Derrick Eckles, the Champion of Mankind, slowed his approach as he made contact with Earth’s upper atmosphere so as not to appear like a falling star in the night sky. No, he preferred his comings and goings to not be known by the sky watchers and, by extension, the Church, at least when he could help it. That was not to say he took it slow, though. He flew at supersonic speeds, allowing the air to howl around him and buffet his silver cape, which snapped and cracked like a whip in the thickening wind. He breathed in. For the first time in months, his lungs filled with fresh, unrecycled air, the air of his home planet.

  It was good to be home, even if his reason for coming back was an unpleasant one. Below him, the continental United States stretched out before him, its brilliant fields of gold and green, sparkling in all the spectrums his enhanced eyesight could detect even in the starlight, its towering metropolises chaotic messes of twinkling lights and cacophonous noise. Somewhere above Appalachia, he indulged himself, dipping down to run his hand along the tops of a ridgeline of unseasonably snow-laden trees.

  Beautiful. Breathtaking. Worth saving even if only for a little while.

  Which brought his mind back to why he was here and, incidentally, his destination. Just where was it?

  He soared up and up until the East Coast became a ribbon of tiny pinpricks of white, terminating in the blackness of the Atlantic. It was easy to pick out the major cities, not just from the size but from the green and violet auroras of their defense domes and how their glow seemed to bend and warp when passing through the protective shells.

  He sighed. He was never good at the whole navigation thing. A brief stint in the Boy Scouts before the incident taught him a few things, but never how to navigate geography by air. Usually, he just honed in on the screams. Counting the domes and looking for the right one, Derrick started from the easily recognizable Atlantic City then moved up to Philly over to Baltimore and then to DC. He'd come in too far south.

  Reoriented, the Unstoppable Force shot down from on high, approaching DC low to make it under the dome without puncturing it. There was a tingle on his skin as the district's close air defense screen painted him with dozens of targeting lasers and radar pings, but his AHAB chip saw him through with no fireworks. No doubt automated alerts were popping up in monitoring stations and phone calls were being made to sleeping officials and dignitaries, informing them of the arrival of Tyrannis, but the super only planned to meet with one person tonight and one person only.

  The building was exactly where he’d left it, a steel and concrete sword thrust through the heart of the US capitol. The illusion was even more on the nose thanks to the building having very few windows and the Company's very strict policies on illumination. It was a dark patch in the tapestry of streetlights and open windows of the rest of the district, like the blade had ruptured something vital in the Earth.

  He descended to the penthouse, the single point of visible light on the entire building. It was on the tip of the sword’s hilt, a sort of sparkling jewel one might see in a cheesy fantasy epic or one of the comic books Derrick wouldn’t confess to reading even to his closest friends. It was not a jewel, however. It was the lair of the most dangerous creature in the universe.

  His feet touched down on the nearly invisible glassteel balcony, empty but for a bristly little mat with animal tracks spray painted over its surface. “Wipe your paws” it commanded in bold black letters. The Tyrannis costume’s blue boots were impractical on Mars, so he never really wore them until he needed to make a trip to Earth. Reentry should have cleansed him of most dirt and debris, but Derrick did as he was asked. It was more about respecting Nimue’s rules than anything else.

  Derrick stepped inside and into the dragon’s den. Opulent didn’t even begin to cover it. The walls were made of dark, stained wood with veins of gold that shot through the grain like forked lightning. Tiny, floating crystals glowed and flickered like candles in the elaborate sconces on the central four support beams and on the walls. The floor was carpeted with golden shag that he knew from experience was the softest thing anyone had ever created by man or god. Artifacts from pre-history laid scattered about the room like toys discarded by a fickle toddler: a bronze Egyption khopesh here, an African fertility idol in the corner, a jewel encrusted tiara peeking out from under one of the sofas. In the corner nearest the balcony sat a rounded, ancient desk in front of two plush leather chairs where Nimue met with her supplicants.

  How many deals had she forged there? How much power had she acquired?

  “Derrick Eckles. It’s been a while.” Nimue was reclined on her side in bed, golden silks wrapped around her body leaving only her bare shoulders and arms visible to the naked eye, but the sheets left little to the imagination. The rich cocoa of her skin shone through the sheerness of the material in a clearly defined silhouette. As she slid onto her side to look him in the eyes with not a trace of modesty, she reached over and locked the tablet she’d been reading when he’d entered. “What makes Earth’s Greatest Defender darken my doorway once again.”

  Derrick coughed bashfully and pretended to admire a collection of gold pieces in a glass case as he tried to answer. “Y- *ahem* Your door was open.”

  “As it always is for you. Can you really see my open balcony door all the way from Mars?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  He, in fact, could not see her penthouse all the way from Mars, not all the time at least. He needed to remember why he was here. “I came to talk to you.”

  Her lips twisted into a sly smile. “Is that it?”

  “Ah. Yes,” He replied, straightening his shoulders and gathering his courage for a fight and not the kind he preferred. “We need to do something about Graviton. The war is spiraling out of control, and it needs to end.”

  “I disagree.” She stretched languidly, yawning and checking the time on her tablet. That was it. That was all she cared to say about the war currently being waged in the skies.

  “You disagree with what?” he asked incredulously.

  “The war is not, as you say, spiraling out of control, and I do not need to lift a finger to help or harm Graviton.”

  “People are dying up there," he said, stating the obvious. "And on the surface. It doesn’t matter which side they are on, civilians are civilians. You could end this war with a word, but you’re letting it play out. Why?”

  Nimue glanced up again from her screen, the hurt in her eyes faint but detectable. “Because, believe it or not, Derrick, I am not a dictator, nor do I want to be. I don't decide what banners people are allowed to take up or put down.”

  “I’m not asking you to rule anything. I’m asking you to alleviate suffering. There's more than enough to go around. If you won’t do it, I will.”

  “No.” She slid a hand down to gather her golden silks, beginning to bunch them behind her body and binding them with loose knots. “The agreement still stands.”

  Fire rose up from Derrick's belly, settling behind his eyes. “The agreement? Screw that! People are dying out there! Literal chunks of Graviton’s island are falling from the sky. Wherever they hit, it’s like a nuke went off.”

  Nimue did not even look at him, still arranging her sheets into a skin tight nightgown until it looked like she’d been dipped in molten gold. “I fully realize that. Thank you, Derrick. You don’t think I am sympathetic to the pain of the victims? Me?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I don’t know. I can only judge by your actions, which don’t really paint a sympathetic picture. I’ve seen the resources you’ve shifted around to supply the war,” he growled in accusation. “On both sides."

  She stood gracefully, slender and lithe, her new dress of golden silk hugging her figure like it was tailored for her, tight in all the right places, loose where it was tasteful. Derrick could hear the material and her bare feet whisking softly across the expensive plush rug. The ice in her blue eyes seemed to gain a reflective sheen for just a moment in the dim light, just enough to be dismissed as Derrick’s imagination, but he wasn’t stupid enough to do so. “That’s right. This conflict has been brewing for a long time, and a swift end to the war would not bring a lasting peace. The two sides need to exhaust themselves against one another, throw themselves into the grinder until they lose their taste for war.”

  “How Machiavellian,” he scoffed, breathing deeply and closing his eyes to consider his next words carefully. What would it take? “I’m begging you. Let me bring it to an end. Safely. No one else has to get hurt, and they can talk it out at the negotiation table. You could even broker the deal.”

  He picked up the sound of Nimue running a hand over the plush leather couch she kept next to the fireplace, her breathing, slow and steady, creeping closer. “No. We let them fight. The Graviton War is over ideology more than it is about land or government. If you spent any time on the internet, you’d see that.”

  “I do. I still can’t let this pass. How can you sit there and let the carnage happen right on your doorstep?”

  “Because the humanity that I want to bring into our new world is not the humanity we currently have. We need unity of purpose if we are to survive, and if I have to let the children bicker and fight to achieve that, I will pay that cost gladly.”

  “And if I decide I can’t watch this anymore?”

  “Then you and I will come together far less cordially than we are here.”

  “You think you can hurt me, Nimue?” he shot back, instantly wishing he could take the implied threat back.

  If Nimue had taken offense, she didn’t let it show. “I don’t think anyone or anything can hurt you, Derrick. At least not anymore.” She glided up to him and put her arms around his neck, so close. She smelled like honey and copper, and her eyes, wide and piercing, drank him in. When she spoke, her breath carried a hint of spice Derrick couldn’t identify. “You are the greatest single point of power in all of the universe, but don't repeat your mistakes. I most certainly can stop you.”

  “With your stolen power,” he replied, his mouth dry. Derrick’s pulse quickened, memories of blows given and taken flashing through his mind.

  She shook her head sadly causing a single black curl to fall loosely over her eye. “Given Power, Derrick. Given. Most are happy to let me carry their burdens for them, and I bear them proudly.”

  “Like me?” he asked with a deepening sense of bitterness.

  Nimue's gaze intensified, pinning him in place even as her arms did the same. “Yes. Please believe me. I can’t give back what I took from you, Derrick, but I hope you believe me when I say you begged me to take it.” She blinked as a single tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek to fall to the floor. “You begged, Derrick. You may be special in every other aspect of your life, but you are as fragile as the rest of us where it matters.”

  Derrick took a step back, but her hold on him was strong. “Last time we fought I was trying to bring you in,” he said. “I can’t afford to be as kind this time, if you get in the way of what’s right.” The arms around his neck were gentle but a vice all the same. He tried again to pull away, but she wouldn’t let go, would not allow him to create enough space to think. Derrick was fairly sure he could break her hold on him and continue the talk as he wished if he put in real effort-

  But he didn’t.

  She ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

  “And did you?” Nimue asked.

  He blinked, taking a full second to answer. “Did I what?”

  “Bring me in?”

  “No,” he replied with a slight shake of his head, careful not to discourage her probing fingers running up and down his neck.

  She leaned in close, her feet leaving the ground, her body floating up to bring her lips to his,. So warm. So soft. Despite himself, Derrick felt like he was falling, tumbling end over end, uncontrolled. “No. You didn’t,” she whispered. “And Mars used to have two moons.”

  He said nothing, finally returning her embrace in kind, wrapping his arms around her hips and giving her a long passionate kiss. His pulse quickened and he felt the frictionless golden sheets fall away even as she pressed into him. He quickly grew dissatisfied with just her lips and moved on to her neck and shoulders.

  When she spoke again, her voice was breathy. “I only take what people are willing to give, Derrick. I- ah- took from you, and I’m sorry. Remember that you wanted me to do it.”

  “No, I don’t” He said as he came up for air. “I don’t remember.”

  “I know,” she replied with a moan as she raised her chin high to allow him trail kisses up her jawline.

  "I know something too."

  "What is that?"

  "You don't sleep in the nude. Mm. You don't sleep at all."

  She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him away, making sure he could see the grin on her face. "I plead the fifth."

  Then they were lost to each other.

  When they were finished, they laid there, sweat slick bodies entangled and enjoying the calm that came after, Nimue’s head rested against his chest.

  Nimue was the one to break the peace. “I promised you that if we ever fought again, the battleground would be here. You remember that don’t you?” She asked as she traced her fingers around in tiny circles near Derrick's collarbone.

  He did remember, but he didn’t speak. What was there to say?

  “I don't want that,” she continued. “Our future is so fragile, Derrick. I can’t allow you to destroy it, for all our sakes.” Nimue didn’t look at him, and her voice stayed dead neutral, perhaps a little too emotionless, like she was doing her best to keep it that way. The words felt like the truth, though.

  “I believe you,” he answered.

  “Good.”

  “But I don’t understand you. You would…” he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  “Yes, Derrick. In a heartbeat. Interfere on Earth, and you and I will be the only sapient life left on this rock. I promise you.”

  Derrick felt sick, bile rising in his throat. It always came down to this. Some of his inner peace left him and his righteous anger crept back in, helping him gather the strength it took to roll onto his side, away from her, feeling the chill where her body used to be. “Why do I keep doing this?" he asked.

  He felt the bed shift as she rolled over and curled up to face away from him as well. “Because the view from that golden pedestal humanity has built for you allows you a modicum of cosmic perspective,” she replied with an ember of smoldering anger in her voice. “From up there, you see what is coming just like I do. You can see what’s coming, but you don’t have the fortitude to face it alone.”

  Derrick didn’t try to retort. What could he say? That their universe was unraveling? That the Scar was the beginning of the end for humanity? That he was afraid of ending up the only human being left in a cold, dying universe?

  “So, you turn to the one person in the world that can possibly understand what you’re going through, as is only natural. Unfortunately for you, that person is me,” she stated so very matter-of-factly, belied only by the quiet sniffle that came after.

  He frowned, fighting the urge to clench his fists. “Is that your professional opinion?” He asked with no small amount of venom in his words.

  There was a pregnant pause between the two before Nimue responded in kind, her own venom ready and waiting. “I think you see what needs to be done, but you know you aren’t strong enough to do it. You need me to be that person for you. That’s why you haven’t tried to snap my neck during any of our... meetings”

  Derrick hated her for saying it like that. It was more than that, obviously. She had to know that. She had slithered her way into his life through the hole left by Tara’s death, not that he remembered Tara anymore. Now she could not be excised.

  This woman had such capacity for good and the strength to back it up. That was the problem. She had so much power, that her chosen methods were just that: a choice. A choice Derrick could not live with. Nimue could also choose to be someone else tomorrow and be a guiding light for mankind, but she never did and maybe never would.

  He refused to end the night like this, like they always did. He breathed, allowing the fresh air and the clarity it carried with it to fill him. In and out.

“We’re going to revisit this soon,” he said, sitting up and looking around, trying to remember where he’d left his costume. “In the meantime, I’ll keep building.”

“You do that," came Nimue's quiet reply, still not turning back to look at him. "I hope you let me see your Utopia when it’s done, Derrick. I’ll try to keep humanity alive until then.”