Conundrum

Chapter 16

       Through all his hero work, Lance had never seen anything so . . . so. . . demented. Barely recognizable under the caked blood and mutilated skin was the young man, chained to a wobbly chair that shook underneath his weight. Bare skin was exposed to the freezing air, his already pale complexion unnaturally white and highlighted against the harsh contrasts of blood around him.

      The young man didn't move, didn't even flinch. He remained in his confinements, in the cold, completely still and disturbingly oblivious to the world. The metal cuffs wrapped around his wrists and swollen ankles glinted at him, making sure he was aware that they were there, digging into his skin and adding to the menagerie of injuries he already had.

      Splotches of blood adorned the metal and just about every other surface in the room. Ranging from rusted brown to scarlet red, it splattered against the ground, the walls, and with a quick glance up, the damn ceiling. But what was blaringly obvious was in the center of the room. Pyro stood, her black six-inch heels stained with red, in a puddle of dried blood crudely shaped like a person. And reaching out towards the chair was a smear of still drying blood.

      Lance's breath hitched as he looked up to her face. She looked like a terror herself, a demon who crawled straight from the underworld. There were dots and painted smears of blood on her chin, her cheeks, her forehead, and the ever-present crimson lipstick coating her lips spread wide as she began to smile.

      A shock went down his spine as he realized no mask was covering her face. Impossible. Pyro seemed to notice his disbelief because a happy gleam made home in her eyes. She brushed a piece of her blond hair behind her ear, a spot was left red.

      It was impossible for her to be standing in front of him, and yet there she was, smiling at him. Lance could remember quite clearly reading about her death in the papers: Scientist Lights Building on Fire and Perishes. She was impossible, but so was he.

      Reaching out with his mind, Lance seized her with his power. And though he tried to seem intimidating, his voice came out in a soft breath. "You're supposed to be dead."

      Her smile became impossibly wide before she started to laugh. There was something so unsettling with the noise, he couldn't help but flinch. It came straight from her stomach, rich and full, and entirely insane. It cut down to the very marrow of his bone. Then she bowed, the movement straining against his power. Long hair fell over her shoulders. "A pleasure," she jeered.

Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on her. Her back becomes straight as a board.

Pyro, however, didn't seem to mind the extra pressure at all; she laughed again.

      Lance tried to shake off her laughing and move to the young man, hoping to take advantage of her apparent distraction. He wasn't even able to finish his first step before she appears not two inches from his face.

      The reaction was instantaneous, Lance takes a short step back and throws a well-aimed and powerful punch. He missed. Pyro teleports to the inside of his arms reach, the choppy movements somehow looking smooth and effortless.

      Pyro swiped her fingers down the side of his face, her sharp fingernails stopping just short of breaking skin. Heat follows the scratches, making her movement more painful than it should. He hissed and yanked away, only to find her breath against his ear.

"I'm not letting him go until I get my fight, Shooty," she purred.

      Then, she appeared a foot away, a pair of knives in hand and between himself and the young man. Lance felt like he could barely keep up. He felt like he was a beat behind her, no, they were on two completely different pieces. But he's Lance McClain, superhero and billionaire. He would find a way to match her, even if he had to skip a few measures.