I Am (Not) Your Hero

6

Miseal watched her from the camera. She spat poison. Always angry, never a nice word to say. But her quips were always hard hitting. It was what he liked about her.

He switched the camera to news channels. Things had been peaceful, allowing him to take time with his Starlette.

He went down the stairs into the foyer. It was the second day since he'd taken her. He'd unlocked her from the chains but the room itself was locked from the inside.

He opened the door.

"Oh...I'd hoped you'd died," she glanced up at him, one leg propped up, her arm on her knee. Her curly hair on her shoulders. Her brown eyes simmered with disdain.

"I hate to disappoint," he smirked.

He sat down. In the room was just one chair, that he sat in, and she glared at it. Though he'd given her free range of the room she stayed put.

"So..." she said lowly, popping her lush lips, before licking them. Her brown eyes settled on him. "You want to be a hero."

She trailed, looking him up and down before fixing her eyes on the wall for a moment.

"And they tell you are. You're tall, abnormally so. Muscular. Also abnormally do. Your hair is shiny, your teeth is white and your eyes are weapons."

She chuckled, pulling at the end of his shirt. Then she stopped. She stopped talking. He frowned, leaning forward.

She chuckled, putting her hand over her mouth. "Is the great Smite into degradation? Is that what this is? Hm? Got sick of the world praising you, so you need someone to tell you you're the piece of shit you always knew you were?"

Smite smirked. Biting. Vicious. Thrilling really. His fascination was unending. He enjoyed looking at her. The swirl of dislike and attraction made him feel ill.

He'd never felt ill.

He once drank milk that was expired for 10 years. The whole gallon. He was completely fine. But this? This feeling was what he imagined drinking decade old milk should feel like.

Nauseating. Like a swirl of acid in his digestive track, trying to fight it's way up, burning up his esophagus. How exhilarating! Nothing like he'd felt before. He leaned back, his legs spread.

"Whatever you'd like to think, my little star." He shrugged.

Starlette just stared him blankly.

"I'm good, you know? I do good things."

"Good isn't just something you do, Smite. Good is something you are. And...I don't think you can make yourself be something like that."

She scoffed and looked away.

Miseal looked over the planes of her face trying to read her expression. Why was she so hard to read? And why wasn't he? He'd never had anyone question him, his morality—his standing as a genuine hero.

And here she was, spitting her venom, such anti-him rhetoric. For what? He cocked his head.

"Did I miss a family of yours?"

Her eyes widened. He leaned forward. "That's it isn't it? Someone died. I wasn't there? Maybe you called for me, and I didn't answer —"

Starlette lurched toward him violently.

"You are not my fucking god, Smite. I don't call your name when I need help."

But it was too late. She'd shown too much of a reaction. He smiled softly, benevolently.

"So that's it. I understand the resentment. But even as powerful as I am, I can't be everywhere at once, Starlette. It pains me, but I cannot save everyone —"

Starlette's lip quivered in disdain. "You...are not god."

Smite sat back and shrugged. He crossed his bulging arms, content that he'd finally gotten to the bottom of her hatred.

"Then tell me who is. Where is He? Have you seen Him? Will He rescue you? I'm not God. But I'm closer to you then He's ever been." He whispered, leaning in slowly, his eyes trained on hers. "What that says about Him...what it says about me...I'm not sure."

He chuckled. "But I think it says a lot about your odds."

Starlette's anger was sucked from her, into the vacuum that was his malice, the room growing clammy from the heat of his eyes. She closed her eyes, resigning herself to her fate, to his hand. Because one thing was correct—whether god existed or not, whether He cared or not—right now, Smite was closer to her than anyone else.

"Fine then," she whispered, looking away, sweat forming on his skin. "You tell me, Smite. What are my odds? What do you want with me? What's your elaborate scheme?"

Smite's lips turned up, his teeth gleaming.

"I don't have one. I have no clue what I'm doing. Biggest difference between me and god isn't he?" He mused, standing. "He's always got a plan, doesn't he?"

Starlette scoffed as he stalked away. "Where are you going, Smite?"

He smirked over his shoulder. "Me? I'm going to be a hero, Starlette."

He shut the door behind him, the air finally cooling at his absence. Starlette put her head between her legs and inhaled gently, looking down at her shaking hands.

He was toying with her. He found it all so amusing didn't he? She seethed to herself, putting her head against the wall.

He'd see. She'd ruin him. One way or any other, Starlette decided.