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Scott cracks his knuckles as he ventures down the alleyway. The faint glimmer from the streetlight behind him reflects off of the ring on his middle finger and back into his eyes.
Having to creep around alleyways and stain his shoes with dirt and grime is definitely one of the less appealing parts of being a superhero, though he would argue that there aren’t many appealing parts at all. Well- that’s not entirely true. Being the protector of the city is an honor, and to be trusted by the public to the extent that he is is a privilege not many earn.
Not to mention the many, many, many hours of hard work he’s sunk into his training. And the mistakes from his teenage years he’s still fighting to make up for.
A haunting laugh floating down the alley reaches his ears, snapping him out of his thoughts. Perhaps a few years ago the sound would have set his hair on edge, sent goosebumps down his spine. Now Scott simply straightens his posture—something the Watchers had instilled at him at his very first press conference—and waits for Marionette to reveal themself.
Sure enough, Marionette steps out from a side alley moments later, her fiery red curls left completely out as opposed to her normal high-pony tail. Despite being shorter, she still finds a way to make it feel as if she’s looming over him. “Well, well, well Azriel. What’s Specula’s top hero doing in this shitty little alley? Did you fall out of favor with the Watchers so soon?” Her voice, although mocking, has the unfortunate side effect of making him glance around the area quickly for cameras that the Watchers may be able to see him through.
Though they don’t monitor his every move—especially not after they started using him as their “perfect model” of a hero—Scott’s still perfectly aware of exactly how short his leash is. Even if information didn’t make its way back to them with alarming speed, Scott has always been under more scrutiny than the other heroes. Being the primary hero of the city comes with added pressure after all, what with the press conferences, constant requests for interviews, photos, and cameos, and the fact that he’s meant to represent the agency as a whole. Not a hair can be out of place, a single word vague enough to misinterpret, a hint of any emotion other than gratitude or confidence on his face.
It’s exhausting.
It’s exhausting, but it’s his duty. Scott spent a year training for this, spent his entire life being trained to do whatever is asked of him without complaint, and without failure. So he’ll continue to do it, day in and day out, even when his body and mind beg for a day off and his fridge is devoid of any groceries because he’s been scheduled every day for the last three weeks. It’s his duty to the city, to himself, and to Specula.
Scoffing, Scott brushes a small piece of his wig out of his eye as he takes a step back. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But no, I actually came here looking for you. Along with Slayer and Eclipse, who I assume are here as well. You can come out now!” Keeping distance between him and Marionette is key to getting out of this encounter with his dignity still intact- even months after the initial incident Martyn still teases him for letting them get close enough to attach their strings to his arm. What followed was a— frankly childish—game of “why are you hitting yourself” as they puppeted his arm into hitting his stomach a painful number of times.
Right on cue Scott turns to see Eclipse appear out of the shadows behind him, just in time to see her dark purple hood and cape flow like water out of the darkness as they reform into the shape of her costume. “Well hi there Azzy! Here I was thinking you’d forgotten all about us these last few weeks.” She stalks forward, pulling one of her moon sickles off her back and twirling it in her hand as she moves, bits and pieces of inky black breaking off from the walls and continuing to form her costume. Of the three of them Eclipse is the most dangerous to fight in this tight of a space, the shadows in the area ample and dark.
Rarely ever seen outside the cover of night, Eclipse is the second of three villains Scott faces most often, and by far the least predictable. Her powers allow her to manipulate shadows, and during the dark of night—like it is now—she’s the most powerful, able to melt between points in a semi-corporeal state. She’s also the most friendly, her smile slightly too wide but genuine nonetheless. Scott smiles back, turning slightly so he can see both of them at the same time. “Hello to you too, Eclipse. I could never forget seeing my favorite ladies, I just got a bit busy.”
Slayer drops down from the fire escape in front of him a second later, her own orange curls pulled back tightly by a blue headband with coral patterning. Scott takes another step backwards, his back lightly touching the brick wall behind him. His nose wrinkles slightly at the thought of all the dirt making its way onto his costume. “I can’t help but notice you three have me surrounded.” The thought should make him more uneasy than it does, but this routine is very familiar to him.
The three of them surround him, they exchange false pleasantries, and then they fight. Nothing more, nothing less. Slayer takes another step forward, her face surprisingly light with energy. “Are we not allowed to welcome our favorite hero back to our weekly fights?” The three of them make an odd group, but the four of them make an even odder one.
It’s not unusual for the heroes to have a familiar villain or two they see most often, whether that’s Grian and Scar against Skulk, Jimmy and Joel against the Codfather, or Scott against Slayer, Marionette, and Eclipse. The strange part is the camaraderie that forms from it, funnily enough. Despite being on clear opposite sides of the law, Scott can’t help but genuinely look forward to seeing these three every week. Both sides know the other isn’t looking to cause serious harm, so the fights most often serve as a formality and a chance to exchange information, rather than an all out brawl.
Scott flexes his fingers, the tips starting to turn a shade of purple that matches his wig and costume perfectly. Wither hybridity is a rarity in the city, his powers better suited to causing mass destruction and murder than they are for saving people.
Not that Scott’s ever let that stop him before.
With the practice of a thousand prior fights Scott throws his hand out as the first tentacle of shadow reaches for him, clenching his fingers and watching it crack and turn to dust in front of him. He smirks at Eclipse, the act a mix of the confidence Azriel is meant to always display and Scott's own wit. Normally any trace of himself vanishes the second he puts his mask on, locked away somewhere deep inside where his sentimentality won't get in the way of what needs to be done. But around these three? The lines blur slightly, more akin to what the rest of the Specula heroes normally portray in their costumes- an altered version of their normal personality, but not an entirely new persona.
Now that the pace has been set all four of them jump into motion, Marionette lunging for his arm while Slayer cracks a small vial around her neck with a smile. He needs to lure them out onto the street where there’s more space and less accessible shadows for Eclipse to try and trap him with.
Scott darts further down the alley suddenly, barely dodging an arrow made of blood shot by Slayer. “Too slow today Slay! Gotta say, the bow and arrow are new though.” A quick glance behind him reveals a deathly glare pointed in his direction, which causes him to chuckle slightly.
Just before he breaks into the street, a wall of shadows appears in front of him and cuts him off. Scott takes in a deep breath, pressing his palm to the center of the mass and directing all his energy to rush through his fingers. A brief glance at his hand reveals something he was hoping to avoid- the bones in his hand have become visible, the amount of withering needed to remove the wall pulling steadily from his physical body rather than the reserve of energy he keeps for these moments.
A sharp pain hits his left shoulder abruptly, the sting halting him momentarily before the warm, sticky flow of blood follows immediately after. Scott bites back a curse, because it wouldn’t be the first time he’s sworn under his breath and then been reprimanded for it later- even if he’s not sure how the Watchers would’ve heard it.
“What was that about being too slow, Azriel?” Slayer’s taunt is smug, and he rolls his eyes in response. Although uncomfortable, she didn’t aim anywhere too bad; he’ll be able to hold his own just fine, it’ll just be slower.
Scott watches as his blood turns to dust, converting it into energy to fuel his decaying of Eclipse’s shadows. Another few seconds later the wall crumbles enough for him to run through, onto the safety of the street and out of Marionette’s easy reach.
His shoulder is still burning with pain, though by now the arrow has already melted away, returned to Slayer’s hand and transformed into a rope dagger. Her power is the most difficult to prevent, because the closer she gets to being defeated the more powerful she becomes. Unlike Martyn, who can manipulate a person’s blood inside of their body, Slayer’s power allows her to manipulate her own blood outside of her body.
Most commonly, this means turning it into weapons.
The three run out to the street after him, Marionette cracking her neck. “Azriel, did you hear?” Scott instinctively leans forward, one of the only mannerisms of himself that he can never quite shake in costume- the thrill of gossip. Realizing she has his full attention, Marionette attempts to reach for his shoulder, which he dodges with additional withering directed towards the bloody dagger aimed for his leg. “Mezalea finally asked the Ocean Queen out.”
Scott’s mouth drops open, his decaying blast sent in Slayer’s direction losing most of its power as his concentration slips. Mezalea had been hopelessly in love with the Ocean Queen for as long as they’d been committing crimes in the city, it was an open secret between heroes and villains alike that he was down tremendously bad. Despite that, it seemed like he was never going to make a move; whether out of fear of the Queen’s retaliation or simply his own anxieties, no one was quite sure.
Slayer’s rope dagger wraps around his wrist, dragging him off balance towards Eclipse. Scott recovers quickly, dropping low to the pavement and sweeping Eclipse’s feet from under her before sending a tendril of withering down Slayer’s rope and up through her hand. He curls his fingers slightly, narrowing his eyes to mitigate the amount of damage his powers will cause.
Unchecked blasts of his power could root inside a person like a disease, slowly killing them from the inside out until it was too late for help. It was subtle at first- fatigue, lack of appetite, vivid nightmares. Then came the physical effects, the appearance of bones devoid of skin. By then it’s usually too late, unless the victim can find another wither hybrid willing to weave enough threads of life back into them to ward off the decay.
Scott’s always been careful to tone down the power of his pulses, aiming for nothing more than mild pain and discomfort that disperses itself before any lasting damage can occur. It requires an immense amount of concentration, not to mention the willpower it takes to crush the initial urge to make it spread, to make it painful enough to sustain his own life force.
That’s the other thing about wither hybrids. There’s not very many of them because they don’t have souls.
He’s no exception, of course. Like all wither hybrids, Scott only survives due to other people’s souls- draining small portions of their life force constantly, minisculely enough that it would never cause anyone harm—or make them aware of it at all—but enough to sustain him. Physical contact is another common way to strengthen a wither hybrid’s life force, though it comes with the disadvantage of making him decently overstimulated as the sounds of another person’s soul flood his mind. In small bursts it’s tolerable, his initial reaction to the added life under his fingertips stifled after years of training. In a pinch plants would do as well, though its effects are more severe on them.
So when Slayer flinches away in pain, her dagger fading back to blood as she cradles her hand to her chest, Scott feels more alive than he has in weeks.
He smirks again, sidestepping another barrage of shadows. “Good for him, honestly! Meanwhile, Slayer, did you hear from Riot that Swagger is now refusing to answer to anything other than Hotguy? It’s absolutely ridiculous trying to communicate with him in battle at this point!” That teases a laugh out of all four of them, the concept so ridiculous that it's practically insane that it’s true. Scar hasn’t let up on the initiative since he’d pitched it two weeks ago, a not-so-silent protest against the Watchers refusing to let him change his hero name.
Perhaps it’s the buzz of his extra life or maybe he just let his guard down a little too much, because when Marionette’s hand clamps down on his left wrist, he immediately panics—internally, of course, because Azriel isn’t allowed to be anything other than completely collected—as their grip on his hand releases and his own left hand involuntarily reaches toward his throat.
His hand squeezes, enough to start cutting off his air flow but not enough to cause permanent damage. Marionette must be behind him, because he can’t make out their silhouette in his slightly blurred vision.
Throwing his right hand back frantically, Scott manages to catch a brush of their arm. The second he makes contact he sends a more direct blast of decay through their body, having it shoot up their arm and settle in their shoulder. Immediately after, his hand returns to his control as he yanks it down from his throat. Marionette staggers backward, their face pinched in pain but not agony. Being a zombie hybrid means they’re more resistant to his decay, which is the only reason Scott feels comfortable expending that much power in a single blast.
Plus, there’s something to be said for the rush of energy it sends directly into his veins. His vision immediately grows sharper in the dark, his hearing adjusting until he can hear the quiet breaths coming from the three villains around him and the sounds of their hearts beating.
Not that the added life force stops him from dropping to the ground as he gasps for breath desperately, begging the pavement to stop tilting in front of him faster so he can get back up.
The sound of Eclipse’s slow footsteps pushes him to his feet quickly, and then backwards as she slashes out with a sickle. The tip of it drags lightly across his stomach, a thin line of blood speckling up beneath the light purple fabric. “Well that was rude E, I rather like this top.” He shoots her a weak smirk, his shoulder still stinging in pain as he shifts backward again.
Thin snares of shadows latch around his legs, fastening him in place. Scott glances down, then back at Eclipse. Despite her silence and manic look, she’s still not at a point where he needs to be concerned. Some nights that’s not the case, the glint in her eyes just a little too bright- nights like those are the ones where he has to go against his nature and cause more serious injuries, just to get a chance to escape with all his body parts still attached.
Luckily enough for him, being stuck in one place provides a great opportunity to try out a new technique for his powers—no matter how silly Martyn had told him was—against someone who isn’t expecting it. While he could simply wither the shadows holding him in place, the new strategy could prove to be more useful against someone like Marionette, whose power might be able to physically stop him from moving at all.
Scott tilts his eyes toward the ground, closing them as he imagines his power flowing from his fingertips down to his feet, through his shoes, and across the pavement. Visualization can be the hardest part of managing his powers at times, but he’s found picturing it as a cherry blossom in the wind helps migrate the power across his body. Once he’s located Eclipse, Scott looks up with shining purple eyes—thanks to his contacts, plus a small side effect of his power leaking through—as the ground underneath her opens up and she falls through it.
The shadows holding him vanish in an instant. He didn’t send her too far down, but the shock combined with the depth should take her a few minutes to recover from. Scott glances back at Slayer and Marionette. Both of them are staring at him with twin looks of shock, which Scott returns with a wink. “As much as I enjoy our fights, I’m afraid it’s the end of my shift. Look forward to seeing you all next week!”
“Bye Azzy! I think I’m a wee bit mad you dropped me in a hole, but you got me good!” Eclipse's voice floats out of the ground, snapping Slayer and Marionette out of their shock as they laugh at how tiny her voice sounds.
As Scott turns to leave Slayer’s voice joins the chorus of Marionette’s quips at Eclipse and her indignant responses back. “Yes, bye for now Azriel! I’ll say, you really weren’t slacking these last few weeks, you gave us a real run for our money!”
“Don’t sell yourselves short Slay, your arrow did a bloody nightmare to my shoulder and Marionette completely caught me off guard with the choking.” Without waiting for a response Scott slips into the nearest alley, already glancing down at his watch to chart out the fastest path back to Specula.
If it wasn’t quite so late, he would stop by Doc’s lab and get his shoulder patched up before bed. A quick glance at the time reveals it’s nearly one am, however, and he has another shift scheduled in five hours. So instead Scott quietly lets himself back into the agency office, going to the changing room and slipping into his civilian outfit before trudging back to his apartment.
By the time he gets home and takes a shower, the idea of dealing with his shoulder feels like even more of an impossible task. He’ll be there again in four hours, it’s fine. Probably. Scott slaps a bandage on it anyway, because he’d rather be—somewhat—safe than sorry. Death by avoidable infection via friendly fight with a local supervillain would be an absolutely embarrassing way to go out.
Accompanied by exhaustion and increasingly ridiculous thoughts as to what his obituary would even look like for such a lame cause of death, Scott falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow.