Greetings, Villainous Kitty
I've come with an absurd writing request.
How about a hero (who used to be very idealistic) who violently murders the people who supposedly killed their lover, the villain (you said you didn't get enough characters going feral and murdering ppl n stuff so here we are)
Except the catch is, the hero discovers the villain is alive. You choose how they react.
No pressure at all and definitely no rush. I hope this wasn't too unoriginal, and it's completely fine if you don't want to write it. . .
Also you're very very talented and your writing slayssss 💙💙
In all honesty, the hero didn’t know they were this good with swords.
Usually, they didn’t use equipment for close combat and especially not those which were made to cut and tear. Protection was supposed to be their top priority. A commandment they obeyed like none other. After all, training had designed them this way: to protect.
“If you do this,” the superhero said, “you’ll never forgive yourself.”
Their heavy breathing broke their voice in many places. As well as the blood in their throat and the pain brewing in their shattered leg. But the hero had little sympathy, had little compassion to spare. Within hours, their entire world had been destroyed. Now they knew that they could destroy entire worlds within merely seconds.
“That’s what you want? Play god? Kill whatever you want?” The hero hadn’t realised, had never really recognised it but tears were running down their face, together with all their emotions.
“Jealous?” the hero asked. They weren’t ashamed of the tears, weren’t ashamed of the suffering and the sins they were committing. They had nothing to lose and they only killed those who deserved it. They felt like this was the first time in years in which they brought justice to the city.
“I remember when you were a child,” the superhero said. They smiled softly as they held a nasty wound on their side. “So scared but so bright. You always asked if you could give the rest of your food to the guard dogs.”
Yes, they supposed that had happened.
“I never had a kid. To have you was enough.” Ashamed, the hero realised that they’d let their guard down. So, they pressed their blade into one of the superhero’s wounds and watched as their superior twisted in pain, screaming when the hero turned the sword a bit.
“And look at us now,” the hero said. “Look at what you did.”
And the superhero did. They looked at the building the hero had wrecked, the wires hanging from the ceiling and the destroyed furniture. At the dead guards and the glass. A calamity.
“You killed them. You killed the villain,” the hero said as they pulled the sword out of the superhero’s body. “You slaughtered them like an animal.”
“It had to be done—” the superhero wheezed in response. They took in greedy gasps of air but it wasn’t enough. Blood was in their lungs and they would die soon.
“I loved them.”
“And I loved you. I loved you like my own child.” The superhero stretched out their arm, probably so they could touch them. But the hero just looked at them, two lines of tears drawing into the dirt on their cheeks. “I couldn’t let them destroy you.”
For a long time, the hero watched them. How they fought for air and how they tried so desperately to survive their injury. But then, they made up their mind.
“Forgive me, then,” the hero said.
“I always will,” echoed the answer and that was all the hero needed. With a horrible crunch were they able to put the blade through their mentor’s chest as tears dropped down onto their hands. There were little noises of protest but soon enough, they died when the blood came.
They sat there for minutes, watching the lifeless body of the superhero being completely motionless, unresponsive. And the hero cried, couldn’t do anything but cry into their own hands.
They were a failure. Doomed to shatter. They couldn’t believe how many people they had killed and how many of those were close to them. What had they become? What was wrong with them?
After half an hour, they could barely move. Their whole body was shaking and they were too tired to use their muscles. They just sat there, watching the cold body.
But, then.
“My love.” The hero turned around, thinking this was a cruel trick. “Do you want me to take you home?”
They weren’t quite sure if the hand on their shoulder was real. They didn’t know if they only imagined their lover.
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