Intoxicating Fear (I)
The Old Fairground
Masterpost // continued from here
*****
“Well, well, well,” the smiling voice bounced off the rotten wooden walls and echoed back to Kit’s ears. He turned in place, eyes scanning the emptiness of the old fairground. Worn, paint chipped kiosks, remnants from long ago, left maze-like walkways through the pier and created plenty of shadows for Omen to hide, to watch Kit from.
Kit stood straight, forcing his breaths to calm and to try and hone his instincts and senses. He needed to keep his wits about him if he had any hopes of surviving this encounter with his mind intact.
A rush of wind to his left. Atlas stepped back and to the right, whirling, hands raised and electricity crackling as quick as a flame set to a pool of oil. There was no one there. His heart thumped heavily in his chest as he forced himself to recognise that information and turned again, scanning his surroundings. Every opening between the kiosks, Atlas turned, hands outstretched ready to attack, but there was nothing. The emptiness of the old fairgrounds was eerie, but Omen had to be close, close enough for Kit to hear him over the lapping of the waves beneath the rickety, creaking boardwalk. He had to be on high alert.
“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
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