Chapter 44: Chapter 44

Ishtar watched the duel as it came to an end, she was glad she had the forethought to set up night-vision cameras inside the room. She crossed her legs and regarded the screen for several moments before a mental flex instructed it to shut off. She glanced back at Kingshark and met his gaze. He looked a bit sick, his eyes fixed on the monitor. His hand rubbing a spot on his neck as if it ached. She waited for him to realize she was staring at him and he lowered his hand, clearing his throat. “A wound?”

“Firestorm left a mark that won’t heal right,” Kingshark growled, “It’s not a problem.”

“Do you want me to heal it?” She asked patiently.

“No, ma’am. I don’t want to forget it,” He said cooly and looked back at the screen, “He changed, part way through the fight. Before the lights went out.”

She looked back at the blank screen and nodded, “Yes, he did,” She ran her fingers over the desk thoughtfully, “I’m going to call it Pandora Sickness,” Ishtar said and stopped her fingers, “An already skilled and or strong person gains powers from the flash, and it goes to their head, fogging their mind and leading to… unfortunate mistakes.”

“Makes sense,” Kingshark growled, “And what, he snapped out of it?”

“Pushed him into a corner enough that he realized his abilities aren’t all powerful,” Ishtar said clinically, “Push anyone to the brink of death and they’ll understand their own mortality.”

“That sounded personal,” Kingshark pointed out.

“It did, didn’t it?” Ishtar murmured, “Call Dupe in.”

“Yes ma’am,” He said and turned away, walking to the door and opening it.  A dark skinned young man covered in tattoos walked inside, his head held high. His hair was swept back into a neat set of cornrows and his eyes were sharp as razors. Ishtar turned in her chair to face him and he quickly took a knee, his dark suit creaking a bit around his muscular body. She tilted her head up and looked down at him. “This is Dupe, mistress.”

“Dupe, an interesting name,” Ishtar said as she leered down at him.

“I thought it fit,” Dupe said crisply, “Mistress.”

“You aren’t afraid of me,” Ishtar said, more as a statement rather than a question.

“You called us your children, what kind of decent mother would hurt their kids?” He responded quickly, “I’m more excited than anything else.”

Kingshark was about to reprimand him when Ishtar let out a raspy laugh, “I like him. Stand up Dupe and tell me about your ability, I understand it came in handy tonight.”

Dupe got to his feet and straightened his suit coat, “Yes mistress,” He said with a nod and crossed his arms behind his back, “I can make living duplicates of myself, three so far, but I feel like I can make more in the future. We share senses, though they aren’t as self aware as I am. They’re currently watching the building.”

She nodded, “Useful, and the other feature?” She asked.

“If I have access to enough of a person’s genetic material I can make a dummy of them. It’ll be genetically identical down to general physical appearance, dental, and bone structure. I used a clipping of your hair to make the fake in the storage room, mistress,” He reported quickly, his eyes gleaming with barely restrained fanaticism.

I like him.

“Very good work, Dupe, I’m going to need your help very soon I imagine, but for now you deserve a reward and I need to ask another favor from you, so we’ll call it an exchange,” She said and got to her feet, extending her hand, “How about a deal?”

“Anything, ma’am,” He said hesitantly and looked at her hand before getting a nudge from Kingshark, “O-oh I have to-” He put it together quickly and moved in, taking her hand.

“I’m going to ask you to keep your mouth shut about anything you learned about me today, Dupe, seeing even a facsimile of my true appearance is dangerous after all and I would rather not silence you in other ways,” Ishtar explained, “In exchange and as a reward for your excellent craftsmanship, I have a gift for you that would pair well with your powers.”

Proceed.

There was a flash of pandora’s light and Dupe winced, his body tensing as the ability left Ishtar’s warehouse and entered his body. He gasped and pulled his hand away after a heartbeat, stepping back and looking down at his fingers. He looked up at her in wonder, “Woah…” He breathed, “You… wow…” He murmured and flexed his hands, a dagger made of green flame appearing in his hand. He hesitated for only a moment before closing his eyes and concentrating. “They can do it too!”

Ishtar turned to Kingshark, “He has talent, keep him close,” She turned back to Dupe, “Where are you from?”

“The boss called me in from Seattle,” He said.

“Put him in charge over there,” Ishtar commanded, glancing up at the door, “It’s time.”

The door opened and Marta strode inside, her skin unblemished but her clothes torn in many places. It seemed that even the lurker hide that made up part of her gear wasn’t enough to block Razor’s attacks. Ishtar looked on as Marta dragged the man inside, his armor had melted off of his body and was likely in a pool in the room they’d fought in. She inclined her head towards Marta, “How are you?”

“It’s just pain,” Marta said a bit gruffly, “I think my ability numbs it a little.”

Ishtar gestured to her side and Marta moved over to join her, standing one pace behind her out of respect. “Secure him,” Ishtar ordered and Kingshark strode behind the assassin, his arms turning into tentacles and wrapping around his chest. He squeezed down a little to make sure he was secure and the man let out a burbling groan of pain. Ishtar walked over and held her hand out over his head, pulling Hands of the Healer out of her warehouse. His deeper injuries began to mend, cuts and scrapes fading in an instant. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open.

–

Light flooded Beyol’s eyes and he winced, taking a shuddering breath. It didn’t hurt. Strange, how long was I out? He thought before the memories of the fight came rushing back to him, How am I not dead? Became the far more important question. He shook his head, trying to fight off the cobwebs as his eyes regained focus. He looked down at himself, his armor was gone and there were some kind of leathery looking masses wrapped around his chest. He could feel the suction cups against his body, Tentacles? He thought and looked up into a pair of cruel hot pink eyes.

His blood ran cold.

The woman standing over him wore a helmet and combat gear, her hand was glowing a strange green color that faded after a moment. White hair ran down her back, Chernovna? He thought, squinting at the helmet. He glanced past it and spotted the maid standing behind her, her hands resting in front of her in a polite pose. Has to be, she’s here, he thought and then looked back up at the eerie figure again. “Who?”

“I am Ishtar,” The woman said.

He froze, The goddess that thug was rambling about? She’s real?

“Finally we get to talk, Beyol,” She said coldly. Her voice sounded… awful. It made him feel sick.

Why am I still alive? Why is she keeping me here? They already know who hired me, what more use can they get out of me? He thought quickly and then paused, a frown creasing his features. He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you want from the Night Society?”

She loomed over him and seemed to grow bigger in his vision, it was like the entire world went dark and all warmth drained away. He felt a chill wash over his body followed by a pressure that sat on his chest and weighed on his mind, he gasped, shrinking back a little. It was like she was everywhere, her presence all encompassing, omnipresent, almighty and terrible. His mind tried to rationalize what he was experiencing, it was like the first time he’d looked up at the master during training. A presence so honed for death that even being near her felt like a deadly mistake.

“I want you,” Her voice echoed, practically in his head.

The pressure eased and he let out a cough, his muscles losing all strength as small convulsions rocked his body. Not convulsions, I’m… trembling? He looked back up at her, I’m terrified. He tried to breathe, tried to think, tried to do anything. It felt like his powers weren’t even properly responding to him, the metal in his veins churning but he couldn’t bring it up, not even through his pores. He felt wrong, twisted, broken?

“You hate how it feels, don’t you?” She asked him and leaned in closer, “Powerless even after feeling invincible for so long? Sloppy, stupid, wasteful, reckless,” She chastised him and each word felt like a physical blow. “How does it feel to have a clear head, finally? To know your place.”

He tried to look her in the eyes but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, he felt hollow, empty, even with his mind clear he had been nothing but a punching bag for her subordinate in the end. She’d crushed him. He couldn’t even speak, he just hung his head in defeat, his shoulders shaking.

“Do you want power, Beyol?” She asked him, her terrible voice in his ear.

He whipped his head up, looking her in the face, she was so close, that unfeeling screen covering her face lording over him. “What?” Was all he could ask.

“I asked if you want power, Beyol, power to never feel like this again?” She asked tilting her head to the right and standing up straight, “I can give you power, Beyol, real power, Mythic power,” She said, “But what are you willing to give up for it?”

He felt his spirit shake as he stared back at her, those unfeeling eyes unblinking, her rigid pose, she barely seemed human. Is that really Sonya Chernovna? He paused, Or is Sonya the mask? Is this the real person? He wondered, Power? What does she even mean by that? You can’t just give someone pow-

“I gave Handmaiden her power,” Ishtar cut into his thoughts.

His jaw fell open as his gut twisted, “You… gave it to her?” He glanced at the maid who didn’t even bother looking at him, just nodding along. He looked back up at Ishtar, numbness washing over him, She can just give people powers?

“I asked you a question, Beyol, what are you willing to give up for power?” She repeated herself.

To not feel like this again? To not be afraid of the Night Society after they found out he failed? To be truly powerful like the maid? What would I give up? He tried to think, to rationalize, to work it out, What could I give? What do I even have to give in exchange? Money? I doubt she needs money. He looked up at her again and tried to work his mouth. She's powerful enough to have Kingshark and his gangs, Handmaiden, they all answer to her without question. Is this what it means to be a villain?

I want that.

Something on his face must have changed because Ishtar glanced at Shark who’d been holding him with his tentacles, “Release him,” The tentacles retracted and he fell to his knees, his head pressed against the ground. “Well? Speak up, Beyol.”

“Anything, I’ll do anything for it, I’ll give you everything, I’ll give up the Night Society to you, I’ll give you my soul!” He begged, clenching his fists as tears welled in his eyes, he slammed his fist on the floor, “Please, give me power, I’ll worship you, I’ll give up everything, please!”

“Your soul?” She snorted, “What am I supposed to do with that?”

He looked up at her, beaten, “I…”

“I suppose that and the rest will do,” Ishtar said and held out a hand, her merciless eyes boring down into his own, “It’s time to make a deal, Beyol.”

He looked at her hand and hesitantly reached up, taking it.

“Steelblood is the name of your power, hm?” She said thoughtfully, her vice like grip holding him. She regarded him thoughtfully, “I wonder, would you like to participate in a little experiment, Beyol? If it works out, you’ll become very strong, if it fails, you’ll probably die.”

He swallowed, he couldn’t say no.

“Good boy,” She hissed and a flash of light began to build between their hands, it ran up his arm and he felt his blood begin to churn in his veins.

He gasped, a searing pain working its way through every cell of his body. He clutched at his chest as his blood boiled, his acute awareness of his blood thanks to his ability making it so much worse. He could feel it changing, twisting, the chemical makeup of his own blood warping in a horrible way. He screamed and collapsed to the ground, fighting for his life. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart and his own distant cries of agony. He kicked, struggling for life as he felt his veins bulge in his neck.

He pulled up his hands and saw his veins turning a dark purple color, What is…

BA BUMP

His chest heaved as his heart beat and the warped blood worked its way through him. It felt like he was rotting from the inside. He could see something dark pooling around him, jet black, it was inky and wrong. It coiled around his flesh as if trying to protect him. He reached up as the pain continued, endless, mind shattering, horrible. Nothing had prepared him for it, his training as an assassin was like kindergarten compared to the nightmare he was living.

I’m dying, he realized, I’m dying!

He reached for her helplessly, she just stood and watched. “You have to get through this on your own, Beyol, but when you do, you’ll be reborn as a Supervillain,” She said with that same awful hoarse rasp, “Be proud of what you’re becoming, it’ll be over soon.”

He rolled onto his chest, coughing and forced himself to his knees, his hands on the ground. He looked down at the blood he’d spit up, a metallic purple that stood in stark contrast to his inky black shadow. It was too dark, a solid black beneath him. What is happening to me?