Author's Note: The next few chapters, save for flashback scenes, take place about the same time as a major event in Minikisa's "Of Heroes and Villains." I recommend giving her series a read sometime if you have not done so already. When we were both writing our stories, this was the first of a couple overlaps that had occurred, but you do not need to go read her first story to understand this one.

-------------
Chapter 06
-------------

A number of people, including Wyatt’s own family, always argued that hospitals were among the worst places for an empath or other psychic to be. However, that was why he loved working there. His mind could do so much, and he got so much practice tuning things out when it became necessary.

Doctor Wyatt Brooke walked through a hall—familiar by design, but different by the mere fact of being in another district of the city—to find a child pouting in the testing lab for blood work. He walked in, knowing the story all too well, and he smiled at everyone present. “Got ourselves a little fighter?” he asked.

“We don’t need any commentators, doctor,” said the nurse trying to administer the needle so she could draw blood. The most she’d managed was the rubber band around the arm.

“I’m here to help.” He knelt by the boy. “Hey there, what’s your name.”

“I’ve said my name a hundred times,” yelled the kid. “Just look at my chart.” Wyatt could only guess where the kid had learned his attitude from.

“Well then, how would you like a cool nickname? Like the Centurion of Founder’s Creek. No? Then what sort of name would you like?”

“I want to be like Princess Undercut.”

“Timmy!” urged another woman in the room, likely his disapproving mother. “You’re a boy. You should like boy things, or male role models.”

Oh, the things he wanted to say that would have made this woman’s head spin faster and harder than any carousel that Wyatt had ever heard of. He thought about the best thing to say then and there, continuing to hold the kid’s attention, continuing to sooth her mind without causing a major scene.

“You could always go with something like the Lotus Kick. Fight as hard as you need, and keep them guessing to the end.” And a lotus is a flower besides.

He had Timmy’s attention long enough now, who then said, “That’s awesome! You might be my favorite doctor ever. Why does my arm feel so . . . Whoa!”

“We’re done, we’re done,” said the nurse, getting ready to extract the needle.

“You tricked me.”

Wyatt put a hand on the kid’s head. He said, “You will thank me when you’re older and you are ready to take on the world. Look, see? The needle is all gone. You know what else?”

“What?”

“Watch.” Wyatt wiped away the cotton ball on the kid’s arm. The puncture wound was gone. Timmy looked back up in surprise, but Doctor Brooke pressed a finger to his own lips. They glanced at the overbearing mother, who was too busy talking to the nurse to notice, then Wyatt rubbed the kid’s head and left the room.

He loved the pediatrics unit. Even in dire situations, he could liven the spirits of everyone around him, except for those exceptional parents. It helped to make a difference, and making a difference helped him from losing his mind like his father had done.

Wyatt walked past another room, and swore that he spotted someone staring at him out the corner of his eye. He looked back inside of the room a second later, but the person he thought he’d seen was gone. Alright, maybe I’m still going to lose it. Thankfully, not as much as someone else was doing somewhere else in the city. He could feel it. It was as if some villain threw sonic explosives into the hospital, and then nothing. Nothing at all.

Doctor Brooke examined his surroundings. Everyone else went about their business like nothing had ever happened, but he could not feel them. He could not feel their emotions or minds. He hadn’t felt this lost in a long time.

Finally, someone screamed in a nearby room. He ran.

***

Tatiana rolled her shopping cart to her car with another week’s worth of groceries, plus a treat she’d found. Her favorite fruit pops were on sale. However, walking through the parking lot, she could not help but think that if it weren’t for the cameras and live witnesses all over the place, she would have teleported home with these groceries rather than taken up gas or dealt with traffic. It was too late now, she resolved.

Once the bags were in the back seat, Tatiana closed the door, and was startled by a pale, white-haired reflection standing behind her own. Tatiana turned, ready to defend herself and attack if need be, but she saw no one there. She turned again, and the reflection was gone. Her entry into her own car was a trepid one. She was confused as to what that was that she’d seen, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. She could have sworn she knew that face of the girl she had seen.

No, now was the time to head home. She started the car and left the parking lot.

A few minutes later, Tatiana had been driving along the road like normal when she was forced to slam her breaks. Her car stopped within inches of a man who’d appeared out of nowhere. The man was out of breath and wearing a costume. Not really caring if the man she’d almost hit was a hero or a villain, Tatiana honked her horn.

“Hey,” she shouted, “What’s the big idea?”

The man looked at her perplexed. He asked, “You can see me?” He had spent so much time running around being practically invisible. The Hard Wind only wore a costume out of formality. Well, that, and he loved the feeling of skintight outfits.

“Um, yes?”

“That shouldn’t be possible. My power is much too important for this. Well, I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“Can you at least get off the road?”

“Oh, certainly. I think you showed up not a moment too soon, my dear.” He got into Tatiana’s car, leaving her to wonder why she didn’t lock the door. “Baker and Sixth, my dear. Let’s go.” The Hard Wind then rapped a beat on the dashboard.

After a stern look toward the costumed man, a glance at the groceries, and another cold look at the unwanted passenger, Tatiana said in Spanish, [“You better be a hero, or I’m kicking your ass.”]

Tatiana drove on. The ground rumbled every so often, and she spotted more examples of metahumans losing their powers. Some people were arguing vehemently by car wrecks and a demolished fountain. At that instant, she noted once again to herself that she should have just teleported to the store and back.

***

Jeff directed another construction worker to replace a broken tool. That was the second power wrench this morning alone. It was going to be a long Monday, but Jeff was not going to be beaten by it, even if the entire mob family running Striga Island decided to rain upon the whole site.

“Do you go through those often?” asked the architect, who was present today, blessing everyone with a nasally voice. Jeff felt sorry for him for that.

“Not usually,” said Jeff.

“Oh, so a bad day then. It will pass.”

“Faster for some than others,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. Let’s not call it a bad day just yet. Bad energy begets bad energy, and we have a good job ahead of us. Let’s continue your survey of the progress we’ve made before the whole building gets finished.” Of course, there was no way that was going to happen today or tomorrow if everyone on the crew was both a speedster and capable of super strength. They only had the foundation and most of the frame up.

He walked with the architect who’d designed this project when, seconds later, Jeff spotted a pale figure far off to his side. It was a girl staring right at him. Jeff glanced over for a better look, but then his attention was taken away when someone shouted in general for everyone to look out.

Something fell to the ground from up higher than the building they were constructing. When the dust cleared, Jeff saw that it was not an object but a person. It was the villain Trash Knuckle, a hulking man known for brute strength and a foul stench.

Jeff yelled out, “Someone call for an ambulance, now!” He ran to the fallen man next, and knelt by him while trying to ignore the infamous odor. However, the smell was nowhere as bad as Jeff remembered from his last encounter as War Lagoon. At least the man was alive, villainy and heroics be damned. “You try to stay calm. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“You waste your efforts on me. I’ll crush you and everyone you care— ow!” Trash Knuckle yelped when Jeff pressed his head back down.

“Yeah? Well maybe that’s why you’re always getting caught and taken down by the heroes. Try a little restraint for once in your life, and let me help you.”

“You are as stubborn and foolish as a hero, yourself.”

“Stay with me now, and you will be just as alive in no time.”

***

None of his fire summons were working! Mortar Mage walked through the base trying over and over to make fire appear in his hands. This level of magic, and higher, was second nature to him, but nothing happened. Nothing, that was, until he got to the meeting room and passed the table. He had a flame in his hand, albeit a small one. He walked away, and it was out. Mortar stepped back toward the table to find the fire reignite. After a few simple gestures around the table area, and finding the flame to be at its strongest near the ceiling above the aforementioned furniture, he spoke aloud:

“Computer, what is going on?”

A feminine voice replied, “Unable to process small talk.”

“No, my powers. What is going on with my powers?”

“Field: unknown. Unknown: unknown.”

“Helpful as always. Is this base under attack?”

“Unknown.”

“OK, is this city under attack?”

“Unknown.”

“What about the planet? Is any field greater than Paragon under attack?”

The computer paused as if to calculate. “No.”

Mortar Mage said, “Just the city then. Computer, scan the city for cause of anomaly.”

“Unable to comply. No such utility installed.”

“Oh, right. I meant to do that. Just how many unfinished projects did I have before we all left?”

That wasn’t meant for the computer, but it answered anyway. “Four hundred. Ninety. Seven.”

“That many? Well then, I’ll have the list on my desk by morning.”

“Number 283: build work desk with lasers and overhead. Disco ball.”

“That was supposed to be a figure of speech, computer. Oh well. I suppose I should act fast. I know what project I’m working on first, and there’s no telling how much time I have left before this anomaly ends. Computer, where did I leave my work equipment?”

***

Maryann wrapped her head in her hands. Her wings were out, and not retracting. They had been this way for over half an hour now. Out one window, Mary could see the blackout that now affected Founder’s Creek. Something was wrong, and she wanted to do something about it. But what? She paced about one room of the estate when Genine entered.

“Mistress Mary,” she said, “What is troubling you?”

“Have you ever felt like you were supposed to be out there, doing good for the world? I feel like I should be in costume. No, I know I should be one of those heroes out there.”

“That is most unusual, Maryann.”

“Heroes and villains usually are. But, I was a hero and not a villain before this, right?” Her old human memories continued to struggle for room inside of her head. Right now, the older, more powerful memories as a demon slumbered, allowing for her humanity to act. “Yes, I’m sure of it. I was Adamast Cross.”

“Forgive me, Mistress Mary, but Adamast Cross is a man, and you clearly are not. I-I mean no disrespect.”

“You’re right about that. I’m still getting used to it, but I have this gorgeous female’s body now. And . . .” Maryann collapsed on Genine, “And I feel so drained. Why is that?”

“Mistress?”

“It feels like I held a couple shields against a bombardment of cannon fire for so very long. Ooh, pretty lights.” The candle lighting in the next room was starting to make her giddy. “You’re shaking, Genine.”

“Please no, Mistress. We were hoping there would be time before this happened.”

Maryann pulled herself away. “What do you mean?”

“You need to feed.” Genine walked toward the kitchen. “Max, Sean, it’s time. Mistress is in need.”

“I’m not hungry, though, I just feel a little drow—whoa! What was that?” Her insides rumbled, and Maryann noticed something else. Her skin tone was changing from peach to red. Her demonic memories stirred, but the human ones held on. “Genine?”

Genine covered her mouth with her hands. She looked sad and frightened. She inched toward her mistress, and guided Maryann to her bed chamber. Maryann sat down on her bed, and Genine waited inside her room against all of her teachings until the other servant mages arrived with two other men who barely had any clothes on.

It was then that it clicked what was going on inside Maryann’s head. Her succubus power was draining too fast. It needed to replenish, which meant feeding on the energy of men. The thought made every part of her quake.

“I can’t do this,” Maryann said.

“You have to,” said Max. “We feared this moment because of what it could mean for us, but you have to. If you don’t feed within the hour, then you’ll lose your mind.”

Sean said, “If you don’t feed on these men, then . . .” He wept in fear. “Please, Mistress Mary, we don’t want the alternative to happen.”

Maryann asked, “Where did you even find these men?”

“Hard criminals, Maryann. Each of them was guilty of unspeakable crimes, and preserved through magic until needed. They are not yet fully conscious, because we are holding them here. Once Max and I are outside of this room, they will know only that they stand before a beautiful woman that they cannot resist.”

This made Maryann turn her head in shame. Thoughts raced through her head demanding that she toyed with these men until their final moments. There had to be a better way. Her conscience kicked and screamed. The demonic memories of pleasure and lovemaking bobbed at the surface of her soul.

Genine crouched by her and said, “Maryann, will you not accept this offering?” The poor thing held back her tears as best she could, but if only she knew the power of words. The power of a question when all feelings and actions teetered on a string. “Mistress?”

“Leave them, and get out.” Her heart sank, and the demonic memories took over. “Now.”

All three servant mages scrambled for the door, but they made a terrible mistake. The door was closed before Genine could get out, leaving her to bang on the door while the others were outside panicking. She turned to find her mistress disrobing herself, and the two prisoners becoming aware of their surroundings.

“Genine!” said Max. “We can open the door for you if you think you can make it.”

She cried back, “No! Don’t do it. It’s too late.”

Maryann, in all of her naked glory, pointed to one man. The demon had taken over, but her pesky soul and feelings on the matter continued to pout in the corner. This had to be done. It was best to get it over with. The first man was already approaching with a grin on his face while she slipped a pair of fingers along her slit.

The first man was no gentleman, and he wasted no time slipping his member inside of the mysterious horned woman. Upon touching her, he lost himself in unknown pleasures and desires; the kind no human being could ever know. And he began thrusting. Deeper and deeper. The man she’d chosen could not hold back.

Meanwhile, the second lifted the screaming girl by the door. “Hey you, let’s have a little fun while we wait our turn,” he said. “Have you ever had a real man?” The second man grabbed for the girl’s breasts under her shirt and robe. Her screams only turned him on more, but then the other man yelled.

Maryann was a succubus, more powerful than any that had walked the Earth in hundreds of years. The man inside her shot load after load of life energy, unable to stop until it was too late. A remarkably potent high washed over Maryann, and it increased with every burst and every thrust. All reservations about this being wrong made a leap for the window seconds before the first man rolled and fell off the bed in a yell. His body turned to dust.

Inside what was left of her mind, Maryann knew what she had done. She knew she would remorse. However, it did not stop. It couldn’t. The rest of her cried out for more while she laughed like a lunatic.

Her second offering pointed at her in fear and anger. He broke away from Genine as if hoping to find sanctuary inside of the adjoining restroom. In haste, Maryann whipped around behind the man, and he fell back into her arms. His willpower broke while she said, “Is your evil nature not working out for you? Here, let me make it all better!”

Maryann threw the man onto the floor, and pounced on top of him. He was turned around and reduced to a sex toy in seconds. She slipped that cock inside of herself, feeling like a transcended being upon being impaled. Maryann ground her hips into the man, played with her breasts, and fell back when the pleasure exploded from within. The burst of pleasure held for a time before coming back down, but not before the man climbed on top of her and continued trying to dig deeper into her flesh with his own. His grunts got wilder. A second orgasm threatened to go off like a bomb inside Maryann’s torso that was doomed to spread everywhere. She lost herself in the feeling, in another high. That was the last she saw of the man, because he was as dead as the other one when her still-aroused mind came to.

Genine cried by the door. It was locked now, and the guys had fled. She felt the need to play with herself in spite of her fear. She was tempted to betray a promise she’d made long ago. Then she saw her mistress standing over her.

Maryann reached down to her, and said, “Here, let me comfort you.”

The mistress pulled up her servant, and carried her on the bed. No sooner had Genine crashed onto the mattress than the mistress joined her. Maryann kissed Genine. Fear and the need for pleasure clashed. She screamed out.

But there was nothing the servant girl could do except give in.