In which Taylor is absolutely, one hundred percent not a Villain even if the voice in her head wishes that she would be. Taylor's powers might be a bit strange, but she is definitely going to use her powers for good. She is never going to become a Villain no matter what the voice in her head tries to push her toward. Really. She isn't. Even if her powers aren't exactly PR-friendly, and certain people would really, really deserve it if she did, and some things might do more good than harm in the long run, and... We're working on it.
Author's Note: I've been told I should probably give this its own thread. So, here we are. This was intended to only be a one-off snippet to free my muse of the idea, but it seems to have snowballed instead. Surprisingly, people seem to enjoy it despite its choppy beginning.
Knowledge of Practical Guide to Evil is not necessary for this story.
An Impractical Guide to Ascension
(Worm / Practical Guide to Evil) Or: An Impractical Guide to Villainy Heroism
"You'd be surprised at the breadth of things that can be powered by the souls of the innocent. Fortresses, swords, my favorite chandelier."
—Dread Empress Malevolent II
From everything I've heard on the Internet, that bastion of truthTM and people who never ever lie, power usage is supposed to be instinctual. Mine don't give me that benefit, and indeed, what little they do divulge only raises yet more questions. Like the part where brooding is supposed to be done from some sort of throne or velvet chair, something worthy of my Name.
Heiress, my powers whispered. My Name, a description of the form my powers would take. What I'm supposed to inherit, I honestly don't know. I think my own abilities are even more nonsensical than superpowers usually are. I was faster, stronger, and tougher now, with a pool of power I could call on to further boost these traits as needed. A growing pool, I noticed. Time and exercise seemed to help it grow while spending a few days lazing about stopped its progress altogether.
In addition to that particular pool, I had a bundle only just barely linked to my Name, a bundle that is perhaps the most puzzling piece of my entire powerset. Rise. I believe it's primarily used for on-demand personal healing, although I might be able to use it on other creatures as well. My experiments with injured insects were not particularly encouraging; instead of being healed, they outright exploded. Animal testing would have to wait until I could get a cancerous rat or something.
My Name — my powers — also seem to be linked to thoughts and dreams somehow, although I'm still working out how. I dimly remember a nightmare of being hunted by shifting figures with inhuman stamina from when I first got my powers, but unfortunately, I can't recall much more than that. More recently, it's shown me various psychopathic villains killing people who'd troubled them in their civilian identities.
I think it's safe to say my powers are evil and they want me to kill the Trio. No, thank you. Even if they seemed intent on making my life a living hell, I was a Cape now. A strong cape, I felt, or at least one who would eventually become one. Growing powers are abnormal; Dauntless is the only US Cape with a rate of ascension rapid enough to make him Triumvirate-tier in a few years or decades. Still, as hard as it is to admit, the conditioning seems to be working; I've had to fight down the urge to physically or emotionally attack them more times than I could count. Unfamiliar words arrive at the tip of my tongue, an urge to fight back, the certainty that I would win. Promised power is all well and good, but it's not really doing much to help me right now, is it?
At least Rise might give me a method of getting on the cape scene before I could tank bullets. The PRT and Protectorate are supposed to be all about helping capes not be a danger to themselves or others, right? Wouldn't they be all-too glad to have another healer on hand and willing to help with whatever tests are necessary to get one? The next Endbringer fight is supposed to be coming up soon and they need everyone they can muster for those. What better way to introduce myself to the world at large?
Still, that left me in dire need of that most basic of props, a costume. My powers, as usual, seemed only too happy to make a suggestion of their own: a long, flowing dress of crimson dyed with the blood of the innocent and imbued with sorcerous might—
No.
. . .
Wait, what was that last part?
So it turns out that I'm a magical girl. No, wait, hold on. I'm a girl with magical powers—no, that doesn't sound right either. I can use magic, okay? Or something my powers insist is called such. Since using it seems to make me hungrier, I'm increasingly convinced it's just repurposing energy instead of anything mystical. Granted, it involves glyphs, weird materials, chanting, and other strangeness, but… I give up. Fine, I'll call it magic, but not in public.
Fitting. Sorcery is the art of deceiving the world; deceiving others can only add—stop that.
I was slowly starting to imagine my powerset as a beautiful busybody endowed with everything I didn't have, but insistent on making sure I'd get it no matter the cost to other people. Even if it was fairly easy to distinguish the Villain's thoughts from my own, she was only too happy to drape herself over my shoulder and offer her opinion on everything.Something I would be able to do for other people, given time; as the Heiress, I would become respected and feared sooner—fear is not a good thing, Villain.
I groaned and buried my head in both hands. Why couldn't I have gotten normal powers? Even something boring like Alexandria's powerset wouldn't come with the weird mental baggage, would it?
...Wait, do all capes have these thoughts and nobody talks about it? It would explain all the villains...
I shook my head and tried to ward off the honestly-baseless speculation. Somebody would've mentioned it by now even if they feared being thought insane. Even the boring maniacs like Jack Slash didn't mention weird advisors. Still, I suppose I should really get back to why I have a knife on my desk. One of the most disturbing revelations of the day is how my "magic" seems to operate off some of the more frightening fantasy rules. That blood-dyed dress the Villain proposed earlier? It was actually viable. Virgins don't yet have their… essence, I suppose, mixed and contaminated by that of other people. Their blood and pain is simply purer and easier to use for enchantment, and the easier magic is, the less power you need for it. Pain objects to pain just as it can beget yet more suffering, making blood one of the best possible reagents for direct attack and protection.
Which is why I was trying to work up the courage to drain my wrist for a bowl full of blood. I was still an innocent, so why couldn't I just use that? I didn't yet have a suitable full-body garment to enchant, but I had more than enough bracelets and other baubles I could start with.
Sacrificing my enemies would get me enough blood for a full outfit, Villain reminded me. Why harm myself when there are those who would deserve their fates?
Because murder is illegal, likely to get me sent to prison, and just plain wrong? That's just handing them a victory of a different sort.
They aren't heroes, Villain insisted. They don't always win. And would their deaths not be the first stage of my plan? My victory would be assured.
...I'm not even going to begin to go into all the things wrong with that. Arguing with myself—with my powers was just a recipe for insanity, especially when they seemed to be insane themselves.
Many great people have been called insane in their time. Calling others mad is simply a defense mechanism for the uninspired.
I just called you insane and no never mind please ignore that opening.
Villain is blissfully silent, a rather gratifying change from my primary social interaction — which is to say, the Trio. Unfortunately, that very same silence brings me back to the knife sitting on my bedroom desk. Sacrifices had to be made for power, I knew; Villain's existence was a perfect example of that. The trick was simply to make sure other people are the ones making them. Fortunately, my power would have no luck convincing me to...
I hesitated and tried to reconsider my kneejerk reaction. Murdering the trio is right out, I knew, but what of volunteers? I couldn't trade healing for blood until I was officially introduced to the world at large, but nothing said I couldn't change alter my costume in the middle. I could even recycle whatever dress I started out with. But how would I explain my specific need for innocent blood? A lot of fantasy magic systems claimed sorceresses could do some pretty unpleasant stuff with that, including mine. Considering the fact that some spells created glowing runes in midair, the general public would learn of my magical theme sooner than later. Best to avoid the problem entirely; money, unlike blood, is something I couldn't generate on my own. Couldn't I get paid for healing? I was pretty sure New Wave and Panacea accepted donations, which was honestly close enough.
Already cringing inside, I grabbed the knife, pulled my hoodie sleeve back, and held my opposite arm over the bowl.
Five, four, three, two—
I sliced on one, beginning my climb toward true power with one of the most fitting sacrifices known to sorcery. Which was, of course, when Dad opened the door to my room and walked in.
"You have to enjoy life's little pleasures, like lazy mornings and strawberries and invading Callow with an invisible army."
—Dread Empress Malevolent II
"Is this the part where you tell me about your superpowers?"
Roma of Ater, more recently known as Dread Empress Maleficent the Third of the Dread Empire Praes, was rather starting to miss the hell she used to occupy.
Heroic propaganda had painted Evil afterlives as some sort of horrifying landscape where the damned suffered for eternity, but honestly? It was really quite pleasant. Devils respected power down there, would toil and labor for her benefit just to keep her from blasting them into oblivion and essence reformation. Many other Villains she'd met seemed to be in much the same boat; even if none of them still had their Names, they were still stronger than most Devils. Any stronger Devils had their weaker counterparts to bully and tended to leave Named alone.
Regardless, Maleficent wasn't finding life as a Name-sustained shade as entertaining as it should be. A whole new world to work with, one where any local gods hadn't officially revealed themselves? Fascinating. The realization she couldn't form moderately-unstoppable killer juggernauts out of their nearby scrapyard, couldn't use their fascinating transportation system as part of a city-wide ritual, couldn't directly do anything? Rather less so.
Molding the newest Heiress was somewhat entertaining, but she was forced to stay on that project even when, in life, she'd have long since wandered off and terrorized a few outlying Callowan villages. The girl was stubborn and worked hard to resist any Name-assisted influence Maleficent attempted. Maleficent had never been the sort of girl to enjoy long, ongoing plots requiring all of her attention. She much preferred multiple simultaneous ones with hidden preparations, an impressive climax, and using any newly-made weapons of mass destruction until they broke. She could always make new ones.
If Maleficent still had lungs, she would sigh wistfully. She'd had such a good speech prepared for her own downfall, too. She'd even partially starved some orphans to help it along! Shame the White Knight had to go and lop her head off barely two sentences in; she hadn't even gotten to reveal their presence! Heroes had no appreciation for proper presentation.
And oh, what performances she could gift had she still been alive! This world had true monsters, ones which slaughtered men and women by the hundreds of thousands. What could she do with control of one of them? What couldn't she accomplish with all three? If she knew where they'd attack, it wouldn't even be that difficult to set up a suitable array — provided she had peasants or similar minions to carve the necessary lines, of course, and enough innocents to sacrifice. Forget following in Dread Empress Triumphant's (may she never return) footsteps and controlling a continent; she'd outright conquer the world. Who could stop her with such might at her beck and call?
Sadly, Maleficent was well aware she'd missed her chance for such glory. The best she could do was attach herself to a few demon-like biological abominations when they passed by and outright stole the essence of Creation. They didn't know what to do with it, but that didn't stop them from devouring every last hell they could find.
Still, the very existence of such beings all-but proved that the gods were even more full of poison than she'd originally thought. They weren't all-powerful, hadn't created each and every dimension. They were just powerful beings playing on the biggest board they could make. Well, she was off their board now, so HAH! Who's laughing now? Not her, because she didn't have lungs, but she was doing it on the inside!
At least Heiress took to magic like a tortured prisoner to water. Maleficent only had to tell her how to do something once for the girl to understand. Turning theory into practice was a little trickier, but still several orders of magnitude easier than it should be. It hadn't even been two hours since she learned sorcery existed and she was already planning her first enchantment. Granted, Heiress would be using her own blood for it, but there didn't seem to be any other sorcerous practitioners in this world. Her choice to reject high-quality raw materials was unfortunate, not dangerous.
It wasn't as though virgins were the only type of innocent; really, anyone who avoided violence would do. But as long as Heiress thought her Name wanted her to do one thing, she'd reflexively go in the opposite direction, so why not go with one of the rarer versions of sacrifice? She'd come to accept harming others soon enough, and if she didn't, it would be due to finding a suitable substitute. Power was power; who cared who it came from?
If Maleficent was being honest with herself, she'd admit Heiress was the sort of daughter she'd always wanted. Ambitious, strong-willed, intelligent, magically talented, constantly proving a challenge to raise, forever trying to ignore her yet still slowly being corrupted...
Really, Maleficent wished one of her own numerous bastards could've been as much fun. Their own attempts at succeeding her had been outright pathetic, to the point where Maleficent refused to publicly acknowledge they'd even tried anything. Even had they somehow succeeded, the High Lords of Praes would've eaten them alive. Possibly literally; she knew at least one of them had been a secret fan of Dread Empress Sanguinia's work.
Why, Heiress had understood that power required sacrifice before they even met. Even if she eventually remembered her original Name dream and Maleficent's own existence, she still wouldn't give up her Name. Any prices were worth the power granted and Heiress knew it.
Speaking of prices, Maleficent did wonder how much damage her last surprise had done before it was subdued. She couldn't remember any heroes save for the White Knight; perhaps she should take that as a sign they'd died against the Absence Demon she'd freed?
...No matter. For now, she had an potentially volatile situation to talk Heiress—
"Taylor, I'm not stupid. There were scratches on the floor from one of our heaviest cabinets being moved, you've been hiding knives all around the house, you're sprinting on your new morning runs, and now I find you draining blood into a bowl. What did you expect me to think?"
What? No! That is not how you drop major plot points! Have some class you unnamed brute!
"My dear friends, I have a confession to make. Some creative reframing of the truth may have taken place during the planning of this coup."
—Dread Emperor Traitorous, addressing the Order of the Unholy Obsidian upon successfully usurping the throne from himself
Keep your assets a secret until their dramatic reveal would do the most damage. An unknown weapon is one your foes cannot account for.
Must you make everything sound evil?
I sighed and rubbed at my forehead with one hand. Dad had convinced — although pressured might be a better word — me to visit the Protectorate sooner than later. Apparently, he did not approve of me using myself as a human test subject. I was rather starting to regret not telling him what I actually needed the blood for; now I'd need to collect it in secret. Plus, it was hard to properly preserve blood. Making even passable regalia — a good costume would take a long, long time. A ludicrously conservative red dress Dad had helped me pick out during a last-minute shopping trip, some makeup, and a domino mask would have to suffice for now.
Hesitation is one sin. Weakness, the other. All else is merely delusion.
Your face is delusional.
Villain's stunned silence gave me enough time to actually think about, and regret, what I'd just thought. I really did sound like a fool. I'd need to practice to avoid any similarly embarrassing lines in public.
I shook my head and returned my focus to Dad, belatedly realizing he'd asked me a question at some point. I honestly didn't catch what it was, but I recalled the original subject matter well enough.
"It's best if they don't realize you already know I'm a Cape," I tried. Judging by Dad's unimpressed expression, that question might've been important.
First sin, hesitation, Villain reminded me. I forced myself to take the hint and follow the tracks already laid.
"That way, they'll expect you to be off-balance and uncertain when you are brought in. They might suspect me of controlling you when you aren't and any resulting humiliation would chip away at their bargaining power. At the very least, your foreknowledge should surprise them and force them to take us a little more seriously. They're unlikely to do so without something forcing them. Not to mention the minor deception would give us a better idea of how they intend to treat us. Given as they're a government agency, I'm pretty sure they're used to having the biggest stick and resort to it first."
Dad stared at me for quite some time before echoing my earlier sigh.
"I think you're being paranoid, Taylor. This is just..."
"Sensible tactics that honestly can't hurt anything?" I tried.
"A good way to harm their trust," he corrects. "First impressions are important. Do you really want them to think you're going to lie for no good reason?"
Trust must be earned. If they aren't aware of that, they might allow someone horribly unsafe to join. Best they learn that lesson if they haven't already.
I tried to ignore Villain and say something that didn't sound quite so crazy. Trust was the stitching keeping society together; I honestly preferred a world with it over the one Villain was peddling.
"If they want me as a Ward," I began slowly, "they'd need to offer good terms in order to get a possibly-stubborn teenager to bring their parents into the larger picture. We want them to think of us as two independent entities when negotiating; I'll start off and you can simply build on whatever I accomplish. If they give you terms worse than what I negotiated for, even that will give us a better idea of who we're negotiating with. Trying to escape from being a Ward after joining is infamously difficult and their compensation is, quite frankly, rather meager. A trust fund of fifty thousand dollars annually — plus minimum wage — for men and women who can bend reality to their will? Small wonder there are a disturbingly high number of villains if this is the alternative."
Dad stared at me as though I'd suddenly grown horns and a tail. This state of affairs persisted for long enough I began to fidget, something Villain quickly chided me over and helped me suppress. Second sin, weakness.
"Isn't the main purpose of the program safety?" he tried eventually. "Making sure someone isn't a danger to themselves and others? Getting paid anything for something a lot like an after-school program is actually pretty good."
"That's just propaganda," I dismissed. On this, Villain and I were in agreement. "Power usage is usually instinctual, Dad. They can help ingrain reflexives and with refinement and that's it. Plus, there's video of the Wards patrolling around town. Why would they use Capes to patrol if they weren't actually stopping crime? That means fighting, and being in combat is literally the exact opposite of being safe."
"Practice?" Dad tried. "Most of them go into the Protectorate after they turn eighteen."
If your opponent has a legitimate point, deflect it.
"And how many don't?" I asked. "Something like twenty percent, I think? That's just plain ridiculous. What kid would rather go to school for four-plus more years or work in retail, hive of scum and scumbags, than stick in a career path that's supposedly pretty good?"
Honestly, I had no idea how many Wards actually joined the Protectorate after turning eighteen, but pulling statistics out of thin air was a time-honored tradition in arguments. I could always claim a mere memory slip-up if he checked and my claim turned out to be wrong.
Dad finally gives up on his stubbornness and holds both hands up in the air.
"Taylor, I still don't think this is a good idea, but..."
Hesitation doesn't make Dad weak, shut up Villain.
But what about how he wasn't there after Mom died?
"...You're growing to be just as stubborn as your mother was," he sighs. I think it was supposed to be a compliment? I am sorta arguing with him at somewhere around midnight; little wonder he's faltering. "Go ahead, I suppose."
Strike while the crater is fresh; obtain the other permissions you require.
How does that even work? Why do you expect me to be making craters?
Out of sheer spite, I decided to not ask for permission to modify our home phone. I'd use my stockpiled allowance to buy a burner phone or something.
Fighting against myself is pointlessly self-destructive. Save that energy for true enemies.
Then maybe you should stop acting like a cartoon supervillain!
I'm arguing against my own powers. Why am I wasting my energy?
You have nobody to blame but yourself. Can't you give me, I don't know, heroic advice instead?
There was an almost disturbingly long silence from Villain before she responded. I was beginning to worry she might actually be intelligent. Or maybe I was beginning to hope? Intelligent beings can be reasoned with; a computer reciting the Evil Overlord list can't.
Ignore the attempts of villains to negotiate, for you are strong enough to refuse compromise?
"The closest equivalent I've found to the Imperial court is the act of shoving your hand in a bag that could be full of jewels but is, most of the time, full of razor blades."
—Dread Empress Maleficent II
The following morning, I stared at one wall of my bedroom and slowly came to regret my life decisions. I was now sure that Villain was at least semi-intelligent — nothing could be this annoying without a mind directing it.
Always be polite to the Abyss. Offer it tea. Taunting the Abyss is never a good idea.
Cute, but I think the only "Abyss" we have is the Endbringers and they don't drink anything except the purest terror.
She'd let me sleep in peace, but the moment I woke up, she started bombarding me with vaguely-heroic "advice." I wasn't sure if she was trying to irritate me or genuinely thought her advice would somehow help.
The power of Villains is directly proportional to how many heroic parties they are fighting at any given time. Have your allies combat their minions instead.
Okay, then why don't you try fighting the entire Protectorate sometime. Tell me how that works out for you.
Ninety percent of it was nonsense, five percent was poorly-rephrased villainous advice, and only the last five might somehow be useful — a much, much worse ratio than Villain's original advice had possessed.
Monsters always die eventually. If they didn't, we'd have to call them gods instead.
I blinked. Religion wasn't a subject she'd ever touched before.
Um, what?
You must go where angels fear to tread, for they are cowardly bastards in dire need of a good evisceration.
No really, what? How'd we get to religion?
Villain didn't quite ignore my commentary, I noticed; that would imply a continuous pace without regard for interruptions. She paused to let me think after each fortune cookie, then continued.
If any hero over the age of fifty becomes evasive when asked about your parents, you may safely assume yourself to be royalty or related to your archenemy in some way.
That one earned a suppressed snort and a small mental note. Not just knowledge from fantasyland, then. I don't think Star Wars is a good guide to life.
Avoid using your full power from the very start of a fight. Save it for a well-timed dramatic reveal.
Why don't I just shoot them?
Better before a tyrant than behind them.
That one actually made sense, but it's a little obvious?
Even the kindest hero stands over a spreading graveyard.
...Wow. That got dark quickly.
Always walk into traps. Evil is never as vulnerable as when it thinks—
Interrupting my own thinking was a rather odd experience. I tried it anyway; it's not as though it was actually mine.
Could you please just stop? The other advice made at least a little sense if I put it through the "evil fantasy supervillain" filter. This is just nonsense.
Villain didn't even seem to stop to consider my request, merely moving on to the next point. Still, considering the following subject matter, I think she might've complied.
An unstoppable monster is merely one that has yet to be properly shackled.
A decades-old clip of Behemoth rampaging through New York flashed through my mind. Guessing Villain's intent was as easy as it was disturbing.
That's impossible. Nobody is that powerful except them, and I know I'm not an Endbringer.
The impossible is merely that which has yet to be achieved. What hero would give up on saving countless lives before even trying?
I was beginning to wish I hadn't told Villain my heroic inclinations. Blatant manipulation or not, she had a point.
...Okay, I'm listening.
Unfamiliar thoughts and images slowly oozed their way out of my Name's pool of power. Days of preparation, lines carved into the city to make a massive ritual array—
Nobody can predict the Endbringers.
—Fifty thousand lives sacrificed to forever—
No. Absolutely not.
More people than that die in every new attack and its aftermath. You'd likely save more than that merely by—
What if it failed? What if the Simurgh got to me? I'd just have become one of the worst mass-murderers in history for less than nothing. For that matter, how would the array even stay intact in the first place? They're not just killers, they're destructive. And, and, what happens if the Simurgh gains control of it instead? We'd be handing her control of Eidolon or worse.
Rise will perform what it's named for; who's to say you couldn't heal an array should it be damaged? It would be fueling your rise to ultimate power.
That barely even makes sense — and again, if it didn't work, what then?
If you need it to succeed, it will. That's how the world works for heroes.
No, it really doesn't! Hero died!
I fully expected Villain to continue arguing with me, but for whatever reason, she seemed to decide it would be a good time to leave me in peace. Or at least, the sad imitation of it I could manage after being told I might be able to control an actual Endbringer. I was pretty sure they'd dropped nuclear weapons on those abominations before with no results to show for it.
My depressing excuse for a daily routine forced me out of bed sooner than I'd prefer. The first steps of plan "get ready for school" couldn't fail, but sometimes, I really wished they would.
Now that I'd actually started looking for it, I'd come to realize Villain really was incapable of staying quiet for more than an hour or two. Math problems? She'd complete questions two and three for me while I was working on question one, then feed me the answers without regard for little things like "showing my work." Chemistry? Commentary on what common materials made disproportionately good magical reagents for their cost. Programming? Confusion on why I didn't just make a semi-intelligent spirit to possess an object. It was a gratifying distraction from the Trio — or at least, it should have been. It wasn't until two that I realized they hadn't actually done anything to me all day.
I wasn't stupid enough to think they'd be leaving me alone, not after the Locker. Mere psychological warfare was beneath the thugs; they weren't smart enough to simply do nothing for the sake of instilling fear. They were plotting something, preparing some singularly unpleasant surprise for me.
Surprise is only viable as a weapon if you truly possess it,Villain whispers. Move first. There exist objects capable of automatically recording events surrounding their users; buy and modify a 'smartphone' instead of purchasing a temporary solution. If you insist on acting like a victim, at least be an intelligent one.
I carefully avoided displaying my annoyance to the outside world. While that was a good idea, there was a reason I hadn't done it before; good cameras were expensive and smartphones were even worse. Also, I was pretty sure that sort of thing was supposed to be inadmissible as evidence for some stupid reason.
We don't have enough money for one of those.
So steal, Villain proposed casually. It need not harm anyone important to my morals; fey-inspired glamour would let me raid local criminals without fear of consequence. Their funds would only go toward ruining yet more lives should they be allowed to keep them.
I tried my utmost to search Villain's proposal for some sort of ulterior motive — needing to sacrifice puppies for the glamour, killing gangsters for blood magic, something. As far as I could tell, it really would be as harmless as she claimed. I could ambush someone after they stepped outside to smoke, steal their face, and head back inside with nobody the wiser.
Not all gifts are trapped. You want to insert just enough harmless ones to lower the guard of your target.
Great. Now even my own powers want to mess with me.
"A villain should make plans with the understanding that everything you can conceive of going wrong will, and then a few others things too."
— Dread Empress Regalia the First
I should've known better than to think it would be that simple. Dad wouldn't approve of my midnight robbery, which meant sneaking out, which meant using magic to place him in a deeper sleep, which meant practice and contingencies and ugh. Ensuring he would awaken in the event of an electrical fire and wouldn't fall into an indefinite coma kept me up past midnight, which was several hours after I would've liked to go out and actually start hitting a few gangs. And gang members, for that matter. I looked forward to meeting a few people I could beat without pangs from my conscience.
And then Villain had to go and object to my choice of attire, because of course she did. Never mind that the idea was to raid the gangs using magic-assisted disguise. Never mind that my first introduction was supposed to be as a healer similar to Panacea. No, she seemed to be stuck on the same story-esque view of the world as always.
I should wear my 'costume.' Proper foreshadowing is important for any good reveal; those who appear without it run the risk of becoming accessories to the story of another.
I ignored her and worked my way into one of my more ragged hoodies. Wearing domino and flu masks beneath it was the only concession I was willing to make there. I was planning on using public transportation to travel at least part of the way; why draw undue attention when I didn't need to? Keeping my head down would only go so far.
I should really consider the idea that my powers know what they're talking about, Villain tried. She'd almost sounded a little hurt.
You know trust? That little thing you badmouthed earlier? You've burned an awful lot of yours on blatantly evil bull. I'll get back to you if you behave yourself for a while.
...This isn't being polite to the Abyss,Villain grumbled. I'm going to regret this at some point.
And wasn't that the story of my life? Mom, Emma, Mother's flute, not telling Dad the real reason I'd been cutting myself...
Add it to the pile.
An hour or two later, I was starting to understand why fictional detectives were infamous for monologuing. Jogging alone on city streets devoid of intelligent life with only my own thoughts to keep me company? It was boring. I had long since reached the point where I'd tried striking up conversations with Villain, who I was now ninety percent certain possessed an actual sentient mind. Computers and animals don't sulk.
It was during one such conversational attempt that a rough male voice spoke up from just outside an alley I had passed several seconds before, startling me and forcing me to suppress a reflexive scream. Needless to say, the voice did not sound particularly friendly.
"Yo, bitch. Don't scream, don't make any sudden moves, and back toward my voice. I got a gun and ain't afraid to use it if ya make me."
I slowed to a stop and let my body slump. You have got to be kidding me.
I really shouldn't be so surprised. This always happens when a Named tries to go incognito or when an unarmed innocent maiden walks alone at night. The overlap made this encounter inevitable.
"Move," the unnamed criminal snarled.
Suppressing a sigh, I slowly raised both hands and carefully backed toward where I could hear him breathing. Just because I could Rise from a bullet didn't mean I wanted to; pain hurt. Best to wait until the idiot was already in melee range. Still, I'd looked at crime statistics for Brockton Bay; while my home city was still a hellhole, I was more likely to find a crime in progress than it was likely to find me. Something was a bit fishy here and I suspected I knew what it was.
You keep going on about that sort of thing. Are recurring story themes some weird gimmick of my powers or something?
I shouldn't assume my powers know less about themselves than I know about them. Why would they impart such advice if it was going to be useless?
I chose to take that as confirmation and tried to figure out how that would actually work. Did my powers scan the surrounding city and direct me toward the nearest mugger, or did it direct the mugger toward me? How far did its influence reach? I was reminded of each and every little error I'd made while practicing the earlier sleep spell; did my powers help those along to ensure I'd be at the right place at the right time? Did they help me learn for the same reason? Was the mugger planning on simply spending the night asleep when he abruptly thought 'hey, I should go threaten some poor girl at gunpoint?' Could it scan the future or was it simply making things up as it went along? Did Villain control it (unlikely) or did it act completely independently of her?
I was starting to feel a whole new level of sympathy for characters in stories where fate was a tangible force. If this wasn't purely a coincidence and some gimmick of my powers had helped the encounter along, trying to force 'fate' down the right tracks was going to get quite frustrating in rather short order.
You'll learn to feel its shape as you grow more experienced, Villain reassured me, apparently forgetting she was fond of pretending to be me. Now, either beat this fool into submission or wait a few seconds.
I hesitated and frowned, feeling strangely unthreatened by the hard metal cylinder beginning to press into my upper back. Having spammable self-healing tended to do that. Really, brain damage or outright decapitation were the only things I was afraid of and he wasn't pointing anywhere near the relevant areas.
Wait for wha—
"Hi there!" an all-too-cheerful voice called from nearby, interrupting my thoughts with what was probably power-assisted timing. "Back away from the girl and nobody needs to turn into a bloody smear on the ground. Spoiler alert: It'd be you."
The man patting me down stiffened before we simultaneously looked up at the girl floating a few dozen feet above us. The girl, I noticed, who was grinning at us, apparently not at all worried about the hostage. Instead of using her flight to silently sneak up on the mugger and safely disarm him, the speaker, Glory Girl of New Wave, seemed to have decided announcing her presence from far outside close range would somehow be a good idea. She didn't possess proper ranged attacks like so much of her family, only invulnerability and super-strength supposedly sufficient to lift larger cars without breaking pieces off. And while I was ranting about sheer absurdities...
It's two in the morning on a school night, I wanted to scream. Why is she even still awake? I need to get all ready before the weekend; what's her excuse?
Innocent damsels in distress need saving, Villain said smugly, apparently believing that explained everything. I might as well just wait now; saving myself would imply competence and experience I do not yet possess. Rookie heroes need character development and that can only help me at this time.
Left unspoken were the various other ways this could end assuming my life really did obey story rules now. I could be outright shot and need to demonstrate Rise, this rookie hero could be killed due to a mistake or inadequacy from some allied Cape, becoming a damsel-in-distress could become a recurring theme with me...
Nope, I decided, gripping my Name and squeezing until it yielded the power I sought. I was done with waiting for someone to save me.
The world around me slowed down, my body filling with strength and my senses sharpening to take in previously-overlooked details. I felt the gun brushing cloth aside as it rose toward my head, noticed the large arm moving to encircle my chest, saw the reddened state of Glory Girl's eyes, heard the terrified heartbeat of the fool who tried to rob me. None of those details stopped me from snaking one hand back to flick the safety on his weapon and yank it away from him, nor did it keep me from using my other arm to elbow him in the chest with a sickening crack.
I quickly stepped forward and released my Name, letting time resume its normal pace before glaring up at the idiot floating above me. New Wave claimed to be all about Cape accountability, didn't it? Where did endangering hostages fall into that? I knew very well how frightened that criminal had been after she'd appeared; scared people do stupid things and fearful idiots with guns kill people. Even now, I could hear the prone mugger wheezing and knew he'd need medical attention relatively soon. I opened my mouth to tell her exactly how she'd almost gotten me killed—
This role is pushing me, Villain warned. While giving in would be relatively harmless this time, I should practice resisting this influenced rage.
I closed my mouth with an audible click and ground my teeth together. So now my powers apparently came with a side dose of emotional influence. Fantastic. It wasn't anywhere near enough for me to stop using them, but it was irritating.
Such is life.
I forced myself to step back and tried to consider what anger would do. People don't respond well to being yelled at, so I'd have an indignant Glory Girl yelling right back and tainting our first impression of one another. She'd probably fly off and leave me with a dying criminal instead of calling for some sort of medical assistance, forcing me to try healing him myself. If Rise worked on other people, I'd out myself as a healer and provide a subpar first impression to the public at large; if Rise harmed him, I'd have his blood on my hands. And possibly the rest of me if he went the way my test insects had. You know, just in case my life couldn't get any more horrifying.
Fate, I decided, is a bitch.
One who desperately deserves evisceration, Villain agreed.
Much like my trust in the local school system, the anger dissipated when I looked too hard at it. Exhaustion and resignation took its place and it is with those emotions that I finally got around to saying what was on my mind.
"I didn't—" "You should've—" Glory Girl and I began at the same time, then simultaneously stopped as society-ingrained social reflexives took over. She snorted once before starting again.
"You first," she said, but it was too late. The pause had been enough to remind me of the injured white man beside me, and that reminded me of how I was being distracted from my original goal for tonight. Nice try, fate. I crouched down and began rifling through his numerous pants and jacket pockets, producing four probably-stolen wallets in the process. I left the one attached to his belt by a short chain, albeit after reaching in and pulling out the few green bills inside; that one was probably his.
"Can you fly him to a hospital or something?" I asked, casually pocketing my loot as I looked back toward Glory Girl. "Or call one? I'd like to lecture you about handling hostage situations, but I'm pretty sure the wheezing crook comes first."
Glory Girl, I noticed, was still staring at my pockets.
"Did — did you just frisk him?"
Oh, as if she's never taken from a fallen foe,Villain remarked disdainfully.Heroes. 'Do what we say, not as we do.'
I fought hard to suppress a snort. Seemingly laughing at GG wouldn't go over well.
"He started it," I remarked blandly. "Look, nobody keeps five wallets on their person. If the wallets have ID, I'll return them and the contents to whoever they belong to. If they don't, I think it's only fair I get paid for his attempt to mug me. Anyway!" I held up one hand to forestall the inevitable objection. "Dying man, hello? I don't have a cell phone and this really isn't how I want my public debut to go."
Glory Girl hesitated only a little longer before floating down to me. She grimaced after getting a better look at my victimattacker.
"You, like, are a Brute, right?" she began, then shook her head. "I mean, we don't want him to go to the hospital for this one even if it is totally textbook self-defense. The PRT enjoys using words like 'assault and battery' or 'excessive force' way too much. Amy might be willing to come in and fix him, but it's what-the-hell-Vicky-o'-thirty."
I couldn't help but notice the man didn't seem to be getting any worse — or at least, he wasn't until I thought that. Immediately thereafter, his coughing and wheezing transitioned to the horrifying hut-hut-hut of a blocked windpipe.
What, is talking only a free action until someone notices?
Yes.
...Well, that was definitely going on the list of 'most useless power gimmicks ever.' Now that I knew about it, how could I ever not notice?
""Fuck,"" Glory Girl and I swore together, both of us reaching for him at once. I got there first.
Victoria stared at one wall of the interrogation room and slowly came to regret her life decisions. The sun would be coming up right about now, she knew, and she still hadn't gotten so much as a wink of sleep. Hot and cold flashes seemed intent on making her as uncomfortable as possible, a situation not helped by the PRT refusing to give her any sort of pillow. She'd never really thought about it before, but now that she was trying to catch a few z's, Victoria was beginning to suspect the chairs were left bare just so witnesses couldn't doze off.
After an seemingly-hours-long forty minutes, Assault sauntered into the room and offered Victoria a large mug of what smelled like coffee. She wasn't sure how long she blankly stared at the mug after accepting it, her mind devoid of any sort of conscious thought. The older hero eventually broke her out of it by placing a black box on the metal table and clearing his throat.
"February seventeenth, o-six-hundred hours," Assault began, his voice conspicuously devoid of the cheer she'd come to associate with him. "Refer to case file ENE-zero-two-two-two-two-zero-one-one-A, assuming Armsmaster didn't change our filing system again. Protectorate member Assault interviewing local hero Glory Girl, an underage member of the PRT-affiliated team New Wave. Please note that as there are no adult guardians present, this interview is for informational purposes only and is not admissible in court."
Victoria's little remaining brainpower couldn't help but notice that Assault placed more emphasis on his last words than one would expect from such a dull statement. A pointed reminder to someone else?
"Glory Girl, could you tell me what happened tonight? Nothing you say will be used against you." Assault lowered his voice to a mock-whisper. "Also, we'll take the blame for you being out past sunrise. I know how patrolling gets sometimes."
...Words. Words are important, Victoria thought dimly.
"Can we just do this tomorrow?" she mumbled. "The other girl said she didn't want her intro to be like this. Plus, I'm tired."
Assault gave her a sympathetic smile.
"Look, right now we only know she's a Master-slash-healer with what we're hoping is a temporary Teacher-esque effect. I think literally anything you tell us would probably paint a prettier picture than that."
Vicky groaned and buried her face in one elbow. The other, she vaguely noted, was still holding the coffee. She should probably drink that, right...?
After quite some time spent doing absolutely nothing, Victoria finally remembered she was supposed to be briefing the PRT on the new girl. She forced her head upright, yawned widely, and drew on years of practice as a motormouth.
"So there I was, flying around and looking for somebody in trouble, when I spot someone seemingly in need of just that. Tall, scrawny girl, about five foot ten? Wore a ragged grey hoodie and slouched like someone was pressing on her shoulders. Anyway, some random jerk — that's the guy you have downstairs — was either patting her down or groping her and I was pretty sure she wasn't very happy about it either way. Didn't really realize he'd had a gun until I'd already told him to screw off."
Left unsaid was why she'd been out and about. Accidentally shattering the pelvis of an ABB would-be rapist and being told off by Amy afterward had left her shaken and in dire need of comfort. So why not turn to Dean, her supposedly-wonderful now-ex boyfriend? Turned out he'd apparently decided today — well, yesterday — was a good time to be one hundred percent unsympathetic. He'd basically told her she could've killed the crook, which she'd known, she'd felt the disgusting fragments of bone and flesh pelt her forcefield and it was awful, and... well, suffice to say she hadn't taken it well. Being told he would've reported her had she not told him in confidence hadn't helped matters.
"And...?" Assault prompted. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go to bed. Or not. Doesn't Arcadia start in only a few hours?
"Don't remind me," Victoria grumbled, forcing her mind back to the subject at hand. "So, yeah. Few seconds after I showed up, the hostage basically... ugh." She shook her head and tried to look for the right way to describe the totally-not-redacted-no-sirree version of events she'd decided to tell. New Girl might be a bullshit Brute/Master/Healer combo, which Victoria was totally jealous of, but heroes had to stand by one another. Mistakes happened no matter how tired Amy was starting to get of them.
Eventually, she found the right comparison and started anew.
"You know how robots, like, immediately transition from one movement to the next without any sort of pause? Watching her was kinda like that. One second she was the slouched and defeated hostage. The next? She straightened up, used one arm to elbow his chest to break his hold of her and a few ribs, used her other arm to snatch his gun and toss it away, and stepped forward. She wasn't faster than a human could be, she was just coordinated. Anyway, she went right back to slouching once she was out of melee range and spent a few more seconds with her head down. She didn't look back at the collapsed perp if it matters; I know I usually look at people to at least make sure they stayed down, but she didn't do any of that."
Assault made an understanding mm-hmm. "And then?"
Victoria yawned widely and shrugged. "We both tried to talk, I let her go first, she talked about getting him medical attention, and we got interrupted by the idiot trying to move and making things worse. Went from broken ribs and breathing fine to this sort of awful choking noise. His own fault," she stressed. It wasn't even an actual lie, not really; mugging a cape definitely counted as an attempted suicide. "She pressed one palm to his side and said 'Rise' in this weird-as-hell voice, there was a blinding gold flash, and the guy was back on his feet by the time my eyes cleared. That's, uh, about the part where he ended up like..."
Victoria struggled to look for an innocuous method of describing his behavior. Assault beat her to it.
"Teacher'd?"
Victoria winced and stopped trying for perfection. Assault hadn't been joking; if that's what this looked like, anything she said would be preferable.
"Nnnooot really? I mean, calling it a Teacher effect implies loyalty to her. I don't think there was any of that. He just, like, swore off criminal actions and said he'd over a new leaf and all that. Forced alignment shift? Uh, anyway, I don't really think New Girl was expecting that since she sorta freaked out. Said something about having known life wouldn't let her have nice things, turned a corner, and literally vanished by the time I could catch up. So, add Mover or Stranger to her listing, not sure which. I did check the roof of the building she'd vanished around just in case, and no, she wasn't there."
Victoria blinked several times and held up one hand to stave off another burst of dizziness. She was definitely taking Assault up on his offer; she couldn't get through the rest of Tuesday like this. Either way, Victoria hoped New Girl didn't do anything hasty before they next met. The earlier claim of not being allowed nice things didn't really imply a healthy civilian life.
"Is he still like that? You mentioned you were hoping it was temporary."
Assault waggled one hand in a so-so gesture.
"He would've rated a Brute 1 on the scale when you first brought him in and lost that within a few minutes, so that's one difference from Teacher. The Master effect is taking longer to go away, but he does seem to slowly be reverting back to a, uh, blight on society. I'm told this is a good thing."
Victoria nodded once, too tired to give his lame joke the approval expected from her. She appreciated the attempt nonetheless.
"What happens now?"
Assault glanced at the recorder and shrugged.
"SOP I guess. PR'll put out some sort of notice asking the unidentified parahuman to register with the PRT, everyone goes through a multi-hour refresher on Master/Stranger protocols, and we hopefully end the week with a new Ward on the roster. The guy you brought in confessed to a small litany of crimes and the gun you brought in matched one or two of those, so he's going to jail. A few people made noise about putting you in Master/Stranger confinement but your pupils aren't glowing, so seriously, fuck those guys."
Victoria giggled once before abruptly being reminded of her own sister. It seemed as though the only reason Amy wasn't spending more than a few hours every day in hospitals was due to child exploitation laws the Youth Guard had fought for. Victoria wanted to be there for her, she really did, but her main power of 'hitting things really hard' didn't really lend itself to delicate work. She could do more good patrolling and waiting for Amy to call for a lift home. Maybe having another healer their age would help? Even if New Girl would almost certainly be less versatile than Amy was, they might be able to bond over accident victims or something.
"Do you think New Girl will ever be cleared for volunteer work? Healing, I mean?"
"Can't comment," Assault said around a yawn, then immediately followed with a comment. "Probably not on other Parahumans outside an Endbringer fight, though. It really depends on her limits and if we can get some Thinkers to spare the time for an in-depth analysis of a few volunteer patients before and after she heals them. Given how much the PRT enjoys bending the rules to screw or save certain individuals who shall not be named, she'll probably get more or less leeway if she can fill in common gaps in healing powers. Brain cancer, brain damage, mental disorders, anything like that."
Victoria blinked and tried to focus her gaze on Assault. Now that she was really looking for it, he honestly looked almost as bad as she felt. His customary cheer had cracked, his attempts to maintain it yielding some rather disturbing facial twitches.
"Are you going to get in trouble for saying that?"
Assault shrugged. "They need somebody to keep 'em honest. I didn't lose all my morals when I joined the evil organization plotting to overthrow American democracy."
Victoria blinked and tried to force her brain back into working order. That... was worded like he was kidding, but his tone was different from how he usually delivered them. It was closer to how she'd heard him deliver uncomfortable lessons to the Wards during joint patrols.
"Three can keep a secret, if two are dead. Unless you're a necromancer, anyway, then the world is your blasphemous undead oyster."
— Dread Emperor Sorcerous I
It's official. The universe hates me.
Staring blankly at my bedroom wall was starting to become a bit of a habit, I knew, but I couldn't find it in me to care. No wonder my powers kept focusing on villains; what kind of a hero brings mind control to the table?
Nonsense. Forcing someone to obey the standards of "Good" no matter their own desires? If that isn't a Heroic effect, the term has no meaning.
Are you going to be helpful or just continue with your usual sniping?
Because honestly, that's what it amounted to: petty sniping. I couldn't think of one single hero who had such a horrible downside for those helped by their powers. I believed there was some kind of a religious mind-controlling healer at one point, but he was a horrible enough villain the area was quarantined. Or at least, I thought it was. The sun was coming up and I still hadn't gotten any sleep; I think I could be forgiven for getting a few facts wrong.
From a more morbid perspective, my self-healing abilities were even tailored to keep me from outright committing suicide while I was being forced toward evil. I'd have to get truly creative and work for it. And what's the point of trying to escape from life if it'd be harder, scarier, and more painful than the alternative?
"As a matter of fact, I think I will help."
My previous trains of thought crashed and burned as the now-familiar tone of Villain took on a voice of her own. A distinctive voice, even, as though she was actually speaking from the back of my own head. I barely resisted the urge to roll over and look behind myself. I wouldn't see anyone there, I knew.
"Rise."
Golden light illuminated my room and briefly turned night into day. Using Rise to temporarily dispel exhaustion might be a little overkill, but this was not a conversation I wanted to be braindead for. Having the voice in my head finally admit she was, in fact, a separate voice? Definitely something I should tackle at my best. Especially since it seemed she wasn't going to bother with actually introducing herself.
"A hero is attacked by a foe, defends themselves, and ultimately decides to spare the life of their attacker. The individual so spared thinks about their life and decides to act as a force of Good for the rest of their lives, often concluding their story through some sort of self-sacrifice. Variants on this tale are one of the biggest reasons why justice systems seldom use the death penalty for everything. The whips need not be overly large to discourage further misbehavior, merely large enough.
"Now, compare that scenario to what just happened. You spared him, he 'turned over a new leaf.' Rather earlier than it normally would be, but you did get what you wanted. You accelerated the desired process, nothing more."
Villain paused to let me respond to her words. I took the opportunity to call her out on her bullshit instead.
Hi, I'm Taylor. It's nice to meet you too, voice-formerly-known-as-Villain. I'm sure you had a great reason to pretend to be me and subvert my own thinking, right?
"I am an undead shade bound to the regurgitated remains of the Name 'Heiress,' a Name that is itself transitional,"Villain replied flatly. "Forgive me for being a little weak until your Role decided you needed a proper mentor."
Villain's own lessons on deflection worked against her there; she never actually said the weakness was responsible for her meddling. If she thought I wasn't going to comment on that...
"They grow up so fast," Villain sighed wistfully. "Why, it seems like only last month you—"
I'm not giving you the punchline to that one. I know you're from the middle ages or something else along those lines, but that doesn't work as an excuse when the joke wasn't funny from the moment it was first uttered.
Villain managed an indignant huff despite her likely lack of lungs to work with.
"Well, fine. While I applaud your analysis of my words, I was too weak to speak with you. Now am I allowed to impart my lesson or are you going to insist on more pointless recap?"
Recap, please? I've been wondering how my powers are supposed to work since I first got them.
"Welcome to the joys of being Named. Every Heir or Heiress must decide for themselves what they stand to inherit. Needing to learn self-control or a healthy lack thereof is simply part of the process. Just be glad you have someone to warn you against running across a path of burning coals after you thought a song said you should."
My breath briefly halted, my mouth prepared to ask why she'd thought that was even a remotely sensible idea. No wonder Villain had died if she thought that would go well — annnd since she could hear my thoughts, moving on quickly would be wise.
Is Heiress basically Butcher 2.0 or something? And why do we keep emphasizing 'Name' and 'Named?'
"I don't believe it wise for me to answer questions on the nature of your 'powers' until and unless it's immediately relevant. That being said, I can reassure you this is quite abnormal. I simply used my own expertise and former connection to the Name so that I might stow away on an outbound ship, so to speak."
Villain paused thoughtfully.
"Upon reflection, it may have been a good idea to make sure said ships had no Corruption aura before binding myself so. Let this be a lesson to you, child: impulsive decisions may not always result in you going utterly insane and growing extra limbs where your joints should be, but the possibility does exist."
There was another, longer pause while I digested the claim and hoped it was merely a runaway metaphor.
"Actually, I suppose that can't occur here unless the Bonesaw somehow manages to keep a grip on you for more than five minutes. Impossible for you, of course. The rest of your world is outright astounding at times. How has that entire murderously marauding band not been obliterated by an escaped victim or uncontrollable experiment by now? To use some of your own terminology, they're waving flags sewn from countless smaller flags."
It's just Bonesaw. There's no 'the,' I corrected automatically.
"Habit," Villain didn't-quite-apologized. "Now, I must confess I've completely forgotten the lesson I meant to impart. Something about prisoners, I believe?"
An uncharacteristic giggle escaped me before my mouth clamped shut. My own superpowers needed to be medicated. Did any of the Butchers ever have this problem?
"Ah, the inconsequential fool!" Villain said brightly. "Now, remind me again why you're worried about accelerating the desired reform process?"
Mind control? That thing which makes previous personalities and the concept of free will into complete jokes? Nobody is going to let me heal them when the price is a forced personality shift.
"And yet, you still chose to heal him at all. You hoped he'd improve."
I tried to pass the rebuttal through my Fantasy Supervillain filter. It still didn't make sense. Trying to think of it from the possible perspective of a computer pretending to be human was similarly pointless. I didn't think Villain was a computer, but the viewpoint needed to be explored.
I'm still not sure how you got there. How does A lead to B?
"Why else would you want to keep him alive? You weren't worried about legal consequences, my dear. There existed the smallest hope in your mind that, should he be left alive, you'd somehow be doing more good than harm. You wanted him to become a better person and so he did. You told Creation — well, Earth — your desires and it bowed to your whims, as it should."
I was starting to hate the 'subconscious influence' argument. How do you even argue against something like that? If it turns out to be correct, how do you get it under control?
I wanted to have powerful healing without any sort of side effect. I didn't get it. How did spending my night miserable tell you this was something I somehow wanted?
A cold chill momentarily overtook my left shoulder. The reflexive twitch served to convey a slightly disturbing conclusion: I was pretty sure Villain had just shrugged. I wasn't sure how she knew what to do to make me echo the motion; cold isn't something one usually associates with specific bodily movements. Was it simply automatic?
"I expect the problem will have sorted itself out the next time you try to heal another. It was intended to be a boon, not a bane. Certain Names grow to reflect their bearers; Heiress, Squire, Apprentice, and Acolyte are all excellent examples of such. Provided, I don't think any of their former or current bearers escaped — ah, my apologies. The mind often wanders without a body to occupy it. Now, although other sources of power may outright be strengthened by your horror — 'corruption from dark magical might' is a relatively common tale — growing Names will often retreat if one of their core functions utterly failed at its intended purpose. Just don't complain if it starts letting you raise undead minions instead."
I was starting to think Villain enjoyed dropping disturbing bombshells just to screw with me.
Excuse me?
"Undead, reborn, shambling skeletons, charging corpses, zombies, the differently mobile, the differently dead, ex-ex-creatures, etcetera. Oh, don't give me those thoughts. It's not as though it'll kill people just to bring them back as your mindlessly obedient minions. Probably. Although, if they're beyond hope anyway, it might decide to speed the process along just the teensiest bit. But I wouldn't worry too much about that."
Too late.
"Incidentally, according to precedent established under Dread Emperor Revenant, it's not technically necrophilia if they're still capable of moving about. Exnecrophilia? Mobilnecrophilia? Magiphilia? Hmm."
My brain locked up. That was just... no. Good gods, no. I wished I had brain bleach on hand.
Are you trying to make me vomit?
"Best to get started on the desensitization early and often when it comes to undead," Villain admitted cheerfully. "Scentless if they're brought back properly, but those below know they can be disgusting until then. And then there's the part where you sometimes have to reattach severed body parts yourself—"
I liked to think mere words and mental imagery wouldn't ordinarily sicken me so much. I blamed staying awake an extra twelve hours without eating; hunger was itself starting to make me a little nauseous and Villain's words weren't helping at all.
"Rise."
The hunger and nausea retreated, letting me wriggle further under my covers and use them to shield me from the disgusting possibilities beyond them.
"Oh, now you're just being rude. That hardly even qualified as painful."
"Stop. Talking," I hissed aloud.
Villain's tone switched to one overflowing with false sympathy.
"Of course, my dear. You should get to sleep while you still can; young villains need their beauty rest."
For the last time, I'm not going to be a villain! That was ninety percent of the discussion we just had!
"I believe you, child," Villain said soothingly. Specifically, in the tone one uses while smiling and agreeing with Grandpa when he said the little green sky gnomes were being unusually loud today, weren't they? If Villain had a body of her own, I'd learn how to conjure snow just so I could dump it down her shirt. As it stood, I'd have to dabble in necromancy if I wanted to learn how to properly punish her, and — wait.
"Did you plan this?"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Villain lied blandly. "And remember the time, child. Wouldn't wish to awaken your sire, would you?"
I clamped my mouth and eyes shut before glaring at my own eyelids.
I'm going to get you back for this.
"Of course you are, my dear. I'll just go set up some wards for those nasty green gnomes, shall I? You don't have to worry about them."
...My vengeance shall be slow and painful.
"Especially if you try to pursue necromancy while half-asleep. Even reattaching removed limbs has a lower cost than trying to heal magically-induced necrosis."
Chapter V: Just a tiny bit of homicidal retribution, as a treat
AN: Any chapters of this will be posted exclusively on SV from here on out. Villain will also be colored gold now that she's no longer in stealth mode. Yes, I am aware that this is the same color as Rise.
"I'll be honest, Chancellor – revenge is the motivation for over half the decrees I've made."
—Dread Empress Sanguinia II, best known for outlawing cats and being taller than her
I woke up in a comfortable doze without the usual blaring of my alarm to wake me. Idly wondering why I might feel well-rested returned me to the disastrous events of the night before, however, and my eyes shot open as I bolted upright.
I'm sure you have a good explanation for pretending to be my thoughts, I hissed at the freeloader inside my mind.
Of course.
I waited. No explanation was forthcoming.
Well?
I am, thank you for asking.
Confusion merged with irritation, and I again wondered if my powers were actually operated by a non-sapient chatbot. It seemed more likely that Villain was just messing with me, though.
Well, what is your explanation for pretending to be my thoughts?
You were briefly convinced of your own insanity when I spoke normally, Villain promptly disclosed. You were far less alarmed by thoughts masquerading as your own even when those thoughts made uncharacteristic suggestions.
I blinked, having expected much more evasion before I was able to extract a straight answer. She had certainly seemed to enjoy giving me the runaround last night.
I don't remember that.
You don't remember claiming your Name, either, Villain grumbled. Still, it is the truth. Why would I risk alienating one whom I wish to advise?
You literally tried to irritate me into practicing necromancy solely to hurt you.
Don't be ridiculous. You're a smart girl; I do not need to trick you into practicing necromancy. You will practice entirely of your own accord once you realize how useful it is.
I crossed my arms and wished Villain possessed something I could glare at. I doubted necromancy would be worth all the resulting fuss, especially with my apparent mind control abilities. Raising and commanding the dead would only further reinforce the idea that anyone I healed would be under my command. Which—they might, actually. I really hoped I was wrong on that front.
Then what the hell were you doing before bed?
You are just so much fun to tease, Villain sighed. You are akin to a tiger kitten trying to pretend that she's big and scary. It is utterly adorable.
I tried my utmost not to prove her right by bristling. I felt myself flush anyway, which, seriously? That reaction was new. Did my powers even emphasize stereotypical story depictions of embarrassment?
Still, if she wanted a response then I absolutely would not give her one. I huffed and began my morning routine without another word.
You stomp like an offended kitten, too.
I almost missed a step on my way to the closet, stumbled, and pretended not to hear Villain's cooing. Or notice the burning of my ears.
I managed to pointedly ignore Villain's existence until I was halfway through my morning run—or morning jog, now, since Dad had a good point about continually sprinting down the street. It was then that a stray tabby cat trotted across the street and likely reminded Villain of her earlier teasing. I had two choices: be subjected to yet more kitten comparisons, or distract her before she could start. I chose the lesser of two evils.
My dear, I am not a lesser anything.
So why are you in my head? I asked, refusing to humor her ego. Or attached to my powers, should I say? And how? I thought mind-reading was impossible.
Villain clicked a tongue I wasn't sure she possessed.
Don't be absurd. Your mind can interpret itself just fine; why should an outsider be barred from doing so?
Telepathy certainly felt possible when she put it like that. It was still creepy, but probably not as severely as it should be.
And why are you in my head? I demanded. Don't think I haven't noticed you dodging the question.
Villain hummed thoughtfully.
I would say, but I do quite like you, Villain mused. And that means trying to teach you properly instead of simply giving you whatever you ask for and watching disaster unfold.
I didn't think I liked where this was going.
One of the most important lessons I can instill is that everything has a price, she continued, and my feelings of dread deepened. If you want answers to your questions, then I think it only fair that you should complete specific tasks in return.
I'm not killing anybody.
A brief, surprised silence came and went.
What? Don't be ridiculous. We clearly need to work up to that.
I spent a moment marveling at Villain's sheer brazenness. I suppose it was good to know where she stood. Admittedly, I wouldn't have believed her if she'd claimed that she didn't want me to kill anyone; she had encouraged me to hurt the Trio too many times.
No, she continued. I was thinking of simply having you obtain at least one dress which—well, one which still wouldn't fit my standards, but practically anything would at least be an improvement. Of course, since we cannot meet my standards, I suppose the payment must be adjusted appropriately: you will obtain two dresses that meet with my approval.
I couldn't help but notice that she didn't say anything about buying the dresses. Still, her demand wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. A bit creepy, true, but nothing unacceptable as such.
Are you seriously trying to live vicariously through me?
Villain huffed with what I thought was indignation, but her tone of voice 'sounded' strangely amused.
You seem to harbor the strangest misconceptions of what I want, Villain lamented.
Could it be because you're refusing to explain yourself without payment?
I had no shortage of men and women throwing themselves or others at my feet, she continued, ignoring my perfectly valid criticism. You are an intelligent, innocent, and beautiful young woman without any suitable guidance apart from myself. Is it so wrong to want to help you grow before you are unleashed upon the world?
Hah, beautiful. Now I knew that she was just trying to make me like her. Her phrasing effectively revealed her true intentions: she viewed me as akin to a mad Tinker's deranged experiment.
With such calming phrasing, how could I possibly say yes? I commented dryly.
Oh, don't think I did not notice your self-deprecating thoughts, Villain shot back. We truly must do something about those before they stick. Names can reinforce your self-image if you aren't careful.
I blinked rapidly and glanced down at my stick-like arms—or, well. Slightly less stick-like now that I had a little muscle, but they still looked sickly and thin overall. Villain wasn't finished, however.
Then again, you are currently the target of an unprovoked harassment campaign, she mused. Those roles seem to do especially well at reinforcing one's better attributes whenever you do not believe in those attributes.
Once again, I had to wonder what sort of fairy-tale logic my Villain's thoughts—and possibly my powers—operated under. The dame ignorant of her own beauty was a recurring cliché, I would admit, but how would my powers choose which story elements to enforce and which to downplay? Humans had been sharing the products of our imagination for as long as we could communicate.
I honestly can't tell if you're telling me to lie to myself so my beliefs become self-fulfilling, or want me to believe the Trio's taunts so they... don't?
Oh, don't worry about it, Villain said dismissively. Rest assured that we can render you breathtakingly beautiful no matter your prior opinions of yourself.
I thought for a moment about some of the more villainous cosmetic solutions from fairy tales.
This isn't going to involve having me bathe in a tub filled with blood, is it?
There was a conspicuous and disturbingly long pause.
It doesn't need to not involve bathing in the blood of the innocent, Villain hedged.
What the hell is wrong with y–
But no, one of my predecessors tried that and it was reportedly an inconvenient mess, Villain finished, her voice sounding far more mischievous than when she began.
...Are you sure that you're older than me?
You are not made mature simply because you act the part, Villain replied cheerfully. In fact, insisting that you're now a big grown-up girl is one of the surest signs of immaturity. The dividing line between adulthood and childhood is entirely arbitrary, and many adults are in a perpetual state of feeling underprepared compared to those around them. Why should I not act however I wish?
That sounds like projection.
No, that's what armies are for. Do keep up, dear.
It took me a moment to figure out on earth she meant by the army comment: force projection. Attempting an indignant explanation of psychological projection would only encourage her, though, so I took the high road and moved on.
Speaking of roads, should you be traveling your full route? I am not certain you will be able to return in time to shower and change.
I slowed to a stop, looked around, and groaned before spinning around and starting to jog home. Villain was right: there was no way I would be able to go home, shower, change, and reach the bus stop in time. Not unless I sprinted outright, and I didn't intend to jeopardize my identity now that I'd been warned. If I didn't change and shower, though, I would stink all day; not only would that be humiliating, but it would be a weakness that my bullies would only be too happy to jump on. Don't ask me why I still sweated and panted while exercising even though a jog didn't remotely approach the limits of my new endurance; I could only blame my powers for that quirk.
Given your ongoing character arcs, I am not certain that the scent of your sweat will be interpreted negatively by anyone around you, Villain reassured me.
My feet came down hard in a near-stumble. Seriously, I was starting to grasp the degree to which I had been turned into a fairy-tale protagonist, but what the hell? She hadn't even said that my sweat wouldn't stink, only that it wouldn't be interpreted as stinking. So was it mind control, an outright physiological change, or some combination of the two? I glanced around to see if anyone was looking at me, wiped some sweat off my brow and from under one arm, and sniffed it. Sure enough, it looked normal, but it smelled… odd. It smelled closer to salt rather than sweat.
Just run with it, Taylor, it's not a big deal, I told myself.
I still stopped to wipe my hand on some nearby grass, though, because that was just gross.
Truthfully, I do not understand why your current 'exercise clothes' are exempted from your usual avoidance of showing skin. By your culture's standards, is it not closer to male apparel and thus arguably even more indecent?
To tell the truth, I wasn't entirely comfortable with the white tank-tops and shorts that comprised the outfits I wore on my morning routines; I knew that some horrible people might interpret it as an invitation. I was a Cape now, though, and my attitude toward personal safety had taken a firm swerve toward the indifferent. The idea of going to school and having people I knew see me so exposed was rather horrifying, though.
Well, the arc did need to show off your new muscles somehow, Villain mused.
I closed my eyes and chose to ignore that. I was not going down the rabbit-hole of my power's mechanics again. Not yet, at least; I wanted at least a little time to adapt to all the weirdness.
We were right; I hadn't been able to get home in time to do more than grab my backpack and rush back out in the same outfit. The bus driver was even starting to pull forward when I made it to the stop, but at least he actually stopped and opened the doors when I came running up. I once again wondered if the near-miss was my powers at work; nearly being late to school was a staple of coming-of-age fiction, which I was apparently living in now. Or something. Maybe I shouldn't think too hard about it; I worried that I might start to go genuinely insane if I started viewing everything in my life from the lens of it happening to a fictional character.
Fiction is inspired by true events, and is therefore a reflection of them, Villain reassured me. A storyteller's tales must be at least vaguely plausible lest they be lynched by their audience, yes? Therefore, there is little harm in viewing your life as a story; it may even help you predict imminent challenges.
Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one who now needed to second-guess everything in her life and wonder if it was natural or if it had been manipulated by uncaring superpowers masquerading as some form of fate.
I lived an acceptably long and enjoyable career whilst operating under those rules, Villain said mildly. Do believe me when I say that it is more of an advantage than a hindrance.
I didn't believe her, not really. I supposed we would need to wait and see which of us was right.
I couldn't focus on my classes. It had been hard enough when I just thought Villain was less-than-subtle influence from my powers. Knowing that there was another full person effectively leaning over my shoulder and seeing everything I saw? That shifted the entire equation, with a little voice in my head—metaphorically, not Villain—constantly insisting that it was rude not to listen to Villain when she spoke to me.
On the bright side, I couldn't focus on my classes. The ever-present whisper campaign passed me almost entirely unnoticed, and even if I had more people staring at me than normal, it was weirdly easy to ignore—even with the not-metaphorical voice in my head insisting that they were beneath me. The day was far more bearable with Villain alternating between casually insulting those around me, going on strange tangents about magical reagents, and flying into comically overenthusiastic rages whenever someone did anything physical such as shooting spitballs at me. The hard part was avoiding bursting into laughter in the middle of classes.
Villain initially seemed happy to answer questions before I could. She did stop (un)helpfully feeding me answers when I pointed out the applications of mathematics to magical formations, though. She even started tutoring me on the necessary ideas and proved to be a better teacher than the actual teacher.
Overall, school—wasn't utterly awful for once. I'd known how badly I'd missed Emma, but hadn't realized that an ever-present friend could make my situation so much more bearable. Oh, Villain was unrepentantly evil and I still wasn't entirely comfortable with that, but it was the kind of decadent evil which didn't seem real. She wasn't a nazi to kill people based on their ethnicity, a monstrous member of the Slaughterhouse Nine, or an abomination of an Endbringer. Really, she was closer to a company CEO who was honest about her disdain for the poors, only... likable, somehow?
Hmph. Such mercantile leaders merely indulge in greed for the sake of greed itself. They possess no greater goal, no vision. They are only suitable for acting as stepping stones on your path to power.
I allowed myself a small, bemused smile; the ringing of the end-of-day bell had plenty of people excitedly and loudly talking to each other over the teacher's increasingly resigned attempt to remind us of the homework assignment due next class period, don't forget, etcetera.
Unfortunately, my complacency had let a press of bodies form between me and the exit before I could stand up from the desk. Even the teacher got ahead of me, albeit partially due to the instinctive deference that kept students from pushing at him the way we would shove each other. Still, by the time the crowd cleared, I wasn't even surprised to find Emma and her posse waiting outside for me. That wasn't even a story manipulating events; this was perfectly normal behavior for them. Even Emma's fake frown was yet another overused weapon.
"Oh, Taylor," Emma said in a condescending mockery of saddened sympathy, her eyes deliberately exaggerating the motion of examining me. "You're trying to look good for a guy, aren't you? It won't work."
I blankly blinked at Emma, glanced down at my exposed arms, and couldn't help but imagine the shade of my mother's ghost rising to lecture her. Did Emma really think that the only reason I might exercise was to impress a boyfriend? That was appalling. I was—mostly—motivated by working toward being a hero, not by looking good and definitely not for anyone specific. Still, I did wish that I had been wearing a hoodie to hide in right about then.
"Or are they a girl?" Emma probed.
I couldn't help but flinch at that. I was reasonably confident that Emma's subsequent triumphant smirk and the tittering of her posse reflected blatant misunderstanding of my actual reason for worrying: Winslow contained a rather significant faction of E88 sympathizers, a group which rather famously felt as though anyone not vanilla heterosexual needed to be "fixed" or just plain killed. The last thing I wanted was yet another group out to hurt me. If they were going to attack me, then at least let it be for fighting them rather than for a mistaken assessment.
Oh, please. You stare far too much to be entirely straight. I swear, the opinions of your culture toward attraction and sexuality are utterly baffling.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that Villain thought my indignant reactions were amusing. The best thing I could do was to avoid engaging at all.
We are not having this discussion.
My poor, adorable Heiress, Villain sighed. You cannot simply deny current events in your attempts to deny yourself. It isn't healthy.
I wanted to do more than to internally splutter, but Emma continued before I could.
"You know she'll just discard you eventually, don't you?" Emma said, still so sickeningly sweet. "She'll realize you're a waste of time no matter how much you try to conceal that fact. Oh, well. I'm sure we can warn her eventually even if she doesn't attend Winslow."
"Loser," Madison muttered.
Not that I cared about Madison's insult; it was too generalized to hurt by now. The implications of Emma's words were far more appalling. She would seriously go so far as to sabotage any friendships outside school? What the fuck? I mean, I wouldn't have been surprised, but it was another thing entirely for them to declare their intentions to my face.
I suppose there was a female figure I wanted to impress a little bit, but it definitely wasn't due to attraction; she felt too old for that. Besides, I was sure that Villain wouldn't be leaving me of her own volition. She seemed far too entertained by my life to do so.
By you, she corrected. I would like to help you improve your life, my dear.
By killing people and committing crimes.
You make it sound like I am not perfectly capable of helping you discreetly cremate a body or three.
That is nowhere near my main concern–
"And you're just so slow, too," Emma giggled. "You do remember how to speak, don't you? Or have the drugs finally taken even that from you?"
She wanted a reaction from me, I knew. It was tempting to just continue ignoring her and wait for her to get bored, but honestly–
"Are you done?" I asked bluntly, ignoring the fluttering of nervousness in my chest. "I have better things to do with my time than to wait for you to continue your personal vendetta. I'm pretty sure this obsession isn't healthy, Emma."
The only signs of surprise from Emma were a startled blink and a slightly longer pause than normal. Nothing noticeable to someone who hadn't known her since early childhood, though, and certainly nothing that her group would interpret as a loss.
"I always have time to look out for an old friend," Emma said, still oozing enough sweetness to artificially flavor a hundred chocolate eggs. "You do still remember that we were friends, don't you? Before you left?"
I stared blankly at her and tried not to show how much the reframed reminder hurt. She was seriously saying that I was the one who left? When before she had always insisted that she had realized how much of a loser I was? The blatant lie didn't even seem to be losing her any support; my shocked (lack of) response seemed to be enough for her, and she left with her posse amid a wave of malicious giggles and calls of, "Bye, Taylor!"
We could always use her blood, you know, Villain proposed. The sort of power that can be derived from such an abhorrent traitor should not be underestimated.
Honestly, it was genuinely tempting. There was some part of my brain which liked the idea of rewarding my former best friend's betrayal with something she couldn't talk her way out of—or rather, it was liked by a part of my brain aside from Villain, who obviously approved of her own suggestion.
I'll think about it, I said in a moment of weaknesslied. I obviously wasn't going to be hurting Emma no matter what she said or did; I wasn't that kind of person.
CW: Blood, references to kidnapping, murder, and mistreatment of captives. Further chapters with those will probably be unmarked.
"Sixty-seven: putting an arrow in a villain during their monologue is a perfectly acceptable method of victory. Heroes believing otherwise do not get to retire."
—"Two Hundred Heroic Axioms", author unknown
I never thought that I would seriously weigh the ethical and moral issues inherent in kidnapping and killing my former best friend, but magical sacrifice-based superpowers apparently come with that kind of moral dilemma. Or maybe I should blame the unethical advisor who came with said powers. I could theoretically listen to an audiobook or podcast or something similar while draining my blood into a funnel and clear bottle, but I'm sure that Villain would become even worse if I started ignoring her in such a way. Best to just try to tune her out.
Is it not worse to let others die through inaction than to perform an act which would, under other circumstances, be considered reprehensible to you? Villain argued, clearly enjoying herself now that she'd found a marginally acceptable way to discuss killing people. There are frequent deaths within your city due to the ongoing conflict between factions. By sacrificing that traitor, you would have the power to eliminate one or more factions and save a significant number of lives within weeks. All it would cost would be the miserable life of a wretched human who regularly attacks you.
It was like the trolley problem, only instead of—actually, no. It was literally the trolley problem. If I did terrible things to Emma, then I would have the power to save other lives. If I didn't, then I would be too weak to do so and they would die while Emma lived. Except this wasn't a binary situation, was it? I wouldn't be guaranteed to save those lives, and I was already growing stronger as time passed. I didn't need the kind of shortcut which would not only be just plain wrong, but also exceptionally illegal and liable to make me an enemy of the Protectorate. I couldn't save anyone from inside prison—and that was in addition to not wanting to go to prison, obviously.
There would only be consequences if you get caught, and killing her would be but the first step of your climb to power. The first step of a villain's plan never fails—otherwise, what would be the point of having a plan at all?
I took a deep breath, shook my head, and absentmindedly added another cut to my bleeding arm. I would acknowledge that Villain might know what she was talking about when it came to such story-based strangeness, but I still didn't want to think too hard about clichés right now. I was still grappling with the idea that I might be operating under narrative conventions for the rest of my life.
Wouldn't you like to have the traitor at your mercy and begging you to take her back? Villain coaxed, clearly fixated on the idea of abducting Emma for one reason or another. What was it with villains and abducting young women? I know some rituals which would force her to feel much of the hurt and betrayal that she inflicted upon you, but the shortened timescale would ensure the experience was appropriately excruciating.
I wouldn't even remotely trust such claims to be sincere as soon as she escaped, but forcing her to feel what she'd inflicted did sound—nope. No. Nuh-uh, absolutely not. That wasn't going to happen. Ever. Really, it was an incredibly disturbing glance at the most unethical side of my brain. I was never thinking about that ever again, especially since Villain talked about how my powers were shaped by my preferences. If I displayed a predisposition toward hurting others for my own personal gain or enjoyment, then my powers might fixate on that. It wasn't a tendency I wanted my superpowers to encourage.
"Or–" I began, then remembered that I could just think at Villain. I bet I could find some sick people who don't mind the side effects of my powers. They're scary, sure, but I'm willing to bet that many people would prefer personality shifts over some painful and chronic disease, assuming it works on diseases at all.
It might be arrogant of me to think so, but I couldn't imagine Rise not purging such intrusions. The mind control aspect felt like a side effect of having too much power rather than not enough.
Really, the side effects weren't too awful once the initial panic and horror wore off—well, okay, they were still really bad and I likely wouldn't be able to charge money for my healing. But I could at least lighten Panacea's workload. I would just need to be sure that everyone knew what they were agreeing to. Would I prefer that Rise lacked the mind control? Most definitely. But if that was the cost of healing people, then it wasn't too bad.
Indeed they would! Villain cheerfully agreed, accepting the change in subject with a suspicious lack of protest. I think that's enough blood, Heiress.
I hesitated and wondered if I should keep going after a quick Rise.
Your blood retains such power specifically because this is a sacrifice, Villain chided. Do not devalue it by trying to escape the price in such a way.
I was selfishly, shamefully glad that I had an excuse not to repeatedly bleed myself after all. I swallowed and pointed out an obvious logical extension of the argument despite my discomfort.
By that logic, I shouldn't be using Rise to heal myself at all.
Not if your sole concern is power, Villain half-agreed. However, we still want you to be functional. One bloodletting per day is an acceptable compromise. You are playing at being a hero, at least for the time being; there are several rules for which they are permitted more leeway, especially while you're new and inexperienced.
"Rise," I invoked in otherwise wordless agreement, and held up my arm to stare at the rapidly-shrinking wounds with distant fascination. I more than halfway expected to see some faint scarring, but it seemed as though that particular price was one I wouldn't need to pay even after I kept cutting the same area. I suspected that I probably shouldn't think of how light the price was lest it weaken my blood, but—focus on the benefits, not the price. Bleeding myself for power was well worth the reward. The blood wouldn't directly empower me, but I could use it to enchant equipment that effectively provided the same benefits. I would keep growing stronger with every passing day. No matter what Villain argued, no matter how much Emma hurt me, I didn't need to kill her to rise above and leave her behind. I was better than that; I wouldn't fall to her level.
...Huh. That motivation might actually explain why I ended up with Rise, or at least a power with that name. Although, trying to leave Emma behind felt like more of a long-term goal. In the present, I'm not sure why I didn't end up with something like Endure.
Rising is a matter of perspective.
That thought felt weirdly important, somehow, but I didn't know...
My eyes shot wide open. I might have a plan. Or the start of one, at least.
This is a terrible plan, I lamented at five in the afternoon, hurrying down the street with a bag containing the enchanted dress currently acting as my costume. A light-based glamour tweaked my hair and otherwise bare face to imitate the first model I'd seen upon opening a magazine. Or, well, the first model who hadn't been edited to an appearance bordering on plastic. Identity protection was more effective when nobody realized you were using it.
Oh, do slow down. Running in a dress is utterly undignified.
I glanced down at my jeans and wrinkled my nose.
I'm not even wearing it yet! Do you seriously want me to take hours getting there?
You should be practicing proper posture and movement as you travel, Villain replied primly.
Don't you think someone changing her method of walking every few steps would attract unnecessary attention?
You would have plenty of motivation to improve quickly, would you not?
I shuddered and shook my head. I'd already overdosed on negative attention just by going to school in shorts and a tank top, something I was absolutely not doing again. Villain's startled laugh came as a total surprise.
My dear Heiress, I assure you that the majority of those stares were not disdain. They were envy.
You could at least pretend to keep your lies realistic.
I held no illusions regarding my own appearance; I might have a tiny bit of muscle now, but it really was minimal. I had to look pretty hard just to notice, and that was looking at myself, something I did regularly. Anyone else would take much longer to notice.
I am not required to do any such thing. However, I am quite serious. You observe yourself on a daily basis and therefore have a harder time seeing changes. Others only see you sporadically and can more easily notice changes over a large period of time. The traitor noticed that you had been exercising, had she not?
Because I was in obvious exercise clothes!
Villain sighed.
Oh, well. At least I'll be able to take credit for gradual improvements in your self-image.
I bristled at the idea that she might be able to take credit for something I would be doing, blinked rapidly, and couldn't decide if I wanted to smile or scowl. On the one hand, trying to trick me into what she wanted was a little demeaning. On the other hand, it was nice that someone cared about me even if she only wanted to "unleash me upon the world."
You really are so much more delightful than my own children. The only times they mustered the courage to oppose me were when they thought that they had won and were indulging in gloating.
The idea of Villain having children sent an unpleasant jolt through me, and it definitely wasn't because of jealousy or anything similar. It was just that I really didn't know anything about Villain, did I? She'd mentioned attaching herself to possibly corruptive demonic ships or something, but that told me nothing about her life; for all I knew, that might just be from trying to escape the consequences of selling her soul.
Oh, it was long after my death, Villain agreed. Decapitation, you know. The White Knight didn't even have the common decency to let me progress past the second sentence of my last monologue. I mean, really. He had already won and we all knew it; the least he could do was allow a doomed woman her last bit of fun.
Bewilderment and disgust shoved disquiet to the side. They seriously killed her without so much as a trial? I could understand if—
Actually, I should really ask about that. You weren't attacking them? I confirmed.
Of course not. Do you really think I would jeopardize my last speech by doing it in the midst of combat? I assure you, I would have lasted at least half an hour and taken at least one of them with me if that was my goal. No, I just wanted to finish my swan song. I had props prepared and everything, although they stabbed the musician on their way in.
Villain did sound genuinely grumpy about the circumstances of her demise, and I couldn't help but feel a little bad for her. Was she a murderous probably-a-sociopath with beliefs frequently at odds with my own? Yes. But she sounded as though she would have been happier as an actress or a director, and instead the world conspired to give her superpowers that rewarded clichéd behavior. But no, I shouldn't act like an apologist for the villain inside my head. She didn't just advocate for my superiority, but for me to kill people and rejoice in their suffering. Or, well, the Trio's suffering, specifically. She was objectively a terrible person.
…Probably. It was definitely stupid to search for reasons that she might have been at least somewhat blameless for her actions. Possible questions about her background and age were just starting to form in my head when Villain's offended indignation slammed into me with the force of a flick to the forehead—not very hard at all in the grand scheme of things, but still enough to make my head sting a little. I hadn't even known she could do that.
Excuse me? Villain demanded, uncharacteristically and inexplicably furious. You—does not your own culture value 'free will'? I may have begun climbing the tower when I was but a child, but I went into it knowing full well that my actions fed a pyre that would ultimately consume me. I am not one of Above's champions to be imbued with power because it is convenient. I do not ascribe to the belief that mankind can, should, be brought to greatness under the unyielding rule of uncaring monsters. You view me as the immaterial shade I am, but I am not a shade of myself and I will thank you not to dismiss my choices or actions as something caused by my upbringing.
I stopped in an empty alley with a convenient, partially concealed bricked doorway and wondered if I should start changing. I had the feeling that Villain might become even more upset with me if she thought I wasn't paying attention, though—and this was actually proving to be quite interesting. I'd idly considered the idea of Villain being from a fantasy world with weirder Capes, but the picture she painted was much more disturbing than that. Oh, I didn't believe there had actually been any gods, but Earth was a prime example of the many issues that organized religions and cultures could cause.
Villain's rant also made me feel really, really guilty, uncertain, confused—and increasingly vindicated, but I was going to brush past those thoughts as quickly as possible so she didn't grow even angrier. At least much of the anger gradually gave way to the passion of someone discussing their life's work?
I killed the heroes who came for me, Villain continued, and all the interlopers who tried to take my throne—when their attempts were worth acknowledging and weren't just an embarrassment to everyone involved, at least. I built wonders which shattered forts and routed armies. I gathered allies, undercut foes, and anticipated betrayal. I revolutionized the animation of non-artifact objects within the Dread Empire and turned the stone streets of an entire city against its defenders. And, if it was not obvious, I very much enjoyed it. I was a Villain, child, and I did not obey!
Villain lapsed into silence, and I was left shifting uncomfortably with only the ambient sounds of the city to keep me company. The constant sounds of vehicles and discussion were joined by the wailing of distant police sirens, but that was Brockton Bay for you.
The vindication had passed and left only discomfort and uncertainty. There was an entire story hidden behind her words and I was only getting the cliffnotes, but even those raised far more questions than they answered. What she was talking about wasn't the war between criminals and law enforcement seen in Brockton Bay; it sounded like a war between nations. It even involved a place supposedly called the Dread Empire! Villain hadn't bragged about forming or renaming this empire, only of greatly advancing the magical knowledge of a specific field. That hinted toward an entire dynasty of villains, and all that talk of obedience made me wonder if all of Villain's appalling behavior was still the better of two options.
This probably wasn't a good mindset to be visiting the PRT in; I should appear confident and well-adjusted, not as off-balance as I currently felt. Maybe another day.
Well! Villain said brightly, startling a flinch from me. We really must do something about your tendency to cringe away from confrontations, my dear Heiress. This will not be the last time that you have an angry woman ranting at you, and you must be able to stand your ground when they do. There's a certain song that—well, perhaps I can sing a few lines for you another day. Not yet.
Villain's cryptic bullshit dragged me back to familiar ground and I crossed my arms with a small scowl. It was too bad that she didn't have a ghostly form for me to glare at.
I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of asking after it, since I assume that you won't be answering questions about literally anything you just said.
You assume correctly! Villain agreed, sounding entirely too cheerful for someone who had started a heated rant not two minutes before. Truthfully, I just gifted you with far more information than I would normally have provided without the fulfillment of multiple tasks. It would be horribly unfair for me to demand payment when you did not solicit the information, however. Remember: never pay for that which you are given for free.
An idea stuck to me like shredded meat stuck between teeth. It was stupid. Really, really stupid. It wouldn't gain me anything except some personal satisfaction and I would be opening myself up to something potentially unpleasant in the process. But I felt strangely compelled to do it, if only to prove a point.
Requiring payment would be unfair in exchange for unsolicited information, but I would rather not take advantage of you when I still learned something; I think I'll pay in this case. Two dresses and the fulfillment of another favor? So long as it's reasonable, anyway.
Villain's silent, shocked bewilderment wasn't the main source of satisfaction that I had expected, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Perhaps I would curse my choices in another hour, but for now, Villain's reaction alone reinforced my certainty that it had been the right choice.
That's—you– she spluttered, and I bit my lip to avoid laughing. You hated my requirements! What on earth is possessing you to volunteer? I can assure you that I will not do you more favors in the future simply because you're–
Villain produced a gargled sound of disgust despite lacking a mouth or throat to gargle with.
We really must break this idealistic streak of yours, Villain declared in a tone dripping with disgust. She felt pleased, though, so I was definitely taking it as a win. Of course I'm pleased! You're offering me something that I don't need to pay for. Did I not just say that free benefits are something you should be exploiting, too?
You did, and I don't agree with that at all. I guess that works for consolidating power, but you don't make any reliable friends or allies—and you might earn some resentment, too.
...Very well, then, but don't try to claim that you were not warned. Here is my second favor that you so recklessly offered without first negotiating terms–
I did specify that it needed to be reasonable.
Yes, yes. Now, you will need to include some manner of high-heeled shoes as part of your costume going forward.
My breath escaped me in a flabbergasted huff. Seriously? In what universe is that reasonable? How, exactly, do you expect me to fight in something that will make my feet hurt from prolonged wear and impair my balance?
You're a caster, dear, not a front-line brute; you won't be tripping or feeling a thing unless you're in the role of comic relief.
Villain paused for all of two seconds.
On second thought, perhaps I should pick a different favor.
"Well, screw you too," I hissed. And it's still a liability.
Oh, no. Humorous japes aside, allow me to properly answer your earlier question: magic. I expect you to use magic to provide better balance and support than you could get from those horribly ugly 'sneakers' you enjoy so much. Quite reasonable, wouldn't you agree?
...I hate you so much.
I truly don't believe I am asking for anything undesirable. Have you seen some of the available options? Several locally fashionable styles of heeled boots could turn a knife aside and are perfectly sized to crush your foes underfoot.
I'm going to look ridiculous.
If not for your delicate self-image, I would question how–
I knew exactly where she was going with that and refused to let her finish.
I'm actually tempted to pick out something really, really ugly out of sheer spite.
Ah, but then you would endure people seeing you wearing them, would you not? You would only be hurting yourself.
...How would one go about using necromancy to hurt an irritating shade, exactly?
Well, you would start by finding a source other than the shade herself, who is obviously not going to be providing any accurate information on how she might be harmed. That much should have been obvious.
My gargled growl of frustration was disturbingly similar to the sounds of disbelief that Villain produced earlier. Her prompt applause didn't help. Where was an acceptable target when you needed one?
CW: Emotional manipulation, mild possessive behavior, deliberate encouragement of attachment and dependency. Further chapters with those will probably be unmarked.
AN: But speaking of unmarked things, please avoid or spoiler-bubble APGTE spoilers!
"The only thing more dangerous than being hated by a villain is to be loved by them."
—Dread Empress Regalia II
I eyed a pair of over-the-knee red leather heeled boots with no shortage of trepidation. If they were a different color, they wouldn't be out of place on some spiky-haired punk fan or someone sporting a similar style. Since they were in red, though, I could see where Villain was coming from: if I enchanted a nicer dress later, then I could easily get away with wearing my costume to some types of upper-class parties. Oh, it would be far more attention-grabbing than I would prefer, but that might arguably be a good thing. Who would look twice at shy little—or, well, not so little, unfortunately—Taylor Hebert when she looked and acted nothing like the attention-grabbing Heiress? They would provide the illusion of a difference in height, too.
…Honestly, I was terrified. It was easier to imagine people looking at my Cape identity when I didn't know about the mind control aspect of my healing. Some people would always suspect that I was doing it on purpose, and I hated the idea of them silently judging me or less than silently confronting me. Villain had tried to argue that proper attire was a shield against that: if your attire is beyond reproach, then you only need to worry about behavior.
Still, I couldn't even look at the exorbitant price tags without thinking of everything else I could do with the money. My ill-gotten gains from the mugger's wallets mysteriously devoid of identifying information came up to almost five hundred dollars, but buying shoes of high enough quality to be enchanted would take a nasty bite out of that. I felt horribly out of place in my hoodie and jeans and I was pretty sure that the store clerk was staring suspiciously at me. It was hard not to glare back at him. I wasn't going to shoplift and it was gross to suspect someone for the sin of wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a grey hoodie now tied around my waist.
Do check and verify that they're genuine leather, Villain instructed. Formerly living material can be difficult for beginners to utilize effectively, but it can yield far superior results compared to your average steel boots or inconsistent fabric blends.
You do remember that I am a beginner, right?
Admittedly, the kinds of artifacts she had me making relied more on mathematics, pronunciation, and calligraphy, with a stable limiting array used to ensure a consistent flow of energy despite my fluttering magical control. I fed the filtering array energy, and an array fed that energy to an artifact without the fluctuations from my poor control. I would never have been able to enchant the red dress serving as my costume were it not for Villain's aids.
Yes, yes, a beginner with an exceptionally experienced artifact-maker helping you create them, Villain said dismissively. Regardless, metal artifacts must be forced and engraved rather than written upon. The magic frequently slides right off otherwise. Really, blessed steel is so magically resistant that it borders on immune, especially if an opposing Named is leading the charge. Stupid, cheating Callow and their wretched knights…
I flipped the boot to check the lip and wrinkled my nose. Calfskin leather. It was stupid, but I would honestly feel bad about wearing something that hadn't grown up yet—annnnd that thought was a mistake, wasn't it?
Oh, please. It was an animal, Villain complained. Yes, calfs happen to be somewhat cute. I assure you that the charm fades as soon as they begin chewing on your clothes, or after you step in a stray pile of excrement. You cannot possibly be this squeamish; are you certain this is not the influence of a role?
I blinked and was once again left with the uncomfortable necessity of examining my own trains of thought. To make matters worse, I couldn't tell if my changing conclusions were from giving the matter more thought or if I'd simply fought off fate's influence. I supposed I didn't care that much about what the boots were made from; they were already dead, and at least I would use the boots for something useful. Specifically, kicking evil's face in. That seemed like a much better purpose than leaving them for some rich bitch who left them in her closet beside fifty other pairs of shoes that she also barely ever wore.
The sounds of music abruptly stopped with the distinctive click of an intercom activating. I didn't think anything of it; someone had probably lost their purse or their kid, or an employee was needed because a customer was being difficult, etcetera. An exaggerated sound of liquid spattering followed by an almost painfully loud draconic roar? Not at all what I had been expecting.
"The Blight is upon us," a voice solemnly intoned over the mall's intercom system, and I blinked in bafflement. "May the Maker have mercy upon our souls. Run, if you can, and prepare a pyre for when you can run no more. Better to burn than to join their ranks."
If I had lived in any other city, perhaps I might have dismissed the lines as some child's prank. Unfortunately, I lived in Brockton Bay, and I had the sinking feeling that I knew who was responsible for this fiasco: Uber and Leet, Brockton Bay's very own game-themed jackasses. The distant sounds of guttural growls, clashing metal, barking, and the occasional inhuman shriek—plus actual human screaming—only reinforced my certainty.
Oh, dear, Villain sighed. Am I to assume that they are the comic relief? Those are always such a pain to kill.
Well, I'm sure they think that they're funny. They're usually easier to laugh at than to laugh with, though.
The comic relief, Villain repeated, apparently taking my description as confirmation.
They might fit that role, but I really wasn't laughing. I didn't know what game they were referencing, but we were outside school hours. Plenty of parents would be out shopping with small children who wouldn't understand what was going on. Blight made me think of zombies, and that hypothesis might well be supported by all the inhuman noises from outside.
The shop clerk seemed to share my distaste and had gone from staring suspiciously at me to supporting his forehead with one hand whilst staring out at the main part of the mall outside.
"Ma'am," he called in the tired tones of a hopelessly sleep-deprived individual earning approximately minimum wage. "I recommend hiding in the back and stowing any valuables on your person inside an empty shoebox. We are not responsible for any loss of property that might occur as a result of a criminal attack."
My face scrunched in mild offense.
"Do I really look like—"
I abruptly realized that I was not wearing my own face at the moment, and I might actually look like someone difficult after all. Huh.
"—never mind," I finished lamely. "Thanks for the advice."
"You're welcome, Ma'am," he replied dully, sounding utterly done with both this conversation and the nonsense his life heaped upon him.
"…Hang in there?" I hazarded awkwardly.
The clerk snorted and looked back up at me with the slightest trickle of genuine warmth.
"I'm not dead yet."
Oh, stop chatting with the peasantry and get changed, Villain ordered irritably. You do remember asking for acceptable targets, do you not? There. Acceptable targets.
I paused, thought about it, and cringed guiltily. Villain was right. I had tempted fate, and fate delivered—except, hold on. I didn't think that had even been half an hour ago, and this kind of heist would take weeks of preparation. It seemed more likely that it had nudged my choice in shopping center so that I was in the right place at the right time.
Providence, Villain uttered in the type of tone that a veteran of World War II might use to utter the word "nazis." Well, do get on with it. The last thing you want is to publicly introduce yourself by being tardy.
I shook off my hesitation, grabbed my backpack, and hurried over to the unnecessary curtained changing room at the back of the store. Were normal benches seriously too good for the kind of people who shopped here? Whatever.
Honestly, I was glad that my costume was currently comprised of only a domino mask and the dress. My shoes didn't match and that was annoying, but the heels weren't enchanted or paid for yet; there was no way I was wading into combat with those. I would just need to cope with—
Absolutely not, Villain said vehemently. I know you remember how to cast a glamour, my dear. Change the appearance of your footwear to something that does not violently clash with the rest of your attire.
"Picky, picky," I grumbled, but pricked my finger and set to scribbling the appropriate anchoring array on each shoe. It was an entire extra minute wasted, but I doubted that would matter; I didn't feel as though I needed to be in any particular rush. If fate was going to alter my behavior, then maybe I could use fate's more blatant nudges as warning signs. Since it wasn't pushing me to rush, then I didn't need to rush.
Oh, you noticed already! Villain applauded. Indeed, Providence is far more intrusive and controlling than the subtle nudges provided to a villain. You are but a tool of the Heavens and will find your ventures succeeding even against far more skilled opponents despite your current state of mediocrity.
My forehead furrowed. Was she being sarcastic? It sounded like she was being sarcastic. After that giant rant about freedom, I didn't think that she would approve of something dictating my actions.
Of course I do not approve! Villain 'shouted.' How does this not horrify you? This certainty was not earned, not claimed. You didn't utter so much as a prayer and certainly did not consent to it.
I shifted uncomfortably, but kept drawing the blood runes necessary to disguise my sneakers as more dignified ballerina flats. Oxford heels might have been easier, but then anyone looking closely at my ankles—and there was a disturbing sentence that I never wanted to think again—would realize that something wasn't quite right. Besides, it was good practice and I was only just starting to feel any sort of urgency. I had time.
I mean, you've been refusing to tell me how this is different from what fate would do for a villain, I pointed out. You demanded costs and everything. You shouldn't blame me for my ignorance yielding results you loathe.
I would admit that I was starting to feel a bit worried, though. And even if I didn't feel any particular urgency, there was still a strange and growing feeling of pressure all over my body. Villain's disgust in the pit of my stomach was nauseating, too.
I have seen Providence lead champions of Above to the sites of their demise more times than I can recall, Villain started coldly, then seemingly became distracted. Admittedly, that's because the Demon of Absence—no, that isn't important right now!"
And the temperature plummeted back to freezing. Hooray for me.
Heiress, you may gallivant around and save as many people as you wish. I will, of course, attempt to dissuade you and convince you of how pointless the venture is, but it is your choice. All I demand is that you make your own choices rather than letting Providence puppet you around.
The feeling of pressure settled, and I was left with the prickling sensation of being pulled and stretched in two directions at once. I had to move one way or the other; there would be no standing still, not for me. I hadn't yet earned the right to a third option.
Villain might dislike this 'Providence,' but by her own admission, it was the weapon of those she despised. She even admitted that she had philosophical objections to unearned power. A tool was a tool, and this felt like an exceptionally useful one. I had no combat experience—that mugger didn't count—and minimal knowledge of how to handle myself in a fight. Would Providence compensate for those shortfalls? Villain's prior complaints about cheating heroes made it sound as though it would. And besides, she was capital-E Evil. She didn't get to demand anything from me.
On the other hand, I could see what Villain meant about earning the power I used. Providence wasn't me; I would be shocked if its assistance was anything but temporary, and relying on it could easily get me killed in the long run. Death by Providence seemed like a distant and unlikely possibility, but that impression was probably the teenage sense of immortality speaking. Of greater importance to me was how disturbed and disgusted Villain was by something I had almost expected her to praise me for.
I shouldn't like Villain. I should be turning myself in to the PRT and seeing if there was some way to get the amoral mind-reading medieval sociopath out of my head, or at least ensuring that there was some sort of monitoring program for if I ever went off the deep end. But I would admit that I did like her even though she'd pretended to be my powers until last night. Villain never forced the point, never engaged in anything more intrusive than nagging no matter how often I disagreed with her, and left me alone when I needed to sleep. She didn't even object to me thinking of her as "Villain" even though I really should have asked for her name by now.
The contradictory tugging sensations vanished as I made my choice. Providence might be useful, but I wasn't going to jeopardize my (admittedly rather weird) friendship with Villain. Ironically, I think that meant I would be discarding one of a hero's weapons in order to maintain heroism-aligned values.
If it really means that much to you, then I'll try to ignore it until it goes away. Do you want me to keep calling you Villain, or…?
Villain's relief and happiness brought a small smile to my face. Definitely the right choice. With that kind of a reaction, I couldn't imagine Villain handling continued use particularly well.
Call me Roma, my dearest Heiress,Villain Roma purred. And now that you aren't being puppeted by Providence: what, exactly, was your plan for fighting this 'Uber and Leet'?
I froze. My… plan? I didn't have a plan. I didn't have a plan. Was I seriously going to charge out there and, I don't know, try to punch villains with years of experience? I would be lucky to escape from that with only a bruised ego.
I thought so, Villain said with satisfaction. There is absolutely no way that I am letting you establish a pattern of loss-draw-win with the local jesters. I'm sure that you'll find a more suitable rival later.
I stared at the bloody runes upon my sneakers and came to the dawning realization that there were now bloody runes on my sneakers. The same sneakers that I wore to school. Yes, Villain had insisted, but I should have realized there were issues with her instructions before I started acting upon them. It just… hadn't seemed important.
"Holy shit," I whispered, wide-eyed and growing more horrified by the second.
I couldn't use magic in combat, not yet; I could barely bring power to my entire hand, so individual fingertips with which to draw floating runes were right out. I had no weapons. Rise apparently controlled other people upon healing them. I would have gone out there, and I would have gotten absolutely demolished in front of crowds of people and everyone Uber and Leet were streaming to. It would take years for people to forget my terrible, dumb debut, assuming they forgot at all. I could easily see my screwups becoming the sort of event that people turned into a long-lived meme that still lingered in the public consciousness a full decade later.
I slowly pulled my legs atop the padded changing room bench, tugged off my mask, and stared blankly at the reckless stranger in the mirror. I'd almost let myself get Mastered into horrific decisions that made genuinely stupid acts seem like good ideas at the time. Calling me a puppet hadn't been a figure of speech, had it? Holy fuck, no wonder an entire empire had apparently chosen to align with villainy if that was the alternative!
Just be glad that you aren't one of this city's heroes, Villain said soothingly, and my brow furrowed with confusion.
I don't follow.
Admittedly, my head felt numb and it was becoming a little difficult to think around my horror, so my incomprehension was probably a personal failing rather than an issue with Roma's implications.
My dear, Providence put you in the right place at the right time to fight a losing battle against villains. Imagine how much worse its control would be if you were expected to seek out such situations, how much reckless behavior it would enforce to mold you into the cultural ideal of a selfless, self-sacrificing heroine.
I swallowed and fought to get my nausea under control. She was right. There was no way I could become a Ward, not with this guillotine hanging over my head. And how the hell was I supposed to explain this new problem to Dad? 'Hey, it turns out that I'm living out an epic of the kind that really enjoys humiliating and killing its protagonists, and I can't become an official hero without exacerbating the issue.' Dad would sign me up that very day just for the free access to psychiatrists and therapists.
There, there, Roma crooned. You stopped before it became a problem and I'll be here to help you watch for its influence in the future.
Her words were accompanied by an invisible, round band of icy cold wrapping around my knees and shoulders. I jerked away from the unidentified sensation and painfully slammed the back of my head against a wall in the process. The sensation vanished as I clutched at the back of my head, hissing through my teeth and resisting the urge to cry. It didn't hurt that much—I could definitely afford to wait until I was somewhere private to Rise it away—but it was another painful problem on an increasingly large pile.
Oh, I am genuinely sorry about that, Roma fretted. I'm too weak for proper contact, you understand, and I thought that I could avoid that response if I avoided touching the back of your head.
I tried to fit this new information into my worldview. One: Roma wasn't entirely immaterial; she could interact with things enough to chill them, and the shape implied an invisible body that I simply couldn't see. Two: Roma had tried to hug me. I hadn't gotten the impression of her being a particularly physical person, pun not intended; she seemed more like the sort of person who would accuse others of getting their filth on her through sheer proximity.
People are disgusting, Roma agreed. Taylor, my Heiress—you are not most people. I do care for you, and if a hug would help you feel better, then I had to try.
I couldn't believe that was what made me finally burst into tears. When was the last time that Dad had noticed anything wrong with me, let alone tried to do something about it? Why did the literal villain care more than he did? And now I was crying in the back of a store while Uber and Leet terrorized helpless civilians, which made me basically the wikipedia entry for 'Cowardly, Overreacting Loser.'
That's my Heiress you're insulting, Roma chided.
The attempt at levity didn't help. At all. I buried my face in my knees and tried to keep my muffled sobs and sniffles as quiet as possible. The last thing I needed was for the store clerk to overhear me; this was already humiliating enough, and I would need to tweak the glamour to conceal reddened eyes before I emerged.
~ ~ ~
Roma should probably feel quite guilty about deliberately painting Providence in the worst light possible, and subsequently using that to—hopefully—permanently drive her Heiress away from joining the local team of heroes. Fortunately, Roma had long since learned to associate those pesky pangs of conscience with unmitigated successes. It helped that she was genuinely beginning to care for her Heiress as more than just an entertaining project—emotions Roma was sure were enhanced by her current Role as a maternal figure, but she had no intention of fighting them. Being a hero on this world was undeniably more dangerous than being a villain; holding a villainous Name was no longer as good as a death sentence the moment she encountered any heroes. Shoving Taylor toward villainy would help her.
Taylor was vastly preferable to the lackwit disappointments that had been Roma's prior children, too. The former Dread Empress frequently fought the urge to tell Taylor of such comparisons, and the time she'd slipped had not gone well. Roma would need to wait until familial compliments would be well-received rather than merely reminding Taylor of her deceased mother or otherwise provoking distress.
Why am I not allowed to have anything nice without it backfiring? Taylor thought, the mess of impressions and emotions being as good as words to a magician of Roma's caliber. Those who couldn't handle such quirks had no business trying to interact with devils—or worse, goblins. My healing comes with mind control, my morning run made me go to classes in the wrong clothes, Providence puppets me, I can't become a Ward without being Mastered by Providence, and the only person who doesn't view comforting me as rote and lifeless is an immaterial and literally lifeless shade who thinks terrorizing the peasantry is a fun pastime.
Because it was enjoyable to seize power over those who thought themselves better than Roma simply due to their worship of the Gods Above, but Roma wouldn't damage Taylor's image of her by saying that. Not now, when Heiress was terrified and would desperately grasp even a monster's hand when it was offered.
You may not remember it, but you were informed of the costs when you claimed your Name, Roma half-lied. Name dreams were even more cryptic than suspiciously-well-informed hermits—but in this case, the problem was due to Roma's exaggeration of the threat Providence posed to her Heiress. You believed then that the rewards were worth their price. Do not forget what your first Aspect manifested as: Rise. It may seem as though everything is hopeless, yet that merely leaves room for improvement. To be our kind of Named is to claw our way to greatness no matter the obstacles placed in our paths.
Heiress swallowed and mutely nodded, her thoughts a tangled mess devoid of consistency. Heiress didn't know what she was thinking, and Roma was patient enough to wait for her to figure it out. Startled suspicion struck a moment later.
You aren't asking for me to strengthen you, Heiress thought suddenly, and Roma carefully kept her triumph away from the adolescent's awareness. Why not? You're a villain, we both know you wouldn't think twice about exploiting a young woman in the midst of an emotional breakdown.
What, pray tell, would I do with that strength? Roma asked. I would be at your mercy, would be tethered to you, and would effectively 'live' only to support your goals. Truthfully, such a state of affairs would not bother me; it wouldn't be much different from my current condition. But asking would upset you and make you suspicious of my motives, both of which would be counterproductive to my goal of helping you. Therefore, it would be a net loss even if you did agree to change my condition.
Suspicion bloomed, but Roma wasn't worried.
Okay, cut the crap. We both know that the word 'selfless' isn't in your vocabulary.
My dearest Heiress, do you know what is often the greatest goal of any Named, heroic or villainous? Roma asked.
No, because you've stubbornly refused to tell me what Named even are.
I truly believe my conditions to be in your best interests, my dear. But the answer is to create something greater than ourselves, something that will outlive us and approach the goals we could not accomplish ourselves. In life, I spat in the eyes of the Gods Above who decreed that my nation must starve, built upon the magical framework that might one day free the Dread Empire from that state of affairs, and inspired at least one generation of Praesi to dare to grasp just a little more, to set their sights that much higher and dare to dream beyond what they were told. In death, I am a shade who can be heard by but a single teenage Heiress. I can touch nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing; I can use your senses to interpret the world and can see a little if I strain myself, but I don't feel any of it. And do you know what I see when I look out at your fascinating world seemingly free of gods and Named?
No, but you're going to tell me anyway.
Taylor hadn't meant to 'say' the last part, but Roma still heard it. She didn't mind.
Mediocrity, Roma snarled, and Heiress flinched almost hard enough to hit her head again. Power is concentrated almost exclusively among those whose ancestors gathered that power, and countless exceptional individuals toil in poverty without any hope of excellence. Divisions have been established based on gender and desires. You have the technology for every person on your world to live like the nobility of my own, yet so many starve or live in squalor. Rather than being lauded as exceptional, members of the lower classes are condemned as harshly as any villain of my world when they try to rise above their birth. This world is a dysfunctional outrage and if there is anything I can do to change it, then I will. That is what I consider to be the duty of Villains, my dearest heiress: when our world has been built in a reprehensible manner, we break it.
Or more accurately, Roma sought to break it because doing so was quite satisfying, but saying that wouldn't help Roma twist her Heiress's view of Roma into something more useful. Did Roma think that this world's trends were disgusting? Absolutely. Did she care enough to pursue some manner of global revolution? No. If Roma did not do her utmost to simply enjoy existence, then why should she exist at all? She was just here to have fun.
The Heiress swallowed and blinked rapidly.
I—um. Okay. I need a minute, but—I think my mom would have liked you. Some.
Oh, now that was excellent progress in a direction that Roma hadn't anticipated. Perhaps she should have assumed positive maternal Roles more often—but then again, that would have required being kind to people she largely considered to be useful only as ritual fuel or occasional entertainment. The thought alone might have been enough to make her gag if she still possessed a throat.
Take all the time you need, my dearest Heiress.
Roma did not add that she could afford to be patient. She was, after all, winning—and this world had no pesky champions of Above to contest that state of affairs! Really, her Heiress was going to be downright spoiled.
