Of Heroes And Villains

In which a superhero meets his match, masks are uncovered and a mad scientist just tries to get some mad science-ing done without getting distracted by the antics of her magical minion.

Fanart by the talented Ian Samson, creator of City of Reality and artist of The Wotch


It hurt.

Diane sank to her knees, her breaths shallow, feeling how the blade was pulled from her chest with a sickeningly wet noise.

It hurt so much.

Her eyes narrowed as determination overcame her shock.

What Amelia had done to her had hurt far worse. This was nothing.

Nonetheless, she slumped to the floor, playing dead in the hopes that whoever had struck her would not feel the need to strike again while her healing powers went into overdrive. Blood pooled around her, warm and thick – my blood, that’s my blood, I need that, I don’t want to die, cried some small part of her that was still the normal girl she’d been just a few months ago. Dionaea shut the voice up, focusing on her magic. Blood was good. Blood was power.

Flesh started knitting itself with astounding speed.

She weakly raised her head when she heard the twang of plasma blades being activated.

Shade.

He was standing between her and a man in silver.

Kara was trying to save her. She smiled a little at that thought. It turned out she didn’t mind his presence here after all. She slowly pushed herself up, her arms shaking at the effort – her body was healing fast, but it was not done yet.

Shade and the villain clashed blades with incredible speed. Her small smile widened when she saw Shade’s clever feint, feeling pride well up somewhere inside her at his obvious skill. Devious hero, he fought as dirty as she–

The tide turned so fast she barely understood what had happened.

Blood spilled and she cried out in horror as the man in silver readied for a second strike.

Why wasn’t Shade teleporting to safety?

Me. He’s staying because of me.

Something snapped. Her grasp on her powers had always been tenuous and unpracticed. It was like trying to stem a tide, always striving for release, spilling out of her, and it was all she could do to hold it back lest she truly hurt someone with carelessness.

Dionaea did not hold anything back.

Vines as thick as a tree trunks rose around her, the metal of the containers screeching as they were pushed aside. The ground rumbled as more and more plants burst through the floor, cracking the concrete slabs. Glass shattered as her vines grew big enough to break the ceiling, the very foundation of the warehouse shaking under the tremendous pressure they put on it.

She slammed one of her gigantic vines into the swordsman, sending him flying. Dionaea had grown extra thorns on that vine, long and sharp as daggers. She hoped they hurt. She hoped they killed him. Her red eyes glowed brighter with the force of her fury.

A rattling cough snapped her out of it.

“Shade!” Diane cried, scrambling to her feet – her wound had fully closed at last – and skidded to a halt next to him. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, gently turning him to face her, and pushed his hood back.

He was holding his hand to his chest, blood slowly seeping between his fingers. His eyes were glassy and dazed, but focused on her. And his lips – the corners of which were covered in blood he had coughed up – actually curved into a smile.

“Diane,” he whispered, and turned to nuzzle her cheek. “You’re alive.”

Stupid idiot hero. He had a gaping hole in his chest and he was thinking of her survival?

Tears welled and Diane forced them back. He would not die. She wouldn’t let him. “If you turn this into some sappy heroic sacrifice, I’ll break into heaven to kick your ass,” she whispered, gathering her magic in her palm, hoping she had enough to heal him.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” His smile actually widened and he closed his eyes.

“Eyes open, Shade. You’re not allowed to close them. I forbid it.”

He didn’t answer.

Arachne agents were closing in on them. Diane could feel them hacking at her vines. She could not fight them off and heal Shade.

“Shade. Shade, please, I need you to teleport us out of here.”

No reaction.

“Shade!”

She shoved him.

“Kara!”

His eyes cracked open, gaze unfocused.

“Get us to safety, please!”

He blinked slowly, head lolling, and then gave a jerky nod. Darkness swirled.

Diane had hated her first ride through the shadows but this was infinitely worse. Where the first time had been like breaking a water surface after a long drop, this was like being thrown into vortex that tossed her body like a ragdoll.

She emerged gasping for air. If she still had a stomach she would have thrown up.

No time. Dry-heave later.

Diane barely spared her surroundings a glance other than making sure it was safe. They were in a dark bedroom, dominated by a king-sized bed and a closet taking up most of the wall. Diane’s fine eye for any sign of wealth immediately assessed them as custom-made, noting the mahogany.

Was this Kara’s home?

Focus.

Kara’s breaths were shallow and his skin was so very pale. Diane clawed at his uniform, peeling away the synthetic material to reveal his wound, suppressing a shudder at the sight.

“Just a scratch,” Shade gasped as she pressed her palm to it, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shut up and let me fix you.”

“Can’t… can’t even feel it.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Can’t feel my legs either…” He trailed off and his head slumped back as finally lost consciousness.

Diane’s palm glowed red and she poured all the magic she could gather into the motionless body of her love.


***


Diane crossed her arms over Kara’s blanket-covered belly and rested her head on them. She gazed up at his face. Kara’s chest was rising and falling steadily as he took in deep, even breaths.

The wound, which she’d been obsessively checking for the last few hours, was healing rapidly and already looked like it was years old. Soon it would be entirely gone. Diane had stripped him bare and washed it with a wet towel she’d found in the adjacent – opulent – bathroom after she’d finished hauling his ginormous body into the bed. She was not exactly short at 5 foot 7, but Kara easily stood at over 6 foot 3 or more. Even as lean as he was, moving him in a non-rough manner had proven challenging.

She could see her magic shifting under his skin, red glowing wisps occasionally surfacing along his veins and vanishing just as suddenly as they appeared.

She blinked sleepily as a sudden glare hit her eyes, turning her head. The sun was rising, soft light filtering through the window. Diane sighed in relief as the sunlight warmed her body. She was exhausted; she’d need some hardcore sunbathing to make up the energy loss from last night.

As the sun slowly climbed the sky and shone on Diane’s skin, she found herself fidgeting with surplus energy.

Diane was dying of curiosity. The urge to go exploring Kara’s home was growing stronger with every passing moment. She peered at his peacefully sleeping face, lovingly brushing her hand along his surprisingly soft cheek – where had his permastubble gone anyway?

A question for later. Her curiosity would not be denied. When would she get another chance like this?

She pressed a gentle kiss to his brow and then stole away to go snooping.


***


Kara lived in a freaking castle.

The mansion was huge with long winding hallways that made it far too easy to get lost. Diane had never lived in a home that couldn’t be crossed in several strides, so she ended up wandering in wide-eyed amazement. The house struck her as old, yet was in picture perfect condition.

As she passed by a gallery showing a long line of family portraits, she mentally upgraded Kara from rich to filthy rich. She noticed the family name engraved on the plaques. Reynolds. From Reynolds Industries?

Diane couldn’t find a picture of Kara though. Perhaps the family had discontinued the tradition of pompous portraits. The last one was dated 1961.

Her brow furrowed as she realized something. She backtracked through the halls to confirm her suspicion.

There was nothing she could point to and say “That’s Kara’s.”

The mansion was absolutely devoid of personal artifacts. It was beautiful to look at, probably the pride and joy of some interior designer, but it wasn’t a home. There were no pictures of friends and family, no souvenirs from fond memories, not even a single painting on the wall she thought might actually have been chosen by Kara himself.

Even their little hotel room was more personal than this.

Just about the only thing she could find was a small framed photo standing on a mantle in the living room. It showed a very stern-looking pair of parents standing stiffly behind two teenagers; a young boy, just on the cusp of puberty, shyly smiling at the camera while his older sister had her arms wrapped tightly around him, flashing a playful grin.

Diane could only glean two things from Kara’s home.

He was descended from a long line of very, very rich people.

And he was very, very alone.


***


It took Diane three hours of meticulous fine-combing, but she finally found the entrance to his super-secret lair, which she just knew he had to have. He probably called it something goofily dramatic like The Abyss or The Shadow Cave or The Dimly Lit Fortress of No Social Life.

She walked down the short secret hallway in long strides, coming upon a dead end with three doors. Diane peeked into the right one first and broke into a wide grin.

“That’s Kara’s,” she whispered, gazing at the sizable weapon collection. Every inch of the walls was decorated with sharp pointy objects, some of them looking quite antique. She silently closed the door.

The middle door opened to a training room, equipped with what was presumably state of the art equipment. Diane couldn’t really tell, having never trained a day in her life. Instead her gaze was drawn to the long line of mannequins lining the back wall, all wearing a variation of Shade’s costume. Some of the differences were truly miniscule, but it seemed like Kara had nonetheless kept each iteration of his uniform.

And the room on the left…

Opened to Crazy with a capital C.

Diane’s eyes widened as she took in a room that would not be out of place for a conspiracy nut. All it was missing was some tinfoil. Newspaper clippings lined the walls, brightly colored threads connecting them seemingly at random. Diane dodged and weaved her way through the mess to step closer to the enormous computer in the center of the room.

She curiously tapped a random button on the keyboard and multiple screens lit up, awakening from sleep mode.

Diane stared. One of the screens was taken up by a picture of herself – of Diane Cole, the girl she’d once been. She wrinkled her nose. God, had she looked that bad? Well, she had been deadly ill. If one graded on a curve…

Nonetheless, she closed the loathsome picture, revealing the plain desktop background beneath.

Her gaze fell on a folder right in the center of the screen. It was practically begging for attention.

CAROLINE

The folder was filled with files and Diane leisurely scrolled through, scanning their names. She saw some labeled police report and others appeared to be excerpts from newspapers. There were also several videos. She clicked on the latest which the timestamp identified as being almost ten years old.

The screen was filled with static for a long moment, crackling, before it dissolved to show a lone chair in front of a white wall. A moment later someone got pushed to sit onto it, their hands and feet bound. The person’s – woman’s – head was covered with a bag which was promptly taken off by a man who kept his face carefully out of frame.

It revealed a disheveled beauty, a thin rag gagging her mouth. She glared at her captor with icy blue eyes and Diane jolted with recognition. It was the teenager from Kara’s family picture, now a grown woman, not much younger than Diane herself.

The man unfastened the gag behind her head and she – Caroline? – spat it out.

Then she spat at her captor.

He viciously backhanded her, then moved out of frame. She grinned, and slowly turned her head toward the camera, not quite looking directly at Diane but at someone standing behind her.

“Is that all you’ve got? My little brother hits harder than that.”

“Just read the cue cards,” said a distorted voice.

“Yeah, yeah.” She blew a stray strand of long black hair from her face, squinting slightly at something off-screen. “Dear Mister and Mrs. Reynolds, if you ever want to see your beloved daughter again – ha, some epic fact checking errors there – blabla, give me money. That’s how the rest of it goes, right?”

“Do you want me to slap you again, girl?”

“Yes, please do. It’ll be wonderful evidence of your violent and unstable nature at your trial. Call me vindictive, but I’d like to ensure a life sentence.”

“Do you know what I could do to you?”

Caroline glared and it was so reminiscent of Shade it was terrifying. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Do you think this is my first time being kidnapped for ransom? And let me tell you, you suck at this job. The others were way more professional.”

“Read the bloody cue cards!”

She sighed and read out the details of the drop-off in a monotone, then faced the camera directly.

“Mom, dad, just give this gentleman here what he wants, and I can be back home for our customary awkward dinner.” Her face softened, and her voice became affectionate. “Ian, a kidnapped sister is not an excuse to slack off on your homework. Don’t worry.”

She smiled.

“Everything’s going to be fine.”

The video cut off.

Diane stared, wide-eyed.

Her reverie was broken by a startled yell from upstairs and her head snapped up. Then she sprinted back up the short tunnel, almost getting turned around in the mansion before finding Kara’s bedroom again.

He wasn’t in bed.

Instead, an almost naked shorthaired woman was standing in front of the mirror, staring at her quite sizable breasts, aghast. At the sound of Diane’s arrival she whipped around, narrowing icy blue eyes.

“You,” came Kara’s decidedly male voice, verging on hysteria. “What the hell did you do to me?!”