Hero & Witch Pt. 04: Mind and Magic

Consciousness was still lost to him as a light shone on his face after walking into it. The fading sunlight from dusk gave warmth to his skin slightly before it dimmed outside completely. Striker had found himself in a bit of a daze, walking through a vacant area near where he would soon patrol. He'd finished a rigorous workout after work, his mind going over an itinerary of the patrol ahead, and the full day that tomorrow would be, trying to work out the unexplained blank there, and becoming blank the more he tried to think of it.

And with that blankness was some sort of complementary compulsion, something pulling him gently, urging him. Absent-mindedly, he might've gone along with it, but instead he just stood there trying to analyze whatever wanted something of him. His senses weren't hindered at all, just pleasantly sedated, which he had to shake off when on duty. He would rather take the night off instead of patrolling while sluggish, tired and exhausted, putting himself at risk, even if a peaceful relaxation permeated through him, the kind he'd become more intimate with recently.

It'd been a week or so since his run in with Scryer, the witch. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd been compromised. It wasn't far-fetched to think that any sense of feeling off, and feeling good about it was her doing. The night he met her was a passionate one where the most significant details left to comb over were the passion itself and the temptation of wanting more. Warning other heroes of her was on his mind, and yet, he still wondered what there was to tell. He believed her when she told him that she encountered the others, and sampled or examined them somehow. She was so forthcoming about it with him, and then the aftermath...Scryer was definitely someone to look out for. Her endgame was still a mystery, if there was one. It scared him more that all the red-headed sorceress was doing was just for fun. No aim except to hedonistically derive pleasure wherever and however she wanted. Perhaps he was over thinking it; a diagnosis Scryer would surely agree with.

As he headed home, he found three men in a back alley trying to rob an elderly couple. Typical of the city, yet surprisingly in broad daylight, and just perfect for his skills. There wasn't time to run to the apartment and change, but it's not like he needed to. Jon stepped right between the two groups, serving as a barrier. Playing defensive after confronting them led the first two to walk right into swift, neutralizing strikes to their necks. After the peons went down with ease, the third, the ring-leader armed with a switch blade, had to be handled with a little finesse, trying to keep his business suit unscathed. Grabbing the mugger's wrist, Jon put pressure on it and snatched the blade out of his hand, hitting him on the forehead with the blade's butt, finally put the last man down.

"Are you two alright?" He asked, paying more attention to the assailants to make sure they stayed down.

"Much better now" a sultry, accented voice behind him spoke.

Striker turned to face the woman who'd replaced the elderly couple, and stared straight into her eyes. She was dressed differently, in a business suit this time, but it was unmistakably her. With a confident gait, she closed the distance between them and light tapped his forehead. Like magic, it illicted a strange compulsion made his awareness fade and consciousness dim...

Sometime later he sat tied to a chair, hands bound behind him, dressed as Striker without the face mask. Head bowed from sleep, until the sound of soft footsteps that approached woke him. Scryer wore a sweet, bewitching smile and stood in front of him. "There she is," he thought. The source of this magic and the object of his suppressed desires. Anger and his will kept his resolve alive and in-check. He wasn't surprised at all that Scryer would use that kind of trap on him; it worked well enough the first time as a ruse, or so he theorized from that night. And his heroism wouldn't allow him to ignore it on the chance that it could be real thugs looking to harm innocents. Predictability was the price of being a hero like he was. On the one hand, he was glad it was an illusion, as it perplexed him why some of the most vulnerable people thought it was worth the risk, taking shortcuts through alleys were 3/4s of crimes committed happen. On the other hand, it pained him how foolish he must've looked fighting illusions only he could see. At best, it would've looked like a bout of street hypnosis, getting random strangers to do silly things. At worst, anyone who would've recognized him would highly recommend him to men in white coats.

He felt his bounds, but couldn't find a weakness anywhere in them. Since he was almost certain she had a way to halt any sudden movements he could make, he stared forward, silently waiting for her to make the next move while contemplating any play he could make. What's worse, the strange compulsion had come back, and now he realized that whatever it was, it seemed to be independent of Scryer, like a different energy; Scryer's mental touch was entirely different to this; much less character to it, and he never expected to be well-versed in discerning these kinds of things. He shook his head to drive the feeling out. Instinctively, his head turned to his left as if knowing which direction the compulsion's origin was coming from, and then he looked in the witch's direction, wondering if it was still all Scryer's doing. She looked at him, then in the compulsion's direction, and shook her head, as if annoyed.

"I know what you're thinking," she interrupted their silence, "but that's not me."

"What the hell is it then? And what the hell are you doing to me?"

"It's nice to see you too, pet," Scryer told him, stroking his hair with her hand. The only reason he didn't recoil reactively was because her doing that somehow interfered with the compulsion, like a radio signal lost while driving through a mountain tunnel.

"Someone else with mental powers is trying to draw you to them." She said without looking at him. "Their power is somewhat impressive. Had I not caught you on the street today, you might be in her clutches now."

"Someone you know?" curiosity urged him to ask.

"Doubtful. They would know better than to encroach on you."

"What?" he asked, though his face more specifically asked, "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, dear Striker, I do have a bit of a claim on you. Obviously no one before me has delved that deeply into your psyche, and left a mark on you. And the special time we've spent together..."

Striker pulled his head away from her constant head-stroking, even if it meant more exposure to his compulsion, which followed immediately. The bound hero never expected to be fighting any mental forces that night, let alone two independent ones. "I wish they could battle for supremacy or something out of my head, or off it," he thought.

"I don't acknowledge your claim," his stern voice told her. "You can't say that after one night-"

"One night was all it took, apparently. And actually, you do acknowledge it. Though that pretty little head of yours puts up quite the impressive fight, it already knows the difference between my powers and someone else's. That's pretty sophisticated in my experience; not to mention in my presence, the further inward I go into you, the more I know your resistance isn't in concert with your desire. You assume that when you feel my power, it's just you identifying it. In reality though, you're embracing it, because you remember how good it feels."

If there was a wall to bang his head against to prevent flashes of that night together, he would've gladly used it.

"And hopefully it serves as some comfort to know that how fascinating you are leaves me to want to give more focus to little else but you. Despite my disappearance, I've never been that far off. You've been on my mind much more than I've expected; unique traits and talents that set you apart from millions of other people, even superheroes. I don't know what else to call that except for you having some kind of claim over me. In our situation, one could argue that we're exclusive..."

"And many would argue that one of us could be legally insane at this point."

"And thank heavens it is not me, Striker. Insanity wouldn't invalidate attraction. What I could do to you with no check, no restraint or self-control to you right now..."

Briefly, the difference between fear and lust blended and became the same as Scryer tempted him with bringing their faces and lips achingly close.

"But sadly, I do have something to attend to," Scryer's head turn and expression telling him exactly what that something was.

"You should be safe here while I'm gone."

"Bound and 'claimed'?"

"For your protection. And not just that."

Standing tall in-front of him, she rested both hands on scalp, closed her eyes and focused on something. It looked like prayer at first, but it was probably another spell. The longer her hands remained there, the drowsier he felt. He felt like fighting it, but her power knew how to get around his defenses easily with what she was doing.

His head leaned into her grip after she was done; she carefully let it rest forward. Before his eyes shut indefinitely, something phrased like an incantation poured like honey into his ears -

"Sleep well, and when you wake, drown in my eyes, and be all mine."

Scryer ran her fingers along his wrists, and Striker's hands became unbound from their hypnotically-suggested restraint. His arms fell limply as she continued to whisper to him, helping his body to move to the plush couch nearby where he would remain for a while, hopefully in enough time where she could finish her business.

She should've clarified that their exclusivity was more in sexual terms; she already had her sights set on a potential mental plaything.

* * *

Jesse lowered her hands from her temples in frustration.

"What the hell?"

She'd been concentrating for the last hour and a half just trying to find him, with no luck. After a second attempt, she located him deep in the city, but her power was effectively blocked. Psiana, as she was known to the majority of the public, and to her super-powered compatriots, didn't know of any other force that could block mental abilities like hers, but one thing she's learned in the hero line of work - expect the unexpected. She knew Striker preferred not to be summoned like that so she could talk, but in one of the hidden mental tabs she kept with heroes, something felt strange about the under-powered hero in recent days. It was strange enough how he seemed resistant to her psionic concentration.

In the past a miniscule number of people have ever put up any significant resistance against her power. Jon was different though; something about either his sheer will or his mental structuring allowed him to give her trouble. She could create compulsion in him, sometimes even when unaware, but he never stopped trying to resist. He might have found a way out of her power if not for some outside aiding force, shutting off access to his mind as easily as one would turn off a light switch.

This time of day, just before nightfall, she'd be getting ready to patrol the city like most heroes would. Unlike the rest, Jesse never had to leave home, and rarely had to dress up in her pink and purple lycra outfit unless she needed to be in the field. Psiana was hoping this evening would go smoothly, talking or meeting up with him and seeing if he could shed light on the obstruction. That seemed to be a big 'if' now.

"Some new psych-interfering tech maybe? Maybe his own psyche is that much stronger? Or is he in some kind of trouble?"

The possibilities ran through her head, and she couldn't rule out anything enough to narrow it down.

The heroine pulled her shoes off, rubbing her soles. Today had been a long day, but she knew it wasn't over yet. More than a nightly patrol, Striker was more of an immediate concern. She put on her costume, prepared to leave if need be. Her only hope was to find him already out, patrolling and not in the middle of a case, or fight, confirming her best-case scenario that his will was just that resistant to her. Of course, she knew the worst-case scenario was much more likely - someone didn't want him to be found.

She sat deeper into her loveseat and took a long relaxing sigh. "Hate to say it, but I actually do need more training," she told herself out loud. Only a chosen few knew that despite her current level of performance, there were higher levels within reach, but attainable through annoying, time-consuming exercises of self-concentration. Half a day could be lost with each one, and there was no telling how many she needed. Jesse preferred having a social life, and limited herself to "the mediation" as she called it in bed with a relaxation recording to aid her.

The sound of fire trucks passing nearby, shook Jesse out of concentration. She resigned to the fact that her energies could be spent elsewhere tonight, with people who may have been in danger instead of the "maybe" that Striker was now. Simultaneous searching and patrolling was too taxing at this point.

Another time," she though as she closed her eyes.

*Snap*

Suddenly Jesse found herself awake, only to realize something seemed very off. She noticed she was now in the opposite loveseat, across the room from where she was previously. A different view of the window showed the sun had completely set already. "How could that much time have passed already? I just remember I was about to...do something, and now I'm..." She stopped mid-sentence in her thoughts, realizing she was dressed in her super-heroine outfit.

"How..."

"'Whom' would be a better question."

Jesse's head whipped around, searching for the voice's owner. With no lights on in the apartment and the sun already down, she couldn't see much in the darkness of her living room. The female voice, she heard it clearly but couldn't tell where it came from. What's worse, her powers were also blind to the presence. Her head turned to the left when she heard the voice again. "So cold," the woman said simply. Jesse's apartment being room temperature, she took the hint and began turning her head to the right. "Warmer," the voice teased. Jesse kept her head turning. "Warmer." She turned until she was facing all the way to the right. Still, nothing or no one was there.

"Boo." The lamp next to the chair brightened the room, revealing the woman standing behind Jesse.

Scryer had a difficult time trying not to laugh at the undignified "eep" the heroine made, but the pitch to it was so high. Jesse on the other hand, was extremely flustered. In a better presence of mind, she could've remembered her powers and persona of Psiana and used them to slow her rapid heart rate. Unfortunately for her, she was going through a nightmare scenario no hero would ever want to face: being cornered by a villain in her own house. Though this witch wasn't a confirmed villain, it was a safe-enough assumption for her. Confirming her a witch was too easy though; the blonde psychic almost laughed at how stereotypical she looked.

Seconds passed before Psiana re-discovered feeling in her own legs and stood up.

"Wh...who the hell are you?"

"I'm Scryer; sorry, I couldn't help the little trick I played there. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." The witch extended her hand out to greet the woman, trying to be cordial. Psiana's expression showed how the feeling wasn't mutual, and Scryer lowered her hand.

"What do you mean 'finally?'" Psiana asked suspiciously.

"I've met quite a few heroes already, and was pretty sure I was bound to meet more. I don't mean you specifically, but psychics like you have always fascinated me. Psiana probably deserves much more notoriety than she gets for her powers."

"Well, if you're some kind of fangirl, I don't do autographs."

"Such a common misconception," Scryer thought as she shook her head.

"Sorry, no. I'm here about something else. Or someone else - a mutual contact of ours. Goes by the name Striker."

Psiana stepped toward the witch in hearing that name. Of course, she was the obstruction to his mind. A small part of the heroine wanted to thank her for saving her the trouble of solving the mystery of the cause. The rest of her urged her to consider action of some kind; maybe physical, most likely threatening. Her mind would be doing most of the heavy lifting hopefully though. With any luck, with what she'd learned about magic from enchanted heroes who helped her develop some of her powers, their battle of wills would be over in mere seconds. But Scryer confidently held her palm up to the heroine signaling her to stop.

"Let's not be hasty, Psiana."

Psiana's active muscles slowed to a crawl before coming to a complete stop. She looked down at her own body that obeyed someone else for the first time. She was so used to giving the same order that receiving it was a shock to the senses that were still hers. No magician had ever done this to her, and she was sure at least one had tried.

"What have you done with him?" the blonde demanded.

"Some of those details are private, but if you mean lately, I've helped him to relax a little bit. He should be sleeping now."

Eyes went wide at the implication of Scryer's and Striker's interaction thus far. This hadn't even qualified for the list of things she expected to learn if he'd really been in peril.

"You mean...you two..."

"Like I said, Psiana - 'private.' However, with anyone blessed with powers like ours, I can understand how privacy can end up being more of an afterthought."

Jesse glared at her as the compromising witch suggested they had anything in-common, even if it seemed to be true.

"You'll have to forgive me. I'm finding it really hard to imagine Striker, of all men, going to bed with some magical woman, probably one with not the best of intentions, willingly."

"Oh, but I'm sure your imagination is much better than you give it credit for. I don't have to look deep enough to see who's already been a part of similar fantasies."

Jesse's power stopped searching her own psyche for the mental command that prevented her from moving, and put all her effort in her mental shielding. She never even noticed the intrusion it took to get that information, but was hoping to purge it completely from her. She had developed feelings for Striker. The draw of his resistance, psychical and tactical smarts, and good looks hidden behind that mask earned him a few fantasies in her head, whether or not he seemed to show interest. And though she wasn't exactly good in relationships, he might've been worth a try.

"I know you probably don't mean to be hypocritical dear, but it's a bit late for you. Womam-to-woman, you're very attractive, and there's a world of men who'd have great interest in you. This one though - off-limits."

"Well, that's very generous woman-to-woman advice, and I thank you for it. Now allow me to extend some your way - the next time you shop for your evening clothes to wear in public, avoid the children's Halloween costume section next time."

Psiana gestured with her eyes to Scryer's pointy hat that completed her ensemble.

"The advice is appreciated, especially from someone who has vintage wear from that section dating a few decades ago. I had no idea Power Rangers were still in fashion."

The blond psychic wanted to fire back with something, but knowing it was inspired directly from the Pink Ranger of the original series (a guilty pleasure she couldn't explain), she took the verbal jab.

"Just to be clear, you expect me to believe that you can just barge into my home and make demands to stay away from a man you took without consent, while expecting me to believe that your intent with him is nothing sinister."