Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline watched the bright wisps orbiting her little haven.

They were entwining to form something like an asteroid belt, two rings of light continually turning and twisting and grinding against each other around her island. They were delicate and thin, fading in and out of existence, but she suspected that they were the foundation of mental defenses.

She hoped.

Once she had her own mind under control, she’d be able to start invading others. He’d said she wouldn’t need a lot of finesse to do it; she just needed to push into her own body long enough for him to do the truly complex work of severing the link and making sure both their minds were unharmed by the experience.

Caroline noted with some annoyance that the same red tendrils that continually churned around him would now briefly flicker into existence around her when she thought of him. Yes, she had masturbated to the thought of him, but really, she was in his body, staring at his huge cock, listening to his voice, who else was she going to think about? Having a sexy fantasy was no reason to be suddenly developing glowing bits.

She shifted uncomfortably and took a step forward, and found herself pacing in front of the canyon in her mind. The one that supposedly led to his mind.

The stars went out and she blinked as the real world briefly came into focus. Moonlight was spilling through the window into her hotel room. It was easy to lose track of time when she slipped into that meditation trance that allowed her to access her mind, but she hadn’t been mistaken – night had fallen, and he should be here by now.

Her focus shifted back to her mindscape. The transitions were getting easier now; probably because she enjoyed getting away from being trapped inside a body that, no matter how pleasing when viewed from outside, just felt wrong.

The weight of her long black locks cascading down her back here wasn’t real, of course. But it was close enough.

Caroline cocked her head as she gazed deep into the dark abyss, wondering how the path to someone who seemed so kind could look so very ominous. Paranoia, her old friend, stirred, and whispered that it was proof that he wasn’t as good as he pretended to be.

Perhaps the reason he felt attracted to her was because he was just another monster, albeit one with a better mask than most.

Her bare toes were at the very edge of the rift now.

She could take a look.

It was only fair, really, considering he had freely wandered her mind.

Caroline took a step forward and fell.


***


PsyKick couldn’t sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, an arm draped over his forehead, and contemplated his life. Just in case of accidental teleportation, he was now wearing jeans and a shirt even in bed, and had an earbud in his ear so he wouldn’t have to accost strangers for a phone.

Once he’d calmed down, he had seen what Diane had been doing to him, although that did not mean he approved of her methods. He was not sure how he felt about her right now. While he had finally snapped in the store, he’d worn the trashy clothes she’d laid out for him with nary a word of protest. It was nothing compared to other things he’d been forced to do, of course, but it hurt that his humiliation had come from her when he had trusted her never to abuse the power she had over him.

And he realized she would just keep pushing him away like this now because she did not want his devotion.

PsyKick didn’t want Diane to be his Mistress, either.

He had never had a choice with her. She had installed herself while he was incapable of choosing, and then just stuck.

He loved her, in his own way, as the one friend who’d stood by him always, but there was too much history between them, too much of his Purpose forcing her on him.

But.

He wanted…

Stephen wanted a Mistress.

Badly.

A Mistress he would choose for himself, a Mistress he could serve without compulsion, because he wanted to. Someone who cared for him as much as he would care for her. Someone who would give him an order when he needed one. Someone at whose feet he could rest.

Just acknowledging that made him squirm in mortification, like he was admitting defeat. Like he was resigning himself to being the way Cinder Snow made him forever, letting her dictate his most intimate relationships.

His back arched as piercing pain shot through his head.

What the…?


***


The walls rose dizzyingly high until they lost themselves in the mist that passed for sky, enclosing a landscape that looked like it had been ravaged by an earthquake. The marble ground was torn open, deep rifts fanning out from the center, some wide and gaping chasms, others thin, yet no less deep.

Caroline stepped closer to one of those hollows through a field of soft red flowers that tickled her bare feet. Red moss was smoothing out what must have once been a steep cliff.

There was wild beauty to this place, like she was striding through a canyon, but it did not dispel the air of melancholy. The word broken was a truly apt description, and she finally understood what he’d been trying to tell her.

Not everything was in ruins however.

A tall and majestic spire stood at the very center of the mindscape, rising as high as the walls enclosing it. Like the walls, it shone white, bathing everything around it in a soft glow. Caroline felt herself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

Within moments, she stood in front of it, craning her neck high to gaze up at its peak.

Her fingers itched with the urge to touch the seemingly smooth surface and she tentatively raised her hand. The tower rippled beneath her fingertips, and the ground rumbled ominously. She almost snapped her hand back, but then the white marble flowed outward, as if she’d thrown a stone into water.

The outer layer peeled back to reveal something beautiful. Caroline’s lips parted as she stared at the twisting shapes, fleeting like wind and shadows, yet somehow almost like writing in a language she might be able to decipher if she tried hard enough.

She simply watched it for a very long time, something stirring within her at the sight.

Whatever it was, it struck her as… noble. And strong.

“Ah, I thought it might be you. Are you rampaging in here?”

Caroline quickly withdrew her hand, the outer layer rippling inward once more and closing the opening she had created while she turned to face the familiar voice. Her eyes widened a little.

He was flickering, barely even visible.

And he was wearing a golden cape. The black uniform with golden trimming revealed a wonderfully muscled physique that was only hinted at in the body she now possessed.

Caroline, native Paragonian that she was, recognized a superhero when she saw one.

“PsyKick,” she greeted him in a soft voice.

He blinked at her sleepily, his form fracturing and rebuilding itself as if he was struggling to stay in the dreamscape. It was what he looked like when he was on the verge of waking up, but she supposed this was the opposite of that; him struggling to fall asleep.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he murmured, and she realized with a start that he was embarrassed, his gaze darting to the deep chasms.

In the span of a thought, she stood mere inches in front of him. He grew rigid, his form solidifying as he stared down at her, exhaling a shuddering breath.

“It’s not what I expected,” she said gently, and he averted his gaze, a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“Having seen a less than stellar mindscape, do you understand what I meant now when I said your mind is beautiful?”

Her hand was on his cheek, gently forcing him to look at her. She hadn’t put it there; it just was, without the movement in-between.

“You are beautiful, too.”

He barked out a disbelieving laugh.

“I’m broken.”

“Maybe. But still good.”

His hands were on her hips, and his fingers squeezed her skin at those words. Caroline could not put the sensation of touching each other without bodies into words; it was like an echo. Warmth that caressed her very essence.

And the kiss was fireworks, and sizzling electricity, and the taste of her favorite slice of cake, something sweet and long forgotten.

“Caroline.”

The name was not spoken. It reverberated through his entire mind, a whisper from the heavens and the earth and the walls around them.

“PsyKick,” she whispered back, but that was not adequate, not what she should be calling him. “Tell me your name.”

A spike of pure ecstasy emanated from him at her demand. “Stephen,” he rasped, nibbling on her lower lip. “It’s Stephen.”