The Villain

The Villain stood atop the largest building in SLC, peering down at the ground beneath him. It was a beautiful day, if a bit nippy, and he enjoyed the view. He knew they would be here soon. He awaited their arrival.

The Villain felt a rush tingle up his spine. It flowed across his bones and flooded through his veins. Even his fingernails buzzed with the energy. His Power was an incredible one, all right. He just hoped it would stand a chance against the Sentenials.

The Sentenials were the super-powered protectors of the Salt Lake district. The Villain didn’t hold it against them; he remembered his younger days, when he had wanted to do the same thing. Now these people got to live that dream.

He flinched as painful memories flooded in.

He shoved them down.

If it wasn’t for the little fact that they had declared him their Archenemy, he probably wouldn’t care. In fact, the Villain might have even supported them. But, then again, he was the VILLAIN. Did it matter whether or not he only wanted the best? That he didn’t dislike superheroes ? That he valued life?

No, it did not. To them he was evil. To him they were good. His perspective didn’t matter.

BOOM

Here. They were here. It was time. The Sentenials lined up at the bottom of the building and peered up.

“Hello!”

There he was, the leader of this gang. Striker, he was called. The Villain narrowed his eyes at the man, knowing full-well the loser couldn’t see his face.

“If you could just surrender, please, that would be great.”

The Villain ground his teeth. “No, thank you.” He called back, his voice echoing through alleyways and down story after story, reaching the group bellow. “If you please, I would like to start dominating the world in peace.” He paused a moment, before adding, “Please and thank you.” He smirked at Striker’s obvious anger.

“Fine then,” he said, “We’ll have to stop you.” He flew up towards the roof, but not before smiling his trademark BrightWhite commercial grin at the camera crew. His cape fluttered behind him, his padded, light blue armor shining in the early morning sun. The two other flyers on his team, Sky and Elemental, flew up behind him. The Villain smiled and popped his knuckles before making his move.

He had calculated all of theirs.

First, he shot a Long-Distance Plasma X-sniper at Elemental’s left wing. Elemental gasped, clutched his wing, and fell through a cloud of fluttering feathers falling towards the pavement below. Before he even hit the ground, the Villain had whipped out his next Weapon of Choice. He had done research, and Sky flew through wind manipulation- disrupt that wind, and he doesn’t fly. He almost felt bad, pulling the trigger. Sky was one of the few that he actually respected. But anything between him and the goal had to be destroyed. Sky flew, unaware, through the ring of disrupted air and began to fall to the ground, robe fluttering around the edges as he fell. Throwing away the AerialDisruptor, the Villain pulled his power to his hands and concentrated on his next victim.

Their leader.

He prepared his blasts, but they hung on the tips of his fingers. This wouldn’t be a flesh wound or a bad fall. This could kill him.

Curse it! He thought. Curse it all!

He pictured the man in front of him as all the superheroes he had idolized before- the superheroes who he thought would save him.

The superheroes who let Lenny die.

The superheroes who never showed up.

With a burst of anger, he launched his Power at the no-good, self absorbed egotistical man before him.

And watched him fall.

Everyone below gaped as their hero fell back, fifteen stories down, unconscious. After all, this was the Striker! The man who saved SLC! The hero who never lost!

The news reporters, the Sentenials, the crowd, all watching as he fell.

One thousand faces, it seemed, that glared up at him when he landed. One thousand faces filled with all the rage, all the horror, all the hatred their minds were capable of.

And seven angry Sentenials charging up at him.

He braced himself. Would he be able to beat them? All at once?

Could he go on?

They arrived in groups, and with every new arrival, the Villain felt himself lose ground. First came Shade and Sword, the Ninja/Samurai duo, who attacked with every martial art they knew and every weapon they had. Before he could recover, Haywire, the cyborg, appeared. His giant, steel, spiked clubs were incredibly powerful, could probably do some damage, but they were heavy. He dodged three attempted strikes, but when a kick from Shade sent him sprawling, he barely managed to roll out of the way.

When Joyride, the All-American Motorcycle Cowboy drove up the Bastalder Building, the Villain knew he was screwed.

When Ogre, the stone, club-toting giant appeared, it just sealed the deal.

The other two members of the team, SneakStrike and n00b appeared, they hung back, spectators to his utter destruction.

Suddenly, a flash of red filled the Villain’s vision. He was down, but not out, and he was stronger then any of these wannabes.

He lept to his feet, and grabbed Shade’s fist. Looking at her, all he could see through the red haze was ENEMY. He didn’t see her, or her weapons, or the terrified look on her face as she looked into his glowing red eyes.

All he saw was ENEMY.

He threw Shade over himself at Sword, who had been about to slash him with his classic Katana. He clattered to the floor, a crumpled heap of armor and weapons. He turned and snatched Ogre’s club out of the air with one hand.

“Never,” he growled, “ever try that again.” His hand glowed red, and cracks splitered across the weapon. With one final squeeze, the Villain crushed the granite club like sandstone, and with his other hand punched Ogre in the chest. The punch cracked hard against Ogre’s solid stone body, but it was Ogre who crumpled to the ground. The stone slid off of him, leaving a man clutching his broken ribs in a puddle of molten rock. The Villain turned his gaze on his remaining opponents. With stunning speed, he broke SneakStrike’s helmet, dismantled Haywire, took out noob and blasted Joyride’s tires from under him.

As the red haze dissipated from his view, like steam in a hurricane, he was almost startled to see the devastation he had caused. Suddenly, doubt filled his mind. Was he really doing what was right? Would this really save the world?

Or was he wrong? He looked over his opponents, distributed on the roof of his high perch. Was there any sense to this?

His mind filled with images: people cheering for heroes. His own name. What people thought of him. But when his mind settled, it was his most painful childhood memory that came to the front of his mind. Lenny, standing in front of thugs, standing between them and his childhood self. He saw himself call for heroes to come, saw his friend’s brave expression.

Saw himself screaming as one of them drew his weapon.

No. He had to save them. Had to make sure that this never happened to anyone else.

He would stop hunger. Save the poor.

He would eradicate crime.

He stood on the rooftop and looked at the scenic view, and reiterated his childhood pact.

I will take over the world.

And then I will save it.

He thought and added one more statement.

No matter who gets in my way.