Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Before you call Scar a villain, just know that wasn't true at all.

Scar wasn’t really a bad guy, not really, no matter how much he looked the part. While his face was marred by the very scars his name derived from, Scar always did his best to look presentable, covering the left side that was grotesquely mutilated with a ceramic white mask. It was elegant and fitting enough to go along well with his costume, a very nice red and crimson suit with long coattails and even deeper pockets. Scar chuckled to himself, giddy and exotingly contagious as he settled the accompanying tophat precariously atop his brown hair with one of his wide grins. Had he been anyone else, the garment would have certainly fallen as soon as he’d spun away from the mirror with a sharp turn of his wheelchair.

The hat remained perched on his head, telekinesis holding it upright despite the million thoughts passing behind his eyes, one a brilliant peridot shine, the other a calm and hazed jade shade. Despite the constant shift of his attention, one particularly pressing matter that resurfaced again and again in the back of his mind:

This next heist was going to be fun.

Scar’s grin became wickedly mischievous, suddenly floating above his wheelchair with glee shining in his mismatched eyes. Mentally willing the chair to wheel itself into its corner, Scar hummed to himself as he levitated into the air, feet hovering inches above the floor high enough so they didn’t drape along the ground, yet low enough that an unobservant onlooker would be fooled into believing he wasn’t standing on nothing. Illusions were one of his favorite skills, after all.

The door to his room flung open by themselves, grandly announcing his presence and managing to garner some surprised sizzling from his fellow conspirator. Joel quickly shook his surprise off with a roll of his fiery, ruby eyes, brushing some of the soot out of his brown hair, taking extra care to shake the ash from the orange streak. Scar waved innocently, and Joel huffed, a small trickle of steam spilling from his nostrils.

“I take it you’re ready for the mission then Scar?” Joel, notably, did not share the same level of enthusiasm as Scar did for their upcoming job. Instead of dressing up for the occasion, the fire ogre wore simple dark clothes to blend into the night with, small hints of orange clothing hidden underneath his gloomy coat and black pants. The get-up reminded Scar of something an edgy teenager might wear after watching twilight.

“Oh Joel, buddy, you have no idea what I’ve got planned for the show. It’s going to be a-mai-zing!” Several scattered objects rose from his gusto, pens, papers, coins and empty soda cans hovering in the air. Then Scar waved his hands, sending them all clattering back down without a second thought. Joel snorted, but said nothing of the display.

“I can’t believe you’re still doing those,” Joel said lightheartedly, kicking a can that had rolled near his feet back into the darkness under a sofa. “The whole point of a robbery-”

“Heist!”

“Right, sorry.” Joel sighed dramatically. “The whole point of a heist is that it's subtle, Scar. Blowing up bloody fireworks for your entrance defeats the whole not getting caught aspect of, you know, crime.” Scar tutted, wagging his finger so that one of Joel’s knives from his pockets flew to his side, mimicking the disapproving motion. Joel practically squawked when it shot out from underneath his coat.

“Beans, Beans, Beans! Presentation is everything!” With a humored smile, Scar mimicked throwing the orange-tinted blade into the air, sending it spinning and twirling beautifully before it arched back down and landed gracefully in his hand. “The fireworks are the most fun of the whole shindig. It shows people that we are important, powerful, and to be respected-” Scar sucked in his breath suddenly, dropping the knife so that it spun in mid-air, the man holding his bleeding hand that the blade cut into.

Joel wasted no time bursting into laughter, soot shooting from his mouth as he wheezed. “Powerful and respected, aye?” Scar whined, sending the knife shooting back towards its owner’s feet.

“Shut up, baked beans,” Scar grumbled, frowning at the small line of red trailing down his palm. It wasn’t that deep, nothing more than a slightly deadly papercut, but Scar knew it would scar. His gaze trailed further down towards the rest of his hand, all the small nicks and scrapes over the years mottling his skin, leaving it discolored and raised. Scar pursed his lips, curling his fingers over his palm, only serving to show him all the scars littering his digits. 

With a huff, his gloves came flying from his pocket, the sleek white cloth sliding themselves over his hands elegantly. 

Showtime was starting soon, after all.

Dazzling fireworks showered the sky in brilliant reds and golds, cascading down in a grand display of golden rain to bedazzle and excite. They sparkled with the stars, their intensely hypnotic glow illuminating the well-dressed man flying in the sky, painting Scar with a star-like shine in the otherwise dreary night. Even from in the streets far below, Scar could tell they saw his smile, adrenaline igniting him with such riveting excitement that it was almost as though he were a firework himself.

“Well hello there!” Scar shouted, voice echoing throughout the PA speakers in the city below, the stolen microphone hovering close enough to his mouth for the enthrallment of his words to bleed into the air. “Welcome back to another wonderful Scar-tastic show in Hermit City, led by your host, the one, the only-” Scar snapped his fingers, eyes glittering gold as fireworks exploded around him in a magnificently glorious halo around him, highlighting the pure glee etched into his face.

“SCARRR!” Dragging out his name, Scar swung his arms grandly, letting the pyrotechnic display light the streets bright enough to see everything in the small portion of the city-turned-stage. Everything, including the target, an unassuming four-story building that a dark figure was already scaling, another already running across the top with a faint orange glow. A small chuckle passed Scar’s lips, directing his attention towards those not involved with production. Unbridled joy coursed through him as the wind ruffled his hair high above the audience.

Grabbing the microphone that was hovering by his head, Scar brought it to his smiling lips. “Glad to see everybody back for our performance tonight, the show’s just about to start! We’ll be performing an especially magical show today, so-” Scar chuckled, cheerful laughter spilling from the speakers.

“Be mindful of any falling debris. Don’t want any accidents, now do we?”

The lights of the street lamps went out. Groaning and creaking metal reverberated through the city as dozens of streetlights were yanked from the ground before zipping through the sky, curling and coiling around Scar in an elaborate, practiced patchwork. A bead of sweat trickled down Scar’s face, his brows furrowed as he concentrated, orchestrating all the individual pieces of his masterpiece with carefully planned thoughts.

Scar’s stage wasn’t going to set itself.

Scar flicked his wrist, head tilting as he focused intently on a large nearby air conditioner unit, molding it to his desire. Telephone wires, gutters, and a brick chimney followed, each brick falling apart in a mosaic. Prodding the area with his already occupied mind, Scar reached for props, shattering the windows as they flew towards him. Scar grunted, hands trembling as he directed them all into his vision.

The stage was nearly set when a pair of wings flapping against the air caught Scar’s attention, earlier than anticipated. Scar clenched his teeth, sending all the bits flying and settling together in a hurried mess, far more rushed than he would have liked, personally, but the show must go on. A small cough hacked through Scar’s lungs, but he pushed through the way his mind seemed fractured into a dozen pieces. 

Whirling a finger around, bricks slammed into his feathery friend’s side, causing Grian to grunt as he audibly crashed into the floating floor Scar had just formed. Reaching into his pocket, Scar pulled out Grian’s costume accessory, sending it whizzing before the hero could realize. He grinned, satisfied as the final piece of the set fell into place.

Suddenly, the street lamps were lit anew, illuminating the new stage and the two figures. Grian blinked, taking in his new surroundings with practiced ease. Grian’s pure obsidian black eyes drifted to the metal floor, ruffling the parrot-like feathers that took the brunt of the hit. Not thrown off guard, he quickly scanned the stage, noting the circular ring of it, bordered by the bricks save for four small gaps.

Scar liked to think Grian appreciated his work, considering the other an observant man of the craft. Saying he liked Grian wasn’t even a lie – Even though they were technically enemies. (Scar didn’t think they were, not really, although Grian’s usual scowl made it difficult to tell if he felt the same) That same infamous scowl was on his face now as he tilted his head towards the tall, thin poles with hoops and connecting wires as he realized what this set-up was about. Unfortunately for Scar, the bird immediately began trying to pry off the red clown nose chosen especially for him.

The microphone flew back into the ringleader’s waiting hand, tophat tilting on its own to acknowledge his friend’s grand entrance as he floated above one of the podiums. “Ah, Grian, perfect timing! Tonight’s show wouldn’t have been the same without you.” Red and blue feathers bristled under the faint light, just enough for Grian to see Scar’s unwavering smile. With another snap of his fingers, the lampposts that were curled into crumpled balls floating above them turned on, his stagelights in place and illuminating the pair properly.

“Scar, you’ve done some pretty crazy crap, but this is just ridiculous.” Grian gestured to the nose on his face, which only tightened around his head further the more Grian struggled with it.

“Aw, c’mon Grian, you love the shows!” There was the sound of another window crashing before a tea set whizzed behind Grian’s ear, too distracted by the sudden near-collision to notice he was being poured a cup. Dropping the microphone back into the air, Scar grabbed a teacup, sending the other hovering just next to Grian. The man did not appreciate it, swiftly sending it smashing against the floor on sight.

“I do not love these ludicrous games you rope me into.” Ignoring Grian’s distasteful comment, Scar instead sipped the contents of his cup loudly before making a face.

“Yet you keep coming back,” Scar teased, tossing the cup over his shoulder and continuing without pause. “Don’t worry, Grian, no need to be embarrassed about enjoying my shows. I pinkie promise I’ll plan the next one all for you. It can be our little secret!”

Grian opened his mouth to speak, feathers fanning out as his brows furrowed, but the audience had been waiting for too long for this chit-chat to continue on for much longer. Clearing his throat, Scar stuffed the round clown nose straight into the hero’s mouth, choking and silencing him quickly.

“Now,” Scar shouted into the floating microphone, cracking his knuckles for the audience to hear. “Who’s ready for the beginning act!” Some of those who hadn’t yet fled apprehensively applauded, blossoming a cheek-splitting grin across his face. However ingenuine their support was, Scar never took it to heart, allowing himself to soak in the spirit of it all.

Scar cheered, floating higher off his platform, hardly paying any attention to Grian’s groans, unlike other shows and battles the two had partaken in beforehand. Not with his thoughts so scattered like this, no. Attention was hard to grasp with so many things to keep afloat, so many thoughts all needing his focus. Today would be difficult, yet rewarding if his mind didn’t wander.

“Scar, whatever you and your cronies are doing, just quit it. I’m not in the mood to fight-”

“Who said anything about fighting?”

Grian’s brows furrowed, lips parting confusedly as he tilted his head to better view Scar, the ringmaster smiling down at him from above. With a giddy chuckle, the floor swept out from under the telekinetic’s opponent, shooting out into the sky faster than Grian could spread his wings. An indignant shrill shriek that sounded awfully like a squawk filled the sky, feathers pumping instinctively to stay afloat.

Not that it mattered much, since Scar slid the stage right back before Grian gained any height, causing Scar’s favorite parrot to crash against the metal ceiling with another yelp. Small sparklers flew across the crisp night air, their crackling amplifying in intensity alongside Scar’s breathless cackle, soaking up the suspense of the moment. The streetlamps tilted down to keep Grian in the spotlight, even below the stage. Keeping Grian disoriented, Scar turned the set completely upside down, revealing his handiwork of streetlamps he’d struggled to weave together beforehand.

“Miners and crafters, I am proud to present tonight’s grand event: The Incredible Master of the Skies himself, Grian, the bird that never falls!” Fireworks exploded around them, Grian stunned as he crashed his wings against the thick bars of Scar’s giant birdcage. Gritting his teeth, Grian tried to worm his way through the compact bars, pulling and pushing them with his weight in an attempt to claw free. Unfortunately, the bars were too wide to give the audience a clear view, but necessary so his co-star didn’t turn the show into an escapist trick. A crooked grin overtook Scar, clearly pleased.

“Now, now, Grian, no need to be like that, you’ll get your chance to shine in just a moment after all the preparations are done. The show hasn’t even started yet!” Carefully dismantling the circus ring set up below, Scar molded the rings and hoops into new props for Grian to see, weaving them as he continued drumming up hype.

“What the hell is this, Scar!” Grian screeched, throwing himself at the bars hard enough to leave bruises, taloned fingers scratching at the metal obnoxiously loudly. Flicking a finger at the cage, the metal bended, snapping at the bird like a rubber band and knocking him back against the other wall. Scar wasn’t particularly fond of causing Grian unnecessary harm, no matter how rude he was, but he was even less fond of those talons; The sound of avian nails scrapping against the metal made Scar's eye twitch, and Scar wanted nothing more than the ability to mentally grab people's body in that particular moment.

In Scar’s mind, Grian’s increasingly raucous complaints were nothing more than a small buzz, just another thought he’d process when the time came. Scar waved his hand with a flourish, sending telephone wires directly towards the caged hero, who immediately rolled out of the way. Having left his back exposed, Scar quickly twirled the wires between his feathers, binding the primaries with a quick motion while Grian fought him off at every turn, screaming obscenities. The birdcage began peeling away around him, twisting in the air like a snake.

“ I can see you from here, Scar, ” Scott’s voice whispered to his mind through the earpiece, the grating of metal stuttering in its steady course at the interaction. “ I know you want a show, but just don’t get too carried away yet. Not until we get what we’ve came for. ” Scar nodded, forgetting the starborne man couldn’t see it, once again distracted with his stage as soon as his comrade’s voice faded away. A pleasant chuckle passed through his lips as he weaved the metal fluidly between his fingers. If Scar'd been able to focus enough, he’d have seen Grian already trying to worm his way out of the planned little space of his show.

Pumping his wings as hard as he could, Grian hardly managed to get higher than a few feet before falling completely out of balance, clawing onto the giant makeshift perch to keep upright. “I can’t believe- This is madness! Absolute madness! Get this crap off me right now before I strangle you with it myself!” Scar let the circus ring stage fall into the street below with a plume of smoke, Grian screaming and digging talons into the floating perch that remained.

“Who’s ready for Scar’s Travelling Parrot Circus’ debut, everyone!” With a flourish of his hand and the explosions of fireworks, Scar sent Grian’s perch spinning wildly in the sky. The grandiose feathers shone brightly under the artificial lights, bombarded with colors that flashed as brilliantly as gems. Scar guffawed, practically bursting with excitement as he zipped in the sky, mind in a million places at once. The fireworks, the hat, microphone, stagelights, the bindings, the perch, levitating myself, Grian, don’t drop him, don’t drop anything, can’t drop anything, can’t drop him-

Grian was a slippery fellow, as Scar knew from many tussles with the man; Keeping him occupied and constantly thrown for a loop was the only way to win against him, never giving him a chance to recover lest he wiggle out of Scar’s telekinetic grasp. So with another burst of his explosive light concert, Scar sent Grian out on another trick, this time making little platforms for his friend to jump across, prompted to jump each time the one he’d been standing on plummeted from beneath his foot.

“Isn’t this such a riveting performance folks! Never have I ever seen such agility from our beloved little hero!” Scar’s cackles and glee, while contagious, did not manage to make Grian smile. So Scar mixed it up again, raising the platforms vertically into a ladder for Grian to climb, although the hero clung onto them with no intention of letting go, even when Scar shook it. The man remained stubbornly still on his rung. Scar tilted his head, briefly wondering if Grian knew Scar wouldn't drop him before his mind became occupied with dozens of other thoughts.

“ Mission complete, Scar! ” Joel whispered into his ear excitedly, sounds of heavy footsteps suddenly blaring into his head. “ Wrap it up and we’ll meet you at base! ” Scar grinned, already preparing his grand finale in his mind. Perhaps he’d end it with those magnificent fireworks covering up his disappearance into the night. A vanishing act, just how Scar liked it.

“You a big fan of free-fall, Grian?” Scar asked, tone turning just a tad darker despite only bluffing, adding that zest his show needed. “Because I think that’d be a great final act.” Their eyes met, obsidian to green, something in that onyx gaze casting a gnawing feeling of dread to crawl up through Scar’s gut. Scar's eye twitched.

Scar enjoyed being alive, and his intuition was very good at keeping him that way.

Narrowing his eyes, Scar tried to mold the birdcage back around Grian, but somehow the hero was quicker than thought itself. The hero lunged forward, wings still imposing and frightening even with them half tied-up. Scar’s thoughts jumbled wildly seeing Grian jump in from above him.

“My favorite final act is you in jail .” Grian’s wings propelled him through the air, strong enough to overcome the wires binding his flight feathers together. Scar yelped, shooting upwards into the sky instinctively, but Grian managed to sink his talons deep into his calf, embedding themselves to not lose his grip.

An agonizingly brutal howl ripped from the back of Scar’s throat, frantically shaking his leg about with his mind, knowing that those would certainly be leaving scars. Everything crashed as Scar’s grip on his thoughts faltered, in his pain-fueled panic only able to support keeping himself afloat. The remaining fireworks all burst at once, a cacophony with accompanying strobe lights in every corner of the sky like a twisted mimic of day. The explosions were enough of a surprise that Grian’s grip on him fumbled, and with a final mental kick, the hero fell.

Scar’s heart pounded, his breath too shaky to breathe as he sucked in air. Cold, chilly air that sent a shudder down his spine, contrasting the warmth seeping from his leg and onto his pants. It was just a moment he was distracted, constant thoughts and focus finally overwhelming him in just a handful of seconds.

Precious time it took to gather his bearings, to realize that the hero had fallen.

That Grian had fallen.

“ Scar? ” A faint voice in his earpiece called out, words meaningless to Scar’s ears. “ Scar! Mission successful, what are you doing! ” Scar reached out, hands curling as though to grab Grian from mid-air. If Scar could reach out and grab a person’s body, even just once, he’d undoubtedly pull Grian upwards to safety in a heartbeat.

But the Incredible Grian, Master of the Skies, had fallen.

…

Maybe Scar really was a villain after all.

Chapter Text

No matter what anyone'd say, Scar knew he was a villain.

“Scar- Scar, buddy, it’s going to be alright,” Joel said reassuringly, as though anything about the disaster of last night had been remotely alright. “Grian’s a tough guy, that fall wouldn’t have been enough to really hurt him.” A nearby table shook, rattling its contents like a warbling earthquake. Unspoken words between the pair were enough to say that, no, a fall of that height should have killed their favorite hero. Grian was many things, but alright would not be one of them

All because of Scar.

Back at home, the group was at their self-appointed base of operations. As per usual, it was in a disorderly disarray, but with Scar’s current mood, any small object that could be levitated was. Scar bit his lip, watching as the globe spun round and round without his meaning to, curling into himself on his wheelchair. Levitating himself again after this whole ordeal would be quite the effort that Scar wasn’t sure he was willing to try just yet.

"No, no, I killed him, I killed a bird- man! Bird-man!" Dozens of items shot into the air, some spinning wildly as Scar fretted. Even the corner of the couch tilted upward suddenly, sending loose throw pillows and discarded notebooks sprawling to the floor.

"Calm down Scar, you didn't kill him," Joel reassured, pulling a pair of flying scissors out of the air and shoving them into a drawer, slowly sliding it shut.

"How do you know that!" The drawer flung open, Joel sucking in his breath as it slammed roughly into his side. Scar winced in sympathy, nose scrunching against the oxygen canulla. "Great," He groaned miserably, burying his head into his hands. "Now I'm hurting my buddies, too." Gently sliding the drawer back into place, Joel rubbed the back of his neck, embers flaking off him and onto the floor.

"It might look rough right now, but let’s be reasonable about all this." Wary of Scar’s rocking wheel’s, Joel approached his friend with his calmest smile. "Take a minute to breathe man, then think it through." Cooling his skin to a dull gray, Joel squeezed Scar's hand, though the touch was still warm enough to be grounding. Scar pursed his lips but listened anyway, breathing just deeply enough for most of the floating objects to land gently on the ground. His friend flashed him a bright smile – Literally. 

"That's more like it, Scar! Now, remember that time Grian fell off that stupidly tall skyscraper? Or the time he totalled from a ridiculous nosedive?" Scar just barely nodded, slowly to not lose his focus. "Our buddy's gotten pretty banged up loads of times but-"

"But he always uses his wings to lessen the fall." 

Silence followed. Scar's grip on his armrests tightened as Joel sizzled in the abrupt lull of the conversation.

"Grain's a tough fellow, Scar," Joel said solemnly. "We both know he's survived much worse. You're just beating yourself up because this time it was your fault." Pens shot upwards, embedding themselves into the ceiling with a twitch of an eye. Joel hardly even flinched, just resting a warm hand on Scar’s shoulder, eyes crinkling sadly.

"This was an accident – those happen." Joel’s voice was abnormally quiet, soft enough that the consoling tone was nearly drowned out by the creaking ceiling. "No matter what happened or happens, you're a good guy. None of this was your intention. You just…" A small puff of smoke seeped past his lips as he exhaled, embers flickering in his warm eyes as he squeezed Scar's shoulder. "Have a lot on your mind. All the time." Scar sucked in a breath, the small dust shower from the crumbling roof pausing as he clutched onto Joel a little tighter.

"That's not an excuse, though." Joel shook his head, fingers sizzling hot enough for Scar to feel the embers through his shirt, jolting him enough to snap his attention away from his dozens of thoughts.

"It's not, but it calmed you down." Blinking, Scar took in the room anew, now significantly less polluted with floating objects. Even with guilt still clawing up his chest, Scar chuckled softly, letting Joel wrap his arms around him for a loose hug.

A hard knock on the door disturbed the moment, the knob shaking softly as it cracked open, revealing a curious eye poking through. "Come in," Scar mumbled, fanning the redness from his face, Joel pulling away to welcome their new guest. Another fellow comrade in their heists.

Standing in the doorframe was a dark-haired man, hair streaked with shocks of white. Glistening eyes with an electric blue sheen poked through the dark shadows, the pupils slit and somehow always seeming sinister. The man’s clothes were engulfed by a crumpled lab coat, a loose tie hanging from his neck underneath a folded up collar. Black gloves covered his hands, the same hands that held two small vials up to his vortex eyes, shaking their contents gently.

"Got some gifts for you two," Cub said, forked tongue flicking from behind his teeth as he smiled. As he stepped into the room, the light illuminated his bright and fluffy blue slippers and a light stain on his white coat, surely from his experiments with the concoction. Even though the man never felt exhaustion, his face was far too pale, but Scar made no comment, certain his own complexion was worse. Joel practically squealed upon seeing the vials.

"Oh my god, that can’t be it, can it?” Sparks flew as his grin grew, fizzling as excitement burned hot beneath his skin. “You’re joking! No way, no way. Is it finally time?” Cub grinned as Joel raced up to him, but his smile didn’t rise as much as it should’ve. Too stunned by the vial, Scar didn’t notice, itching to take the glass bottle and stopping his own wandering mind from yanking it out of Cub’s grasp then and there.

"We-ell, sort of.” Letting the pause settle over the pair awkwardly for a moment, Cub readjusted his coat, smoothing out some of the creases that had formed from his restless work. “Good news first: The building y’all robbed had the substance we needed for the antidote-" Joel nearly melted in relief. "-but bad news, it's not complete yet."

"Not complete!?" The fire ogre squawked, plumes of fire shooting from his hair. Scar frowned, reaching out for the vial, Cub letting it fall from his grasp for it to float across the room and land gently into Scar’s hand. Up close, Scar could better see the milky white substance splash in the glass, dribbling down viscously, his brows only furrowing further as he sploshed it about. Scar might not have been an expert, but he had been working on stealing resources for the concoction for ages now, and it certainly looked completed to him.

“The formula y’all stole was modified. Different from what I’ve been working with. It’s responding differently to our counter-serum, but finding a workaround isn’t impossible. It will take more time and resources if it keeps on changing like it is, though.” Cub said ‘changing’ bitterly, as though the modified formula had personally attacked him, yet his eyes still glinted with his usual insatiable curiosity. Sliding his gloves off his hands finger by finger, Cub rubbed the smooth glass of the vial, musing to himself as he studied it.

"Modified? They’re not evolving it, are they?” Scar’s lip twitched, letting the vial fall from his hands, only to have it hover near his face, still scrutinizing the liquid with keen green eyes and a quickly disheartening spirit.

Cub nodded. “This new cure being developed destroys our powers from the source. Unlike the previous ones, it won’t just kill existing cells with the mutation for a temporary effect. Once it’s fully developed and administered, our powers will be-” 

“Gone. Permanently.” Nobody spoke.

The vial with Cub’s antidote fell into Scar’s lap. Clenching his hands, the table shot into the air, its contents sliding off and hovering next to it. The couch slid sideways, startling Cub enough the vial loosened in his grasp, shooting upwards in a vicious spiral before Cub snatched it back, tucking it carefully in his pockets. A plume of bright orange shot up from Joel as the floor beneath his feet shifted, tiles falling apart and creating a hazardous wasteland of the room. One of the walls began caving in, crumbling in on itself as Scar’s eyes watered.

“Scar- Scar calm down! The antidote will still work!” The foundation creaked. “Crap, Scar you’re- stop stressing!” Footsteps thundered towards the room, another man with big, blown eyes assessing the situation as the door slammed open and closed, eventually crumbling as the doorframe twisted apart into wooden coils.

All this in vain , Scar thought, watching as Cub rushed towards him, their friend in the mossy green jacket following right behind. They can still take my telekinesis away.

The telekinesis that destroyed and demolished with watery eyes and choked breaths. He ignored the collapsing walls around him, the room with dust and debris flying everywhere that he caused. The dangerous aspect of his powers that ruined everything in its path without so much as a thought. Reminding himself of Grian’s fall only hurt him worse, causing the house to shake violently, back and forth, trembling in a tornado of his own spiraling thoughts.

Bdub’s cool hands touched his forehead, and Scar gasped, the breath was suddenly sucked out of him as his eyes began to flutter. Soft, scratchy moss spread over his body, blanketing his hands as it crept up around him. His vision darkened, his anxiety waning, no longer fighting to sit upright as he slumped into his chair.

The house shook once more before Scar was finally lulled into a restless sleep.

A lonely figure sat on the roof, overlooking the city below. The night was calm, but far from peaceful. Up atop of the concrete tower, one could conjure the illusion of silence and solitude, the perfect place to disconnect while still remaining very much in tune with the rhythms of nightlife. Being above all the cars and people passing below, it was easy to watch, easy to lose oneself to the steady stream of controlled chaos you weren’t meant to be a part of.

Scar was familiar with this feeling. It both soothed and frustrated him equally, so he supposed it soothed Grian as well. Or perhaps the bird-man came up here to let his wings flap in the wind, lulled with the cool air and colder isolation.

“Hey stranger,” Scar greeted, floating but a hair’s width away from the ground. Grian’s wings flared, the man jumping and whipping around with the precision of a bird of prey towards Scar, blinking at the intruder. His lips parted and wings stilled, a small crease forming between his brows.

“Civilians aren’t allowed up here.” Scar tilted his head, a soft, knowing smile resting upon his face, beckoning Grian to reassess this strange new figure.

“Surely you could make an exception for your favorite civilian then, Grian. Especially one as scarred as myself?” Realization struck Grian quick as lightning, jaw dropping and immediately scrambling to his feet and flaring his wings above his head.

Raising his hands into the air, Scar chuckled. “Don’t be so uptight, Grian. Like you said, I’m just a civilian today. Is it a crime to check on my favorite hero, up here all by his lonesome?” Ever the skeptic, Grian didn’t buy it for a second. Scar shrugged it off, floating near the ledge his feathery friend was looking off of without regard for the hero currently brandishing his talons at him. For the first time, Grian seemed to notice he was levitating instead of standing, watching carefully as his feet hovered just high enough to never touch the ground.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” Scar fished for a conversation, Grian too unsure of himself to say much in return. To fill the silence, Scar hummed softly, sticking his hands into his coat pockets and letting the breeze ruffle his hair, a little chillier than he would have preferred. Grian, of course, was only wearing a bright red sweater that did little to keep out the cold. Scar decided it must’ve been a bird thing, letting the thought go.

“This is- How are you so casual!” Grian squawked, reminding Scar quite a bit of a chicken. “You know I could just subdue and detain you right now, right?” A car honked as it zoomed by below, both men following it until the brightly colored vehicle sped off into the distance. Even after it passed, Scar took a moment to collect his thoughts into an answer.

“You could detain me, but you wouldn’t.” Scar floated his legs into the air, turning his back to the avian as he sat dangling his legs over the edge just like Grian had been. “Enough of that, though,” He said, patting the concrete beside him with a toothy grin, a fresh scar on his lip tugging pink and raw. “Sit down, have a chat! Not everyday we get to hang out like this, after all.” 

Hesitantly, Grian inched closer to his weirdly friendly enemy, casting a dark shadow over Scar as he approached. Hearing the faint sound of rustling cloth, Scar’s gut twisted, and the man raised his hand and instinctively snatched at the air. Tsking, Scar levitated the needled dart in front of him, enough to get a good look at it before pocketing it into his coat.

“Worth a shot,” Grian merely said with a shrug, settling down next to his archenemy as though he hadn’t just attempted to nullify his powers. Again. But their usual tussles held no place up here, so the pair merely continued to enjoy the nightlife, leaving half-witty banter and senseless brawls for the streets below.

After a minute, Grian’s enamorment with the vista wore off, turning instead to his companion to curiously stare, holding back only a moment before words began spilling from his tongue. “I’ve never seen you without your mask before,” Grian mumbled, those intense black eyes honed onto Scar, making him feel as though Grian were analyzing and scrutinizing every little gash and mar. Every imperfection that mutilated his face and body. Scar’s fingers curled, pebbles and loose debris floating a centimeter behind them as he wondered just how Grian would phrase his comment on them: The scars.

“Never realized you had heterochromia,” Grian said instead, turning back to stare pointlessly at the street below. “Guess it’s hard to tell when we’re always fighting.” The pebbles clattered back to the ground without Scar even noticing. The fresh scar on his lip pulled as he grinned.

“Are you saying I have pretty eyes?” Scar was beaming, letting Grian jab an elbow into his side, perhaps a little harsher than necessary.

“No, that’s not what I- Shut up!” The tips of Grian’s feathers ruffled, puffing up ridiculously fluffy. Nothing about it was really that funny, but Scar still snorted, eyes crinkling as he chuckled lightly, contagious enough to get Grian to smile as well. His wings flapped relaxed behind them, swaying absentmindedly in the night, but still enough to cause a soft draft that made Scar tighten his coat around himself, distracting him from the conversation just enough to notice the traffic on the city streets.

A car below ran a red light, speeding through traffic so quickly several cars had to veer out of the way. An unassuming pedestrian was mid-cross, too far to cross safely and too close to return before the flooding headlights consumed them. With hardly a thought, Scar reached for the tires with his mental grasp, the screeching rubber bowing to his mind’s will and skidding just enough out of the way to avoid a collision.

The pedestrian miraculously avoided death and the speeding car continued its journey. Grian continued sitting, unperturbed. Scar pursed his lips.

“For a villain, that was actually pretty heroic.” Grian began curling his feathers around, bringing them into his hands to pick out loose specks of dust and dirt and whatever other annoying objects lodged themselves into giant bird wings. A large portion of the downy inside was charred black, and although Scar’s thoughts wandered, he chose not to mention it.

“A villain? Me?” He gasped instead, covering his ajar mouth with his hand as though scandalized. The hero rolled his eyes, continuing to preen the extravagant wings, weeding out scorched feathers among lustrous, beautiful ones. Scar was pleased with himself, tapping his fingers against the roof, tapping erratically to a rhythm known only to Scar as he appreciated the view, gaze lingering on the spot the pedestrian had stood. Scar’s tapping sped up at the thought.

(Grian watched the tapping; Grian watched many things. Grian watched how his hands fidgeted, watched how he constantly shifted in subtle ways. Grian watched his legs, watched how they were eerily still. Grian only watched though, and said nothing of his watchings.)

“Why’re you a hero, Grian?” Perhaps it was just mere curiosity that made Scar ask, or perhaps it was something deeper, something stirring sickly in his gut as he stared at the pavement. Glancing up from his burnt feathers with a soft “Mm?” Grian met Scar’s eyes, pure obsidian black scrutinizing the man sitting next to him on the chilly evening rooftop, skeptic eye once again analyzing the man next to him.

“If this is another one of your ‘Convert Grian to the Dark Side’ schemes, it won’t work.” The hero discarded a plucked feather into the air with a nonchalant flick, Scar catching it and letting it hover awkwardly in front of them. Grian didn’t comment, just continuing to shed feathers into the night. “Bribery hasn’t worked in the past, and don’t expect it to either. Especially when you're trying to bribe me with cookies and crystals, of all things.” A small bundle of charred, black feathers were soon hovering in the air, some sort of plumage bouquet that fluffed around as Scar bounced it about. 

“No, no, not that. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to providing any of your baking needs if you asked.” Grian snorted and Scar hummed, fingers tapping a little slower. “But no, I’m not trying to ‘convert you’. Just wanted to ask about these.” The burned bundle of Grian’s feathers floated a little closer, enough for Grian to reach out and grab the bouquet if he wanted. Grian said nothing of them, merely tossing another one towards the amassing bundle.

“They’re from your fight with the World Eater today, aren’t they?” Grian scowled, wings puffing up and fluffing in the wind that whipped around their faces.

“I hate dealing with Doc,” The hero grumbled, pulling his legs up onto the ledge so he could rest his chin on his knees, glaring at the pavement as though the unsuspecting civilians below could cure his attitude. “Even your merry robbing crew isn’t nearly as much of a pain. Every time I think I’ve finally put an end to his world-ending plots, he always surprises me with a new one. And just look at what he does to my wings!”

Grand feathers fanned out, the massive wingspan stretching out as wide as possible to display the true extent of the damage from the tussle. What Scar had thought was just charred feathers was instead mutilated burns, scorch marks from Doc’s explosive lightning scorching the wings with scabbed and bloody splotches. Wincing, Scar peeled his eyes away, just like Grian’s feathers peeling off from his red skin.

“And of course there’s never a day of peace in this city, not for me,” Grian continued, huffing as he pulled up his jumper’s sleeves, bandages wrapped tightly around his arms with faint traces of red pinpricks seeping through them. “Zombie struck again today, and I swear! One would think there aren’t that many dead animals just laying around Fifth Avenue for Cleo to reanimate, but she somehow got her hands on bloody cobras!” A pile of stacked bricks clattered noisily behind the pair when Scar’s fingers curled into the building’s ledge with an iron grip.

“Snakes.” Scar shuddered, the wired TV antennas curling in on themselves and trembling in sync with the man. “Why did it have to be snakes?” Pulling down his sleeves, Grian nodded along, sparing the ruined antennas a glance before returning his glare back to the city below.

“I hate dealing with those two; They’re just the worst.” Grabbing a small pebble jostled about by Scar’s telekinesis, Grian tossed it over the edge a little harder than necessary. His brows furrowed, puffing his feathers as he went to throw more loose pebbles over the edge. “Actually, I hate dealing with the whole lot of you. Can’t you all just take a week off from villaining or something?”

Cheeky comments were quick to come to Scar’s mind, though he bit his tongue before he could begin another petty argument with the hero over the whole matter again, leaving his rebuttals on the subject for another day. The night air was infectious, chilling Scar with an odd solemnity, a pensive kind typically only found in solitude. He turned to Grian, who drew constellations with the stars above and tossed stones over the streets, the sights and sounds of chaos below meaningless up atop the rooftop between the two of them. Two enemies, enjoying the other's company for just that night.

“If you hate it so much, then I must ask again: Why are you a hero, Grian?” Sensing the earnesty, Grian faltered, stone still trapped between his fingers as his hand paused on the swing. His wings shuffled closer, curling around Grian closer.

“Why are you a villain, Scar?” Grian asked in lieu of answering, letting the stone clatter from his grasp, spilling below with a graceless arc. “You keep insisting you’re not, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a criminal. So, why are you a villain?” Grian began stroking his wings, running his fingers through the down while pretending he wasn’t watching Scar’s every movement, black eyes shifting constantly with an unnatural purple shine.

“Because I couldn’t let them take my telekinesis away,” Scar confessed, a gaping hole in his chest feeling oddly exposed under Grian’s watching eye. “They said it was too dangerous for me to keep it so I- I hid. My powers make me, and I won’t get rid of it.” Grian exhaled from his nose, small puffs of frosty air fogging the air before quickly dissipating, as though Scar hadn’t just spilled his heart and soul.

“That’s my reason too.” The hands carding through his feathers gentled their touch, Grian’s eyes watching how the plumage swayed in the breeze, expression soft and far-away. “It’s probably the most selfish reason for being a hero, but my wings are too important. They let you keep your powers if you’re a hero, and I can’t bear the thought of not being able to fly. So I guess that means we’re both selfish.” Grian smiled. Scar did not.

Selfish. 

It was as if someone had stomped on his chest, leaving that breathless feeling of reality knocking sense into him. Never before had he considered himself selfish, never before had the thought crossed his mind. The gutter began peeling from the side of the building, screws popping off with occasional clicks. 

Nobody should ever have been granted this much power, yet he had. Everyone in the apartments beneath him was at his mind’s mercy, he knew, dozens of innocent, unsuspecting families that could be snuffed out if Scar merely thought it. Yet he clung onto this power, a power that could cause so much damage and grief, powerful enough that it was better for the greater good if it didn’t exist at all. The fire escapes began flattening into the sides of the building, mimicking Scar’s clenching fists.

Mobility shouldn’t be worth this volatile power, a power capable of unthinkable destruction, yet he clung onto it. Maybe that was selfish, but that didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t fair.

“They shouldn’t be allowed to forcibly subdue powers, though.” Curling ivy growing alongside the edge of the building stretched out, leaves plucking themselves midair as Scar huffed. “Who are they to judge which powers should be allowed and which shouldn’t? It’s a part of us. Regular people deserve to keep them, too, not just the government’s little heroes.” He sent a pointed glance to the hero beside him.

“So people like the World Eater and Zombie should just be left to their own devices?” Grian scoffed, watching the lawn chair suddenly levitating behind them, alongside the several littered toys left behind from that afternoon. “Anyone with god-level capabilities should be left unchecked, then. People like your robbing crew, free to steal and do whatever they please, just because they can.”

Grian leaned forward, stretching his wings out behind him like an ominous halo. “People like you, who could kill me with two thoughts.” Scar couldn’t deny it.

“But I don’t.” The lawn chair behind them crackled as it crumbled into itself.

“It’s about the principle of it, Scar. Just because you play Mr. Nice Civilian doesn’t mean everyone does.” The dark obsidian bore deep into Scar once more, unsettling his gut and twisting the gutters into a knot. That purple glint returned, and with it, Scar pursed his lips, levitating himself into the air, feet floating just barely above the rooftop. Following suit, Grian stood up beside him, balancing on his toes and tilting his chin up, as though sheer willpower alone could make him taller than Scar.

City noise filled the silence between them, the night continuing on without regard for the two men on the rooftop. Looking Grian over one last time, Scar noted the smaller details he would probably never properly see again: The determined crease in his brows, the bold air he held himself in, the rambunctious way his feathers spread, making his presence known. Scar held a mutual respect for the man, sincerely wondering where along the line they’d come to recognize each other as archrivals. Perhaps it was the fun and thrill of it the concept, something both of them came to anticipate with each drawing battle. They were much too alike in that regard.

Maybe, should the circumstances have been different, they were just meant to be friends.

“Don’t you worry, my dear hero, we’re almost done. Hermit City won’t have to worry about this little problem for too much longer,” Scar said lightheartedly, floating over the edge with a faint smile on his lips to push out the sour tone their brief conversation had taken. “See you next week, Grian!” Grian gaped at him, ruffling his feathers again as he watched Scar hover over nothingness.

“Next week- Is that when your next robbery is? Did you just-”

“Heist! Not robbery!” Scar shouted, bowing in midair before smoke bombs went off, sparkles fizzling around him as he made his grand exit. The hero coughed, rubbing smoke from his eyes, but Scar was already plummeting to the ground, hearing Grian’s indignant squawk as he fell towards the ground, faster and faster. There was no need to worry; He would catch himself, he always did. Grian’s wings became smaller, his expression lost as Scar escaped down into the very streets they’d been high above, falling into the depths of nightlife that all but consumed a person.

Wind whipped around him, coat flapping wildly and hair obscuring the sight of Grian’s watchful gaze as he let himself fall. Falling, faintly aware that the ground was soon approaching. Precious time was wasted gathering his bearings, precious time to realize that the memory had distorted into something better described as nightmarish.

Grian was no longer watching him from above. It was himself, impassive and dull, floating above the air and watching him fall. “Selfish,” Scar whispered, voice breathing into his ear despite being so far above him. Panic clawed at his throat, bright, grand wings stretching from his back to catch the air, restrained, yet still fighting against gravity. Free-falling twisted his gut, gurgling with unnatural quesiness as he plummeted, unable to catch himself despite his feathers.

Concrete slammed against his wings.

He couldn’t breathe.

Scar landed with a hard thump onto his bed, shooting awake with a breathless gasp and the acute sensation of falling thrumming in his chest. Dread crept up his spine, dreams of Grian falling looping on repeat in his mind.

Even awake and on his bed, Scar still felt like he was falling.

Three days Grian had spent in the hospital. Three nights he’d slept, each morning waking up to the acute sensation of falling thrumming in his chest. Awakening with a gasp, Grian jolted upright out of bed, pain flaring from his wings before remembering where he was, pushing aside the gnawing dread creeping up his spine and the vague memories of his dreams to start about another boring day of hospitalization.

Curse that villain. The second he was discharged, Grian would hunt down Scar and make him rue the day the villain made Grian his little circus bird. He wasn’t quite sure how yet, but he was quite certain he was going to involve lots of chickens in the matter. Revenge plots were practically the only thing keeping himself sane in the monotony of the hospital at this point; Revenge plots and Mumbo’s mustache, of course.

A camera’s shutter clicked, a soft and brief flash of light flooding his vision. Blinking it out, Grian watched Mumbo lower his camera, flashing him a cheeky smile almost as bright as the flash itself. 

“Good morning, Grian!” Mumbo cheered, far too perky for this early in the morning. “Hope you didn’t undo any of your bandages while I was gone.” Scrolling through his camera’s buttons, Mumbo began smirking, surely at the photo he managed to nab while Grian was distracted.

“Stop it with the photos, Mumbo! They’re embarrassing to even think about.” Dodging a pillow thrown his way, Mumbo chuckled, reaching back down to pick up Grian’s ammo with a raised brow. They held a silent staredown for a moment before Mumbo hurled it back into Grian’s face, albeit much gentler, only harsh enough to gain a surprised squawk from his friend as it bounced onto his lap.

“That a yes or a no on the bandages, then.” Grian scowled.

“They’re just so itchy. You can’t possibly expect me to sleep with them.” Holding out his one good arm for Mumbo to see, Grian showed the bare arm stripped of its mangled bandages, leaving only a bloody mess of unhealed skin that was sure to scar. The color from Mumbo’s face fell almost as quick as his jaw did.

“Did you peck them off?! You blasted bird!” Immediately, Mumbo began fretting, pulling fresh bandages from his satchel before settling it and his camera on the nearby desk. “Grian, how on earth do you get through the day? I know you’re reckless, but this is just going too far, this is.” Grian let Mumbo fuss with his arm, ignoring Mumbo’s comments and the sting of antiseptic to instead stare out the window. Sulking was his new hobby now that he was on enforced bedrest, and just because Mumbo was here didn’t mean he’d stop.

“This isn’t my fault. It’s that menace’s fault I’ve got to deal with this,” Grian grumbled, mindlessly picking at the lint on his blankets with his exceptionally sharp nails. “Scar’s a madman, a straight up lunatic. Never would I have thought he’d do something like this.” Peering up from his cleaning job, Mumbo raised a brow, Grian rolling his eyes to avoid looking at his friend’s caring, yet so painfully judgemental face.

“Scar’s a villain. Literally a villain, and you didn’t expect something like this? I know he only acts like half a villain most times, but still, the man’s dangerous.”

“I know that, Mumbo!” Grian groaned, wanting nothing more than to bury his head into his hands, only whining louder when a particularly sharp burn from the antiseptic caused him to squirm. “But he’s- It’s Scar! His robbing crew only, well, rob, never attempt second-degree murder. Even when we’re trying to kill each other he tries to turn it into a game. My bad for putting a little too much confidence in him, I guess!”

Pausing his rewrapping, Mumbo gave him That Look. “Yes,” He said. “This is most certainly ‘your bad’ for putting any amount of confidence into a villain. Why would you possibly think that wouldn’t end up with you in the hospital?” Faltering for words, Grian wisely chose to keep quiet on the matter, instead going back to sulking and staring out the window.

“For a guy so set he’s not a villain, it’s remarkable he’s still so convinced after robbing nearly half of Hermit City. It was a medical laboratory this time, wasn’t it? Wonder what on earth those lot could need from there.” Nearly finished with his quick impromptu job, Mumbo began musing aloud despite Grian’s clear impassivity, murmuring beneath his breath as a quick afterthought, “Shame the report was all classified.”

“Knowing you, you’d have just found some way to connect it to your drug cartel theory.” Through his winces, Grian began shifting his body to better sit upright, putting aside the flaring aches from moving his wings even slightly from where they were held up by large hooks. He sucked in a breath, scrunching his nose as he messed with the pillows before Mumbo forcibly took and rearranged them for him, instead.

“They’ve robbed far too many pharmaceutical companies for them to not be,” He countered, reaching into his pocket for his phone, shoving the screen in Grian’s face after flipping through his gallery for the charts, maps, and other dozens of incriminating photos the hero had seen several times before. Many of the photos Mumbo had taken himself in the name of his self-proclaimed ‘investigative journalism’, fueled largely by Grian, even though the man should have no right sticking his camera into crime scenes as he does.

“Look at the data, Grian, it doesn’t lie. Five in this month alone, plus pharmaceutical and other drug-related hits account for a whopping sixty-seven percent of their robberies. Couple that with their twenty-six percent of government related hits, there’s just no other possible explanation!” Grian quirked a brow, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Right. Because the top three narcotics are cocaine, marijuana, and immunotherapy pills.”

“You never know. Maybe it only gets you superpowered people hi-”

“Do not.”

“Okay,” Mumbo mumbled sheepishly, powering off his phone and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just providing the most reasonable explanation with the data I’m provided, and quite frankly, I think it’s a very reasonable explanation.”

If Grian could cross his arms, he would’ve as mentally prepared himself for this discussion, the one they’ve had for the umpteenth time now. “Reasonable doesn’t exactly apply in this situation,” He grumbled, scratching at the fresh bandages Mumbo applied before his friend’s hand smacked it away. “Believe me when I say there is not an ounce of reason in that man. The dictionary definition of ‘unreasonable’ is just a picture of Scar. Nothing your rational brain can conclude will apply to a man that is as sensible as a particularly friendly cat. Goodness knows I’ve been trying to figure him out only for forever.” Mumbo frowned again.

“Fair enough,” Mumbo sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket, eyes drawn to the window as a particularly colorful bird flew past, shooting past so quickly it left nothing but a pretty blur behind. Grian’s feathers puffed just watching it, watching it circle back around into view to land on the antenna of the building across the street, bouncing along on the wire.

A thought crept into Grian’s head, watching it shuffle along the metal, not bothering to face Mumbo, knowing he was stood watching it, same as him. “Remember that night on the rooftop? When he just floated right up to me in full civilian clothing and started chatting.” 

“It’d be hard to forget,” Mumbo admitted, sitting himself down onto the foot of Grian’s hospital bed. “Unexpected, yet somehow completely unsurprising considering it’s Scar. What about it?” Biting his tongue, Grian watched the bird, waiting until it grew bored of its temporary perch before collecting his thoughts enough to share, and even then, his brows remained furrowed with uncertainty.

“All he wants is to keep his powers,” He muttered, letting the sound of the beeping hospital machinery and running AC fill the silence in his pauses. “Even for Scar, I can’t fathom the leap in logic on becoming one of Hermit’s Most Wanted if all he wants is to have his telekinesis be left in peace.” Another hesitant pause, and Grian turned away from the window, watching Mumbo fiddle with his mustache.

“Scar’s lied before. I wouldn’t put it past him to obscure or exaggerate some details. Didn’t he say something about nearly being finished or some other nonsense? Maybe that means he’s going to retire soon.” Now Grian was frowning.

“No, he said we’re almost done. Whatever this is all about applies to all of his robbing crew, not just Scar.” Sharp taloned fingernails dug into the hospital bed. “Scar’s just- So frustratingly impossible to figure out! All the other villains flaunt their ulterior motives, yet not the most flamboyant of them all? Why does Scar have to be so- so-”

“So Scar?”

“Exactl- EEP! ” In his frustration, Grian forgot about his wings, puffing them up and jostling them to emphasize his point before being crudely reminded of the several broken bones in the hollow appendages. Mumbo winced in sympathy as Grian groaned, further sinking his claws into the sheets.

“Look at what this man does to me. The mental and physical pain he causes me, even when he’s not here.” Grian gestured at his sling and broken wings. “I can’t wait to finally end his slippery shenanigans and subdue him to make him talk. And actually talk! Not just his mind game gibberish he likes to play!”

“Good luck subduing him,” Mumbo said, a small smirk forming underneath his mustache that didn’t go unnoticed by Grian’s watchful eye. “Every time you try using power inhibitors on him he just catches it. Lucky fellow, he is. I reckon your best chance of getting a word out of him is if he waltzes right up and subdues himself.”

“Even Scar wouldn’t do something like that,” Grian scoffed, averting his eyes towards the window. For a second, all he could comprehend was that the view he’d been accustomed to for the past three days while bedridden was different. It took a whole other second to realize there was a person grinning at him from behind the glass.

Floating behind the glass was, of course, none other than their favorite villain: Scar.

Chapter Text

Even though he was a villain, Scar just had to check on his favorite hero in person.

“Thank goodness you’re alright, Grian! I was so worried I nearly tore the house in two!” Ignoring how flabbergasted Grian and the mustached man seemed, Scar continued his fretting, wringing the small backpack he’d brought between his hands as he hovered beside Grian’s bed. “Oh gosh, I’m so so so sorry, G, I promise it was an accident! Swear I didn’t mean to, swear it on my life. You know I’d never try to hurt anyone right? Please forgive me, G-Man, I really am sorry, really, really, am. Actually, you don’t even have to forgive me, just accept my apology? Please, G, I was so scared I’d killed you or something!”

“I- Scar, what? How– No, nevermind, just– Why?” Scar paused his ramblings, tilting his head as Grian stared at him, brows pinched and jaw agape. His buddy seemed equally confused, if not more so, eyes blown and stumbling towards Grian a little more, putting himself between Scar and his rival. Scar just flew over him and hovered above the bed, startling the pair even more as he stared Grian down from directly above him.

“Sorry for the unannounced visit, I just needed to see how you were doing. This has just been eating me up inside, G.” Scar pouted, reigning in his guilt lest he accidentally levitate any of Grian’s medical equipment. “Everything’s okay with you, right? Expected to make a full recovery? Back to beating me up soon?” The mustached man snorted, bringing Scar’s attention back to his existence.

“Oh my word Grian, you’re right. He is a strange one.” The man had stood up, leaning over Grian as though to once again put himself between them. Finally giving him notice, Scar realized he was wearing a suit and tie, although he’d appeared to have forgone the blazer. Oddly formal for a hospital visit in Scar’s opinion, looking down at his own casual jeans and NASA jacket, yet he was always a sucker for extravagant attire.

“How awfully rude of me! The name’s Scar, although you’ve probably already heard all about me. Pleasure to meet you, Mr...?” Sticking out his hand, Scar lowered himself just enough for the mustached man to reach it.

“Call me Mumbo,” Mumbo said, hesitantly reaching out to grab Scar’s scarred hand, his palm surprisingly cold even in the frigid hospital room. “Pleasure to meet you too? I’m sorry if this is a bit direct, but would you mind a photograph?” Their hands slipped apart after a firm shake, Scar humming as he twisted his lips, turning back to Grian.

“This guy a friend of yours?” 

Grian grunted. “Unfortunately, my best.” Attitude flipping a full 180 degrees, Scar grinned.

“Any friend of Grian is a friend of mine! Of course you may have a photo, Mr. Mustache!” Before Mumbo could even grab his camera, it was already floating in front of Scar, smiling with enough teeth that the scar on his lip threatened to pull apart. Posing, Scar let his bag float beside him, angling the camera to catch Grian’s grumpy expression as well. The camera clicked all by itself, flashing both Grian and Scar, surprising Scar enough he nearly threw the whole machine into a wall. But he was a master of self-restraint, and it remained perfectly stable in the air without any wobbling. Pleased, he lowered the camera back into its owner’s hands, who’s brows were shot up high with surprise.

“Wow. That’s- Incredible.”

“Amayzing, aren’t I?” 

“This might possibly be the blurriest photo I’ve ever seen.” 

Turning the camera around, the pair could see a vaguely Scar-shaped streak with a wicked grin and Grian’s lumpy form underneath. Grian cackled, completely putting the absurdity of Scar’s presence aside to revel in the moment. Scar’s ears reddened as Mumbo too, began snickering, careful not to drop his camera.

“I can’t believe it-!” Grian laughed between wheezes, tilting his head back as his feathers rustled ever so slightly. “Scar, how did you manage to mess up a photo that badly? The camera wasn’t even that far away!”

“It was the flash! The flash made me shake it up! Telekinesis can be very difficult, you know. Try steadying your hand, except, it’s not your hand, it’s your thoughts, and your mind just never shuts off!” Calming down from his chuckling, Mumbo listened to their bickering, situating himself around the room to angle his camera properly. Turning off the flash, he snapped a quick picture, the camera’s shutter catching both Grian and Scar’s attention back to the matter at hand. Tilting the screen back towards them, Mumbo smiled.

“Not my best work, but I think it certainly appropriate. What about it, Scar? Want a more professional take?” Floating a little closer to Mumbo, Scar lowered himself to better see the image. It was obvious Grian was cackling, Scar caught mid-bicker with his lips pulled wide and hands displayed dramatically in a way he hadn't even been aware of while he spoke. It was perfectly serene yet chaotic, just as Scar preferred it.

“No, no thank you. This one’s amayzing.” Mumbo beamed, covering the camera back up with practiced care.

“That’s it?” Grian exclaimed, sounding rather like a squawk as he wriggled underneath the hospital bed covers. “Every time, you manage to take the most unflattering pictures of me possible, but I never get the chance to redo them? Yet Scar , the villain you just met today, not only looks great, but you ask if he’d like another?” Brushing aside the villain comment, Scar watched Mumbo pause, nearly done packing up the camera.

“Yes, that sounds about right.” Another laughing fit overtook Scar as Grian gawked, a chair suddenly jolting into the air and handful of Grian’s personal effects spinning around on their own, as well as part of his hero equipment. Trying to control his sudden laughter, Scar lowered himself onto Grian’s bed, breathing deeply in an attempt to stop the unwilling telekinesis. The chair clattered to the floor, and Grian’s belongings slowed like an unwinded musical box. Eyeing the familiar dart-like equipment, Scar forced himself to ignore it, pushing aside thoughts of its purpose aside. Grian merely watched.

“Anyways, I really did come to apologize, Grian.” Scar cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as his mind pulled a plastic container from his backpack that still floated in mid-air. Dropping the bag gracelessly onto the floor, Scar opened the lid of the container, sending its rich aroma wafting through the sterile hospital room. The container lowered onto Grian’s lap, Scar watching from the side of his eye as Grian stared at its contents with hungry eyes and his mouth ajar.

“Cookies? You got me... Cookies?” Tentatively, Grian reached into the container to pull out a perfect chocolate chip, perhaps a little crisper than it should’ve been, but nothing less than culinary perfection. Even Mumbo walked around to peek at them from the opposite side of the bed, peering into the box with obvious curiosity. “They’re not poisoned or something, are they?” The comment sounded like a joke, but Scar immediately began furiously shaking his head, nervously fiddling with the straps of his bag from where it lay on the floor.

“Making apology cookies is the- the sweetest way to say sorry. So- So I’m sorry. Really sorry. For putting you in here. I’d never try to really hurt you or- or poison you. Those cookies are to help you.” Scar gestured at the stale, bland room Grian had been sleeping in, wincing when one of the roof tiles began slipping out of place. Immediately righting it and himself, Scar averted his gaze away from Grian. “I- I don’t know what happened up there. I was just so distracted, I couldn’t think straight. It’s not an excuse, but I hoped you would- that you’d understand.

“And of course, I also came to check up on you, make sure you were alright. Bring a smile with a friendly face and my world-famous chocolate chips. You know, since you never did accept any of my baking bribes.” Scar chuckled, shifting nervously on the bedside. “Did it work?”

Scar’s eyes flitted over the hero, watching how Grian brushed his fingers over an apology cookie. The man seemed lost for words, picking out a chocolate chip with his exceptionally sharp talon gently, mulling over Scar’s apology with pressed lips. His onyx eyes watched Scar right back, the intense obsidian analyzing him all over again, right down to the jagged scar running through his right eye, looking deep into the light jade.

“Only you would bring their archrival cookies for hurting them in a fight. You really toss the definition of villain on its head, don’t you.” Grian shook his head, lips tugging upward before his eyes crinkled, his black eyes no longer scrutinizing. “Yeah, somehow, despite all logic and reason, I can forgive you Scar. Just don’t toss me five stories out of the air again.” Positively beaming, Scar shot into the air with a breathless smile.

“Holy smokes, thank you Grian! Oh man, I can’t believe this, I-” Scar saluted the hero, lopsided grin so contagious even Mumbo was smiling at the earnestness. “Won’t let you down G-man, won’t ever hurt another soul in my life. Scout’s honor. I’m not a scout, but I’ll be one just to use their honor.” Grian shook his head with another smile, setting the cookie back into its container and readjusting himself on his pillows. Before Mumbo could help out, Scar already slid the pillows right where Grian needed them to be, the hero pausing before realizing what had happened.

“You’re an awfully nice guy when you’re not evading the authorities,” Mumbo chirped, reaching for one of Grian’s cookies until Grian swatted his hand away, pulling back with a pout. “If I hadn’t of already known you were a villain, I’d never have guessed it.”

“No, no, no, I’m not a villain, I’m just an ordinary civilian, come to see my favorite hero!” Scar grabbed his jacket, pulling it outward a little. “See? Regular clothes, regular guy.” Grian snorted.

“Because regular civilians always flaunt their powers without restraint. I swear, I can’t ever recall watching you walk normally. Always floating, with you.” Scar’s lip twitched. Hospital drawers creaked slowly open, the wheels on a cart squeaking as they rolled aimlessly. Mumbo jumped when the windows shuttered closed, bringing Scar back from his momentary lapse of control. Nobody acknowledged what happened, only letting the shift in atmosphere permeate through the room.

“Hey Scar, would you mind if I asked you a question?” Scar didn’t answer Mumbo, only tilting his head at him inquisitively. The mustached man fiddled with his red tie, twisting the tips between his fingers. Dark eyes stared at Scar, and Scar only then realized just how awkward his presence could be. Mumbo took his silence as permission, sucking in a small breath before asking.

“Grian told me about that night on the rooftop.” Scar’s gut twisted, already sensing what this would be about. “And I just have to ask why. You’re such a nice person that I could hardly imagine you doing anything, well, villainous, and we’ve only met once. Why would a person like yourself do all this, if you just want to be in peace?” Another lull in the conversation, and Scar found his gaze slipping back towards the window, staring out the glass to watch the clouds pass by.

“It’s not just about me, though,” Scar said, mentally twirling the power inhibitor gun laying casually on Grian’s desk besides his personal belongings, causing the hero to flinch as the muzzle spun to face him. “Not I, not Grian, not any of us powered folks can be in peace. Grian got lucky and got himself a contract. Not all of us are.” Something somber fluttered beneath Scar’s eyes, shoulders sagging as he floated the gun towards him, letting it hover in the air as he played with locking and unlocking the safety.

“You tried for a heroing contract?” In their current predicament, Grian’s question was incredulous, as though fate itself could never have even conceived the positively ludicrous idea of Scar being a hero. When Scar nodded, Grian dropped his box of cookies, Scar willing them back into their box and settling it neatly onto Grian’s lap.

“But you’re just so- powerful. ” There was awe in the way Mumbo watched Scar casually levitate the cookies as though trailing them back through time, making him sound almost as naive as Scar had been. 

Merely gesturing at Grian’s hospital equipment, Scar shrugged. “Too powerful, I guess. Look at him. My control was even worse when I was younger. There were also... Other factors involved, that kept me from getting a contract.” With shuddering breaths, Scar tried to keep the ceiling tiles from cracking by instead focusing on folding pieces of scattered paper into terrible origami; Anything to keep his thoughts calm, to prevent him from getting upset.

“I still don’t understand,” Mumbo continued, loosely grabbing the railing of Grian’s hospital bed and rubbing the plastic underneath his thumb. “Even with everything we know about you, we still can’t figure out what you’re after. From a purely logical standpoint, I can’t make heads or tails of you. Not even Grian can figure it out, and he’s dealt with you personally.”

Mumbo leaned forward over the railing, looking up at Scar with curiosity twinkling behind his eyes like black quartz. “So, what is it you’re almost finished with?” Scar chuckled, letting his childish origami flutter to the ground.

“It’s no fun if I just tell you, now is it?” Grian groaned, his feathers ruffling, embedding his one good hand into his hair and rubbing his skull. Scar chuckled, rotating the gun around again, catching Grian’s eyes.

“Scar, for goodness sake.” The hero sounded exacerbated, huffing as he ran his claws through his hair. “All these mind games of yours are going to drive me up the wall one day, probably within the week. Nothing you do as a villain hardly makes sense with what you say as a ‘civilian’, and yet, I still feel so frustratingly close to finally getting what makes you tick.” Brushing his tousled hair from his face, Grian watched Scar, impossibly onyx eyes still on him.

Grian enjoyed watching, and Scar was never one to let the hero go without a show. 

“Perhaps demonstrating will clarify, then,” He said lowly, letting a slight mischievous grin slip over his lips.

Even out of costume, Scar was a showman, and Grian was fun to entertain. Sensing the shift in attitude, Grian tensed, although was still more or less confined to his place in bed. Apparently, Mumbo was clueless in this situation, rushing around the bed to put himself back between Grian and Scar. It would take him too long, though, against a man quicker than thought. 

Hoisting himself in the air, Scar aimed a finger gun at Grian, the real gun following suit. The hero seized up, talons digging into the bedding and entire body stiffening as he looked down the muzzle. The safety clicked off, Grian’s wings fluttering in their medical prison instinctively. Fitting, the hero’s own weapon be aimed against him. Scar’s own distaste for power inhibitors was the only reason he’d never touched it before, only catching the bullets, never daring to use it against his fellow powered friend. Surprised, it took Grian a moment to string words together, to even think of something to scream.

A moment was precious time, and it was far too long.

“Bang.” Mimicking the firing motion with his hand, the real gun’s trigger clicked. The actual dart gun was silent, the needle-tipped bullet ripping through the air directly at Grian’s chest. Grian screeched, curling in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut, only opening them when the moment of impact didn’t come. The bullet remained frozen in air a centimeter from his chest. Grian breathed again.

“Bang.” The finger gun aimed at Mumbo, the man flinching as the real gun’s muzzle fired another dart straight towards his chest. Bracing himself, Mumbo too closed his eyes before blinking them open a second later, recovering much quicker than Grian. Touching the dart that was hovering just in front of his chest, Mumbo knocked it out of the air, scooping to catch it as Scar let his mental hold of it go. Mumbo was human, then, Scar noted.

Lastly, Scar pointed the finger gun at his own temple, his grin half enthrallment, half terror. Staring into the muzzle of the power inhibiting gun, Scar’s gut was screaming at him, twisting beneath his racing heartbeat to flick it away. But Scar’s confidence in Cub was greater than gut instincts, and taking in Grian and Mumbo’s shocked faces, Scar laughed.

“Bang!” The gun fired, and this time, it didn’t stop. The dart embedded itself into Scar’s chest, injecting him with its poisons. The gun clattered to the floor.

Gasping, Scar pressed a hand to his chest, choking on his own desperate heaves for air. His vision wavered, only vaguely recognizing a black blur was approaching him. Coughs turned into wheezes, body heaving as it fought the toxic substance, his control over his mind and the room shaking. Something metallic crashed on the floor, leaving his ears ringing as he struggled to regain focus, followed by less distinct thunks and clangs. Air rushed past him.

Sturdy hands wrapped around his shoulders, a white face with a black streak grasping onto him. But the entirety of Scar’s weight was too much, and he crumpled to the floor. Cool tile greeted him, and whether the sudden shivering was from the chill or the toxins, Scar didn’t know. Couldn’t know, because at the moment, he couldn’t even think. Now that was a strange, nerve-wracking sensation. Not thinking was dangerous; He had to focus, focus his thoughts lest he lose control, lest someone got hurt-

Scar gasped, breath returning to his lungs. Spluttering, Scar heaved out what he hoped was the last of the toxins, fears of if it wasn’t plaguing his mind. Fears of if Cub’s antidote hadn’t worked. With ragged breaths, Scar looked up to see Mumbo, realizing he was shaking like a leaf in the man’s firm grasp. Mumbo kept his head from hitting the ground, must have ran over to try and lessen the brunt of his fall. Scar sent him a goofy, perhaps still-woozy grin. Mumbo’s expression was too hard to piece together, full of concern and confusion and something else just on the tip of Scar’s tongue.

Instead of thinking too hard about it, Scar turned his attention to Grian, still with that goofy grin plastered on his lips. The avian sat upright in bed, struck shock-still by abject dread. The dart that had been shot at him slipped from his grasp, watching Scar with undeniable worry, uncaring that the unused dart was now lost within the sheets of his bedding.

Grian watched him, downright horrified by the spectacle he’d just witnessed. And it wasn’t even the finale, Scar mused with a drunken chuckle, moving his foot back and forth. Let it be known that Cub was a mad genius and that Scar will never doubt his abilities again, not even for a second. The antidote worked like a charmed magical crystal.

“Scar, your- your powers...” Grian croaked, voice devastated for reasons unbeknownst to Scar. Heartwarming, sure, but Scar’d only done what the hero had been trying to do everytime they had the pleasure of working together. “The effects only last for- for a week but- but you’ll be detained and- and-” Grian bit his lip, pulling back the hand that had been reaching for Scar, as though remembering he was bedridden. His brows furrowed, running his hand through his hair, only now seeming to understand the implications of what had occurred.

“What have you done? ” Grian whispered hoarsely, appalled when Scar began giggling.

“Sucks whenever a fellow powered loses their powers, doesn’t it? Even though you’re a hero and all, you still got sad, knowing they’d take my powers away.” Grian must’ve thought him a maniac if the man’s face was anything to go by, an intangible sorrow contrasted by Scar’s delighted glee. “Funny, because it’s the same for every powered out there. Every time one gets subdued, we all mourn a little bit.”

“Then why on earth would you do this to yourself, Scar.” Even the human was devastated by the apparent loss of Scar’s powers and freedom, the man clinging onto Scar a little tighter. Or perhaps that was just Mumbo, with a heart as big and glorious as his mustache. Up close, Scar could see all the wrinkles and worry crystal clear, his heart softening in a way it hadn’t for a human in a long while, letting his endearment spill into a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, that was just my demonstration!” Lifting the used cartridge for the pair to see, both Grian and Mumbo spluttered, taken aback by the definitely empty dart hovering in the air. “Soon, Hermit City will be a safe place, and all us powered people will live in peace, without having our powers taken away! Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Grian!” Grian’s face blanched, the color falling as quickly as Scar rose into the air.

“ What have you done ? ” Grian repeated, understanding dawning behind those cold, cold obsidian eyes. Realization of what had been beneath his nose the entire time, realization that Scar and Co. were doing much, much more than mere heists. They were bringing joy back to Hermit City, one show at a time.

“Enjoy the cookies, Grian! If you don’t eat ‘em all, let me know, and I’ll whip you up a better batch that’ll be totally irresistible.” Although he was still rather wobbly on his metaphorical feet, Scar turned towards Mumbo, smiling warmly at the man as he waved him adieu. “Pleasure meeting you as well, Mr. Mustache. Would love to meet again after this whole shebang’s over! And don’t you touch Grian’s apology cookies; They’re for G’s recovery, and G’s alone. Get hospitalized if you want your own.” The man was still kneeling on the floor, positively aghast at Scar’s revitalization, yet managed a small wave anyways. Scar chuckled.

The window behind Scar burst open, slamming against the wall with a definitive thud. “I’ll be off, boys! Busy times around base lately, big plans for big ideas. See you when you’re all better, G-man!” And with a flash of his signature grin, he dashed out the window as suddenly as he’d arrived, dipping low, low, low beneath the hospital’s lifeless windowsill with little more than a wobble.

Left behind in his grand departure, Grian and Mumbo stared at each other. Utterly speechless, the pair contemplated just exactly what they’d witnessed, exactly what all this meant. Neither were quite sure what to think, especially Grian, who watched the empty, used dart roll across the tile. One thing was for certain, though: Scar was far more dangerous than they could’ve ever believed. With this new knowledge, Grian grabbed a cookie, and bit into it with a tentative nibble.

“Dammit. These are actually delicious.” Mumbo squawked in surprise, but Grian was too busy watching the window to pay him much mind.

Grian would be watching Scar much more closely now, it seemed.

(And while he would rather shoot his own wing than admit it to Scar, Grian ate all of his apology cookies. After much begging, Mumbo was eventually allowed just one. Apparently the best baker in all of Hermit City was Grian’s archrival, Scar, the supervillain.)

“It’s about sending a message,” Scar said, the short journey between the hospital and their base taking quite a bit more out of him than he’d care to admit. While the antidote might have saved his powers, Cub had failed to mention just how exhausting it would be, the man practically collapsing the moment he met his bed. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been that surprising, and now as he lay before his friends and co-conspirators, Scar found himself struggling to breathe just a little.

“What message could you possibly want to send?” Scott groaned, glittery aura spreading throughout the room in small puffs as the representative of Noxcrew paced. “That they should strike the big red target painted on our backs with only half-developed medicine to fight them?” Scar sucked in his lips, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he tried to formulate an answer for their associate.

“It’s about sending a message,” Scar repeated nervously instead, scratching at the stubble underneath the cannula. Bdubs snorted from beside him, gently prying Scar’s fidgeting hands away, spreading moss across his knuckles with just a touch. As the moss grew towards his chest, Scar sighed in relief, letting Bdubs' power ease the gnawing aches across his body, the small pinprick where the dart had punctured his skin mending itself with a scar as the moss’ healing washed over him.

“Good news, Scar’s no longer considered a villain by Hermit’s Most Wanted,” Joel announced, strutting into Scar’s room with sizzling hair and Lizzie by his side, the woman lightly shoving Joel’s arm everytime an ember flecked onto her. Her raccoon tail swished as she walked, walking double-time to keep up with her husband, leaving the striped limb to appear more like a metronome. Noticing this when he looked up from his phone, the ogre shrunk just enough to match pace with her.

“Really? That was the last thing I was expecting.” Everyone except Scar stared at Jimmy, the only non-powered one in the room.

“Bad news, Timmy, Scar’s been promoted to supervillain status.”

Jimmy frowned, muttering a soft ‘Oh’ under his breath. Beside him, Scott ran a hand through his teal hair, lustrous topaz eyes looking out the window and reflecting the afternoon sun in the specks of glamour shining on his body. Noxcrew and Scar’s own crew were tightly knit, albeit separate entities: Noxcrew would provide any legally obtainable resource required, as well as distributing the antidote Cub created amongst powered individuals. The rest fell upon ConVex, leaving Scott as the middle man between them. The job was surely no easy feat, as much visible from Scott’s ever-increasing wrinkles between his brow.

“What’s done is done, I s’pose. Come on, Jimmy, let’s figure something out back at Noxcrew.” Standing up, Jimmy’s frown faded, following Scott where the starborne man had begun walking out the door. “Cub, keep on top of Scar’s vitals. Check for any side effects of the antidote and the inhibitor.” He added, backtracking to point at Scar. “And make sure you get lots of rest. Noxcrew wanted to run a clinical trial before revealing the prototype, but I’ll keep them off your back. You just focus on keeping out of trouble.”

“No sir, no trouble from Scar. Absolutely none. Will remain here and resting all night long, so tell Noxcrew they won’t hear a peep of trouble out of me.” Scott smirked as Scar prattled, coughing to restrain a laugh, although Scar noticed even with Bdubs’ moss causing his eyes to droop every so often.

“If Grian gets discharged before him, he’s probably going to get into trouble anyway,” Lizzie said, the telekinetic poorly disguising his grin behind a moss-covered hand. Everyone noticed it anyway, garnering a chuckle from Scott.

“I’ll wrangle him myself if he tries,” Cub said, clearing away some of the moss to slip a fingertip monitor onto Scar’s hand. “Don’t worry, Smajor, Scar’s going to be up and beating heroes up before we know it. I’ll send Noxcrew all the stats on the antidote as soon as I run the tests. Gotta give the man some space for now, though.”

“Alright, thank you Cub. Feel better soon, Scar, and don’t worry about this mess. As far as we know, this doesn’t change anything. Plan MCC is still good to go.” With that, Scott waved farewell. Understanding their dismissal, Lizzie and Joel bid their own farewells, the raccoon woman eagerly bounding away, probably in search of fresh trash. 

Only Bdubs and Cub remained, the close-knit trio taking a minute to just let the moment happen, listening to the soft scratch of Cub’s pen on paper. Scar was half-tempted to drift off right then, the excitement from this morning leaving him giddy, yet exhausted. Bdubs’ moss wasn’t helping the matter, either, and Scar found himself fighting the urge to sink into his pillows.

“Did Grian like the cookies?” Bdubs asked, interrupting the gentle lulling quiet.

“He practically drooled when he smelled them. I give him ten minutes at best to completely wolf them down.” Scar twisted his lips, tapping his finger against his covers. “Or should I say bird them down? Wolf seems wrong, with the Red King and all.” That got a chuckle from Cub, who scratched something out on his notepad.

“Nobody can resist the Cookie Emperor's cookies,” Bdubs affirmed, nodding along to the consistent scritch on paper. “I’m honestly surprised he didn’t start munching the second he got them.”

Scar shook his head slowly, not wanting to jostle his mind with vertigo. “No, that pesky bird’s a real worry wart. Made a joke about me poisoning them, even started scratching at the chips like it’d ooze black or something. Smart cookie, but still, rude. You can’t just turn down a man’s apology cookies, you know. Cub and I spent all night baking them.”

“He seriously suspected they were tampered with?” Scar shook his head at Cub’s question, giving him a little shrug.

“Nah, G-man knows me too well. We’re basically buddies now!” Apparently he’d put a little too much enthusiasm into his statement, because he immediately fell into a coughing fit. Shoving his notepad into his coat’s pocket, Cub pulled his stethoscope from around his neck, just as Bdubs increased the intensity of his healing moss, leaving Scar perhaps a little more bleary than he would’ve liked. As his need to yawn grew, the rough scratching in his throat cleared, eventually settling into nothing less than a slight discomfort in his chest.

“You’re the best, Bdubs,” Scar murmured, blinking languidly at his friends. “Best... Best sergeant- colonel- no, captain... sergeant-captain there is. Right-hand man.” With his unnaturally large crystalline eyes, Bdubs looked at him worriedly, giving his arm a light nudge.

“Why of course, Scar. We’ve got to look out for each other, after all. So don’t-” Scar’s eyes were already drooping. “Hey, hey! Stay awake!” Snapping his fingers in front of Scar’s face, Bdubs pulled back on his moss. Scar groaned as the calming numbing of the healing subsided, aches prickling his body as he was forced into clearer consciousness.

“Never thought I’d see the day Bdubs doesn't force you to sleep,” Cub said, grabbing a blood drawing machine that only made Scar groan further. The mad scientist only grinned. “Come on Scar, isn’t it exciting? It’ll be your blood sample we analyze to set a precedent on how our antidote works against the inhibitors. I’d be as happy as a clam.”

Scar hoped his face expressed just how disgusted he was by the notion. “This sucks,” He ended up muttering, reluctantly giving Cub his arm. Purposefully staring in the opposite direction, Scar found his gaze drawn to the window, watching the clouds pass above him, connecting shapes to dully distract himself. The soft prick of his vein soon came and Scar sucked in a quick breath, letting it go as a particularly large cloud passed by, casting dark shadows inside the house as it blotted out the sun. Cub pulled the needle out, yet the dark shadows remained, Bdubs bristling beside them as he spread a little moss over the miniscule prick.

“Stupid cloud,” The moss man mumbled, scoffing as he too started gazing out the window waiting for it to pass, Cub far too distracted with Scar’s sample to be bothered with the everyday phenomenon. Winds whipped through the air, quickly enough to keep that sky hardly stayed the same for long, the fluffy spots of white breezing through the air freely. The offending cloud soon passed, already blowing off into the distance, yet the dark shadows persisted.

Scar’s gut twisted.

From the darkest corners of the room, shadows converged, casting the walls into total darkness. A shadowy figure phased from the hidden depths the light couldn’t reach, shadows clinging to his frame as he pushed through. Sheltered in the darkness, most of his features were obscured save for his shock of white hair and swirling garnet eye that flickered in the figure’s tall silhouette. The figure stepped out from the unnaturally dark corner he’d created, and even though his mouth was covered with a thick black mask, it was clear he was smiling.

“Hello everybody!” Etho said, needing no introduction as he waved from his corner of the room, the shadows lapping at his feet as though trying still to pull him back into their shelter. “Do you mind if I stop by? Have a quick chat?” 

Cub nearly dropped the blood sample. Recovering quickly, he smoothed out his lab coat, busying himself with setting the sample onto a nearby desk before facing the other villain. Or neutral trickster. Nobody was quite certain what Etho was. “How did you find us?” He demanded, holding a steady gaze at the intruder.

“Etho always finds what he needs to find. There’s shadows everywhere, after all.” Etho answered as though that explained anything at all. For the first time since he’d arrived, Scar’s telekinesis began acting up again, the fibers of the rug underneath Etho’s feet shying away from the man.

“About that,” Bdubs grumbled, pointing at the light switch on the other side of the room. “Would you mind making it less freaking dark in here? It’s terrible!” The moss Bdubs had created seemed to agree, shrinking back as the darkness ebbed at them, the feeble light at the window not enough to sustain their power. Scar scrunched his nose as the gentle relief they provided began fading, yet appreciated the clarity it provided his mind to deal with the mysterious man.

“Sorry, I’ll be quick, little guy.” Ignoring Bdubs’ splutters, Etho continued, reaching into his green vest to pull out something glimmering bright blue, shining even in the far depths of Etho’s shadows. “I’ve just come to make a trade. Offer up something you’ll want in exchange for some of your magic whatchamacallit.”

The rug bristled, this time enough for the corners to lift up as Scar adjusted himself in bed. “But I only demonstrated it to Grian this morning. How did you find out already?”

“Etho always finds what he needs to find.” It was no less cryptic or meaningful the second time Etho said it. “So, is it for sale?” The man began playing with the giant gemstone, letting it fall between his fingers and catching it each time the blue stone fell from his grasp with an obvious grin creasing his eyes.

Straight to the point, Cub crossed his arms and examined the shadowy man cautiously. “Not unless you have something besides that rock you’re throwing around. There isn’t a chance we’ll just give it to you, either. You’d have to have it administered here, with us.” This didn’t appear to be a deterrent to Etho, the man only excited further as he bounced on his heels.

“It’s possible, then? You can really do it?” Shades of orange glimmered beneath his red eye, practically twinkling as he spoke. “Name your price then boys, and I’ll go around looking for whatever it is you need to get it. I’ll even throw in this nice, shiny diamond as a bonus.” By going around looking, everyone was fairly positive the man meant stealing it from somewhere. One could never be too sure with Etho, though.

The trio looked at each other, exchanging glances in front of the trickster in their own form of silent communication. Bdubs shrugged, Cub perhaps more than a little reluctant but nodded anyway. With a clearer head, Scar felt entirely in control, even with the pain ebbing up his chest. Sitting himself up straighter and bringing his hat spinning from across the room, Scar cleared his throat, adjusting his accessory before turning to face Etho with nothing less than a charming business grin.

“Etho, buddy, I’m sure we could work something out. With your powers, your prestigious skillset? Absolutely. Just look at that marvelous ability.” Etho bristled proudly at Scar’s charisma, bouncing on his feet as the rug beneath him parted. “In fact, I already have an arrangement in mind. If you’re willing to accept, that is.”

Tilting his head to the side, Etho tossed his diamond between his palms, shadows creeping up ever slowly further onto the rug. “What sort of arrangement are we talking?” Intrigue leaked from his voice, and Scar could only hope the bait of their antidote was sweet enough to reel Etho in.

“Anything you hear through the grapevine, things we should know. Nothing too extravagant.” Scar sent him a perfectly manicured grin, sweet-talk hopefully buttering him up further. “You always have the latest news, know things nobody else could dream of. There’d be a mutual agreement between ConVex and you, not to get in your way and vice versa. And of course, we’ll ask for small favors here and there, just a small helping hand every once in a while.

“So, how about it Etho?” Scar finished, wriggling a brow at the man. “Favors for immunity against those inhibitors is such a bargain. Nowhere else will you find a better deal, Etho, especially since we’re the only ones selling.” Etho’s shadows perked up against the wall.

“Deal!” Etho immediately shouted, tossing his diamond up into the air. Grinning, Scar floated it towards himself, letting it hover above his palm and rotate around his fingers as he scrutinized it. Somehow, Etho had gotten his sneaky hands on a truly pristine, pure blue diamond, not a scratch on its glimmering surface. The entire thing was about the size of a baseball, and yet, Scar could see its interior as though it were made of tinted glass. Scar had analyzed enough gemstones to know that, yes, the entire thing was real.

“Excellent!” Looking at Cub, Scar jutted his head towards Etho, the scientist getting the memo quickly enough and sliding out of the room to prep the trickster for his antidote, although not before sending a warning glare his way. Etho didn’t seem to pay him any mind, instead rocking on his heels with thrumming excitement, shadows mimicking him and rolling back and forth against the walls.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it? Coincidentally, I got it from a trade as well, just before coming here.” Nothing about anything Etho did was coincidental, that much Scar knew for certain.

“Of course you couldn’t resist something shiny,” Bdubs grumbled, getting up from beside Scar’s bed to situate himself by the window, soaking in what little sunlight was seeping in through the shadows. “Wonder what ridiculous thing you paid for just that stupid rock.” Etho chuckled at that, trying to resist his snorts.

“I didn’t just get a rock . No, it was way better than that!” The shadows were curling around him, legs appearing little more than vague wisps of what they were, nothing more than a silhouette as they danced around him. “As per our new agreement, I suppose I should tell you, since it does pertain to you all. Hopefully Cub gets me that antidote or whatever it’s called soon, because I don’t know how much time you all have. Especially with your, ah, current condition, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Scar’s gut twisted further, rising up into his drying throat. 

“Excuse me?” Scar sputtered, letting the diamond fall into his sheets and lose itself in the bedding. “What exactly did you trade for that rock, Etho.” Darkness ebbed at the glass’s panes, further obscuring the room into shadows. Whipping his head towards the window, Scar saw Bdubs turn around, his face pale and horrified by whatever was outside.

“Scar- Scar! We’ve got a problem, big, big problem!” Moss curled up his body, the shriveled, dull color doing its best to camouflage Bdubs as he pointed out the window. Scar’s eyes widened.

“Sorry, I traded the location of your base to Team ZIT!” Etho said, far too cheerfully for the predicament at hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you all out, but-” The man whistled, watching the three heroes approach the base. “It’s going to be a nasty one. Catch you all after I’ve got the antidote!”

And with that, Etho and all his shadows dissipated into the floor, leaving Scar and Bdubs with three top-tier heroes waiting on their doorstep.

Even when keeping out of trouble, trouble always managed to keep up with Scar anyways.

Chapter Text

To be a supervillain, keeping heroes out of your front lawn is rather imperative.

Unfortunately for Scar, there wasn’t one, but three heroes on his front lawn, all fully prepared for battle while Scar was decidedly not. The telekinetic barely had time to scramble out the window to meet them wearing nothing but pajamas, his hat and mask, and a pair of fashionably cute cat socks. Maybe his stunt from Grian’s hospital visit was a little reckless, but he seriously didn’t think the consequences would be that bad.

Clearly, he was wrong.

“Good afternoon!” Scar chuckled nervously, floating out the windowsill as gracefully as he could wearing chewbacca pants and a faded, crumpled disney shirt that had seen its better days years ago. “I- uh- can’t help but notice what a fine afternoon it is. Surely you all have- aha- better things to be doing? Like taking a nice walk, strolling through the beach, not kicking my a-”

“We’ve come to put a stop to your evildoings, Scar. You and all your cronies!” Zedaph was more excited than anything, puffing himself above the ground with short bursts of air, pointing dramatically at Scar. The hero was already playing with his powers, itching to subdue Scar and only restrained by Tango’s extended, wiry mechanical hand. Using his air powers, Zedaph practically leaped into the air with a wild grin, small sheep horns poking out from beneath his ruffled, blond hair.

Neither Impulse nor Tango seemed as eager nor friendly as Zedaph. Impulse’s face was set hard as stone, dwarvishly small compared to his companions, yet just as dangerous. His dragon-like tail flicked back and forth behind him, the barbs poised and ready to strike. Like Grian, Impulse had a set of wings, although the bat-like appendages were far too small to lift him more than a few feet on his own. Slit, yellow eyes bore into him, staring Scar down with all the danger and toxicity of sulfur. Scar didn’t doubt he had the power to back up his threatening aura.

Unlike the others, Scar wasn’t quite sure what Tango even was. Even standing right on his lawn, Scar couldn’t deduce if the hero was human, powered, or just a particularly sentient robot. His face was purely technological, everything else about the man covered beneath thick red cloth and a sturdy black, bulletproof vest. A thin, mechanical tail whipped around behind him, pointed and mimicking Impulse’s own, blond hair charred with streaks of grease. The man’s right arm was morphed into an unnecessarily large gun, and Tango seemed just about ready to use it.

Testing the waters, Scar tried to manipulate a part of the man’s hand, willing the metal pinkie to curl on its own. It remained rigidly straight. Scar wrinkled his nose. There was some organic aspect to him, it seemed. That certainly made everything more troublesome.

After briefly sizing the heroes up, Scar grinned awkwardly, holding his hands out placatingly to the trigger-happy heroes. “First off, they’re not my cronies, we’re buddies, business partners. Shouldn’t you heroes be showing more respect than that?” None of the heroes seemed too interested in his pitiful attempts to stall. Scar laughed nervously, scratching at the back of his neck, watching moss spread painfully slowly across the lawn.

“Secondly, what we’re doing isn’t necessarily evil, just a little out of the bounds of the legal system. Surely there’s some form of agreement we can come to, then, gentlemen?” This only seemed to upset them more. Tango readied himself in a fighting stance, lifting his arm-gun into a position easier to fire more quickly from, Zedaph puffing a little higher into the air with a wild grin.

“What you’re all doing is wrong, Scar,” Impulse said, tail flattening the grass behind him as he swung it around. “That drug you’re making will cause disaster if it falls into the wrong hands. Supervillains will run rampant, cities will burn, and people will die because of it. I don’t doubt you think it’s the right thing, but it’s not. Turn yourselves in now or we will use force.”

“Now, that’s just a little bit over-dramatic, don’t you think?” Scar tried for a chuckle, but his voice fell through half-way, leaving it embarrassingly high-pitched and cracking. The grass around him shifted, inaudible steps creasing the fragile blades as a small figure approached Scar. The telekinetic tried to hide his startle as something soft tapped the bottom of his leg, floating down a little lower to the ground without drawing attention from the heroes, whose eyes were all trained solely on him.

“Like, you’re making it seem like we’re causing the end of the world over here.” Gesturing around him to nothing in particular, Scar’s hand accidentally smacked against an invisible head, his arm tactfully retreating back to his side with another anxious smile. The heroes watched him cautiously, Tango tilting his head at the empty spot beside Scar. Scar repositioned himself, breaking the mechanical man’s gaze.

“Because it will be the end of the world,” Tango insisted, voice sounding awfully more human than Scar thought it would be, although it was still tinted with that mechanical echo revealing its true nature. The line between human and robot blurred even further in Scar’s mind, immediately shooting unnecessary thoughts on what Tango was out of his head with a small shake.

The invisible figure beside him whispered as loud as she dared into his ear, Scar tilting his head closer as nonchalantly as possible to avoid revealing her presence. “Bdubs is in position, but Joel and Cub are panicking over getting all the samples safely. There’s no way us five can beat them, even with Etho. We need to abandon ship.” Scar subtly shook his head to the invisible racoon, angling away from the heroes so they couldn’t see his mouth move to speak to Lizzie.

“Give me a second to think about surrendering, I can’t concentrate with your grumpy faces in my business!” That was, quite possibly, one of the worst excuses Scar ever came up with. At least it stupefied the heroes enough to pause, awkwardly letting him turn around to mumble to seemingly himself.

Lowering his voice as quiet as it’d go, Scar whispered to Lizzie, “Do not leave anything behind. You and Cub clear that house out like it’s life or death. Keep Etho to his deal and make him help transport it all to a secure place. Make sure Bdubs stays hidden and have Joel ready to fire as soon as the fight starts. Don’t reveal yourselves unless we’re in danger. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Lizzie whispered, already scampering off, leaving soft imprints where her paws padded against the encroaching moss and leaving Scar painfully alone in the open field. A three versus three didn’t sound so bad on paper, yet Scar knew it would be a slaughter if they allowed the heroes to gain even a slight upper hand. Stalling was the name of the game, and it would not be a fun one.

Apparently, the heroes were getting impatient with his continued dawdling, the thwacks of Impulse’s tail on the ground growing ever more frustrated. “Are you done thinking yet? Surrendering’s a yes or no question, buddy.” Scar turned to face them with the best beaming face he could, hoping his grimace wasn’t obvious as his eyes flitted over each hero before landing on Zedaph.

“Ah, but I- uh- it’s a little more complicated than that, you know. See, I don’t want to be incarcerated for the rest of my life, but I also really don’t want to fight you pleasant fellows. You understand how it is, don’t you?” They either did not understand or did not care, all three of the heroes entering their battle stances. Scar winced, floating just a little higher in the air.

Battling any of them would be tricky, yet Zedaph’s power in particular was far more annoying for Scar. His gaze fell onto Tango and Impulse, his silent debate on which to attack first cut short when Tango made the decision for him, pelting Scar’s general direction with needled bullets from his arm gun.

The battle started awfully suddenly. Scar’s gut twisted into knots.

“You do know those are useless on me now, right!” Scar yelped, crumbling all the darts into balls that bounced harmlessly off his chest, although Tango didn’t stop his assault, only continuing his barrage of darts as Scar continued to crumble them like paper. Soon, metal shards littered the mossy ground, the green plants surprisingly squishy, causing the metal to sink under its deceptively deep surface. Scar smirked, Impulse wasting no time to really get the battle started.

Before Scar could even flinch, orange sparks zipped in the air, blinking a portal open in front of him. Despite being on the other side of the lawn, Impulse’s tail was suddenly in his face, the prickly barbs slamming into him, digging into his skin without mercy. Howling, Scar yanked the tail away, shooting upwards so fast and far above the battlefield that the air streaked the blood out from his eyes, only stopping when he flew past the chimney and then some.

Blinking down, Scar watched Joel emerge from the house, entire body engulfed in flames. His friend was massive, hunkering towards the three heroes in a fiery inferno the size of a semi-truck. Flames flared from his molten surface, his roars spewing plumes directly at Impulse. The hero panicked, opening a portal to shoot the scorching flames in some random direction. Joel only roared loader, tossing fireballs around the portals until Tango’s mechanical bullets peppered the fire ogre’s body, distracting him from the hero’s teammate.

The moss, once pacifingly inconspicuous, made its appearance known, swallowing Tango and Impulse into its floral embrace with a screech from the robotic man and a stupefied daze from Impulse. Scar was close enough to hear him scream of moss ebbing its way into his wires, Zedaph also struggling with moss climbing its way up to reach him. Every bounce into the air only sent the moss chasing faster after him, the sheep trying to run back towards his partners.

Pushing aside the stinging of his bleeding face, Scar took the heroes’ brief moment of distraction to pull at his neighborhood. This close to the city, the houses were compact and small, pressed up against each other with hardly any space at all. All the more materials readily available at Scar’s disposal.

Civilians screamed as their windows shattered, combining into a giant wave of broken glass that rained down upon the heroes, each shard orchestrated by Scar. Zedaph blew most of it away, Impulse getting skewered by the shards slipping past his defensive portals, wincing as he took a reflexive step back onto the glass-covered ground. The battlefield itself had suddenly become a weapon.

Gutters and trim soon followed, but before Scar could properly wield them, another portal sputtered to life in his face. His face still raw and burning, Scar yelped, fleeing a tail-safe distance away. The color drained from his face when Zedaph’s body hurled from the blue fringed crackles.

“Oh gosh dang it, anybody but you.” Reaching out below him, a chunk of asphalt answered his call, sent torpedoing towards Zedaph’s smirk, the man only puffing air at the rock, staying perfectly propelled in place with the constant rush of air supporting him.

“Now that’s rude,” Zedaph answered, throwing a punch mid-air in Scar’s general direction. “Villains like you-” A shock of air slammed against Scar’s chest, knocking him breathless as he spiraled away. “-need to learn-” Another punch, this time knocking Scar’s side, sending him careening in a different direction, too disoriented to properly grasp where Zedaph was in the great nothingness of the sky. “-some manners!” Pushing both palms towards Scar, he could barely yelp when two strong gusts knocked against him in opposite directions, his head spinning just about as fast as his body was.

He was stuck in a tornado.

Roofs and chimneys fell apart in his panic, blindly shooting through the sky as Scar tried to pinpoint Zedaph. But the man was quick, leaping through the air without rhyme or reason, only bouncing atop puffs of air with no pattern, easily dodging the wild attempts to shake him and puffing the ones he couldn’t away with a flick of his hands. Scar grit his teeth, trying to mentally steady his own body against the rapid winds burning his face, only managing to stop being thrown about inside the airy prison before Zedaph threw another gust into his chest.

Growling, Scar kept trying to throw random objects at the hero, anything his telekinesis could grasp without a care for what. It was as if Scar were no challenge, the hero simply blowing them away while focusing instead on the battle below. Peering down himself, Scar fought the nauseous sensation crawling up his gut with every whirl around the spiral, instead focusing on his friends.

Joel was wrestling Tango, the pair stuck in a gruesome grapple with Joel pinned beneath mechanical fodder, the hero unbothered by the flames consuming them and Joel’s desperate scrambles to knock him off. Bdubs’ moss assisted by tugging violently on Tango’s tail, creeping further into his metallic parts, but most of the plants were charred black and dead before they could do much. Impulse seemed to be occupied opening portals in civilian’s homes whilst fighting off Bdubs’ moss with flicks of his tail, most likely evacuating them to safety before Scar completely destroyed the neighborhood. Orange light caught his eye in the broken window of the house next door, the sparks ripping quickly through the air.

Scar didn’t waste a single thought. As soon as the orange portal blinked open, there was already a bedpost ready to send through. Impulse’s screams were audible even in the whipping winds, the wood splintering and staking through his shoulder the moment it sailed through. Zedaph gasped.

“You stabbed him!” Zedaph shrieked, directing his full attention back to Scar, increasing the intensity of the whirlwind so much that up and down became mere concepts. Suddenly the air in the tornado prison disappeared, Scar suffocating with estranged chokes, gasps becoming more and more desperate as his vision went spotty. Zedaph only curled his fists tighter, making EF-0 level winds spin him around faster as the hero asphyxiated him.

Scar’s throat parched, fingers numbing as he clawed desperately at his throat. At that moment, Scar was not above begging, although his opponent didn’t even grant him that mercy. Panicking, Scar reached out for any and everything, the sky darkening with all the sudden items blotting the sun. Responding to his desperation, everything in the sky exploded, shrapnel and loose objects spewing in every direction. Some found its way into Scar’s tornado, but he was too oxygen-deprived to even care as it scraped against his skin.

The tornado started to slow, Scar losing his grip on consciousness as the winds began to settle. Entire chunks of houses floated around them, splintering off with explosive bursts that rained deadly debris over Zedaph. The hero took it with a grit of his teeth, though, more concerned about whisking all the lethal scraps away from his teammates below than on the tornado. In a last ditch effort, Scar used his final coherent thoughts to send a lamppost bludgeoning into Tango’s side, knocking him off Joel and careening him out of Zedaph’s safety winds.

“ NO! ” Zedaph screamed, unwittingly letting air flood Scar’s chambers as he redirected all his attention to protecting his teammate. Scar never gasped larger in his life, the sudden influx of air heaven to his deprived lungs. He was still terribly weak and woozy, the feeling of his limbs coming back slowly as Scar huffed in sharp, quick breaths, somehow even shallower than usual. His chest ached, every centimeter of his lungs screaming at him and bringing a whole other wave of pain washing over him everytime they caved.

There was no rest for the wicked, though. Scar was wasting precious time, floating here in Zedaph’s significantly weaker tornado. Reigning in his telekinesis would’ve taken too much concentration, too many pieces to account for, so Scar kept the explosive bursts of shrapnel raining onto his enemies on his raw desperation alone, hoping Joel’s yellow-white flames were bright enough to burn through it. Scar’s addled mind struggled to focus, the man forcing himself to spare yet another thought into controlling a mailbox post still stuffed into the ground. Wriggling the thin metal free of the earth, Scar sent it wobbling up higher and higher with trembling hands, right behind Zedaph.

His winds were strong and powerful, blowing all loose pieces of debris away easily. But Scar concentrated, huffing as loud as a fighter jet as he fought to bring the stake closer through the windy storm. Blue dust spiraled in the air, sparking behind Zedaph’s back in an electrical arc just as Scar would’ve struck the hero in his chest. Scar growled, the hero whipping back around to see the mailbox’s tip shoot through the open portal.

“And you say you’re not a villain.” Scar was still too winded to point out Zedaph nearly asphyxiated him moments earlier, only sucking in as deep a breath he could manage to prepare for round two. Zedaph clenched his fists, but before the wind could bow to his whim, a fireball shot out from Impulse’s portal. Zedahp’s eyes widened, shooting air towards the flames in an attempt to extinguish them, but the rush of oxygen only excited them further.

Fire flared against Zedaph’s body and the hero screamed. The tornado stuttered, and Scar was sent falling out of the sky. Terrified, his emotions lashed out quicker than his thoughts. All the raining debris froze, sending the chaos of the sky to a standstill to clear a path for Scar in the storm of his own creation. Sucking in another breath, Scar grasped his own body, hoisting himself back into the air just before he crashed against the glassy ground below. Everyone stared at his sudden arrival.

“Why hello there,” Scar croaked, taking in the scene. Joel was in a rough spot, Tango’s arm having expanded into several mechanical branches, all digging into Joel and pinning him while Tango’s other arm was slashing off the moss crawling over his buddy. Bdubs was doing his best to assist, lashing and tugging any part of Tango he could against both Joel’s fire and the robot’s attacks. Ignoring his decimated shoulder, Impulse grit through the pain, returning to the battle with a nasty scowl now that he was finished evacuating civilians.

Scar’s heart sunk, realizing that was probably the only reason they weren’t utterly defeated by now. Before Impulse could begin attacking, Scar banged the same lamppost into the large dent in Tango’s side. The battle continued.

“Beans!” Scar shouted as loudly as he could manage with his scratched throat. “Take Zedaph off my back!” Ramming the lamppost against Tango again, Joel finally managed to stand up, nodding understandingly. Wasting no time, Scar shot a stovetop next to his buddy’s feet, the fire ogre shrinking from his gargantuan size to that of a small child. As Scar raised Joel’s lift high into the air, he felt Bdubs’ moss crawl across his body rapidly, making his eyes flutter as the scrapes and gashes in his body healed into scars. Several of the floating masses dropped like stones to the ground, reverberating the ground as though an earthquake had struck.

Gritting his teeth, Scar shook some of the moss off him, eyes flickering between Joel and Zedaph, as well as Tango. The robotic man lunged towards him, burnt and charred metal gun-arm rapid-firing more dart bullets. A car door was suddenly between them, catching all the pointed spikes before Scar wrapped the metal door around the metal man, lifting them high into the air and throwing it far into the distance. With Tango briefly indisposed, Scar separated the necessary from the unnecessary, letting more house chunks drop while keeping as many small, flat surfaces as he could stable around Zedaph.

He was panting, absolutely drenched in sweat and feeling the exhaustion in his bones. Yet he focused, directing most of the controllable rubble at Impulse, lip twitching as several of his thoughts went awry, too distracted with keeping Joel’s footholds stable and keeping Tango occupied that tons of debris fell in a littering shower before it even arrived at Impulse.

Noticing his increasingly labored breaths and wavering control, Impulse smiled smugly, stamping the encroaching moss creeping on his legs. Scar clenched his fists, sending the shattered glass on the ground his way. The hero easily opened up a portal, directing the projectiles right back towards Scar with a blue portal above him. Barely thinking quickly enough to send them a different direction, Scar shot them sideways, cursing when another orange portal opened up just to send them back again.

Impulse was charging at him now, Scar’s eyes blowing wide as the hero braved the now relatively glass-less, yet still plenty wobbly moss ground. Letting his own glass barrage slice him up, Scar flew upward, clenching his teeth against the onslaught of broken glass carve through his skin. Bdubs helped the best he could, slowing the hero down at every given opportunity by tripping and tugging him, but Impulse didn’t need the ground.

He couldn’t afford to think about the pain, not now. His thoughts were already split between Joel, Tango, and now Impulse, the hero already leaping up with his tiny wings to match Scar. 

A tidal wave of moss crashed against Impulse as Scar’s hand reached, ripping concrete from the sidewalk and throwing the slab between him and Impulse just as the hero whipped his tail free from the plants, but it meant nothing. Scar slammed against the concrete as a portal blipped to life behind him, Impulse’s tail whipped into his back, knocking him forward with a breathless scream. The villain fell the rest of the way to the ground, hissing when glass sliced him up yet again, the hero standing victoriously behind him with a familiar dart in hand. Scar clenched his fists to crush it despite the pounding in his head.

Instead of throwing it, a portal appeared just as the hero swung his tail towards Scar, the man yelping to evade it before another portal blinked behind his back, unknowingly retreating right into the needle’s sharp point. Howling, Scar felt his powers falter, his breaths stuttering as his eyes blew, clawing desperately at the ground as he gasped. His heart thrummed in his ears, vision swimming as moss separated Impulse and Scar, whimpering as he curled up into himself, entire arm seizing as he struggled to move his own body as pieces of debris fell from the sky. Joel’s screams echoed throughout the storm, Scar sinking his hands deep into the moss to regain his concentration.

It wasn’t over, not until Scar thought it was.

Moss crept up both the hero and villain’s bodies in a large mass, working quickly to heal Scar’s injuries and losing the dart in its overgrowth. Impulse jumped, fluttering in the air in an attempt to scrape it off, realizing the moss had somehow wrapped around the entirety of his body, weaved in a complex pattern chaining him to the ground. Scar practically melted into the moss’s healing touch, giving the few seconds Impulse would be distracted to check on Joel.

The fire ogre seemed to be handling Zedaph alright, although it was clear he was struggling. With Scar’s platforms dropping like flies, Zedaph took advantage of Scar’s mishap and blew at Joel from a distance, the ogre scrambling desperately for a rooftop before all the platforms fell. Everytime Zedaph tried to knock Joel off, Joel spewed another surge of flames his way, the hero unwilling to get even close lest he get burned again. The hero’s moves were also sloppy, powers probably weakened and slowed by having half his body bleeding and burnt. As long as Joel didn’t tire and stop moving, he’d be alright. But Joel didn’t have endless stamina, and Zedaph knew it.

With pitifully frantic wheezes, Scar furrowed his brow and grit his teeth as he fought off his nausea, reaching into the air with one trembling, quivering arm.

A broken bathroom sink behind Zedaph slammed into the man’s back, the hero just barely keeping it from hitting him with a sudden gust. That was enough time for Joel to send a fireball careening towards the man, hitting his target with another scream as the platforms rose shakily once more. Drawing most of his attention back to Impulse, he could see that Bdubs’ moss was working its magic, the hero wobbly on his feet as he stumbled drunkenly about, too weary to even keep his eyes open properly. 

Fighting his fatigue, Scar pushed himself up with his arms, letting his mind carry him the rest of the way into the air despite how he shook in midair, trembling like a leaf against the rushing breeze of Zedaph’s powers. Impulse watched him blearily, still managing to snarl as Scar hurled the concrete back toward him. Scar’s muscles twitched, burning underneath his bleeding skin as Scar forced his mind to clear, huffing ever stronger against the toxins coursing through his body.

Groggily opening up another portal, Impulse shied away from the blood-smeared concrete slab Scar threw at him, who was thoroughly surprised when Impulse merely let himself get hit with a groan. Orange sparks flew through the sky, and through it, Scar could see the bright, mutilated red of a car door. The little color in his face dropped.

Tango dropped through the portal, angrier than ever. His heavy metallic foot crunched the glass as he landed, sending him sinking deep into the mossy sea. Readying himself to continue fighting without any indication of exhaustion, the hero narrowed his eyes at Scar, wasting no time in fighting off the green plants pulling him deeper into the ground. If Scar wasn’t so spent up already, he might’ve cried.

“Moss...” Impulse muttered, Tango whirling around to realize his teammate was slumped in the ground, green flora infesting his body and consuming him. The demon was being unfairly resistant to Bdub’s clutches, because while Scar would’ve been out like a light, Impulse remained oddly defiant, fingers curling in and out and eyes open with foggy gazes. Bdubs needed more time.

Tango’s eyes immediately flared, suddenly lighting up bright enough to douse Scar with red light. Grabbing the concrete slab, lamppost, and mailbox post, Scar grit his teeth, using what little rejuvenation Bdubs had provided to keep them steady and fast towards Tango, his teammate helping by weaving more moss in through the man’s body. The robotic hero stumbled, stretching out his arm to easily block them with a thick metallic shield that morphed from his arm while using his other to peel Impulse out from the mossy hold. Scar tried again, this time sending the slab in between the two heroes as Tango pointed behind Scar, into the ruined garden of a nearby house.

“There, Impulse!” Needing no further prompting, Impulse opened up a portal, the blue sparks flickering to life sluggishly. Tango let Scar ram the slab into his arm, dropping Impulse back into Bdubs’ clutches before shooting his whipping tail into the portal, familiar screams echoing from the other side. Scar blanched.

“NO!” He tried to shout, although with how raspy his voice was, it hardly mattered what he tried to say. With his heart thrumming against his ribs fast enough to enter a racing derby, Scar tried once again, slamming the now crumbling concrete back against Tango’s brambling claws, the robot only aiming his non-shield hand at Scar, the entire appendage shifting into a gun at a moment’s notice. Bullets raced through the air, Scar’s willpower alone the only thing stopping them middair, keeping them from piercing through his abdomen.

They clattered to the floor, shiny and bronze. Tango wasn’t using dart bullets anymore.

The moss began shriveling up as their master lost their connection with them, Impulse blinking languidly in an attempt to wake himself up. Bdubs was kicking and screaming in Tango’s grasp as he was pulled through the portal, wriggling furiously. Moss was spreading over Tango’s arms, having no effect on the metal, inhuman surface apart from inconveniencing him by gunking up the joints. All over the ground, the moss receded, giving Tango and Impulse solid ground to work with once again.

“Let me down!” Bdubs shrieked, struggling with relentless squirms as Tango’s tail grew and wrapped around his entire body. “You’ll be sorry you messed with the Moss Boss, now put me down!” Tango’s arm only extended further into the air, a shaky, wobbly, yet functioning portal opening up above them. Before Bdubs’ moss had a chance to cause actual damage, Tango’s shield transformed into a thick blade, slicing through the weeds at Bdubs’ palm and effectively cutting off the connection to the rest of the moss entangling itself in Tango’s arm. The moss shriveled quickly, Bdubs squirming about in an attempt to evade the constant trimming, but to no avail.

Bdubs’ wide, black eyes bore into him, fear painted across his face as he glanced pleadingly at Scar. With stuttering breaths, Scar pushed through, sweat beading down his forehead and mixing with the blood trailing down his face as his mind lashed through the battlefield. Forcing his will on Bdubs’ restraints did nothing, whatever metal they were made of connected to Tango’s stupid, illogically organic body. Calling upon the banged up car door, Scar zipped it to block the portal’s entrance, the one leading to a dark, dark room somewhere unknown, somewhere far from Scar.

Raising his gun, Tango fired, the blasts not louder than Bdubs’ screams. Terror alone froze the bullets in middair, selfishly dropping his focus on keeping the portal blocked to instead fret over his own troubles. His attention snapped for one precious moment, panting as he willed each bullet to drop to the ground, not noticing another portal opened in front of the feeble barricade, Bdubs’ fading shouts the only indication something was wrong.

The gunfire stopped, and Bdubs was gone.

“You bring him- bring him back right- right now.” Scar’s pants weren’t very intimidating, but he hoped the heroes could see the anger flickering in his eyes. Scar clenched his fists, ignoring the stuttering in his chest and the shakiness of his breaths, flying shrapnel of all sizes around him in a whirling storm, his floating, trembling body the eye of the hurricane.

Impulse sparked up another portal with his sulfur gaze trailing Scar’s storm, opening up to reveal open, windy skies on the other side. Instinctively, Scar shot a barrage of broken bricks, splintered wood, and a sharp, sharp firestick poker hurling right for it, not sparing a second thought before attacking, not even to consider the twisting in his gut. Perhaps he should’ve, though, because right after the portal blinked to life, a very confused Joel fell through with a yelp, the man’s flames flickering a soft, dying red from the constant burning.

“JOEL!” Scar screeched, as though the pitiful warble from his throat would be enough to warn him. All the footholds fell, crashing down from the sky as Scar’s heart dropped, sunk low into his chest and stopped beating entirely. Precious time wasted, Scar always wasted it, time both too short yet painfully enough for Scar to reach out, his power too out of control to stop his assault.

Booms crashed all around them, shaking the earth and Scar to the core, although there were no fireworks, no fanfare. Only the one moment before realization and the sharp point of the poker sliding through Joel’s chest. The man sucked in a gasp, eyes piercing right through Scar as he fell.

And then Joel crumpled onto the ground, ruby red eyes flickering to a dull, fireless ash.

Everything stopped a moment too late.

“J-Joel?” Scar whimpered, voice soundless and breathless as it rasped against his dry throat. “Joel, I-I-... No, please...” Reaching out to Joel with quivering hands, Scar’s entire body jerked as his hitching chest spasmed with silent tears. Reaching out to the fire poker with quivering hands, as though pulling it out would heal what he’d broken. As though reaching out could fix the consequences of his actions that had brought upon this cruel fate to his friend.

The world caved in around them, everything under Scar’s control crumbling to the ground, leaving him alone in the carnage.

The heroes won.

Zedaph floated down from high above, half his body completely charred and marred, yet the man was still standing. Wobbling like a newborn foal, yet still standing. Impulse’s bleeding shoulder was skewered, his entire body marred with cuts and scrapes and blinking out the last whispers of sleep, yet still standing. Tango stood the tallest of them all, some wires frayed beneath the metal, yet still standing strong.

Scar couldn’t breathe, forcing his stuttering breaths down with harsh swallows down his parched throat. Unable to look at the heroes or his friends, he hung his head low, too tired to even raise his hands in surrender.

Like everything else, Scar fell, hardly registering the impact of his back hitting shrapnel littering the bloody ground. His breaths went in and out, waiting for metal claws to wrap around him, or a portal to whisk him somewhere far away. In and out, he reminded himself, because even with that he was struggling. Sobbing was making breathing so much harder.

“I’m s-sorry, B-B-” He croaked, spirit too weak to even apologize properly, wanting nothing more than to sink deep into mossy depths that no longer protected him. “Joel- I- It-” Sniveling sobs racked his body again before he could even finish, words meaningless to Joel who lay on red-stained grass covered in sickly soot, face stricken with ash. Impulse was stepping forward, stepping toward Joel and whipping up a portal above him, the sterile white of a hospital on the other side. Meanwhile Tango stepped backward, stepping toward Scar with tentative steps and metallic handcuffs.

The other side of Scar’s portal would be befitting of a supervillain.

Darkness ebbed as his vision, the sensation of falling lurching in his gut as he shuddered. Foreign, cold shadows enveloped him, sweeping his body through the black obscurity so unfamiliar to the night. Gunfire and shouting faded into a soft ringing in his ear, his only sense in these dark shadows before realizing he was able to feel his quivering heart beat faster against his ribs. There wasn’t any air, and for a second, Scar wondered if Zedaph’s winds were wrapping around him again.

But then the shadows faded. Instead of bloody grass, there was rough carpet, and instead of sky, a flickering lightbulb greeted him.

“I need the oxygen stat!” Cub shouted, making Scar cringe at the sound before the familiar cannula was gracelessly shoved into his nostrils. Noises were too much, words too difficult, so he only watched Cub painfully as he scrambled across the room, leaving him writhing in breathless agony on the floor. The distant buzzing in his ear was growing louder, its ringing making it hard to focus on anything at all.

“JOEL!” Lizzie screamed, her footsteps audible for once as she thundered across the room. Scar couldn’t bear her pained pleads, much less turn to face Joel’s wife after what he’d done. So he stayed there, wheezing and wallowing in the growing anguish through his body. Surely the gashes running deep into him could bleed a while longer, the debilitating ache in his limbs crush him until he could no longer bear consciousness. Because he doubted he could bear it much longer, anyway. Not after what he’d done.

“Where is Bdubs!” Lizzie sobbed, her cries alone enough to wound him deeper than any bullet. “Joel, Joel, breathe for me, Joel! He needs Bdubs! Joel’s- Joel’s dying! Etho, get Bdubs, please! ”

“I-I’m sorry, but the heroes had him.” The shadows visible in Scar’s narrow field of view from the floor wriggled as their master stuttered, spiking this way and that with faded edges. “He wasn’t there, the-they took him somewhere, my shadows don’t know where-”

“Everyone, get out! We’re doing this the old fashioned way.” Snapping his fingers, Scar could see the determination, the hard set expression on Cub’s face as he ordered everyone around, even with his vision swimming back and forth on the fuzzy spot on the wall. “Sterilize a place for me to operate, get me my equipment, and get Scar out of here! ” Footsteps ran around over the ringing and Lizzie’s weeps, thrumming against the carpet in an arrhythmic pattern matching his own pulse.

The cold of the floor seeped into the dead-weight of his body, sucking in a breath and wincing as he tried moving his arm, the aching limb caught by its own exhaustion and going limp, staining the carpet red. Scar’s lips trembled, ignoring his hitched breaths as the slight motion jostled his injuries, swallowing his whines at the sensation of something buried into his back. Twitching his nose to fiddle with the cannula, Scar tilted his head, his mottled, dirtied hair falling onto the floor, clung together in bloody clumps in front of his face, reminding him of the mess he surely was.

A bloody, dangerous mess. A sudden pang from his back and his fingers gripped at the carpet, filthy with more scrapes, more scars to mar his already blood-stained hands — and there was so much blood on his hands.

None of Scar’s breaths were deep, just sharp, oxygenless inhales as an ominous sensation of deja vu spread deep into his gut. A small shower of dust from the ceiling fell, coating Scar and garnering another round of pained coughs, each scratching his raw throat and shifting his back enough for his eyes to shut closed as he grimaced. 

Selfishly, Scar clutched onto Joel’s own words, ones said with such reassurance and kindness before being impaled by his own friend. No matter what happened or happens, he’d said, you're a good guy. None of this was your intention. Intention meant nothing, though, not now, not when accidents followed Scar at every corner. Scar’s stomach turned, rolling into itself at the mere idea of a supervillain being a good guy. He’d deluded himself, believing he was anything but what the heroes called him.

Not even Joel’s honey words could stop him from whimpering, his grasp clamping down on the carpet in a death grip as he hissed, suddenly reminded of all his ills, both the wounds and the sins. This power was too powerful, too uncontrollable. Nobody should have been given this much power, not when it hurt those closest. Joel’s ashy, fireless eyes struck him with another bout of choking.

“What have I done,” Scar whispered harrowedly, repeating the words aloud. “ What have I done. ”

Three days Grian had spent in the hospital, three restless nights he’d slept, restless with frustrations and feelings of falling. After that fateful third day, the restless nights had become restless days as well, frustrations and fears mixing into even greater anxiety. Three more days Grian spent in the hospital, interviewed and interrogated constantly on Scar, Scar, Scar. On the sixth and last night of that blasted hospital stay, Grian was sent to a maximum security prison, from which no powered prisoners have ever escaped.

As Grian entered the top-secret complex, with its dozens of watching cameras, dart-gun wielding guards, and several layers of concrete separating him from the surface, Grian couldn’t help but feel a little bit queasy. Everything was meticulously designed to keep powered individuals in, and with every brightly illuminated hallway with its prisoners tucked away inside their cells, his nerves did not recede. One of those cells he passed could have his name on it, for him to be shoved away forever with only Mumbo’s crummy photos to be remembered by.

At the end of the hallway sat the solitary confinement cell, the one housing individuals that still kept their powers. Grian’s gut squirmed the closer he approached. Maybe it was all a ploy, a trap to lure Grian inside and lock him up. Maybe the new inmate inside Cell S-4 would be none other than himself, forever confined to the concrete cage, never to fly through the light of day again. Steeling his nerves, Grian waited for the guards to open the cell, somehow surprised when inside was exactly who they said would be.

The Moss Boss glared at him from inside the cell.

“Hello there, Grian,” BDoubleO scorned, voice laced with contempt pretending to be hidden behind a thin veil of hospitality. “Nice meeting you in my schmancy new room. It’s just so big and spacious and empty that it makes pretending to be anywhere else so easy.” Feeling rather awkward with Bdubs’ big, black eyes watching him, Grian shuffled deeper into the cell on his crutches, cringing as the large metal door clanged behind him and leaving him alone with the villain in the dim, half-lit room. Bdubs huffed.

“Let me guess, you want the healing moss too.” Grian flinched when Bdubs banged his handcuffs against the table, the only furniture in the room besides the two chairs and his mattress in the corner. There was already a handcuff-shaped dent forming in the table’s sleek metallic surface, the restraints completely covering the man’s hands and clamping at his wrists, leaving the area purple and bruised.

“You’re a healer? You don’t just make people sleepy?” Bdubs rolled his eyes.

“No, they sent you in to see me for a nice chat. Of course I’m a healer!” The man twisted the handcuffs awkwardly, trying to cross his arms as he stared to the side, murmuring to the blank, white wall: “The best healer around.” Some loose feathers ruffled, Grian wincing as he tentatively shied away from Bdubs’ piercing gaze. Grian had never personally met Bdubs before, only heard his name and seen his annoying sleeping moss swamping battlefields, so he couldn’t be certain if this was how the man normally acted, or if the mundaneness was already driving him insane. It wouldn’t have been unheard of in this place.

“I’ve never really thought about how quickly Scar recovers from our fights,” Grian said to fight the awkward tension building between the two, mulling over this new revelation in the Moss Boss’ power. Actually putting some thought into it, the healing factor explained a whole lot more about Scar and his buddies that Grian hadn’t thought of before. The more things clicked together, though, the more concerned Grian became, and the more apparent it became that Grian was unaware of much more of Scar than he realized.

Still purposefully avoiding Grian’s watchful gaze, Bdubs merely shrugged at his comment, continuing to stare at the monotone wall like a window. More feathers stood on edge as more uncomfortable silence continued, and Grian expected the discomfort to grow. But of course, his expectations were shattered when Bdubs started the conversation back up, twirling back around to face him with a strangely calm demeanor.

“Did you eat all of Scar’s apology cookies?” The question hit him like a brick.

“Excuse me?” He choked out.

“The cookies Scar baked for you. Did you eat them.” Grian snorted, now knowing without a doubt that Bdubs and Scar were friends.

“Every last crumb. They were probably the best cookies I’ve ever had in my life.” Bdubs smiled with all his teeth, just as unnaturally large and wide as his eyes, looking deep into Grian with an irkling of something Grian couldn’t quite place.

“That must mean you accepted his apology then. Excellent.” Definitely Scar’s friend. Even the contagiously brilliant smile seemed familiar, although different in every way, so unlike Scar yet reminding Grian of him all the same. “Scar spent all night making those, you know. Had to moss him to schleep every night since your fight, he was so torn up. Honestly, what would he do withou-” Bdubs snapped his lips shut, shoulders falling and gaze glossing over as the lights flickered ominously above the pair. Queasiness crept back up Grian’s stomach for entirely different reasons than before.

Eyes softening, Bdubs flashed him a bittersweet smile, the brightness from before dimmed. “Anyways, I’m sure Scar will chew my head off when he finds out I didn’t jump to heal you.” Neither mentioned that there would be no when. “Come on big bird, sit down, let BDubs work his magic.” Obliging, Grian found himself settling down in the chair in front of Bdubs, struggling to push aside his own iffy emotions.

Logically, the man was a villain, aiding and abetting the most wanted supervillain in all Hermit City. There was no plausible way to defend the man, but yet, Grian found part of him wanting to do just that as the handcuffs clicked loose, revealing Bdubs’ green hands. Gently, the man grabbed Grian’s good arm from across the table, his touch as soft and soothing as moss itself as he handled the bandaged limb, tutting softly in disapproval at Mumbo’s earlier job.

Fighting the urge to flinch away, Grian let the grounding, earthy smell of moss fill his lungs, the sunny warmth of growing plants bringing life to the dull cell. They crawled along Grian’s hand, soothing aches he hadn't previously been aware of, reaching his arm and quickly spreading its comforting relief along his scrapes and bones. The further along it reached, the more Grian’s lids fluttered, suddenly thrust into cool summer days hiding in moss-covered trees.

Moss crept along his wings, the feathers embracing the flora burying itself between the soft plumage. They ruffled pleasantly, fanning out as though the soft, scratchy moss were a cooling breeze, the broken bones mending beneath their touch as Grian felt himself lose himself to their touch, lulling him into a state of tranquility he hadn’t felt for quite a while. He hummed, letting his feathers flap by themselves as they spread out to their full glory, painless and comfortable. The man sighed in relief, letting his eyes flutter back open as Bdubs’ hand pulled away, the moss receding slowly like a blanket being pulled back after a refreshing nap.

The Moss Boss grinned at him, all teeth and unnaturally large, yet somehow the villain’s smile was friendly, not an ounce of hostility hidden behind them. “Look at you, all better now. Man, oh man, is Bdubs the best.” Even though it sounded as though he were mostly talking to himself, Grian nodded along anyway.

Shaking the sleepiness from him with a ruffle of his wings, Grian hummed contentedly, letting the feathers flex back and forth in the sterile air, testing them. They were nothing less than perfectly healed, just as strong as ever before. Prying the sling off his arm gingerly, Grian braced for pain as though it would flare up if he jostled it around too quickly. Pain never came. 

“Thank you, Bdubs,” Grian said. “Really, you’re incredible. I never imagined your power was so... Remarkable.” Bdubs shrugged, handcuffs folding back over his hands, encasing them in the metal prison all over again. The little moss that had crept its way up his arms began shriveling, Grian watching it disappear to dust in mere moments, leaving behind perfectly unbruised skin.

“And I would’ve preferred to keep it that way,” Bdubs mumbled, hints of a sour attitude peeking behind his words. “I’ve got better things to do than playing hero’s healer.” The man’s wide eyes darkened under the light, the fluorescent flickering for another awkward moment before returning to its full intensity. Bdubs’ gaze remained dull.

“I see. I’m... Sorry.” Sorry at what, Grian didn’t know. There were many things to be sorry over: The lamentable sorry, acknowledging Bdubs conundrum, stuck in the very situation it seemed he hid his powers to avoid. The ashamed sorry, realizing he was the very hero benefiting from his imprisonment. And of course, the worst kind of sorry. The sorry crawling through his gut, making his wings curl closely around himself as though it’d shield him from his guilt.

The remorseful sorry, apologizing for his own actions that led to Bdubs’ imprisonment. The sorry that Bdubs most deserved, yet lay heaviest on Grian’s tongue.

“The next time you see Scar, can you pass on a message?” The somber moment was interrupted with Bdubs’ soft words, his eyes watching Grian with flickering glances and an unsteady gaze that Grian couldn’t quite understand. Instead of trying to determine just what expression was hidden beneath the man’s pressed lips, Grian nodded, watching it bloom into another soft smile.

“Tell him to get out of his head, he thinks too much. And he better be sleeping right, or he’ll be sorry!” Bdubs chuckled a little to himself, Grian clinging onto his every word as the villain stared back down to his handcuffs. “And tell him it wasn’t his fault. That I’m doing alright and not to worry about his co-lieutenant sergeant general. It doesn’t- it doesn’t matter what you call it. He always forgets and makes something new up, anyway.” The man cracked a reassuring smile, but his eyes didn’t crinkle, only drawing attention away from his small sniffle.

A buzzing sound echoed through the room, alerting Grian the door would open soon. Bdubs blinked his eyes rapidly, drying the little water that had accumulated in the corner. Bristling his wings, Grian stood up, eyes still watching the mossy man as he headed towards the door, the mechanical contraption keeping it closed clicking open noisily.

“Pleasure meeting you, Bdubs,” He said, Bdubs’ words playing on repeat in his mind. 

“No, no, the pleasure was all mine. Get severely wounded again soon!” The man sounded a little too eager about that, eyes twinkling under the flickering lights as Grian exited the cell, never prying his watching gaze off of Grian’s wings until the door slammed closed between them. Outside Bdubs’ cell and away from his comforting presence, Grian tensed again, waiting for guards to retrieve him, to drag him through the disquieting prison once again with a barely repressed shudder.

To his surprise, though, a hero awaited him. A hero among heroes, a superhero in the flesh: The Admin.

“A supervillain baked you cookies?” XisumaVoid asked, a brow rising above his starry, nightlike eyes beneath his purple-tinted visor. “I find that a little hard to believe, but it is Scar after all.” Despite being a top-tier hero, Xisuma sounded more intrigued than anything, humored by the conversation he must have overheard rather than scornful. Letting his wings unfurl from where they were rigidly pressed against his back, Grian chuckled.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” He admitted sheepishly, Xisuma eyeing his rustling feathers and giving Grian a small chuckle himself.

“Perhaps another day, then. I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a tight schedule.” Grian’s throat dried, ignoring how his wings bristled behind him warringly. Watching Xisuma with eyes of a hawk, Grian’s attention was drawn to the two modest black boxes held in his hands as he shifted their weight against his hip, pulse racing a little faster with Xisuma’s urgent tone.

“As you know, somehow Scar and his associates have managed to create a counter-serum to our power nullifiers, and Team ZIT was sent to capture and investigate their base of operations. They only managed to capture the Moss Boss, who we’ve since identified as Mr. O’Hundred.” Reaching into his pocket, Xisuma pulled out a handful of photographs, pressing them lightly into Grian’s open palm, his watchful gaze already taking in the colorful pictures on the smooth paper.

One was of Bdubs, dressed in an ordinary T-shirt instead of a mossy coat, smiling somehow even wider than usual at someone just behind the camera. Resisting the queasiness in his gut, Grian quickly flipped to the next picture, revealing a tan man with fiery, ruby eyes, an orange streak parting through his dark brown hair. This was a more professional photo, yet the man was still smirking, part of his teeth peeking behind his lips.

Despite only having ever seen him on fire, Grian had his suspicions, the man in the photo too familiar in an intangible way he never knew. “This is the Ogre, isn’t it,” He said in lieu of asking, because he already knew the answer. Xisuma nodded, saying nothing on how Grian’s grip on the paper caused a slight crease to form.

“His name is Joel Smallish. He’s married to an Elizabeth L.D., but it appears as though she’s gone missing. We tried to tell her that her husband was... Extremely wounded, during the fight with Team ZIT.” Grian’s brow furrowed as his fingers shifted to the next photo, eyeing the pink-haired woman with bright, prismarine eyes as Xisuma lowered his voice. “We fear Joel might not have made it.”

“What!” Grian squawked, avoiding how some passerby guards eyed him suspiciously. “We’re heroes, we’re not supposed to kill-”

“It wasn’t us.”

With steady hands, Xisuma pushed aside Elizabeth’s photo, revealing the carnage and destruction of the battle. An entire neighborhood wiped, dozens of houses in shambled ruins with dust hanging thick in the air, the ground itself split apart by the massive chunks shattered against its earthen surface. Nothing was left unmarred, nothing left unbroken. Just a ravaging storm of demolition passing through the once tranquil streets causing support beams to snap and concrete to crumble, wrecking devastation in the wasteland.

“It was Scar. Scar drove a fire iron right through the Ogre’s chest.” 

The superhero rested a hand on Grian’s shoulder, the man looking up to face him with quivering feathers. Neither of them had any right to be so upset over the matter, for Grian to be shocked nor Xisuma to be so understanding of it. Freshly baked cookies and a contagious laugh suddenly meant nothing, an offhanded promise so earnestly made broken in an instant. Won’t let you down, he’d said, won’t ever hurt another soul in my life. Scout’s honor. Honor meant nothing now, even when it was sworn with joyful eyes and a sweet smile.

Everything Grian thought he knew about Scar shattered. 

“Before they were brought into custody, Etho interfered. Apparently ZIT negotiated Scar’s location in exchange for complete legal immunity. Now that Etho’s severed his contract, we have no leads or any possible way to locate them again.” Only now did a small crease form between Xisuma’s brows, twiddling with the latch of one of his black boxes as he pulled away from Grian. “Their base was completely cleared without a trace. They could be anywhere without us even realizing it; They could even be right under our noses, and we’d have no idea.”

Grian’s wings curled around himself as he flipped through the photos again, a small frown spreading onto his face. “But that’s impossible, they were fighting. They must have left something behind.” Settling his eyes back onto the last photo, though, it wasn’t that difficult to believe everything left was simply destroyed beyond recognition in the rubble.

“Tango suspects there’s a fourth member to their operation, but Bdubs has been quite tight-lipped about it. All we know is that if anything was there, it’s certainly not anymore. They have immunity against power-nullifiers, and we have no idea how to fight against it.” Holding them loosely in his hands, Xisuma presented the two inconspicuous boxes to Grian. They were rather thin and small, yet as Grian held their weight between his hands, he had a dreadful suspicion of what rested inside the heavy black boxes.

The thick plastic of the boxes chafed against Grian’s skin, rubbing it roughly as he situated the boxes in his grasp. Stuffing the pictures into his back pocket, Grian stared at the latches; two large, black latches holding the box closed. Curiosity gaining the better of him, Grian’s non-shaky fingers reached over, unlocking the top box with gentle clicks of the hatches, flipping the lid to reveal the contents hidden deep within. Grian’s wings flared.

Tapping the sheen glass in the box, Xisuma’s voice lowered, although Grian couldn’t be sure if the shudders creeping down his spine was because of that or the box itself. “This is a prototype of the new modified power inhibitors. It was originally meant to be used only for captured criminals after the due process, but considering the circumstances... We’ve decided to unveil it now.” 

In the box were cartridges, a dozen glossy vials and a handful of needle-tipped darts, so familiar to the ones Grian carried by his side, yet so fundamentally different as so many things tended to be. The large cartridges fogged in the inside, differentiating the modified serum from the ones Grian was accustomed to. Letting his hands move on his own, Grian’s fingers touched the cool metal of the dart, trailing further up the needle before Xisuma’s gloved hand stopped him.

“Careful, Grian. These are meant to nullify powers from the source. One small prick and your powers could be-” Grian’s grip on the boxes tightened, hand flying as though burned.

“Gone. Permanently.” Nobody spoke.

“It’s an extreme measure, and we aren’t even sure it’ll work against their serum, but it’s all we got.” With delicate fingers, Xisuma pried one of the vials from its slot, giving it a gentle shake so that the flickering light illuminated its dreadful viscosity. “We’ll just have to hope it will subdue them long enough to bring them into custody before their serum becomes widespread.” In the long, empty, hallways of the prison, Grian nodded, already knowing just why his wings were tensing up and hands trembling at the thought of more powereds joining the ranks in the hollow cells. 

Holding this conversation just outside Bdubs’ cell felt like he was slapping the man in the face.

“And the other box?” Grian purposefully closed the vial’s box quickly, clicking the latches together before Xisuma could stop him, the superhero only humming softly and letting the matter go. The second box was much heavier, Xisuma shaking his head with a soft sigh when Grian reached to flip its latches as well.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light or his own anxieties getting the better of him, but Grian swore Xisuma’s eyes saddened, the true nature of that nebular gaze hidden beneath the veil of his helmet. “That one’s in case the modified serum doesn’t work.” Xisuma said, oddly melancholic as he gently tucked away the dangerous vial into Grian’s pocket. “Hopefully you’ll never need to use it. Have a nice night, Grian.”

Grian remained silent, watching as Xisuma walked down the hallway around the corner. The heavy thumps of his boots eventually faded away, leaving Grian with two heavy boxes that sunk deep against his arms. In the chill of the prison, Grian’s wings curled around him, feathers warming up his soul just slightly as he followed Xisuma’s path, not waiting for the guards to drag him through the dreadful hallways with the flickering lights yet again.

The repetitive walk through past the dozens of dozens of cells let Grian’s mind replay his thoughts dozens of dozens of times, each step further from Bdubs ruffling his feathers even more. Even at the door that was the exit, finally escaping from the horrendously suffocating interior, Grian was still in turmoil, wings too shaky to fly with the boxes in his hands.

Under the brilliantly bright night sky with its air of possibility, Grian was left with no conclusion. He had no answer to his internal dilemma, no definitive answer to whether he could bring himself to use the boxes against Scar or not. There was no dramatic sign, no profound moment revealing what the future would bring, no hint to which choice would be correct.

There was just himself, his thoughts, and a gun.

Chapter Text

Supervillains, for the most part, stayed as far away from their nemeses as possible. 

Not Scar, though. After the fiasco of fighting with ZIT and nearly killing his own friend, Scar found himself a wreck with no base to crash back to. While his friends had offered him refuge in their own homes, Scar much rather preferred solitude at the moment; Some space to think freely away from people, especially with his conscience gnawing at him with every glance at Joel, every reminder of Bdubs. Tired and displaced, Scar really couldn’t think of a better, more fitting place to hide than in the familiar apartment building with knotted gutters and squished fire escapes, here in the eye of the storm.

Grian wouldn’t be visiting his apartment any time soon, anyway.

The TV played mindlessly in the background, its hushed tones and flickering images filling the empty, cold space of the night with some semblance of livelihood. The small, overhead light of the oven cast dark shadows over the never-ending turmoil the witching hour brought, its bright green clock constantly reminding Scar it was well past time to sleep. The numbers crept further and further, and would soon reach that unique time of either night or morning. A part of Scar wished he could stay in that senseless time forever, drifting off comfortably without care of what he’d done.

Insomnia kept its cold grasp tight on him for the third night in a row, though, despite the eventfully long day, made longer still by his own thoughts. Watching the waning moon glisten against the stars, Scar could almost picture that his base (his home ) wasn’t a pile of rubble, torn apart at the foundations from an earthquake of his own making. Picture that everything wasn’t crashing around him, and the sight of the moon was steady as ever through his own window, in his own house. 

He wished Bdubs were here.

With sleep out of reach and nothing else to distract his mind from his own gnawing conscience, Scar situated his sore, pained body on Grian’s kitchen island, the countertop cool and grounding as he floated onto it. Letting himself breathe the lonely nocturnal air for a minute or two, the pain in his chest eased slightly. Even with his oxygen tank, his fight with Zedaph quite literally winded him, leaving him breathless with whirling thoughts three days later. He sighed, a couple loose papers fluttering as though a soft breeze passed through.

All of Grian’s drawers flung open simultaneously, Scar’s weary eyes searching through the cupboards and pantry for what he desired, as though the solution for his problems lay behind their thin wooden doors. Twisting the oven’s knobs from afar, the machine slowly flared to life, Scar hoping the warmth would seep into the room quickly. All the shirts Grian owned had holes cut in them, causing Scar to shiver every time something brushed against his back.

Humming to himself, Scar let his gentle song meld with the soft whispers from the TV, shifting out his ingredients and grabbing bowls and various tools from wherever he could. Typically, baking wasn’t so chaotic, but Scar turned the art into a turbulent tapestry. Keeping everything afloat during his delicate work helped him concentrate, to calm himself when hectic thoughts tried to derail him. Even today, dark thoughts tried to worm their way into the forefront. 

Ingredients zipped about in the air, measuring cups and spoons trailing after them to scoop out the necessary amount before dumping them in the appropriate bowl. Mixing was always fun, letting his thoughts quite literally whirl inside the safe container of the bowl until it was light and fluffy. Cracking eggs against any nearby floating object, Scar directed their messy yolks and pinches of vanilla into the bowl before mixing, this time with a whisk that gently spun back and forth, back and forth like a twister. Scar’s humming paused, needing a soft breath to put memories of tornados aside before continuing.

Flour and other ingredients wormed their way from their containers, converging before being powdered over the contents of the bowl. Separating the mixture from the bowl, Scar kneaded it in midair, letting the steady oven light guide him as the goop twisted about weightlessly before shaping them. Scar rounded one in his hand preciously while several others floated around him, smoothing themselves out into several small balls. The actions were repetitive, the thoughts soothing.

Soon, all the dough was shaped, Scar sending each through a cloud of sugar and cinnamon before they were sent floating in the oven, rotating like a gentle gyro in the scorching warmth. The oven had done little to warm Scar up, not at all like kind, fiery company with a brilliant grin and ruby eyes. The cookies trembled behind the glass, Scar relaxing his shoulders and letting them stabilize once more.

Scar didn’t glance at the clock often, that grim reminder that more time was passing, bringing him closer to morning and further from that terrible afternoon. The events were beginning to instill in his gut, the drawing of time making it a truer and truer reality he couldn’t ignore. So instead of looking at the time, Scar pulled the cookies out when they began to crisp, setting them gently on a rack to cool. His breath hitched as he watched them from afar, curling in on himself with nothing to do besides listen to his own mind. Scar’s grip on the island’s edge tightened, his mind whipping around for more flour.

Scar did not stress bake; He was just making another batch because he was bored, was all.

It was during the third batch that the first had fully cooled, arranged on a plate neatly while Scar sent ingredients zipping about the air, orchestrating the chaos around him to create instead of destroy. Eggs cracked and powder swirled, mixing together into something delectable instead of falling into ruin. The methodically calm thoughts eased his beating heart, no tears slipping by and his breaths coming a little easier, falling into a content trance that couldn’t hear neither the creaking door nor the soft footsteps over the TV’s constant buzz.

“You’ve got to be joking. ” Everything floating in the air screeched to a halt, the gentle movements freezing as Scar’s muscles tensed. With wide eyes, Scar whipped around, nearly dropping the dough between his hands upon seeing Grian stagger into the room. They watched each other, daring only to blink, neither quite sure what to do.

“Why hello there. I didn’t expect you’d be home for, uh, some time.” His gaze flickered over Grian’s wings, dark brown feathers puffed and flared wide, and most obviously, definitely healed. Some of the dough floating beside him began squirming, mimicking the roller coaster going through his gut at the moment.

“Is that my bloody shirt?” Grian looked absolutely distraught, pressing one hand against his forehead and massaging it as though he had a migraine, the other gripping tightly onto two suspiciously dark black boxes. Scar elected to ignore them, instead frowning and glancing down at Grian’s ginormous shirt he borrowed, twisting himself around to inspect it more closely.

“Your shirt? Yes. Bloody? Hopefully not.” Lifting up the shirt, Scar gingerly traced the bandages wrapped around his torso, only faint traces of red seeping through the cloth. With a relieved sigh, he let it fall back down, trying for a nervous smile that was probably not appropriate in this uniquely odd situation. Grian did not match it.

“Cookie? I made lots of snickerdoodles. If you liked my last batch you’ll love these.” Floating a cookie through the air towards Grian, the bird froze, stunned and reaching out absentmindedly to grasp the hovering pastry between two sharp talons. “You ate the last batch, right?” The man didn’t move to eat it, only continued watching Scar as though that would answer all his pressing questions. If Scar were being honest, he had a few himself, namely about those grand, majestic wings Grian was puffing behind his back. The feathers glistened in the low light, bright and preened and perfectly unharmed.

“What are you doing, Scar?” Grian sighed, gesturing openly around his apartment with wary eyes. His hand accidentally smacked against a floating bowl smothered in batter, making a face and grumbling as he pulled his hand back. Chuckling, Scar willed the bowl into the sink while slowly peeling away the batter from Grian’s hand, letting it drip in the air between them. Their gazes met through the drip, the floating effect reminding Scar of a lava lamp, widening the distance between them slightly.

“I think it’s pretty obvious I’m baking, Grian. Why do you ask?” Another cookie floated up between the pair, close enough for Grian to reach out and grab it if he desired. Instead, Grian let the one already in his hand drop, Scar readily catching it before it managed to even slip from his grasp, securing it between Grian’s fingers with a grin.

Clenching his fist, Grian crumbled the cookie crumbs all over the floor, releasing his hand to reveal the dust coating his palm. Scar frowned, narrowing his eyes in return.

“We’re past the point of playing games, Scar. After what you did... I’m asking what you’re doing.” The smile fell from Scar’s face. Sensing his baking escapade was over, the oven knobs suddenly snapped off, the lights from the stovetop flickering off and casting darker shadows against the walls; The room was illuminated only by the TV’s dancing lights, the stark green numbers of the clock, and the encompassing glow of the moonlight. The cookie curtain between them fell, fully revealing Scar’s darkened face in the dimly-lit eeriness of Grian’s home. Grian stiffened, fingers freezing from where they were playing with the latch of one of the boxes.

“I’m baking,” Scar insisted again, this time pressing with more emphasis and grasp tightening on the counter’s edge. Wood buried itself into his palm as he squeezed, and Scar ignored the faint creaking of hinges as cabinets swung open and closed in a nonexistent breeze. “I thought you would appreciate it, but it seems I was mistaken.” Under the bright moonlight, Scar’s pointed gaze bore into Grian, making it clear he was not referring to cookies. The shadows cast over his eyes only served to make him all the more unsettling.

“Scar,” Grian said lowly, cautiously, fingers shaking unnoticeably in the darkness as one of the latches of the top box came undone. “That entire neighborhood was leveled into the ground. Even with Bdubs’ moss, Zedaph might not fully recover. You nearly killed thirty-six people, including your own teammate.” The chairs skid out from under the dining table and crashed on the floor. “People are getting hurt because of you, because of your powers, and this ‘antidote’ won’t make me appreciate any of it.

“Do you not see it, or are you too selfish to care?”

“Don’t call me selfish!” Knives, forks, and loose sharp objects suddenly shot into the ceiling, Scar huffing as he gripped his side. Both of them paused, letting the dust settle and all of Scar’s floating baking equipment crash onto the ground. Silence settled between them, the only sounds coming from the busy night streets and the soft murmur of the TV that nearly drowned out Scar’s second, softer pathetic plea: “Don’t call me selfish,” He repeated, curling in on himself. Grian’s fingers stopped undoing the second latch, watching Scar carefully.

“Sorry. I– That was uncalled for.” Peeking from behind his hand, Scar met Grian’s gaze again with a thin sheen of wetness on his cheek. Grian was back to biting his lip, scratching nervously at the thick plastic box with his talons, the soft scritching sounds helping ease the awkward quiet somewhat. “Even if you’re- It doesn’t matter. You’re still in the wrong.” A rogue saltshaker stopped spinning, settling down to an uneasy rest on the counter as its contents shifted turbulently inside.

Lifting the corner of his lips slightly, Scar smirked, staring directly into Grian. “I’m a supervillain. Of course I’m in the wrong.” All the floating objects in the air slowed to a disquietingly still pause.

“Excuse me?" Grian spluttered, pure obsidian eyes widening further, nearly dropping the two boxes. "Did I just- Did you just admit that you’re a villain?”

“Supervillain, Grian. Use it with respect.” Turning back towards the window, Scar’s face steeled, his darkened figure silhouetted by the faint moonlight trickling through the reflective glass. The pair's eyes met once again in the window pane, a brief moment of recognition under the night's watchful shine. Scar's scarred fingers curled into themselves, forming a loose fist. Grian took a cautious step back, breaking the gaze in the glass.

"Like you said, G." Scar's body floated higher off the counter into an upright position, tethered only by the oxygen tank keeping his shallow breaths steady. "People keep getting hurt because of me. Villains hurt people, and I- I don't care if it's selfish, or wrong, or whatever else." His body straightened out, levitating above the kitchen island, the moon’s dim aura creating a soft halo around his silhouette, shadow stretching across the surface.

“Things can’t keep going as they are,” Scar said. “People are hurting everyday, but not because of me. This antidote will help us, will save you and me and everyone like us. Maybe that makes me a villain, but I’ve got to at least try, G. I’ve got to at least save Bdubs and Beans; I owe them that, and much more. I’ve even tried to help you. If you don’t like it, fine, but please don’t get in my way. I won’t hold back, if you do.” The entire apartment seemed to groan, a loud creak echoing throughout the room. Raising his index finger upwards, his oxygen tank floated beside him, no longer tethering him to the countertop.

The room slowly swayed, furniture swishing to and fro in a gentle, lulling motion that Grian knew would soon become an all-encompassing storm. Everyone and everything in the apartments beneath them was at Scar’s mercy, and Grian was the only hero that could stall him. There was little time before the noise became too loud to speak over, before Scar sent the building tumbling down, accidentally or... Not.

So, Grian spoke. With his throat parched and the weight of the building on his shoulders, he spoke whatever came to mind.

“Before, I... I thought over what you told me, on the rooftop, in the hospital,” Grian croaked, rubbing his thumb over the deep groove left from his restless scratching in his black, plastic boxes. “None of it’s fair, you’re right. Nobody should decide we don’t deserve our powers. We deserve to be in peace just as much as regular people.” His wings tensed. “I considered what you told me, and I agree.”

“You agree?” Scar spluttered, some shine returning to his dark emerald eye. “Then– why are we fighting?” The faint groaning that spread throughout the apartment shimmered to a stop, leaving silent ground for Grian to continue his speech.

“Because I can’t let everything fall apart. I’ve told you before, Scar: That antidote is going to hurt so many more people than you can imagine. If the World Eater, Zombie, or god forbid the Red King get ahold of it, then people won’t just get hurt. They’ll die.” A few of the chairs began folding in on themselves, legs curling and snapping into jagged pieces when they could curl no more. “I might not like being a hero, but I can’t risk Mumbo like that.

“Please reconsider. For everyone, not just powered people.”

To his credit, Scar actually seemed to pause and consider Grian’s words, the villain boring his gaze deep into Grian as though that would reveal all his intentions. Dust sprinkled the air, coating Scar as he sighed, brushing the loose debris from his hair. “No,” he said bluntly. “No, I don’t think I can.”

“Nothing I say can change your mind, then.” Chills crept up Grian’s spine, a shudder burying deep into his bones. The wiry ceiling lamp above their heads began writhing, mirroring Scar’s chest rising and falling in short puffs to hide the disheartenment laced beneath his clipped voice. The hero shook his head solemnly.

“Nothing I say can change yours.” Gut twisting into knots, Scar sucked in a breath to quell the squirming in his stomach. As the villain shook his head as well, Grian flicked open the second latch with a defining click. With the box open, Grian readied himself into a fighting stance, Scar matching him by straightening his posture, holding his head up high. Meeting each other’s gaze one last time before they resumed their old song and dance.

Maybe, should the circumstances have been different, they might have been friends; But they weren’t. He had a feeling they were never intended to be, either.

The groaning reverberated throughout the entire apartment again, a soft rumble in the walls. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, then,” Scar confessed with eyes creased and brows furrowed, speaking as sincere as words could express. The hero on the ground before him narrowed his eyes, wings flaring around him and striking against the cramped walls. Trapped in his own home, now fully aware that Scar might have killed his own friend and partner, a man named Joel, with a merciless fire iron through the chest. 

Before Grian could open the box, the metal wire of the lamp above ripped from the ceiling, dust exploding into a hazy cloud as the cement cracked. Pushing his palm forward with a grunt, the bulbs on the lamp shattered, spreading glass in a bombarding rain over Grian as the metal band continued on its course. Shielding himself with his wings, Grian’s fingers fumbled with the top box, cursing when it was suddenly yanked from his grasp, pulled into the storm of swirling glass far from his reach.

Grimacing, Grian merely grit his teeth against Scar’s brutality on his feathers, a merciless attack that stung where the bits scratched under his feathers. The sort of harshness Scar had never used before, not even in dire situations. But the worst part, Grian was certain, was that Scar was still holding back. Peeking through his feathers, Grian watched his face of stern composure, a distance between them in place of his usual grin. Grian clenched his jaw.

Pushing everything aside, his trembling fingers tried unlatching the second box, only to have them snap back shut against his own grasp with every attempt, until it was eventually swept into the storm as well. Bracing himself, Grian huffed, spreading his wings wide and knocking most of the glass out of the air, meeting Scar properly again.

Scar ignored him, instead examining the box in his hands curiously, particularly intrigued by the small logo in the corner. “Were you seriously planning on shooting me?” He raised a brow, levitating Xisuma’s emergency gift into the air, spinning it so the barrel faced Grian instead. “You know that wouldn’t have worked, right. Not with Tango, and certainly not with this.”

Letting the box clatter to the ground, the pistol flew right into Scar’s hands, finger playing on the trigger as he stared Grian down. The hero didn’t meet his eyes, only staring down the barrel, the depths of the gun’s chambers as dark as Grian’s narrowed, obsidian gaze. His foot moved, hands tensing and wings unfurling, but whatever Grian planned on doing, he moved too slow. Always too slow, never faster than Scar could think.

“Bang!” The gunshot drowned out Scar’s voice, the explosion recoiling his hand back as the bullet pierced through the distance, shooting impossibly fast towards Grian. By the time the man ducked, the bullet had already embedded itself into the wall beside him, leaving a tear in solid concrete. The hero huffed, startled, but nothing more.

“This is a vile weapon. I thought you were above this, Grian.” Apparently not. Apparently Grian wanted to unlatch the box, aim the barrel at Scar, aiming to kill him even if the bullet would never hit true. It seemed the very nature of their battles were changing. Fighting against Tango’s gunfire hadn’t hurt, yet the pistol in his hands wounded him in a way he hadn’t expected.

The metal was heavy, even with his telekinesis. It sickened him. Everything that pistol meant sickened him. Scar sent it hurtling away, forging another dent in the wall and leaving it to crash miserably onto the dining table.

“Scar, you are much more dangerous than any gun. No weapon I could bring would ever be a match for you.” Grian’s talons flexed, wings shaking loose glass bits from his feathers as he approached. “Not when you could kill me with two thoughts.” Scar scoffed, calling the discarded wiry lamp back under his control.

“ It’s about the principle of it, ” He mocked, echoing back words from a night not forgotten, a night on this very rooftop where things held the illusion of simplicity, where their reality had faded away high above the city streets. Reality was harsher now, and so was Scar. Without hardly thinking of it, the wire wrapped around Grian’s torso, the hero fighting tooth and nail to no avail, gasping as he was suddenly slammed against the wall. Concrete easily succumbed to Scar’s will, the lamp digging into the wall and pinning Grian against its cold embrace.

Feathers flared out, and Grian screeched, a desperate howl as his wings were crushed once again against the hard, unforgiving wall. Scar winced, listening to Grian’s talons scratch against the metal, absentmindedly sending a whisk to cuff both of Grian’s hands and stop the dreadful noise. This didn’t silence the hero, though, only made his shouts louder and thrashing noisier, now kicking about wildly within his constraints.

Scar pretended not to pay him much mind, only calling the first discarded box forward, Grian squirming further the closer it got. Curiosity was strong, and Scar immediately flipped open the black pandora's box to view what other dreadful monstrosity Grian kept inside.

It was a dart gun, but not the familiar one Scar had grown accustomed to. This one was bigger, sleeker, with spare needled darts fully on display. The liquid inside them sploshed around morbidly, its viscosity sludgier and thicker than the normal formula, fogging up the glass as though to shield itself from Scar’s vision. This was the new formula Cub had warned them about, the cure that could be the end of them all, tucked away neatly behind pretty little glass vials.

“This is the new fancy permanent formula, right? Wow, wouldn’t you heroes just love to get your hands on me with this.” Without sparing Grian a glance, the dart gun floated out the box, and with just his thoughts, it was a heap of junk; The screws flew apart, parts and pieces prying apart and floating away, dismantling itself into its barest components, Scar the mastermind behind its implosion. Pieces flew, twisting and snapping in all the wrong places before falling to the floor, the gun’s danger wiped away in seconds. It hadn’t even taken any effort.

A loud bang snapped his attention back to Grian, the hero having shimmied his way from his restraints and breaking the cuffs on his hands by slamming them against the counter. Shifting his gaze, Scar called back on the broken chairs, their jagged ends sharp as shanks speeding towards the hero. Grunting, Grian dodged the hurtling furniture, weaving between them furiously with newfound strength in his advancement towards Scar. Scar merely floated backwards slightly, putting more distance between them.

“Get back here right this instant!” Grian shouted, trying to vault over the kitchen island to better reach him. With a slight nod, the countertop sprung up vertical, hitting the hero square in the jaw, knocking him backwards into the ground. The slab of faux granite followed, falling with aims to squish Grian flat. Quick on his feet, Grian rolled, rolled further away from the cracking countertop before realizing the very tiles of his floor were coming apart at the seams.

Suddenly, the air was littered with dozens of projectiles, all sharp and hard and ready to strike. A glance at Scar, and the villain wasn’t even breaking a sweat, still hovering leisurely against the window with nothing more than a stern expression. His mouth twitched, the tiles following his movement, all tumbling towards Grian at dizzying speeds. Puffing his wings outward with a large jump, Grian leaped backwards, back towards the countertop and reaching forward to pull it closer.

Grabbing the countertop was easy, Scar’s powers making it feel weightless against his grasp despite the small struggle against Scar’s will and Grian’s own. The giant slab was easy to turn and even easier to pull closer to block the barrage of tiles. Scar wasted no time, the countertop beginning to press down heavily against Grian’s back as tiles snuck underneath his cover, layering themselves around him to block him in an impromptu prison. 

Burying his talons into the hard floor, Grian pushed, grunting, his back struggling under the strain of holding the countertop upright, legs flaring with every kick at the ever-increasing tile barrier closing in around him. Through the small gaps of the shifting, pushing tiles, Grian caught only small glimpses of the darkened apartment, Scar’s shadow stretching deep into the room, although the man himself was out of Grian’s vision. Flexing his grip into the unforgiving floor, Grian scoured through the shifting windows in the tiles, hawk-like vision quickly settling on the discarded heap of rubble that used to be his dart gun. His brows furrowed, resolve steeling.

“Huh?” Scar mumbled as Grian rolled forward, letting the slab lean forward and breaking through the wall of tiles, surely only managing from sheer shock factor alone. The countertop slammed against the ground, cracking the floor and shaking the apartment, narrowly avoiding Grian’s arm as he slid from underneath its range. “Flighty, aren’t we?” The villain snickered, a shelf skidding across the floor, dismantling as it flew.

Ignoring Scar’s taunts, Grian shielded himself with his wings, the great, large feathers blocking him from view as he scuttled across the room. Before Grian could escape, the metal rack’s of the shelf curled and straightened, springing forward in an attempt to grab the hero once more. One wrapped firmly around his ankle, Grian resuming his screaming as he was yanked gracelessly into the air. The remains of his dart gun clattered to the ground as the hero lost his grip on the weapon, hoisted further into the air, as high as the ceiling allowed.

“Let me down, Scar!” He howled, thrashing about upside-down, and fighting his own furniture with commendable tenacity. The hero kept clawing at Scar’s shelves, grabbing them and tossing them away before they returned with just as much determination. Even bits of his broken dart gun flew around, Scar grinning wildly as he teased the hero, ripping the metal like putty before him. None of the darts were broken, though. Grian paid the teasing no mind, eyes primed on the still unbroken vials beneath him.

“Let me down now! When I get my hands on you- you- You’ll regret messing with me!” Scar waved a finger, and one of the shelves slithered across the ceiling to pin down Grian’s other leg. While Grian was fighting for his life, the villain wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Curling up on himself, Grian immediately yanked it back down, physical strength matching Scar’s own mental strength as it was hurled away, the jagged metal piercing the TV and embedding itself in the wall behind it.

The TV screen sizzled out, blinking to black before flickering off completely, casting the room into even further darkness. “Hey! I was watching that, y’know!” Scar grumbled, his fervent attacks with the shelves calming.

“Oh, really? What was it about then?” Covering himself from view with his wings, Grian clung onto the handle embedded into his ceiling, quickly working his foot loose from its cuff as Scar continued his grumbling.

“Some sort of piloting movie, I think. Reminded me of Top Gun.” The light switch flicked on with a distinctive click, Grian suddenly blinded by the intense brightness of the one remaining lamp in the apartment. Almost immediately, Scar’s shelves poised themself for an attack again, two of them shooting forward to pry Grian’s wings out of the way, writhing through the air against feathers in an attempt to bind them. Gritting his teeth, Grian fluttered his wings maniacally, loose feathers fluttering free and clouding the air further. Yet through the mess he was making, Grian’s sights set on the lamp, its light burning bright through the night.

“First off, no idea what Top Gun even is. Second off-” Grian leaped, pumping his wings in the cramped space and practically slamming himself against the ceiling just to keep himself afloat. Shelves continued to be sent his way, one even managing to wrap around his arm, but not before Grian curled his hand into a fist, driving it into the sharp glass of the bulb. Glass rained down, burying itself between Grian’s knuckles, cascading over his wings, and the warmth of the light burst.

The room was sent into shadows once more, the brilliantly bright moon outside highlighting the distinctive frown etched into Scar’s face. But its light was too faint to do much more, only showering the apartment with its otherworldly touch. Scar’s finger tapped against his side.

“Taking out the light doesn’t change anything, G. Telekinesis still works if you can’t see.” To prove his point, the couch shot upwards, Grian squawking as he dived out of the way before the furniture slammed into the spot he once perched. The cushions fell from the seats, stuffing spilling out and fogging up the area completely, the leftover covers aiming roughly around Grian’s head. But the movements were sloppy, lacking the delicate precision of Scar’s usual attacks, his fine control turned clumsy. Grian was easily able to dodge, slipping through the cushions and onto the floor.

“Yes,” Grian said, unfurling his talons out so they caught the glint of the moonlight. “But I bet it’s mighty inconvenient against someone that can see.” While Scar’s squinting eyes were clear to Grian, Scar’s pupils were blown wide, struggling to pin down blurry details lost to him. Darkness obscured everything with a sheen of shadows, Grian’s dusky brown feathers blending into the deep recesses of the room seamlessly. Scar huffed. Grian was right; This was going to be rather inconvenient.

Mind reaching out, Scar searched without seeing, feeling the pull of objects deep in his gut. It was vague and messy, but the entire building succumbed to Scar’s mind, letting him sense all the materials ready for his will to control. But Grian remained unknown, treading too lightly in the darkness for Scar to locate, the rough feel of the apartment in his head too inspecific for precision. Lips twitching, Scar reached for more light switches, flicking all of the ones his mind sensed upright.

A small lamp next to the TV flickered before eventually short-circuiting, blowing out with a small spark shower. Two others did nothing, their switches pulled out of the wall with sharp talons. The lamp that had been ripped from the ceiling fizzled, but nothing more. A fan whirred, loud and obnoxious, covering the sounds of soft bird-like footfalls that were surely scurrying through the room. The blades screeched to a halt immediately, Scar yanking the cord from its socket with perhaps more force than strictly necessary. Silence hung thick in the air, the darkness magnifying its disquieting stillness.

Soft, elusive scuffles made their way through the apartment, barely louder than Scar’s own heavy breathing. Squinting into the darkness gave Scar nothing but vertigo deep in his gut. Reaching out, Scar half-expected to hit the wall, uneasy when he was met with nothing but open air. His finger twitched, hand still held out in wait.

“We’re past the point of playing games, Grian.” The glass of the window cracked, shattering in dozens of pieces that were lost to the winds outside. Walls trembled, the apartment groaning louder as cement and brick and concrete shook, the very foundations of the building swaying as Scar sucked in his breath, curling his outreached hand into a fist.

Focus, focus, focus, Scar reminded himself, forcing his will onto everything he could grasp. In synchrony, everything slammed into the ceiling, leaving the apartment barren of any cover. Knick-knacks and trinkets tumbled to the floor, crashing against the tile like a brief, thunderous hailstorm. Moonlight streaked against the open floor, highlighting a lithe figure pressed against the wall, wings protecting himself from the object onslaught. Pushing nearly all the items away to the back of the apartment, Scar left them to crash in a haphazard heap against the door, focusing solely on the hero.

The dining table was a simple thing: Four metal legs holding up a wooden top. Without missing a beat, it fell on top of Grian, the legs drilling into the floor, tabletop pressing down on the back of Grian’s wings. The hero scrambled, thrashing about again with fury underneath his new prison, clawing at the floor with one arm in an attempt to crawl out, the other pinned beneath the weight. But it was futile, the pressure on his back leaving him breathless and wheezing with every attempt.

Easing the building down to a calm from its rumbling, Scar floated down before Grian. Though it was hard to see, Scar could still make out some of the general details of Grian’s angry face, and if he reached out, he’d be able to touch the glistening feathers, perfectly healthy thanks to Bdubs. Or they were, until they were squashed underneath a table, one wing stuck out awkwardly and covering his side. Maybe Bdubs would forgive him for already messing up his friend’s work, so soon after he’d healed it.

“So, G. This is it, huh.” Scar tried for a casual shrug, falling through halfway, his heavy heart not into it. Now that Grian was finally here, pinned and defeated, Scar wasn’t too sure how to part. While he knew they’d meet again, there was the undeniable reality that there would be no more rooftops or cookies, no more amicable tussles. Grian was squirming underneath the table, restless, yet surprisingly resolved. It was Scar’s hopes that Grian was feeling the same.

Time continued dragging on, further and further, settling into that unique time of neither night nor morning. Unique, like the man below him, neither friend nor enemy. Leaving now would make their battle all too real, a change in his reality he wasn’t sure he was willing to accept. A part of Scar wished he could stay in that senseless time forever, the other part squirmish by just looking at Grian. 

“So, what’s your plan now.” Using his free hand, Grian gestured at the open window, Scar’s gaze trailing after it to see the freedom of the night greeting him. Open air blew into the wrecked apartment, leaving Scar with a taste of its possibility. But there was still so much to do, so much needed from him, and it left him with no answer, no conclusion to this hectic night. Eventually, Scar shrugged.

“Watch the new Star Wars episode, probably. I missed the premiere.”

“Wha-” Grian spluttered, staring at the man. “That’s seriously your main concern right now?”

“Supervillain concerns are different from hero concerns, G, and the Mandalorian is of utmost importance.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Even though Grian rolled his eyes, there were still the faint traces of a smile lingering on his lips, fading just as quickly as they came. As though he’d realized he was no longer supposed to smile. Scar huffed softly, the chilly night air creeping in through the open window, turning his exhale foggy. Despite it all, he offered Grian one last good-natured smile, lowering himself to his knees to better face the hero.

“Throughout all the time I’ve known you, I’ve only ever tried to save you. Those cookies really were meant to help you, you know. Hopefully you ate them all, but if you didn’t, then there’s nothing more I can do for you anymore.” Scar tried for a light chuckle, the avian’s body tensing and feathers puffing as Scar gazed wistfully out the window. “Any last words, G?” Grian’s talons scratched at the floor, remaining firm and stubborn even while trapped in the most unfortunate of situations.

Moonlight flared deep inside Grian’s impossibly obsidian eyes, and seeing him this close, Scar was reminded of the rooftop once more. The mutual respect between them still held, it seemed, even if they were nothing at all alike. Even defeated and trapped, Grian was still the same: The determined crease in his brows, the bold air he held himself in, the rambunctious way his feathers spread, making his presence known. What’s more, that intense tenacity remained, burning brighter in him still.

Concerningly bright, worryingly tenacious. Scar’s gut dropped.

“Bang,” Grian said, his fervent obsidian eyes never breaking Scar’s gaze.

Quick as a flash, Grian lunged forward, wing shifting to reveal his pinned arm wasn’t actually pinned at all. It arced down with lightning speed, needled point of the dart primed and sharp in his grasp. Scar gasped, sucking in panicked breath as he lurched backwards. Of course, his legs didn’t follow, and of course, Grian aimed for them. Instinct tried to push away the hand, mind shoving away everything approaching with sheer desperation alone. 

Grian and Scar’s strength struggled against each other’s, a brief battle of willpower that took Scar completely by surprise. It was over in less than a second, quicker than Scar could think, and quicker than Grian had ever moved before. The needle-point grazed Scar’s thigh, piercing through his pants’ cloth and struck through his skin.

The effect was immediate. The villain faltered, gaping at nothing, reaching for something to catch him. Nothing was there to reach back.

Reflexively, Grian winced, the half-empty dart slipping from his grasp, clattering to the cracked floor with a soft clink. Body recoiling, shrinking back further underneath the table as though that would stop the screaming, stop the terrified, mortified noise Scar was making. The man’s green eyes scoured over Grian, flashing with hurt, revealing the raw pain of betrayal and agony alike. Guilt clawed up Grian’s throat, crawling from his stomach in nauseous waves.

A necessary evil, Grian reminded himself, For the greater good. Although even to him it sounded like a pathetic excuse. Even if Scar wasn’t evil, Grian would have to be. For everything he cared about, he’d be a hero; For everyone he loved, he’d even be evil.

The hero watched, throat parching drier than a desert as Scar’s body shot upwards, writhing, wet tears pooling fresh from his bloodshot eyes. The man was panting, wheezing desperately for air despite the tank still pumping oxygen into his nostrils. Clawing at his chest manically, as though ripping open his ribs would help any. He swayed, back and forth, jerked in the air like a puppet, the puppetmaster barely holding on with twitching fingers. Every part of Scar shook, convulsing and jolting about like electricity coursed just beneath his skin. The man quaked in midair, lips quivering too much to speak, too busy frantically sucking in breathless gasps. One hand snaked to his throat, scratching harshly enough to leave bloody trails underneath his fingertips. Grian paled, but not enough to match the ghastly pale of Scar’s ashen face.

“Nn- No- M-” Scar croaked, tears streaming down to mix with the light blood on his neck. Clenching his hands into fists, Scar gathered himself for one more sharp intake, a final heave swelling up in his chest for a gut-wrenching wail. “MAKE IT STOP! ” Scar screamed, a piercing screech wounding deep into the soul that could hardly be described as just a scream. Raw, powerful, shaking the very room and burying deep into Grian’s being, leaving his head pounding. Or maybe that was from the swift thwack to his skull from a chunk of the ceiling falling onto his head.

The groaning returned, the building shaking in tandem with Scar as he shrieked. The villain’s head was thrown back, and a moment later, the wall exploded behind him. Brick and concrete shattered, fanning out around the gaping hole left in the middle of the apartment. Dust clouded the air, Scar’s figure a murky haze in the debris. He continued huffing, arms wrapped in a vice-like grip around himself, body unable to control the intense convulsions rocking him. Scar cried out, miserable and pitious, and everything around him answered his call.

The walls themselves skidded and shattered, crumbling into powder and shredding like paper. All the furniture flew, shuddered frantically, ripping and zipping around without purpose. Even his oxygen tank pierced a hole in the wall. As soon as the table shot into the air, Grian fled, ignoring all the aches and pains of his body to seek shelter against reality itself. Scar huffed again, and right where Grian’s blood had pooled onto the floor, a broom-turned-shank pierced straight through the concrete. Blood rushed faster, heartbeat pounding so loudly it pressed against his ears, so quickly it wasn’t even beating at all; It throbbed, lurching against his ribs with every breath.

When Scar screamed again, Grian wasn’t prepared for the hell that was happening. Another brutally raw cry, and the very building ripped apart. Groaning amplified into screeching, the very foundation falling apart. Grian was thrust into nothingness, the floor beneath his feet disintegrating before he could even realize he was falling. The rooftop, that stupid rooftop from a better night, suddenly cracked, splitting apart so that Grian could see the stars glittering far, far away. Weightlessness left him breathless, forgetting he could fly for just that moment before instinct pulled at his gut.

Furiously flapping his wings to keep himself aloft, Grian watched as Scar’s body thrashed about wildly, the area around him following his cries. Crooked and bent streetlights flickered off, cars crushing themselves on cracked roads, and nearby buildings leaning towards Scar unsteadily, surely a minute away from collapsing. Grian sucked in his breath, racing pulse finally freezing to a stop. 

All of those people were at Scar’s mercy, Grian the only one with any hope of saving them. Screams echoed throughout the night, pleading and afraid, but they weren’t just from Scar. As Grian’s apartment building crumbled, shaking with all the fury of an earthquake, pieces fell apart, yet remained floating and hovering in the air around Scar. It was a mosaic in the sky, an awe-inspiring tessellation piecing together around him. Brilliant, beautiful stars enlightening the stunning expanse of Scar’s power, the great void of space filling the cracks, the endless possibility of the world itself Scar’s medium. Breath-taking, stunning, yet somehow impossibly lethal; This was Scar’s last hurrah.

“SCAR! SCAR, PLEASE, CONTROL YOURSELF!” Grian’s screams were nothing in the windy night, the chaos devolving around him taking his breath away with the chill. Scar didn’t even recognize his voice, eyes redder and more bloodshot than before, gaze lost in nothing at all. Dodging through debris of all kinds, Grian flew himself closer, narrowly avoiding death everytime Scar’s body shuddered. Grian let the wind carry him through each of Scar’s bursts, bringing him closer still until he was close enough to hear Scar’s soft hiccups through the roaring mayhem around them.

“SCAR! STOP, PLEASE!” If Scar was listening, the man didn’t show it, only gripping himself tighter as his body suddenly jerked. Another floor of the building began disintegrating, Grian’s panic only rising. “Scar, Scar, please, what have you done? Control yourself! I’m sorry, but you’re losing it! People are dying, Scar, dying! Please, I’m so, so sorry, but you’ve got to STOP IT! YOU’RE HURTING THEM! CONTROL IT!” Grian’s throat was aflame, burning all the way to his tongue from how loudly he was screaming. But it didn’t matter, he’d scream a thousand times louder if he could, anything to get Scar to listen. And he would’ve, if Scar hadn’t turned to look at him, glassy eyes focusing just a little on his figure.

“Grian...” Scar’s voice was lost, too quiet to fight against the raging winds, but his lips moved softly, purposeful through whatever haze was clouding his mind. Then, like the universe itself had paused, Scar stilled. Everything floating around them slowed to a halt, the roaring cacophony simmering to whispers, and Scar froze in place, not even a twitch as his iron-grip on himself relaxed. Green eyes met black, and through his pitiful wheezes, Scar smiled at him.

Then Scar fell. The Incredible Scar, Master of the Mind, had fallen, plummeting too quickly towards his death.

Without hesitation, Grian tucked his wings in tight, reaching out to catch Scar with fervent desperation crawling up his spine, a desperation he’d never quite felt before. Nevermind the way everything was crashing around them, the very world seeming to end as everything Scar had been holding simply collapsed from their own weight. Scar himself was limp, his body a spent ragdoll with no more power left in him, strength sapped and will weakened. Eyes that once held so much life seemed hollow, fleeting as he let his body simply give in to gravity.

“SCAR!” Grian wiped away his face, sleeve stained red even though he’d only meant to wipe away tears. “GRAB MY HAND! COME ON, SCAR, YOU CAN’T DIE ON ME! REACH, DAMNIT!” While Grian liked to believe it was his words that reached Scar, he knew it was near impossible for his screams to be heard against the roaring and whooshing winds that left Grian practically deaf. No, it was something else, but Grian was too preoccupied with the fast-approaching ground to put much thought behind it.

Green eyes focused on him, Scar’s lips pulling into a tight line that tugged on a newly opened scar on his upper lip. Fighting against the wind, Scar reached, scarred hand shaking against the winds, reaching out enough to graze against Grian’s fingertips. Something akin to hope blossomed in Grian’s chest. Without any hesitation, Grian pulled further still, barely wrapping their fingers together before yanking Scar upward. Relief flooded Grian’s soul, perhaps a little too prematurely. They were too close to the ground, not enough time or space to avoid a crash, but Grian didn’t mind as much as he should have.

The hero’s wings shot out, flapping them once before wrapping not only around himself, but around Scar as well. In that moment, it didn’t matter he was the villain; Only that he remained unharmed, because, begrudgingly, Grian had to admit he’d never been a stellar hero; Neither noble nor honorable, but Scar had weaseled his way into being his friend, despite the chasm between them.

Once again, Grian fell. This time, though, it was completely willingly. As his body slammed against the rough concrete ground, Grian couldn’t bring himself to be bitter. Asphalt rubbed the skin beneath his feathers raw as he rolled, only curling his wings around them tighter, Scar surprisingly still against him. A shudder crept up his spine, dread ebbing at his sanity as he gently shook Scar underneath the safety of his wings. There was no response.

No, no, Scar couldn’t be dead. Not here, not like this. Grian curled closer around the villain, resisting the sickening guilt crawling up his spine. For christ’s sake, Grian was supposed to be a hero, supposed to save him. This was never the intention, never how it was supposed to go. (Although, really, they were enemies. How else could it have gone?)

“S-Scar?” Night had become dark, shadows stretching longer than they should have. Heart beating in his throat sent Grian further on edge, a sickly, nauseous kind of beating that made him want to hurl with every slight ba-bump. Gingerly, Grian peeled his feathers off of Scar’s still form, revealing Scar’s pale and bloody face, darkened by shadows. Through the dim moonlight, Grian could see him tensed, teeth grit and brows furrowed as he clung onto Grian’s red sweater. “Scar?” He tried again, voice cracking, but Scar didn’t listen. Only gripped on tighter. In pain or concentration or both, Grian didn’t know.

Wincing at the small movement, Grian propped Scar upright, the man’s shallow breaths evening out slightly, yet still labored and harsh as he clung on even tighter. Pressing down against the man’s wrist, Grian hardly felt his pulse, beating fast, yet worryingly weak. Sweat dribbled down Scar’s nose, fresh scars beading with blood, breath hitching suddenly as his eyelids opened just a crack, opened just enough to spot Grian. Bloodshot eyes fluttered up, staring at something above them. Craning his head to follow his gaze, Grian’s jaw immediately dropped.

Nearly the entire building was floating above them.

“H-How- Scar, how are y-you-” Scar’s hand feebly slapped Grian in the chest, so light he’d hardly felt it. Grian took this as his cue to shut up and watch. Watch as the building eased back into place, swaying dangerously against the wind. Watch as the missing rooftop slowly pieced itself together, pieces interlocking as though never separated. Watch as loose debris began raining around them, giant pieces of hail falling back to earth with stuttering control. Scar trembled in his grasp, breathing shaking as he latched onto Grian tight enough to rip his sweater. The storm in the sky shook, on the verge of becoming a disaster.

Choking back a sob, Scar steadied his breathing, positively shaking as every muscle in his body trembled. All the objects flying in the sky followed suit, some even free-falling out of Scar’s control and crashing around the pair like a meteor shower. Scar grunted, digging his nails deep into the cloth until some of the larger objects stabilized, their descent slowing abruptly. The building continued groaning, crumbling apart as dust caked the abandoned street around them with its smokey haze. Somehow, Scar focused his gaze enough to take in the cataclysm floating just above them, ready to pound them into the ground at a moment’s notice. 

A single moment, a single lapse of control, and it’d all come tumbling down, burying the both of them in the disaster of Scar’s creation.

So Scar grit his teeth, bearing through the ripping ache in his lungs and spread his control over the area entirely, forcing it to submit to his will. Tightening his grasp on nothing, Scar reached out to everything, no nothing saved from his hold. Fighting through his wheezes, the air slowed and stilled, his focus split like shattered glass over the area. Too many thoughts to focus on, and letting even a single one of them slip would send devastation raining from above. Letting his concentration falter for a fraction of a second, and Scar could very well kill them both.

Unknowingly, he’d begun to hover, just a few inches above Grian, the hero gingerly letting him go and watching with awe-struck eyes as the telekinetic continued to rise. Scar wavered in the air, breath choking him up as he gripped tightly onto the looming building above them. Gripping tighter still when dust began to sprinkle the air, his thoughts fleeting like sand, the building slipping through his mental hold. It groaned, the sound terrifyingly loud. 

“I-I can’t,” Scar mouthed with chapped lips, tears following the grooves of his scars as they trailed down his face. 

“Yes, you can. You can do a-anything, Scar.” Each breath through Scar’s chest was strained, more like a wheeze than breathing. “Please,” Grian reassured, sounding awfully frail and far away. “You have to.”

With a distressed warble, Scar nodded, mustering his aching arm to reach out for the building once more. Fluttering his eyes back closed, Scar forced his body to calm as best he could, most of their surroundings sensing the shift and stilling as well. Scar grunted from effort, focusing on Grian’s words, managing to tug the larger objects together, bending them all to his desire. The desire to save them all, from himself and the disaster he’d created. G had to be right; He had to do this.

Instead of spreading his focus on reconstructing the building, Scar amassed as much of the chaos he could together, huffing as fire burned just under his skin. Curling his fists as tight as they’d go, the floating mass squeezed together, crumbling and creaking as it bent unnaturally under him. Pins and needles began pricking his arms, hands going numb under the strain, yet he persevered, ignoring how his power was faltering, fading quickly as he forced it more and more. Hopefully he had enough strength to pull off this final show.

Loose bits and bobs staggered in the sky were pulled towards the mass, shooting around as Scar pulled them in close. Each passing minute was harder to breathe, harder to keep his control, but Scar could pull through. Soon, only dust remained in the air, thick and heavy, blotting out the moonlight and the enormous ball of debris sustained only through Scar’s fleeting strength. Scar’s entire body prickled painfully numb, even his bones aching deep from the pressure. 

With a final shudder and hitched gasp, Scar’s body finally gave out. The villain fell onto the hard, hard concrete, the breath finally knocked out of him as he gazed listlessly into the murky night. The mass of debris followed him, crashing down to earth with enough force to shake the ground. Scar had never heard a bomb, but the explosive crash of the chunk was loud enough to send his ears ringing. Scar blinked blearily, head full of fog as the earth rumbled below him, a steady earthquake rocking him back and forth.

Tilting his head, Scar’s blurry vision could make out a winged figure splayed out besides him, the hero swaying unsteadily onto his feet. It took a minute for his eyes to focus, realize Grian was assessing the damage, another for his ears to hear the distinct sounds of sirens drawing closer. Dread pooled in his gut, panic clawing at him despite how thoroughly exhausted he was, desperate to get his body to move.

No, no, it couldn’t be over. Not here, not like this. After all he’d done and all he needed to do, Scar couldn’t just lose here. Scar’s gaze scoured the ground, landing on a familiar black weapon, scratched and scraped, but still intact. His resolve steeled, fighting through the numbness and calling upon what little remained of his powers once more.

It wasn’t over. Not until Scar thought it was.

Unable to properly levitate, Scar merely floated his body higher into the air, ‘standing’ behind the hero’s back and uncaring if his feet dragged on the pavement. Scar furrowed his brow, clenching his teeth as he reached out with his weary mind. The gun began to shake, listening to his call, yet Scar was too weak to properly move it. With another huff, he reached out physically, desperately trying to hold his arm steady despite how his body protested, aches burning through into his bones.

The gun clattered against the pavement, the sound enough to alert Grian to face the villain, who merely watched Scar struggle. Struggle to breathe, struggle to stay upright, and struggle to lift the gun off the ground. With a pained grunt, it lifted into the air, trembling as the barrel aimed at Grian, mirroring Scar’s trembling arm.

“Let me go,” Scar croaked, standing as strong as he could muster, pretending there weren’t tears pooling in his eyes. “Le-Let me be in p-peace. Don’t turn me in, G, please. Just let me go, and I’ll d-drop the gun.” The hero’s wings flared out, the feathers ruffled and in disarray as they spread out around him, casting more shadows onto his darkened face. Obsidian eyes bore into him, something intangible lurking just beneath the faint glint of his gaze. Something regretful, lamentable, yet as hard as steel. Scar’s gut twisted into knots, the gun’s shaking intensifying.

Grian took a hesitant step forward, Scar’s entire body seizing up as he took another, then another. Shallow breaths became shallower, Scar’s pulse quickening its pace as the hero approached. His lip began to quiver as his finger curled, mimicking pulling the trigger. Even then, Grian did not falter, staring down the barrel as though challenging him. The villain choked on a sob, will wavering as he realized that even now, with everything on the line, he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

Wordlessly, Grian grabbed a hold of the handle, the pistol easily succumbing to Grian’s grasp as Scar lost his hold over it. The hero turned the barrel towards Scar, his finger settling easily onto the trigger as he stared Scar down. The villain searched for mercy behind those dark, conflicted eyes, any sign of kinship from whatever strange friendship they had between them. Instead, Grian sighed, lips pulling into a tight line.

“It’s over, Scar. The police will be here soon to take you into custody.” Scar’s heart sank, plummeting right into his stomach. This wasn’t a betrayal, not really, so he shouldn’t feel so broken up about it. Using his powers suddenly became too much, his body crumbling to the ground as the last of his strength left him. No tears trailed down his cheeks. He refused to cry here, not in front of Grian like this.

“On your knees, hands behind your head. No more funny business.” Scar huffed, unsure whether to glare at the hero or not. Eventually, Scar decided it wasn’t worth the effort, merely doing his best to hold his head up high and prop himself up with trembling arms, doing his best to appear as dignified as possible from where he lay in defeat.

Grian frowned. “Don’t make this harder on yourself, Scar. On your knees and hands behind your head.” The villain did little to hide how he grit his teeth, grip on the concrete scraping his hands. Grian sighed, warily gripping the trigger. “All your buddies are out of commission. The Moss Boss is in prison, and Ogre is probably dead. There’s no one left to save you, no one left to keep fighting. It’s over, Scar.” Sirens blared closer, crying loudly in the night, their bright blue and red flashes starting to light up the night. Scar bit back another sob.

“Okay,” He croaked, hanging his head down low to block Grian from his sights. “Okay, I... I give up. You win, G. Happy?” Maybe if Scar were looking, he’d have seen that Grian wasn’t happy at all with their predicament, biting back his own sorrow from his actions. It was for the best, after all, if Scar’s powers didn’t exist at all. Nothing responded to Scar’s sorrow, the world staying perfectly still around them as Scar despaired. Grian’s feathers ruffled uncomfortably.

“Look, Scar, I’m sorry it ended like this. For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for what I had to do. Maybe if... if things were different, we could have been friends.” Scar found little solace in his words, absolutely miserable as he stared down the barrel still pointed at his chest. The night was lit up blue and red, the sirens bright enough to glow Grian’s face up enough for Scar to see his earnest naivete.

Dust sprinkled the air, coating the pair of them as Scar mulled Grian’s words over. “No,” Scar said bluntly. “No, I don’t think we could’ve. I mean, I would’ve loved to be but I think... it was always meant to end like this.” The hero blinked, wings curling around him and casting darker shadows over where Scar lay sprawled. The heavy footsteps of first responders became increasingly louder, Scar staring Grian down as he started lowering his arm.

“On your knees and hands behind your head,” Grian repeated, the amity gone and replaced instead with a harder, colder tone. “This is serious, Scar. You’re under arrest. Don’t make me ask again.” Fiddling with his thumb, the hero clicked the safety down, hesitant as his grip tightened on the gun. As though Scar even had enough fight left in him to try and take it. Begrudgingly, Scar put his hand back behind his head.

Still, Scar tried for a smile. “You wouldn’t shoot me.” Grian’s grip on the gun remained firm, eyes unnervingly firm as they continued staring him down. Scar’s pathetic smile faltered, and reluctantly, the villain awkwardly shuffled around to put one of his hands behind his head. With downcast eyes, Scar struggled to remain upright on one arm alone, hoping Grian didn’t notice how shaky his breaths were.

“I said-”

“I know. I can’t.”

Blue siren lights now danced across Grian’s face, highlighting the moment his brows rose in understanding, shining in his eyes and reflecting a certain softness that had been hidden before. In their brief silence, Grian’s gun finally wavered, the hero lowering the barrel slightly. “I see,” was all he said, clenching and relaxing his hand around the handle, uncertainty laced behind his upfront bravado. “I’m sorry.” Scar wasn’t sure what Grian was even sorry for, seeing as how the gun was still aimed at his chest. The villain pursed his lips, sighing defeated and letting his arm slink back down to help keep himself upright. This time, the hero didn’t say anything about it.

“Am I selfish, Grian?” Scar whispered, softly enough that the commotion just around the corner might cover up his words. “I thought everything I’d done was for all of us, but... You were right all along. I only ever wanted to keep my telekinesis for my sake the whole time.” Scar smiled bitterly. “Pretty selfish of me, isn’t it?” Grian tensed, wings fluttering behind him nervously as that intangible expression returned to his face.

“Th-That doesn’t matter now.” A loose feather, bloody and black, fell from its place with a small breeze, floating down in front of Scar. The man observed it to avoid looking at Grian’s mirthless face. “But I-I think that nobody’s perfect. Least of all me.” The hero gave a humorless attempt at a chuckle. “Even if you’re a supervillain, you’re still probably one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met. Somehow, you manage to care about everyone, even me.” He paused. “Bdubs said to tell you he’s doing alright, by the way.”

A hiccup escaped past Scar’s lips. The man grabbed the feather that Bdubs healed, gently rubbing the fringes. Before, he’d wished Bdubs were with him, but now it seemed as though he’d get his wish in all the wrong ways. At least with him gone, he wouldn’t be able to hurt Joel anymore, or anyone else. At least Cub was still safe; From the heroes, from himself.

Heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts, rushing forward with fervent speed. Risking a glance up, Scar froze, heart stopping in horror at the man approaching. Sparing a glance behind him, the hero didn’t have any time to think before the newcomer was upon him.

“Keep your filthy feathers away from my friend!” Cub growled, not a hint of humanity behind his blown, black eyes. The bear leaped, sharp and lethal teeth on full display as he snarled. Panic settled in Scar’s gut when his friend flashed his claws, five deadly hooks on his fingertips, sharp enough to pierce through skin and much more. Grian screamed, aiming the gun at the furry man, too slow to pull the trigger before Cub swiped it away with animalistic brutality and launching himself on top of the avian.

“CUB, NO!” Nothing responded to Scar’s panic, nothing flying to his call to break up the fight, leaving him useless on the ground as Cub pounced. “CUB, STOP! Snap out of it! D-Don’t kill him!” Trying and failing to keep his voice from breaking, Scar desperately looked around, grabbing the closest stone and throwing it at his friend before anyone else got hurt. It clattered harmlessly against Cub’s side, the man roaring at Grian with all the fury of a wounded bear. Scar could only whine miserably, absolutely helpless to stop the scene taking place.

“W-Wait!” Grian yelped, wings puffed and thrashing about wildly underneath Cub’s hold. “We can talk this through. Cub, yeah? Just c-calm down and-” Another growl rumbled from deep in Cub’s throat, nose twitching as he slammed Grian against the ground, effectively cutting off the hero with another cry.

“PLEASE, CUB! Just, stop. Don’t- Please don't hurt him.” The pleads quickly turned into sobs, Cub at last turning to face him with some form of recognition. “I-I’m fine, Cub. Killing him will get us nowhere. Please, just let it go. Let the bear go.” Cub paused, lowering his poised claws that were ready to strike, some white returning to his eyes. There was even some green coming back in the sea of dark black, a peridot shine highlighted by the siren’s glow.

“Are you really alright, Scar?” Wiping away a stray sniffle, Scar nodded fervently, his friend sighing as his claws retracted slightly. Grian continued watching them warily with heavy breaths, gaze flickering and jumping with every movement between the pair. Eventually, he settled on Cub, unusually still as he stared at the villain. Cub stared right back, sniffing Grian once before his claws fully retracted. The hero’s body relaxed, huffing in relief.

Then Cub yanked his hair, slamming Grian's head against the concrete. Grian managed a soft squeak before he went out like a light.

“That was,” Scar panted as he searched for the right word, still struggling to catch his breath after the night’s ordeal. “Eventful.” Tossing Grian aside, Cub ran to Scar’s side, his pupils shrinking back to a normal size, yet still unusually black. Despite the bear in him still present, Cub was surprisingly gentle as he grabbed Scar’s shoulders, sinking down to one knee to help Scar lean against him. For the first time in a long while, Scar actually managed to breathe, letting his friend console him with a not-too-tight hug as he sunk into his strong grasp.

“I thought I was too late.” There was still a slight animalistic snarl, but it was negligible, Scar too focused on how broken Cub sounded as he whispered. “I thought I’d already lost you, that they’d already taken you away and I’d never see you again.” Raw emotion broke through Cub’s words, warbling as he pulled Scar a little closer. “I thought I’d be all alone.” A tremor shook Scar’s hands, throat going drier than the Sahara.

Scar’s breath hitched. “Joel?”

“Joel is-” Cub choked on a hiccup. “Scar, he’s not getting better. He- I don't know how much longer he can hold out.” Sharp, pointed fingers dug into Scar’s side, Cub burying his head against Scar to hide the shame painted between his creased brows. “I thought I could save him b-but I can’t, n-not without Bdubs.” Absentmindedly, Scar rubbed circles into his friend’s back, trying to fight his own grief to formulate something to get them out of the mess he’d made. 

“Call Etho.” Peeling himself off Scar’s side, the man instantly nodded, clearing his throat and fumbling to get a secure grasp on Scar. Digging into his pocket, Cub pulled out his phone, using his free arm to hoist Scar up with enviable ease.

Supporting Scar against his side, Cub single-handedly flipped it open, searching through his contacts urgently. “Right, right, sorry. We need to g-get you out of here before the cops find us.” Scar shook his head, gaze focused intensely on the fallen hero unconscious at their feet, his wings bathed in brilliant blue and red lights, as well as the discarded pistol not far from his hand.

“No. Tell him we’re breaking into the Hermit Correctional Facility. Tonight.” Cub’s jaw dropped, the phone nearly falling from his hands as he stared at his friend completely flabbergasted.

“Scar, I want to save Bdubs as much as you, but nobody even knows where the HCF is, let alone how to break in.”

“I know where.”

“What? Scar, that’s impossible.” Scar stared at Grian’s handgun, stared at its black surface and remembered the sleek black plastic of its case. Remembered the small logo imprinted on the box too, and remembered the familiar design far too well. Ignoring the police’s encroaching closer and closer to where they stood, Scar managed a smile.

“Tell Etho to summon the World Eater and Zombie. We’ll need them if we’re going to rescue our friends.” Cub’s brows furrowed, fingers hesitating before calling their mysterious associate.

“Friends? Plural?” Scar nodded, eyes flitting away from Grian’s limp figure to instead stare at the waning moon above as it dipped to sink back into the horizon from whence it came. The darkness still remained as thick in the air as the dust, though, and morning was still a ways away. There would be enough time before morning for Scar’s plan to work. There had to be. To fix his mistakes and wrongs and sins and everything inbetween.

A mischievous grin overtook him, tugging at a fresh scar on his lips. 

“The Red King’s been in prison for long enough, don’t you think?”

The lights flickered.

Shadows danced across the walls before flickering away just as quickly as they came, flashing the white, white walls of the prison black for brief moments. This was not unusual in the Hermit Correctional Facility for Powered Persons. Having been contained there for as long as he had, he knew that they would flicker many times more, basking the prison in darkness before they settled back down moments later. For that small, precious time, he could pretend the walls weren’t as white as they were, but never pretend he’d escape. Nothing could hide the thick and unnatural stench of chemicals from him.

As usual, the lights eventually settled back down, the worn-down bulb straining with the buzz of electricity constantly coursing through it. Not a single muscle so much as twitched, the man staring at the blank wall as still as always, pretending the wall was as white as it’d always been. Restraining a smile, he sat patiently, sniffing the air with a subtle twitch of his nose.

A new scent wafted through his nostrils. Something cold yet friendly, intwined with a faint ashy aftersmell. The distinctive smell drifted into his room from just beyond the shadows, yet definitely not in the other room. There was an air of mystery behind this new smell, this new person he could smell yet not pinpoint, almost as though the dark side of the moon had a scent that had somehow wafted into his cell. It was most certainly not human, far from it.

The shadows darkened in the corners. Ren grinned wide enough to show off all his canines, tail wagging excitedly behind him.

The Red King would be free soon, it seemed.

Chapter Text

Reporting live from the scene: Supervillains strike again!

Thunder clapped, overpowering and close. The early morning light was tainted dark, storming clouds billowing over the city. Lightning lit up the sky, nearly bright enough to blind, cracking through both concrete and asphalt alike, charring the ground wherever it struck. No rain fell, but a harsh, biting wind whipped through the air, electrified and poised to sting. Through the brief and deadly flashes, the vague outlines of people staggered through the storm, rats scurrying at their feet, housepets stumbling after them, and snakes slithering between their legs.

A bolt of lightning fell over the precession, striking the very road the hoard walked on. Two grand figures stood radiant in the chaos, the electrical explosions sprinkling around them. Dull, orange hair whipped through the wind, falling in front of an ashen face upturned into a smirk. Besides the woman dressed in elegant blue robes stood a man whose skin was tinted a faint shade of green, an electronic red eye glowing softly through the darkness. Raising his metallic, copper arm into the sky, the man chuckled, and a surge of lightning immediately struck him down. The zombie beside him jumped, the man gasping as electricity danced between his fingers. The red dot of his eye burned brighter, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

Helicopters flew around the pair from where they stood in the middle of the growing hoard in the street, guns and cameras honed onto them with deadly precision. The World Eater’s arms shot out, skin turning a little greener as lightning beckoned to his call, striking down one of the helicopters with effortless ease, not sparing a glance as it crashed to the ground. Following suit, Zombie curled her finger at the wreck, two new figures staggering out and joining the growing crowd.

The villains had finally arrived.

“Overwhelm the humans while I blow down the walls,” World Eater said firmly, voice drawling in a wicked way. “Victory will be ours.” Electricity cackled, his dark hair standing up on end as sparks danced between his metallic fingers. The woman besides him purposefully stepped a little farther away from the electricity, eying the lightning above warily. The green seeping into his fingers turned a darker shade, growing more prominent between the flashes of light. Another strong gust blew past, nearly knocking Zombie off her feet, but he stood strong, letting his tattered and charred coat flutter in the wind.

“Whatever you say, lightning boy,” Zombie mumbled hoarsely back, throat dry and raspy as she licked her chapped lips. “But I’m not letting you have all the fun.” Ignoring Doc’s splutters, Cleo smoothed out her frizzled hair, the dying gentle flowers caught between the tangles shining through the orange. Tugging at the strings of her deceased puppet, a snake slithered down her arm, loosening its grasp around her neck as it coiled around her fingers. Grinning with all her teeth, Zombie stared down the cobras dull, lifeless eyes, watching it flick its tongue between its sharp, pointed fangs.

Doc played with light zaps between his fingertips. “Then let’s get the party started,” He said, eyeing Cleo’s cobra. The cobra’s mouth pulled, tearing some of the dead skin to mimic a smile.

Lightning struck the tall Giga-Pies building, thunder rumbling deep in their chests as the giant pie logo crashed to the ground. The building creaked, but nothing more, the walls sturdy enough to resist the electrical blow. Zombie cackled, screech-like and jarring, the corpses below listening to her call. Controlling the horde came easy. Their mindless bodies let Zombie puppeteer them closer to the target with every step; Closer to the prison, and closer to all their captured powered brethren trapped within.

Guards swarmed the building, guns steady as they shouted orders. Shutters slammed over windows, extra layers of iron pulled over the doors. Sirens were blaring, hiding most of their words against the ruckus, but the two villains understood they were not welcome here. Doc’s exposed cybernetics fizzled with sparks. The cobra tightened around Cleo’s arm, tight enough the already ashen skin gained a grayer hue.

With a deep grunt, the World Eater focused his gaze, a deep rumbling reverberating throughout the scene as energy thrummed beneath their very feet. Zombie’s massive mob sped from a dragging limp to a stumbling jog, excitement jostling about their decaying limbs. Screams rang from the prison guards, desperately fighting off the moaning corpses clawing at their guns as lightning crashed behind them. Electronics short-circuited as lightning arced into the walls and blasted the thick concrete. Doc scoffed, dissatisfied with the pathetic black stain left on the concrete.

“Looks like Scar’s info was right. Honestly?” Thrusting his hand forward, electricity arced down from the stormy sky to strike down the thick, concrete wall. “Was totally expecting him to pull one over on us.” (He would’ve, had the situation been different. They all knew it.) Cracks filled the air, rumbling into their chests as the lightning flash dissipated, leaving behind only a darker char stain. Zombie nodded in agreement, dead rats gnawing on guards’ ankles, climbing up their legs and onto their guns as she furrowed her brows in concentration.

Dead, hollow eyes flickered upwards, following the sudden movement atop the Giga-Pies Corporation. Or, as it should’ve been called: The Hermit Correctional Facility. Zombie’s eyes twitched and her fingers curled into fists as she watched the blur slow to a still on the rooftop, their body glowing a faint blue color against the darkness of the early morning.

The heroes had finally arrived.

Zombie readied her stance, her cobra standing alert and hissing at the hero. “Hold that thought, Doc. Seems like we’ve got some unexpected company.” Thunder boomed, shaking the building Slime stood on and knocking him off-balance. Before the hero could even recover from his stumble, lightning struck in a furious array, explosions frying the area black, the entire Giga-Pies rooftop a desolate wasteland with sparks flying. Reaching out, Zombie beckoned the hero forward. Nothing answered her call.

“Zombie!” Jevin shouted over the turbulent thunder and whipping winds, sproinging right back up from his puddle of sludgey goop. Jevin held his head up high from where he stood back on the cindery rooftop, uninjured. “Surrender immediately or there will be consequences! I’m warning you!” The hero’s voice carried far throughout the night yet remained distinctly inhuman, as though he were speaking through water (or Jello). Even from afar, Jevin was impossible to miss, shining faintly like a blue glowstick in the surrounding darkness. Those empty yet lively black eyes gleamed through the broiling stormy clouds, transfixed on the two supervillains.

Neither villain moved to surrender. Jevin tightened his grip on his new, flashy suppressor gun, glowing an even intenser blue.

“I’ll take care of this clown, Doc. Just don’t zap me and I’ll be fine. The plan doesn’t change.” The World Eater nodded along, skin thrumming with energy just below its surface, now nearly completely green. Shooting his arm upwards, lightning arced down to meet his metallic hand, his muscles hardly even trembling from the intense rush of volts. Red eye burning brighter, the World Eater grunted, lightning crackling heavy in the air as it struck the rooftop once again. And just like before, Jevin practically melted from the shock, nowhere to be seen by the time the thunder had settled in.

“Slimey indestructible little-” Doc cursed under his breath as Jevin bounced back up readier than ever. Scowling, Zombie reached out for her horde, pulling at their imaginary strings controlling their movements. Bodies and corpses suddenly began trembling and groaning like proper zombies as they marched even faster towards the facility to overwhelm it in their massive stampede. They parted around the supervillains as they swarmed the building and struck everything within reach, lashing out at guards with cracked fingernails and pounding on walls with broken arms.

“Hey, stop that!” Jevin shouted over the ruckus. Cleo ignored him. Cackling alongside the thunderous booms of the morning, she flipped him the bird with both hands, several of her zombies following suit and raising their fists at the blue hero. Jevin, being the mature hero he was, only flipped her off with one finger.

Jumping off the charred and lightning-struck roof, Jevin leapt into the air, goopy body fluttering apart in the wind as he fell to the zombie-infested ground. Summoning lightning did nothing to stop him, only managing to shock the limping zombies that’d been unfortunate enough to be in Doc’s way while Jevin melted back into another blob of gloop. Cleo elbowed Doc in the ribs with a scowl for the blunder.

Both villains stared at the hero as he approached, springing back up from his goopy puddle fully congealed and unharmed. Zombie narrowed her eyes, cobras tensing around her wrist and hissing at the hero steadily making his way towards them, expertly bouncing around her lumbering zombies like a rubber ball.

“Call back your horde!” Jevin screeched, high-pitched and shrill as he leaped around to avoid the horde’s clutches, now an overwhelming mass of corpses. Up close in the darkness of the dawn, it was easier to see Zombie roll her eyes, irises even emptier than the corpses around them. They were hollow and lifeless, wispy dafts of dry hair framing her deathly pale face to drive in how unnerving the Zombie could be.

“Not a chance,” The woman chuckled, low and raspy in the howling wind, an accompanying groan from the deceased behind and below her making it sound all the more maniacal. Cobras wrapped around her wrist and neck hissed, and with them, the zombie crowd grew more aggressive still, their attention focusing on the sticky blue hero. They snapped and lunged, growling as Jevin bounced off the asphalt right past their grasp and back into the air. Jevin moved too quick for most of them to even brush their fingers against, and when they did, his sludge slipped right through their fingertips and out of reach.

Mid-air, Jevin paused just enough for Zombie to see him stick out his blue tongue at her. Of course, Zombie retaliated by spitting out her own tongue and dangling it by her fingertips. Doc wisely ignored their feud, instead focusing on his lightning. Cracks were starting to widen in the charred concrete, weaknesses beginning to form in the impenetrable prison. It wouldn’t take much longer now, and by the way Jevin was rushing closer more recklessly than before, he must have known it too.

One particularly large corpse in the swarming crowd managed to wrap its fingers around Jevin’s ankle in his haste, yanking him down from where he’d been leaping above and slamming him against the asphalt where more zombies were waiting. With a yelp, Jevin melted again, sludge dribbling past the zombie’s fingers into a puddle of blue mucus. Face brimming with glee, Zombie’s zombies concentrated around Jevin’s puddle, stepping and picking at the sludge to keep her nemesis from congealing back into his solid form. (Karma.)

As her zombies kept Jevin occupied and Doc’s lightning kept blowing up the facility, Zombie couldn’t help but cackle. “That’s what you get for messing with the Zombie, Jev! Mess ‘im up, boys!” Bubbles popped from Jevin’s puddle like pathetic gurgles, barely heard over the whipping wind and thunderous rumbles. Lightning steadily chipped away at the facility, dangerously close to finally breaking through the wall. Any choppers, machines, or guards that got in their way were promptly struck, leaving the pair untouchable in the midst of Zombie’s chaotic horde.

“Keep your guard up, Cleo,” The World Eater warned in a low rumble, echoed by the booming thunder surrounding them. Electricity cackled in the air, sending the hairs on the back of his neck on edge. “This mission is too important to lose the upper hand.” Flicking her wild hair behind her ear, Zombie shrugged, enjoying the moment as Doc’s wind rippled her clothes and hair with her nemesis subdued. Seeing Jevin struggle was always a highlight in her day.

“Good thing we’re winning then, yeah?” Raising the corner of his lips, Doc looked just about to reply with another one of his snarky comments. 

Until, of course, a zombie drop-kicked him in the chest.

The zombie tackled him to the ground, his heavy and metallic body clanging against the asphalt with a deafening bang. For the first time that morning, the thunder paused its deafening booms, the sky eerily empty without the bright lightning flashes plaguing the morning’s early light. Doc’s human eye trained on Cleo, only able to choke as the zombie pressed its arm against his throat, grabbing his wrists and positioning itself over him. It leaned in close, pinning him down with expert ease and slamming its head against Doc’s own. 

“Cleo-” The World Eater spluttered, cut off as the zombie pressed down further onto throat. Eyes nearly rolling into his head, Doc struggled from underneath the zombie’s grasp, glaring at Cleo with as much intensity as he could manage. It wasn’t much. (Something always went wrong.)

“Is not me!” Zombie screeched, yanking at the air with panicked hands and a shrill voice. “The bastard’s not listening to me!” If Doc was trying to make a face at that, he was failing, breaking down into a choking fit as the zombie angled itself better for a tighter grip. Growling, Cleo stamped her foot down on the rogue zombie, stomping on its exposed back once, twice, even thrice until the zombie’s lifeless eyes flitted up to meet hers.

“Get off ‘im, you wretched piece of-!” In one smooth motion, the zombie sprung forward, repositioning itself so that one knee pressed down on Doc while its hands were free to work their skill. Surprisingly rough hands caught Cleo’s kicking foot, pressing down hard on her ankle and reaching for her knee in the same movement. The zombie tugged and Cleo screamed, yanked forward just enough for her to fall from her own unbalanced weight and crash against the asphalt. With a groan, she propped herself onto her elbows, ready to leap back into battle before the rogue zombie attacked again.

Cobras hissed at the rogue as it reached towards her, yanking Cleo’s hair back and forcing her off her elbows. In the same movement, the rogue sent a swift kick to the side of Doc’s head, his howl heard clearly throughout the alley as the red light of his eye flickered. Cleo yelped and gasped in the same breath, swatting blindly at the hand buried into her hair as her exposed neck stretched painfully far. The cloth-like hand only tightened further.

“Stop your attack,” The zombie hissed, voice oddly feminine. The cool barrel of a dart gun pressed against Cleo’s spine. The unmistakable click of the safety unlocked, Cleo’s already ashen face blanching as she stared up at the stormy morning sky. Even the cobras froze like deer in headlights, long slinky bodies rigid as they coiled against their master.

“It’s a fake!” Doc cried out. Another kick to his head silenced him again.

“Not fake,” The hero said coolly, her zombie disguise melting into her regular skin. “False.” 

Dead, graying eyes turned an electric blue, flashing as bright as a diamond through the thick lenses of her goggles. A healthy complexion returned to her decaying skin, the tattered and dirtied clothes blinked away to reveal her green military jacket and white striped shirt, the red seeping through in the tell-tale pattern of a bloodstain. Her steel-toed combat boots dug into Doc’s head and her rough gloved hands tangled themselves deeper against Cleo’s skull.

“Stop your attack,” False repeated in a tone as steely as her glare. “Then maybe I’ll consider not using my new perma-inhibitor on you lot.” Faint crackles of thunder boomed throughout the air as Doc grunted, trying to push the hero’s boot out from his face to no success. Unimpressed, False twisted her boot against Doc’s skull, the man crying out as his cheek ground against the asphalt. Cleo glared at her with all the anger she could muster.

“Go to hell!” Suddenly, Cleo’s arm shot backward, the joint dislocating with a sharp pop to wrangle the barrel of the gun on her back. False’s curses covered the soft click of the gun, the dart shooting over Cleo’s shoulders and clattering on the cracked road, the glass shattering and spilling its poisonous contents all over the asphalt. Loosening her hold on Doc, False grit her teeth and tried wrangling the barrel out from Cleo’s grasp, the pair caught up in a desperate battle for the gun.

“DOC, ZAP HER!” Zombie growled, thrashing against False with the ferocity of a dying woman, clawing and scratching at the hero while her zombies crowded around them.

“What? But you-”

“NOW!”

Doc didn’t hesitate further. Electricity coursed through his body, fizzling on his skin as another crackle of thunder rumbled in the air, shaking the very street they stood upon. The World Eater shot his metallic arm into the air and reached for the sky. False’s eyes shot open wide as saucers. In a blur of speed, False dropped her hold of the gun and kicked herself off Cleo’s back, launching herself backwards as Cleo was knocked once more into the asphalt. No matter how fast False was, though, she could never be faster than lightning.

Red bathed the street as Doc’s eyes flashed impossibly bright. The red matched the blood trickling down his face, gleaming brightly as the dark, stormy morning flashed as bright as day. Lightning arced down to meet his arm, exploding into an electrical shower all around the trio. Electricity shot in all directions, the discharge streaking through the air and into everything it could reach.

False’s scream ripped louder than the thunder’s rumbling, sounding like a dozen voices at once. Even her body didn’t seem like her own, blinking between different images mottled together into one as lightning coursed through the hero. For a brief moment between the lightning’s flashes, she even looked like a diamond, brilliant against the surrounding darkness before she crumbled to the floor. Foam spilled from between her lips and her body jerked uncontrollably from the sparks fizzled around her. False was dead to the world, eyes rolling up into her head as the electricity continued its course.

Cleo wasn’t much better. If anything, she was worse. Sparks flew from the ruined gun she held, not slipping from her grasp even as she fell hard onto the road. Hovering above her convulsing figure, Doc watched her cadaver-like body spasm, the muscles losing control of themselves as electricity arced between her limbs. The World Eater kept reaching and pulling away from her, hesitant to even touch her even when her head thrashed against the asphalt.

“Cleo?” Doc rasped, kneeling down next to his fellow villain. “Stay with me, you crazy corpse. Come on.” Warbled sounds escaped her lips, but it was doubtful she’d even heard him. With a violent jerk, one of the stitches on her hand came loose, two fingers falling off. Panicked, Doc reached for them, quickly pulling away when more electricity shot from his hands into Cleo, eliciting another pained warble.

All around them, the zombies mirrored her electrocution. Most of them jerked uncontrollably, wailing into the night louder than Doc’s thunder before they crumpled to the ground, dropping like flies left to rot. Lightning flashed through the emptying street, illuminating the two dozen or so zombies left standing and one blue, slimy hero. Doc shot up faster than he’d thought possible.

“False!” Jevin screamed, fully congealed, pushing aside a lumbering corpse with enough sense still left in it to lumber towards the hero. Expression steeling, he narrowed his beady black eyes and undid the zipper of his jacket before shoving his own hand deep inside his chest. It emerged with the dart gun cocked and loaded. It was aimed right at Doc.

“Relax, man. It’s not like she’s dead.” To prove his point, the World Eater kicked False in the head just as harshly as she’d kicked him, sending a fresh jolt of electricity through her. “See?” Doc said as False’s image sparkled diamond again before convulsing in different forms. “Healthy as a horse.” (Distantly, he wondered if False could falsify herself into a horse.)

Apparently Jevin didn’t appreciate Doc’s demonstration, shooting the perma-inhibiting dart without any hesitation. Quick as a flash, the World Eater blocked, the dart caught in his metal hand and embedded deep into his palm. Before he could even recognize what happened, the Slime jumped, quickly gaining momentum as he bounced higher and higher. Wildly shooting lightning at Jevin did nothing, the slimy hero too unpredictable for Doc’s lightning to strike true. Some sparks fizzled close to his slime, turning Jevin into a glow-in-the-dark hero, but it wasn’t enough for Doc to slow him down.

“Are you two in cahoots with Scar?” Rapid firing four more shots while in the air, Jevin didn’t slow down, furrowing his brows as small streaks of lightning intercepted and melted the darts away. “Did he set you up to this?” (He snorted. Jevin was wasting his darts.) Not waiting for an answer, Jevin bounced above Doc, shooting another two darts as he fell that Doc easily rolled out of the way of.

“Nobody ‘sets’ the World Eater up. I work alone.” 

“Oh yeah?” Jevin jeered, the challenge in his words obvious. “Sure don’t look alone to me.”

Bouncing around Doc, Jevin clenched his grip around the dart gun tighter, firing three more shots down below. Bracing himself, Doc summoned another crackle of electricity from his metal hand, but to his surprise, the impact never came.

Beside him, Cleo spluttered, a desperate heave that sucked the breath out of her lungs. Her hollow, dead eyes shot open, the black finally jolting into consciousness. Something twinkled just behind the usual emptiness of her ghoulish gaze. Something alive filled the eerie and uncanny hollow of her corpse-like complexion, some color returning to the ashen black.

Cleo’s gaze trailed down to her chest. To the darts embedded between her ribs.

Cleo screamed. Wails echoed throughout the streets, her zombies all screaming alongside her as they leapt to their feet and slashed at anything that moved. Between her raw and soul-crushing screams, Cleo wheezed, breathless as she threw her head back, tears trailing down her cheek and mixing with the blood that dripped onto the asphalt below. Huffing, Cleo dug her eight fingers into the road, but it wasn’t enough to ground her, not enough to distract her from her trembling body becoming alive again.

“Help-” She sobbed, breath hitching as her voice cracked, quivering like a leaf in the wind. “Doc- I- It hurts- ” Zombies answered her cries, howling as they all lunged towards anything and everything, much more ravenous and deadly than before. They tackled guards, scaled the facility’s walls, showing no mercy as they chomped and sliced through the street, only growing stronger from Cleo’s agony. (He had to look away.)

“Cleo...?” Speechless, Doc reached for her, Cleo desperately taking his hand despite the shock. Her vise-like grip clamped around his own; It was as warm as a fever but as strong as steel, steady despite her missing fingers. Through the tears pooling in her unsettlingly lively eyes, she looked at Doc, gaze unfocused yet pleading all the same. Still, Doc tightened his hold, reassuring his fellow powered in the only way he knew how.

Maybe Cleo knew that. After resisting for too many agonizingly-slow moments, she finally let her head loll back, the toxins from the three darts overtaking her as she slumped onto the ground. The zombies lulled in their frenzy. Some swayed before slowly dropping to their knees, others tripping over themselves and crashing against the road, a final few making their last stand and going out with a roar. The corpses were being put to rest.

Only when Cleo’s grip loosened did Doc let go.“You’ll pay for that,” He muttered, standing up slowly. “You’re going to pay. ” Thunder rumbled as he clenched his fists, teeth gritting against each other as he glared up at Jevin.

“I thought you worked alone.” Sensing Doc’s anger, Jevin quickened his pace, bouncing off nearby buildings to outrun the lightning streaking down after him.

“She was unarmed and unconscious .” Crackles sparked through the air as Doc’s red eye flared.

“Relax, man. It’s not like she’s dead,” Jevin parroted back. The sky went ablaze with lightning.

The World Eater reached into the sky. Lightning arced down from all directions, blinding both of them as darkness turned to day. Everything exploded with electricity, the discharge streaking everywhere it could manage to shock. Including Jevin. Thunder covered up the Slime’s scream, the hero glowing brighter than a star as he slammed into the asphalt and bounced right back up with a shudder. Despite the hundreds of millions of volts shot through him, Jevin was fine, albeit extremely disoriented. Unseeing eyes shone through the dark morning light like blacklights. They were honed in on the World Eater.

Floundering about midair, Jevin held his gun up high, shooting a dart blindly after the flashbang. It missed Doc by a mile. Jevin’s slimy, elastic body bounced against the ground again, but unable to see, he slammed against the low-lying branches of a tree, sending him crashing right back down close to where Doc stood. Blinking the flash from his eyes, Jevin huffed, stumbling blindly onto his feet as he focused his gun right back on the World Eater.

When his vision returned, though, his grip on the trigger faltered.

“Lower your weapon, Slime.” In the darkness, the World Eater slid the embedded dart out from his palm, the toxins still sloshing around inside its chamber. False was caught in a headlock, straining against the dart’s tip Doc pressed against her neck. She hardly even breathed. Her diamondesque eyes fluttered blearily in the dawn’s light, still too jittery from all of Doc’s shocks to regain fine control of her body. Instead, she sagged against the villain limply, staring right into Jevin. 

“No.” Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Jevin steadied his stance, looking as sure of himself as possible. “The second I lower this gun, you’ll stab her. Not happening.” Doc narrowed his eyes, his red one flashing as he hummed, almost in consideration. False gulped, her Adam’s apple visibly shifting up and down and disappearing in rhythm as Doc tapped the dart against her neck. (This wasn’t how the mission was supposed to go.)

“Hm. According to my sources, there’s only twelve darts in the new prototype gun. You’ve already used up eleven.” Another jolt of electricity shot through False. Thunder rumbled soon after. “Do you really think you can hit me with just one shot?” False's eyes rolled into her head. Jevin stilled. Behind them, lightning cracked the facility’s charred nearly fallen wall, exploding and forcing the hero to regain his resolve. 

“Do you really think you can stab her before I shoot? Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” As if to prove his point, Jevin shuffled a little closer. Doc took a step back, holding onto False tighter and sending another surge through her. Jevin wasn’t deterred. He only stopped when False’s entire body flashed diamond, going impossibly rigid as sparks danced off her skin; It was the World Eater’s version of a warning.

The pair were only meters away now, locked in a standstill. They were separated by the fading yellow lines of the road and their own hesitation. The World Eater and the Slime glared at each other. False jolted in Doc’s grasp and the safety clicked off the dart gun in sync. (An impasse. Not ideal.)

“Uhm, hello?” Etho’s voice said, emerging from the darkness behind them. “It’s me, Etho, your deus ex machina uber driver?” Both Jevin and Doc stared at him, too stunned by whatever Etho’s nonsense meant to even begin to react. He walked towards them on unsteady feet, glancing between them with shifty eyes until he stood right before the pair, in arm’s reach of either one of them. Etho’s uneasy eyes landed on False, shifting between his feet so nervously Doc couldn’t help but notice.

“Cut the crap, False. That one wasn’t even any good.” Expectedly, False was shocked again, but not before she spit into his face. In the blink of an eye, the false disguise was stripped away, leaving a new hero standing in Etho’s place: A bearded man with soft violet eyes and tousled brown hair, dressed in an old beige collared shirt and an apron speckled with blood thrown on top.

Vintage had finally arrived.

“Beef?” Jevin broke the silence, some of his slime dribbling from his finger and down the handle from how long he’d been holding it still. “You, uh, going to card him?” Vintage’s fingers flexed, reaching into his apron to pull out two blank white cards. It wobbled in the air, empty. His teeth sunk into his lips, hard enough to draw blood. Vintage’s vortex eyes stared into both of them, pondering something unbeknownst to either.

“World Eater- er, Doc, I mean. Nice meeting you.” Doc tilted his head, grip tightening around the warming glass of the perma-inhibiting dart. “You have connections with Scar, right? The guy with the antidote for... Those.” Vintage made a vague gesture at False’s neck. Doc narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Incredible,” He mumbled, violet eyes shooting wide open.

Stuck in his grasp, False squirmed. “Beef, what are you doing?” She rasped against the chokehold the World Eater held her in. “Freeze him already!” Sparing her a brief guilty glance, Beef quickly looked away, pulling out a third card and playing with it between his fingers. False’s nails dug into Doc’s coat as she watched, using all her strength to just stay upright.

“Doc. Don’t get too upset with me, but right now, I have Cleo carded.” With adept fingers, Vintage held his three cards out in a fan. ‘Cleo Wraith: Zombie’ was spelled on top of the second, a crude drawing of Cleo fast asleep followed by a brief blurb of stats too small to read. The actual Cleo, the one slumped against the road, remained unbreathing and deathly still. As though she were frozen.

“Stop with the niceties, Beef. He’s got a dart to my neck!” For emphasis, she tried gesturing at it, but fell short when her uncooperative hand jerked about. Instead, she kept her diamond-like gaze honed in on Beef. (Like a bird of prey.)

Doc’s eye flashed dangerously red at the sight of the card. “What is it you want, hero. ” The villain spat out the word like it was venom, with all the rancor his bitter tongue could manage.

Vintage shot his hands up in peace. “Listen, I don’t want any problems. All I want is your antidote.” Skittishly, he flashed Cleo’s card up again, not daring to meet his fellow heroes’ eyes as he twirled it between his fingers. “If you can get me a dose, I... I would be willing to let both you and Cleo go.” False spluttered obscenities and Jevin’s jaw dropped, barely remembering to keep a hold of his gun. The World Eater only stared at him. Analyzing him and his every word.

“It’s not up to me,” Doc finally said. “It’s Scar’s antidote.”

“Whatever Scar needs, I can do it.”

“If you help us out, I’ll put a good word in for you. That’s the best I can do.” 

“Deal.” The vortex of Vintage’s violet eyes swirled, deep, dark and determined. (He grinned.)

“Beef, you wouldn’t seriously-”  Before Jevin could finish his sentence, Vintage lunged for him, blank card at the ready and fire in his eyes. The gun fired, the faintest click ringing through the air as Jevin switched his aim towards his fellow hero instead. But the gap between them was too small. Vintage easily swatted away the barrel, the last dart flying over his shoulder as the card touched his jelly-like skin. Jevin’s mouth parted, but no scream came out. Vintage’s card exploded with color and text, Jevin stricken immobile as the last of his stats appeared. Frozen in place.

False spurred into action. Grunting, she swung her legs to the side, uncoordinated, but enough to surprise Doc. With all the ferocity she could muster, she pulled them both down, quickly slipping out of the chokehold while knocking out Doc’s knees from behind. Ignoring Doc’s sudden sparks, she drove him into the ground, punching him so hard in the jaw her weakened arm quivered from the effort. She stood over him, wobbly in the knees and wiping away a stray bloody streak on her cheek.

“Traitor,” She panted, steadying her fighting stance like she wasn’t two seconds away from collapsing. “Don’t- Don’t do this, Beef. Make the right choice here.” Beef spared her a few seconds to consider her words. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “It’s nothing personal, I swear.” Usually, Vintage would be no match for False, but she was weak. (And alone.) Sucking in a breath, False stubbornly stood her ground as Vintage lunged towards her. She dropped to her knees and flung herself at his legs before his card could touch her. Vintage yelped as he went down, but False wasn’t strong enough to keep him down for long. Spluttering, Vintage reached for her arm, cut off short when a fistful of dirt and charred pebbles was thrown into his eyes.

Behind him, Doc groaned, spitting out a tooth False knocked loose and nursing his bleeding mouth. His gaze snapped up at Vintage. The ex-hero was hacking out his lungs, blinking out the dust as he lunged for False again, only to come up empty. Beef scrambled up to his feet, rubbing his eyes until his vision cleared, swatting his blank card at the air until realizing he wasn’t hitting anything at all. He paused.

“She got away,” Doc said helpfully.

Beef sighed, burying his face in his palm. “I can see that.”

“She’s probably disguised as one of Cleo’s- one of the corpses.” Massaging his jaw, Doc stood up, kicking one of the several nearby corpses for emphasis. It remained lifelessly still.

“Should we, uh, go looking for her?”

“That won’t be necessary. We’re almost done here, anyway.” Picking up the last dart, still miraculously intact, Doc twirled it between his fingers, looking pensively up at the sky. The sun was beginning to seep through the dark clouds, wind stilling as Doc took a steady step forward. Beef blinked at him.

“Wait, what are you doing?” (What was he doing?)

“Justice for Zombie.” Was his blunt answer. And with that, he stepped up to Slime, his unseeing black eyes watching Doc shove the perma-inhibitor into his chest, crushing the glass so that the toxic fluid seeped into his sludge, becoming one with the slime. Pulling the broken dart out, Doc tossed it onto the road, shaking his hand free of the gunk as glass clattered around him.

Not wasting a moment, the World Eater reached into the sky, pointing at a chopper that had flown a little too close to their battle. Even from a distance, the red flare was visible as lightning descended onto the helicopter, sending it spiraling through the air, falling closer, closer, closer to the roof of the HCF until the explosion-

The camera feed cut out. Static filled the screen.

“ We’re getting reports that several key villains have escaped imprisonment in the attack on the HCF, which experts believe had been coordinated by Hermit City’s newest supervillain, Scar. Among the escapees are: The Scarlet Pearl, Little Woods, Joe Hills, Moss Boss, xB, and most worryingly of all-”

“The Red King.” Scar finished. “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

Ren smiled from across the table. The supervillain’s canines were bared in full display, lips upturned so openly and warmly, yet Scar could easily see the true insidious nature behind his trustworthy, alluring smile. Cobalt eyes pierced through Scar from behind his prison-issued sunglasses, gaze just as sharp as his teeth. Ren’s tail swished behind him lazily. Relaxed, even. Hopefully that meant he was in a good mood. Hopefully that meant negotiations would go smoothly.

“Likewise, my dude. It’s an honor to meet this infamous Scar that’s gotten everybody’s panties in such a twist.” When Ren said his name with that pernicious glint in his eye, Scar couldn’t help but shudder, forcing his hands still on his wheelchair armrests. “Guess it didn’t take long for my name to be forgotten and my legacy to be replaced.” Claws growing from his fingertips, Ren trailed a long, slow finger down the table, leaving a mark etched into the wood, smiling all the while.

“No, no, don’t even think it, Ren!” Scar quickly burst, forcing out a light-hearted laugh. “No villain could ever live up to the name you carved for yourself, least of all me. Consider me an admirer of your work, someone in search of your assistance rather than your glory.” Humming, Ren lifted his claw off the table.

“In that case, I humbly thank you for your service. Now tell me, what is it you rescued me for?” The supervillain leaned across the table and reached for the platter of cookies laid out in the center. It was an innocent, inconspicuous act, yet the imposing threat behind his eyes spoke larger than words as he broke a gingersnap between his teeth.

With his most charming grin, Scar leaned forward enough to match Ren, meeting him in his wild eyes. “I have a proposition for you. See, my team has been working on a special little something our hero buddies don’t like all that much. Something that won’t let them control us anymore.” Interest fully piqued, Ren’s ears perked up. Scar smiled.

“CUB!” Scar clapped his hands eagerly. “Bring out the antidote for our guest. I’m sure he’d love to learn all about it.” 

From behind Ren, the doorknob shook softly, an eerie creak echoing throughout the room as the door swung on its hinges. Standing in the doorframe was a disheveled man, the electric blue sheen of his glistening eyes poking through the dark shadows, yet his pupils never met Ren in the eyes as he stepped forward.

“This is the antidote.” Holding up a small vial up to his vortex eyes, Cub tapped its contents gently with a syringe, gaze never once leaving Ren. “Think of it like a vaccine against power-inhibitors. Extremely effective, but only if taken before the heroes administer their ‘cure’. Lots of people have been wanting to get their hands on this.” He stared at Scar. “Lots of people have been wanting to get this off our hands, as well.”

“Hot diggity damn! This is excellent news!” Ren exclaimed, tail wagging excitedly like a new-born pup. “Think of all we could do with this. We could be practically unstoppable!”

Suddenly, Ren made a sour face. “Wait, are there other ways of getting it besides the needle?” In lieu of a proper answer, Cub grabbed a gingersnap and ate it with an amused smirk.

“Hold your horses, cowboy,” Cub said through the cookie. “While you’ve been away, the heroes have been playing differently. They use lethal force and are administering a new proto-serum that can destroy powers from the source. Our powers will be gone. Permanently. Not even our antidote can defend against it.” Without missing a beat, he gestured at Scar, like that explained anything at all.

“The audacity they have! What gives the heroes right to play god?” Scoffing and brandishing his claws, the cookie he’d broke crumbled over the table, crumbs dispersing under the Red King’s heavy breaths. “Did those shameless heroes do this to you?” One of Ren’s claws traced his upper lip just beneath his nose.

“What? No. This is normal.” At this, Ren seemed to relax somewhat, yet his heavy gaze still remained. Scar fiddled with his cannula then cleared his throat to move the conversation along.

“Unfortunately, though, I have been rendered horse de combat from this new serum.”

“ Hors de combat,” Cub not-so-subtly corrected.

“Right, that. Regardless, I have been incapacitated because of those...” Flashes of an almost-friend on a rooftop passed behind his mind. Quickly, he shook those thoughts from his head, expression steeling remembering that same almost-friend’s fervent gaze locked onto him as he stabbed Scar with the dart. “Despicable heroes. Now I need some help in finishing my plans. I believe you are just perfect for what I have in mind, Red King.”

Adjusting his glasses to eye Scar from over the lens, Ren said, “Go on. I’m listening.”

“All we want is to ensure that us powered people can live in peace, without having our powers taken away. That’s the point of the antidote, after all. Our powers make us who we are, and we shouldn’t have to hide them. Isn’t that right?” Taking a small moment to consider his words, Ren nodded.

“Excellent! Then it seems we’re already on the same page.” Keeping his tone light, Scar continued, gaze holding steady. “What we need is to get those pesky heroes and their vile proto-serum out of the way so we can distribute it. Get rid of their advantage so that none of us ever have to follow their rules again. We need to turn the table on them in their own home turf.

“Help me defeat the heroes, Ren. Every last one of them.”

Nobody spoke. Not until Ren’s face split into an impossibly wolfish grin, barking out a laugh with those intense cobalt eyes of his, honed directly onto Scar. Such intense focus on him was disquieting, like the Red King could determine his worth to him from just this predatory glance alone. As soon as it came, though, it passed, tail wagging like crazy as his claws extended, burying themselves into the table.

“I thought the day would never come, Scar. Whatever it is you’re planning, I’m in, but on one condition: Leave Impulse to me. ” Beneath the strength of his claws, the wood cracked, nearly splitting the table in two. “After all this time.” The Red King howled again, something bloodthirsty leaking behind his words as the cracks in the table spread further. “Revenge will be ours, Scar.”

One of the cracks passed beneath Scar’s finger and he yanked his hand back, watching. Revenge. Never before had he considered revenge. Just this morning, his almost-friend held him at gunpoint after he’d fallen, stripped of his powers and sense of self because of him. That wasn’t a betrayal, not really. This was the price Scar paid for putting any amount of confidence in a hero. But that didn’t fix what he’d done, didn’t sooth the fire in his veins burning through his heart. It still hurt.

It wasn’t selfish to want revenge, surely.

“Revenge will be ours,” Scar agreed, Ren’s wolfish grin surprisingly contagious. Not noticing Cub’s brows shooting up in alarm, Scar even managed a laugh. “While it may take us a while to build up a force of villains-”

“Two weeks. On the full moon.”

“Two weeks?” Cub spluttered. “No, that’s wa-ay too soon. We need time to strategize and develop an antidote to the proto-serum, plus coordinate villains who, let’s be real, aren’t the cooperative type. It’s gonna be impossible to throw together such an effort in just two weeks.” Before Cub could continue, Ren took a step towards him, lifting onto his toes to loom over him with an ominously wicked grin.

“Never underestimate Ren Diggity Dog.” Leaning in close, Ren grabbed both Cub’s shoulders. “Unless you want to sleep six feet under, I’d recommend sleeping with one eye open while I’m around.” Claws sunk into his coat, drops of dark, blueish black blood staining its white surface through the cloth.

“Likewise, ‘my dude’.” Cub said, face as stoic as a statue, yet his eyes narrowed and flared a dark black. Giving him a small hum, Ren let go, Cub’s eyes snapping back to blue as his pupils rapidly shrunk back. Just as quickly as it’d come, the moment passed, and Scar was left with his mouth agape and floundering for something to say. Pocketing the vial, Cub slinked away back to the shadows behind the doorframe without looking either of them in the eye. The door remained ajar, the smallest of cracks between the wall and the door. 

“Man’s got some resolve there. Seems like you’ve found yourself a good right-hand, dude.” Technically, Bdubs was his right hand, but Scar didn’t correct him. Instead he nodded mutely, Ren taking his silence as permission to continue.

“Anywhoosle. Before we can make concrete plans, I’d need to consult my most trusted advisor Martyn for his thoughts. It’s been far too long since we’ve been imprisoned in that hellhole.” Bitter, Ren reached for another gingersnap, this time actually eating it instead of crumbling it to dust. “After I find him and Doc M, I’ll return to recruit the rest of Hermit City’s villains. In the meantime, you and your crew do whatever it is you need to prepare. Figure out all the details in two weeks’ time, then report back to me.”

“Report to you?” Raising a brow, Scar stared at him. “I was under the impression that we were equal parties in this negotiation, Ren.” The Red King barely even glanced at him before going right back to the cookie platter. Scar felt... oddly small.

“Not to burst your ego, dude.” Ren shrugged, glossing over his words. “But the Red King is back. And you’re not exactly a supervillain anymore. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a human now. A particularly dangerous ex-powered human, but still. Just a human.”

Danger flickered behind the dark shades of his sunglasses. Ren chuckled, low and raspy against his throat as he lowered his shades ever so slightly. “I could kill you without a second thought, actually.” Scar couldn’t deny it. Still, he sucked in a breath and readied his hands over the wheelchair brakes.

“I wouldn’t, though,” Ren laughed, seeing Scar’s obvious reaction. “Not when you’re still useful to me.” Naturally, that did little to ease Scar’s nerves.

“Yeah, of course.” Clearing his throat once again, Scar settled his hands back into his lap. “You’ll find my team can be very useful to you, Ren. Regardless, I appreciate your cooperation. When you recruit someone, send them Cub’s way to get their dose of antidote.” For once, Scar pushed past the queasiness in his gut. “If we’re really bringing down the heroes’ empire permanently, then we’re going to need to soften them up beforehand. Weaken them a little here and there so they’re worn out by the time we make our mo-”

“You’re working with the Red King?” A soft, earthy voice interrupted. Scar’s breath left his lungs as he whipped his head to face the door.

There, standing in the doorframe in the same garish prison uniform as Ren, was Bdubs. Moss curled around the doorframe, the vibrant green contrasting the obscure darkness in his wide black eyes and the dark bags underneath them, accenting the scorn in his glare. Scar’s throat tightened.

Bdubs wasn’t glaring at Ren. He was scowling right at Scar, betrayal burning in those wide, comforting eyes of his. Scar’s beloved friend, his right-hand man, the one he’d risked nearly everything for to save, stared at him with such a powerful hate. And for once, Scar was powerless to stop him.

Nothing ever went how Scar intended. Maybe that was how it was always meant to be.