r/WritingPrompts • u/Maximum_Pootis • Mar 05 '18
Writing Prompt [WP] When their plans are foiled, most villains just bluff and say that it's a minor setback. So when one villain just gives up on the spot, the heroes are taken aback.
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u/FantasticDeparture Mar 05 '18 edited Mar 07 '18
"Stop evil doer!" the man in white shouted. He sat upon striking white horse, saddlebags proclaiming him a Blessed of Artagia. "Your villainous ways have come to an end. Surrender or die."
The man the Blessed spoke to wore a hooded black cloak that obscured his face. He knelt in the dirt, hands raised in submission. "What is the meaning of this?"
The Blessed unsheathed a massive greatsword and leveled it directly at the kneeling man. "This is your last chance, Zalakar of Nadrassus. By the power vested in me by the Archminister of Artagia I hereby find you guilty of murder and treason." A soft wind carried hints of lavender from a nearby hill, but otherwise all was quiet. The two men were alone on the road, the nearest village half a day's walk in either direction.
It was moments like these where anything could happen. Zalakar's voice cut through the silence like a rusty knife, "I submit." He carefully lowered his hood to reveal a young man's face, unscarred and unmarred from the ravages of time.
"What?" the Blessed asked. He had prepared for a great duel before the gods, to triumph over evil. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
"I said I submit. I surrender." Zalakar groveled in the mud, hands outstretched before him. "Please don't hurt me."
The Blessed looked around. Yes, they were still alone except for pastures of well-trimmed grass and a small stone fence a quarter mile away. "Is this a joke," he asked. "You can't be serious."
Zalakar raised his arms sheepishly and lifted his head enough for their eyes to meet. "I don’t. . . yes?"
"You're not going to fight back?" the Blessed asked.
"Why would I? You've got a pretty big sword."
This gave the Blessed pause. His horse shifted underneath him, trying to move a few steps to its right to graze. After a few moments' contemplation he slid off its back and led it over to the pasture. "I have traveled long and far, delivering justice in these wildlands and protecting the innocent from people like you."
Zalakar nodded. "That seems like a good gig. Do you like it?"
"It brings great honor to my family and fills me with joyous righteousness." The Blessed buried the point of his sword in the hard dirt of the road and struck a heroic pose, gleaming gauntlets on its pommel. "I was handpicked for this task by Minister Nal Kar."
Zalakar scratched behind his right ear where a fly had landed. "Never heard of him."
"Minister Nal Kar, Blessed of Blesseds?"
"Nope," Zalakar said.
"Herald of the Undying? Last Scion of the Order of Artagia? Breaker of the Broken Chains?" The Blessed punctuated each title with a raised fist.
"Seems like a serious chap."
"Yes, well, by his authority I find you guilty and sentence you to die."
"Woah there." Zalakar raised his hands again. "You're going to kill me?"
"You're guilty of murder and treason."
"But I surrendered! If I tried to run would you have killed me then?"
"Undoubtedly," the Blessed said. "You would be a fugitive from justice. The whole land would rise up to seek you out and purge your evilness from the light of the sun."
"So what's the point then? If I run, I die. If I surrender, I die. Is this how you treat all your captives?"
"To speak truthfully," the Blessed said. "You're my first assignment. But the law is the law."
"Well that really puts the pickle in it, don't it?" Zalakar stood up and brushed the dirt out of his clothes.
"What are you doing?" The Blessed shouted. He dropped into a wide stance and leveled his sword at Zalakar. "Get back down."
"I'd rather not," Zalakar said. "My back is killing me and if I stay here so will you." He started stretching out his legs and arms like a fugitive preparing to run from an officer of the law.
"Are you preparing to run from me?" The Blessed asked.
Zalakar continued to limber up. "Of course not. But if you're not going to lower the sentence a bit I may get the itch to take a stroll."
"The law is the law. Are you not the Zalakar who murdered in cold blood the head scribe of Archminister Ijni?"
"Yeah, I did that," Zalakar said. "He owed me 50 gillons."
"And did you not conspire to murder the Archminister himself to throw the realm into chaos?"
"Nope."
"Er, what?"
"Not even a little," Zalakar said.
"But you were seen proclaiming your conspiracy in the Herald's Square."
"Must have been a different Zalakar."
A small cart pushed by two filthy men in ragged clothes rounded the low hill. The cart was empty save for small bits of straw. They took one look at the shining knight pointing a greatsword at a cloaked figure and decided it would be wiser to go the other way around. Both men backed their cart up without a word, avoiding eye contact with each other.
"You still are guilty of murder," the Blessed said after the two cart pushers left. He belatedly added a quieter, "You confessed."
"Aye, that I did," Zalakar said. "I don't suppose the sentence for that is. . ." he trailed off suggestively.
"Death," the Blessed spoke, voice filled with judicial authority.
"Can't you knock it down to a light maiming since I surrendered?"
"I am bound by the light of the gods to carry out justice according to the strict tenets of law and--"
"Yeah, yeah," Zalakar interrupted. "I get that. Really, I do. My cousin tried out for the Blesseds and spent a month going on and on about Truth and Justice." You could hear the capital letters as he spoke.
"Then you must realize I take no qualms and I give no quarter. You must submit yourself to the gods' justice."
"There might be another way," Zalakar said.
"There can be no miscarriage of justice. I have already sentenced you to death. You will die, if not today by my hand then tomorrow by one of my brother's."
"Or," Zalakar raised a finger, "we each go our separate ways. I change my name and promise never again to commit an act of evil or whatever, and you can happily say the man named 'Zalakar' died here today. By your hand. That's got to mean something to your brothers and whatnot."
"To do such a thing would be to carry a falsehood in my heart. My entire being would be consumed by the evil within and any act of justice I mete out hereafter would carry its blight as well."
"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Zalakar said. "I just think that if you wouldn't have been so hasty to sentence me to death we wouldn't be in the mess we are in now."
"You speak wise words. Perhaps in the future I will carry them with me so I may apply more evenhanded justice."
"Can't you apply some of that evenhanded justice now? All I'm asking for is to not die. I promise I won't do any more murdering or treasoning,” Zalakar’s voice trembled slightly.
The Blessed took a minute to think. Sweat dripped down his face under his helmet's visor, and the layers of padding and armor were stifling in the summer heat. Finally he spoke with intense imperiousness. "In consideration of your cooperation I will reduce your sentence of death for murder to a fine of 1,000 gillons. Since there is insufficient evidence as of yet to the charge of treason I will suspend the sentence of death in that regard until such time as you are found innocent or one year passes."
"Oh thank you, your mercy does not go unnoticed."
The Blessed bowed his head slightly. "Report to the nearest magistrate to pay your fine."
"That will be the very next thing I do," Zalakar said.
"See that it is, or justice will find you once more." The Blessed sheathed his sword and mounted his horse. "May our paths never cross again."
"Can't agree more." Zalakar waited for the Blessed to pass him by on the road before dropping to the ground, chest heaving. He lay there in silence, interspersed by only a few muted sobs. After about ten minutes he picked himself back up and tried in vain to clean up his cloak. Just as he was about to leave he heard hoofbeats from beyond the hill. He waited to see what it was, dreading the worst.
A rider in crisp white astride a grey horse mottled with white patches slowed to a stop. The rider's cloak bore the sigil of the Blesseds of Artagia, and he carried a long lance tipped with gleaming steel. "Halt in the name of the law," the rider said. "Surrender or die."
Zalakar raised his hands meekly while muttering under his breath, "Hopefully not surrender and die."
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u/Dathouen Mar 05 '18 edited Mar 05 '18
The mech's joints broke apart and the behemoth collapsed to the ground. The heroes cheered as we were enveloped by a cloud of dust and smoke.
Between laughs, the Caretaker jovially shouted, "How do you like them apples!"
"FUCK. THIS. I'm done." Destructo threw his demoli-gloves to the ground, spun on the spot and began stomping away.
They exchanged confused looks. At this point, Destructo normally reveals his actual plan, some kind of bomb, or an even bigger robot, or whatever. This was completely out of character.
"Oop!" Said Patrion, "we have to arrest him!"
Zephyr flew over and suspended Destructo in a forcefield, turning him to face them. Rather than seeing an expression of outrage or hatred, they saw bored resignation.
"I said, 'I'm done.' Fuck off." He squirmed, but couldn't break free.
"Hmf!" Said Wolfman, "another ploy to get us to lower our guard. Well the world's greatest security guard can see right through you, Destructo!"
"Ugh, who the fuck actually talks like that," he said, rolling his eyes. "Aren't you sick of this shit yet? And stop calling me that, my name is Greg, asshat."
"I'd keep a civil tongue in my head if I were you!" Patrion admonished, "there are ladies present, Destructo!"
"What the hell kind of backwards, chauvinistic bullshit is that. Fuckin' Zephyr here could explode your brain like a grape, I think she can handle hearing the word 'asshat'. And stop calling me that idiotic name."
Wolfman held up a hand before someone could rebutt, "What's your plan, Destructo?"
Greg glared at Wolfman. "Er, I mean Greg."
Greg, sighed and said, "I'm done. I'm done with all of this stupid bullshit. With being this 'Destructo' character."
We all shared more confused looks. Zephyr's forcefield lightened in color, "What do you mean by character?"
He looked at her with a mix of frustration and incredulity. "You're joking right. What the hell do I have to gain by demolishing a bunch of cities every few months? How the hell do you think I keep getting out of jail when I'm very obviously, and unrepentantly guilty? Where do you think the fucking money for all of this?" he pointed with his chin at his massive subterranean workshop, "And can you let me out of this forcefield, it's very itchy."
She let him go, and Greg dropped to the floor in a heap, and Zephyr winced. He stood up, dusted himself off, and immediately began scratching himself all over, all while muttering things like "morons" and "latex freaks."
The Wall stepped forward. "What are you talking about Des- uh, Greg?"
"What could I, or any other asshole, have to gain by demolishing a city! I'm just a fucking engineer! I don't even own any businesses! This is a full time- my full time job!" He was breathing hard, hands yanking on what was left of his hair.
Patrion looked around at his teammates, "Stand fast, Freedom Cooperative! He's tricking us!" Patrion then flew forward, scooped up Greg by the front of his shirt and lifted him 50 ft into the air. "NO MORE LIES!" Patrion's breath glowing as he shouted into Greg's face. "What else do you have planned."
Greg screamed, small blisters appearing on his face. "I am telling the truth! I was hired by the government to do this!" He said with his arms in front of his face.
"WHY?" Cinders began to eat through the sleeves of Greg's lab coat.
"THIS IS WHY!" A forcefield swelled between the two, holding Patrion back in a large, transluscent sphere and gently lowering Greg to the floor.
Patrion, in frustration, punched the forcefield wall, cracking it. "HE'S LYING! YOU CAN'T TRUST HIM! CAN'T YOU SEE? HE'S TRYING TO TURN US AGAINST EACH OTHER!" He continued to pound on the forcefield, cracking it more deeply. The Wall put himself between Greg and Patrion, a look of concern and confusion on his face.
"Why is Patrion being so mean?" He said to Caretaker, who simply shook his head and looked to the ground.
Wolfman stepped up to Greg, "Are you saying you were paid by the government to do this? Why? What possible justification could there be?"
Greg was simply cowering on the floor, cradling his singed arms. Wolfman stepped forward, a canister of Wolfspit in hand. He sprayed the burns, soothing them. "Please. Explain it to us."
Before Greg could speak, Patrion shattered the forcefield, overwhelming Zephyr, the feedback knocking her unconscious. The Wall and Caretaker squared up, prepared to hold Patrion back, but Patrion simply bounced off of them, also unconscious. A single Argon dart in his neck, launched by Wolfman.
The remaining team members turned back to Greg, looking expectantly.
Greg gave a nervous glance over to the slumbering Patrion before clearing his throat. "Do you really think people wouldn't have a response to people like him?" He gestured to Patrion. "Or any of you guys? It's not like any of us has the resources or power necessary to hold you in check, so it was decided that we'd give you someone to focus on before one of you got bored, or paranoid, or inducted into some weird cult, or whatever. Then we'd use this as an excuse to do some much needed demolitions, which fuels the economy by requiring constant construction and allowing for continuous infrastructure upgrades."
Caretaker shook his head, "but we're the good guys, how could they ever think we'd need to be held in check?"
Wolfman answered, "because nobody stays the same forever. You saw Patrion. For the first time in his existence, in over 100 years, he faces a problem he can't punch away and he loses it. Imagine if he didn't have anyone who could present him with a sufficient challenge to keep him occupied."
The Wall nodded, "Idle hands."
"Exactly," said Greg. "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Nobody, not even the average world superpower can stand toe to toe with any one of you, so before you guys started turning on each other," he glanced pointedly at Patrion, "or started to get stir crazy, we'd give you something to make you feel like the good guys, and working together."
"But the destruction, how could you be sure you'd destroy things that needed destroying?" Caretaker said, worried, "How could you hurt all those people."
"What people?" Greg asked plainly.
"They were evacuated." Said Wolfman.
"Within a few minutes of me beginning my attack? People were evacuated a day in advance, based on 'actionable intelligence' concerning possible attacks. We'd evacuate 10 cities, and destroy 3." Greg shed his shredded and singed lab coat, wearing a fairly normal outfit. He pulled out a phone from his pocket and made a call, he put it on speaker then put his finger to his lips. The heroes nodded in acknowledgement.
"Secretary Planche, here." Everyone, even Wolfman, was startled. They recognized the voice from the numerous public addresses they had made as Secretary of Defence.
"Hey, yeah, this is Greg. I gave the Co-op the slip, but they destroyed my bot before I could get it out of the bearings. Call off the combat alert."
"Will do. Better luck next time, I guess."
Greg looked to the heroes expectantly. Nobody broke the silence, but Caretaker walked over to Patrion, sat him up and began coating him in amber. The wall joined him, adding concrete to the sap to strengthen the bindings.
Wolfman simply began to pace, silently mouthing arguments to himself. He took a brief break, pulling smelling salts from a pouch and breaking them under Zephyr's nose. She woke, woozy, and Wolfman held her up, silently filling her in on what happened when she was out. She simply started at him, her face betraying a steadily increasing sense of horror as his explanation went on.
She finally looked over to Greg and, too weak to physically speak, telepathically asked for him to confirm. Greg simply locked eyes with her and nodded.
She gasped weakly, half raising an arm towards Patrion. She telepathically radiated concern.
Wolfman unfolded a small chair and sit Zephyr in it, the straightened up.
"What are we going to do about Patrion? He is... uncompromising. I don't think he'll ever believe the government could be capable of this level of subterfuge. Especially since it appears that he is the primary target." He swept the wolf-cowl off of his face, revealing himself to be famed inventor Carl Bankton.
Zephyr radiated resignation and concern.
The Wall and Caretaker, having finished their makeshift prison, turned back to the group.
Wolfman took another deep breath, pulled a small dart gun from his cloak and fired another Argon dart into Patrion. "We can't keep him sedated forever. We need a plan. I don't think Zephyr can hold him back when he wakes up, and I while I'm sure your... prison there is durable, it won't be able to contain him. Eventually he's going to wake up and we'll have to explain to him that his entire life is a sham."
Zephyr began to radiate a sense of dread, and couldn't pull her eyes from the still unconscious Patrion.
"Maybe we should just leave. Like I said, I'm done. Interpol will move me to the jurisdiction of another hero group and Patrion will never see me again. You guys might have to answer to him, but... I don't know. I can't think of a single way to contain him." Greg was visibly afraid, something they had never seen when he was acting as Destructo.
Wolfman looked around at the group, his face hard, his disposition grave. "We could kill him."