Katarina entered her bedroom and gently closed the door behind her, still somewhat bewildered. SwordBright was acting oddly, she thought, which in all honesty might have been the understatement of the century.
They’d never showed up to her apartment before, for one. In the year or so they’d known each other, as superhero and super villain, they’d never even had what you could call a pleasant chat. Oh, they’d bantered a lot, and trash talked each other with the affection and respect that came with knowing that this other person was going to become your great Nemesis. But it had always been work-related. They’d never interacted witch each other in their civilian clothes before, and Karry hadn’t expected the hero to even so much as recognize her without the makeup and the fangs. No one ever had.
Granted, she would recognize SwordBright anywhere, but that came with the territory, being what she was. Karry was a vampire in the same way as hot fudge was a gravy; only in a very technical sense, and the comparison was mildly upsetting. But she did have an excellent sense of smell, and SwordBright smelled like no one else that she had ever encountered.
They smelled good, that bastard.
And now they were puttering in her apartment, no doubt spreading their smell all around, touching all of her magical items without even being affected by them, and Karry snarled at the thought. She wrenched open her closet and quickly grabbed the darkest, most intimidating dress that she could find. She slithered into it, then grabbed a blood red chocker off her desk and tied it around her throat. She considered taking a minute to put on some makeup, perhaps some crimson lipstick or light foundation to conceal her deathly pallor, then changed her mind. She didn’t want to look like she was putting in effort to appear presentable, not when it was them who was trespassing on her territory.
Although she did admit their very presence here made her curious. The very fact that they not only knew where she lived but had also known how to get the elevator to take them there lent credence to their unlikely time travel story.
She’d been so stunned when she’d opened the door, truth be told, that she’d completely forgotten to just kill them on the spot, which should have been her first reaction. By the time she’d gathered herself, curiosity had also reared its ugly head, and now she was somewhat invested in this strange tale they were bringing to her.
She was having the weirdest day, to be quite honest. She’d been snapped awake less than an hour earlier by a strong wave of magic invading her body, leaving her tingling and breathless. She hadn’t felt magic like that in centuries, and had revelled in it. It had drowned her in waves of bliss and contentment, and she had luxuriated in it without question, too overwhelmed to care as to its source.
By the time she’d managed to catch her breath, there SwordBright was, knocking at her door as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her toes were still curling a little on the cold floor, the after-effect of the magic not quite done dissipating, but she didn’t have the time to deal with it. She swooped down the corridor and stormed into her living room, where the hero quickly snatched their hand away from a priceless (and very cursed) vase on a side table.
Karry glared at them and crossed her arms. It was midly off-putting to see her Nemesis without their helmet, looking so young and fresh without the bravado that having their sword in hand seemed to inspire in them. Out of their leather jacket, in nothing but a soft red t-shirt, they looked more like some confused teenager had wandered off the street. They were wearing combat boots, their hands were heavily covered with rings, and their soft brown hair was curling over their ears. They looked like some baby punk that should be at home, listening to that godawful korean pop music that was so popular right now and saving for a tattoo, not out in the street saving the world. Or worse, standing in the middle of a vampire’s apartment without even having the decency to look ashamed about it.
“Out with it, then.”
SwordBright looked at her, hesitated, then bit their lips. “I don’t know where to begin,” they finally admitted softly.
She rolled her eyes. “You had a lot to say in the corridor. How about you start at the beginning? Why are you here?”
They shifted a bit on their feet, and then seemed to take a decision, and sank down into her leather couch, arms and legs akimbo like a doll whose strings had been cut. They rubbed both hands down their face, and then let out a strangled, slightly hysterical laugh.
“It’s a long story,” they said. “But basically a Tyrant is going to rise to power and then end the world and I need your help to stop him.”
She blinked. “I’m going to need more than that. Help you how? And why me?”
They removed their hands from their face, and stared at her for what seemed like several long minutes. Their expression was… odd. Karry didn’t know how to read it, and she shifted uneasily on her feet. Even their aura was opaque in a way that she had seldom seen an human be able to achieve. Finally, SwordBright looked away.
“Do you have any coffee? Or something stronger?” they mumbled.
She might have felt offended at being ordered around her own house, but the mood here had taken such a sudden drop toward something heavy and uncomfortable that she crossed through the room without a word.
She busied herself in the kitchen, starting her fancy coffee machine and looking for mugs.
“You’re the most powerful person I know,” came the hero’s voice from the living room, quiet as if they hadn’t really meant for her to hear it. “Too powerful.”
She put both mugs on the counter, then reached for the small metal tin that was hiding at the very back of the cupboard. Gingerly, Karry added some cyanide powder to SwordBright’s mug then swirled the liquid with a disposable straw that she then tossed into the trash. They’d be immune to it, probably, as they were to everything else, but it was the principle of the thing. You just didn’t have coffee with your Nemesis without at least paying lip service to the idea of trying to kill them. It was in the Super Villain’s handbook or something.
She brought the coffee back to the living room, and SwordBright took their cup gratefully. Their hands did not brush, and yet Katarina felt a shiver go through her anyway at the small smile they gave her. She sat on the furthest chair away from them.
“So, a Tyrant,” she said, trying to regain control of the situation. She felt like everything was slipping out of her fingers. This should not happen. She was the Vampire Queen. She should have killed them already. “And how does that concern me?”
They shifted on the couch, blowing on their coffee but not yet taking a sip. “He’ll end the world. I mean, maybe not. But he’ll be responsible for the death of pretty much everyone in North America. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but. I know you don’t want that. I mean, you need people to worship you, don’t you? That can’t happen if everyone’s dead.”
Karry froze in the act of taking a sip, then forced herself to continue the movement lest the hero notice something amiss. Need people to worship her, they’d said, not want. That was a distinction that most people didn’t bother to make when trying to assert her motivation. That was too close to the truth of her for comfort. And yet, she could see in their eyes that they knew perfectly well what they’d just said. Worse, that there was more they weren’t saying.
“What’s your plan, then?” she asked, watching them carefully over the rim of her cup. “You want to stop the Tyrant how?”
They licked their lips, then took a sip of their coffee. Their eyes lit up, and they looked down a it in surprise.
“Oh, that’s good! Did you add anything to this? A flavoured syrup?”
She frowned. “I asked you a question.”
“Speaking of questions, and coffee, you wouldn’t happen to know if I’m working at Timmies right now, would you? Only, I don’t remember very well, this was thirty years ago but I still don’t want to be fired…”
“Stop changing the subject, SwordBright.”
“Oh,” they said, with a fake laugh and a wave, “you can call me Oasis, you know…”
“Oasis. Stop stalling.”
Their grin froze, and then they deflated, sinking down into the couch cushions. They put their coffee mug on the table, and then rubbed a hand down their face. When they looked at her again, they looked weary. Something in their eyes was old and tired, and it was a look that did not sit well on their young face.
“The Tyrant would be about eleven years old now,” they said, inflecting theirs words as if it was the beginning of a sentence, but then not adding anything to it.
“… and?”
Their eyes flickered, as if they wanted to look away but then forced themselves to hold her gaze. They set their jaw.
“And I always felt that if you have the chance to kill baby Hitler, then you should take it. Morals be damned.”
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