Lol, I'll try to have the first chapter posted by Sunday.

Might put it on Wattpad where I can get a bit more....spicy 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 😉😈.

I sighed, blowing a strand of loose hair outta my face. My chair was comfy enough, and the Decimator had placed my chair near his command center ages ago after I sat near the alligator tank for 3 hours, a new record. It'd now been almost 16 hours since he'd taken me.

Honestly, Decimator isn't THAT bad of a guy. After as many times as I've watched him do what he does, he does it to train the city's heroes. After all, the people who trained him are infinitely worse than he and if he's right about them coming here, the city's heroes AND villains need to be ready.

In the meantime, Deci and I have gotten to know each other very well. I know their favorite color is orange, like a setting sun. They love chinese food. And love watching Disney Movies. I'd starting having feelings for them after the 8th time they'd taken me. But as today was my birthday and Valentine's Day, I was feeling more courageous. Or possibly foolish.

Ahem I cleared my throat to get Decimator's attention. "I'm sure they'll be here soon," they said, voice modifier disguising their actual voice.

"It's been the longest time that Lightspeed has yet to rescue me," I gulped. If now was the time to shoot my shot, I have to take it. "Anyways, since it looks like I'll be here a while, do you mind...I don't know...tightening these ropes?"

Decimator went behind me, hands nearing my binds. "Of course, I wouldn't want you to...wait, what did you ask?"

I tilted my head back to look at their mask. "I asked you to tighten my ropes." The air became charged and almost crackled with heat and electricity. With a rough tug, the ropes bit more into my wrists and my arms held fast against the smooth wood of the chair.

"I hope you know what you've asked for tonight, I won't be going easy."

"Who said I wanted you to?"

I did lol. Just forgot to double hit the enter button to make more space. But thanks for the feedback 😄

It was some time ago that the hero and I came to terms. And they were to be in perpetuity. He could summon me at any time, however many times he had to. Just as long as he burned ancient tomes for me, so that they would end up in my domain, my library. I knew he was quite the capable warrior. He had only summoned me twice in the 13 years we've had our contract. The first was a few months his time afterwards. He and his party needed knowledge on an ancient spell that would disable the defenses of a necromancer's tomb. The second, was to save them from a group of dragons. This time was different. In the times prior to entering the portal, I could feel the lifelines of his friends, this time was only him. As the swirling of the portal came to an end, I saw a grand throne room, made of grey stone and decorated with blood red tapestries and a long, red carpet leading from the throne to the doors. The hero had a sword to his throat. He was badly beaten, one eye was swollen shut, black and bruised. Reaching out with my ancient magic, I knew that he'd lose it without my healing powers. His lip was cut, likely from being struck recently. And I could sense that he had numerous broken bones. He was shackled, hand and foot. I looked around to see frightend people and dutiful knights and soldiers, awaiting the order of the one sitting on the throne. I turned to face them, and could see the familial resemblance between the King and the hero. "Who are you, how dare you interrupt this trial?!" The King shouted. "What I am is a far better question, isn't it, my dear hero?" I responded, addressing my question to the man bound and beaten. With a flick of my hand, the knight holding the steel to his throat was turned into a dove, armor and all. As the other men advanced, a wave of my other hand held them in place. I touched my hero's face, healing his eye and all his other injuries with it. His shackles followed. He stood, rubbing his still sore wrists. "Thank you, my friend." "This I assume is the uncle you told me about oh so long ago?" "It is." "Ah, perfect." I walked up to the terror stricken king as cowered against his throne. "I will enjoy tortuing you for eternity." He screamed as the dark, shadowy tentacles burst from my body, wrapping around him as they pulled him into my domain. His crown delicately clinked on the floor, rolling to the feet of my hero. I burped once the former king stopped struggling and turned to my friend. "Thank you," he said after picking up the crown. "Of course." I smiled. "Don't be a stranger my dear, abd send me a few more books if possible, I've read my entire collection a countless times over."

Thank you 😊

My powers are more dangerous than any Superhuman on the planet. I was born with the ability to control gravity. But over time, as my powers grew, Itheu caught the attention of a sentient creature that resided in the Sun's solar energy. The creature was dying, and needed a symbiotic host. I agreed and my powers became that of the universe itself.

I became the hero known as Galaxy. I was capable of creating meteors and asteroids to crash into my enemies, unleash piwerful bursts of Solar energy and radiation. My gravity powers could create miniature supernovas and black holes.

I lost control of my abilities during an eclipse. The supernova was too large and destroyed an entire city. I was thrown into the Verge, a prison for Superhumans built with power dampeners. It felt as if I couldn't breathe, the dampeners draining the solar and celestial energy in my body. Even the being bonded to me became lethargic. Days passed that became weeks, then months. Maybe a few years, but with the windowless, darkened cell, it was hard to tell the pasage of time.

I was surprised when I heard the steady hum of the dampeners in the measurements of my cell go silent. Moreso when the door opened and light spilled in. There in the doorway, shrouded in bright orange light was a tall, thin man in a pinstriped suit with a white shirt and red and white striped tie. His hair was brunette and swept to the side, and thick stubble lined his harsh, square jaw. His green eyes scanned over me with a curious gaze.

"Mr. Jones, or do you prefer Galaxy?"

"Call me Galaxy."

"Very well, Galaxy. I represent a new organization created by the President of the United States, one that depends on the assistance of Superhumans. The President has agreed to pardon you if you decide to join a special task force for the organization for a dangerous mission."

"What is it?"

"Doctor Thanatos has stolen plans for a device that will catch onto an asteroid and drag it towards Earth. If it strikes...Well I don't need to tell you what would happen. As a person with powers from space, he believes that you're likely a unique expert on the matter."

"Ok. If it saves lives...I'll do it. On one condition."

"Of course."

"No pardon. I...my powers are too dangerous for the public, I should return here after the mission is completed until the President needs me again."

"Very well, let's go, and I'll let the President know once we're above ground." Stepping into the hallway, I could see that the light was coming from magma outside the window.

"Where are we?"

"Mount Vesuvius, the Verge is run by the UN and EU. And with Pompeii being mostly uninhabited, it was one of the safest places to hold Superhumans. Other prisons are pocated in Antartica and on the moon. Come on, the more time we waste, the greater chance for calamity."

It began with the Swiss of all people, when the Swiss ambassador presented the Prime Minister of Canada a Pumpkin Creme Swiss Roll cake. But it had a secret ingredient: Compound SCRaNCl-35, a poison so deadly that it kills in seconds following ingestion.

From there the Cake Wars began, as the world was plunged into chaos. Then Latin American countries formed the Tres Leches Alliance and assisted the US and Canada's Red Velveteers push back European forces. The richness of the tres leches hid more of the compound and was even mixed with many illicit compounds to expedite death.

In Europe, France and Germany were surrounded on all sides, their fragile alliegiance close to shattering when the tea and sponge cakes came from England. Trained pidgeons brought the safe consumption to French and German citizens while cake bombers released the deadly ones on their enemies.

In 2068, most countries had a ban on baking if the baker was not in the employ of the government. The war lasted for many centuries yet to come, ending on March 14, 2389. When world leaders sat together to make peace and eat cake.

My head canon is that the names of the country's have been redacted by the network.

The Wayside is all I've ever known. For some, it appears as a tavern with many rooms and a grand feast hall. Others see it as a trainstation. Or even a large campsite with many tents and large, warm, inviting bonfire. It changes to fit the needs of each and every adventurer, traveller, or otherwise lost soul. I was born here, or created, I'm not really sure.

Thankfully, I can shapeshift into whatever kind of person I want to, unlike the Wayside itself. I'm pretty sure the Wayside is sentient, as it always knows what someone needs. Most of our visitors never return. But there's one group of heroes who come every few weeks, and we become a place of respite as they plan their next adventure.

To them, I appear as a child, and an old innkeep as well. They're friendly to both, but they've taught me many things as the child. For example, their wizard has taught me some spells, their bard has taught me how to make simple wooden wind instruments and how to play them. Their rogue has even taught me how to pick locks and pockets, and even how to fight with and throw knives and daggers.

I've never even imagined of leaving the Wayside. Would my powers even still work? Would I be able to exisit in a set place with a set time? These are some of the questions that swirl in my mind as I look out the door at the spiraling portal that connects the Wayside to the Physical Plane.

But I don't have much of a choice to go through. Something is wrong with the Wayside, something dark and terrible has happened. It's as if the Wayside is sick or something. Where once it was well lit and cheerful, it is now dark and gloomy. And it all began with a visitor who had been wearing dark clothes and a hood that covered their face who had been here shortly after the heroes had left.

The Wayside's key felt heavier in my pocket, as if it knew my intent to leave, but it also felt like it was connected to a cord that was tugging it towards the portal. With a deep breath, I jumped in, hearing the door of the Wayside slam shut and the lock slide into place. And then several voices swirled around me.

"Thanks for inviting me you guys, I've always wanted to play D&D."

"Of course, man, we're always welcoming to new players. Do you already have a character rolled up?"

"Yeah. I'll be playing a young changeling warlock, the only permanent resident of a magical realm for lost travellers, which grants them their power as the realm itself is sentient."

"Sounds dope asf. I can't wait to see what you do with them."

"Alec, are you feeling alright?" I heard my roommate Thaddeus ask from the other side of the door to my room. Thaddeus was a 2000-year-old vampire who originally lived in north London. Despite being Stateside since shortly before the American Revolution, Thad still has his, if slightly modernized, British accent. The kind that would make anyone swoon.

Anyone but me that is. My name is Alec, I'm a monster hunter. You would think that we'd be mortal enemies, Thad and I. Quite possibly the only reason we haven't killed each other yet is the threat of mutually assured destruction. You see, neither of us can afford the rent on this place alone, so we...tolerate each other at best.

"I'm fine," I lied, grimacing through the pain as I took off my shirt. I had been hunting last night, killed a werewolf from breaking into an orphanage. But the thing had managed to get a few hits on me. Including several deep gashes in my side that were bleeding profusely.

"I can hear that your heart rate is elevated and your breathing is much shallower than normal! And I smell your blood! Alec, please be decent because I'm coming in!" Before I could stop him, Thad had broken the door open. His eyes widened at the sight of my injuries. He stepped closer, obviously straining his self control as he struggled with the urge to drain me dry. "You're hurt worse than I thought."

"It'll heal."

"You could bleed out without medical attention." Thad reach under my bed and grabbed the large trunk I kept underneath. He ripped the lid off and gingerly felt through the items, being careful to avoid silver things and blessed stakes. He hissed a few times before his hand came back out, red and blistered yet healing quickly, holding the forst aid kit I kept in there. "Luckily for you, I did learn from the apostle Luke, serve in the Union Army as an Army Surgeon during your country's quaint little Civil War, and as a doctor in both World Wars to know a thing or two about this sort of thing. Most of my patients made it." Before I could protest, Thad had already applied hand sanitizer to his hands and put on a pair of latex gloves. Then, he filled a syringe with morphine and took my arm.

"Trust me," he said, loking me in the eyes as his eyes turned red and his fangs lowered, his nails sharpening to claws. He traced my arm with his fangs, his eyes never leaving mine. He coaxed a vein to appear, and then slowly, carefully bit down, piercing my skin and latching to the vein. He brought the syring to close to his mouth and angled the needle so that it slid along his fangs and into the vein before pressing down the plunger all the way. As he pulled back, the pain already started to subside a bit. Then, turning to the wound, he leaned close, tracing the edges with his tongue, causing me to jump and bite down on a moan of shock and pleasure that decided to lodge itself in the base of my throat. "Our saliva helps with the healing process, nut due to the size of these gashes, you'll still need stitches."

I nodded my head as he began threading the needle before taking his lighter and heating the needle up to sterilize it. When I met him a year ago, I couldn't stand him. This 6'2" man with tanned skin and short wavy curls of jet black hair. His body was as sculpted as Michaelangelo's David, which he constantly reminds me that he modelled for, minus below the belt stuff, which I've seen the print of when he comes out of the shower or wears grey sweatpants (much bigger than the sculpture would suggest). His sea green eyes that twinkle when he talks about his favorite things from history or the way they crinkle and his dimples come out when he smiles.

"All done," he said, after he had made the last stitch and cut the thread. His eyes found mine again and the room seemed to heat up by a thousand degrees. I found myself leaning closer, my eyes closing. I felt him do the same. As his lips met mine, it felt like the birth of a billion galaxies.

I pulled away breathless, either because I'd been holding it or because we had been making out for so long that I'd either lost it or forgotten how to breathe. My heart was racing as I looked into those annoying sea green eyes. "I think my condition warrants overnight observation doc," I smiled nervously.

Thad nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. And I have yet to do a full exam." And with that his lips were on mine again as he pushed me onto my back, a roll of gauze, forgotten, unrolling as it went towards the wall.