In a city of heroism and villainy, one hero encounters a beautiful sorceress.
(Inspired by art from sue-chan)
The door to the rooftop of a midtown apartment building opened, the man who opened it surveyed the roof, making sure that he was alone there. It was nearly midnight, with a full moon hanging over the entire city like a watchful eye, waiting to see what would unfold. Most people on that roof would’ve been there to enjoy the warm summer air of night, maybe for a smoke or a late-night tryst. The man who stood alone on that roof was there for an entirely different reason: to protect the building’s occupants, the neighborhood, and places stretching far around them if need be.
When the sun was overhead, the man would be working at his day-job in the city, just another hard-working, unassuming citizen. At night, many nights like this one, he dressed himself loosely for physical combat and took on the persona ‘Striker.’ In a city full of a variety of heroes and even superheroes, Striker was a much lesser-known title among the public eye and criminal underworld. As he only recently became Striker, his name hadn’t gotten around as much. He wouldn’t have expected it to though; it was hard to measure-up to those who could fly, were genius inventors, managed mystical feats, and could withstand the likes of bullets or bombs. Essential all Striker had were his wits, years of honed martial arts skills, determination and will to combat foes. A lot of the time, that ended up being all he needed. Villains of all types, super-powered or not, regarded him as a miniscule threat, and that underestimation led to their undoing at Striker’s hands.
Tonight, as Striker didn’t have a line on any big cases or events, was simply on patrol. Near the edge of the roof, he took watch of his neighborhood to see who or what might pop-up. It saddened him that he didn’t need to look further than his own neighborhood to find consistent trouble, but that was his motivation for becoming a hero in the first place, and he was perfectly alright with sticking to his own neighborhood to fight crime most of the time.
It didn’t take long before he saw two people walking down an alleyway toward the main street. One looked like a woman casually walking toward the busy street ahead, the other behind her looked like someone actively stalking the woman. That was his cue as he began to make his way toward the building’s fire escape. He was a few steps away from it before something flashed at him; something flashed in him to be exact. It was just a split-second of a mental picture, but the impression was clear in his head, and the details were easy to grasp.
He and another person were on the same roof where he stood. He was kneeling for some reason, looking dazed and out of it. Even stranger was his kneeling in-front of a witch-costumed woman sitting crossed-legged on the roof’s surface, gesturing to him.
Striker shook his head and looked around the roof to see if he was still alone. It stunned him a bit to immediately see that he wasn’t, and even more to see who it was – the woman from his mental flash. Her eyes were closed, and it looked like she was meditating. She was dressed like a stereotypical witch, the kind he was used to seeing at Halloween as a child; dark one-piece dress, navy stockings, black heels, even the typical hat over fiery red hair to match. Despite the cosplay nature of her look, he was inclined to take her more seriously for some reason. If people could take his sleeveless shirt, sweatpants, and cloth mask seriously, why couldn’t he grant her the same courtesy?
Her eyes opened, revealing a piercing blue, and a smile to compliment. He blinked several times to make sure this wasn’t some sort of illusion, but blinking didn’t make things any clearer as he still saw the same woman. Looking at her gave him the feeling of looking at a mirage, wondering if this was some kind of trick. Her being a mirage made it seem more plausible as he saw her levitate herself off the ground, high enough that bringing her legs down meant that her heels perfectly touched the ground. He shook his head one more time to make sure she was real; the only change was her widened smile, entertained by his disbelief.
Blue eyes held his brown, bewildered ones for nearly a minute as they stared each other in silence. As her gaze shifted to something near Striker instead of directly at him, he noticed the turn and began to wonder what had caught her eye. The mugging attempt he witnessed before she appeared rushed back to his mind, and his body tensed as it moved to do what he originally intended. He could only hope he wasn’t too late in acting, but his body was delayed movement again as he heard “wait” coming from the woman’s direction.
Besides noticing the distinguished accent of her voice, it struck him how quickly he responded to her request. He had an innocent woman to save, and yet the wonder of mysterious woman rooted him in place, who or what she was and what she wanted from him. “Wait for what?” Striker screamed in his mind. He would’ve struggled out of inaction were it not for watching a few people from the direction of the street come to the woman’s aid. The mugger was pushed away and the woman safeguarded, followed by a cop appearing almost out of nowhere to chase the perpetrator back down the alley.
It was rather surreal for Striker, to watch all of what he saw go down, to see his neighborhood temporarily transform into one that was all-too-willing to help someone in-danger, including a vigilante inspired by no one else daring to step up. The mystery behind him kept him from dwelling over the pride of a neighborhood growing a conscious as he turned back toward her.
She still stood there, staring at him. The smile hadn’t changed, but something in her expression was different. The best he could guess was some sort of satisfaction, like she was pleased with him acquiescing to her request.
“Thank you,” the woman said, finally breaking the silence.
“…for what?” he asked behind the cloth covering his face from nose to chin.
“For waiting like I asked you to.”
Besides the questions of who she was, where she came from became just as important. The accent in her voice was strong, and easily suggested she wasn’t from around here, let alone this country. The city practically housed aliens from other worlds now, but sound of her voice seemed even more exotic; he could easily trace the accent to somewhere from Europe, like Ireland or Scotland, but it sounded so beautiful to his ears. Just listening to it made him want to know more about her, and hear more from her.
“Who are you?”
“I’m not sure you’d be able to pronounce my name properly. For now, you can call me Scryer.”
“Yes, Scryer, as in a seer, someone who can see unseen things that have yet to come.”
“Why did you want me to wait?”
“I think you know why.”
The way he looked at her suggested he was unconvinced.
“But in case you’re still trying to piece things together, I saw what would happen to that woman, her being saved by others, before your eyes ever saw her.”
Striker’s head turned toward the empty alleyway below, replaying the sequence of events in his head, wondering if he really should take Scryer’s word that all of it happened, even though it did. Briefly the thought of the cop chasing the mugger came to mind, how he would’ve ambushed the mugger to make it easier for the cop. But he now had other, stranger matters to attend to.
“Ok, impressive trick. Why did you choose to show it to me? Looking for a standing ovation?”
“Not that I wouldn’t mind one, but that trick was more a matter of timing. It just happened to happen as I wanted to meet you.”
“And why did you want to meet me?”
“You are Striker, one of the city’s heroes, are you not?”
“I am. Are you a hero yourself?”
“Can’t say that I am, no.”
“Does this mean I need to worry about you?”
Scryer watched the hero opposite her on the rooftop in amusement. His posture changing and his arm and probably leg muscles were tensing so subtly, in a way meant to prepare his body for combat while not making it obvious to his enemy what was coming. He might as well have entered a fighting stance or charged at her; she was used to reading people’s body language, especially when it came to their reaction to her powers.
She held one palm up to discourage any action he might’ve taken. “If you’re asking if I’m some kind of supervillainess, I’m not one of those either.”
Her gesture was ignored as Striker kept his body battle-ready. “So, what are you?”
“The simplest explanation, a witch. A magical practitioner of the mysterious sort,” she said while making a strange hand gesture like it was some kind of incantation. Striker watched it carefully to see if it was.
“I don’t fight on either side of the law, for this city, or anyone else’s sense of law. I suppose it would bother you if I was a supervillainess, wouldn’t it?”
“Since we’d want different things, with you doing as you please at the expense of innocent people, and me trying to protect those people, most likely.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you fighting me, so I’m glad that I’m not one.”
He noticed something in that cryptic smile of hers; no matter how beautiful she looked or how nice her voice sounded (sometimes the mark of a supervillainess), something, several things about her seemed off to him.
“So, you just wanted to meet a hero, is that it?”
“A superhero, actually.”
“Sorry to disappoint you then; ‘super,’ I’m not. You’ll have to wait to see if one of the higher-profile ones make a public appearance.”
“I actually did, hence why I’m here.”
Now Striker got the sense he was part of some elaborate prank.
“First off, a rooftop isn’t exactly ‘public’. And second, what makes me ‘super’ to you?”
“I suppose my definition of ‘super’ might seem a bit strange to you, so allow me to expand on what I mean.” She turned her attention away from Striker for the first time and toward the closest rooftop edge, out to the city.
“This city does have its fair share of heroes, all with some unique abilities you won’t find anywhere else in the world, or even beyond that. Its amazing how these heroes have come about over time, and have even inspired more unassuming heroes like yourself. Honestly, you’re not the first hero I’ve encountered. While amazing, these near-deities in public eyes seem deficient in a way I never thought possible.”
“That way being?”
That made Striker’s brow raise up, and then both raised when she looked back at him.
“In their presence, unbeknownst to them, a witch with my skills would sense what they themselves couldn’t see – a lack of mental fortitude. Of course, it would be hard for anyone to know how strong of mind they are with nothing to gauge or no one to compare it to. You’d be amazed at the level of gullibility in some heroes. It’s staggering.”
That made Striker think to himself for a moment. He’d met some superheroes before, mostly in the course of big events that needed more than one hero present to save the day. They were good acquaintances, even friendly in his presence. Though Striker kept his distance and didn’t prefer public exposure, he had no problem being seen amongst other heroes from time-to-time. Spending time with some of them though, he was privy to finding out things about them most would never know. Some of their personalities surprised him, for better and for worse. Scryer’s words of rang more true than he wanted them to be; he could only imagine how citizens would view heroes if they knew what he knew. Hell, if supervillains knew what he knew. Their core was filled with goodness, but sometimes wasn’t supplemented with much book or streets smart as one would hope. Maybe that’s why one of the hero psychics he met considered him ‘just as useful’. He always thought it was because he stepped up to help, and not because he had what others didn’t.
“I wonder if you underestimate some of the heroes you say you’ve met, Scryer.”
“I wish that were true Striker, I really do. But it does kind of make sense. Some heroes simply play to their strengths, they’re able to do great things with their power, and fortunately act selflessly as they do prevent terrible accidents, or stopping others with powers who actively act with no regard for anyone else. You stand as one of them, yet one of your key strengths isn’t easily seen or documented. Every night you step out of your comfortable world, armed with little more than a few hidden tools like rope or martial arts weapons, honed fighting skills at normal human strength, and wits, and you fight against those who you normally wouldn’t stand a chance against. Yet you do, and you succeed. It can simply be chalked up to luck or divine help or courage, but willpower like yours makes a difference in the most amazing ways.”
“And what about cops, firefighters? Maybe you should be complimenting those guys like you do me.”
“They do deserve recognition, but your comparison is still off. Police and fireman act as a joint force to combat mostly everyday problems among citizens, and receive payment for their services. Striker is neither paid nor forced to fight for the preyed upon. What makes you want to fight for them?”
“Because I can, because I’m able. Everyone is, even if they don’t believe it. You have some skill to you, yet you won’t.”
“At my leisure, I will.”
Striker had just about had it with Scryer’s attempt to dissect his motivations for being a hero. He couldn’t foresee this conversation going anywhere substantial, so he prepared to move the next set of rooftops to patrol.
“Well, speaking of leisure, I’m going to use mine to see what else is worth looking into.”
Before he started moving, he saw her smile turning cryptic again, as her hand stared making another weird, intriguing gesture. Her hand raised toward him, and ended with a snap of her fingers in his direction. At that second, she completely disappeared from sight. He blinked as hard as he could, thinking it was another illusion or his eyes being made to play tricks on him.
“What’s the hurry,” was playfully whispered in his ears. Striker jumped a few feet back from the roof edge and Scryer who somehow transported herself next to him without a trace of movement. He rolled back toward the center and stayed crouching in a defensive stance.
Nothing was said between them as Scryer effectively stood in his way of patrolling, and Striker gathered his wits as quickly as he could to ask “how did you do that?”
“A simple sorcery skill, one of many,” she smiled
“Scryer, you say you wanted to meet a hero, or ‘super’hero. Apparently you have before and this time you got to talk to one. What else do you want?”
“A small test.”
“A test of what?”
Striker began thinking of his options, what techniques he knew for escaping or for restraining her, if that was even possible. She interrupted his thinking, trying to calm him down.
“Really Striker, I’m not here to fight you. I’m sorry for startling you like that, but I didn’t want to leave before telling you about the test. Please, I promise you have nothing to fear from me.”
Striker held her gaze as sternly as possible.
“Were you really sorry?”
“I won’t lie and say I never have fun when I use that, so I’m half-sorry. And you might as well relax yourself; you won’t be going anywhere until I’m done explaining.”
Scryer happily watched the confusion on his face appear, as he loosened himself a bit, and then rose to test her claim. The closer he got to an edge of the roof, the more something stopped him in his tracks. It was as if she’d created some kind of field around the rooftop, something that sapped his energy and momentum the more he pushed against it, or entered it. If that wasn’t weird enough, the invisible field came with a suggestive feeling of moving back to the center of the roof, toward her, and giving him just enough energy to do so.
He frustratingly turned toward her when he was done testing. “More simple sorcery?”
Scryer shrugged. “Not exactly simple, but effective, wouldn’t you say?”
He approached her like he would another warrior, showing no signs of apprehension or fear. He hoped to give her a feeling of intimidation, but the look in her crystal blue eyes told him she knew he was the one full of both emotions.
“So, your test involves mind games?”
“In a way, yes. Testing your willpower.”
“Testing it against my powers.”
“Haven’t you already?” he asked, assuming some of what she used was mental trickery.
“Not really, and this test is different. A witch like me is more an observer of the world more than anything. Always looking from the outside in, wanting to interact with it more, but holding back as a matter of safety.”
“A city full of people with crazy powers and you’re still worried about standing out?”
“Yes, as you can imagine, witches have a history of wanting to remain hidden from society; that feeling lingers. But it hasn’t quelled the desire to interact more and test my powers on those who interest me. I’ve cultivated my powers for decades, always curious as to who I could affect, and how much; but I rarely get the chance to do so. While I am confident that no man or woman can resist, because none have yet, there are still challenges out there like yourself, one where you just know you’re in the presence of great strength and want to know for yourself where you stand against him. And of the few I’ve tested my skills against, a smaller number were ever directly told that they were being tested, like yourself. Though you’ve been told, while I assume you may not stand a chance against me, I’ll never really know until I try. If in the course of this test you don’t fall into my influence, that will be the end of it. You’ll go on about your nightly activities and won’t be bothered by me.”
“And if you win?”
“If I happen to win, hmmmmm…..” she thought to herself, trying to brandish a wicked smile while thinking of the possibilities.
She looked back at him to see if it shocked him, and giggled as his eyes did get wider.
“I’m sorry Striker; I couldn’t help myself. It’s not a matter of winning, but if I happen to ‘win,’ you still have no need to worry. I wouldn’t make you do unbecoming a hero, or the public standards of a hero. Anyone who’s fallen to me has experienced nothing but bliss and happiness in their minds and bodies, so I can promise you the same.”
Scryer was happy to see him looking away, deep in-thought, considering her offer. She didn’t expect him to take her offer lightly, but she did expect his response to be a decline. How he declined surprised her though, as he moved to the roof’s edge again, only for his energy to be totally sapped away and ushered back towards her again. He looked at her almost accusingly.
“You said until you were done explaining. You stated the name of the game, I never said I had to go along with it.”
“Smart boy,” she told herself in his mind.
She smirked as she slowly approached the stunned, trapped hero.
“Actually, I wasn’t done explaining,” she told him as her crystal blue eyes were fixed directly on his. “You may appreciate a few small tips or bits of information about this process. For example, one of the best ways to test a perceived strong will would be staring into their eyes. That’s right, staring into your eyes, like you’re staring into mine, with intensity, and a clear intent. My eyes have been known to sparkle and dazzle another’s if you look into them long enough, but I’m sure big, brown handsome ones won’t let that happen. For now, just look into my eyes, listen to my voice, and feel your hands in mine. Concentrate on nothing else but the feel of my hands, the sound of my voice, the sight of my eyes.”
There was silence between them as their eyes spoke enough between them. Striker put up his strong resistance hoping to somehow push back against her stare and her words. Scryer’s eyes matched his intensity, but spoke as suggestively as her words did with an inviting stare, nicely asking his to look and take a dip into her shining blue pools. It was an invitation his eyes didn’t readily accept.
“Well done, Striker. Some before you found it all too easy to become enveloped in my eyes by this point, but your will remains steadfast and on-guard, not yet tempted by the beautiful void in front of you. But I notice your hands are quite tense; that’s not very healthy for a simple mental test like this. You should relax them. In-fact, allow me to help. Feel your hands in mine, softening them, granting them rest. Save all your power for your mind and this test. Your hands should be soft while your eyes should be staring into mine, possibly resisting my gaze. But are they?”
“Are they what?” Striker asked, no trace of his voice or demeanor slipping from her assault.
“Are your eyes resisting my gaze? By this time, some of the stronger subjects I’ve come across find themselves completely fixated, unable to look away from my unblinking stare. That in of itself is a skill one has to practice, one of my honed skills. But it does help when you’re looking into a lively pair of eyes, firm eyes like yours, or naturally bewitching ones like mine. The crystal blue color I’ve found is a rare color, found so scarcely in nature, even less in people as you travel. And when people find a pair, there’s always a tendency to stare just a little longer, where a glance becomes a few seconds longer, where engaging someone’s attention becomes more of a pleasure, where a staring contest can be an excuse to take a special journey into a land of seductive azure. An unintentional spell is cast and all the subject wants is more, willing to bind themselves to my beautiful eyes. Do you think my eyes are beautiful, Striker?”
Even from her intense stare, Scryer’s peripheral vision saw what her words were doing to the tested hero. The once tensed muscles of his face began softening. She felt the warmth and submittance of his hands in hers, the gentle massage of her hands that barely felt like one. Striker barely realized that looking into her eyes was enough of a trap in of itself; eyes that kept him immobile while her lyrical voice nearly turned into soft singing. His mind couldn’t discern whether he was conversing with her, or being sung to. Either way, he was only left with the ability to react to her actions.
“My eyes….” Scryer reiterated.
“Eyes…” he said, following her lead.
“…beautiful,” she helpfully supplied.
“Beautiful?,” Striker spoke like a question.
“Why thank you, Striker. Such a lovely compliment. I accept it as graciously as possible.” Her acceptance cause her eyes to widen, taking in more of his attention. “Compliments from handsome men always seem to affect me, their sincerity, and how they show me with more than just their words. Like the way you are, with your fixed eyes and body. That strong body rooted in place with nowhere to go, those cute, glassy brown eyes, like windows to your soul, which dreams of azure. Whenever it wants to enter my eyes and explore to its heart’s desire, it has my full permission to do so. This test is going so well Striker; all you have to do is keep doing what you’re doing; showing your strength to me, strength of body and mind, and what a strength it is. So powerful, so strong. I can’t help but look deeper into you, searching for that strength. I wonder if it’s similar to you unable to help looking into my eyes, to keep your hands resting in mine, to keep your mind on the path I set as my words lay the foundation.”
That resistance her eyes were searching for while they peered into Striker’s crept up and was able to alert Striker of the fact that he was still being tested, and possibly that things were going her way.
“Am I losing to her?” was his first independent thought in minutes since she asserted her power over him. From that thought his mind tried to bring him to action again, but found he was having trouble. His hands still in hers saw more reason to obey her commands than his. Trying to move them still created a tremor in his hands, and he focused on that, trying to make them move or do something to shake him from her spell. He was slow to anticipate the risk that Scryer would feel the tremor and respond in her own way, as she did.
“Ah, there it is,” she mused, making part of his mind curious as to what she found. “That resistance in you,” Scryer spoke as if answering his question, so strong and bold, so exciting to see in you.” She caressed his tense hands, soothing them back to being limp and asleep in her hands. “If only other heroes could see your will as I see it now, you could inspire so much jealousy in them, them wishing they had what you possessed for once. It’s fun to imagine playing the villainess for once, soothsaying you all with my voice, casting my spells so expertly around all of you, and trapping every last one of you with my gaze. The most physically strong among you would fall the easiest, those that move fast would be stopped in their tracks. No shielding could protect them, even mentally; it would be a joy to watch someone so psionically capable trapped in their own mind, at the mercy of one whose skills are much more versatile. You of all of them, would be the last to fall, my dear Striker. You might be able to verbally warn them, to persuade them to not look, to not become bewitched, but soon you’d find that no one is more persuasive than me. Surrounded by like-minded acquaintances. Well, you’d be like-minded soon, because no matter how long you might hold out, we both know where this ends Jonathan.”
Despite her powerful assault on him, hearing his secret identity spoken aloud was the spark that flared into physical resistance. Limp hands became fists, eyes blinked and looked down at hands he regained control of, and he reached out to grasp her hands as a means of beginning to restrain the red-headed witch. As fast as he usually was, her melodiously accented voice got him to slow down so much that his snap reaction was slow; slow enough to make her reaction faster. One hand that tried to grasp her side was gripped in hers firmly. The other hand was able to hold her other side with an equal firmness, but only because Scryer’s free hand gripped Striker’s chin, bringing him back to her hypnotic eyes.
“Silly boy,” she smirked, as the force and the memory of her eyes hit him all at once. “You will have need to focus if you want to win this test. Your focus needs to be strong, powerful, immovable, and where else has it been stronger than when staring into my eyes, hmmm?”
Her gaze held his easily again, but the tensing she felt didn’t cease.
“Calm down my dear hero, be at rest. There’s no need to be upset. As I told you already, no harm will come to you at all. I do know who lies behind the veil of Striker. I can see deep into you; my eyes are special as they can look and see things most others can’t. Fascinating things, secrets some people would take to the grave. I don’t make it a habit to gossip with such privy information; your secret is safe with me. But I must admit, I do like what else I see deep within you. Such as your plainly trying to hide your attraction to me, to how much I affect you, in more ways than one.”
Her lips gave a teasing pout, which is resisting eyes still caught. As Striker broke away from her gaze moments before, he didn’t realize how much of the world left his awareness, as if everything became about Scryer. He was getting it back fast, until the witch took his chin and his gaze. He fought to remember there was a world surrounding them, one he swore to protect. But just the sight of it changed in his vision. The feel of the wind against his skin, breezing by him felt significant. It made him aware of the hairs on his arms and neck that stood taller near her. The breeze blowing on his back felt like a push, guiding him closer to her. The moon was full in a cloudless sky that night, and made everything about Scryer brighter, more powerful. She looked like some kind of lunar goddess, using the moonlight to her advantage, fascinating anyone around her. The way it shone off her dress, her heels, and the edge of her hat as her eyes peered deep into his from under it, drawing him closer. Even the lights of the city, ones he tried to use to remind himself that other people existed, couldn’t help. He stared, feeling her hands hold his hand and chin gently, almost affectionately, and those lights blurred and dimmed against the brightness of her blue eyes. Everything but Scryer was becoming meaningless.
“You…won’t….win,” Striker told her in a bout of fading defiance.
“What’s that dear,” she asked as she slid his face mask off, happily exposing his full face to her.
“Much better, now, say that again.”
“Won’t I?” She claimed. “What recourse is left to you? The only light left at the end of this tunnel is in my eyes, and you’re getting closer and closer to it now. That resistance of yours is quite admirable, but you don’t need it now. You can save it for the evil foes you have to face, or the city you have to protect. You do so much work to defend and protect, it’s time to rest now.”
At the mention of rest, the hand resting in Scryer’s grip twitched, and fell limp again.
“Yes, that’s it, it’s time to rest. You rarely get to let go, to let your guard down, to let someone else help you. You can’t always be strong; allow me to share my strength with you. You may bask in my power, rest your mind there and find peace you may have never imagined possible before. Just looking into my eyes is like a journey. When you look into my eyes, you can leave the worries and cares of the world behind you and walk in the depths of azure, or dive in and sink deeply into them if you like. It’s a journey of your choosing. Yes, a journey of azure.”
The smile on Scryer’s face grew purposeful.
“Striker, if I ever suggest to you or ask you to seek out or take a journey of azure, you will find yourself filling up with the desire to look into my eyes. This desire will overtake you and will not be quenched until you find yourself looking into my eyes, totally mesmerized by them, unless I command you not to look. Journeying into the azure is understood in your mind as ‘look into my eyes,’ and you do want to journey into the azure, don’t you, my hero?”
His eyes widened at the suggestion, unable to stop himself from taking in more of her crystal blue.
“That’s right, take a stroll or a swim into my world, unleash yourself and be one with me. A lovely journey of azure.”
His eyes went even deeper and hers were becoming all he could see. He knew he was close to being mindless and effectively losing this challenge of hers. His options were next to nil, and trying to think of the right way to combat her would be too late. In a spontaneous last-ditch effort, he acted.
Scryer found herself unable to speak anymore, as Striker closed the distance with his lips, silencing hers. She muffled and moaned against at first, and then realized what had happened, and smiled against his lips as she kissed him back. The feel of her lips against Strikers was amazing, and something in him gave him the strength to move his hands to hold her sides, much gently than he tried to before. Her hands rested at his shoulders, and moved up to his neck, pulling him closer. They kissed for long moments, both unable to hold back enjoying what was happening to them. It was Scryer who broke away first, needing to breathe, both the hero and witch’s forehead pressed against each other under her hat.
“Do you like my enchanted lips, my hero?” she seductively intoned.
He never had time to answer her question as she resumed kissing him, this time leading the kiss, making him follow passionately. And as his eyes were open from the shock of her statement and being kissed again, they were exposed to Scyrer’s azure again. Something made her chuckle against his lips, like kissing him was some funny occurrence. Whatever made her laugh, she kept to herself as she pulled away to speak to Striker again.
“A soft, silken, sensual, spell-binding kiss,” she told him before resuming her kiss. The words poured into Striker’s head through his lips. He did find it spell-binding. Chained to her lips, becoming addicted to them, believing that they were enchanted and that he was helpless to them. The moment she mentioned the power of her lips, he felt the regret of walking into another trap of hers; that regret was a flame immediately extinguished on the wet surface of her lips. Something about her kiss felt so right, something he knew was genuine between them, connecting them.
“I thought about asking you to succumb fully to my power with my kiss at some point, but you were so eager and sweet to give yourself to me right away,” was her taunt as stopped again. A smile started spreading across his face, a smile of anticipating some good to come. “You shall be rewarded,” Scryer continued, whispering against her deeply-entranced subject’s lips, before parting them with her tongue. Theirs danced and dueled against each other, Striker’s meekly letting the witch’s tongue do whatever she pleased in his mouth. On a deeper, primal level, Striker could not remember being more excited or alive than in Scryer’s thrall. It was a dream he dared not wish for with women, as he feared this kind of fire burned too bright for him. It felt wonderful that this sorceress left him no choice but to stumble into her world of pleasure and enjoy himself. She pulled away again, and his biggest pet peeve became her ability to pull away from his lips, leaving him so needy.
“If you want to kiss me again, you must yield to me Striker, concede victory and declare the test over,” Scryer pursed her lips as she spoke. He tried to move in to kiss again, but her hands held his face in place, denying him a chance to cheat. “It’s so eassssy to do my hero. Just yield to me, and you will be released in my care, hypnotized, helpless, protected, and loving every moment of it.” Her grip loosened to let his lips get close enough before pulling back, making the temptation too great. “Yield to me, now. NOW.” Her last word was a throaty sensuous whisper that shot through him like an electric current. It quickly found the last bit of active resistance that held him at bay, and whispered it to sleep as his subconscious was left, and in her control.
“I….yield…I..yield to you Scryer…….” his voice didn’t rise higher than a mutter, but the words were satisfactory enough to the triumphant witch. She let his face get closer before whispering to him.
“Why don’t you take a journey of azure?”
Suddenly, the need to feel her lips mattered less than the desire to look into her eyes again, and all he had to do was look up from her lips to become eye-to-eye, and mesmerized yet again. His forehead pressed against locks of red hair and her forehead as he dove into her eyes, ever-searching for a bottom that wasn’t there.
“Kneel,” she commanded, and the ease to which he fell to his knees surprised her. His eyes were still fixed on hers, but could also see her gorgeous face framed by natural red hair, and the moon just above her pointy hat. She extended her hand to him, and he just knew she wanted it kissed. His lips covered the back of her hand, in her palm, and covered each fingernail, all while still being locked in her gaze.
“That’s quite enough now. You’ve pleased me greatly, my hero,” she told him while caressing his face.
“Let us retire to a more suitable place. It would be very unbecoming a hero to continue here.”
Scryer began walking toward the door he used to access the roof, and noticed he began crawling behind her.
“Stand up and walk Striker,” she laughed. “There’s no time to waste in pleasing me like I want. And don’t forget your face mask.”
“Yes Scryer,” he said dreamily, moving to comply with her every request.
* * *
Sabrina stretched her arms over her head and shivered in pleasure a bit over the exertion her boyfriend put her through, and the control she exercised over him. The love-making was easily tender between them, but commanding him to move how she wanted gave her such a sexual charge. The mind games she played was like the ultimate aphrodisiac for the red-headed hypnotist, and the man whose mind was perfectly wrapped in her suggestions was the mind she loved playing with the most. Tonight’s mind games made a life-long dream of hers come true.
Sabrina, or Scryer wasn’t really a witch, but no one could argue that she was rather bewitching in her own regard. Like Jon and his martial arts skills, years of practicing hypnosis and brainwashing techniques on a wide variety of minds made her a hypnoteuse to be reckoned with, followed promptly by obeyed. His head slept in her cross-legged lap, while his mind slept in her spell, still in his hero mode. Her being cross-legged on the roof was his idea, subconsciously, as she probed his mind for imagery he would’ve liked or expected to see in their role-playing. With any kind of hose or tights, she certainly didn’t feel like damaging them sitting like that on the roof’s surface. Letting him imagine that she levitated herself to standing fit perfectly in the fantasy though, as his first literal sight of Scryer was standing.
She thought about the name Scryer, still wondering if it was the right choice. She’d thought of so many names that worked for a witchy persona, trying to find one that sounded mysterious but not too cheesy. She thought of scrying, a seer’s ability, and decided that was original enough for her. It fit the allure of her Irish accent that came naturally to use; she mostly used her practiced-American accent in everyday life, but she always preferred trancing with an accent. She looked at the stack of comic books on her dresser that she used for research to prep for her game. Several of them in the pile helped shaped Sabrina into the mesmerizing woman she’d become. As a young, avid comic fan who became even more avid about mind-control in comics, she enjoyed the exploits of Jean Grey, Zatanna, the Enchantress, Poison Ivy, Saturn Girl, the White Queen, and many others. Any woman with mind-control powers could instantly become her hero, or one of her favorite fictional characters. And while she never grew out of reading comics, she eventually decided to become her own hero, filling the void of more hypnotic and wicked women given appropriate exposure.
She looked above the comics and into the dresser’s mirror, seeing not only Sabrina Marks, successful hypnotherapist, but Scryer, bewitching sorceress who held one of the strongest heroes in her grasp now. Her regard for mental strength was always particularly significant to her, and Jon was strong in mind and body. Jon basically was Striker in terms of personality, and the ability to fall as easily into her charms. She loved that about him, how he made her try harder than most, and still fell sweetly to her persistence. The world-building in his mind was just as fun as seeing it all play out, with a city full of heroes he worked alongside. There were countless directions to take their game, and she would be sure to savor every moment she spend preparing or playing with him.
Jon began to stir in her lap. Sabrina smiled sweetly down at him, kissing his forehead. Her lips still felt the liveliness of his own as he tried preventing her from casting any more verbal spells; it was a pattern with him, going as far back as when they first got together, and one she never minded. He was naked in her bed, as was she, save the witch’s hat. He dreamed of everything that happened that night, encountering Scryer, listening to her explanations and challenges, fighting her assertive charms as long as he could. The strange happiness that followed losing consciousness made him feel more than think about it. That happiness would lose its sense of being strange over time, or sooner than that as she prepared to begin their next round.
“Awake now Striker,” her thickly-accented voice returned. “Open your eyes and return to me. Your enchantment has only begun.”