The last thing Slick Salazar remembered was defeating the Virtue Collective. It was a plan he'd been building toward for the last year or so, and to make it work, he'd had to exploit the weaknesses of every member of the Collective. Salazar's own superpowers were impressive, but those do-gooders always seemed to prevail in matters of brute force, so he'd come up with a special solution to deal with each of them individually: A freeze ray to counter Fleetfoot's super speed, a calculated EMP burst and super-magnet to shut down Titanium Titan's high tech power armor, steel cables laced with the mythical golden fleece to bind and subdue the godly Athena, and of course, a deadly thought virus to neutralize the mind of Nightfox, the team's brilliant tactician.

As satisfying as those solutions had been, though, Salazar had saved the best for last. After defeating the other four, only the team's leader, Mighty Man, stood in the way of Salazar's victory, and after so many years of suffering defeat at the hands of that self-righteous, spit-curled fascist, Salazar took tremendous pleasure in ending his life with a knife composed of tritium, the one material capable of piercing Mighty Man's invulnerable skin.

With the death of Mighty Man, the Virtue Collective's defeat was total, and Salazar's victory was complete... Or so he'd thought.

When he came to, he found himself in a totally nondescript room with no windows, no doors, and a single lightbulb overhead for illumination. With him in this room was a person he didn't recognize.

"What's going on here? Where am I? What have you done to me?" Salazar demanded.

"Tranquilizer dart." The stranger said simply. "You were so preoccupied with your victory that you didn't notice me lining up the shot."

"Where have you taken me?" Salazar demanded.

"We're one mile underground, encased in a steel cell wrapped in concrete." The stranger explained.

Salazar sneered. "Do you imagine this little prison of yours can hold me?" He laughed contemptuously, then threw a punch at the nearest wall.

Nothing happened.

Salazar looked at his fist, then at the wall. He punched again- nothing. He tried another wall, to no avail.

"You may as well stop trying. You can't damage these walls." The stranger said. Salazar crossed the room and grabbed the stranger by the shirt collar.

"My punches can level mountains, you little pissant!" He roared in fury. "What have you done to my powers?"

"I haven't done anything, you're as strong as you ever were. You just can't break these walls." The stranger explained. "That's my power, you see- I stop collateral damage. As long as I'm here, you can't destroy anything."

Salazar grinned cruelly, his eyes glowing red. "As long as you're here, eh?" He mused. A pair of laser beams erupted from his eyes, lancing toward the stranger... Only to bounce harmlessly off of him.

"It's kind of funny, the way my power works..." The stranger went on, seemingly unbothered by the lasers. "It protects structures, but also people. Innocent people, I mean- whatever it is that controls how my powers work, it considers innocent bystanders to be collateral damage, too. Which means I'd always be protected, as long as I didn't willingly put myself in harm's way by joining the Virtue Collective. So I never did." The stranger's face hardened into one of deep contempt. "I wish I had. I should have been there, helping them fight you..." He sighed. "It's too late now. I couldn't save them... But at least I can save everyone else."

Salazar clapped sarcastically. "That's a wonderful story... But you seem to have forgotten that I'm stronger than you. Even if I can't hurt you, you can't hurt me, either. We're in stalemate."

"Yes, we are. And that's where we'll stay."

Salazar's face fell as he began to realize the implications of what the stranger was saying.

"You... You don't mean... You can't mean-"

"I do." The stranger smiled, looking strangely serene. "Get comfortable, Slick Salazar. You and I are going to be down here together for a very, very long time."

Interesting take, but it might of been neater to see James have a redemtion arc

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A string of loud crashes and booms rang in the stale air. The city's hero was currently locked in a fist fight with the villain that's been terrorizing the people for years. Blow after blow was exchanged between the two and-

Ouch, the hero had been thrown into the surrounding building, causing on of the walls to buckle in and collapse. Relief, the damage control of these fights, was sitting on top local bakery watching the two fight.

The two were locked back into another fist fight that was likely to end the same way. Relief wasn't worried about that right now though. As they activated their power, the rubble and bits of dust in the road were surrounded in a light blue hue, before gently disappearing and being deposited in a endless void.

The void in question was filled with other things as well, ranging from small rubble from buildings to completely ruined skyscrapers from battles earlier in the day. They all peacefully hovered in the void, smashed and torn by the heroes and villains fights previously in the day.

However, Relief was okay with that. The heroes loved him, even if the citizens of this city thought he was the absolute worst 'hero' out there.

As the villain was slammed into a glass window and into a book store, Relief activated his power again and removed the glass scattered around the floor.

It joined the other depre in the void as the hero stalked up the building to sit by him. "Do you mind working overtime Relief?" The hero clasped his hands together and looked at him with puppy dog eyes.

Relief just laughed and nodded, happy to help the hero in any way he could. The heroes eyes sparkled and he whispered a tiny "yes!" to himself before jumping of the bakeries roof and rejoining the villain, who was pulling him self out of the book store.

The hero wasted no time before leaping at the villain and unleashing his pull power. The explosions of sound were way more powerful than the ones before.

The villain was spared no mercy and he was relentlessly thrown through building after building. His strangled cries rang out and he surrendered to the hero, begging for mercy as he bleed out on the ground.

Relief chuckled to himself, and got to work. Pieces of concrete, glass, some bits of the road, and even an entire building peacefully swirled around the void after Relief was done.

As the two stood in the road with the villain being cuffed and shoved a car. The hero turned to Relief and smiled at him. A silent word of appreciation was exchanged between the two.

What a crazy first day at work.

"This can't be it." I thought to myself. Anger, loss, revenge, all burning through me as I lay atop the ruins that had once been my villlage. My home.

"I won't let it end this way." I feel my body failing, bleeding out from the wound the soldiers left in my chest. I hear my wife and daugher scream and cry for help. They trusted me to be their protector. I had let them down.

But I myself had been let down.

No god had come to my aid, never in my life. Not Zeus not Poseidon. Not Thor or Odin. Not even Raa. The pagan gods? Not found. The Christian god? He must have been otherwise occupied..

No divine intervention when I was an infant and my parents forced from our home. Nor when I was a child and witnessed my parents' gruesome deaths, praying all the while. When I myself faced death on countless occasions, there was no one to help, no one to perform the mighty miracles I had heard stories about.

Only me, and nothing else.

Me and nothing.

Me and the nothingness

Nothing had always been with me.

Now, as I lay here dying, Nothing, my constant companion, was as close as ever.

I reached out to the emptiness that has been a part of me since the beginning.

And prayed for my final time

"Help me"

.......

I hear you, my child

The voice came from nowhere, and everywhere. It filled my head and even my soul.

"Help me" I repeated, desparate in my final moments "Please. I need you. Please show yourself"

I am nowhere. I come from nothing, and I myself am nothing. But I hear your prayer, little one.

A light filled my view...

And for the companionship you and I have shared, I will grant unto you nothing

I stood up. My wound gone. I no longer felt death around me. But I did not feel life. I did not feel weak, or strong. I..... I did not feel. Remembering my circumstances, I strode to the next room, to the attackers around the woman and her offspring. They turned to face me, to attack me. It took not a movement, not even a thought or a will, and I made their bodies crumple to the ground, their eyes lifeless, their souls gone. Not moved on, but... erased. Now they will join the nothingness I had known all my life.

The woman turned to me, and she seemed releived, happy, grateful. But I felt nothing. Though I recognized her, and remembered the love and bond we had, I could no longer feel it. Nor could I feel the sadness that realization should have brought me.

I turned and walked away. I feel nothing, It is now a part of me, and I a part of it. I have not been given a new life, but death eludes me.

In my new existence, I am now keenly aware of the power in the world. The gods are here. I feel nothing, but I remember their dismissals of me. I recall the times they were needed, and did not act.

My child. I have given you nothing. I have made you nothing. And now, we can take everything

"Of course I did, Telemachus."

The Paladin's holy plate, still somehow resplendent despite being bathed in the blood and ichor of the Demon Lord's servants, grated slightly as he shifted uncomfortably. He spoke to the cloaked figure of his Ranger comrade.

"Boone, we're journeyed leagues. We have slain and saved across the breadth of a continent. We have done deeds that will live in song and saga for ages. All of this simply to reach this creature that you now name an," Telemachus' lips twitched as he spoke the phrase "overdramatic bitch."

"Sure as hell, Telly. And here's the what and why." Boone's hood fell back to reveal a close-cropped scalp over a haggard and stubbled face, one eye clearly taken in the receipt of a wicked scar, only to be replaced with a ghostly circle of black fire bisected by two perpendicular lines. He spat a stream of juice from the plug of matter he was chewing. The grass it landed on began to wither.

"You see, he ca'int do shit."

Boone held up his hand to silence Telemachus as he began to stutter a protest.

"Yeah yeah, Reaver of Souls, Bane of Mortals, whoop de doo. He has power, yes. But he ca'int come down here and do anything hisself 'cause the second he does the Lord of Light will step down from High Elysium and hammer-dick him back to the basement of Stygium. He is not free to act in the mortal planes. He needs servants to carry out his will, just as your god needs you, Telly."

"Yes, but servants he has, Boone." Telemachus gestureds broadly around at the blasted, pierced, hewn and bludgeoned corpses and the ominously rumbling ruin that had been their fortress.

"Sure thing, but ol' Darky over there can't make this plane his own until the hearts of all are turned to him." Booned rubs his eyes in exasperation. "And that ain't gettin ready to happen! Ever. What's his whole pitch, bud?"

"That he shall plunge the realms of mortality into everlasting darkness and despair, forever to corrupt and consume the souls of men." Telemachus replies.

"Right." Boone steps up and claps his hand on Telemachus' gleaming pauldron. "Who, precisely, in the shit wants that?" He spat another stream onto the weeds of the ritual courtyard, further blighting an already terrible locale. "Present corpse-any excluded, heh."

"That sorta black-hearted dumbassery only works for the sort of back asswards losers who think being nasty trash is a means to power, and that's most of nobody. Hell, I'm more of a bastard than most folks and it don't even sound good to me. Folks just want to have enough to get by and some extry for a hootenanny every so often. Tell em you're gonna piss all over that and gnaw their souls to boot? Hell. It ain't ever gonna work."

Telemachus stands dumbstruck. Then chuckles, his entire titanic frame shaking. In a moment a laugh of pure delight roars from his throat, the sound and mirth so pure it causes the sun to beam down a little brighter, and the weeds afflicted by Boone's venom to regain some of their vigor.

"By the Light, my friend, you're right!" Still thundering with humor, Telemachus turns toward the shadowy figure of the Demon Lord, and points a mocking finger. "Khord Malum, First Seed of Destruction, Ruiner of Faith, Acid of Oaths, Thorn of Discord, you are SUCH AN OVERDRAMATIC BITCH!"

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The saying "All press is good press" inspired the outfit, I thought it apt. Helps me get to the scene, helps me keep a lower profile - by the time the new names on the respective rosters figure me out, they tend to understand why I'm kept around. I'm still terrible at playing the role of "catastrophic event photographer" - I never get a good picture of what's happening, and there's never some dramatic wrecked building or hollowed out street for me to frame the aftermath with. Not that I mind, of course.

Essentially, I prevent collateral damage. That's how I pitch it to the heroes. They like it, their underwriters like it, the local governments like it. It helps the heroes swallow the bitter pill of how that collateral is prevented. If someone fires a weapon at a hero while I'm involved, they're getting hit. If they don't, something or someone else will, and that's "collateral" - the clever heroes usually learn that if it's part of the fight it's fair game, so they'll bring plenty of resources to soak hits that would otherwise be on them, or make sure that the backstop is another baddie. They benefit as well, of course. Laser eyes never ignite fuel tanks, throws hit brick walls instead of the glass window a foot to the left, and they never have to worry about crashing through a roof while landing.

The bad actors don't always know who I am or what I do. They figure they're on their game, or that it's just "how these things work out" - the ones with the time or resources to figure me out, however, do a quick bit of calculus. If I'm present, they can't miss. Their goons start peppering the heroes with rounds, their fancy doomsday weapons have a chance at hitting a moving target they'd never be able to otherwise. They benefit from having me around, so they keep me around. I've gotten 'tips' before, as well, just to make sure that I'm present when they unveil their newest anti-hero weapon.

So, I get the heroes hurt more often, but the bystanders get to walk free. It's hard, sometimes- there are a few capes and cowls draped under the words "In Memoriam" that I can't be sure I didn't hang there myself. But, in that same building, there's another board of names and photographs. Innocents, hostages, people that made it out of the most terrifying day of their lives because a hero stepped in just in time. People that those same heroes relied on my power to save.

As long as there's more names on the second wall than the first, I think I'm doing alright.

Anybody know why my comment didn't work right? This was a four paragraph story

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Crying for the depth of Null's hopelessness. Knowing he couldn't be everywhere and that everyone felt this way... Knowing his power had to be a secret or he'd be a target.

Biggest oof

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“Why?” The young apprentice fell to his knees. Though his body raised in miniature stutters, the weight of defeat would always bring him back down. “You could have been the best. Why give it up?”

The master knelt down to his level.

“I am equally curious. What is it that you seek? Is it really to see yourself rise, or is it to see others fall?”

The student punched the ground with a desperate force, and the ground retaliated with its own. He winced in pain. “What’s the difference? The result is the same in the end.”

“Can you not see? Even the poorest of paradise live better than the kings of ruin. Fire burns no less when surrounded by a flame much bigger. Fear it, and it will burn you. Embrace it, and one day you will shine just as bright”

It could also be a case of his powers not being flashy, so if he's not there, people complain about why he doesn't do anything, and if he is there, people complain about why he doesn't do anything.

For the public, even if they did know, they might think the heroes can just control collateral damage themselves, and Null is just riding on their coattails by being there for the media presence.

Man, that was depressing. Phenomenal writing, my man.

Beverley Chills Cop: The Squeequel. Chapter 2, Electric Boogieloo.

Snowy was daydreaming out the window as Blitzen steered the blimp towards Elfton, when Poiloog interrupted. “Snowy, our analyst, Summer, needs to brief you before the drop.”

Snowy turned. “Summer? I think I worked with your sister, Spring.”

“Oh no, that's Summer Dove. My last name is Emory.”

“Apologies,” Snowy nodded. “Take it away, Summer E.”

“As everyone here knows, but I’ll state anyway, the Christmas Sloth is an immortal time traveller, who every year delivers Christmas presents to all children. He moves slowly, but jumps back in time as he goes, allowing him to deliver billions of presents in one night, even if it lasts thousands of years for him. Santa is evil, and wants to use gifts as coercion, only giving to children who meet his moral standards. Last year, you two thwarted Santa’s attempt to kill the Christmas Sloth before having no major cases for eleven months.”

“Woah, we found that stash of guns at the Winter fair?” Snuggles looked to his partner for support.

“Yeah. Glock in’n’around the Christms tree.”

“Those were water pistols,” Poiloog grumbled.

“Anyway,” Summer interjected. “Elves remain fiercely loyal to Santa. You can’t let them know your police. Now, good luck, gentlemen.”

With that, the floor opened up beneath Snowy and Snuggles and they plunged from the blimp. They screamed as they fell, screaming all four feet until they landed gently in a large snowback, and looked up at the airship floating at head height.

“Hey, you two,” a voice squeaked. “What’re you doing? explain yours’elfs. You police?”

Snowy looked at the three foot woman standing with crossed arms. Then he peered at the blimp with POLICE written on the side knocking a chimney off a nearby house. “Noooooooooooo?”

“Good. If I saw a lawman, I’d shoot the sherelf and the deputy. In that case, we’re friends. How can I help?”

Snuggles dusted off the snow. “We’re looking for music.”

“Oh. For that, the d’elfault place to go is the disco.”

“The disco?”

“Yeah. Elfa Fitzgerald is playing. The owner’s the welfiest guy in town and flew her in.”

“Where would we find this disco?” Snowy said, an antler twitching.

“Just head down the street and turn elft. But be careful,” the woman turned with an ominous aura before walking away. “Something dodgy is elfoot in that club.”

Snowy and Snuggles followed her directions. It didn’t take long to find. The Jingle Ball was written in electric lettering on the wall and even outside they could hear the thumping bass, strobe lights emanated from the windows, and party goers raved to I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

“Kinda gross he had that song written about himself?” Snowy muttered.

“Agreed.”

Inside, they walked into a bar that hung from the low ceiling, then up to a bar that served drinks. A waiter spun round. “What can I get you two ‘elfy gentlemen. Maybe a signature cocktail? We have History is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes or A taste of haven.”

“Odd names,” Snuggles muttered. “But don’t you mean heaven?”

“Elf no.”

“Don’t serve those two men. Uh-huh. I should’elf known we’d get your kind.”

Snowy and Snuggles turned to see an elf with quaffed black hair in a white sequin jumpsuit.

“You are?” Snuggles asked.

“Elfis. Musical legend and… Uh-huh… owner of this elfstablishment. Now let’s discuss the elfant in the room, shall we. You cops?”

Snowy looked down at the police badge on his chest. “Nooooooooooo?”

“Maybe we should - uh-huh - test that. You know how you spot a cop. Make them dance their socks elf.”

“What?”

“Cops can’t dance, uh huh. Let’s see how skelful you are on the dancefloor, then we’ll decide if we’re friends or your dead.”

Snowy looked down at his lanky hooves, then across to Snowy’s flat-footed webbed toes and non-existent legs. “I’ll do it,” he sighed.

“No. I got this,” Snuggles waggled forward.

“What? Penguins can’t dance?”

“Just call me Snappy Feet,” Snuggles replied, pulling out a pair of sunglasses in the very dark club. “DJ!”

A record skipped and a voice boomed over the speakers. “Ladies and gentleelf, though the weather outside is frightful, but the fiiirrrrreee on the dancefloor is delightful. So since there’s no place to go, let’s get to a ho-ho-ho-hoedown.”

Boogie music began, as the crowd cleared the dancefloor, hollering in delight. Snuggles waddled in-eloquently to the middle of the room, arched his back… then jerked… Then jerked again. Stiff movements. But controlled. Then he bent his arms, swinging his hips round slowly. Snowy watched on in awe. Snuggles was doing the robot.

“Snuggles… how?”

Snuggles turned to his partner in a slow, smooth motion. “Secret, kid. I’m quarter robot, on my mom’s side.”

My traitorous student walked into my lab, the sword of destiny in one hand, the other a fist, clenched in rage. The scowl of his face said it all, he was here to kill me.

“Hello James.”, I said causally, “something on your mind?”

“Revenge. You kicked me out of the program and now I will take your head.”, he cursed as he spun the blade in his hand.

“You think that blade will be enough to kill me? You think you have the skills and fortitude to kill me?”, I prodded him.

“This is the sword of destiny! You wielded it once, at the battle of Sonova, but it was too much for you and you gave it up. Everyone knows the story.”, he said with a smirk, “if there is a blade in the world that can kill your old ass, this is it!”

I let out a long sigh. “I am old. So very old. Everyone knows wizards live a long time. Two or three hundred years on average. What are you? Seventy years old? You are a child to me.” I sat down in my recliner chair and lit a my pipe. I took a long slow puff.

“I created a spell a long time ago that extends my life. I don’t know by how much…. The math gets a little crazy when you are dealing in that kind of power, but I am a great deal older than you think I am.”, I let out a perfect slow smoke ring and then blew a second one faster to go through the first one.

“I am eight thousand years old…. I think. We have switched calendars a couple of times and I think I might be out by a couple of years… maybe a decade… doesn’t reality matter after your first millennia”, I explained.

“That is impossible!”, James yelled, “the amount of power that would take is insane. There is no way for you to gather that much power fast enough without burning yourself out.”, he was so sure of himself.

“Power can be pulled through an amplifying artifact…. “, I said simply.

“Still not enough power.”, he said smugly.

I took another deep puff of my pipe. “Magically power is all around us. In every spec of life. In ley lines that circle the planet. In electrical storms. In earth quakes…. Everything has power. Now if someone was to absorb the power of, oh, let’s say an active volcano, through an amplifying artifact and channel it into a longevity spell…. Well… assuming you didn’t burn yourself to a crisp with the power influx, you would have enough power to create the most powerful longevity spell ever cast.”

I could see the doubt starting to take seed in young James.

“What do you do with that much life?”, I asked him

“I don’t know. It isn’t possible”, he stammered.

“It is possible. And what you do…. Is everything. I have been a tailor, a carpenter, a blacksmith, a weapons smith, a gold smith, a baker, a gigolo, a politician, a weapons master…. I have mastered every skill I ever came across. I have lived thousands of lives.”, I tapped out my pipe in the ash tray, “I created the sword of destiny almost a thousand years ago. A challenge to myself to create the most powerful sword ever created.”

“Bullshit! Merlin created the sword! Everyone knows that.”, James spat.

“You are right. Merlin created the sword. But I was Merlin… and Gerald the great… and Edouard the wise… and Stevo the whacko. I have been so many people over the centuries that I can’t even keep track of them all. But believe it or not, I created that sword. Every couple hundred years, I wield it again and remind the world of its power, make sure it is in the hands of someone worthy.”, I stood up and cracked my neck. “You aren’t worthy of that blade. I didn’t give it up because it was too much for me. I gave it up because it makes everything too easy. After eight thousand years, I do things the hard way or a different way or in a new way just to entertain myself. I am bored. Now if you are going to kill me, I suggest you get on with it. I have a 2pm class to teach.”

James gave the blade a spin and charged at me. What a predictably boring opening.

I kicked my ottoman and it him in the shins, bringing his charge to an abrupt stop. He swung the blade and I dodge it easily. I leapt to the right and kicked off the wall to get more height and then spun and kicked him across the face, landing lightly in front of him.

“You need to do better James. You have the sword, come on and use it!”, I taunted him.

I could feel him pulling in power. The air crackled and lightening jumped down the blade as it amplified the power, he swung the sword over head and unleashed a massive lightening bolt right at me with a mighty scream.

“Excellent James.”, I said as I caught the bolt. I curled the bolt and formed a ball with the electricity. All of my hair stood on end as I built the charge even bigger. “Now catch it James.”, I said as I lobbed the ball of electricity back to him.

He slashed at it with the sword. The power running back into the blade and into James. I could see the lightening dancing in his eyes. The fool of a boy had never played with even this much power before and he was coming to kill me? Stupid boy.

James was struggling to hold on to the power. All of his muscles were tense and he was fighting to keep his hands on the hilt. I fashioned another ball of lightening and lobbed it at him. And another. And another.

“How many more can you take James?”, he struggled and then dropped the sword. The power scorched the stone floor and the blade sunk half way into the floor. James fell to his knees trying to catch his breath.

“You were kicked out of the program because you are mentally unstable. You have minimal control of your very considerable power. And you lack the discipline to over come those things. And now you have come to kill me. Pathetic.”

I spun around an kicked him in the face causing him to fall into the blade. The sword easily took his head cleanly off.

“Such a pity. He had potential.”, I gathered my books and headed off to class. Hopefully the maid will be by to clean up while I am away.

Fuckin' diabolical

Jesus.

Now you only need Miraculous Ladybug to fix the damage.

Yes.

That's a rather optimistic perspective on villains. Some would care, but many would not hold back just to prevent collateral damage.

You guys asked for it. Not sure if it's really what you wanted though...