~The Grubs, Pierce's home~
Oxzy was gone. Pierce had to stop himself from running after him; he watched him run away instead. The sound of his bare feet hitting the ground in a frenzied rush made the villain's blood boil.
He hated it.
He didn't know why. He just wanted Oxzy to stay with him, to never leave him. The hero had nothing left, so why not just stay with him?
Pierce wanted to blast fire everywhere. He wanted to destroy his own home in a fury. He had to distract his mind, to distract himself from the rising rage in his blood. He seethed, dropping onto his bed, now cold. He flopped around, searching for the warmth that was once there.
His hand landed on something, flipping his body around as he pulled it from the sheets. To his surprise, it was his phone. "Huh," he huffed out, turning it on. "So it did charge..."
He hadn't been focused on his device since Oxzy had been there; he'd been so fully focused on the man that he'd forgotten about his phone. It was fully charged now, and the villain looked at his messages. He got a few from Mercy, which he ignored. One thing caught him off guard.
A video had been sent to him by his younger brother. It stood out to him since he had told Felix not to message him unless he wanted his number. The younger brother had obliged—until now. A video appeared on the screen as Pierce pressed play.
It started with a rustling sound, then Felix's voice began to speak.
"Watch and enjoy, Pierce."
His voice came between bursts of laughter and snickers. Suddenly, the sound of Oxzy's distress reached Pierce's ears. The villain felt his body freeze as he watched the hero come into view on the small screen. A group of men surrounded him, pulling and ripping his clothes off.
Pierce stood from the bed, his eyes and mind completely captured by the screen.
"Yeah, like that's gonna help you," a gruff man said, shooing away the hero's desperate hands.
"B-Bastard—! Aah!" Oxzy cried in pain, his hair pulled in all directions.
Pierce wanted to look away; he didn't want to watch this. It didn't bring him any joy. If anything, he felt his blood boil. His skin burned red hot, steam rising from his shoulders into the air.
The hero was assaulted again and again on camera. The laughter and mockery of the men who abused him in different ways were haunting. All Pierce could focus on was the hero's face on the screen. He was already crying, fear plastered in his eyes.
His voice came out muffled, yet his cries still echoed from the small device. They felt like small knives. It hurt to hear, and Pierce found his body on fire.
He put the phone down. He couldn't finish watching the video.
He was livid.
Anger was always something he felt—he was almost always angry, unable to control it. But this felt different. It was much stronger. Unlike the other times, he now had a real reason to be furious, and that reason made him even more enraged.
His own brother had done this. His own men—pathetic nobodies—had done these things to the hero.
Worse still, it seemed Felix believed Pierce would want to see it. That he would want that.
Who did Felix think he was?
Pierce never wanted this from his revenge on the hero. God, he wanted to kill him, yes—but strip him of his powers and humiliate him beyond belief?
The villain stopped his train of thought. Suddenly, a realization struck him.
He had humiliated Oxzy in a similar way, not only with words but through his own actions. Even if the hero had "wanted" it.
It was still his own doing.
He was a horrible person. He knew he was a killer.
Only, the actions he had taken against Oxzy hurt more than most, now that he had endured something like it himself. It almost felt like he'd lost Rosamee all over again—the woman he loved and adored, gone, leaving him with nothing to hold onto.
Only Oxzy remained.
The hero, repeatedly assaulted and treated like dirt by the very people he helped, had lost everything.
And Pierce had chosen to mock him. He was so much worse than he'd thought—almost as bad as Felix. As bad as what they had done. But he wasn't like them. They had no right to do those things to Oxzy.
Pierce had no right either.
The villain yelled in rage, throwing fire and electric currents in every direction. Holes were carved into the walls; bricks and wood came crashing down. Sheets flew through the air as fire spread along his skin, burning his clothes.
Flames surrounded him, consuming everything in sight without hesitation. He wanted to make them pay, to kill them all without anything standing in his way.
Most of all, he wanted Oxzy to watch. The hero couldn't kill them himself; he wasn't capable of such things. Pierce, on the other hand, could. And he wanted to.
He knew Oxzy wanted it too. He would give that to him.
The revenge he was silently craving.
~Formay, police station~
The hero was led into the back office. He felt eyes follow his every move, watching him as if he might stumble. Oxzy kept his face down, following behind Milo as the sheriff opened the office door for him. Silently, he was led to a chair, the sheriff's coat wrapped around his shoulders.
The hero looked outside; it had started to rain, the dark sky swallowing everything beyond the window. Milo said something to him, then left the office to speak with the other officers. Oxzy didn't care. He tilted his head toward the window, watching raindrops run down the glass. He felt his body chill as the distant sounds of people working outside faded.
The noise died down as Milo walked back into the office. He moved behind the desk and sat facing Oxzy, saying nothing.
It stayed that way for a while—silence between them—until Milo finally spoke, sitting up straight in his chair. "What happened?"
Oxzy said nothing, his eyes fixed on the window. Milo let out a sigh, glancing around nervously. "Oxzy... your home, I'm sorry about that." He drew a few breaths, his chest feeling tight. "Where have you been staying? Do you need somewhere to stay?"
The hero couldn't hear him. He stared ahead, his mind lost within itself, his eyes unfocused on nothing in particular.
"Oxzy..." A warm touch landed on the hero's cold hand. He flinched away, turning sharply toward Milo. The officer winced, glancing around uncertainly. "Sorry, but I want to know what happened..."
"My home is gone. That's what happened."
The answer came short and sharp, surprising Milo for a moment. He turned to Oxzy, searching his gray eyes for any sign of emotion.
"I—I heard..." Milo felt guilt settle in his chest. He wanted to come clean, to tell Oxzy everything—how he had followed him, how one of his own men had caused all of this.
But the bruises and marks on Oxzy's body made it clear he'd already been through enough. It was hard enough to admit fault when he still had feelings for the man. Seeing him bruised and assaulted in such a way, far beyond the surface, filled him with fear.
So he kept his lips sealed. Glancing aside, he rose and made his way to the door. He said nothing more to Oxzy, leaving the hero alone in the room, the coat slipping off his shoulders. Oxzy turned back to the window, letting his thoughts wander.
He felt lost, confused about everything, unsure of what to do next. He couldn't go back to Pierce—not after what happened. The man was a villain, a horrible being capable of far worse if given the chance. Oxzy wouldn't give him another opportunity to ruin him, to make him afraid again.
He couldn't go home either. He had no home left, no one waiting for him. His beloved pets were gone; no one truly needed him anymore.
The only option left was to leave.
Nothing was left for him in Whitedail. The town didn't want him, didn't really need him, did it?
The only reason for him to stay was where his mother was buried. She was the last thing keeping him there, keeping him to endure the abuse from the townspeople. But he was so over it, so over the horrible people that haunted his mind and burned the last of his hope.
So why stay?
Milo walked back inside his office, pulling Oxzy out of his thoughts. The hero turned, his face meeting a mug from the officer's outstretched hand. Oxzy looked at it, eyes following the steam that rose from the top.
"It's uh… coffee. I didn't know how much cream you wanted, so I put in a normal amount…" Milo gave an awkward smile, handing the hot mug to the silent man.
Oxzy looked down at the mug in his hands, feeling the warmth soak into his fingers. He looked up at Milo, who was back around his desk, cleaning and shuffling things around.
Silently, he sipped the drink. It was bland; he could barely taste any cream. Only the caffeine filled his senses. He didn't usually drink coffee, or any type of caffeine. He got his energy up by sleeping it off, so the coffee made no difference to his rising fatigue.
Milo finished what he was doing and turned back to face Oxzy. He laughed lightly. "Not the best, huh?" He shook his head, sitting across from Oxzy again with an awkward smile. "The coffee in the station doesn't taste the best. You just gotta put a lot of sugar in it to actually taste anything pleasant."
"It doesn't help," Oxzy said shortly, making Milo jump.
"Yeah… sorry…" Milo gave a small reply. He turned his head to the side, thinking about what he should say next. He could only look back toward Oxzy, who had taken the coat off his shoulders, revealing a few bite marks on his neck.
Milo gulped, his body stiffening completely at the sight of the marks. They were big, almost swallowing the hero's bright skin. The officer's fingers itched; he wanted to see more of the hero's body. Clearly, that wasn't the only mark on the man—more would cover his body, given the look in his eyes.
He was broken.
The hero felt the look; Milo was staring at a large mark on his neck. He felt it sting in the open air and covered it, wincing slightly when it was touched. It was bigger than he thought, covering his neck with deep red marks.
It hurt, felt fairly new. It must have been Pierce's doing—Oxzy hadn't even realized when it happened. It was sore, but he felt it healing. His whole body was healing, just slowly. If he stayed in the office a little while longer, his body would fully recover.
What would he do after that?
The office door was suddenly pushed open. Milo stood up abruptly, dusting himself off as he faced an incoming officer. It was Jamisen, the second in command, who looked at Oxzy before turning back to Milo with a grim expression. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No, no…" Milo looked back to Oxzy, watching him turn back to the window without a word. "What happened?"
Jamisen sighed before speaking, arms crossed. "Well, we have a few calls coming from people in the grubs. They're talking about a killer. Well, a few killers."
Milo stepped forward. "You mean the ones who killed Randy and the other men?"
"Yes, the ones in our cases." Jamisen looked back at Oxzy, stealing a few glances at his red neck. "But they're just anonymous reports, Milo. We don't know for sure."
"Well, it's the closest we've got." Milo turned to grab a spare coat from his seat. "Let's go see if we can find who made the reports."
Before he could exit the room, Jamisen grabbed his shoulder. "What about Oxzy?" he whispered, eyeing the curly-haired male.
Milo turned to face Oxzy as well. Before either officer could speak, Oxzy spoke first. "I can help search for the killers."
The sheriff stepped forward. "No, you shouldn't have to, Oxzy. You're still hurt—stay here and heal—"
"You'll get nowhere without my help." Oxzy stood up, closing the large coat around his shoulders. He walked forward, standing between Milo and Jamisen. "You know that."
Jamisen gulped, nodding to Milo at what the hero had said. Milo still tried to convince Oxzy to stay, but it fell on deaf ears. Oxzy walked forward, ignoring Milo's calls after him. Jamisen stopped beside Milo, shaking his head in agreement with Oxzy.
"It's the best bet to catch them, sir," Jamisen said quietly. "Let it happen."
He walked past Milo to catch up with Oxzy, calling out to the surrounding officers to get ready. He then turned to Oxzy, taking in all that was uncovered, and gulped before stepping forward. "Uh, we have some spare clothes for you. You can dress since it's cold."
Oxzy's face tightened. He ran a hand down his chest before nodding. "Of course."
He followed Jamisen through the back doors where the lockers stood. He was handed spare clothes, all black, some fitted like police uniforms. Still, it was better than what he'd worn before.
He didn't know why he agreed. He didn't feel like helping, didn't really want to help if he was being honest. But the thought of getting it all over with was overpowering.
When this was all over, the town wouldn't need him anymore. No more danger for them, nothing else worth staying for. Getting rid of the killer in the process was just the fitting thing to do.
Maybe once it was done, he could leave with an open mind.
He just wanted to leave already.
~The Grubs, Pierce's home~
The villain was on his way outside when a familiar voice called out from behind him. "Saw the video?"
Pierce turned his head, his eyes meeting Mercy's. She stood at the bottom of the porch, watching him close his door. He didn't have to say anything—he only gave a long sigh. Mercy caught the hint.
"Guess so... Are you really going to confront him about it?"
"Why? Don't want your main hookup dead?" Pierce gave a sarcastic response, eyeing Mercy.
"What the fuck," Mercy shook her head in shock. "Pierce, he's your younger brother, for fuck's sake!"
"It won't bother me if it's quick," Pierce replied shortly. He walked down the steps until he stood in front of Mercy. "The bitches who fucked Oxzy are the ones dying slowly."
Mercy shivered slightly at the deep voice circling her head. She turned, watching Pierce walk past her, and couldn't help but scoff. "Pierce, don't fucking do this, man."
"When did I ever listen to you?"
The response made her growl. He kept walking forward, hands in his pockets, ignoring her semi-desperate calls. He didn't focus on that—he let his rage fuel him, driven only by revenge.
"It's not worth it, you fucking bastard!" Mercy yelled, jogging halfway behind him. "You're not listening! He has his whole gang there—so many people will be ready for you. It's suicidal." Pierce continued to ignore her. Mercy began to seethe, feeling desperate. "I know you think you can take on the whole world, but you can't. Too many people will overwhelm you. Please—it's not worth it!"
"It is," Pierce said, shaking his head.
"No! I saw what they could do. They're fucking monsters! Worse than you'd think—murderers and rapists!" Nothing came in response; Pierce's feet only quickened. Mercy had to run to catch up with him. "The drug is powerful! It'll take away your powers—they'll do horrible things to you, just like they did to the fucking hero!"
"How would you know?" Pierce finally stopped walking, and Mercy bumped into him. She looked up, watching the villain's eyes glare at her. "You were there, weren't you? You watched them do it…"
"I—I didn't want to…"
"Huh, Mercy. The damn play you did—all squeamish about pain and 'gross' stuff—and you watched as a bunch of men forced themselves on a defenseless person." Pierce found himself laughing, shaking his head.
"I didn't watch it! I couldn't have!" Mercy defended herself. Her eyes began to water, her feelings about learning everything ready to burst. She looked up at the villain's dark, glaring eyes—they looked furious.
She didn't understand it. "I don't get it." The woman shook her head, looking at the floor. "The fucking hero. You want him dead—you want to do the same thing those guys did…" Her eyes watered, tears nearly slipping out.
Pierce was silent. Mercy wanted to look up and see what he was doing, but fear of crying in front of him held her back. Soon, a hand landed on her shoulder, burning her covered skin with a silent sizzle. She didn't flinch, but she did look up.
Her eyes met the villain's dark brown gaze. It was crazed, his pupils dilated as a smile crept onto his face.
"Because I am the only one allowed to do that to him."
Mercy hiccuped, her lips shaking in shock. "Don't—"
"When did you start thinking you had something over me?" The villain's hand shot to the woman's neck, squeezing tightly as she found herself trapped. She rose onto her toes, holding onto his hand desperately. "Friends mean nothing anymore, Mercy. Get over yourself."
His grip tightened, his vision going red. A small figure clung to his hand, her eyes red as tears fell.
Mercy looked back at the ragged man holding onto her; burns began to itch their way across her exposed neck. Still, she couldn't help but feel sorry for Pierce. She had never been afraid of him, not even now, with her life threatened.
She wouldn't start being afraid now.
"You're still my friend…" Her voice was faint, her firm grip on Pierce's hand tightening, tears falling silently. "Get over yourself, shit-face…"
Pierce snapped back to reality. A small sense of broken awareness hit him, and he realized what he was doing. He hadn't meant to suffocate his friend like this…
But she wasn't much of a friend to him anymore.
Pierce let out a low sigh, shaking his head, and released the woman. Mercy coughed loudly, holding her burned neck, tears staining her cheeks. She looked back up at him, confusion rolling off her face as Pierce met her gaze.
"We're not really friends anymore." The villain shook his head, turning back to the road to continue walking. He didn't feel like giving Mercy any more of a response—she didn't matter to him anymore. Only one thing did.
Mercy watched as Pierce walked away. She stood there, mouth wide open in shock.
No... no…
She began to weep silently, collapsing to the floor in a broken mess. Her hands rubbed her arms as tears came with silent sobs. She didn't want to believe what had just happened. It couldn't have been true.
Pierce had walked out on her. He gave no thought to the woman who had spent years with him.
Mercy never really believed that Pierce was the great villain who killed innocents without guilt. She hadn't believed it, since he had always been there for her. To her, he was just a normal, everyday person—that was how he seemed whenever he was with her or Rosamee.
So the thought had never crossed her mind that Pierce truly was a villain.
Yet this feeling—the actions he had taken against her—shocked her. It really did feel like he was the villain. He was a horrible person, abandoning the best friend he'd had for years like that…
Not only had she lost Rosamee… but she had lost Pierce as well.
He was lost, controlled by vengeance. He was controlled by the hero—the hero who didn't even realize he was pulling the strings.
Pierce was no longer the same man who had stolen with Mercy or kissed Rosamee on the cheek after dropping her home. He was different, changed beyond her control or anyone else's.
Mercy knew where he was going. What he was doing.
And she could do nothing to stop it.