the youngest and newest member of Cree's help center,found and recruited when Killit was "out in the field".Hoever,something seems fishy around here...
Today is not one of their secret, scheduled parleys.
The sound of the heavy metal door swinging open is a surprise to them, but not an entirely unexpected one. The emergence of a new enemy is bound to sow seeds of discord, after all, as the resident Hero—and Arch Nemesis—has grown mostly familiar with their singular Villain's methodology. Different strategies are an inevitable challenge; it’s not abnormal that the Hero would presume collaboration between Villainous factions.
The Hero ought to know better by now that this Villain works alone, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Perhaps the Hero is simply out of depth, seeking comfort in the familiar. A foolish notion, but they’re more than willing to play their part and accommodate.
They straighten their spine, rolling their shoulders as they prepare to face their intruder.
"Well, well, well..."
The sound of their voice is appropriately menacing as they step out from the shadows cast by the large and varied equipment that make up the innermost scientific level of their Lair—a sanctum where they can come to be left alone with their thoughts and whirling mind. They have yet to fully cast their gaze to the doorway, the echoing footsteps of the interloper wavering and unsteady. There is no threat to be had here.
They feel no fear in this encounter.
Only smug satisfaction, knowing they’ve been sought out rather than hunted for once.
"It appears that the Hero," they spit the word as though it’s something foul upon their tongue, "has come crawling back to m–"
Their voice comes to a halt in their chest; the sight before them is wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
This. This is not right.
Horror spreads through their veins like parasitic vines, locking around that cold, dead heart in their chest.
They find themself moving, an automatic reaction, falling to their knees beside the prone, battered form of the Hero.
Their Arch-Nemesis.
Their Hero.
Black-gloved hands shake, hovering in the air inches from the Hero’s bloodied uniform, unsure if their touch would be welcome; wanting to do something but never having the luxury of being allowed to assist in such a way.
Villains don't help, after all.
"Wha– What happened to you?!" They sharpen their voice, despite the lowered volume: a feeble attempt to hide the fear threading through every word, to mask the quaver in their tone.
A Villain, worried for the Hero's health?
What a joke that would be.
The Hero coughs, an aerosol spray of blood misting the air with the action, leaving a nearly microscopic patina around pallid lips. A trickle of bright red seeps from the corner of the Hero's mouth as it curves up into a weak smile; pain-glazed, unfocused eyes turning up to meet the Villain's. A shaky, bloodstained, bruised, broken hand reaches up to press feather-light fingertips against the Villain's cheek as the Hero steadily holds their gaze. The Villain’s breath catches, their own eyes widening.
They are frozen, and cannot possibly look away.
"I- I couldn't stop him. He was too strong... I'm sorry..."
The Hero’s smile is so gentle, so kind. It speaks of forgiveness, of pain, and somehow, unfathomably, of trust. It hurts the Villain more than any blow the Hero has ever managed to land on them in the past six years they have been Nemeses in this city. A sharp inhale and a shudder has the Hero’s eyes—have they always been so luminous, so beautiful?—rolling back, startlingly long, dark eyelashes fluttering closed to rest against a pale, blood-spattered cheek. The soft stroke against the Villain's jaw is gone in milliseconds, as though the touch itself was only part of a dream; the sticky smear of blood left behind by mangled fingertips the only evidence such a gentle caress ever occurred at all.
The dull thud of that hand hitting the floor echoes louder than Notre Dame's bells inside the Villain's head.
No.
No no no nonononono!
"Hero?"
It's not commanding, it's soft—a plea. A desperate call for the universe to not do this horrible thing.
Please.
Shaking, gloved hands hesitate over the unmoving form of the Hero; always in motion, always foiling their plans, always fighting.
Following them around as they worked in their lab on some inconsequential project. Laughing full bodied with them over mugs of coffee after an impromptu breakfast. Teasing them and prodding them over their choices in movies and books. Fidgeting on the fire escape during emotional, late night conversations…
This is an unnatural stillness.
It's not right.
Their gloved hands make contact.
"Hero, wake up!"
There's an undeniable tremor in their voice now, horror rising like the bile in their throat, nausea gripping their chest like the talons of a bird of prey.
Their eyes burn.
"Wake up!!"
The ‘please’ goes unsaid.
But the singular rolling wetness that finds its way down their cheek is enough of a statement in its own right.
Their fists clench as they try to focus, breathing deeply and compartmentalizing.
They get to work.
They are not one of the most brilliant minds of their generation for nothing; they have the skills to back it up.
Less than thirty minutes later, they stare at their emotionless visage reflected back at them in the glass of one of their rarely-used recovery tanks. Beyond it—behind the shatterproof, impenetrable tank glass—floats the Hero: safe, and steadily healing under their watchful monitoring.
A gloved hand rests on the glass, their body sagging against the tank. The Villain’s forehead gently collides against the transparent barrier with a thud.
They stare into the murky, glowing nutrient fluid, at the unmoving, unresponsive naked form of the Hero.
"... who did this to you..?"
The Villain's hands shake with rage, misplaced and boiling to the surface.
They exhale.
They'll get their answer when the Hero wakes.
And when they do, they'll bring the perpetrator to his knees.
Laugh when he begs for mercy.
They've discovered something about themself in this strange endeavor they've embarked on.
A good person would do the right thing, even if it meant sacrificing something they loved for the greater good.
The needs of the many or whatever that bullshit rationale implies.
The Villain isn’t a good person.
They’re a Villain for a reason; such useless mentalities just get in the way of getting the job done.
They’ll keep their Hero safe on their terms. And if the world falls to pieces because of it?
Well.
The Villain will set fire to the world around them, but never shall those flames touch Their Hero.
They smile.
They wonder if this is what love feels like.
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My designs for Villain and Hero found [ here ]
shout out to adornedwithlight for the reblog banner & barbed wire divider
New Fandom, New OC!! Today's Fandom is Invader Zim!!
Okay, so I recently got into IZ because of my besties and a certain someone who wears a Gir hoodie. So, have a silly IZ oc I made to cause chaos and be a genderless bisexual monster ✨️✨️
I was on vacation in Villarrica, southern Chile. Perfect place to draw some stuff related to mythical creatures like my oc Maciel and some young merman.
