I shot up in my bed, sweat running down my face. I scrubbed it away with my clammy palms, trying to get the visions from that nightmare out of my head. I could still see that demon's smile stretched clean from ear to ear, still feel the way his breath blew against my hair.

I shuddered. It was just a dream. I repeated it like a mantra under my breath, as I heaved myself out of bed. It was just a dream.

I threw my robe around my shoulders and tied it tightly around my waist. Shuffling to the restroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone-or something-was watching me. I chalked it up to leftover uneasiness from my dream. After all, it was just a dream.

I stepped into the restroom, the cold tiles under my feet shocking me into being more awake. I flipped the light switch on, the pale yellow light flooding the space. I blinked, then turned to face the mirror. I almost screamed. A strip of my hair, right down the middle, had turned ghostly white.

I stared, racking my brain and trying to figure out how that could have happened. I went to bed the night before and it was normal.

I ran a finger through the streak, the touch reminding me of the demon's breath in my dream. My finger stopped in its tracks.

No. It couldn't be. It had just been a dream.

Right?

A crack rang through the air as his fist clanked against my jaw. I could practically feel the bruise forming, the pain overtaking my senses.

He cackled above where I lay, bleeding on the ground. "You seriously thought you could beat me?" The amusement in his tone hurt worse than the aching on my face. Maybe I really was no more than just a minor inconvenience to him.

I worked up enough blood-tinged saliva to spit at his feet, leaving a foamy, pink glob on his shoe. He laughed again at my effort, before slamming the toe of his boot into my stomach. I gasped as the wind left me, my already bruised rib cracking from the impact. I brought my arms to wrap around my middle, trying to protect the area from further injury, even though the damage had already been done.

He squatted down in front of me, his finger sliding under my chin and holding my face up. He snapped his finger somewhere above my head to catch my attention. "You are nothing," he hissed, a maniacal smiling playing at the corners of his lips. "You've always been alone, and now you're going to die alone, too."

My mind was already slipping into unconsciousness by the time he shoved his sword into my chest. I barely felt it as my eyes closed for the last time.

I was never what people would call a "self-starter". I preferred to sit back and let people do the work for me. It was easier that way. And I liked easier.

My grades were shot, but it didn't matter, I had my wealth to fall back on. I didn't play sports, I didn't need to. I had a personal trainer to help me stay fit. I learned to play the piano, but that was mostly for my mother's benefit; I couldn't care less about the arts. It was all a waste of time, anyway.

That is, until my parents passed away. Suddenly, everything I'd ever known was gone in an instant. Not just the comfort and ease, though certainly that way of life had disappeared too. But more than that, I was left to mourn the loss of that love and safety I had thrived in.

My parents had loved me, of that I was sure. But now...I had no one. No one to kiss me goodnight, or hold me after a nightmare. No one to dry my tears and tell me everything was going to be okay.

That's because everything was not okay. And I realized I was going to have to learn how to do everything myself.

It was time to make a name for myself.

Her heart thumped steadily as she traipsed down the path. The mist wafted across the field, blowing her skirt out behind her. She felt like something out of a movie, all those romances her mother used to watch. Kind of ironic; the whole reason she was out here was for the man she loved.

Her steps slowed as she approached a short stone wall. Hefting one foot over and then another, she hopped down onto the other side and took a deep breath.

Her feet guided her to the small gravestone, previously hidden by fog, and she fell to her knees in front of it.

She didn't cry; no, she had long since lost all her tears. Her hand found its way to rest atop the stone, fingernails gripping the smooth surface. She rubbed her thumb over it, the same way she used to rub it over his cheek.

"Happy birthday, my love," she whispered, words getting lost in the breeze. Leaning forward, she pressed a light kiss to the gravestone. "I miss you more every day."

She rested there for a moment, letting the memories take their turn across her mind. A smile embraced her lips as one single tear rolled down her cheek.

Huh. Guess she had been wrong. She'd always have tears left to cry.

Clark slid down the rope, the fibers making a zipping sound as they rubbed against his leather gloves. His feet hit the ground with a thud.

He glanced about the cave, squinting into the darkness creeping in around him. He lifted his wrist, pointing his watch into the dark. He turned slowly, until the device began to blink. That way.

He trudged through the cave, tripping over rocks and cracks along the path. The light from the hole he had dropped down had long since faded by the time he saw it ahead; a blinking that matched the one on his watch. His steps quickened and his heart pounded in his chest. He was so close to it.

He emerged from the tunnel into a small cavern, illuminated by the glowing of a golden orb. Clark couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. He slowed his steps, a kind of reverence and awe coming over him as he approached the relic. Licking his lips, he reached a hand out to touch the object, but stopped before his fingers grazed the surface.

His heart started having one palpitation after another, and he struggled to catch his breath. His fingertips tingled with energy, almost as if electricity was jumping off the orb and into his hands. He tried to take a step back, but his legs gave out from under him. A rock sliced his palm open as he tried to catch himself. Dizziness began to overwhelm his senses, his eyes screwed shit to try and fight back the nausea. 'I should have listened to all the warnings,' was the last thing he thought before he succumbed to the darkness. 'This wasn't worth the profit.'

"I have never been more excited to visit a post office."

Lana raised an eyebrow. "You know, I could do without the attitude."

Austin rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

The two shuffled into the tiny office, stepping in line behind an elderly man. The employee was busy, trying to explain something to him, but he seemed to be having a hard time hearing her, let alone understanding her.

"Sir, I already told you the price of stamps went up last month."

"But I always pay seven-fifty, no more, no less."

Austin and Lana shuffled their weight from foot to foot, patience wearing thin.

Finally, the man seemed to give up and waddled out of the post office, muttering something angrily to himself. The employee gestured them forward, a tired look on her face.

"Finally," Austin muttered, pulling a pistol out of his pocket. "Empty your drawer." Lana held out a reusable grocery bag for her to fill.

"Thank goodness," the employee sighed, moving to do as they requested.

They shared a glance of confusion. "What?"

"I hate this job. Always have. At least today I'll get to go home early." She began shoving dollar bills into the bag. "Seriously, thank you guys so much."

"Uh, you're welcome?" Lana offered.

Once the bag was full, they ran back out to their van and jumped inside.

"Okay, maybe the post office wasn't such a bad choice after all," Austin said begrudgingly.

"I really can't stand you."

"Then why are you still listening to me?"

"Because I love you!" Derek shouted, hands running through his hair in agitation. "I love you, and I hate that I do. I hate that you smile and I get weak. I hate that all I think about is you. I hate that all you have to do is say the word, and I'll follow you to the gates of Hell."

Ana stared at him, her mouth hanging open. "You...what?"

"I've loved you from the beginning. Even before all this happened, before your parents destroyed everything. And you want to know why?" A tear ran down his cheek and he swiped it away angrily. "Because I thought you were different from them. And now, when it turns out your not, I can't get the image of you, the way you used to be, out of my head. For the sake of you back then, I can't walk away from this, from you."

Ana closed her mouth, her eyebrows furrowing with concern. "I'm the same person I've always been," she said slowly.

Derek laughed hysterically. "Really? You didn't use to kill innocent people just because it saves time. That's not what we do."

"Then why are you still following me? If you're so against me, why don't you stop me yourself?"

"I just told you! I can't walk away from you, I love you too much. It would actually kill me if I tried."

She watched him for a moment, letting him calm down before she continued. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

He let his head drop, all the fight leaving him. "I don't know," he whispered.

The heads of my men hung dejectedly as they nursed their wounds, a layer of gravitas settling over the room. I glanced over the group, my heart sinking at the sight. All these soldiers, people I'd trained and fought with....they'd all been beaten and broken to the point of losing hope.

I couldn't blame them. I mean, who am I kidding, we all knew it was a lost cause from the beginning. But that didn't change the fact that it was our job to try.

I struggled to my feet, pain shooting up my leg from where it had been cut. I winced but kept hobbling forward until I was in front of the group. I cleared my throat, earning a few stares but most of them ignored me.

"Men," I started. "We didn't win today."

Everyone was looking now. Someone chuckled darkly, but nobody spoke.

"I know this was a hard loss, but everybody loses sometimes. We have to pick ourselves up and try again."

"It's suicide," someone shouted.

I sighed. "If I'm being honest, Lieutenant, we all knew that from the beginning. Now, either we get back out there, or we go home to the President and tell him we give up. Which option sounds better to you?"

Every face flinched at the thought of admitting failure. It would be better to die on the field than by the President's command.

"Guys, this could be our last chance. Why don't we just take it?"

"If I have to die, I'd rather it be for something I believe in," one man right in front of me stated, sorrow drenching his features.

I looked him in the eye. "Same here. And I believe in all of you. So, I'm willing to fight and die alongside you all. How about you?"

"Alyssa, you gotta let me explain!" I cried, running a hand through my hair. "I know what this looks like, but it's not that!"

My sister glared at me from across my bedroom. "Yeah, right. You just snuck into your room through the window dressed as the Crimson Spark, and you're going to tell me that you're not him?!"

"I'm not! I'm trust the president of his fan club!" I peeled the domino mask off my face and held it out to her. "See? It's cheap faux leather, nothing like what an actual hero would wear."

She took the mask, holding it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. "You expect me to believe that just because it's cheap that it's not real? You're dirt poor, Everett!"

I smacked my hand against my face.

"Next thing I know, Captain Blood is going to knock on our front door!"

I cringed at the thought of the villain showing up at our house. "Alyssa, I'm not Crimson Spark, okay? You have to believe me!"

Something changed on her face and her mouth clicked shut. She just stared at me for a moment, and a ball of uneasiness began to bounce around in my gut.

"If you're not Crimson Spark," she began slowly, taking a step toward me. "Then who is?"

I backed up. "I don't know."

"Well I want to find out-"

My back hit the wall.

"-And you're going to help me." She balled my shirt into her fist, pulling me up to her face.

"Wait..." I said. I realized, but too late.

My sister was Captain Blood.

Henry stared at the blade poking his throat, eyes blown wide in confusion. The tip danced over his Adam's Apple as he swallowed. "I don't...I don't understand," he murmured. His gaze drifted up to the man standing before him. "How did you beat me?"

His opponent's lips curled up into a sneer. "Kid, you weren't anywhere near my level."

Henry licked his lips, the taste of iron coating his tongue. "But it was foretold in the scrolls. There was a prophecy-"

"Which was not about you," the older man interrupted. "Your so-called friends fed you a pack of lies."

"But..." Henry's bottom lip trembled, fear taking hold as he began to realize the truth. "But I was the Chosen One." It came out as no more than a breathy whisper.

The sword slid up his throat until it rested under his chin, the cold metal forcing his face up. "You were used, boy."

He was right. Henry knew it, too. Everything he had ever worked for...it was all a lie. He was not destined to save the world. He was not destined to defeat the bad guy.

And he certainly was not destined to be a hero.

His lips pressed into a grim line, as the reality of his fate became clear. His eyes began to burn as they filled with tears. "Please," he begged. "You don't have to do this."

For the first time, the villain's face softened, until it portrayed something akin to sympathy. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

Henry nodded, bowing his head in acceptance.

If he was meant to die, then at least he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

At least mercy was shown; a quick slice along the throat and it was all over.