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.

The wall crumbled as Captain Patriot was thrown into it, buried under rubble.

A moment later, the pile of debris exploded as he shot up in the air. David gazed wide-eyed at the monster in the courtyard, his cape fluttering in the wind as he hovered motionlessly.

The thing’s jagged lips twisted into a smirk, its canines making it look like a snarl. And then it just turned away like he was beneath notice and stomped deeper into the prison, its claws raking along the nearest wall to tear it open.

David had been one of the first to arrive at the scene, ready to stop whatever was destroying The Asylum.

But whatever that thing was, it was flinging Captain Patriot around like a ragdoll.

And the villains of The Asylum were awakening.


***


Ian’s head snapped up at the scream and he immediately straightened his back, striding toward the doors. His eyes were narrowed with purpose.

It was not how normal people reacted to the sound of screams.

Caroline was growing more and more certain that her brother was a hero. But she still put herself in his path. He jerked away from her, avoiding her touch, and she used that to block the doors.

“Wait,” she said, and turned the knob behind her to peer outside. Hero or not, she would not let Ian walk blindly into danger.

And it was a good thing she didn’t, because what she saw made her blood run cold.

Malice.

The elite assassin was ascending up the podium.

Radiance instantly slammed the door shut.

How had they found her so fast? How had they even known she was deserting? Had the Order ways to tell when the brand was removed?

Something brushed her mind in concern.

Caroline?

“Caroline?” Ian asked at the same time as Stephen, frowning at the slammed door.

There’s an assassin of the Order. I think she’s here to hunt me down.

“Stay in here, Ian.”

She? A spike of worry. Then I think I’ve just found a second one.

He showed her an image of who he was looking at and she swayed, numb, barely even hearing Ian’s protest.

Get away. Get away now, and do not let him touch you under any circumstances.

The command was accompanied with an array of images, memories of Pestilence’s victims. Their skin…

Oh god, what if he’d spread his disease to Ian already?

“Ian. Ian, how are you feeling? Weak, dizzy, nauseous, anything?”

He blinked down at her, and his frown deepened. “I don’t get sick.”

“So you’re feeling fine?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“You can’t go out there. There are assassins.” Any discomfort she felt about revealing her past fell away; she wasn’t sure just how much Ian knew, but it didn’t matter. Survival left no room for shame or guilt, and she had to make sure Ian survived. “I think they’re after me.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his pale eyes glittering as he seemed to be calculating. “And why would the Order hunt its own?”

“I think they found out about my desertion.”

“You’re a deserter?” For the first time in too many years she saw happiness light up his face, and she grew still, mesmerized by the sight. Then she shook her head to clear it, and grabbed his wrist. He didn’t pull away.

“That’s not a good thing, Ian. You have to get out, now.”

“No.” His smile faded to deadly seriousness.

“I don’t care what kind of amazing hero you think you are, these people will kill–“

“No. Anyone who tries to hurt you will live to regret it.” His voice was quiet and almost gentle and so perfectly threatening that for one mad moment Radiance wondered if she wasn’t looking at another Order member.

“Ian, please. For me.”

“For you,” he said softly. “I learned to fight for you. And I won’t fail to protect you a second time.”

Caroline closed her eyes at those words, and they hurt and were wonderful and the last thing she wanted to hear right now. So she reached out to cup his cheek in her palm, and he leaned into it. His skin was so smooth, and she consoled herself with the thought that at least his face wasn’t maimed under that illusion.

Radiance opened her eyes, meeting her brother’s gaze.

“Okay.”

He smiled, eyes burning with determination. She smiled back and gently lowered her fingers along his neck while withdrawing her hand. Then she struck, lightning-fast, and hit a nerve.

His knees gave out, and she caught him by his waist and shoulders before he fell, a bright light enveloping both of them.

Caroline hadn’t been inside her family home in more than ten years, but there was no time to take in what had changed and what had stayed the same. She dragged Ian to the couch and laid him down as gently as the time pressure allowed. For his size, he weighed surprisingly little, and she noticed that her hands partially vanished into his waist, making the illusion flickering over him blatantly obvious. He was thinner than he looked.

No time to investigate that either.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and let the light take her away.

Then Radiance kicked off her shoes – even being barefoot was preferable to fighting in heels – and turned to face her arsenal.


***


Psy pressed his back against the railing as he put as much distance as possible between himself and what he now knew to be an assassin. The man was smirking at him, standing between him and the entrance to the hall.

More screams sounded from within. A wave of panic and fear washed over Stephen, a multitude of mental voices crying out in horror.

He could still feel Caroline’s presence in his mind, distraught, yet unhurt. She, at least, could teleport away, as could Shade.

But Diane was in there. And Tex. Not to mention dozens of other people.

Long dormant heroic instincts started stirring.

The assassin – Pestilence, he’s called Pestilence, whispered Caroline’s voice – had calmly taken off his jacket and was now rolling up his sleeves, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.

PsyKick struck, eyes glowing gold, and crashed against the man’s mental shields.

And realized too late that they weren’t his shields at all. He was being shielded by another psychic, and PsyKick had just thrown himself into a vile network of malevolent tendrils, drawing the attention of a mind that was vast and powerful and terrible.

Black coils slithered and constricted around him, probing Psy’s walls for weak spots.

I see you.

The voice was a delighted laugh, almost childlike in its glee. For a moment the world twisted, the shadows on the balcony growing and looming over him with fangs and claws and chains and then there was her, leaning over him with a mad smile on her lips.

Have you forgotten your purpose? “Out,” Psy snarled, a telekinetic shockwave tearing open the ground to his feet. The assassin staggered back, having almost closed the distance between them.

Psy bent his knee slightly, concentrating on his telekinetic powers. Manipulating moving matter was extremely hard, and nothing more so than controlling his own body. His unpracticed powers responded sluggishly. Nonetheless, he jumped.

And for the first time in three years, Psy was flying, wreathed in golden flame. He hovered several feet out of reach of the poisonous touch.

Pestilence only smiled, and raised his arms. Spreading from his wrists, his veins thickened and darkened until his pale skin was streaked with black. PsyKick did not wait for him to finish whatever attack he had planned.

The balcony creaked as a golden glow tore apart its foundation, and it plummeted two stories down.


***


The Executioner’s heavy boots cracked the roof of the mansion as he hit the ground, bending at the knee to cushion the long fall. Somewhere far above the estate, a helicopter turned away. The assassin slowly straightened his back.

His blade sang with the song of steel and death as he drew it, quivering in anticipation for the blood it would spill tonight.

Executioner had wanted Shade dead for a very, very long time.

But the loner hero’s appearances were impossible to predict. The teleportation made his movements impossible to track. He had no team he would rush to aid and no known loved ones to hold for ransom. And so it fell to Executioner to do his best to kill him when they ran into each other by chance in encounters which Shade could escape at will.

Not tonight.

For all that Shade was known for being ruthless and violent, the hero’s psychological profile showed he also had an extremely pronounced protective streak. He did not abandon people he felt responsible for. Guests of his firm’s charity event certainly ought to count.

Executioner preferred a straightforward kill that did not draw much attention until the body was discovered. But he was not averse to unleashing hell on earth when it was called for.

Vicious had drawn away the greatest threats.

Malice would neutralize the other heroes in attendance.

Pestilence would exhaust the healer who’d saved Shade from death the last time Executioner had gotten close to killing him.

And then nothing would stop Executioner from dealing the final blow.

He descended down the stairs, following Malice’s instructions to Shade’s location while trying to ignore the smug satisfaction she was radiating. The woman was far from unprofessional, but she reveled in the chaos she created far too much for Executioner’s taste. Chaos was a tool, not an end in itself.

Finally, he stopped in front of a room into which Malice had seen him slip with a woman.

A flash of light briefly illuminated the cracks of the doors from within.

Executioner kicked them down, wood splintering under the force of his assault.

A woman in an elegant red evening gown slowly turned to face him, her long black hair swaying.

Then she instantly shifted into a combat stance, twirling the double-bladed staff in her hands.