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But Are You Evil (rp story)


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Then

 

Elijah looked over the battlefield, and all of the fallen. Some were his, others were his enemy. 
"You haven't gotten all of us," the slim man with the visor said, wiping blood from his mouth as he managed to get up to his knees. His uniform, now covered with dust and blood, was torn in different places. The special helmet he wore was dented, but held firm still yet. 
"You came to me, young man, I did not go to you," Elijah said, as if to excuse the carnage of the fight, and technically he was right. He formed this pocket dimension using stolen technology from Portal Corp, who no doubt commissioned these "heroes" to track him down.

They were of course too late.  The dimension was already created, and was now his home. His home, and he was king and god, and above all, master of his home. 

Marshal Mathews looked around at his fallen team members, and then at the desolate wasteland Master Elijah Eivel called his new home. He was not sure it was really worth the fight, outside of the technology that the man stole. 
"To make matters worse, for your crime against me," Elijah began, a genuine look of sorrow on his face, "you are all too late. The equipment is used up. I no longer need it to power anything here, I am quite capable of doing it on my own." 
Marshal Mathews, member of The Protectors, code name Fire Eye, felt like weeping as he surveyed the field again. 

"You haven't won yet," he said, and shakily stood up. He could feel the pressure building up behind his visor. His mutant power to form energy within and release it, usually through his eyes.
"You haven't won yet," he said again, as the energy poured from his eyes, directed at the one called Master Eivel. 

 

Master Eivel was old, and had fought in more battles than this young man could even imagine. He would not be their savior, something he knew immediately as Elijah deflected the blast, and countered with his own dark energy. The hero fell almost immediately, writhed a moment in pain from the dark matter tearing at his flesh and soul, then was still. Elijah began to walk toward on of his own fallen when he heard a scream. It was not of pain or of anguish, but of pure hate and anger. The mutant sorcerer fixed his gaze on the woman it came from, who's body was lifting from the ground, and righting itself as if in some horror film. Dark matter flowed from her eyes as if tears of vengeance. Her face was completely distorted, and Elija found himself in awe of such. He was sure he had killed her, yet she was back, and quite angry. It didn't matter, he was her better, he was all of their better, even as one they could not defeat him. Not here. 
With a shrug, Elijah let loose another blast of dark energy, and turned away before it even struck. She would be killed just as the others, and he had his own team to either heal or resurrect. They needed to learn from their mistakes, and while leaving them for carrions to feast on would not hurt his heart one bit, for Elijah Eivel had no such thing, he needed soldiers that could learn from mistake and become better for it. 
These things were  going through his mind as the blast, the very blast he sent to destroy the woman, hit him in the back. It was followed by an equal, if not more powerful, blast of dark energy one millisecond behind the first.  Eivel felt himself lift from the ground, the energy flinging him into the air, something he was not use to one bit. Then felt an impact, and everything went dark. 

Hana Lane let out another scream of anger, the powerful darkness in her wanting to follow the tossed villain and insure he was down for good. Something they had not been able to accomplish before. Even beaten, Master Eivel always seemed to return. Killed, he seemed to come back stronger when they met again. 
Yet the humanity in her knew she needed to check on the team. 
The others were in bad shape, but coming back to their own senses from whatever knocked them down. The Power Craver's, the soldiers for Master Eivel, were also coming to, but they were in no shape to carry on the fight. Not without their leader. They were fleeing the battlefield, and no one had the energy to stop them, or even the want at this point. 
The team was still alive, except for one. 
"Marshal," She heard Karel exclaim, and she turned her eyes to sound. 
Marshal was dead. He was not breathing. Her healing would not save him. Could not. 

 

NOW

Then Hana awoke. 

"You screamed," the masculine voice said. It was dark and his figure was just a shadow in the doorway. He had the door open slightly. She could only see a red slit where eyes were suppose to be, but even without that clue she knew who it was. 
"I am okay, Marshal," she said, wiping sweat from her face. The coolness of the base air-conditioner began to dry her brow, even as the door was carefully closed. 
"I am okay," she said again, this time to herself. As horrible as the dream was, she was pleased that she awoke when she did. It wasn't really a dream as much as a memory, and what had happened in that barren wasteland next was far worse, and something she would have to live with the rest of her life. 

 

Edited by Paragon Vanguard
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Posted (edited)

Now

 

"I don't like this base," Karel said, very matter of fact like. She was codenamed Sedulous, by Iron Hand himself, and accepted it. 
It fit her, as she was very diligent, and nothing could stop her from accomplishing her goals. It didn't hurt that she was near invulnerable. 
"Nothing to like, or dislike, Karel, it's a base," Dr. James Wild said, looking up from his paper and coffee only briefly. Dr. Wild was much older than Karel. How old, the team did not fully know. He and Iron Hand were supposedly friends since one of the World Wars, and since they did not speak much about it, no one quite knew the whole story. Neither were the type of men that anyone felt okay to ask. 

"It's too far underground. You can't just open a window," Karel sighed, but her teammate was already back into the news. It was funny, she thought, he could just watch it on the large screens in the conference room. Or on his phone. Yet, every morning, he went out, bought himself a newspaper, came back inside the base, made himself some coffee, sat, and drank his coffee at the kitchen table while mumbling to himself about the news. 

Karel was 20 years old, he was...however old he was. They had little in common, except the desire to help out those that could not help themselves. They were on the west coast for a while, but Dr. Wild and the other founders decided it was time to move to where the action was. Where they could be of more help. They moved to Rhode Island, to one of the biggest cities in the United States, if not the biggest. Paragon City, a city of heroes as many called it. 
Karel watched the doctor, a man who helped patch her back together several times, and decided she was being too judgmental of him. He was from a different generation, even older than her own father. He saw her as a child still, a mere 20 years old, though she had been helping others for going on 8 years now as a super. 
She still could not call herself a super hero. It just sounded weird. It also didn't quite fit the dynamics of the team. 

Dr. Wild, which was his real name, as she had snooped and found out, did not look his age. He looked to be a man in maybe his mid 30s, early 40s. He looked intelligent, though he had an animal quality about him, as if some experiment went wrong and made him as big as a great ape, and strong as, well, she was. He was also very agile, far more agile than a man his size should be. 

"Stop staring at me," Dr. Wild said, not even looking away from his paper. 
"I wasn't, " she huffed, rolling her eyes, before looking down at her phone. 
It was only a moment of silence before she looked back up. 
"I heard her screaming again last night," she said, which got his attention this time. He knew exactly who she meant, and with his uncanny hearing, she had no doubt he heard it as well. 
"It's not our business," was all he said before looking back to his paper. She could tell, this time, he was not reading it anymore. His eyes were not scanning like before, instead they were fixed, as he was thinking. 

 

 

Edited by Paragon Vanguard

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Posted (edited)

Then

 

"You can help him," she said, though there was something of a smirk on her face when she said it. At least that was how Hana remembered it. "You have the ability to help him."
"I wont do that," Hana said, though she did not remember if she actually said that or if she thought that, because even then she knew she would do what she must. 

Her mother, a dark witch as she was known by many, Leslie Smith, as she was known by the law. She was wanted for crimes against humanity, in many states, and was highly skilled in the use of dark magic. 
Hana was also skilled in the use of dark magic, but that was all she took from her mother. 
In the end she did use her abilities to revive Marshal. Some call it resurrect, but the truth was there still had to be some attachment of soul to body for the ability to even work. 
Ability. That was her term. Her mother said magic as if it was some medieval time of witches and knights and dragons. 

"How did you even get here," Hana asked, anger in her voice, as she looked at the rocky desert like place. She pushed the black hair from her eyes, and stared in her mother's face. A face that resembled her own, only older. Not that her mother was wrinkled or appeared her age, but her eyes looked at you as if she knew every secret, making you want to ask her about whatever you wanted to know. They were dark, almost black, as was Hana's. 

"You can bring him back, you just must embrace your power, and stop running from it," she said, avoiding the question. She did that all the time as well. Hana really did not like her mother. 
"I won't," she said, or thought, again.

In the end though, she did. 

 

 

Edited by Paragon Vanguard

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Two rays shot from his eyes, destroying the chunk of cement and steal before it could hit his teammate. Iron Hand looked back with a nod, but not much more expression on his face than that. He seldom smiled, in fact Marshal could not remember if he had ever seen the man smile. 

"Mind on the task," he told himself. He was Fire Eye, a member of The Protectors, and getting distracted could easily get him or his team dead. 

The culprit that threw the cement, a member of the group calling themselves The Carnival, or some such, was rushing at Iron Hand. It would almost be amusing, cartoon like if you would, since the man had an oversized mallet held high up over his large frame. He was dressed like some strong man in a carnival freak show. It was no cartoon though, and these guys were very dangerous. 

Iron Hand was more dangerous, Marshal reminded himself, and allowed himself just a bit of a smile. He and the fast healing mutant seldom agreed on much, but he had to give credit where it was due. Charles, aka Iron Hand, was one of the toughest people he knew, if not THE toughest. Knocking him down only meant he would get back up madder, and more dangerous than before. 

A broader beam of energy shot from his eyes again, this time hitting more than one target, and weakening them. Fire Eye did not have a full grasp of how his own powers worked. They were atomic, or even cosmic as one scientist told him, in nature. He and Night's Eye had joined the team together, years ago. Though they were a two person team for a few years, they had grown apart. 

Because she told you she loved you and you turned her away, he reminded himself. They were friends since high school, both coming into their abilities around the same time. 

Now, well, he WAS hopelessly in love with her. 

It isn't a natural love, he told himself, as he often had to. As Doctor Wild taught him to. Something had happened in that pocket dimension. He had possibly died, though he remembered little of it. 

"I resurrected you," she had told him, but it seemed like a confession when she did. She was distraught about it, tears flowing from her eyes. He wasn't sure if it did change something in him, but why was it unnatural for him to love the person that saved him? Why was that wrong, especially since he knew she loved him.

She had told him this. 

Besides, he did feel something for her, even before. He loved her, his life had simply been complicated. 

 

"Mind on the game, sugar," Sedulous said, flinging one of the carnies away from Marshal. 
Marshal nodded, much like Charles had nodded at him, but forced a smile of thanks.

He was not like Charles. 

They had their work cut out for them here. Peregrine Island was a dangerous place, made even worse by these scumbags. He had to get his mind on the game, like Sedulous said. 

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He had died in that pocket dimension, and Hana could not, no, would not accept it. Even before her mother had arrived and pushed her in the direction she already knew she was going. She knew she would bring him back. She knew she would do anything to have him back. She was as bound to Marshal as he now was to her. 

He belonged to her.

No. He did not. 

It was an argument Hana had with herself, over and over. An argument she knew she would continue to have with herself. 
I am not like her, she thought, thinking of course of her mother.

"You did what you must," the face in the mirror said to her, startling Hana from her thoughts. The mirror was fogged up due to the hot shower she just took, but she could still make out the face of her mother. 

Hana quickly grabbed the towel from the hook on the back of the door and covered her naked body up. 
"You aren't here," she said, but not fully convinced. In fact, she was sure it was her mother. 
"You have nothing I have not seen Hana," her mother said, a smirk in her voice. "Hana, you must accept your destiny. You are like me, you are part of me, you are me," she said, and the spell faded away, leaving only a fogged up mirror. 

Mephitis sat back on her throne made of the bones of her enemies, friends, and slaves. Those she either killed or merely outlived. Her pale white body was barely covered with a thin, sheer cloth. She was beyond shame and petty ideas of humility, but some clothing was still practical. Dust floated in the air, as well as littered the floor of the cavern like room. It was dust of the slaves she used to cast the spell that put her into her daughters mind. She was proud of Hana, it was a difficult spell that cost her a half dozen men, and only bought her seconds before Hana pushed her out.

Mephitis stood, her eyes scanning the room and settling on the two dark demons standing by the entry. One coward noticeably, and she wondered if he was one she had disciplined before. The other did not, and bowed as if awaiting her directions. She had none, and left them both bowing as she exited the room, and climbed a spiraling staircase. 

The rest of her sanctuary looked more like 1800s mansions, similar to antebellum homes of the US. They seemed to be lit by candles, but magic coursed through the walls as well, giving off an eerie glow. She made her way to a balcony, and looked out over a strange land of twisted trees and black flowers, her home standing out in the center of this dark forest. The tortured, as she called her human slaves, worked constantly to keep the forest back. They would do so until they died, or she needed them. 
They did not wish to be needed by her. 
She did not have the motherly love for her daughter that the cattle humans felt for their offspring. It was not like that at all. She purposefully left Hana to be raised by someone that considered themselves her mortal enemy. It was in a way a great joke on the one called Iron Fist, because she knew eventually Hana would come into her own. No matter how much the girl tried, she could not escape her destiny. She would join her mother one day. Iron Fist would lose to her yet again. Mephitis would have her daughter by her side, and the world would be theirs. 
It had begun. Mephitis followed the team calling themselves The Protectors into Master Eivel's pocket dimension, and not without Eivel's permission. Of course she did so by offering her help, but she gave none when it came down to it. He would be angry, and a nasty enemy, but his anger will be soothed as soon as she found a way. She was merely there hoping for an opportunity to direct her daughter, because the darker the magic the deeper her daughter would slip into the magic's darkness.
The resurrection was one of the darkest. It was not a heal, or dark energy being used to bring someone back from the brink of death. No, it was true resurrection. The young man was now tied to her daughter, enthralled and thinking himself in love. Her first slave. He would not be her last. Not if Mephitis had anything to say about it. 
 

Paragon Vanguard
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