isn’t that interesting, Kitty-kat?”

All heat vanished from Kit’s body at the words as those red eyes appeared in front of him again. He didn’t know what to do, how to fight something in his head, but he knew someone who spent far too long inside it and he reached out.

“A-Ambrose,” he whispered desperately. The scorching hand slammed its palm against Kit’s skull, and it seemed to go through it and set off the inferno in his brain.

“Naughty, naughty Kit. You’re not playing fair. This is between me and you,” the other thing purred, but Kit could sense the irritation in its distorted voice. “But fine. I’ll take your Rosey out first if I must, and then I’ll come back for your body, hmm?”

The world seemed to collapse on top of Kit, darkness descended like a shutter on his vision as the world dimmed, but before Kit was swallowed, he heard his mirrored voice speak again; “and I’ll make sure to leave better marks than Ambrose did on your body, trust me.”

Kit went limp, dead weight in Nathan’s hold and he stared, mercury eyes narrowed. Jude panted next to him, hands on his knees. “Did you hear anything?” Jude asked, straightening. “Fuck… I’m too hungover for this kid, Nate.”

“No,” Nathan growled. “All I heard was static.”

“But that’s not… the kid was only able to resist you when you used Ambrose’s power right? He wasn’t immune to mine.”

Nathan pressed two fingers to Kit’s pulse and waited, despite the heat radiating from the boy’s body. A weak rhythm rose to meet Nathan’s fingers, but when he pulled them away two impressions of his fingerprints were left. Two little milky ovals surrounding by angry red skin like Kit was sunburnt.

“What do we do? We can’t heal him.” Jude said, walking around the far side of Kit’s limp form. Nathan ran a hand through his hair and turned away, cursing.

“We call Oskar.”

*****

Continued here

Tag-list [lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer

@rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast

@tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland

“Good. Very good, Atlas. So responsive. So suggestible,” a silvery voice purred behind him.

Kit froze for a split second before his reflexes kicked in. He snapped his fingers on instinct reaching for the electricity in the air. The faint light dimmed as familiar blue lightning sparked to life and Kit screamed as his entire body jerked in the chains. His body seized, winding tight as his own electricity turned on him, the bolts of his making attacking the nerves in his body, weaponised against him. Kit clenched his teeth, his jaw snapping up as his body was forced to endure. The chains holding him up rattled as Kit fell like dead weight on his wrists once the currents ran its course through his body.

A couple aftershocks jerked Kit’s muscles. He gasped as he sucked in a second cry of pain at the strain on his shoulders, trying to alleviate it through haggard breaths.

A cool hand rested on the back of his neck. Kit froze, his muscles in his legs riding out random spasms from the aftershock as Kit forced his legs to stand 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 boots and socks taken off and his trousers rolled up to the knees. Kit sucked in a breath, panic overwhelming him as he lifted his dead shoulder to his cheek to ensure his mask was still on his face. He almost wanted to cry when he realised it was.

“You’re not as bright as I heard you were, Atlas,” 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… 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 Tempest was still at the fairground. And nobody knew where Kit was, least of all himself and fuck!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

“Hey, Atlas. Calm down,” Omen said, his voice so far away. Kit’s head dipped, gasping on air, choking on it, 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. The wool burning in his brain pressed against his skull as if it was trying to explode out his ears, nose and mouth and he couldn’t breathe.

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 cold hands on his cheeks brought Kit back into the present and he gasped. Wide, cyan eyes went to the villain, recoiling as much as his chains would let him which was barely an inch. Omen’s fingers tightened on Kit’s face.

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

Kit gasped, looking into two abyssal eyes, drawn down and down and down into the lightless depths. He wanted to cry as Omen spoke again: “Atlas. Oi, Atlas, Relax.”

Kit’s body obeyed the command. His lungs inflated and forcefully deflated in an even rhythm, forcing Kit to breathe, his muscles unwound from tightness like nuts being loosened from bolts against his will, his mind still screaming at him that this was wrong as his body flooded with the ice coldness that followed Omen’s commands. Kit’s breath didn’t shake, though he felt it should, as he stared at the villain in front of him, another icy sensation flooding his body that Kit knew wasn’t the effects of Omen’s power, but the aftereffects of being in the villain’s presence, fear.

“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 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. At least when he could breathe properly, he was in a better position to resist, to fight Omen’s will and not to take this lying down.

A panic attack, really Kit? At least that wasn’t the first impression he made on the villain, at least Omen saw Kit’s fight and defiance before he saw him have a minor breakdown. It was a small panic attack, he told himself, just a little one. He ignored the voice in his head that told him it would have been bigger if Omen hadn’t intervened. Nope, Kit avoided that thought, jutting his chin up a little in defiance of his own thoughts that betrayed him.  

Omen hummed, a terrible, amused sound that curled Kit’s stomach, tilting his head as he slipped his hands into tailored trouser pockets.

“Hmm, I think you should be nicer to me, Atlas,” Omen said, his 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, that horrible 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 just to do something. He hated this, standing here and being observed like a prized pig to be slaughtered. Every place Omen’s stare roamed left a trail of invisible cockroaches crawling over Kit’s skin. Omen’s eyes flashed at the emotion, flicking lazily up at the chains then back at Kit.

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

Kit yanked at his restraints again, a snarl curling his lip back over his teeth. “A secret from you? You think so high of yourself, don’t you Omen? After your last battle everyone thought you retired, so don’t give me this bullshit of you lying in wait to attack the heroes again.”

Kit surprised himself with how angry and threatening he sounded during his little speech, a well of pride bloomed in his chest. Then Omen stepped forward and Kit flinched. He 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, heroling. Sorry to be the one to tell you.”

Kit’s hands balled into fists above his head as Omen 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 he 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 blood drumming a death knell in his ears as the villain said nothing. He just stared. That penetrating, skin-crawling stare. Kit felt himself drawn to the depths beneath onyx eyes that seemed bright even in the dimness of the room. His gut twisted with dread as he seemed to be locked into the villain’s eyes, wanting desperately to escape, to look away, but his body wouldn’t obey him.

“Here’s the thing, Atlas. I know you’re new on the hero/villain scene so I’m willing to go easy on you,” said Omen casually, finally breaking the thrall of his stare. He shrugged a shoulder as he walked around Kit’s left, past his line of sight. Kit tried to turn, but his body wouldn’t move far enough, no matter how hard he tried. He let out a huff as 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. He 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 Noble. You want me to twist your mind until you can barely see straight.”

Kit tried to yank his head free but hissed as Omen wrenched him back further. His shoulders screaming at him to stop struggling.

“I’m not going to do that, Atlas. 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 the hero swallow under his palm. He tightened his fingers ever so slightly.

Kit loosed a breath, going impossibly still in his chains. Playing dead. Playing possum, hoping Omen wouldn’t kill him. Not like this. Not like this. And as if on cue, Omen’s fingers tightened until Kit’s common sense was replaced with a wave of sudden, blinding fear. Logic left him in a flood of panic, incapacitating as Omen cut off his air.

He couldn’t breathe.

Oh god… he couldn’t breathe.

No! No, he had to remain calm, the villain didn’t want him dead. He was testing him, but… fuck, Kit couldn’t breathe! No, stay calm.

Omen stared down above him drinking in every pathetic struggle. Kit’s arms flailing in 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. Darkness encroached on Kit’s vision as he struggled, a vignette of consciousness threatening to take him blissfully into oblivion of sleep.

 No! He had to stay awake; he had to remain calm… he had to… he had to breathe!

“Listen to those sounds you make, Atlas,” Omen said, his silvery voice the only solid thing Kit could hold 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 exact moment that Kit’s power took over in his panic and his body erupted in crackles of cobalt lightning that coursed through his veins, and he screamed. Every fibre of his being erupted in flames as electricity burned through his nerves, tearing them to shreds and leaving only pain in its wake. His jaw clenched so hard Kit thought his teeth would break from the force; his neck stretched at an awkward angle as he twitched unable to correct it. His muscles riding out the body-locking shocks of his own power, his ability that betrayed his body, his mind going white with static as he spasmed. Black encroached further on his vision as his body seized against his restraints.

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

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

That was until now.

Until Omen used Tempest against him.

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

He should be dead. That’s the first thought that cut through the fog following his currents leaving him limp.

Now, he just hung lifeless in his chains. His feet slipped and so his toes were the only part of him on the floor; his knees bent from exhaustion. His entire 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 the hero.

Kit didn’t 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 wanted to reply. He wanted to tell Omen to fuck off, but his body refused, finally allowing Kit a respite as the darkness around his edges flooded his vision, and he was dragged blissfully into unconsciousness.

***

Continued here

I learned today that ceased and seized are not interchangeable words, don’t worry guys, I love english, mmhm… it’s fine okay?! english is hard

ANYWAYS CONSISTENCY?! ON THIS BLOG?! TWO PARTS IN TWO WEEKS?!?! DO NOT GET USED TO IT, OH MY GOD I AM BEYOND SHOCKED TOO, let’s all enjoy this for what it is and not make any expectations for the future, alright?! Great B) hope you enjoyed it :)

Tag-list {lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts

@whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @theauthorintraining @izzygraney @mis-graves @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dreaming-awayy @mononeigbour @notactuallyluska @stefaniesblogs @lindsay00000008 @xenlust @mj-or-say10

@honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @whump-till-ya-jump @whumplicity @bluzluna

“I didn’t expect Archangel to send his apprentice. Will wonders never cease?” The voice sounded so close to Kit; Omen’s voice normal as if he were chatting over a coffee in a cafe somewhere. He wasn’t shouting to be heard over the wind and the waves. A shudder ran down Kit’s spine.

“I must have scared him off and he sent you as mere entertainment for me, hmm? For sport? Are you truly that expendable, Atlas?”

“You must have me confused with someone else,” Kit called out into the darkness. Attempting to be brave. Surprising even himself when his voice sounded strong, sure, confident. “I don’t usually talk a lot during my assignments.”

“Pity.” Kit’s hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Within a second, he rounded on his heel, leg up and deadly as it whipped through empty air and found nobody. Kit could see his breath reflect on the chilly Autumn night air and pretended it wasn’t a hitch in his breathing, but more a controlled labour. As if he was in control. “I love a good chat before a fight. Really gets the blood pumping. Perhaps we can shake it up for you, hmm? Good to be out of your comfort zone. You’re not even a fully licenced Hero yet, are you Atlas? Rather a little heroling.”

Atlas fought the urge not to snap at the villain at the insults, his fear manifesting as anger as he continued, boot-clad footsteps creaking wood underfoot as he meandered through the maze of kiosks. He was getting closer and closer to the pier and the end of the amusements, coming up on the old arcade.

Come on, Kit scolded himself. Get it together. Don’t let him get to you. Cool head, as Noble would say. “Or we can do this the good ol’ fashioned way and you can face me. Stop hiding in the shadows like a coward. Or are you just that ugly?”

The fairground went quiet after that. A whistle of wind blew through the creaky floorboards under Kit’s boots as he searched the pier, slowly turning in a circle, as waves lapped against rocks beneath the boardwalk, the rusty creak of the cars on the Ferris wheel were the only sounds for a long, unsettling while as he waited. He reached the wooden railings that overlooked the sea and peered over them into the black waters below reflecting moonlight up at him like the edge of a knife.

“I’ll tell you what, Hero,” said Omen, and Kit could hear the smile in his voice as he turned his back to the sea. “Since you want to jump the gun so much and get down to brass tax, I’ll give you a little hint as to where I am.”

Kit’s heart thundered against his chest at Omen’s suggestion. He didn’t want to face Omen at all. Maybe he was a little too convincing. Maybe he sounded a little too brave. No… no, Tempest was here. He had to help her. From her last communication, it sounded like she was hiding somewhere. If he could find her and get out before Omen found either of them then everything would be fine… right? Yeah… like Archangel said: it’s not always about catching the bad guys.

Carnival music started up, followed by lights of every colour that seemed to ignite like flood lights on a football field, one by one. The string lights of the kiosks first, then the lamplights, followed by the trail of twin orange and blue lights on the floor as they ignited in succession leading to the derelict, metal arcade building. The white metal and wood building glowed eerily in the moonlight, the roof white from seagull poop. As the wind carried from the sea through the pier, the metal whistled and creaked along with it.

Kit cursed, he loved this place when he was younger, and seeing it ignited in faded orange and blue lights seemed like an insult to the memory of the arcade’s former glory, as if Omen was mocking the remnant, digging up a corpse and displaying it in some macabre travelling museum of Kit’s past. He swallowed as he steeled himself and forced his legs forward. Tempest could be hiding somewhere inside, and the lights will help Kit find her quickly.

He'll be fine, it will be an in-and-out job, like all the missions he has done before. He will be fine. He will be okay, just like all the last missions.

Though the closer Kit got to the old arcade, the more the state of the building greeted him; most of the old arched windows were broken or smashed, glass littering the boardwalk beneath, a mix of broken bottles and actual glass from the building. Graffiti painted the white exterior the circular domed building, some of it actually added to the ambience, while others were just a few spray-painted tags.

He pushed open the doors with an eerie squeak, the music louder here near the speakers of the fairground. Which meant it would be harder for him to hear Tempest and get out before they encountered Omen… shit. Kit balled his hands into fists and forced himself to step into his old haunt that seemed so strange and foreign now he was older. Omen couldn’t have found a less creepy spot, no? No. That would simply be asking too much. Kit rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck before he stepped through to the turnstiles into the arcade.

When Kit got to the metal turnstiles and placed his hands on either side to hop over, Omen spoke again: “let’s play hide and seek, hmm? I’ll hide; you seek.”

Kit clenched his teeth, set his jaw and vaulted over the turnstiles, stepping into the dark arcade. The cord of orange and blue light permeated the walls and ceiling, like veins, while the rest of the walls were made up of different panels of black. Still a lot of places for Omen to hide, but at least it was less maze-like than the pier. At least here Kit had a chance. Some machines were alive like no time had passed at all, light emanating from their dust sheened screens, while others had no power going to them.

Kit grimaced at the noise filling the arcade along with the music that blasted overhead. He’d never be able to find Tempest like this and if Omen was hiding amongst the arcade games, he was fucked.

Omen and his stupid mind games.

Kit wanted to slap his forehead at not realising sooner how clear he could hear Omen. This whole time he was taunting Kit from his own mind. Poking about and taking up residence like walking into people’s minds and meddling was something completely normal and acceptable. Noble’s face flashed across Kit’s thoughts. Did Noble realise that Omen was a telepath before it was too late, or was he caught on the backfoot. Kit should have realised sooner, Archangel always told him that. He was a good hero, but if he wanted to be great, he needed to be on guard, he needed to know the powers of his fellow heroes and villains alike and plan around them. He frowned and pushed the image of Noble out of his mind. It wouldn’t do to think of him now. Not when there was Omen to worry about.

Telepaths always creeped Kit out anyways.

But he couldn’t think with the noise drowning out the sound of the sea, never mind lowering his chances of hearing Tempest amidst the chaos, or a potential Omen sneak attack. That was another thing… nobody knew Omen’s fight style, so there was no data for Kit to even remember to use to his advantage with the villain.

He stopped beside the Castlevania arcade game and curled his lip back over his teeth. Fuck this. Kit clenched his fists and pulled at the charge in the air. He could feel the currents under his feet and in the wires of the arcade games bend to his will, following his command as he drew the energy towards him. The currents under his feet danced up his feet, tingling like a pleasant shiver up his veins, reinvigorating his body. The lights cut out and flashed, dimming and buzzing as Atlas pulled and pulled at the power; the carnival music shut off first, followed by the sounds of the arcade games, filling the young hero up and up and up until he was bordering on overflowing with power. Only then did he stop. The lights flickered briefly and then settled, although a bit dimmer, and finally Kit could hear himself think. Crackles of blue lightning cloaked Kit’s fist and made him feel a little better about his inevitable, encroaching encounter with Omen.

Kit barely adjusted to the power flowing through his veins before a scream rang through the arcade. Atlas took off running the instant he heard it, heading towards the sound, his gut twisting in knots at the thought of what Omen may be doing to Tempest. Noble’s face flashed across his mind again, unhelpfully, and the fire villain’s words almost choked him. He wouldn’t let Tempest suffer the same way Noble had. He needed to find her and quickly or… Kit slowed to a walk as the screaming faded.

What if Omen was making this in his head?

What if there was actually no one?

What if this was a trap?

What if, what if, what if— what if wasn’t good enough. Not good enough to warrant Kit to not, at least, try help. If there was a possibility Omen was hurting Tempest Kit had to save her. He took an oath to protect people. To protect the innocents in the city. Even if the thought of facing Omen made him want to get sick. And this wasn’t any innocent, it was Tempest; one of his friends and allies when he joined the Hero Commission. She was a year ahead of him in the academy, but Kit took extra classes above his year, training with older trainees because how quickly he adapted, and because Noble saw his potential and wanted him to be able to take on anyone.

Any threat, any villain, any hero… including Omen.

Noble trained Kit to be able to take Omen down.

Another scream and Kit turned to the left and took off, running through the employee’s only door. A series of offices were on the right side of the hallway and Kit looked in each window as he ran past.

“TEMPEST?! Where are you?!” he called, throwing caution to the wind. Omen knew he was here anyways; there would be no point in going for a stealth approach.

“Atlas?! Atlas? Is that you? NO! Atlas, Run! Get help! Don’t—” Kit could feel the blood drain from his face at her voice. She sounded terrified, but that just meant Kit had to push himself faster. He fuelled the excess power to his legs as he shot forwards, heading in the direction of her voice.

Fuck!

Kit didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home and hide under the covers and cry and not deal with Omen. But he was a hero, he signed up for this… he had to do this, to face the faceless monster who plagued his nightmares for the last year.

When he got to the end of the hallway, he saw a pair of double doors that opened out to the pier again. He swallowed hard, pushing against the handles of the glass door, and walked out onto the boardwalk. The wind whipped at his hair as he did, strands blowing across his eyes and mask as he glared at Omen, eyes drifting to Tempest who was kneeling in front of, and to the right of, Omen, a gun held to her temple.

She shook her head, blonde hair flying in the breeze, trembling as she took Atlas in. “No, Atlas, what’re you–” her blue eyes burned as she stared at him, her face contorted between relief and knowing distress. “I told you to stay away.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave you,” he said, hoping he injected enough sincerity into his voice that she could hear it over his voice changer. He turned his attention to the villain then who stood casually behind Tempest. His appearance alone would strike fear into the hearts of lions.

His face was pale, alabaster skin glowing in the moonlight and the darkness of the pier which contrasted the darkness to the rest of his features. He had neatly cropped raven hair that fell around his face in tempered wavy strands. Eyes so dark they looked almost black, and his lips a pale red, more naturally pigmented than anyone Kit knew.

Omen smiled when he set those horrible dark eyes on Kit, sending shivers down his spine. “Hello Atlas. You found me.”

God, his voice was so much worse up close.

Before it was normal, neutral, but in reality, his voice had depth to it. A mocking lilt and a knowingness that made Kit feel exposed. Too exposed. Of course he was feeling exposed, the fucking villain could read every one of his thoughts. Kit focused some energy on keeping his mind as blank as possible.

“Yeah,” said Kit, swallowing hard, the blue sparks cackling up his arms. He was thankful for his mask which at least obscured his face from the monster. “I found you. So, I win hide and seek, right? How about you let Tempest go as a prize?”

Omen tilted his head to the side, a smile growing on his lips as he considered the hero’s offer. But it was Tempest who answered first, jerking one leg up so she was on one knee about to push up: “no! Atlas, you can’t! You’re not even–” she cut herself off with a grunt of pain as the villain whipped his revolver across her head.

Kit jerked forward, but the instant he did, Omen had the pistol aimed at her head again and his black eyes flashed at Kit, daring him to step closer. Kit stared, helplessness buzzing through his veins along with his overcharged power, longing to be released. Atlas kept his feet rooted to the spot, not daring to get Tempest hurt with his recklessness.

“No,” Omen admonished with his silvery voice, sick amusement dancing across his features. “How about a trade, hmm? You for her.”

“Atlas don’t—” Tempest let out a shrill scream without Omen even lifting a finger. Kit started forward again, but Omen pressed the gun harder to the screaming water hero’s head, raising dark eyebrows in warning.  

As if saying: do you really wanna do that?

Kit held his hands up in surrender before he thought about the consequences and said: “Okay fine. Fine! Let her go!”

Omen didn’t move for a moment. Tempest continued screaming and crying, and Kit fought the urge to step in to help. If he moved quick enough, he could get Omen with a bolt, and he’d drop the gun at least… but then he’d have to deal with Omen’s rage and his power.

And Kit knew he wasn’t brave enough to do that either... but, no– he had to, or what kind of hero would he be? He shivered as Noble’s disappointment flashed across his face and Kit swallowed his fear. But before he could do anything, the villain moved first.

Omen straightened his head and drew the hammer of the gun back with a click. Tempest stopped screaming and fell limp to the boardwalk. Kit moved instantly towards her, but Omen stopped him with a light: “ah-ah, Atlas. Trade, remember? You for her. Leave her.”

Kit couldn’t fight his frustrated huff. “At least let me—”

“No,” Omen’s tone was so final it caused Kit to pause. His heart pounded heavily against his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he turned his head to face Omen, eyes pleading. He might as well have been trying to talk to a brick wall. “Come along, Atlas.”

“I’m alright here,” said Kit voice shaky, standing protectively between Tempest and Omen. He had to do something, and surely Archangel had finished with the Arson villain and his accomplice and was on the way right? Any moment now he would hear the beat of wings and Archangel would come and save the day, right? And they could all laugh about it later, if Kit could just stall long enough… Omen turned, dark eyes finding Kit’s all humour draining from his face.

Omen let out a dark, humourless chuckle. “Cute that you think I can’t touch Tempest with you like that. You want to test it?”

Kit didn’t move. He swallowed hard, planting his feet on the boardwalk. Omen’s eyes narrowed as familiar cackling swelled around Kit’s fists, up his arms to his shoulders and engulfed his body. His light brown hair standing up on his head.

Omen grinned a hollow, wolfish smile. His lips turning up but his eyes still that intense, black emptiness… Kit’s hands grew clammy as Omen turned to face him. He stood casual, one hand in his black overcoat while the other held the gun at his side.

“Alright little Hero. Give it your best shot.”

Kit didn’t need to be told twice. He threw both his hands forward, palms facing Omen as blue electricity gathered in his palms and shot towards Omen. The arc travelling at the speed of light before—

Kit screamed, his body spasming as he dropped to his knees, drenched in sea water. Kit put his hands out to catch himself before he faceplanted, coughing out a gasp of air.

His mind moving like sludge.

How… how did…?

The answer was the cerulean boot of Tempest stepping in front of Kit. Fuck. Tempest could control water. Fuck fuck fuck. If she was under Omen’s control…

“Tempest…” Kit tried and immediately another blast of water hit Kit harder than a canon. He was thrown back a few feet onto his back and gasped as the wind was ripped from his lungs. This time Kit saw the tunnel of water swirling above him before it blasted down at him.

He rolled to the side, springing to his feet, glaring at Omen who grinned behind Tempest. Using her as a fucking puppet. Kit couldn’t use his powers, not unless he wanted to fall unconscious within a few seconds. Fuck. How did Omen even know?! Apart from almost hitting the villain with a bolt two seconds ago, but that was two seconds of reaction. Kit had barely debuted to society. He couldn’t know what Kit’s powers were already… could he?

“Alright there, Sparky? Or do you want to try and hit me again?”

“You fucking—” a rope of water coiled around Kit’s throat and yanked him towards Tempest. Kit was on his knees as another tonne of water hit Kit from above and drowned him in it. Kit could barely breathe, let alone think how he used to best Tempest in training as his brain struggled for oxygen. Omen walked up next to Tempest smiling down at Kit.

“What was that, Sparkles? I couldn’t hear you.”

Omen didn’t wait for answer. He turned to touch Tempest’s temple and Tempest crumbled to the ground. A puppet with her strings cut. Kit reached out, a hand on Tempest’s pulse and he sighed, sitting back on his heels.

Alive.

Just unconscious.

The relief was short lived, replaced by a vivid fear gripping him in it’s cold vice as a thin, lithe finger came under Kit’s chin and tilted his head up to look into those void-like eyes. Kit felt the hairs on his body stand up as a chill tan through him like ice spreading through his veins, seizing his limbs, rendering them motionless. Useless.

Not his limbs.

Not his limbs, his mind cried as his feet pushed him to a standing position.

His legs pushed against gravity without Kit’s say so. His heart cracking against his ribs was threatening to break them it was pounding so hard. Kit licked his dry lips, the taste of sea salt coating his tongue.

His body moved by another’s command. Kit tried to battle Omen’s easy control, but he didn’t know what to look for to fight him off. Panic was the only thing Kit had control over in his brain and it wasn’t exactly helping.

Omen’s too-red lips spread slow, creeping across his face into a horrific, charming smile. His black eyes betraying his inhumanity.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, Sparks. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of those who go against me, yes?”

Kit swallowed but didn’t answer. He didn’t want to look at Omen, but he couldn’t turn his head away. He couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot because that’s exactly where Omen wanted him. Noble’s face flashed again through Kit’s mind, turning his stomach. Is this what he felt? This hideous helplessness?

“Oh yes,” said Omen, tone reminiscent, a hint of mockery coating the back of his throat. “Old Noble went mad trying to stop me, poor dear.”

“You drove him crazy! You weaponised his own mind against him,” Kit snapped, hatred colouring his tone. Omen smirked.

“I was going to do the same to you,” said Omen, his voice flowing through Kit’s ears like liquid silver. Kit couldn’t help the spike of fear that gripped him. He would have flinched if Omen wasn’t keeping his limbs rigid. “It’s a favourite of my many gifts. Not at all fit for combat like lightning or water, but I can break you without breaking a sweat. Even before I took your body you couldn’t lift a finger against me.”

Kit scoffed, his lips curling back into a snarl. “Think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’m not an idiot,” said Omen. “But you think even higher of me, Atlas. Noble’s fear was easy. Powerlessness. Inhibit his control of his power in his brain like a little switch and let his fear do the rest. But you?”

Omen stepped closer and Kit wanted so much to step back but Omen didn’t allow it, and Kit’s limbs didn’t move despite his brain screaming: danger, danger! DANGER!

“Your biggest fear is me,” said Omen, his voice taking on a revered quality to it. Omen moved his hand down from Kit’s chin to his throat. Kit flinched this time and tried to take a step back, but his legs just trembled with his lack of movement, body fighting brain, his throat bobbing under Omen’s grip. Omen let out a soft laugh of surprise, his black eyes going back to Kit’s as he tightened the grip on Kit’s neck. “It’s intoxicating.”

“Archangel will send reinforcements,” Kit tried, his voice cracking, betraying his own disbelief. “He’s on his way right now. He’ll know—”

“Let Archangel come,” said Omen dismissively. “We’ll leave Tempest here for him to find.”

Kit’s heart skipped a beat. “W- we will?”

Omen laughed again, dark eyes drinking in Kit’s fear. “Oh yes, Atlas. I could grow used to getting drunk off your fear, there’s no way I’m letting that go. You’ll have to come with me.”

Kit felt tears building behind his eyes as Omen spoke. Omen grinned as he raised a crooked index finger up to catch a tear as it fell onto Omen’s knuckle.

His dark eyes drew Kit’s in as Kit tried to fight off Omen’s command of his body. “No... no. Please no,” he begged, his body shaking violently under Omen’s compulsion as he tried with everything in him to fight him. He sent electric currents down to his legs, trying to push himself free. He managed to take a terrified and laborious step back, his breathing doubling like he had just climbed Everest. Omen’s eyes widened a little before the cold grip of his power fell like tar over Kit’s limbs again, locking them down permanently.

“Yes, Atlas. Absolutely yes. Don’t worry. There's nothing you can do about it anyways," Omen said, tapping Kit's temple. "Not while I have this wrapped around my finger. And of course it will be terrifying for you, so feel free to cry more, heroling."

Kit clenched his jaw tight, wishing he could slap the villain away from him but he couldn't help the dread that settled in his stomach like an anchor. "You’re going to forget the road trip there however, you understand, I can’t have you telling tales.”

“Omen please—” Kit cried, and it was the last thing he remembered before Omen shut his memory down and blackness descended on his mind.

*****

Continued Here

OH BABY WE'RE SO BACK, THE BOYS ARE SO BACK

Tag-list {lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts

@whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @theauthorintraining @izzygraney @mis-graves @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dreaming-awayy @mononeigbour @notactuallyluska @stefaniesblogs @lindsay00000008 @xenlust @mj-or-say10

@honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @whump-till-ya-jump @whumplicity @bluzluna

Kit passed out again before he could wonder why that voice was, at once, so familiar and yet something was wrong with it. Something off. He couldn’t remember why or what as the darkness claimed him again.

The next time he woke up he was more alert. He didn’t wake up coughing, he woke easily and without fuss. He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling for a while, his mind moving too slowly to comprehend that he could be in danger. He had a bad headache, a dull aching throb, one that pulsed spikes of pain down his temple and into his cheeks with every beat of his heart.

His breath felt so loud in the silence of the room.

He couldn’t remember what was happening, where he was, but he was floating along, as if he were in a lazy river, just enjoying the flow of the water around him instead of focusing on why he was in the water in the first place.

A door opened in a far off place, indiscernible to him as he stared up at the arched ceiling of stone, tracing the wooden rafter beams that supported such a heavy roof with his eyes.

Then.

Black eyes.

Black concerned eyes, blinking fervidly down at him, and speaking but Kit couldn’t really make out the sounds at first.

Then, Kit?

And Kit grunted in pain. Don’t, he thought, but even that sent spikes of pain down his face and through his skull. Hurts.

“Kit?” Ambrose tried again. Kit moaned. What did Ambrose do to him this time? Everything hurt but was also, somehow, numb? Did he overuse his charm speak on Kit again? No… this feeling was similar but different somehow. “Thank god you’re conscious.”

Kit blinked tiredly up at the black eyes, studying Ambrose’s marble like skin. The shadows of his cheeks and eye sockets, his lips that were slightly crooked to the left, not centred properly. Something imperfect on his face. He never noticed these details about Ambrose before. He felt he should remember them, like they might be something he could use against Ambrose later, but the thought melted into the swirl of the lazy river in his mind and bobbed along out of reach of Kit’s grip.

Kit blinked and his eyes shuttered closed, watching black eyes grow wide with worry before the darkness took hold of him again.

The next time he woke, he lurched straight up, gasping as his entire body burned and he screamed and writhed, twisting away from the hand clamped down tightly on his chest.

In the distance he could hear Ambrose say: “Kit! Kit! It’s okay! It’s okay! You’re fine, you’re safe!”

Kit thrashed in the bed, trying to dislodge the source of the unnatural heat and then as suddenly as it began, the burning stopped and Kit gasped, falling back against the mattress, bleary eyes only seeing the grey stones and brown wood of the ceiling.

A hand pinched his cheeks and turned his head to face two slithering, silver eyes like gleaming molten metal, swirling like mercury. Kit recoiled away, trying to dislodge the hand from his face. He pulled his hands, trying to get them to get this guy’s hand off of him, but he heard two clicks of metal.

As if he had just been slammed down from space into his body, Kit went cold as he realised that he was cuffed to a bed, his hands above his head. Memories flashed back to him, snippets of the last thing he was conscious for and Kit remembered Ambrose and he remembered those silver eyes and his stomach churned.

“Ah, look at that. You do remember.”

Kit didn’t answer but he didn’t dare move his eyes from Supervillain’s face. His maskless face. Ambrose had come in with him, Kit couldn’t remember his name, but he remembered the helpless fear he had around him and—

“Where’s Sawyer and Tides?” Kit asked, his voice hollow even to his own ears. Why did he ask that? What if they were dead? What if Kit was next? Was this Ambrose’s plan all along? To kill him?

Black eyes appeared over Nathan, who was sitting in a chair next to Kit’s bed. “They’re safe, Kit.”

“Where are they?” Ambrose opened his mouth to reply, but Supervillain hummed, his silver eyes forming half moons, gleaming, and Ambrose shut his mouth again. Kit looked at Ambrose. “You— you, Ambrose, let us out, please. Let us go. Tides and Sawyer didn’t do anything!”

“I’m afraid Oskar doesn’t get to decide whether you’re freed or not, Kit.” Silver eyes said. Kit glared at him. “Was it you who smashed all my windows?”

“Yeah, and I’ll do the same to your face if you don’t—” Kit cut himself off screaming, a sudden burning in his chest until he heard Ambrose say Nathan, enough and the pain stopped and Kit fell back against the bed.

Silver eyed Nathan smirked down at Kit. “The youth of today, huh? Breaks a man’s windows and has the gall to threaten him in his own house.”

“You’re a piece of shit!” Kit hissed, scrambling back on the bed, rotating his arms so he could sit up and keep his arms awkwardly cuffed, his right arm stretched over waist but at least he was sitting up, facing the two bastards. At least he could kick at Nathan if he tried anything.

What a stupid name. What kind of Supervillain is called Nathan? Why isn’t he called something better? Grander? And why was Ambrose staring at him like he was trying to tell him something?

Shut up, Kit thought loud enough for Ambrose to hear. I’m mad at you too.

How interesting.

Kit’s wide eyes snapped to Nathan, his heart pounding against his chest. Then his gaze shot back to Ambrose, questioningly.

“What… how does he have your power?”

Nathan answered, leaning forward and grabbing Kit’s wrist. Kit was about to pull back when a burst of blinding white shot behind his eyes and he gasped.

Just as quickly as it began, when Nathan lifted his hand the strange wash of sensation left him and he was left a little drained.

“Bitch…” Kit muttered, suddenly breathless.

Nathan smirked, lifting his fingers in front of his face, humming as he rubbed the pads of his thumb and forefinger together almost thoughtfully. A spark of blue and Kit flinched back.

His eyes went to Ambrose’s black as he scrambled back away from Nathan, fear gripping him in the same way it would a gazelle at seeing a lion crouching in the grass.

“Kit, it’s okay—” Ambrose began but Kit cut him off, his voice wavering in pitch, in strength, in breath.

“No it’s fucking not! What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t— don’t fucking touch me!”

“Kit,” Ambrose said again, but Nathan was staring at him with his cold, dead eyes and Kit just wanted to flee. Kit’s desperate eyes turned back to Ambrose, his chest heaving but getting no oxygen into his ribs, into his lungs because Nathan was—

“Please,” he whispered, tears coming to his eyes as he stared into black. “Please, Ambrose. Help me. Please. Let me go, please, I can’t—”

He couldn’t explain the raw, primal fear that was coursing through, racking his body with cold shivers as the cuffs jangled off the headboard violently.

“P-please,” Kit whimpered. Ambrose swallowed, his eyes darting between Kit and Nathan and he did the one thing he knew would stop Nathan. He stepped in front of him, blocking Nathan’s sight of Kit and before Nathan could berate him for it, he wrapped his hands around his neck and straddled Nate.

Nathan smirked up at Ambrose, silver irises swirling darker with interest as Ambrose leaned down and kissed him to stop him from saying something.

Kit stared, jaw dropped as he heard the wet sounds of kissing coming from his two tormentors. Jesus, fucking—

Don’t say a word, Ambrose warned, low and quiet. Let me handle this. Don’t even think anything back because he’ll hear you.

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away, closing his eyes to the sight and tried to calm his fucking nerves that spiked hard around Nathan’s exposure of his power. He must be able to absorb other people’s powers which would explain why he had Mentor’s… and Ambrose’s and now, Kit’s.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Shit! He really needed to get out of here, or else Nathan would fucking kill him and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop him. What if he— what if he made Kit do things, like Ambrose did in the beginning. Kit glanced down at his arms and prayed.

Nathan pulled his head back, breaking the kiss. He smiled up at Ambrose. “You’re so transparent, Oskar,” he hummed fondly.

“You like it.”

“I do.”

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t—

“Fine. We’ll leave him be. For now.”

Ambrose hesitated. “Can I—”

“No,” Nathan interjected with a smile and leaned up to kiss Ambrose again. Short, possessive, and then he lightly pushed Ambrose off him. Kit swallowed, watching the exchange with wary eyes darting between the pair.

Nathan walked closer to him and Kit shrunk back, his heart thumping against his chest as Nathan leaned down and grabbed Kit’s chin, pinching it between his thumb and index finger and tilted his head up to look into the emotionless silver eyes.

“Kit,” he said, and Kit could feel the coldness of Ambrose’s power in his voice. He tried to wrench his head back, but Nathan’s grip was too strong. “If Oskar tries to speak to you, I want you to scream pineapple at the top for your voice and I don’t want you to stop until you see me. That includes if he tries to speak through your minds, do you understand?”

Kit felt the command take root in his body, wiring his nerves and muscles to Nathan’s order. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Kit ground out through clenched teeth.

“Good,” Nathan said, patting his cheek before pulling away. He walked towards the door of the room. “Come on, Oskar. We have other matters to attend to.”

Ambrose took one last look at Kit, an apology and a stiffness winding him tightly, but he didn’t dare speak to Kit. Kit jerked forward when Ambrose turned away. “Wait!”

Ambrose stopped. Nathan let out a huff of a sigh at the door, glancing at Kit as if he were a fly that was buzzing around his food.

“Please, just… tell me where Sawyer and Tides are, please.” He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so broken. Ambrose looked at Nate, and Nate looked at Oskar. Silver eyes rolled to the ceiling and back again before he turned his body to Kit.

“I wiped their memories and sent them home packing. They’re safe, save some minor injuries, and well, Sawyer’s face,” Nathan said with a laugh. Kit glared, but it didn’t do anything to stifle Nathan’s cruelty. “But they don’t know you’re here, so don’t think you have a rescue party coming, Kit. They don’t even remember meeting Supervillain.”

He would have preferred if Nathan had just ripped his heart out and stomped on it rather than tell him that. He just wanted to know they were safe, and they were safe and Kit… Kit was probably going to die here and that was— he flinched when a hot tear splashed down on his cheeks.

Nathan smiled. “Come on, Oskar. Or I’ll have some fun with Kit while you watch.”

Ambrose’s little finger twitched, his body tight as he turned and followed Nathan out the door. His black eyes said I’m sorry, but Kit didn’t want an apology. Especially from someone who seemed to be just as much a prisoner here as Kit.

What was— how did Ambrose know Nathan? Not just know him but kiss him in the most un-Ambrose display of affection Kit has ever seen? And he was just going along with whatever Supervillain was saying?! Ambrose didn’t— there has to be something that Nathan was holding over him, something he cared about that Supervillain was threatening.

If Kit could talk to him one on one maybe he could find out what, and try and help him and they could get out of here together? Kit adjusted himself on the bed, not bothering to try and break free from the cuffs. He needed to sleep, he needed to keep his energy for later. Right now, right now he just needed to sleep. He settled himself and closed his eyes, getting into as comfortable position as possible. Sleep came like a warm blanket, comforting and warm.

He didn’t stir when the bed dipped around him. He barely realised there was a pressure on his chest until a large hand wad covering his mouth to silence his screams of panic. Kit’s eyes shot open, bleary from sleep to see wild green staring down at him. He shook, remembering those eyes from the basement with Supervillain, the one he knocked out to get Tides and Sawyer free.

Jude. Oh fuck. He forgot about him. Shit!

“Oh, so you remember me, you little shit?”

A black burn split Jude’s face like a tattoo, from his left temple down across his nose, splintering out down over his lip, his jaw and disappeared under the collar of his jumper.

Did… Did Kit do that?

Jude leaned in, sneering. “Supervillain got rid of your friends so you’re the only plaything I have left.”

Kit bucked against Jude, screaming against Jude’s hand, but his thumb was locked under Kit’s jaw, preventing him from getting any real volume into it. Jude laughed as Kit squirmed, another hand going to his throat. Kit bucked and yanked his hands down, trying to stop Jude before he knocked him unconscious.

“MMPH!” Kit cried, jerking his head left and right, trying to dislodge the psycho from him.

“Don’t worry, Kit. Supervillain said I can’t kill you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, hmm?”

Kit’s struggles lessened, his throat burning as he screamed and Jude squeezed, as if he was swallowing glass.

Ambrose! PLEASE! AMBROSE?!

Kit?

Kit’s mouth tried to force pineapple out of his lips but Jude’s grip was so tight it was shadowing his vision, his eyes growing heavy. Kit yanked at his cuffs one last time before the fight died in him and he went limp his world going dark.

And he sprung up gasping, screaming pineapple as loud as he could between coughs, and there was a flurry of movement and fists flying and then Nathan and Kit sat back, coughing, shuddering, gasping in air.

“Enough!” Nathan said, his voice low, but it still cut through Kit’s gasps and struggles, and even he quieted as much as he could. He grabbed Ambrose’s shoulders and dragged him off Jude, standing between them, silver eyes stern as he stared Ambrose down. “I said enough, Oskar.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” Ambrose spat, glaring up at Nathan. Nathan looked over his shoulder at Kit before looking back at Ambrose.

“You’re right. I said I wouldn’t hurt him. That was before I knew he did that to Jude’s face!”

“And what about what you did to Sawyer’s face!” Kit yelled. Nathan straightened, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tipped his head back and sighed theatrically.

“I forgot by agreeing to your terms I’d have to babysit an infant,” Nathan grumbled. Kit balked at the insult, about to retort when he paused, the rest of his words sinking in and he looked at Ambrose.

Ambrose’s expression was tight on his face. His hair uncharacteristically messy, he wasn’t even wearing business casual or any semblance of clothing that could be considered a suit. He was wearing an oversized crew neck and a pair of joggers and Kit blinked at him, barely recognising the man in front of him as Ambrose.

As Omen? He was even further from that, but… he looked like a man, and Kit knew he was more than that.

“What’re you talking about?” Kit demanded, yanking at the cuffs. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

Nathan turned his cold, metal eyes on Kit, but this time Kit didn’t wither. He refused. He didn’t understand what was going on right now, but he knew something was wrong! Very wrong.

“You could always let him go,” Ambrose said, his voice soft, gentle, tentative, his hand reaching for Nathan’s wrist. Nathan shook his head. “I’ll stay. You can wipe his memory—”

“No, I can’t, Osk. You ensured that.”

“What’re you talking about?” Ambrose asked. Kit could tell he was fighting to keep the exasperation from his voice as he spoke.

Nathan gestured at Jude. “We compelled them, the three of them that they couldn’t use their powers. The other two were docile, and powerless, you know, like good little obedient puppies.”

“And the moment I released him,” Jude said, glaring at Kit. “He could use his lightning again.”

“Yeah? Well maybe if you weren’t such a sadistic fuc—” Kit’s head slammed back against the wall and he cried out from the pain that blossomed from the blow.

“Nate!” Ambrose gasped, black eyes on Kit’s, and he stepped forward, but Nathan put his hand out keeping Ambrose back behind. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“I said I wouldn’t kill him, Oskar. Maybe you should listen better, but right now, Jude has to get in line because I want to kill the fucking child.”

“Call me a child again, see—”

“KIT!” Ambrose boomed and Kit blinked, startled, staring at Ambrose with wide eyes like a puppy that was caught disobeying it’s master.

“Pineap—” Kit began but when he looked at Nathan the urge died in his throat. Nathan waved him away and said: “you don’t have to do that anymore.” And the command washed over Kit.

Kit looked at Ambrose with his wide, kicked puppy eyes. Questioning.

Nathan turned to Ambrose and said quietly: “you calm him down, or else I’ll let Jude do what he wants and make you watch.” Nathan looked at Kit. “This doesn’t mean you get away with hurting Jude. You’ll still be punished.”

“Oh bite me, arsehole!”

Ambrose jumped between Nathan and Jude, and Kit, spreading his arms wide. “I’ll talk to him! Okay? I’ll talk to him. Please.”

Nathan smiled, his hand going to Ambrose’s cheek. He leaned down and kissed Ambrose. Kit and Jude both looking away in disgust.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he said, kissing Ambrose again before he followed Jude out the door. Ambrose didn’t lower his arms until they heard footsteps on the stairs. Only then did his shoulders droop. He walked over and closed the door before sighing, resting his forehead against it.

Before Kit could demand answers, Ambrose’s shoulders shook, palms flat against the door. “I’m sorry, Kit,” he said, and Kit couldn’t do anything except gawk and stare, mouth open. Ambrose…

Ambrose was crying?

Oh shit. What did he say? Should he say something?

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, and the sound pulled at something in Kit’s gut.

“Hey, Ambrose… it’s—” the words died on his throat when Ambrose turned to face him and yep, he was crying. Tears streaming down his statue like cheeks, like crystal droplets that hung like icicles from his jaw.

“It’s not okay. None of this is okay. This is all my fault and you’re involved because of me.”

“No, I’m involved cause I’m a hero—”

“He let Sawyer and Tides go. He was telling the truth,” Ambrose said coming over to the bed and half falling into it. “He’s keeping you here to make sure I listen to him.”

Kit laughed nervously. Ambrose raised his black eyes, that looked a softer brown when he cried, and frowned. “Did you tell him you don’t give a shit about me? That you were torturing me to begin with? You could probably bond over that.”

Despite himself, Ambrose laughed. He sniffed, wiping his cheeks. “He’d probably bond too much over it, and it would become a couples activity.”

“Oh,” Kit said. “Maybe not then.”

“No,” and a silence fell over them. Kit stared at Ambrose as the man tried to compose himself. He looked so… normal. So regular. Kit wouldn’t remember him if Ambrose walked by him on the street like this.

Kit swallowed. “What did he do to you?”

Ambrose let out a humourless chuckle, running his hands through his midnight hair. He shrugged, eyes red rimmed and puffy. “What he’s always done.”

Kit didn’t know how to reply to that, but he didn’t have to because Ambrose continued, “we met in college. He was… he, well, I thought at the time that his ability was magic negation because he wasn’t affected by my friend’s fire, and I couldn’t command him to do anything or read his thoughts. It was so… he was so…” Ambrose said, gesturing, reaching for the word evading him.

“Magnetic.” He settled on eventually, his voice taking on a wistful quality to it. “I didn’t know what he was thinking. I couldn’t be repulsed or bored of his thoughts because I didn’t know… and it’s like, well, it sounds ridiculous but I felt normal around him.”

Kit scoffed, resting his head back against the wall. “You’re so humble, Rosey,” Kit said, sarcasm dripping from every word. Ambrose laughed, more tears jerking down his face.

“Yeah… I kind of got addicted to him, trying to figure out what he thought of me, and what he thought of everything full stop. My friend tried to tell me I was obsessed with him, but it didn’t feel like that. He— I—”

“Loved him?” Kit supplied. Ambrose’s head hung, lifeless.

“Yes.” He said. “I loved him.” He turned his body to face Kit, putting his sock-clad feet up on the bed. His expression earnest. “But I didn’t know anything about this, Kit. I didn’t know any of it, I swear to you—”

“I believe you.”

“This was as much of a shock to me as it—” Ambrose paused, tilting his head. “You believe me?”

“Yeah,” Kit said with a shrug. “You haven’t really lied to me before. So I believe you. It’s just—” Kit could see Ambrose brace himself for the but, “you look so unlike yourself. Like you’re not even Ambrose right now, but someone else. Is he forcing you to do this?” Kit asked, gesturing to Ambrose’s clothes and hair.

Ambrose swallowed his pride and looked away. “Yes,” he replied hollowly. “He wants me to be the same lost puppy who was following him around when we were together. He wants me to be… Oskar.”

A weighted silence fell over them after the confession. Ambrose had never told Kit his name, Kit learned from Mentor what his name was, but to hear him say it with such contempt, Kit finally knew why he abandoned it. It was because of Mentor, because of Nathan, he abandoned Oskar long ago, and Ambrose replaced him.

Kit didn’t know this other side of Ambrose. The side that Nathan knew, and he didn’t want to, he realised. Ambrose seemed a bit more human like this, flawed, lost, out of control. He didn’t want to know that part of Ambrose. A sudden, sharp anger jolted in him.

“You can’t just be Oskar, you’re not him anymore. If Nathan really loved you, he’d understand that.”

“Kit—”

“No, I am not letting you do that. Not for me, Heroes sacrifice themselves for others, not villains, Ambrose. You’re a villain!”

“I can’t compel him,” Ambrose said, dejected.

“Just let me out of these and I can electrocute the bastard and finish Jude off too.”

Ambrose shook his head. “You can’t.”

“I can—”

“No, he absorbs your ability, Kit. All of your ability. Which means he absorbed your resistances too.”

Kit stared. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh shit.”

Ambrose sighed. “Yeah.”

“But…” Kit began, leaning forward until the cuffs pulled him taut. “You were inventive with me. You still hurt me! With my own electricity, despite the resistances I had to it. We can do that with him too!”

“We still have to deal with Jude.”

Kit’s expression darkened. “Let me deal with Jude.”

“You don’t understand,” Ambrose said, shaking his head and getting to his feet. He began pacing up and down the small room. Kit yanked against his cuffs, longing to stretch his legs too. “They can hurt you, Kit. They can— they could—”

“What do you care?” Kit asked, bewildered. “You’ve hurt me!”

“I know, but—”

“No, no, no. No buts, ands or ifs, Rosey, you hurt me. You psychologically destroyed me for months!” Kit said, blinking at Ambrose owlishly. “You expect me to believe you actually care about me now?”

Ambrose stiffened, turning on his heels and walked over to Kit, grabbing him by the wrists. His black eyes met Kit’s wide blue. “Yes. I do. And I care what happens to you. And Jude and Nathan? Nate will only hold Jude back for as long as I play this role of his puppy ex-boyfriend. Do you understand? If you weren’t here I would be gone, but he has you. And as long as he has you, he has me.”

Kit swallowed, his eyes flicking between Ambrose’s, his mouth suddenly dry. “I know him, and I am not leaving here without you. Do you understand me?”

Kit nodded stiffly. Ambrose nodded and let go of Kit’s arms, standing straight again. “I will try to get you out of here, Kit, but we have to play it smart, okay?”

Kit nodded again. Ambrose nodded again. He fixed his hair, making it more fluffy and unruly. Kit never noticed it was wavy because he just slicked it back all the time. It softened his edges. Kit didn’t like it.

“Okay. Just— don’t provoke them, okay? I’ll work something out.”

“Okay.”

Ambrose took a deep breath. “Right. Good. Stay put.”

“Dick,” Kit said. It slipped out before he could help it and he froze, but Ambrose looked over his shoulder at Kit and laughed. A warm laugh, shaking his head.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Very unedited but c’est la vie!!

Shit.

Kit walked out of the room, and opened a few doors before he found a bathroom. Ignoring the luxury of the room, Kit froze in the doorway. A mirror hung above the sink and reflected Kit’s bright red eyes back at him.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Kit muttered, half-running to the mirror and pulling his eyelids down. “Stop it. Stop it. Snap out of it!”

Kit slapped himself in the face and checked again but nothing. He turned the tap on, maybe he just needed to splash some water in his face. Yeah. That was it.

The water was cool over his fingertips and refreshing as it splashed his face, but when he looked up again all he saw was red. Kit slammed his hand down on the edge of the sink, glaring at his own face in the mirror.

This was all Ambrose’s fault! Before him Kit’s powers were under control! Always under control, but now… this thing with his eyes it made him sick. His electricity was supposed to be blue not red.

“Fuck!” Kit cried, smashing his fist against the edge of the sink again. “Stupid!” Punch. “Fucking.” Punch. “GAAH!” Punch. Punch. Punch.

Ambrose paused with his mug halfway to his lips in the kitchen, hearing a slight commotion upstairs. Mallory must be awake. Then slow, heavy footsteps not even an elephant would make down the stairs.

Kit got to the end of the staircase and looked right and left. The two halls looked identical, both grand and leading different directions. Kit just wanted a coffee… he trudged to the left, trusting his instincts.

From his right, he heard Ambrose: “in here, Mallory.”

Kit was about to throw a tantrum like a toddler, but instead he walked past the staircase and town the hall to the right. On his left he saw a kitchen from some ostentatious show house, like something you’d see on TV, but he ignored it and focused on the Villain sitting at the kitchen island.

His black eyes glinting with amusement as Kit stormed in, going straight for the kettle. Or well, he would’ve gone straight for the kettle had his knees not hit the floor with an echoing thud.

Kit hissed. “What the fuck?”

Ambrose frowned where he sat and stood, walking around the counter to see the hero on his knees in just his boxer shorts and t-shirt, staring up at Ambrose with wide red eyes glowing.

“Morning.” Ambrose said, then a smile came to his lips which bubbled into a laugh at the hero’s confusion. “Oh, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Kit snapped, trying to move his legs back and stand but he couldn’t. His knees were glued to the floor as if all gravity had amassed in his kneecaps that now seemed to weigh ten tonnes.

“God it seems so faraway now,” Ambrose murmured, being the cryptic fuck that he was.

Small streaks of electricity cackled from Kit’s eyes. “Forgot what?” He asked through clenched teeth. “In case you didn’t know, Rosey, I’m not exactly a morning person, so if you could undo whatever the fuck you’ve done, I’d appreciate it.”

“But you look so good on your knees,” Ambrose told him, reaching a hand out and ruffling Kit’s hair until Kit slapped his hand away. “Like a good puppy.”

“Oh fuck off, dickhead! Let me up.”

Ambrose’s black eyes danced with amusement. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off. I’m just going to fucking crawl I guess.”

“Ki—it,” Ambrose sing-songed, his voice moving like flute notes through his ears. He recognised the coldness of Ambrose’s powers pulling at his mind, the threat of what he could do.

Kit huffed out a breath. Crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t look at Ambrose as he mumbled: “can I get up?”

“What was that?” Ambrose asked, putting his hand to his ear like a pre-school teacher. “I couldn’t hear you over the coffee brewing.”

Red eyes snapped to black. “Can I get up? Please?!”

“Of course you can get up Kit.”

This time when Kit moved his legs, his knees didn’t keep him rooted to the spot.

“Dick,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself not to shoulder check the villain as he passed him on the way to the kettle. “Can you undo whatever that is?”

Ambrose hummed. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. It was a measure to teach you manners.”

Fuck off, Kit thought venomously. I just want a coffee. Kit didn’t answer as he zeroed in on the kettle, and plugged it in.

“Oh, I already made a pot of coffee,” Ambrose said. Kit glanced over his shoulder at Ambrose, stare hard. Ambrose gestured to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen and Kit was about to throw a fit. He wanted to throw the kettle at the man’s head, but he knew he just needed a coffee and then he’d be fine. So he restrained himself and walked to the coffee pot.

The smell of the coffee went straight to his heart. “Is this… drip coffee?” He asked as he poured the black liquid into the cup that was set out for him.

Ambrose scoffed behind him. “I know you’re used to living in squalor, Mallory, but I don’t keep instant coffee in the house.”

“Wow. I’m not complaining,” Kit said, turning to the island and going to sit beside Ambrose. “I mean, I don’t live in squalor, but drip coffee would be nice every morning.”

Ambrose’s black eyes went to Kit’s face as he sat into the stool. Kit was too busy looking at his bare legs to notice. “I forgot my trousers,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears going pink.

Ambrose waved the comment away. “I’m sure you had more pressing issues this morning?”

Kit raised his pained gaze to Ambrose. Black eyes searched Kit’s red ones with a mildly contained annoyance. “I was hoping there wouldn’t be any lingering effects of yesterday.”

“Lingering effects?” Kit repeated incredulously. “Lingering effects?! Oh I’m sorry if my overworked powers are inconveniencing you in any way, Ambrose. I’m so sorry—”

Ambrose waved him away. “Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

While Kit continued speaking over him, sarcasm dripping from every syllable: “so very, devastatingly, sorry that my powers are all out of whack because a fucking sadistic piece of shit just loves to push me until I can’t go further.”

“Apology accepted.”

Kit scoffed, shaking his head and took another gulp of his coffee. Fuck it tasted so good, it almost made him calm down. Almost.

“But the fact of the matter is we have more pressing issues.”

A sardonic smile slid its way onto Kit’s lips, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and gesturing between them. “What is this “we” you speak of?” He asked, red eyes alight with amusement.

“Mentor, Kit. I’m talking about Mentor.”

Kit’s face dropped as he straightened. “What is this we you speak of?” He repeated tightly.

“Mallory—”

“No,” Kit spat venomously, running a hand through his hair. “No, I am not talking about Mentor with the person who destroyed his mind for fun. No. We’re not doing this.”

“Kit— it’s important, we need—”

“STOP SAYING WE!” Kit roared, slamming his hands down on the table. Red sparks erupting around him as his anger grew. He wanted to smile at the look of fear that flashed across Ambrose’s face as the electricity spit and spewed around him, like a thousand hungry tongues hissing at the air around them.

“There is no we, Ambrose.” Kit continued, his voice echoing slightly with static as if he were speaking through an old radio. “There has never been a we. The only thing that joins you and me is Mentor, and that’s a very thin line because you didn’t know about our connection until what? This week?! You have no fucking right to speak to me about—”

“Mentor is my father.”

The silence would have been deafening if Kit’s electricity didn’t stutter and stop with a pathetic jolts like an old man’s fart. Kit’s mind screeched to a stop with a record scratch, before running ten miles a second because what the fuck did Ambrose just fucking say?!

Kit just stared as Ambrose clenched his hands into fists and loosened them again, repeating the gesture as if he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch. It felt as if Kit’s eyelids were torn with how wide they stared at the villain in front of him because this was some fucking sick joke, right?!

“It’s not a joke,” Ambrose said quietly, a wry smile on his face when Kit’s immediate thought was: get out of my head. “It’s not a joke, Kit. I wish it were.”

“You’re—” Kit began, but didn’t have enough breath in his lungs to finish the sentence, his eyes prickling with tears that he refused to let fall. “You… you’re lying. There’s no… you don’t even—”

Kit wasn’t making sense. They were all half formed thoughts spilling from lips as he wondered whether he should kill Ambrose where he stood now, or later.

“You don’t even share the same last name,” Kit settled on, his mind reeling. Ambrose met his eyes finally and Kit wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to see the vulnerable humanity lingering in Ambrose’s black gaze, the hard tilt to his brows. The confession seemed to strip Ambrose of everything that him, well… Ambrose, and left a man, no a boy, not much older than Kit sitting before him. “You don’t even look alike! You’re not— you can’t be—”

Ambrose sucked in a breath through his nose, burying his face in his palms and rubbing his eyes. “I can show you my birth certificate if you’d like.”

Kit sprung to his feet because he didn’t know what else to do. His body was wired — no alive — with a restless energy that he couldn’t quell or control and the only way he could do something about it was somehow related to jumping off the stool.

“You— you! There’s— you can’t be Mentor’s son! Mentor didn’t— doesn’t have a family!”

Ambrose scoffed, running his hands down his face until they settled around his cup in front of him, his gaze distant. “He would say that.”

“You’re lying.”

Ambrose turned his head to face Kit, though he didn’t really look at him. More like through him. A wry smile pulled at the edges of his eyes.

“Believe it or not, Kit. The fact remains the same.” Ambrose took a sip of his coffee or tea or whatever, while Kit just stood uselessly staring at Ambrose and trying to logic a way to this being some joke, or ruse. “I wish it wasn’t true either.”

“You— you—” Kit stuttered, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Ambrose widened his eyes slightly, raising a placating hand towards Kit.

“Hey, Kit. Calm down.”

Don’t tell me to calm down, Kit wanted to say but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t stop shaking, his entire body felt as if he just drank a vat full of caffeine and it wanted to go, go, go. It was as if someone had just jump-started every nerve in his body, every muscle contracting, every blood cell oxygenated and his body felt far too small as everything seemed to constrict inside of him and there wasn’t enough space and his veins felt ready to burst and—

“HEY! KIT!” Ambrose screamed from far, far below Kit. He wondered distantly what was happening, why Ambrose felt so far away. Why Kit felt like he couldn’t breathe and yet never felt more alive at the same time. “FUCK!”

KIT PLEASE! STOP! Ambrose cried in his mind, but there was no power behind his words. It wasn’t a command, which Kit recognised was strange. Ambrose wasn’t one for allowing free will and all.

Still, there was something wrong. Something very wrong with this picture and Kit couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Every time he tried to narrow it down, the thought ran like water through his fingers and he couldn’t really feel his own body anymore.

Kit crashed down to reality when his head cracked off the tile and he groaned. Ambrose was on the floor beside him, far enough away that the sparks didn’t reach him that were still spluttering from Kit’s body, but why was he on the floor?

“Kit? You with me?” Ambrose asked, black eyes wide with… that couldn’t be concern, not in Ambrose’s eyes. Kit must be hallucinating. Maybe this was all just a dream, a terrible bad dream and he would wake up and everything would be fine.

Instead, Kit groaned in pain, trying to push himself up. His muscles wouldn’t listen though and just shook uselessly beside him, not supporting his weight.

“Kit, talk to me, please.”

“Shut… up… dick.”

“You just thrashed my kitchen, Kit, I think I’m allowed to speak to you.”

Kit blinked, rolling onto his back. “I— what?”

Ambrose didn’t have to answer for Kit to see the scorch marks in the ceiling of his perfect kitchen, or the cracks in the shapes of lichtenberg figures in the walls. Kit winced, glancing at Ambrose who looked to be lost in concentration.

“Ambrose… I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“I know.”

“No,” Kit protested, raising his hands in front of his face. They sparked and hissed like Kit was in overdrive, hooked up to his own nuclear reactor, a steady stream of small bolts charging the air around his palms. “I’m not doing this.”

Ambrose nodded, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I know,” he said again, and got to his feet. “The best thing I can think to do is the power dampeners.”

Kit sat up with an effort, pressing his back against a counter in Ambrose’s ridiculously massive kitchen. “Did they work?”

“No, knocking you out, worked. Though I doubt you want to do that every time this happens.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, then. Power dampeners it is.” Ambrose said with a breath. “Does the circuit still close if you wear the two of them on one hand?”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it. Usually when you’re catching criminals you want their hands bound too.”

“Hmm, I assume it would work the same. Only one way to find out, right?”

Kit nodded, pushing himself to his feet. Only then did he see the real extent of the damage he did. The stools were scattered around the room, appliances ripped out of sockets. Half of the kettle was melded to the door of the microwave, the microwave itself looked like a crushed aluminium can.

Kit glanced down at his fingers, at the red lightning. Did he really do all this without realising?

His mind went back to his Academy days, when he had first arrived and was only learning how emotions tied to his abilities. It was Superhero who sat down with him and taught him that in order to master his gift, he had to cut off the link between his emotions and his abilities, or he wouldn’t get anywhere as a hero.

This red lightning, it seemed, burrowed all the way down to Kit’s emotions — his negative emotions — anger, rage, hatred, confusion. How could he stop something he could barely recognise the warning signs of?

“Don’t think too much about it, Mallory. Let’s just do one thing at a time. The power dampeners.”

Kit nodded. “Right. The power dampeners.” He repeated, glancing down at his bare legs. “And trousers.”

Ambrose smiled. “Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Kit walked back out of the kitchen, when by the door Ambrose stopped him again. “Kit, if you want fresh clothes, feel free.”

Kit stopped in the door, glancing over his shoulder at Ambrose who looked mildly embarrassed at the offer. It was a strange thing to see on him. He didn’t quite meet Kit’s eye, his hand wound tight around the back of a chair, while the other brought the mug to his lips.

Kit could tease the villain about it. Usually he would, but he felt gross and shit, so he just nodded. “Cheers.”

Ambrose raised his head, meeting Kit’s eyes and nodded slightly. Then Kit took off down the hall and up the ridiculous stairs and into the first room he found last night. He wanted a shower, he decided when he picked his jacket off the ground, taking the power dampeners from his pocket and tossing them on the bed.

Something to relax his muscles and clear his head. That would be heavenly right about now. Kit grabbed his jeans and threw them on the bed too. He bunched a fistful of his shirt and brought it to his nose, and winced at the smell. Yep, okay. He needed a shower.

He turned in the room, taking it in for the first time. It was huge, as was everything in this stupid house. He walked to the wardrobe that was tucked into the corner of the room, opening the doors. He expected suits and tailored trousers, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw a couple of old hoodies hung up. One of them an old Harvard sweatshirt that had the initials O. Ambrose embroidered into the chest.

It felt like important information, but Kit didn’t really care. His mind racing with the fact that Ambrose was somehow related to Mentor. His son? Why wouldn’t he tell Kit that he had a son? Why weren’t there any pictures or mentions of him ever?

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Kit sighed, closing the doors to the wardrobe and opening the long door beside it. Inside were shelves of t-shirts and sweatpants and jocks and socks.

Kit took what he needed and walked to the bathroom, searching for towels before he locked the door.

“Mallory,” Ambrose said from outside.

Kit walked over to the door to see Ambrose outside, two towels in his hand. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kit grabbed them and closed the door, locking it and turning on the shower. He ignored the flash of red he saw in the mirror. He stripped and stepped into the shower, and almost gasped at the pressure of the water drumming down on his shoulders and head.

It was so good. Better than a hotel’s pressure good, better than Kit’s shitty apartment shower anyways. He let out a long, soft sigh of relief as he felt the rushing hot water unwind the knots and pressure in his muscles. He could die under the water and he would die happy.

He washed the memories of the last day away. God was it only a day? The stress from work and Superhero’s babying treatment of him after his illness, mixing with the pains of being with Ambrose for any amount of time.

Kit rubbed his neck and collarbone where Ambrose had choked him yesterday, still feeling a phantom tie wrapped around his throat like a weighted shadow. His gaze trailed down to his arms where the cuts Ambrose had forced him to make were glaring up at him. They had scabbed over at this point, almost healing. The scabs turned yellowish-green under the water, then a purple red beneath it.

All this pain, all this… abuse Ambrose had subjected him too. Was this the price for meeting Mentor? He knew it was too good to be true when Mentor chose him, out of everyone in his year, to personally apprentice under.

The man who little by little, wore down his walled defences while building his strength and magic and confidence. Who made sure he ate everyday, who taught him the value of nutrition and how to make a proper cup of tea…

Kit slammed his fist against the tiles of the shower, hot tears mixing with the water on his face. Ambrose was a monster. He couldn’t be related to Mentor. Mentor… Mentor was a saint. He saved the entire city!

He trusted Kit!

Why wouldn’t he tell him that he had a son? Why keep it secret?! Especially someone as powerful as Ambrose, you’d think he would scream it from the rooftops.

But… but… Mentor was alone when he chose Kit. No trace of a family anywhere in his house, no other heroes mentioned it. He was alone, like Kit, and they made a family together. With each other.

Kit knew it was true, that it was real. It was the only thing he had ever been sure of in his life, so why! Kit banged his fist against the tiles again. Why was there an ache in his chest as if his heart was poisoned?! Why was there a voice in the back of his head that sadly told him that Ambrose wasn’t lying?!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why?!

Maybe Mentor was the villain from last night. Maybe Kit never really knew him at all. Maybe Mentor only trusted him with a very small part of his life.

Either way Ambrose had the answers. Kit needed to face them, no matter how painful they would no doubt be, to hear him out.

He scoffed, sniffing. “Listen to yourself,” he muttered to the tiles, his voice uncharacteristically empty. “Hearing Ambrose out? What’s wrong with you?”

Kit sniffed, wiping the snot from his face. “Pathetic.”

He glanced to the shelf in the shower and grabbed the shower gel, staring at the bottle. It wasn’t a 3in1. Kit raised his eyes again to see other bottles in the shower. Kit stared. His brain buffering as his hand reached out to grab another bottle.

Shampoo.

Fancy looking shampoo.

Ambrose just wasted his money on fucking everything didn’t he? Was his toilet paper sheet gold?

Kit shrugged, putting the shower gel back and squeezed out some shampoo onto his hand. It smelled good. It smelled fancy.

Kit quickly showered and dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist as he walked out to his room. Kit changed into a new t-shirt he borrowed from Ambrose and pulled on his jeans and jacket and runners.

The power dampeners he fastened around his right wrist, feeling his powers immediately diminish. When he locked the second one around the same wrist he snapped his fingers on his left hand. Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

One problem down.

He pocketed the key and left the room. Ambrose was standing in his kitchen, also dressed, his hair wet from a shower. Ambrose wore a loose sweatshirt that looked soft and black cargo pants that tucked into his boots.

Kit held up his hand triumphantly as he fell to his knees. “The power dampeners worked.”

Ambrose raised his head from an iPad, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. “And you have pants.”

“Mission successful!” Kit beamed, not caring that he was still compelled to kneel in front of Ambrose like some servant to a king.

“Good.” Ambrose said with a nod, sliding the iPad across the counter top. “You can stand, Kit. I have some bad news.”

Kit groaned, pulling himself to his feet. “What now?”

The frustration died in his throat when he saw the headlines: Water Hero kidnapped by new Supervillain, Superhero reports.

“What?” Kit asked with a breath, looking at Ambrose. “What is this?”

Ambrose stood with his arms across his chest, a hand on his mouth as he shrugged with one shoulder. “That villain last night—”

“But why would he take her?” He said “he” instead of Mentor because his brain didn’t equate the two. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I don’t know.”

“There has to be a reason?” Kit demanded, scrolling through the article.

“I already checked,” Ambrose said with a shake of his head. He waited patiently until Kit fact checked that there was no mention of why the villain took her. Kit turned his sad eyes to Ambrose again, putting the iPad on the counter. “I think we need to go see Mentor.”

Kit deflated at the suggestion. He knew that this was coming. That eventually they’d have to go and see Mentor and check to see if he really is — if he could be…

Fuck.

Kit didn’t want to think about it.

He steeled his expression and his resolve. “Fine. You can explain everything on the way.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly, not fond of sharing his past with the Hero, but maybe, it was time to share everything, especially if that new supervillain is Mentor.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here