short-fiction

Succession

A Hero/Villain piece

TW for violence

Sounds of fighting reverberated around the abandoned construction sight. Shouts, grunts, and fists hitting flesh mingled with the overall soundtrack of the night-shrouded city. 

And yet no one knew of the fight besides a few sleepy pigeons in the scaffolding, unbothered by the violence unfolding beneath them.

A crack echoed, followed by a scream, and the Villain sagged in the Hero’s grip. With a grunt of effort and disgust the Hero flung the Villain away. 

The Villain grunted and cried out again, rolling twice before stopping, their cane feet out of reach. They struggled to their knees, only to be shoved back down as the Hero’s kicked them in the chest.

“Please…” the Villain rasped, blood trickling from their lips. “That the worst you can do?” Movement caught their eye, and they saw the Sidekick emerge from the room where they’d kept them for the past two days. 

Catching their look, the Hero looked around. Renewed rage filled their eyes to see the Sidekick stagger into the light, battered and scraped. 

The Sidekick, ropes still hanging from their wrists, watched in horror as the Hero grabbed the Villain by the collar and began punching them in the face repeatedly. 

“STOP! The Sidekick cried. They ran forward, and grabbed the Hero’s bloody fist, stopping another blow. 

“This isn’t the way!”  They cried. The Villain’s head lolled, blood pouring from a broken nose. Their shoulder was dislocated, hanging awkwardly at their side. 

“It’s not your way, maybe.” The Hero growled, eyes flashing.

“Wha…?” 

With jerky movements, the Hero stood, shoving the Villain down where they lay slowly moving in pain, their breaths whining through a bruised throat. 

Steely resolve shone in the Hero’s eyes as they reached into an inner pocket. 

“What are you…” The Sidekick began. Their eyes widened as the Hero drew a gun, leveling it at the Villain. 

The Villain wheezed on a laugh, blood burbling on their lips. 

“You can’t do it… we’ve been…”

An ear-shattering bang sounded, echoing around the concrete and metal structure, finally startling the pigeons into panicked flight.

The Sidekick screamed, and the Villain slumped back, dead. 

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The Sidekick cried, half hysteric. 

“I did what had to be done.” The Hero’s voice was devoid of emotion. “They’d have killed you. I killed them first.”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER!” The Sidekick was shaking. “You’re the Hero!”

The Hero looked at the Sidekick, expression sympathetic. 

“Exactly. I’m the Hero. The press will believe me when I say I acted in your defense.

“But…” the Sidekick swallowed a sob. “But that isn’t… that’s not how these things are… should be done! You taught me that.”

The Hero hummed, tapping the warm barrel of the gun to their lips. A smudge of gun powder remained behind. 

“Be that as it may, can’t things be different?”

The Sidekick looked at the Hero, confused despite the horror of what they’d seen. 

“What?”

“Cant things be different. Together we can change things. You and me. We can make it so there won’t ever be the need for Heroes again.”

“This isn’t you.” The Sidekick began backing away. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right. “What do you mean?”

 The Hero’s expression turned hurt. 

“Of course it’s me. It’s your Hero. I’m the same person you joined up with all those months ago.”

“No. You… you’re different. Something…” the Sidekick stuttered into silence at the sudden change in the Hero’s eyes. 

“Something what?” They asked. 

“Something changed in you.”

“Fah. Nothing changed. I’m still the same. My eyes were just opened fo the follies of the old ways. But together,” the Hero stepped closer, eyes fevered. “Together you and I can make this city whole. We can change THAT for the better. And after that?” Their eyes gleamed. 

“No. You’re wrong.” The Sidekick continued ending away, the Hero pacing after them, and only stopped when their back hit the wall. “You’re just… You’re becoming the Villain!” 

Silence resounded through the site. 

“What did you say?” The Hero’s voice was deadly quiet.  

The Sidekick stood up straighter, expression set.  

“You heard me. You’re becoming what you swore to stop.”

The Hero laughed then, a harsh sound so at odds with their familiar and once-kind face. 

“Don’t you see? I did stop it. I stopped the Villain.” They pointed at the Villain’s battered body. The Sidekick glanced, and looked away quickly. 

It was all wrong. 

“Yes. But what cost?” The Sidekick asked quietly. 

The Hero regarded them steadily, considering. 

“I see,” they said. They sounded sad. “I understand.” They took a step forward, and the Sidekick cringed away, hands grasping for something, anything, to use as a weapon. “You just don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” The Sidekick’s hand found something loose and metal. They grabbed it, but kept it hidden. 

“My vision.” The Hero signed, suddenly exhausted. “And I can’t have shortsighted people working with me. You’ll only slow me down.”

They primed the gun, and the Sidekick suddenly understood. 

“This is your last chance,” the Hero said, leveling the gun at the Sidekick’s chest. “Are you with me? Or-“

The Sidekick, cold metal in their hand, didn’t hesitate. 

“No.” 

Before the Hero could react beyond a narrowing of their eyes, the Sidekick swung. They caught the Hero in the face with a slim metal pipe. A sickening sound followed the impact. 

The Hero shrieked in pain, clamping a hand to their eyes, the gun falling to the floor with a clatter. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO!” They screamed, curling forward. Blood dripped between their fingers, papping on the concrete. Snarling, the Hero’s hands dropped away, and the Sidekick bolted from the sight of the Hero’s contorted face. From the one bloody eye socket and the remaining eye that was filled with fury. Nothing remained of the person they’d met and spent so much time with.

And come to love, in their own way.

“YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT!” The Hero lunged for the Sidekick, but missed, their depth perception forever skewed. 

The Sidekick dodged the grab, and ran as fast as they could while the Hero continued screaming profanities behind them. 

They burst out into the empty yard of the site, tripping over boards and other hazards. They didn’t care. 

“YOU WILL PAY!” Screamed a voice they didn’t recognize as the Hero’s. “YOU HEAR ME?! THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING!”

The Sidekick tripped, skinning their hands and knees as they slid over the gravel and sand covered ground. They barely felt the sting as they struggled to their feet and kept running. They didn’t stop until they were a mile away, the Hero’s tortured screams echoing in their mind. 

What have I done? The Sidekick thought, staggering to a stop under a street light, gasping for breath, and in horror. 

The Villain was dead, killed by the Hero. 

And the Hero was…

The Sidekick sank to their heels, curling around themselves, and wrapping their blood-speckled-hands around their knees. The ropes were still hanging from their wrists. 

With an agonized cry they struggled out of the coarse cords, flinging them as far away as possible. They grabbed their hair, failing to keep the panicked sobs from escaping. 

The Hero had become the Villain, hadn’t they? 

And that meant-

They were the Hero. 

Grey

A Hero/Villain Piece

In which a new, recurring side character is introduced: The Sidekick.

“So it comes to this,” the Villain sneered. Defiance flashed in their bruised eyes as they glared at the Hero from their knees. They took a deep breath, refusing to grimace as their ribs creaked. The Hero could hit hard when they wanted to. And if they were properly motivated. The Villain relished the satisfaction of a job well done, despite the pain. They had finally found the Hero’s weakness. At the cost of a few broken ribs and ruined coat, sure, but they knew how to plan for the future now. 

“Doesn’t it always?” The Hero asked. They looked impassively down at their nemesis. Blood covered the Villain’s face and stained their once impeccably white shirt. The sleeves were torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt was smeared across their chest, and their pants were ripped at the knees, their boots scuffed beyond repair. The remains of their coat lay in tatters around them, the fabric little more than threads. 

“Well, yes. But I’m usually the one standing over you crowing my victory.”

The Hero ignored the Villain’s jape, and turned to look at the wall behind them.

“Are you alright?” They called.

“Y… yes!” Came the quavery reply. From around the corner appeared the Hero’s Sidekick. They were battered and shaky on their feet, but at least they were alive. 

Seeing them, the Villain laughed, a harsh, maniacal cackle that frayed the Hero’s nerves. They’d heard that laugh too many times, and it never boded well.

“Stay where you are,” the Hero barked as the Sidekick approached.

“But they’re-”

“DO WHAT I SAY!” The Hero’s voice took on a quality that surprised the Villain. The Hero sounded… Frightened? Furious? That was interesting.

With a look that mirrored the Villain’s sentiment, the Sidekick stopped just out of reach. They wrapped their arms around their torso, shielding the cuts and bruises the Villain knew were visible through their thin, ripped shirt. After all, the Villain had inflicted them personally. 

Silence filled the warehouse, the sounds of the night-enshrouded city reaching the trio as if through a fog. It was one of the Villain’s favorite locations in the city. Just central enough to run the risk of getting caught, but just far enough out of the way that it was unlikely for screaming to be heard.

“I’m surprised,” the Villain rasped, breaking the relative silence. “I didn’t expect you to actually try to kill me.” They coughed, spitting a gob of bloody phlegm on the ground, disgusted with their mortality.

“You changed the rules when you brought them into this,” the Hero said, jerking their head at their Sidekick. “It was supposed to be just you and me. No one else.”

“Oh my darling Hero, such naiveté. It was never just about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“How can you say it was only ever about us with an entire city out there?” If it didn’t hurt so much the Villain would have gestured to encompass the surrounding metropolis. As it was, they sat up a little straighter, staring the Hero in the eyes. “It’s always been about them.” The Villain nodded at the Sidekick, who flinched as if they’d been struck. “About how they perceive us. How we affect them.”

“It’s not. You’re wrong,” the Hero whispered, anger flickering in their eyes. The cuts on their knuckles cracked open as they clenched their hands; blood trickled down their fingers.

“Am I?” The Villain laughed again, coughed, and sagged back onto their heels, supporting themself with an arm braced on the ground. Monologging was difficult with broken ribs. “Tell me, my Hero. When has anyone from the city ever asked about you, personally?”

The Hero’s silence was answer enough.

“Exactly. You see, it was never about us. It’s always been about our game, and what that game brings to news feeds and conversations. They don’t care about us. Hero, Villain. It makes no difference. We’re just actors to them, never mind that we live and walk among them. Even your lovely fragile Sidekick over there thinks so. Look at how they adore you, worship you, as if you’re nothing but an idol.”

“Then why did you bring them into this?” The Hero asked, eyes flicking to their Sidekick. They watched the exchange with rapt attention, proving the Villain’s point.

A satisfied smile crept across the Villain’s face.

“The game was growing stale. The masses’ attention was wavering. It was time to bring in a new player.”

Without warning, the Hero drew a gun from an inner pocket and leveled it at the Villains’ chest. Their carefully neutral visage cracked, their face filled with loathing.

The Villain’s eyes widened in fear for but a second before they schooled their own expression into unconcerned indifference. But the Hero saw the fear. Had they been looking anywhere but the Villain’s face, they would have missed it.

“Oh come on, really?” The Villain taunted. “Since when-“

“Since you made it personal.”

The Villain shrugged, the movement coming across as nervous rather than nonchalant. “It’s always been personal, my dear. Why do you think I chose you? Why I chose them?”

“Why?”

“You’re interesting. More interesting than other Heroes I’ve broken in the past. You’re resilient in a way that I admire. You remind me of me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

The Villain chuckled. “We’ll see, my dear. We’ll see.”

The Hero didn’t say anything, but kept the gun leveled at the Villain. The Sidekick looked from one to the other, trepidation and confusion etched on their young face. 

“Go on then, do it!” The Villain surged to their feet so the barrel of the gun was inches from their chest. “You don’t have what it takes, do you? To kill someone in cold blood? Not unless you’re defending yourself or someone you love.” The Villain spat, ’love’ sounding like it burned their tongue. 

An ugly sneer contorted the Hero’s face as they struggled to keep their hand from shaking. They swallowed, and the Sidekick pressed a hand to their mouth, their eyes riveted on the Hero. 

After tense moment the Hero lowered the gun, never breaking eye contact with the Villain. 

“I knew you couldn’t do-“ the Villain’s taunt morphed into an agonized scream as the Hero shot them in the leg, the crack of gunfire echoing through the warehouse with deafening violence. The Villain fell back to their knees with another scream as their leg buckled.

“Oh my god!” The Sidekick yelled in horror.

The Hero glared down at the Villain. An unexpected, not wholly unwanted sense of pleasure bloomed through them as the as Villain writhed in pain at their feet for once. 

“You talk too much,” they said, failing to suppress an ironic smile.

“That’s no reason to shoot me!” The Villain groaned, holding their bleeding, mutilated thigh with a white knuckled grip. 

Chuckling, the Hero crouched down and took the Villain’s jaw between their fingers, pressing the barrel of the gun lightly against the Villain’s cheek. Their pleasure only grew to see genuine fear and doubt cross the Villain’s face. 

“Perhaps not,” the Hero said, their voice icy. “But kidnapping and torturing my Sidekick is.”

The Villain growled, and jerked their head away. The Hero let them, standing in a fluid movement. 

“You said the game was growing stale,” the Hero continued. “But you’re not the only one who can change the rules.”

With a turn the Villain reluctantly appreciated, the Hero strode away.

“Come on,” the Hero said as they neared their Sidekick, gently taking their arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“But what about them?” The Sidekick asked, looking back at the Villain as they headed for the nearest door.

“Them?” The Hero looked over their shoulder, eyebrows raised.

The Villain snarled, lost their balance, and fell on their side with a grunt, blood oozing between their fingers to stain the concrete beneath them. “Don’t worry about them. Let’s go.”

The Hero and Sidekick were at the door when the Villain spoke up.

“Don’t leave me here, damn it!” They cried, desperation and pain tingeing their voice.

“You’ll be fine.” The Hero waved a dismissive hand, turning their back on their nemesis. “You always are, aren’t you? I’ll be disappointed if you don’t make a miraculous recovery.”

Without looking back the Hero guided their Sidekick outside, the Villain’s enraged, pained scream echoing after them. 

***

Fifteen minutes later the Villain staggered to their feet, leaving a trail of bloody bootprints in their wake.

Reaching the nearest wall, they sagged against it for support while they caught their breath. Their… everything fucking hurt, but their other injuries were pale trivialities compared to searing pain of the bullet wound.

With a grunt, the Villain pushed themself off the wall and kept going. As much as they wished they could call death and destruction down upon the city in petty vengeance, they knew that revenge was a dish best served cold and well prepared. 

Looking at the door through which the Hero had left, a satisfied chuckle shook itself from the Villain. 

During the Hero’s righteously indignant exit, they failed to remember their Sidekick. The Hero had been so determined to have the final word that they didn’t notice the youth glance back at the Villain, didn’t notice the look of reluctant, misplaced sympathy filling their eyes.

Oh, yes. The Villain thought. This time revenge is going to be sweeter than your cries of pain, my dear.

“You want to play that game, do you?” The Villain hissed, fear and pain replaced by furious determination.” They took another hobbling step forward and fell to their hands and knees with a strangled cry. Gritting their teeth, the Villain forced themselves to their feet, to take another step. A glint caught their eye, and the they reached down to retrieve a steel pipe. It was thin, if a little heavy. It would have to do for now. “Fine, we’ll play that game.” The Villain took an experimental step, using the pipe as a cane. They didn’t fall. “And before we’re finished, you’ll wish you had killed me when you had the chance.” 

Harbinger

A Hero/Villain piece.

The Villain sat back in their chair, swirling their wine with a practiced hand. The fifteen year old bottle of Syrah they had opened for the evening was perfect. They held the glass to their nose, inhaling deeply. They smiled, took a sip. The flavor started with dark fruits, predominantly blackberry. Rolling the wine on their tongue, the profile turned smoky, and as they swallowed the sip ended with a strong, full-mouthed cherry flavor that had them shivering. 

They sighed with pleasure. The grandfather clock in their entryway chimed eleven times.

“You know,” they said, addressing the rim of their glass as the last reverberations faded. “If you weren’t so damn rude, I’d offer to share.” 

“Who’s to say I want to share anything with you?” Came the response. 

Looking through the crystal clear glass, the Villain raised a sardonic eyebrow at the Hero, handcuffed to a chair opposite them. Faded bruises covered the Hero’s forearms, a scabbed cut marred their left cheek, and their hair, while clean, was a mussed tangle. Hidden under their shirt, a deep cut and other bruises covered the Hero’s torso.

“Considering the fact that we’ve been sharing the same residence for nigh on a fortnight, I would expect you to be a little less abrasive.” The Villain took another sip of wine, never taking their eyes off the Hero.

The Hero snorted and raised their hands, the chain between them clinking before drawing taut. 

“Says the person who chains their house guests to chairs.”

“As I have told you every day since your arrival, it’s for your own good.” 

Scoffing, the Hero slumped and winced as their shoulders shifted. 

“You were the one who sought me, remember?” The Villain’s eyes flicked over the Hero’s features, their posture, the way their hair fell into their face.

The Hero glared at the Villain. 

“That doesn’t-“ they began.

“But it does,” The Villain interrupted, voice sharp. The Hero fell into a sulky silence . “Let’s see,” the Villain continued. “As I remember, it was a cold and rainy night.” 

Rolling their eyes, the Hero resigned themselves to yet another monologue. 

“And I was just sitting down to a perfectly cooked rib-eye and French potatoes when someone knocked on my door. Pounded, more like. Intrigued, I got up, answered the door. And who of all people was standing there, dripping blood on my new doormat?

“I was not dripping blood.”

“You clearly hadn’t seen yourself,” the Villain lilted. “You passed out without so much as a ‘hello, may I come in?’ the instant the door opened. If I say you were dripping blood, you were dripping blood. A lot of it.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with-“

“My dear, it has everything to do with this story. Bloodied as you were, I had little choice in the matter but to take you in. Clearly something had gone wrong. Otherwise why would you, my nemesis, seek my house in the middle of the night?”

The Hero gave the Villain a peeved look. 

“Alright, yes. Fine. I was in a scrape and needed somewhere to lay low.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you came to me, the person you’ve yet to bring to justice.”

“I… Well you still haven’t explained why you cuffed me to a chair the instant I woke up and tried to leave.”

The Villain threw back their head and barked a laugh before taking another generous sip of their wine. 

“Darling, it is because you tried to leave that I cuffed you to a chair. You think I’m just going to let my favored nemesis leave after staining some of my best towels without having a bit of fun? Besides, I didn’t want you undoing my stitching handiwork.”

Even as the Hero rolled their eyes, they knew the Villain’s stitching was impeccable. They weren’t about to admit it though. 

“Well then. Why don’t you let me go since you say I am so rude and a burden? The cut is healed, you took the stitches out two days ago.”

The Villain sniffed. They stood, poured themselves more wine, and settled back in their chair with a sigh. 

“Point the first: I never said you are a burden, just rude. And point the second…” Their grin was wicked. “I will let you go when I tire of your company.”

Heart rate increasing, the Hero edged their chair away from the Villain. Yes, they had helped the Hero, but that didn’t mean they were to be trusted.

“Oh please, I’m not going to gut you,” the Villain said, throwing a leg over a knee, shoes gleaming in the low light. “At least not yet. Now why the hell did you come to me?”

The Hero’s jaw worked for a moment, trying to form the words to respond. The sudden shift in tone, from convivial to interrogative, had thrown them. 

“I… A job took a turn.”

The Villain quirked a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Fine. I was jumped. Outnumbered, taken off guard!” The Hero huffed, flustered by the unwavering stare. They hated that stare, and the Villain knew it. “I tried running, tried using my power, but I didn’t want to hurt the civs. One of the thugs knifed me in the side before I–“

“Did you use your power then?” The Villain’s calm voice was tinged with excitement.

“Yes. If I hadn’t the bastards would  have gutted me in that damn alley.”

“Kill anyone?”

The silence that followed was answer enough for the Villain. They started laughing. First quietly, barely a chuckle. A moment later they were laughing uncontrollably, the wine glass shaking in their hand. 

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” The Hero, struggling against their cuffs. 

“Oh but it is!” The Villain gasped. They were shaking so hard they barely managed to set their glass down without shattering it on the side table. “The fact that you killed a few thugs, even in self-defense… Tell me. Did you enjoy it?” 

Defiance flashed in the Hero’s eyes, but the Villain caught something in the Hero’s expression that paused their laughter.

“You did, didn’t you? You enjoyed watching the fuckers die by your hand, by your power.”

“I didn’t!” The Hero protested, despite knowing it was pointless. In truth, they had enjoyed it. The sense of righteous vindication gave them enough energy to make it out of the alley and to the Villain’s front door.

“Only a Hero would say something like that, denying they enjoyed giving the Villains their own back.” The Villain fell into another fit of cackles. The longer they laughed, the more concerned the Hero became. They’d never seen the Villain lose control like this, and it was more terrifying than any level-headed threat they made in the past.

In another few moments the Villain had regained their composure. 

“You have no idea how proud I am of you.” They said, fighting a grin. 

When the Hero didn’t say anything the Villain stood, unfolding from the chair like a flower. 

“I’m glad you came to me,” they said, stalking towards the Hero. “And not those saps at the hospital. Do you know why?”

“No. And I’m not sure I want to know.” The Hero strained against the handcuffs. Despite everything, they hadn’t worried about their safety – hadn’t felt threatened –  for nearly two weeks. Now they weren’t so sure. Fear coursed through their limbs with the realization they were completely at the Villain’s mercy. 

The Villain stopped a foot from the Hero. They crouched and took the Hero’s jaw between their well manicured fingers. “I told you I’ve kept you here for your own good, though you don’t believe me.”

The Hero grunted, jerking their head back. The Villain dug their fingers in, forcing the Hero to look them in the eye. “I did so because I don’t want you running off and getting yourself killed.” They leaned in, brushing their lips against the shell of the Hero’s ear. “That’s my job, darling. And when I undertake a job, I assure it’s properly done. None of these half assed attempts that leave you two-thirds dead and bleeding out on my imported Persian rugs.”

The Hero shuddered.

“Then why help me at all?” They whispered. Even though the Villain patched them up, they still weren’t strong enough to do anything useful. Like fight back, or escape. 

“Because, my lovely,” The Villain murmured. They pressed a kiss to the Hero’s temple. “When the Heroes fall, no matter how far, the game gets so, so much more interesting. When I let you go I want you to remember this conversation.”

The Hero shuddered. 

“I want you to know,” the Villain continued in a lover’s whisper, “that when we meet again as foes, I’ll know if you hold back. Do you want to know what I’ll do then?”

“What?” The Hero’s voice was rough with fear and something else they didn’t want to recognize. 

“I’ll make sure you and your cadre of Heroes never hold back again.”

The Villain pulled the Hero’s face closer to their own, mouths a breath apart. Before the Hero could sneer or resist, the Villain brushed their lips to theirs in a kiss before whisking back to their chair.

“You are free to go.” The Villain said, back facing the Hero, hand resting on their chair. They spoke as if they hadn’t just threatened the Hero with a kiss. “You’ll find the key to the handcuffs in your front pocket.”

As the Hero tried to processed what just happened, the Villain strode across the room and into their bedroom, closing the door quietly behind them. 

“What the fuck was that?” The Hero whispered. 

When the Villain didn’t return and the only sound in the apartment was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway, the Hero groped in their pocket. The key was there. Wasting no time they undid the cuffs. Standing, joints creaking and popping in protest, they crept to the front door. They were about to unlock it and slip away when they noticed their coat, bloodstains gone, hanging on a coat rack. Their boots, cleaned and polished to a shine, stood beneath them. Shaking their head the Hero slid into the familiar embrace of their coat, tugged their boots on, and came to a sudden decision. Tiptoeing back to the living room they splashed wine into the Villain’s empty glass. They took a sip and were pleasantly surprised. 

It was delicious. 

The Hero finished the pour, rueing the fact they hadn’t been more polite, corked the wine bottle and slid into an inner pocket. It was the least the Villain owed them for keeping them chained to a chair for the better part of two weeks. 

Finding a notepad in a drawer, they scribbled a missive and left it unsigned. Satisfied, they made their way back to the entryway just as the clock chimed twelve thirty. As they opened the door, the Hero cast one look back at the room before slipping silently into the misty night. 

***

The Villain emerged from their room late the next morning, clad in a satin dressing gown. Entering the living room they weren’t surprised to see the chair vacated, the handcuffs laying where they’d fallen, but they felt an annoying twinge of disappointment. 

Irritated at the sentiment, they shrugged off the feeling and retrieved their glass. They noticed the half-full bottle of Syrah was missing the same moment they noticed the notepad, placed more or less exactly where the bottle had been. Intrigued, they picked it up.

Best wine I’ve had in years. Thanks for “sharing” the rest. 

A smirk crept across the Villain’s face. 

“I’ll make a Villain of you yet, my darling Hero. Just give me time.”

With a chuckle they padded to the kitchen, mind already working on the next phase of their plans.