Winding Roads {A Creative Writing Journal}

Who Knew Him Best (W2R Round 7)

It is every villain's dream to watch the hero fall. As our battles grew more intense, my schemes became more elaborate. And every time I met Hex's eyes in battle I wondered if today would be the day that he would go down in a blaze of glory with me standing over him as the victor.

But he won every time we clashed. Sometimes by a landslide. Other times by an inch. But the outcome remained the same—good prevailed and with astounding publicity. The cheers of a relieved crowd and the open adoration of a young protégé always caused a sickening sensation to pool in the pit of my stomach.

     But I relished in our battles, and I could tell he enjoyed the game just as much as I did.

Hex—loud, boisterous, clever Hex—would never go down quietly. I knew him too well to believe that he'd keel over without a fight. He would go down swinging, and it would be glorious. I'd see to that.

     So imagine my surprise when his little sidekick was the one crashing down my door instead of Hex. I never bothered to learn his name—never needed to—but the boy's stormy countenance and the outcry of the city both on my monitor and in the street made me wonder if that had been one in a long line of mistakes.

    "You killed him! You stole my mentor from me!" the protégé exclaimed.

     I frowned and stared into the cold blue eyes of the mewling teen behind a familiar ebony mask. He was wearing Hex's mask. A muscle in my jaw twitched. How dare he wear the mask of my nemesis as if he were ever worthy of it!

    "You dare accuse me?" I replied with an elegant sweep of my violet cape. All of the greats wore capes. I should know. I'm one of them.

    "You killed him!" the boy repeated, and if I weren't so angry, I'd roll my eyes.

    "If I were the one to kill him, our places would be reversed," I explained, "I would be telling you. No, actually, you would have been there, so close and yet still out reach as you watched the light fade out of his eyes. But it appears we have both been robbed."

    My greatest dream stolen by another. How many times had I imagined ripping off Hex's mask before his adoring crowd? How many times did I dream of delivering the final blow before his unnatural luck could catch up to my master plan?  Whoever stole Hex from me would pay, and I would make it a slow, agonizing death.

The sidekick shook his head, and I wished he'd do it with enough force to shake off Hex's mask. This unremarkable child didn't deserve his mantle.

"I don't believe you," he whispered just loud enough for me to hear, "You killed him, and I'm here to avenge him."

The boy fell into a fighting pose, fractal spheres of ice hovering in his open palms. A smirk teased the corners of my mouth. Hex's luck may have saved him time and again from my assortment of traps, but the scales had always fallen away from him when it came to protégés. This one had no one to save him.

     I could still easily remember Hex's boiling anger after his first sidekick died. The poor girl died in a car wreck not of my own making, but Hex thought I was to blame. So full grief and anger, I understood his need to blame another.

    That battle was so different from our usual games. He gave no warning, no snarky remark or explanation. He only glared with fury and launched into battle before I could even ask what he was doing in my lair. I didn't even know about his precious little girl's demise until the end of the battle, where he basically shouted that I was to blame for the drunk driver hitting her, his eyes never leaving mine as he held his lucky knife at my throat.

    I compared that memory to the scene before me as I easily dodged the icy blast aimed for my head. The anger was there—loud and furious like a vibrant wildfire.