Hero's Dilemma - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

THE NEMESIS

     The world was dark to Parth Ansari, the ambassador from India. He was not sure how long he had been in this black place, nor how he had gotten there. He had no idea where he was. He couldn't even remember where he had been before the dark place.

     There were faint pinpoints of light before him, like dull stars in a sky that hung just before his eyes. He then became aware of the weight and texture of the sack over his head.

     Before he could contemplate the matter further, the sack was pulled from his head, and even the dim light was almost blinding. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the flickering light around him, and he managed to look around.

     He found himself seated before a dark altar in a room lit only by candles that cast black shadows onto nearly black walls. They were not the tall, slender candles that burned neat and evenly, nor were they squat little scented candles. They were the sort of candles that could only have been custom made specifically for occult rituals.

     As his eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light of the room, one of the shadows stepped away from the wall and came towards him. It was a figure clad in a hooded cloak of blackest velvet.

     "Who... who are you?" the ambassador asked.

     "Don't be afraid," said the cloaked figure in a distorted voice that sounded like a council of malevolent spirits speaking in unison. It did absolutely nothing to alleviate the man's fears.

     "What do you want from me? What are you doing?"

     "I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you think."

     "Oh?"

     "No." The hooded head shook. "I just need some blood."

     "What? Well... you can't. I'm using it."

     The figure reached into its cloak and produced a large, decorative brass knife.

     "You... you can't do this...!" the ambassador said, as if saying so would make it true.

     "It's nothing personal. It's just that your astrological sign and energy type make you a perfect match for my plan. It's all just bad luck, I'm afraid."

     The cloaked figure gestured with its free hand and the ambassador found himself suddenly pulled towards the altar. His left hand was bound to the cold surface, as if by invisible ropes. He tried to pull free, but his efforts were in vain.

     The cloaked figure came towards the altar opposite from him and raised the dagger high with malicious intent.

     "Be still," it said. "It will only be a moment."

     For a few seconds, the blade remained motionless. And then, it came down. It came down in a blur like a bolt of copper lightning, and Ansari squeezed his eyes shut.

     But instead of blinding pain or the sound of metal piercing flesh, there was a strange, reverberating chaaannng!

     "What?!" the cloaked figure gasped. As the ambassador opened his eyes, he saw that the knife had been stopped in midair, just inches from his up-turned hand, though the villain still strained to close the gap. Between blade and hand was a faint blue distortion in the air.

     "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with knives?" said a strong, heroic voice that any resident of Argent City would recognize.

     To the Ambassador's left, about twenty feet away, a door stood open. Silhouetted in the rectangle of light behind him, a figure stood with one hand outstretched, the other a fist at his hip. It was the sort of pose only one of his kind would ever assume.

     The hero stood just over six feet tall, was muscular of build, and seemed to radiated confidence and valor like a lantern. As he stepped into the room, his light brown complexion, as well as the red, grey, and white of his iconic costume became visible.

     "Paragon!" the ambassador exclaimed with relief.

     "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," Paragon said, taking another step closer. "The choice is yours."

     The dark figure threw the knife down and tossed the hood back in a huff.

     "Why do you always have to interfere!" she yelled; her voice returning to a natural, human tone.

     She was not tall, and her most prominent features were her rather large nose, and the mass of curly brown hair that flowed behind her. In other circumstances, Ansari might have wondered how she had kept it hidden under the hooded cloak. But as it was, he was more concerned with other matters.

     "Sycorax," Paragon said. "I should have known it was you."

     She gave him an incredulous stare. She looked around the room to the numerous earthy-yellow candles (that had been hand-drizzled just for the occasion, she would have you know), then at the black crystal altar to which the ambassador was still bound, to the ritual dagger that lay on the ground at her feet, then finally back to Paragon.

     "I suppose you thought I was one of the other resident black magic super villains." Her tone was over saturated with sarcasm, and bordered on insulted.

     "Of course I knew it was you," he responded. "But it's a common expression amongst heroes. It's standard protocol that when a villain is revealed you shout 'so-and-so! I should have known it was--" but stopped mid-sentence as he made a sweeping gesture.

     Paragon's trusted flying sword flew into the room from behind him and struck the altar, cracking it in half with a thunderous crash.

     The sorceress stared at the destruction of her altar in shocked disbelief. "Son of a bitch!!"

     "Ambassador!" Paragon shouted, stepping aside. “Go! Now!”

     When Ansari found that the binding spell had been broken, he leaped out of his chair and ran for the open door.

     "Oh no you don't!" Sycorax shouted, and aimed one hand at the runner. A bolt of energy flew from her fingers, but a force field blocked the magic projectile, allowing the man to escape.

Before Paragon could drop the barrier and project a new one, she opened her other hand, and a bolt of lightning struck him square in the chest, throwing him off his feet. The streaming energy carried him through three walls, numerous office cubicles, and finally planting him into another wall. There he lay stunned; his feet dangling out of the wall, electricity crackling as he struggled to get up.

     Throwing off the cumbersome black cloak, the pudgy witch ran towards where Paragon lay, more magical energies gathering around her hands as she did; ready to blast or hex him at the first available opportunity.

     Leaping through each holes he left behind, she reached the office room with its cubicle walls scattered across the floors. As she closed in on his position, the sword flew in along the ground. It's hilt caught her ankle and she tripped, landing face-down among the office debris. Then a force field appeared below her and slammed her against the ceiling.

     Paragon climbed out of the broken wall, brushing debris off his suit as he recovered from his shock. He then slowly lowered the faintly visible barrier and tilted it, gently setting the dazed witch on the ground where she sat slumped against the wall.

     "It looks like your wicked schemes have been foiled again," Paragon said in his famously heroic voice as he stood over his adversary. He levitated the sword close to his enemy's throat. They both knew he couldn't bring himself to kill a woman, even one as dangerous as she, but it emphasized who was currently in charge.

     "What do you have to say for yourself, Sycorax?"

     "I will have my revenge," she said through clenched teeth. "Even you can't stop me forever."

     "And who has invoked your wrath this time?" Paragon inquired. "World leaders? Interpol? First Strike? Myself?"

     "Photon Man," she muttered.

     "Wait, what?" This answer took him a little bit by surprise. Everything had been predictably by the books and ordinary up until then. "But... Why Photon? What did he do?"

She was quiet for a moment, avoiding eye contact.

     "Sycorax, what?" he had dropped the hero's tone of voice, and spoke like a normal man.

     "He... he made fun of me."

     "He made fun of you," he repeated, trying to get his head around such a petty motive-- so unlike a villain of her caliber.

     She nodded.

     Finding himself strangely curious, he continued.

     "So, ah, what exactly did he say?" he asked out of genuine concern, rather than out of duty or protocol. "If you don't mind my asking."

     Her voice, usually strong and confident, became timid. "He said I looked like a bird."

     "A what?"

     She slowly got to her feet, and the sword followed her movements. "'Bird Face', I believe were his exact words."

     "That is entirely inappropriate," he said, shaking his head. "I am going to have a word with him later."

     "A word?"

     "I will have several words with him," he reassured her. "That kind of childish name-calling does not suit a hero-- and honestly, it's not like him."

     "It's true, though."

     "What? No, I'm not saying you're lying. I believe you. It's just, he's not usually quite so..."

     "I mean it's true, what he said. I do look like a bird." Then, barely more than a whisper, "it's my nose."

     She put a hand to her large, high-bridged nose, and sniffled quietly.

     "Don't say that," he said consolingly.

     "It's a beak," she mumbled. "I am a bird."

     "Hey-- look at me," he said, and she obeyed. "Sure, your nose is a little... prominent... but you know what? I think it's a fine nose."

     "You're just saying that."

     "No, I'm not. You have a very distinct look."

     "'Distinct'?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Really? You're gonna go with 'distinct'? That's the best you've got?"

     "What I mean is... you have a face that's entirely your own. You don't look like you came out of some... production line."

     "Yeah right. My life would be a whole lot easier if I looked like Catalyst."

     "Catalyst?!" He retorted.

     "Tell me she doesn't have the body of a goddess, and a face to match," she challenged.

     "Well, yes," he reluctantly admitted, "I suppose she is what some people might call 'beautiful', or 'attractive', or... 'stunningly gorgeous', but that comes from being a shape shifter. Anyway, in trying to make herself look perfect in every way, she just looks like any one of a hundred movie stars or super models. You look like a real person, not some mass-produced plastic doll. And if I may say so, you're actually pretty cute, yourself. Especially when you smile."

     "You're not half bad, yourself," she replied. "Especially when you stutter awkwardly."

     "Ah, when- when I what?"

She chuckled under her breath, and looked at him coyly. "Am I really so..." she began, and snapped her fingers. Chains of energy appeared from the floor, binding the flying sword to the wall and held it fast. "...disarming?"

     Paragon looked from the sword to the sorceress. Finally, a smile grew across his face and pointed at her. "Good one. You know what? I like you. You're not all that bad after all."
     She was about to speak, but he cut her off.

     "Yes, yes. I know you're technically a 'villain', but I know your plans-- God knows, you've monologued them plenty of times. Sure, you want to take over the world, and while I cannot abide anyone trying to conquer the free people of earth, your planned method of rule is unlike those of the truly evil. No mass executions, no authoritarian police states; just the elimination of corruption and conflict. Well, there is that colossal statue of yourself you want built on the site of the UN building, but never mind that. My point is that you're not really as bad as people say. I understand you. We both want to clean up this world. Only our methods vary. And our motives."

     "To a degree," She added.

     "Excuse me a moment." He turned and spoke into his wrist communicator.

     "HQ-- Sycorax's nefarious plot has been thwarted," he said, again in his official hero's voice. "I will turn her in to the asylum and return before long. All that remains is the cleanup. Yes. Oh yeah, plenty. Of course, and I'll be sure to--" He stopped mid-sentence when he heard a faint magical crackle. When he looked back at her, she held up her hands in front of her, trying very hard to look innocent.

     “I'll get back to you in a moment,” he said into his com. Then to the witch, he continued. “Sorry to have to cut things short, but I'm going to have to bring you in.”

     “I understand,” she said, and held out her hands, wrists up.

     From his belt, he produced a set of osmium infused handcuffs. But as he tried to put them on her, he found her intangible.

     The illusion of Sycorax laughed out loud when she saw the surprised look on his face. “I'm afraid I have business of my own and simply cannot afford to waste time being locked up. Far too much to do.”

     Paragon said nothing. His expression gave away little, but there was a trace of frustration... and embarrassment. Seeing this, she became more serious. “About what you said? Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

     “I meant it,” he replied.

     “I know,” said the image of Sycorax. “That's why it meant something.”

     He smiled. “Maybe next time I thwart your plans, we can chat a bit more.”

     “I'd like that. I'd like that a lot. Well... I do need to get going. And sorry.”

     “About what?” he asked, but the illusion had already vanished. He then saw something out of the corner of his eye. On one wall was burned some kind of magic symbol. As he stared, it began to faintly glow a dull red. Then it gradually became a brighter orange, and then brighter still.

     "Are you serious?" he asked, sounding more inconvenienced than anything else. "You're still going to do this? Really?"

     He sighed, and the sigil began to crackle and spark.

     "I just thought... you know, we could do without the whole—"

     A blast of fire filled the third floor of the old warehouse, incinerating over five and a half thousand dollars worth of equipment, furniture, and motivational posters. Several seconds after the spell went off, Paragon lowered the energy barrier he had projected.

     "Now really, what was that for? Seems like just kind of a waste."

     A second explosion went off just then, and Paragon found himself in a pile of burnt rubble one floor below where he had been a moment earlier. That one had finished off the floor beneath him, and the ceiling above didn't look like it'd last much longer.

     "Not bad," he said, his ears still ringing. "Not bad at all."

     He brushed some embers from his arms as he got back to his feet and headed over to the nearest window. He stepped out on to the fire escape, and jumped off. The sword flew down below him and he landed on it, his magnetic boots connecting, and he flew up into the air and back to headquarters.

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Thank you for reading chapter 1 of Hero's Dilemma!
I hope you liked it so far, and I will post more here soon.
Feedback, questions, comments, and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated
: )