The Stranger

The Fight- Villain's POV

Her eyes are like fire. She stares me down. It's surprisingly warm tonight, with a gentle zephyr. The sun ducks low, as building all around me burn bright in lights. Out of all sky scrapers the city offers, it just has to be on the tallest one. 

The one I'm standing on, that is.

Stars crawl out of hiding as the sky drains from its pink-ish colours. I breathe in. The smell of roses emits from her clothes. It's funny how I can smell her from so far away. My palms grow sweaty. The scythe stands tall in my hands. The blade glistens in the dying sunlight, all fresh and clean. I've wrapped the handle in some kind of bandage wrap I found in one of my captive's pocket. It serves as a nice grip, especially for times like these when my palms could provide enough water to make a desert into a rainforest. I can feel the wind brush past my hair. It's picking up now, the wind. Yet, someway, somehow, it's still uncomfortably warm.

 That's when I see her. One hand empty and stretched out, the other holding what looks to be a spiked mace. Odd. She's encircling me, so I mirror her actions. Having this fight on top of a sky scraper, more specifically the helipad, wasn't something I was hoping for. Or expecting. Someone tricked me. I saw on the news that the hero was in trouble. The video consisted of her upside down with ropes tied on her legs, as she swayed in the air, begging for help. 

I was gullible enough to believe that.

I still don't know why I dragged myself here. Why I couldn't resist not helping her. But I'm glad I get to see the hero again, same old her. The hero's eyes shine bright. Bright enough that they could be the next sun. It's eerie how bright they shine in the darkness, nothing reflecting off them. But it's comforting seeing them. 

At this point, we've been circling one another for a minute or two. None of us even attempting to close the space between us. 

'Nice cloak you got there, villain.' The hero taunts, her voice sounding melodic. She's snickering, probably at my outfit. And to be honest, that kind of hurts. All I'm wearing is a tucked in blouse, with a corset, and leather pants; all in black. As well as the cloak I'm wearing. I can understand why she's laughing. But if I'm going to be blasted on the news because I 'caused a mass genocide', then I want to look good while doing it. I also want to look good for her.

 Black strands of hair sway in the wind, my eyes never straying from hers. My eyes aren't any different than my hair. Each pupil melts into the darkness. I'm the embodiment of death.

'Laughing at my clothes now, are we?' I respond dryly. I look her up and down. 'Your outfit looks just as hysterical as mine, hero.' Taunting her back, I steady myself for a fight. As we continue to circle each other, I lean forward. 'Say, you weren't just dangling from some random poll here, were you?' Her eyes widen. 'It was all on the news. I saw it with my very own eyes. And there I was, actually thinking you couldn't save yourself. The poor little hero unable to save herself. How sad?' I mock her. The hero's lips twitch, her eyes widening with each sentence that spills out of my mouth. I have no clue what I'm bickering on about, but I love how mad she gets. And I love how good I am at it. 'So, why don't we put you up to the test? Let's see if you're as weak as people think.' She's distracted with my play on words.

I run to her. Scythe in my right hand, powers jittering in the other. She's standing still. Like predator to prey, she's an easy target. I'm aiming for her face, ready to strike. Holding my weapon in both hands, I lift, and-

Her senses kicked in. She's rolling away from me. This ugly, toe-sniffing, idiot just dodged me. Yeah, I don't think I'm good with insults, but you get the point. 

'Aww, she knows how to dodge.' Making fun of her is pure entertainment. The hero gets so riled up. And for what- to gather that rage into a punch only for her to miss? How sad. Really, it's so terribly sad. I snicker at the thought.

'What you laughing about?' The hero tilts her head and dashes straight towards me. The mace in her hand twirls. I can see it. See the rage in her eyes.

'Careful now, hero. Don't want to burst a blood vessel.' This really gets her going. She's throwing punches left and right. I dodge her every time. I swipe my foot across the floor. The hero falls backwards on the hard ground, and I hear something crack. No clue what it is, but I'm not wasting time before I land a hit on her arm with my fist. It was weak. I have to admit, but my left hand isn't the most strong when it comes to fighting.

Heck, my entire left side isn't.

With a flick of her wrist, she sends me flying across the floor. I tumble, then lay on my belly. 

This rascal. 

I pull myself up from the floor, the hero is running straight towards me with immense speed. She's almost right infront of me when our eyes lock. They're tied into each other. Time seems to stop for a moment, both of us still. I remain standing, and so does she, before I remember why I'm here. Shoving my the heel of my scythe into her stomach, she arches over. My left hand heats up, fire tingling at my fingers. 

'Maybe the hero really is weak. Let's see.' I begin to kick her over. She falls, then scurries away on all fours. But she's not quick enough. I slash my scythe along her back. The hero squeals in pain, blood already gushing down her.

'You,' she begins, 'forgot who I am.' She stands up on her feet, legs wobbling. 'I'm the hero. I don't die, and I never will. So if you think-'

A small flame shoots her way. It skims the side of her exposed leg. 

'Enough of the sloppy talk.' I take a step, attempting to close the space between us. 'You're the hero, everyone loves you, and then you win. It's as simple as that.' Another step. 'But this isn't just your story. This is-'

I'm being choked. Wind squeezing out of my lungs. 

'Enough sloppy talk.' The hero repeats at me. Her left hand scrunches in a fist. She's using her power against me, and I hate to admit it, but it's strong. I can feel my lips turning blue, and my head getting lighter. 

Then, it all stops. Her hand's at her side, and I gasp for air. Gently placing my left hand over my chest, I feel my lungs rising and falling.

'Who's the weak one now?' She scoffs, and I can feel her gaze on me. It's burning into me; as hot as my power. She's running at me with very little space between us. I need to act fast. 

The spiked mace is soaring in my direction, and I bring out my scythe to block it. Then, the hero punches my nose. I fall backwards, grasping my nose bridge. 

Jeez, she punches hard.

As she's about to jab me in the shoulder, I grab her wrist and turn it behind her. I slice her back again, this time I cut deep. I can hear her hiss, grinding her teeth trying to suppress the pain. Too bad, too sad, little hero. Then, she topples me over her head. 

For such a small human, she sure is strong.

My back meets the floor, pain shooting up my spine. 

We continue this dance of hitting each other with our weapons, then our powers, then our physical force. I've shed a lot of blood, but so has she. Time passes by, and the air gets hotter. The suns now long gone, with a moon providing us some light. But the cities buildings are already here for that. 

The hero's chucking her mace on the floor behind me, as hands rush to meet where I hold her shirt. The tips of my fingers -in my free hand- brush her lips. Then, a spark. I burn her bottom lip, tracing my finger up to the top lip, then up her nose all the way to the bridge. I continue this trail to her eyebrow. The hero's eyes glue shut. I know she's in a lot of pain, but let her prove to me how strong she is. Let her prove to everyone else. 

We remain like this for a few seconds. Our fight has gone unseen, with no one around us to witness this. The helipad is quiet, no one here. And there's no helicopter in the air to record us. 

'Are you ready to admit defeat, hero?' I smirk at her. 

Then, I'm falling forwards towards absolutely nothing.