Every villain hopes for the downfall of their hero. To see them fail, to see the hopelessness in their eyes. After years of playing cat and mouse, of being defeated and destroyed time and time again, this is the final clash. I have it all planned out. My hero is predictable. Fighting with someone for over many years helps one figure out their opponent’s first move. Where they’ll appear, who they will have fighting beside them, what they’ll be wearing even. Not that my hero ever changes their outfit per say. I’ve been fighting for so long I can’t remember what exactly I’m fighting for. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to succeed though. To see my mortal enemy be crushed beneath my feet.

I stand in a fairly empty warehouse, I’ve been here since I was young and never got to redecorating it. There is only a desk, chair and bulletin board. A single newspaper clipping hangs on the bulletin board. It’s dated, March 16, 1989, and reads “Keres Defeated Once Again by Our Brave Hero: Haven”. My hero’s round face is smeared with dirt and a small bit of blood from the cut on her forehead. Still as photogenic as ever. Her suit is a dark orange and a dark greenish yellow, not typical colors for a hero. The area surrounding her eyes is covered by a forest green mask, the mask doesn’t do much to protect her identity. I figured out who she was a while ago, though I would never go as far as to threaten Haven’s family. I still have my morals, for the most part.

I lean against the desk staring at the monitor I set up a while back. I study it carefully, like I have been, over and over. It’s like deja vu, the same thing: we fight, I lose. Not this time. This time I will get what I want. Whatever it is that I want anymore. Tomorrow I will know the end to our story.

I lean against a brick wall in our alleyway, my tall silver staff clasped lightly in my hand, “Long time no see Havey.”

“How long are you going to keep doing this?” my hero asks, walking out of smoke from a burst pipe, like some cheesy movie. “I mean, we’ve been doing this for three years now. When is it time to stop?”

“The same time you decide to give up,” I reply.

Haven laughs, “That’s not going to happen.”

“Then it’s not time to stop.”

“That means we are going to do this then?”

I push myself off the wall, “Guess it does.”

My plum purple and lavender spandex covered figure leaps up and swings myself onto the top of our building. Haven follows quickly hoisting herself up the same way I did. We both stand on the top of the same building we have been standing on for almost every fight ever. We circle each other like a practiced dance, staring at one another in the night. I am the one to make the first move, I lunge with my staff extended in front of me. Haven counters the move with her own short sword. Her cape flows behind her in a picturesque fashion.

“I know your every move Havey. Hell, this is the same alleyway that we have met in for years. I’ve studied you, I know every step you’re going to take, every strike you will attempt, this time I will emerge victorious,” I taunt.

Haven’s face falls with a look of exhaustion and goes normal once again, “Keres you say that every time, and every time it’s not true.”

“I think you’ll find that this time it will be.”

I lunge again with a vengeful look on their face. I knock my so-called hero down and stand over her with my spear pointing at her chest. We lock eyes, behind the fear there is pain.

Haven grabs my spear and pulls it closer to herself, “Fine. You win. I’m done doing this.”

“W-what? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m done fighting. So either you end it or I will,” she leans up towards the blade.

“I don’t understand,” I exclaim. “You’re supposed to be fighting back. Fight back, fight me!”

Haven sighs, “I’m tired of fighting, Keres. I’m tired of all of this, I don’t want to do this anymore. If all I can be is a hero, then I don’t want it. Come on, this is what you have wanted for three years. Kill me, defeat me, you win. I. Give. Up.”

Tears swell in my eyes. We’ve been fighting for so long. I have learned everything about Haven, it can’t end this suddenly. It can’t end without some sort of fight.

“You really want this?” I ask, tears spilling over.

“I do.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

Haven moves her hand higher on the spear and pulls it closer, ripping through her suit. I push the cold metal harshly against my enemy’s chest. The blade breaks her skin, blood spilling from her wound. It’s smooth and quick, as painless as I can make it. Haven gasps and I drag the spear back. It is done, and there is no turning back.

I collapse beside my fallen foe. I cradle my hero’s body in my arms, “You were supposed to stop me. You were supposed to save the day. You had everything you needed, you’ve always had everything you needed to stop me. So why didn’t you? Why did you choose this? Why am I still here and you aren’t? I can’t do this without you Haven.”

Blood seeps through the rest of the suit, her eyes have fallen closed, her lips have breathed their last breath; she really is gone. This is what the villain is supposed to celebrate, the falling of the hero, the success of seeing their enemy fail. I still saw the hopelessness and I still witnessed the destruction. It’s nothing but bitter, the very bitter end.