Visionary had known the outcome of this battle even before it had begun. The heroes before him, in their brightly colored costumes, were ill-prepared. They shot around the battlefield, laughing at each other's antics and knocking over infrastructure like over-excited puppies. It was honestly a little embarrassing. The villain felt like a circus performer, twirling and twisting for their delight. He could have finished the battle already, the group clearly outmatched by someone who had been in the game for so many decades, but he figured he ought to drag it out. He didn't want the people of Thorngale to get it in their minds that he was not a force to be reckoned with. Still, as he summoned trees from the ground and caused the lamplight illuminating the deserted streets to flicker, he couldn't help but feel unfulfilled. The superheroes that he had fought in his youth were nothing like the ones before him now, willing to get bloody and put their lives on the line. They had spent years strengthening their powers and, while none of them had managed to take Visionary down, there had been a number of close calls. He'd come away from fights with missing teeth and broken bones but the victories had been worth it. Today though, victory meant nothing. It was like stealing candy from a child - worse even because at least a child would scream and cry over the loss of their treat. The heroes before him didn't care whether they won or not. They were there for the show, displaying their abilities in grand gestures that made fights seem like show and tell, and they made the aging villain an unwitting actor in their performances.

  Visionary could have killed them on innumerable occasions and maybe in his younger years, he would have considered it. However, they were all that was left of the superhero community. The true heroes had disappeared one by one throughout the decades. Some fell in the line of duty, villains much like him taking pleasure in their demise, and others retired - slipping away to never be seen again. So, instead, he fought on, making the battlefield a collage of his own design. He created sinkholes, made cannonballs out of trash cans, and even created suits of armor from the wasteland of destruction the heroes left in their wake.

  Still, every fight felt the same. There was no creativity. No artistry. Visionary had not had a fitting muse in nearly a decade and as time wore on he came to dread putting on his disguise. He found himself wishing more and more often to stay home and enjoy the copious amount of books left to collect dust while he made a name for himself. There were days when the uniform, which had once been his pride and joy, felt like a straightjacket. Still, at least his power was able to be released. As he fought the three heroes he could feel it running through him, as essential to his being as the blood that kept him alive. It relished in the way the heroes stumbled through his attacks, struggling to maintain what ground they had with their ineffective fighting style. It was like a drizzle of water after traveling through a desert - needed but in no way satisfying.

  At least this fight had something new to balance out the tedium - a hero that Visionary had never seen before. A newcomer, one that had come independently of the city's golden trio a handful of minutes after their arrival. He fought alongside them, but not exactly with them. It was clear that the little pests hadn't expected his arrival. Watching them struggle to come to grips with his appearance was - well - something to entertain him if nothing else. The pack leader, a lightning summoner who Visionary hadn't bothered to remember the name of, seemed almost frustrated that he had joined- upset that he was taking their spotlight. The new hero didn't seem to care though, ignoring the trio's antics in favor of the fight.

  “Visionary, it's time for you to go.”

  The villain rolled his eyes as the hero's pitiful attempt at authority echoed around him. He pulled a tree from the ground, forcing the roots to mold to his will. “You're a new one. Need to work on your timing, you missed the start of the fun.” His teeth flashed beneath a vicious smile. “Running behind were we? What, was your suit too tight?”

  The new assailant was standing in front of a building that dwarfed him. Flickering flames extended from his hand and illuminated his masked face. “Good line, I think I read it somewhere, a newspaper article discussing a fight of yours I'd assume. Are you running out of material in your old age?”

  The older man snorted, the faintest of smirks crossing his face at the quip. “Touche.” He bounced to the side to avoid a fireball, landing delicately behind a shield of concrete that formed around his clenched fist. He could feel the heat of the fire as it lit up the contents of a trash can behind him. “So, are you trying to make the golden trio into a quartet?”

  “Those three?” The hero raised an eyebrow at the three heroes standing in defensive positions at the edge of a roof. “I'm not associated with that lot.” He spat the words out, his lips twisting in distaste.

  Another fireball. Still not close enough to hit him but near enough that Visionary could smell the unmistakable scent of singed hair. “No?” The villain quirked a brow in turn, ducking and rolling to avoid the hungry flames snapping at his heels. “That's probably for the best.”

  “Clearly.”

  The three heroes, watching on the sidelines, seemed to realize that they were being discussed from the sidelong glances the two fighters were throwing their way. Clearly, they were done for the night - pleased with the show they had put on and unwilling to take part in the battle taking place before them. In quick succession, the panting toddlers scurried away, their vibrant costumes like beacons that faded into the midnight sky. Visionary couldn't help but roll his eyes. Heroes today were utterly fragile, unable to hold their own in even the most basic of fights. Part of him wanted to bring a blindfold to his next appearance, just to see if he could defeat the lot of them with a hand tied behind his back. Though, it probably wouldn't be much of a challenge. In fact, he doubted it would even be considered amusing.

  With the three heroes no longer available as a distraction, Visionary turned his full attention to the last pest standing. “What do they call you then?”

  “Ember.”

  Visionary glanced behind the inferno of a hero, noticing a conveniently placed stoplight a few feet away. A twitch of his fingers had the metal holding it uprooted. “Well, I'd like to say that it's nice to meet you, Ember, but I think I've had quite enough exercise for the day.”

  With that, he blinked and the metal changed shape, taking on the form of a manacle. The hero had only a second to recognize the jangling sound of the chain before it clasped around his wrist. Visionary snatched the other end and clasped it to a bus stop seat. The hero was left to stumble to his knees, his face taking on a look of disgust as he fell on the junk that people couldn't be bothered to properly throw away. His nose wrinkled at the putrid scent wafting beneath his nose.

  The orange-clad man grumbled, glaring up at him and muttering curses as he struggled to free himself, but he didn't seem afraid. Fire flashed through his eyes and the villain knew that he would be right back in the fight as soon as he could melt the manacle enough to free himself. Better wrap this up quickly then.

  Visionary smirked, calmly leaning his body weight to one side. “I'll give you this, you have heart.”

  “This isn't the end of this.”

  “I'm afraid it is, at least for today.” Visionary turned, waving lazily over his shoulder, and melded into the shadows nightfall provided. “See you around, kid.”

  ~~~

  The next few weeks were dull, and Visionary couldn't help but feel like each battle was dragging on. They were mundane - entirely routine. Hit here. Jump there. A song and dance that left Visionary sleepwalking through life. He couldn't help but reminisce, remembering with fondness the feeling of his heart racing in his chest as he stared into the passion-filled eyes of his opponent. These heroes? They were nothing. He was shocked that their egos didn't crush them. They had perfect white teeth and their uniforms looked almost pristine. Yet, it wasn't because of their skill - unless one considers running away a skill - in which case they were quite adept.

  No, they were frauds. Visionary had tried to deny it at first, hoping that the vigor of youth would give way to a determination to succeed. Yet, years passed and Visionary threw his all into his fights, yet, despite his advancing age, he received very little pushback. Of course, they came to each fight, chests puffed up and striking ridiculous poses for what television stations dared to come to witness the fight, but the battles themselves were lackluster and the villain found himself having to hold back to keep from destroying them.

  The villain knew he was no longer in his prime - the years of boredom had given him all the time in the world to come to terms with that fact. His hands were wrinkled, the small lines intersecting the collection of scars that the villain had acquired at the strike of much greater foes. His back ached, no matter how much effort he put into ensuring the foundations he summoned to his will held him steady. Even those eagle-like eyes of his, which had helped him see all the possibilities hidden just beneath the surface of the day-to-day world, were failing him - his power weakening as the years went on.

  Honestly, any hero worth their salt should have been able to catch him and toss him into a jail cell to be forgotten by society. In fact, Visionary was starting to crave that cell that had haunted his nightmares in decades past. At least then he would have known that there was still a hero out there worth the fight. He was starting to feel stir-crazy. Even the crackle of his power beneath his skin no longer brought him joy. It still raced through him, building up like water behind a dam, but the delight at seeing it released had all but dried up. He had spent so long cultivating it - taking on broken bones and swathes of scars in the name of strengthening his skill. Now, amidst these heroes, he couldn't help but wonder if it had been worth it. All that sacrifice and for what? Some pompous little creature who could barely fly straight to buzz around his head. He thought not.

  But what was he to do if no hero was up to the task? He had never been interested in ruling a city. It seemed like such a strenuous undertaking. Besides, who wants to climb all the stairs to city hall on a daily basis? Not him. Not with his knees the way they were.

  Ember, the little hero that had been popping up here and there in battle, was the only true bright spot in the proceedings. He utterly ignored the news anchors and cameras, keeping his focus to give the fight his all. Sure, his technique could use some work. He was new to the game, but just under that god-awful suit, there was a person - not just a performer. Visionary found himself disposing of the three bugs as quickly as possible to focus his attention on the stubborn man. It didn't bring back the spark that had once been such a blaze within his chest but it was something and Visionary was determined to find out what it was.

  ~~~

  It all came to a head on a rather inconsequential day in the dead of summer. The fight was only just beginning but Visionary's dark suit was already soaking up the sun's rays - cooking him like an unappetizing chicken. The heroes, huffing and puffing, were struggling to keep up with even the half-hearted attacks Visionary sent their way. The people of Thorngale had run, screaming and crying as they always did. They left purses and shopping bags in their wake. A high heel lay abandoned on the sidewalk. The area was desolate except for one elderly man who had fallen, his cane kicked out from under him in the scramble.

  While Visionary had clocked him immediately, the heroes had failed to notice him. Their focus was entirely on the gusts of wind and lightning they were summoning to bring the villain down. Their ruckus laughter was grating on his nerves. The teleporter, a tall woman in a purple get-up, was at least trying to engage him, only to stumble into the holes Visionary created under her feet. All the while, the man lay there, struggling with everything in him to stand. The lightning summoner, that little pest, was causing the sky to darken, the bolts of electricity falling from the sky haphazardly - his focus entirely on the bolts of light illuminating the area in bursts of pale blue and white.

  Visionary was just starting to consider whether it would be worth his time to step in and save the man from the heroes’ incompetence when Ember came racing onto the scene, fire blazing along his skin. He was glaring up at Visionary, that determination coursing through him adding vigor to his steps. Yet, Visionary could recognize the moment he saw the man. He skidded to a halt, pebbles flying up around him as he stopped. Suddenly, it was as if Visionary had never existed, his sole focus on the man lying in the distance. He did his best to dodge the turbulent lightning strikes, grabbing the man's cane along the way, and fell to his knees in front of the elder.

  In one swift movement, he had the man's arm around his shoulder and helped him to his feet - assurances falling from his lips as he brought him to safety. It was then that Visionary realized what about Ember had intrigued him so much - he cared. Sure, he wore the same impractical uniform that the others wore, and he occasionally gave into theatrics but this was real to him. He wanted to help. He had already deduced that the new hero hadn't yet been corrupted like the golden trio but this was something else. Sure, it wasn't a performance to him, but it also wasn't just about taking Visionary down either. He cared about the city and everyone in it. As Visionary left the fight, he found himself thinking of heroes past, and wondering if Ember had what it took to join their ranks.

  ~~~

  Bernard had been walking home when he saw the elderly man again. He ought to have kept walking - gone home and started cooking the pasta swinging in the grocery bag at his side - but a part of him refused to let him move, his mind abuzz with shock at seeing the man again so soon. The bald man had seemingly weathered the battle just fine. He seemed as healthy as one could be for a man of his age - well - sans the need for the cane, anyway. In fact, he was practically bent over an easel, paintbrush shaking in his hand as he brought a tree to life on the canvas and, despite himself, Bernard felt a sense of connection to him. A sort of sentimentality the villain rarely indulged in. His fingers fizzled with energy - the ability to sprout trees from nothing - desperate to be known. Yet, for the first time since his powers had awoken on a sunny day in middle school, he found himself uninterested in releasing it into the world. Instead, he was transfixed on that paintbrush, marveling as each pass of the bristles brought the tree closer to fruition. The movements were calm, almost meditative, nothing like the quick action needed when in a fight, but there was a beauty to them that Bernard had never cared to recognize before.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The wrinkled man remembered that in those early years, when his villainous life consumed every inch of his mind, walking around as a civilian had seemed so odd. He hadn't yet learned the balance of his two lives, and Bernard and Visionary often competed for attention within his mind. He had thought that he had put that burden to rest, and for nearly two decades it seemed he had. Despite his nefarious activities, he was able to keep a respectable job - even though pushing papers grew tedious when power was begging to be set forth. Climbing the corporate ladder was easy enough, especially in comparison to boulders being thrown at one's head.

  Now, though, staring at the man with paint coating his fingers, he felt that struggle reawaken. As he stood there, watching a tree be built in shades and strokes, he couldn't help but be awed by the simplicity of it all. The man didn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder or wondering whether someone would be waiting to take him away when he got back home. He was a free agent. Able to live life without the weight of another identity keeping him from doing as he pleased and, for the first time in his life, Bernard envied that.

  Eventually, he managed to pull away, making his way home to enjoy noodles drizzled in cream sauce and dill, but the man and the painting stuck with him. The sight had set his mind to work, drawing up a plan that Visionary didn't know the end goal of, but he was content to enjoy the process, watching puzzle pieces slot into place within his mind's eye. It was only while he was laying awake during those infernal hours between midnight and morning, that the solution finally struck him. He wanted out of the game, and he needed a get-out-of-jail-free card to do it. All he would need to do is find a hero who would be willing to play their part. One who saw beyond the pomp and prestige - and he knew just the hero to approach.

  ~~~

  Getting heroes to come and battle was as easy as could be. They came to him like a moth to the light. However, just like moths, they tended to swarm and so it took Visionary several weeks to get Ember alone. He had wanted to make the meeting feel natural, in the hopes that it would put the hero in a good enough mood to at least consider his plan before rejecting it. However, by the third week of the pests getting in the way, displaying flashy feats with their untrained abilities, he had had enough. So, he crushed them. Let them see the truth of his abilities. Made sharp blades out of glass and ripped a fissure down a road so large that a car that tumbled in took a whole minute before it landed at the bottom. They were terrified - children who ought to be put to bed. Still, Visionary felt nothing of the joy he once would have felt at pummeling his foes. The best he could muster was a spark of frustration.

  Then, without ceremony, he turned to Ember. The man had the decency to look afraid, his body tensing as Visionary approached. Again the villain was struck by how different the young man was from the other heroes who had taken to the skies with their tails between their legs. This was the face of a man who knew he was outmatched. Yet, he was still prepared to fight - ready to lay down his life in the name of the people he had set out to protect. His limbs were quaking slightly but his chin was raised high and the fire in his grasp was practically bursting from his hold. Visionary felt a spark of respect for the hero, a rather unfamiliar feeling after the near-decade's worth of pathetic adversaries.

  Visionary ripped a car door from its hinges, twisting it within his mind's eye until the red metal was turned into a gleaming shield. Then they were off - racing through the streets. While Ember was short, he was also quick, blithely slipping from the traps Visionary created to sequester him in one spot. He wasn't a match for the villain - not yet at least - he tended to waste the fire brimming from his fingertips. It was child's play for the villain to sidestep his attacks, but the potential was there. He was determined - able to look past each mistake and move on to the next attack with gusto and that was a skill that could save one's life.

  Finally, he twisted a lamppost, curling it around the hero's torso and leaving him hanging in the air. With the hero properly contained, Visionary got straight to the point without a preamble. “I have an offer for you.”

  Sweat glistened on Ember’s face as he struggled, gritting his teeth in frustration. “And why would I want to take a deal from you?”

  “Because it would remove me as a player on the board.”

  The young man frowned, his struggle slowing. “Are you asking me to kill you or something?”

  Visionary laughed. “No, nothing as dramatic as that.” He leaned leisurely on the wall of a nearby building.”I want to retire.”

  “And you need me to do that because…?”

  “You're a hero, and I am sure you have some connections, even if you seem less willing to laud them over the populous than the rest of your kind.”

  “Then why not go to one of the others to help you? They have way more connections than I do.”

  Visionary paused, trying to decide how much of his hand he wanted to reveal. “You care about this city.”

  “So do they.”

  “No. They're playing make-belief. They would hand me over to your pathetic justice system without a second thought to get the prestige my capture would garner them.”

  “And I wouldn't?”

  Visionary stepped forward, his eyes boring into the hero's. “You'll think about the greater good.” The hero opened his mouth to interject but stopped when Visionary raised a hand. A good sign, he supposed. “I have been on the scene for longer than you've probably been alive. I can train you to think like a villain to defeat them.”

  “Isn't it in your best interest to stick together?”

  Visionary shrugged. “The ones worth respecting have long since been removed from the board by your predecessors.”

  “And you would go free?”

  “I would never bring fear to Thorngale again.”

  The hero furrowed his brows. “How can I trust you?”

  “I could ask you the same,” Visionary smirked. “I guess we'd just have to trust each other.”

  “Risky.”

  “That's the name of the game - take it or leave it.”

  The man fell silent and Visionary was happy to let him think it over. He'd rather the man be fully on board than question his decision every waking minute. The more security he felt in his answer, the more secure Visionary was in his freedom.

  In the end, the answer came faster than Visionary was expecting. Ember's jaw set as he met the villain's gaze. “I'll do it.” The words were cautious but sure.

  “Excellent.” Visionary grinned. “Now, put on a good show.”

  For the sake of those watching, Visionary let Ember plummet to the ground when he released him. Best not to let the powers that be know of their pact. The hero glared up at him, sparks flashing around his fingers as he got to his feet. Still, he seemed to understand what the villain was getting at because, within the next second, he threw a punch at Visionary. They battled, some hits more real than others, as they decided the ebb and flow of this new alliance. Visionary couldn't help but find humor in the situation, the two of them performing much like the useless trio did. At least, he reasoned as the fight started to come to a close, this performance had an actual purpose. He would still have to be on guard, he hadn't survived this long on blind trust, but he held hope that this comradery would be mutually beneficial, and if he knew one thing about humanity, it was that they seldom saw beyond their own interests. It was lucky for Thorngale, then, that Ember had such a strong moral compass.

  ~~~

  Their first meeting was tense - both of them looking for a trap that didn't exist. Of course, they kept up the guise of battle. Visionary used windows to create spears of glass as they fought under the noon sun. Ember responded with flames that hungrily searched for something to destroy. The battle was more difficult than Visionary had experienced in years - the struggle of holding back, putting on a good show, and having a meaningful discussion, taking up his concentration.

  “So, what's lesson number one?” Ember smirked as one of his flames licked at the grey expanse of Visionary's cape.

  “Eager, are we?” Visionary responded by ripping up a park bench and breaking it down into projectiles to throw at the younger man.

  “More than you think.”

  “Lesson number one is something you seem to already have a good start on.” The villain threw a boulder at the hero, concentrating hard to make it large but mainly hollow. “There is a difference between flash and finesse.” Ember sent a trail of fire his way. “The heroes of today act like they're on a T.V. set. If you want to survive you have to take this seriously.”

  "Their theatrics have its uses.”

  “Such as?”

  “They are beloved by the populous.”

  Visionary rolled his eyes, the arc of one of his spears following the movement as it zagged toward Ember. “The city has grown used to having protectors in the sky. If a villain comes along who hungers to crush them their heroes would falter.” Visionary turned a stern gaze on Ember. “You must strive to be better.”

  ~~~

  Over the coming months, Ember and Visionary fought as regularly as they could, and soon the tense meetings became rather docile affairs. There was inevitable destruction and the occasional wound but a comradery sprung up from the withered animosity. They traded barbs like jokes. Ember remarked about how outdated Visionary's murky ensemble was and Visionary in turn joked that the hero looked like a traffic cone in his neon costume. Soon they were predicting each other's moves before they occurred, moving from attack to attack with ease. All the while Visionary provided Ember with the knowledge garnered through his tenure as terror of the city.

  “While taunting in battle is fun, remember the importance of silence. Words are not necessary to display confidence.”

  “Espionage is the name of the game. Battle is unnecessary if subterfuge will do."

  “Admitting defeat when needed is an asset, not a weakness. It's better to live to fight another day than to have a villain with a lifelong grudge.”

  “Never allow yourself to become a pawn in someone else's game. Your comrades may have fancy corporate sponsors but they are also beholden to their whims. Remember that it's your life on the line and choose who you interact with wisely.”

  Ember ate the tidbits of knowledge up, his hunger for more growing with each bit of information he acquired. Visionary, in turn, found that each new bit of instruction reminded him of another fact that may be useful in the hero's career. He imagined his younger self looking at the scene. That version of him, free of cracking joints and blurry vision, had sat dazedly listening to university professors as he waited for class to be over so he could race off in his suit. He would have been shocked, maybe even a bit annoyed, at the idea of having a pupil of his own. He would probably have worried that the hero would drag him down. Now, at the end of his career, he was thankful. His role as a teacher afforded him the ability to recall all the information he had struggled to learn on his own, an odd form of nostalgia to be sure, but wholly welcome all the same. It was a comforting endnote to his villainous story.

  ~~~

  They met on that final day in a manner much unlike the way they had in the past. It was solitary and quiet with not a spark of flames or a whisper of change to the bustling metropolis. They sat together, high above the city that they called home, in calm contemplation. Below them, the city was abuzz with activity. Pedestrians were walking about, laden with bags, and cars whizzed through the streets, exhaust sprouting from their pipes. They had no idea of the meeting taking place, happy to live their lives. To them, the biggest concern was a meeting with the boss or a school exam. They knew nothing of flying through the sky, let alone the anguish of stitching yourself up after a fight.

  “So, what is the final lesson?” Ember tilted his head, his eyes shining with curiosity.

  “It's a simple one really. You've already accomplished it.” Visionary smiled at the hero.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Look for allies in unexpected places.” He took a steadying breath, contemplating his next action for the millionth time. It was stupid to be nervous really, but the instincts he had honed for years hissed at what he was considering. He refused to be cowed though. This wasn’t just anyone. This was Ember - who would one day scramble in search of thread and a needle just as Visionary used to, aching and hissing, but knowing he would go out again tomorrow because that’s the name of the game. With a stubborn grit of his teeth, he took off his mask, turning to face the hero. “You just might find someone invaluable.”

  Ember's eyes widened but, instead of the litany of shocked remarks one might expect, what came out of his mouth was: “You're even older than I expected.” The hero chuckled.

  Bernard rolled his eyes and laughed good-naturedly. “You knew I had been around for a while.”

  Humor danced within the hero's eyes. “Not this long!” After a moment, his face fell into a more contemplative expression. The young man analyzed Bernard's face, still trying to process the unexpected reveal. Eventually, he shuffled. "Do you wan-”

  “No, your career is just beginning. Your identity should remain a secret.”

  The hero nodded, accepting his response without complaint. “Now what?” Bernard raised his eyebrow, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes wrinkling at the action. “I mean, what's next for you?”

  The older man sighed, resting his arms on his knees. “I think I'm going to take up painting.”

  Ember smiled, humor shining in his gaze. “The great Visionary, painter extraordinaire.”

  “It does have a good ring to it, doesn't it?”

  “It does.”

  The hum of traffic went on around them, occasionally broken up by a phone conversation or two. A blue sky hung overhead and for once, no superheroes were flying about in ridiculous get-ups. The two of them sat there, enjoying the tranquility of the scene. Eventually, though, it was time to go. The two of them stood, dusted themselves off, and made their way off the roof.

  “Do you think we'll see each other again?

  “With how bright your suit is, for sure.” The hero rolled his eyes. With a responding chuckle, Bernard placed his hand on Ember's shoulder. “Keep an eye out for me, and I'll do the same for you.” He stepped back, smiling wryly. “You're going to do great things, Ember, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  With that said, the two of them left the building, and when they reached the sidewalk, Bernard ensured that all the people saw was a young hero escorting an old man to the street. The two of them parted then, and whether they ever met again remains a mystery. However, whenever Bernard brought his easel out in public, he couldn't help but search for a hero clad in orange. The life that he led from that point on was simple - devoid of the gashes and bruises that battles wrought. Even so, he still found new ways to harness the power flowing through him. Getting the perfect shade of paint was simply a matter of thought, and finding a brush that suited his needs was as simple as picking up a branch and shaping it until it had thin bristles and a sturdy handle. It had taken him a rather long time to decide what to paint for his first piece. In the end, he decided on a tree. Simple, easy, and, just for anyone who was looking, he added a root crawling from the ground - ready to be made into something entirely new.