Paragon

“Goodness, what a mess,” Vladimir whispered and then continued his nonchalant whistling while wiping the blood off his hands. He frowned as he noticed that there was also blood on the arm of his favorite tan suit. He looked down at the corpse that lay at his feet, a gaping hole in the woman’s chest where he had plunged his hand to rip out her heart. It made him somewhat sad to see Myra die, but he saw in her mind the hesitation to do what had to be done and she was starting to think herself his equal. “Look what you’ve done, bitch,” he said and spat in her lifeless eyes, “you’ve ruined one of my favorite suits; all because you had to hesitate.” Vladimir scoffed and rolled his eyes. He blamed her for the massive power outage that darkened his building; she was responsible for that facility’s security and she had procrastinated too long. Now his entire building was running on a pathetic backup generator.

Many of his experiments were likely suffering now due to the power outage; he didn’t even want to think about the circumstances. It made him angry. He’d planned for everything, every possible move his father might’ve made to stop or slow his progress to becoming what he was meant to be, he’d made contingencies for. Yet, for some reason, this new Paragon, this Winter Wraith, was steamrolling through all of his contingencies without any trouble.

Over in the corner of his office the fat man trembled behind an office chair and was muttering something to himself. Vladimir knew that, at one point, one of them was going to do something to set him off. Minions always had a habit of making themselves targets at some point or another, he had just assumed it would be Michael he’d end up killing.

“Get up,” Vladimir barked and at once Michael leapt to his feet and sat in the chair he had been hiding behind. The fat man still trembled and shivered like a cartoon character who’d just seen a ghost. It made Vladimir sick just looking at how pathetic he was; but he didn’t harm Michael. He’d already disposed of one henchman, he didn’t need to lose another just yet; and the fat man was quite good at swinging the media towards a certain point of view. He was a fantastic minister of propaganda.

“S-s-sir, I-I mean, my Lord,” Michael stuttered, “Miss Wallace was working on some v-very d-delicate information… I’m not sure we’ll be able to continue with campaign without her…”

“Michael…” Vladimir scowled while rubbing his forehead, “hire who or whatever you need to complete your task.” Their eyes met and Michael whimpered softly. “You fail and I will make sure you suffer more than she did. Am I understood?” The fat man was sweating profusely, but he nodded his affirmation and scurried out of the office like a rat.

Vladimir readjusted his suit and tightened his tie; resetting his image as a clean, well-groomed individual; the magazine CEO. The only thing that stood out was the blood that was still somewhat soggy on the arm. On a tan suit it was especially visible, but it didn’t matter that much; he was about to head home anyway. The only people that would see him like this were paid not to ask questions. By now the only people left in the building would be the receptionist at the main lobby who would be on his right as he exited the building. She would likely be buried in her phone, texting or something, while he left. Anyone else would be a cubicle rat getting what little work they were capable of completing with the small amount of power allowed. They were all far too intimidated by him to say anything anyways.

He walked down to the lobby and out to his car; a red corvette that had been illegally modified. He liked speed when he drove and refused to allow the possibility of a chauffeur driving him around. The air outside was cold and bitter against his cheeks but he paid it no mind. He popped into his vehicle and sped off through the city with no concept of a speed limit. Several cars swerved out of his way as he raced down the streets. He laughed at them. Outside the city and deep in the forest, Vladimir pulled into his concrete driveway adorned with fountains and various statues of the gods from the Greek Pantheon. He admired them; they did what they wanted with no regard to humanity, and why shouldn’t they? They were gods.

He continued his whistling as he exited the car and opened the doors to the massive house. Immediately as he stepped in there was a spiral staircase to his left that matched the marble floors. A fireplace sat at his right, unlit next to the luxurious couches that sat around it. Vladimir snapped his fingers and sent a touch of his will to the wooden logs in the brazier and they sparked to life with a blaze of red flame. He loosened his tie and pulled off his coat, rolling the sleeves of the silk shirt he wore to his elbows. Vladimir sent out his will again to the cabinet and started to pour himself a glass of wine using only his mind. He was thoroughly enjoying discovering all his new powers and using them. As he drew the glass towards him he pulled out a cigar and snapped his fingers again; his thumb lit up like a match which he used to light the cigar.

The wine glass touched his hands and he found it a little too warm. He focused his will again and his hand became covered in an icy aura that immediately chilled the wine.

“Fuck!” Vladimir yelled, dropping the glass of wine, which shattered across the marble floor, and the cigar as his head suddenly felt like it was being split open. Vladimir was experiencing a colossal headache, something he had never had before.

I’ve never had a headache… I’ve been alive for centuries; I’ve never had a headache… He thought, gripping his head tightly. He looked from side to side and saw the room spinning slightly. He was dizzy, I don’t get dizzy! There must be someone doing this… Vladimir reached out with his mind and hunted for thought, but found nothing. There was no one anywhere.

Impossible. He started to reach out again but the throbbing pain continued and his sight went blurry. Vladimir groaned and nearly vomited from the intense migraine that eviscerated his thought. The pain slowly subsided after what seemed like hours. He slowly started to raise himself back onto the couch and wiped his forehead; damp, sweaty. He had never sweat before.

“What the fuck was that…” He muttered to himself with his head resting against the cushions. He let out a short moan of pain as it faded away and he started to wonder why he hadn’t been impervious to it. He knew he had included Supers with healing capabilities in the device, why were they not kicking in? Did he have to focus on that too? The more he thought the more his head started throb again. Then the room got cold.

Vladimir looked around his house and saw the floor slowly freezing like a hand of icy fingers creeping over the marble. He looked around and started searching out for a mind to read, but his headache made it hard for him to focus and despite the fact the pain had faded away he could still feel his head throbbing gently. He looked outside and saw that the forest that surrounded his home had become shrouded by a dense fog; all that was visible outside of the glass doors was grey.

Why can I not sense him? He wondered as the fog crept under the door, through the windows and into his home.

“Come out, come out, little Paragon. Even your sister fought me to my face.” He mocked, ignoring the sensations in his head and assuming a confident stance. “Even she was able to meet my eyes as she died.” He turned this way and that, peering into the fog and looking for any sign of movement. He closed his eyes and focused his will again; when he opened them his vision was replaced with colors outlining any kind of thermal energy or heat. But nothing moved of its own accord. He closed his eyes again and his vision returned to normal.

He wants to scare me, how adorable.

“Do you really think to terrify me with your parlor tricks, Paragon?” Vladimir laughed and closed his eyes again; he took a deep breath and inhaled. He smelled sweat that was not his own. He turned to his right and opened his maw and exhaled fire. A torrent of blazing howl echoed in a cone of fire that left Vladimir’s throat and burned everything in front of him. The fog split and Vladimir saw a shadow dart away from the flames. His hands lit up with fire and became bright balls of heat that he flung in the direction the shadow moved.

Vladimir did not care that he was setting fire to his own house. It was a nice place and he liked it in many ways, but it was simply a place for him to lay his head at the end of the day. Setting fire to it in order to get rid this vermin would give him a good pity plea for the press. He could already see it in his mind as he flung fire around the room.

“Come out, little Paragon,” he said again. The fire faded from his hands and he felt lightning take its place. Electricity cracked and hissed between his fingers and his eyes wandered through the fog that seemed to be dissipating; on the other hand his entire house was starting to crack and pop with fire.

Then, in a rather theatric display of power, large shards of ice split up from the ground, shattering through the marble floors, and swallowed the fires whole. Vladimir looked around him and saw that all the fires had been quenched with ice and his home had been turned into a frozen tomb. It was, without a doubt, impressive. He heard a footstep behind him and turned just in time to see the Paragon known as the Winter Wraith touching the ground. His cloak billowed around him and the red tattoos adorning his bare chest and arms glistened in the cold. The Wraith’s eyes cracked with electrical power that glowed with a pale yellow hue.

Vladimir wasted no time, thrusting his hands out and unleashing a torrent of electrical power into the Wraith. The arcs of lightning struck the Paragon and surged into him, yet he seemed unaffected; in fact the Paragon took a deep breath as the energy struck him repeatedly in an endless torrent and then stretched out his hand. The electricity moved from his chest to striking his hand and disappeared inside him.

“Of all the things you could’ve done, Dragon,” the Wraith said with the light undertone of amusement, “that was probably the worst.” Vladimir blinked in confusion. He was not afraid, he considered himself above fear, more curious. He blinked again and suddenly the Paragon was standing in his face, their eyes barely a foot apart.

“Impressive… you can absorb electricity as well as discharge it… How fascinating…” Vladimir said while stroking his chin. “I would love that power… Why don’t I have that one?” Vladimir looked off to the side as he thought of how he might be able to take this Paragon’s genetics and add it to his device, even though it was deeply embedded in his sternum and held there by magical means.

“I’m going to make you pay for everything,” the Wraith said and both of his hands gripped the lapels of Vladimir’s shirt. “Do you hear me? I’m going to end you!” The Wraith yelled and his voice sounded like the crack of thunder in a cliché horror story; the kind that shook the ground and scared the kids.

“I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken, boy,” Vladimir whispered with a sickly grin. His right fist came up and struck the Paragon on the jaw and sent him flying into the wall by the fireplace.

***

Zeke felt the force of the blow just as much as he felt his back strike the marble walls. The wind flew out of him and he was pretty sure he heard the marble behind him crack. That was surprising, last he checked Vladimir was supposed to be telepathic; he had been expecting to fight shadows, illusions, or his own willpower and yet he’d just been flung into the wall so hard his body cracked marble. Zeke brought himself back to his feet by levitating his body above the ground and turning himself upright. Vladimir was walking towards him with slow, deliberate strides and a mad grin on his face.

“I’m curious,” Vladimir said, halting his steps as he stood nearly a yard from Zeke, “I was able to find out where you lived, where your family was and yet I couldn’t find your name. A man ought to hear his own name before he dies and not some silly, comic-book alias. The Winter Wraith; how dramatic.”

“You’re one to talk,” Zeke hissed, his mind briefly revisited the image of his sister plastered to the wall and burned all over her body except for her face. Zeke rushed forward and brought his fist straight into Vladimir’s abdomen. Vladimir’s body bent around Zeke’s fist and Zeke wasted no time in bringing his knee straight up into the Dragon’s jaw. Vladimir stumbled back and planted his feet firmly into the ice, shattering it in a web of cracks, to prevent himself from falling down, but Zeke did not let his assault dwindle.

Zeke’s right hand was charged with static that let out small electrical bursts every time it came in contact with Vladimir’s body, or the wall, while his left hand was coated in a thick layer of ice. He struck and was immediately thrown again to the floor with an audible crack. He felt sore and bruised, but refused to give up. Zeke brought himself quickly to his feet and watched as Vladimir’s form separated into five other humanoid forms, all silhouettes with vague traces of detail hidden in the shadowy forms.

Thunder and lightning hissed and struck above them and the shadowy forms at Vladimir’s side came to life and assaulted Zeke with a merciless assault. Each of them seemed to be just as strong and fast as Vladimir was and they were kicking Zeke around the room. He managed to dodge, parry and slip away from most of the attacks; he thrust his right hand out and lightning struck through one of the silhouettes which dissipated away like smoke. It wasn’t long before he was overrun by the shadows again and Zeke found himself being held down by several of them while Vladimir stalked closer.

Zeke drew on his will and let out a thunderous cry. Arcs of lightning shot from his body, exploding outward and piercing the shadows around him. The shadowy silhouettes disappeared and he felt their hold on him lift; Vladimir also had been struck by several of the exploding arcs and was on the other end of the room. His skin was seared and steaming, yet it healed almost immediately. Vladimir smiled and looked at Zeke with cold eyes and a sadistic smile.

***

Vladimir was, to say the least, impressed. Not only had the Paragon managed to find and obliterate all of Vladimir’s research centers but the Wraith also managed to eradicate the power source of all his operations; find his home and was now assaulting him with a vigor Vladimir had scarcely seen before. Even in his battles in medieval times, when men fought with drunken ferocity, did not compare to the savagery he was experiencing here and now; and yet Vladimir was starting to get bored. He was done playing around with the would-be hero, it was time to end the charade.

Vladimir’s hand shot out in a blur of speed and caught the Wraith by his wrist; another blow came and he thrust his palm out to meet the Paragon’s knuckles and held him there. Vladimir gained his footing and started to squeeze the would-be hero’s hand and wrist until he cried out and fell to his knees. The bruises, cuts and burns that adorned Vladimir’s face and body quickly disappeared as he focused his will on his healing.

“You’re… not just a telepath, are you?” The Wraith said before crying out again; a loud popping sound echoed from the Wraith’s wrist as the bones were being crushed beneath Vladimir’s strength.

“Not anymore,” Vladimir cooed, “I am a god!” Vladimir thrust his right foot forward into the Wraith’s chest which sent him flying off into the wall again, cracking more of the marble décor. He raised his hand and used his mind to lift the hero up off the ground and then slam him back onto the floor. Vladimir tore away his shirt to reveal the device that was embedded in his chest; the skin was split and stretched over it in sinewy strands across the cold metal.

“Nice body-bling,” The Wraith coughed as he raised himself back to his feet. Vladimir could smell the blood that the Paragon had just coughed up; he reveled in the scent. The Wraith dashed towards him again; Vladimir could see the ice forming over his left hand, ready to break and shatter against his body if the hero managed to land a good hit. He opened his mouth and let out a cry infused with sonic energy so powerful it distorted the air and crashed against the would-be hero. While the concussive force of the sonic-scream had knocked the Wraith down, he seemed unaffected by the sound itself.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Vladimir spat as he searched through his data base of powers for something fun to kill the hero with. Something that would entertain him.

“Get what?” The Wraith’s shoulders heaved up and down; he rolled his wrists and flexed his hands to make sure nothing was broken. Nothing was, yet.

“I am not just some Super, I am not a Paragon I am the Paragon! I am a god! I have powers you have never even heard of, I have the power of a thousand Supers! You are but an ant before me!” The Dragon roared and flame issued from his mouth and poured out over the room in a wide cone that incinerated everything in front of him. The Paragon dove to his left and rolled; his hands shot out towards Vladimir and lightning cracked and exploded when the arcs struck Vladimir on the chest. Vladimir flew back into the wall.

“You’re the same as every other tyrant who’s ever lived, and you’re going to die just like they did.” The Wraith spat, hovered into the air and then lunged towards Vladimir who dove towards the hero. Vladimir swiped and missed and felt himself suddenly hit the ground, feeling much heavier than before. He looked down and saw that his legs had been encased in bricks of ice; Vladimir roared and set his body aflame. The ice burst from him and his clothes were scorched and on fire, but he paid it no mind.

“How cliché of you to remind me,” Vladimir spat, “would you like to know how your family died?” He grinned when the Paragon’s eyes widened. “They did it to themselves. Well, of course I suggested it, but in the end they took the knife to their own throats with a delicate, trembling draw of the hand. It was actually quite marvelous to watch.” The Paragon screamed and thunder cracked above them, shaking the house to its foundation. The Wraith lunged towards Vladimir who vanished in a wisp of green smoke.

“The hell…” The Wraith cursed; Vladimir drew up behind him and brought both his fists forcefully against the back of his opponent’s head. The Wraith tumbled forward and rolled in the air.

The fight raged on. The house became a ruin of ice and fire and electrical scorch marks. Vladimir summoned fire and earth to defeat the hero, but no matter what he did the Paragon kept getting back up. Despite what powers Vladimir mustered the Paragon found ways to fight back with tenacity. His resiliency reminded Vladimir of all the times he had fought his father, Phalanx; how annoying that always was. Vladimir’s head was throbbing violently again as the fight raged on so he wasn’t able to focus his own psychic powers into the Wraith, at least not from a distance. Every time he conjured a new power his head throbbed again. Vladimir tried to combine his powers but that only made his headache worse, and several times it cost him.

The fight seemed to go on for hours to them. They flung the elements at one another; Vladimir learned the hard way that neither ice nor electricity would do any good against the Wraith. The fight drew to a stalemate of strength and prowess. Vladimir was quickly discovering that the more powers he tried to use at once the more his head started to pound. The battle raged on, each meeting the other’s power, until Vladimir grabbed hold of the Wraith once more, and gripped him by the skull.

With physical contact Vladimir now had an immediate connection to the Wraith’s body and mind; using that he projected his will into the Paragon’s mind and froze him. The Wraith’s body locked up; he wasn’t able to move, he couldn’t access any of his powers. The light that emanated from his eyes died out and Vladimir could see his pupils; they were the same pale yellow color as the energy they radiated.

“You are mine now, little hero,” Vladimir whispered with a sinister smile on his lips. “You have been formidable; it appears that no matter what physical powers are available it is always best to use the power of the mind. Yours is so full of angst that it is easy to take hold of.”

***

Zeke couldn’t move. His eyes were wide with surprise as he felt the Drago worm his way around Zeke’s mind and pry into his thoughts and memories. He tried to move; he tried to summon the energy that coursed through him but he felt like a dead battery. He projected his will but he couldn’t fight the possession; every inch of him scream for control but Vladimir’s hold on him was firm. With all the rage built up in his heart he had made himself incredibly vulnerable to psychic infiltration, and now he was completely helpless. He couldn’t even speak.

“You’ve been entertaining,” Vladimir jested with an amused look on his face, “but I can’t have someone as powerful as you running around. It’s bad enough I have my father to worry about.” Zeke tried to respond with something insulting, but his mouth felt like a desert when he opened it and the words were lost in the sands.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Vladimir, “if you get on your knees and worship me like its Sunday morning, I’ll not only spare you; I’ll bring your family back.”

Zeke’s eyes flared open, though not in shock or awe. Instead, it was his anger that flared up even further that Vladimir had dared to even offer such a thing. For one, Zeke was aware that even if Vladimir was capable of doing this there was a very high chance of them coming back braindead. On the other hand for him to suggest such a thing as if it would make Zeke forget what happened to them in the first place was an insult. He felt Vladimir’s hold on his mind loosen slightly; he got the impression the Dragon was allowing him to give a verbal response so again he opened his mouth and attempted to speak.

“No… Never…” Zeke hissed and spat through gritted teeth. Vladimir frowned, rolling his eyes and let out a stiff sigh.

“It’s a shame, really. Someone of your power could’ve been a general in my new world. Heh, quite the cliché isn’t this? Me, the megalomaniac, ready to take over the world with my hands in every world power imaginable, and you the theatrical hero here to stop me.” Vladimir cackled and then leaned in closer to Zeke, “too bad this comic book has to end so soon, isn’t it?”

“I… Will…” Zeke’s words came out hoarse and dry; forming the words was difficult enough without the sensation of cottonmouth. “Never bow to you!” In that moment, Zeke summoned all the power he could. His eyes flashed with light. He used the opening that he’d been given to his advantage and poured every watt, every amp, every volt of electric energy he had stored in his body from all the sources he had siphoned, including Ion’s prison, and used it to charge his right fist. Zeke pressed off of his feet as hard as he could and drove his fist upward into Vladimir’s jaw with as much force as he was able to muster. Even in his weakened state the blow, combined with the explosion of lightning that erupted upon impact, sent Vladimir soaring through the air. The impact made a sound like the crack of volatile thunder and the Dragon was flung back and up into one of the stone pillars that held up the roof and shattered it like it was made of clay.

Zeke did not waste time to see if he had done any damage. If there was even the slightest chance Vladimir was still conscious Zeke would be dead; he had expended all of his power down to the last watt and he knew that he was likely going to pass out soon. Paragon or no, that was literally everything he had in one massive strike and he’d been psychically immobilized by the Dragon’s telepathy; he was going to be out for the count if he didn’t hurry.

Zeke reached out and tried to siphon energy from any source he could to prevent himself from passing out, but the world was already turning black. His vision faded and gave way to the void of unconsciousness. He dreamt of death.

***

Vladimir opened his eyes a few minutes after being struck and found his body and hands charred and black. His nerves were fried and he could barely move; he found the power to heal and let his body slowly return itself to normal. It took hours to regenerate the damage done by the Wraith.

He waited patiently for the moment when he’d be able to feel again. It wasn’t until the nerves were repaired in his system that he started to feel pain. Despite the fact that he was healing, repairing tissue didn’t take away the pain; if anything it caused more pain as his body started to reattach nerves and skin together and flake away the dead crispy bits of skin. He looked down and saw that his legs were trapped under rubble which he quickly kicked away with the strength he’d stolen.

His adrenaline flow died down and was quickly replaced by another throbbing headache. He looked around at the ruins of his house and saw that the Paragon had fled; Vladimir’s anger rose as he started to realize that, while he had the powers of thousands of Supers, he wasn’t used to using them and neither was his body. That was likely what was causing his headache. Why hadn’t he counted on that? Why hadn’t he considered it? Or was it simply a side effect of ending the ritual early? Perhaps it was the backlash from the magic used to enable him to tap into the device fused to his body. Vladimir made a note to spend the next few days practicing using his new abilities as much as he could and use as many of them as he could in short periods of time. This was either something he’d have to get used to or something he would need to train his body not to do. Either way a little pain would not stop a god.

“It’s time for phase three…”

Intermission

It takes barely three days for Vladimir to sway the public into a blazing crusade against Supers. The day after his battle with the Super known as the Winter Wraith, he calls a press conference and announces his survival of an attempted assassination.

“My life was in jeopardy, and I saw the face of the enemy.” Vladimir says with an angry look on his face. “There is no longer any question that this enemy is beyond our ability to stop.” He stares straight into the camera, “we are at war, America. The enemy is within our borders. They threaten our way of life, they threaten our freedom, our wives, husbands and children. This terrorist known as the Winter Wraith stalked me, destroyed my business and attempted to kill me in my own home as I slept.”

No one bothers to ask him how he survived. The few that would ask such a thing are silenced by “technical difficulties” or simply aren’t there to ask the question. Nobody cares. They worship him as their savior; the one who will deliver the world from the Supers.

The entire country bends itself over to, once again, allow the government as much power as they want. Only a desperate few shout against the perversion of their freedom. Only some are able to see through the propaganda and the lies, yet they are helpless against it. It takes only three days for a bill, one that has been prepared long beforehand, yet carefully hidden beneath the sleeves, to pass. This bill requires any and all Supers to turn themselves in for immediate incarceration to be forced into being cured by Draco Industries.

There are riots and protests but all of them are quickly culled and silenced. At the head of it all, pulling the strings as the puppet master, is Vladimir Dracovic who plays the stalwart knight in shining armor, here to save the country from the menace. Few even bother to attempt to look deeper into the matter.

Those that do, are silenced.