Delusion and Villainy (a villain story)
It feels like the villains are winning a lot lately.
You stir sugar into your tea, clicking your spoon against the sides of your mug in an easy four-count pattern. Click, click, click, click. You time your breath with the sound and watch the plume of debris rise in the distance. The fight is happening in the shipment yard of a construction company. By the look of it, that’s concrete dust turning the horizon into a foggy haze.
You turn back towards your penthouse apartment. The best designer in the city worked on the sleek, white marble interior. You’re a fan of the gold trim on the counters and in the chandelier, but you think it might be time for the minimalist furniture to go. You’ve seen so many social media posts with the same amorphous couch and chair that it no longer feels unique or cutting-edge.
The deal forms easily in your mind. Treat yourself to a redesign or to stepping out of retirement. You can’t have both.
The news anchor’s voice is noticeably breathy. “We’ve lost visual on Lady Spring. Mr. Hands-On managed to make contact-- ” Quickly, the screen switches from footage of the fight and to PR approved photos of the heroes. The anchor coughs and regains her level voice. “Redding’s Hero Team recently went through a reshuffling earlier this year. It’s not clear whether Odysseus is the Leader or if Sir Stone was promoted—”
You hate how the news always censors Hero fights these days. Back when you were active, they showed everything. The wins. The defeats. The blood. The way the streets filled with it. The way the scent of it slipped between the scent of burst water pipes and burning plastic. The way--
You sip your tea. Your fangs click against the rim of the cup. Not enough sugar. You sigh and set it in the sink. You know from experience that now that your appetite has awoken, you won’t ever be able to add enough sugar. Not until you’ve smothered the flames building in your throat with a different liquid.
You retreat to your bedroom to change. Your costume isn’t even sold in stores for Halloween anymore, that’s how long it’s been since you’ve been active. You’re grateful for it. They never used the right material to achieve the draping black dress, the structured bodice, or even the jewel-studded mask, which you think even a reasonably crafty elementary student should be able to create. You’ve always felt that if children must dress like you, they should do so accurately.
The adults who dress like you do so at their own risk. You do love some well-dressed thralls when the mood strikes you.
On your way out the door, you throw an emergency counseling request to your therapist. They’re not going to be happy the way you’ve let your delusion win this time. You grab the parasol hidden at the back of your coat closet. It’s awfully bright outside.
You and your therapist would probably make more headway on your mental health if so many parts of your illness weren’t true.
You don’t wait for the elevator. You open the shaft with two fingers and drop down it silently, disintegrating into a fine mist before you ever see the bottom.
Lady Spring hears the humming first. It’s muffled as if sung from the next room, but the voice is strong and sure. A lullaby at the harbor. She coughs and rolls off the pallet of concrete mix she’d been thrown into. It’s higher than she thought and she groans when she hits the asphalt. Her head is ringing. She shouldn’t have taken that hit for Odysseus. She learned a long time ago that even heroes who monologue have a price to pay—
The humming. The humming.
“Spring!” Odysseus leaps over a pallet of bricks to land beside her. The strap of one of his Greek sandals has broken and it drags behind him uselessly. Half of his tunic has been ripped off when he let Mr. Hands-On get too close. His bare chest shines with sweat. “You okay?”
“You need to wear fucking armor,” Lady Spring says. She’s said it half a dozen times already and the words come easier than I’m okay. She checks her own armor, tightening the buckles on her leather breastplate with practiced movements. “Where’s Stone?”
“Finding the civilian,” Odysseus says. He helps her to her feet. “Hands-On is over by forklifts, we think he’s hotwiring—”
“Civilian?” she interrupts. She grabs his shoulder. “What civilian?”
Odysseus’s heavy brow snaps down. “The one humming—”
“Recall him. Recall him now!” She’s already turning and running towards where she last heard the woman’s voice. She can barely see through the dust in the air, can barely breathe, but she isn’t blind, isn’t without oxygen. She can keep moving. She brings her power to her feet and her strides cover twenty feet at a time.
“Wait, Spring!” Odysseus has to tap into his super speed – barely d-rank – to keep up with her. “What’s—"
The forklift bay creeps through the dust cloud. She can hear Hands-On tinkering and cursing somewhere in the rows and rows of machinery. He’s a lower-level tech villain and she doesn’t want to imagine what he’s already done to modify a machine like a forklift, but it’s low on her priority list.
There’s a figure up ahead. The spikes of his armor jut from his shoulder plates, and his head is cocked to one side, listening. Her heart shudders with relief. “Stone!”
Red glowing eyes blink open over his shoulder. A silhouette made of pure shadow materializes behind him. Lady Spring suddenly realizes her teammate isn’t standing – he’s being held up.
Her shoes smoke with the force she stops herself. She braces and catches Odysseus before he can barrel past. Her pulse thunders in her veins.
“Stone!” Odysseus bellows. He struggles against her grip. It’s only because she still has her spring activated that she can hold him back, sapping the power of his forward motion into building her recoil. “Let him go, Hands-On!”
“That’s not Hands-On,” Lady Spring says.
The dust is settling. A parasol blooms like a cloud over their new opponent. Lady Spring knows that if she inspected it closer, it would be made of the exact same lace as the gloves covering the woman from fingertip to elbow. A glittering mask of black jewels complements glowing red eyes. Sharp, small fangs gleam over bloodred lips. Her gut sinks when a drop of red slides from the corner of her mouth. Stone’s been bitten.
“Is that a fucking vampire?” Odysseus breathes. “Vampires aren’t real.”
We’re fighting a man who can turn on any machine with a cog, Lady Spring wants to say. In one of the distant rows, she can hear a forklift engine turn over. Her gaze remains fixed ahead.
“Of course they aren’t,” the woman says. She throws Stone’s body to the side with an easy flick of her wrist. When he hits the ground, he groans. Thank god. “However, schizophrenia is.”
“Vampyre,” Lady Spring says tightly.
“Specifically, Renfield syndrome,” Vampyre says. Her voice is sweet. She twirls her parasol with one hand as she uses the other to bat dust away from her dress. “That’s the official diagnosis. Personally, I think it’s the best my therapist could come up with. It’s close enough. Combine psychosis with superpowers…well. There isn’t much difference from the fantasy, is there?”
“You’re breaking your deal,” Lady Spring says through bloodless lips. Vampyre’s file flashes through her memory. S-rank. They are so fucked. “Ma’am.”
“Lady Spring,” Vampyre says. Something funny happens to the dust cloud. It moves as if caught in a dust devil, swirling and slamming into where Vampyre stands. Only she’s no longer there. She whispers in Lady Spring’s ear from behind her. “I never made a deal.”
Lady Spring lets the power she’d stolen from Odysseus go. She rockets forward, barely managing to retain her hold on Odysseus when she does. Her step takes her twenty feet forward to where Stone lies. Odysseus isn’t ready- he trips and falls over Stone’s prone body. Lady Spring doesn’t have time to apologize. She shakes out her arms as she turns, coiling the springs in them as quickly as she can. She raises her fists. “Don’t come any closer.”
Vampyre smiles. Her teeth are slicked with red. “I’m not here for you, dear.”
“Not…?” Lady Spring’s eyes dart to where the forklift is now crashing into other machinery. Hands-On is coming this way. “You know him?”
Vampyre clicks her tongue. “Heroes haven’t been winning very often lately.”
“And you want to make sure we lose today?” Odysseus snarls. He’s shaking, but he still draws his shortsword and comes to stand next to Lady Spring. “Vampiress?”
Lady Spring steps on Odysseus’ foot as Vampyre’s eyes narrow.
“Her name is Vampyre,” Lady Spring hisses. She ducks her head to the villainess. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He didn’t read your dossier.”
The quick apology settles Vampyre. “I suppose that’s understandable. I am retired.”
“I’ll make sure they learn.”
Vampyre sighs. “I don’t know what the news is debating. Clearly, you should be the Leader, Lady Spring.”
No shit. But she’s a lower rank, and there are a lot more hoops to jump through. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Vampyre turns towards where Hands-On is maneuvering. “Villains shouldn’t win all the time, Lady Spring. It takes the romance out of the battle. You’d do well to keep that in mind.”
“Or else what?” Odysseus snaps.
Spring thinks very seriously about knocking him out.
Vampyre spares him a single glance over her shoulder, one red eye burning. “Or else I’ll help you.”
The forklift’s engine screams when Hands-On finally gets it into the aisle. It barrels towards Vampyre, thrusting out of the fog like a battering ram. Odysseus yells in surprise. Spring coils to pull them out of the line of fire. Hands-On is aiming for the heroes, his goggles helping him see through the settling dust. He jerks the steering wheel right and left. The machine pitches onto the edge of its tires and swings. It’s going to miss Vampyre and run right into her team--
Vampyre holds out one hand. She catches the edge of the cab with a taloned grip that crushes through the first layer of metal before she gets to the main support structure. Hands-On blinks. Turns.
Vampyre throws the machine and the villain back towards the pallets. A new plume of dust rises, and there’s a horrifying crunching noise when the forklift lands upside down, Hands-On still in it.
Even Odysseus knows to stay silent when she turns to them next.
“I suggest you run,” Vampyre says lightly. She nods to Stone. “Thank him for me, will you? Because of him, I have the strength to do what I must.”
“And what is that?” Lady Spring asks.
Vampyre smiles. Her sly eyes slide towards the wreckage. “Why, to make sure the heroes win the day, of course.”
Odysseus' breathing stutters as he realizes what she means. “No. He may be a villain, but we don’t—”
“Thank you,” Lady Spring says loudly. Her stomach is turning, but she’s a strategist. She tries to communicate that to Odysseus with her eyes. “We will leave. Next time we fight, we won’t lose.”
Vampyre is licking her lips. She seems to be having a hard time looking back at the heroes, her gaze constantly returning to the broken forklift. The scent of blood is clawing through the air. “See that you don’t. I’m retired, you know. It’s not good for my mental health to keep doing this.”
Lady Spring grabs her teammates by their belts. Odysseus grabs around her shoulders when he realizes what’s happening.
Lady Spring springs away, flinging her team up into the air with her. Odysseus is snarling, trying to get his feet under them so that they land correctly. She’ll let him chastise her later.
Today, they live. The citizens do too.
Vampyre only ever claims one victim.
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Summary: Abomination. The S-class Supervillain. Me, a C-class hero. I take a deep breath. Close my eyes. Remind myself that I’m a hero.
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