Chapter Text
As always, he kept to shadows. Not only did it keep him from being easily spotted, one of his biggest assets was his opponent’s fear. And seeing the feared creature of the city melt out of the shadows damn near made some people run just from the view itself.
Mysterion was known for being the one you didn’t want to run into at any point of your life. He did not work with the police, he only came out at night, and no one who was innocent ever saw him up close.
The only people who came face to face with Mysterion were the worst of the city’s scum, and never were truly the same afterwards. He left them in a state for the police to find and arrest them and had killed at least one man in the past year. The city was terrified of him, the other powered beings gave him a wide berth.
Again, it all came to fear. Mysterion’s greatest power was not his regeneration or revival, it was how he could make others afraid of him. They left him alone. In return, he only really took bad cases with bad people. Little things he left to the many, many, crawling masses of little heroes that wanted to prove themselves.
And so, when Mysterion came across a robbery at a jewelry store, he didn’t so much as blink.
It was a little standalone store, about ten minutes before they would lock up. He watched, waiting. He could grab them when they left the building if no one else showed up. No weapons, just demands, they were no longer talking to the associates and were just grabbing things from the case.
He leaned against the brick wall of the opposing alleyway, waiting. The night was mainly quiet, a newspaper lightly skittering a couple inches further down the alley, a discarded soda can rolling into the dumpster. Mysterion remained silent and still, watchful. He didn’t really delve in stupid, everyday thieves anymore, but he wasn’t going to let some dumb fucks get away with this. He might be able to just step in their path and make them panic. Not waste his time.
The wind whipped at his cloak as he watched the robbers inside seem to argue with the third one. Definitely not a career criminal case, over here. He narrowed his eyes. It almost wasn’t worth it. Someone dumb enough to start an argument with his group was bound to get caught regardless. Dumbasses.
He stretched, lazily, and the next minute the wind grew so wild it actually flipped his cloak up from behind his back to over his face.
Mysterion swept it back over his head with one arm, alarmed. Debris was flying through the air and the newspaper made its way from one side of the street to the other, and across from him, he saw a quick movement of something wide turning thin and then a person emerging from the darkness to slip into the front door of the jewelers.
The hero wasn’t even recognizable to him, and he kept tabs on everyone who came into the city to influence in either heroism or villainy. You had to know who your friends, and most importantly enemies, were.
He didn’t even look like a hero. Dressed in some kind of jumpsuit, almost, in grey-blues and with silver diamond-shaped patches embedded in his uniform, the guy looked about Mysterion’s height and slightly wider. He didn’t get a whole lot more to observe before things quickly went south.
Turns out there were weapons, and they were being drawn. Mysterion drew the line at firearms. Too many variables. He made his decision quickly and flew in the front door.
It was too bright for his comfort level, but he had already taken down a man before people even processed what was happening.
Mysterion grabbed the back of his neck and had slammed him face-first into the glass case. The man was screaming, crumpling to the ground with blood pouring from his nose, and the other two assailants were already frozen.
Stupidly, so was the other hero, the teal-clad man openly gaping at Mysterion showing up in the middle of a well-lit store. He was wearing some stupid hat, like an old pilot wool-accented hat, his face unobscured but everything besides that covered in dark cloth.
“Don’t just stand there!” Mysterion roared at him, as one of the men brought up his gun again. He cleared the bloodied, cracked glass case, charging at the man to take his attention. He hated being shot, dammit, but as far as he knew he was the only person who could handle it.
There was a sound, a sort of humming, and blue light shot from behind Mysterion’s shoulder to make direct contact with the gunman’s chest.
He flew backwards, cracking his skull against the corner of the desk. Two down. Mysterion kept on his charge, redirected to the other man, who had decided to turn the gun towards an associate, probably wanting leverage.
Mysterion took him down, there was a shot. One of the jewelry workers screamed, and the wind picked up again.
Inside?
He was forced back, roughly hitting his back against one of the walls, the assailant forced against the other.
The teal-clad hero was pale, but seemed to be the one controlling the wind. He had a hand raised, expression firm, staring down the gunman.
Mysterion went for him, wanting that gun away from him. The forceful breeze ceased, he heard the hero swear, but kept his attention on taking away this man’s weapon. This guy was a bit out of his weight class, and without being rendered immobile the man managed to shoot the gun two more times.
He’d shot him. He knew the burning, aching feeling without even looking. And all it did was piss him the fuck off.
The vigilante grabbed him by his neck. The man’s eyes widened. There was the fear. He lifted him off the ground with one hand, and he could breathe in the terror pouring off him. Motherfucker. Mysterion smirked, hot blood soaking his other arm, rendering it useless for now.
There were sounds going on behind him that meant a struggle. He mentally shook himself, throwing the man down and kicking him once, unconscious, turning around to see the boy standing over the first man Mysterion had taken out.
The blue boy was uncertain, looking over at the crouched employees who were staring back unharmed. Sirens were going off. They needed out.
Mysterion grabbed the stupid-ass kid by the sleeve and bullied him out the door.
“Outside, straight ahead, go,” He demanded, and the kid spoke for the first time.
“You were shot!” He exclaimed, alarmed. “We can't leave these people with-”
“No time, talk after, go,” Mysterion dragged the stupid boy across the road, back into the shadows. The boy fought him at first, but as soon as he realized he was hearing sirens suddenly he was all cooperative.
As for Mysterion, his nerves began to ease. He led the kid further away from the scene, red and blues lighting up that piece of the street. They'd be fine.
The newbie kept pace with Mysterion, though he seemed to have trouble seeing in the dark at first. The vigilante slowed his pace after a while, arm burning. He needed to rest, heal. This was a bad part of town but not one that would mess with Mysterion if they saw him. He finally stopped, leaning against a building and clutching his arm.
The kid was there immediately, all concern.
“Are you okay?” He asked, voice serious. He touched him, literally touched him, on the opposite shoulder and waited expectantly.
Who did this motherfucker think he was? Mysterion stared at him. No one would dare touch him, the only reason he even managed it was because he didn’t expect anyone to be stupid enough to do so. He could snap his fingers off if he felt like it. So why the fuck was he being touched?
“You’re new,” He incredulously spoke. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“I’m guessing you’re Mysterion,” The boy said, lifting his chin. “What am I supposed to be scared of you or some shit?”
He…wasn’t sure what to say to that. He opened his mouth and closed it, unsure.
“How bad are you hurt?” The other hero asked him, thumb firmly tracing over his good shoulder. Mysterion nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Don’t touch me,” He warned, and the other hero rolled his eyes and let go. Fuck, it had been a while since he’d been touched. Aside from Karen, he didn’t think anyone ever even got close to him. He struggled to get his mind back on track. “I heal quickly. Give me a moment.”
The hero eased back, nodding slightly and leaning back against the opposite building. He moved to unclip something from his uniform, something about four feet in length. A pouch of some sort, which he took something out of and began placing it back neatly.
“You’re an…Elemental?” Mysterion guessed, watching the boy put poles and polyester back into the pouch.
“I suppose,” He said, sounding cool and focused. He’d gotten some nice bruises that were sprouting but didn’t even seem phased. He spoke directly and without apology. “I go by The Human Kite, I’m too new to have people assign me somewhere yet.”
“Human Kite, really?” Mysterion scoffed, and that seemed to annoy the other.
Kite glanced up, slowly standing to his full height. He was about the same height as Mysterion, though he didn’t have the same heel to his boots that Myst did, he might be a bit taller. The boy cocked his head, arms crossed.
“Are you wearing underwear on the outside of your clothes?” He jabbed, and Mysterion’s mouth twitched.
“Mm.” Okay. So he was a sassy little brat. “You seem a little young to be running around here.”
“I’m in my twenties, actually,” Kite snapped, face coloring.
“Ah,” He said, trying not to look surprised. Few people actually jumped in so late in age. Typically powers manifested themselves early, and people acted one way or another on them. “Looking for a career change or something?”
“Or something,” Kite replied, hands on his hips. “What are you, a brawler?”
Brawlers tended to be very bottom-of-the-food-chain as far as heroes went. For some reason, they were associated negatively and Mysterion didn't consider himself one of them. Not when you knew the whole story. This boy had clearly researched but knew nothing in practicality about this world. Mysterion pressed his lips together.
He was pretty. Lean body, strong jaw, pretty cheekbones. Dumb name, of course, but he’d probably be picked up as a favorite anyway, just because he was cute. That and his fiery way of speaking would earn him points. Even the way he stood, full of biting sarcasm and mockingly tilting his head. Oh yes. This would be a favorite.
“I’m something different,” He decided to reply, coolly. “I’m not sure you know, but I happen to be what everyone is afraid of.”
Kite rolled his eyes. "You sound proud of it."
Mysterion lifted his bad shoulder and regretted it immediately.
“You get some bad press,” Kite finally said, watching him wince, “From what I’ve seen. I do actually know who you are.”
“And yet you’re sassing me left and right,” Mysterion took a breath, hand finally leaving the wound. It was sealing up again. Finally. “You should be afraid I’ll break your femur.”
“I am not afraid of you,” The new hero declared staunchly. A lazy smile curved Mysterion’s lips. “You started years ago with small, petty crimes and now you’re stopping the worst villains this place has ever seen. People once regarded as untouchable. You seem like one of the good guys.”
Mysterion was interested. He spoke so fearlessly. “I’ve never declared myself one of the heroes of this place.”
“You’ve never declared yourself anything,” The boy scoffed. “And I don’t blame you, seeing who some of these ‘heroes’ are.” Mysterion watched him lift a shoulder. “You came in to help tonight. I could have handled it myself, but the fact you-”
“Yes, I was meaning to say that was terrible,” Mysterion interrupted him. “You rushed in without assessing the situation and they were armed. What if they’d turned the gun on one of the employees? Fuck, they actually did, and if I hadn’t been there-”
“What, were you just watching the whole time?” The Kite said incredulously, bristling at the insult. He went from almost reverent praises to irritation at the drop of a hat. “At least I acted! If there’s people in trouble I’m not going to sit by and observe forever.”
“I was assessing,” Mysterion clarified, and the boy waved his hand aside as if swatting a fly.
“So maybe I jumped in too quick, but exactly how long were you watching?”
“Don’t turn this into something,” Mysterion warned him.
“You’re the one starting it!” The Kite threw back, and this guy was not scared of him whatsoever.
Somehow, he had no want to change his mind. Mysterion merely tilted his head, looking him over. The spitfire personality was familiar. Soothed something in him he didn’t realize had been bothering him. Someone fearless and ready to go toe to toe with him.
“How long have you been in the city?” He asked, a softer tone edging into his voice. Perhaps The Kite noticed, because his eyes narrowed briefly before watching him warily.
“This is the first night I’ve been out,” He admitted.
“Mm,” Mysterion said again, thinking. So he wasn’t a kid, he technically had some serious powers that might come useful, but he was entirely too naïve to survive unscathed. Mysterion had died several times before he got this right. This forceful little firecracker was bound to fall into trouble.
“What made you decide to drop into the game?” He asked, watching him closely for his response. “It’s not easy now, with so many of us running around.”
“That’s a bit personal,” Kite said bluntly. “Why are you in ‘the game’, then?”
Fair enough. Mysterion said nothing in response. His curiosity was piqued. He looked him over again, then smiled.
“What about your powers?” He asked something more neutral. “Wind and light?”
“I guess?” The Kite tugged on his hat. “I’ve tried to work out what I am. My family has no other powers. I can shoot light from my eyes. I can manipulate wind a little, I think? Which is what I use this for,” He tapped the long, thin polyester pack he’d messed with earlier. “Flight.”
Eye lasers were a bit silly and impractical, but the one thing that caught his attention: “Flight?” Mysterion repeated, surprised. “That’s…unusual.”
Kite shrugged. “What about you? If you’re not a brawler, what are you categorized as? Sounds like you have healing abilities.”
“I do,” Mysterion kept his actual powers secret for a few reasons. “I tend to be quiet about what I can do, however. I have a lot of enemies.”
Kite’s eyes seemed to glitter with interest at that. He was curious, but thought enough not to ask. He was quick. He was quickly growing to like this new one.
"And still you don't seem afraid to step into whatever fight comes your way," He said, sounding almost admiring.
"Neither do you," Mysterion found himself pointing out.
"I can handle myself," The hero more or less boasted. He looked confident, fired up and ready for another fight. Mysterion bit the inside of his cheek.
God, the attitude. He was starting to feel almost a fondness for this new enthusiasm. The pool of heroes in the city currently were stagnating. Not many seemed to give a shit anymore what outcomes their actions had. This one seemed brash, sure, but also seemed to care. Mysterion bit down hard and made his decision.
“You are in danger the way you are right now,” Mysterion said, honestly. He held up his hand to stop any arguments. “It took me years to figure this out. But I’m willing to offer something I haven't for anyone else yet. I’ll acquaint you with the city.”
Kite’s eyebrows raised. He caught on immediately and was surprised. “The Death Angel of Lightchester wants a partner?”
So he had researched him.
“I don’t take partners,” Mysterion quickly affirmed. “But I’m willing to act as a guide.”
“I’d agree to that,” The new hero said surprisingly quickly, a quirk of a smile on his face. “Only, don’t expect me to follow orders or anything.”
“Yes, I’m getting the sense that wouldn’t work,” Mysterion found himself accidentally teasing. Whoops. This was…this really was not part of his persona. Was he flirting? Had he been flirting this whole time?
The Human Kite didn't seem to notice and was grinning, eyes sparkling. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Just fine,” Mysterion went back to his rougher voice.
“Good. I’ve looked at parts of the city, but I know there’s patterns I will never be able to get on my own,” He said, moving straight into a businesslike tone. “What do I need to worry about and where?”
And just like that, Mysterion found himself mentoring a new hero.