Hero & Witch Pt. 01: A Hero Falls

"Well done, Striker. Some before you found it all too easy to become enveloped in my eyes by this point, but your will remains steadfast and on-guard, not yet tempted by the beautiful void in front of you. But I notice your hands are quite tense; that's not very healthy for a simple mental test like this. You should relax them. In-fact, allow me to help. Feel your hands in mine, softening them, granting them rest. Save all your power for your mind and this test. Your hands should be soft while your eyes should be staring into mine, possibly resisting my gaze. But are they?"

"Are they what?" Striker asked, no trace of his voice or demeanor slipping from her assault.

"Are your eyes resisting my gaze? By this time, some of the stronger subjects I've come across find themselves completely fixated, unable to look away from my unblinking stare. That in of itself is a skill one has to practice, one of my honed skills. But it does help when you're looking into a lively pair of eyes, firm eyes like yours, or naturally bewitching ones like mine. The crystal blue color I've found is a rare color, found so scarcely in nature, even less in people as you travel. And when people find a pair, there's always a tendency to stare just a little longer, where a glance becomes a few seconds longer, where engaging someone's attention becomes more of a pleasure, where a staring contest can be an excuse to take a special journey into a land of seductive azure. An unintentional spell is cast and all the subject wants is more, willing to bind themselves to my beautiful eyes. Do you think my eyes are beautiful, Striker?"

Even from her intense stare, Scryer's peripheral vision saw what her words were doing to the tested hero. The once tensed muscles of his face began softening. She felt the warmth and submittance of his hands in hers, the gentle massage of her hands that barely felt like one. Striker barely realized that looking into her eyes was enough of a trap in of itself; eyes that kept him immobile while her lyrical voice nearly turned into soft singing. His mind couldn't discern whether he was conversing with her, or being sung to. Either way, he was only left with the ability to react to her actions.

"My eyes..." Scryer reiterated.

"Eyes..." he said, following her lead.

"...beautiful," she helpfully supplied.

"Beautiful?," Striker spoke like a question.

"Why thank you, Striker. Such a lovely compliment. I accept it as graciously as possible." Her acceptance cause her eyes to widen, taking in more of his attention. "Compliments from handsome men always seem to affect me, their sincerity, and how they show me with more than just their words. Like the way you are, with your fixed eyes and body. That strong body rooted in place with nowhere to go, those cute, glassy brown eyes, like windows to your soul, which dreams of azure. Whenever it wants to enter my eyes and explore to its heart's desire, it has my full permission to do so. This test is going so well Striker; all you have to do is keep doing what you're doing; showing your strength to me, strength of body and mind, and what a strength it is. So powerful, so strong. I can't help but look deeper into you, searching for that strength. I wonder if it's similar to you unable to help looking into my eyes, to keep your hands resting in mine, to keep your mind on the path I set as my words lay the foundation."

That resistance her eyes were searching for while they peered into Striker's crept up and was able to alert Striker of the fact that he was still being tested, and possibly that things were going her way.

"Am I losing to her?" was his first independent thought in minutes since she asserted her power over him. From that thought his mind tried to bring him to action again, but found he was having trouble. His hands still in hers saw more reason to obey her commands than his. Trying to move them still created a tremor in his hands, and he focused on that, trying to make them move or do something to shake him from her spell. He was slow to anticipate the risk that Scryer would feel the tremor and respond in her own way, as she did.

"Ah, there it is," she mused, making part of his mind curious as to what she found. "That resistance in you," Scryer spoke as if answering his question, so strong and bold, so exciting to see in you." She caressed his tense hands, soothing them back to being limp and asleep in her hands. "If only other heroes could see your will as I see it now, you could inspire so much jealousy in them, them wishing they had what you possessed for once. It's fun to imagine playing the villainess for once, soothsaying you all with my voice, casting my spells so expertly around all of you, and trapping every last one of you with my gaze. The most physically strong among you would fall the easiest, those that move fast would be stopped in their tracks. No shielding could protect them, even mentally; it would be a joy to watch someone so psionically capable trapped in their own mind, at the mercy of one whose skills are much more versatile. You out of all of them would be the last to fall, my dear Striker. You might be able to verbally warn them, to persuade them to not look, to not become bewitched, but soon you'd find that no one is more persuasive than me. Eventually you'd be surrounded by like-minded acquaintances. And you will be like-minded soon, because no matter how long you might hold out, we both know where this ends Jonathan."

Despite her powerful assault on him, hearing his secret identity spoken aloud was the spark that flared into physical resistance. Limp hands became fists, eyes blinked and looked down at hands he regained control of, and he reached out to grasp her hands as a means of beginning to restrain the red-headed witch. As fast as he usually was, her melodiously accented voice got him to slow down so much that his snap reaction was slow; slow enough to make her reaction faster. One hand that tried to grasp her side was gripped in hers firmly. The other hand was able to hold her other side with an equal firmness, but only because Scryer's free hand gripped Striker's chin, bringing him back to her hypnotic eyes.

"Silly boy," she smirked, as the force and the memory of her eyes hit him all at once. "You will have need to focus if you want to win this test. Your focus needs to be strong, powerful, immovable, and where else has it been stronger than when staring into my eyes, hmmm?"

Her gaze held his easily again, but the tensing she felt didn't cease.

"Calm down my dear hero, be at rest. There's no need to be upset. As I told you already, no harm will come to you at all. I do know who lies behind the veil of Striker. I can see deep into you; my eyes are special as they can look and see things most others can't. Fascinating things, secrets some people would take to the grave. I don't make it a habit to gossip with such privy information; your secret is safe with me. But I must admit, I do like what else I see deep within you. Such as your plainly trying to hide your attraction to me, to how much I affect you, in more ways than one."

Her lips gave a teasing pout, which is resisting eyes still caught. As Striker broke away from her gaze moments before, he didn't realize how much of the world left his awareness, as if everything became about Scryer. He was getting it back fast, until the witch took his chin and his gaze. He fought to remember there was a world surrounding them, one he swore to protect. But just the sight of it changed in his vision. The feel of the wind against his skin, breezing by him felt significant. It made him aware of the hairs on his arms and neck that stood taller near her. The breeze blowing on his back felt like a push, guiding him closer to her. The moon was full in a cloudless sky that night, and made everything about Scryer brighter, more powerful. She looked like some kind of lunar goddess, using the moonlight to her advantage, fascinating anyone around her. The way it shone off her dress, her heels, and the edge of her hat as her eyes peered deep into his from under it, drawing him closer. Even the lights of the city, ones he tried to use to remind himself that other people existed, couldn't help. He stared, feeling her hands hold his hand and chin gently, almost affectionately, and those lights blurred and dimmed against the brightness of her blue eyes. Everything but Scryer was becoming meaningless.

"You...won't...win," Striker told her in a bout of fading defiance.

"What's that dear," she asked as she slid his face mask off, happily exposing his full face to her.

"Much better, now, say that again."

"You...won't...win."

"Won't I?" She claimed. "What recourse is left to you? The only light left at the end of this tunnel is in my eyes, and you're getting closer and closer to it now. That resistance of yours is quite admirable, but you don't need it now. You can save it for the evil foes you have to face, or the city you have to protect. You do so much work to defend and protect, it's time to rest now."

At the mention of rest, the hand resting in Scryer's grip twitched, and fell limp again.

"Yes, that's it; it's time to rest. You rarely get to let go, to let your guard down, to let someone else help you. You can't always be strong. Allow me to share my strength with you. You may bask in my power, rest your mind there and find peace you may have never imagined possible before. Just looking into my eyes is like a journey. When you look into my eyes, you can leave the worries and cares of the world behind you and walk in the depths of azure, or dive in and sink deeply into them if you like. It's a journey of your choosing. Yes, a journey of azure."

The smile on Scryer's face grew purposeful.

"Striker, if I ever suggest to you or ask you to seek out or take a journey of azure, you will find yourself filling up with the desire to look into my eyes. This desire will overtake you and will not be quenched until you find yourself looking into my eyes, totally mesmerized by them, unless I command you not to look. Journeying into the azure is understood in your mind as 'look into my eyes,' and you do want to journey into the azure, don't you, my hero?"

His eyes widened at the suggestion, unable to stop himself from taking in more of her crystal blue.

"That's right. Take a stroll, or a swim, into my world. Unleash yourself and be one with me. A lovely journey of azure."

His eyes went even deeper and hers were becoming all he could see. He knew he was close to being mindless and effectively losing this challenge of hers. His options were next to nil, and trying to think of the right way to combat her would be too late. In a spontaneous last-ditch effort, he acted.

"Journey int-"

Scryer found herself unable to speak anymore, as Striker closed the distance with his lips, silencing hers. She muffled and moaned against at first, and then realized what had happened, and smiled against his lips as she kissed him back. The feel of her lips against Strikers was amazing, and something in him gave him the strength to move his hands to hold her sides, much gently than he tried to before. Her hands rested at his shoulders, and moved up to his neck, pulling him closer. They kissed for long moments, both unable to hold back enjoying what was happening to them. It was Scryer who broke away first, needing to breathe, both the hero and witch's forehead pressed against each other under her hat.

"Do you like my enchanted lips, my hero?" she seductively intoned.

He never had time to answer her question as she resumed kissing him, this time leading the kiss, making him follow passionately. And as his eyes were open from the shock of her statement and being kissed again, they were exposed to Scyrer's azure again. Something made her chuckle against his lips, like kissing him was some funny occurrence. Whatever made her laugh, she kept to herself as she pulled away to speak to Striker again.

"A soft, silken, sensual, spell-binding kiss," she told him before resuming her kiss. The words poured into Striker's head through his lips. He did find it spell-binding. Chained to her lips, becoming addicted to them, believing that they were enchanted and that he was helpless to them. The moment she mentioned the power of her lips, he felt the regret of walking into another trap of hers; that regret was a flame immediately extinguished on the wet surface of her lips. Something about her kiss felt so right, something he knew was genuine between them, connecting them.

"I thought about asking you to succumb fully to my power with my kiss at some point, but you were so eager and sweet to give yourself to me right away," was her taunt as stopped again. A smile started spreading across his face, a smile of anticipating some good to come. "You shall be rewarded," Scryer continued, whispering against her deeply-entranced subject's lips, before parting them with her tongue. Theirs danced and dueled against each other, Striker's meekly letting the witch's tongue do whatever she pleased in his mouth. On a deeper, primal level, Striker could not remember being more excited or alive than in Scryer's thrall. It was a dream he dared not wish for with women, as he feared this kind of fire burned too bright for him. It felt wonderful that this sorceress left him no choice but to stumble into her world of pleasure and enjoy himself. She pulled away again, and his biggest pet peeve became her ability to pull away from his lips, leaving him so needy.

"If you want to kiss me again, you must yield to me Striker, concede victory and declare the test over," Scryer pursed her lips as she spoke. He tried to move in to kiss again, but her hands held his face in place, denying him a chance to cheat. "It's so eassssy to do my hero. Just yield to me, and you will be released in my care, hypnotized, helpless, protected, and loving every moment of it." Her grip loosened to let his lips get close enough before pulling back, making the temptation too great. "Yield to me, now. NOW." Her last word was a throaty sensuous whisper that shot through him like an electric current. It quickly found the last bit of active resistance that held him at bay, and whispered it to sleep as his subconscious was left, and in her control.

"I...yield...I..yield to you Scryer..." his voice didn't rise higher than a mutter, but the words were satisfactory enough to the triumphant witch. She let his face get closer before whispering to him.

"Why don't you take a journey of azure?"

Suddenly, the need to feel her lips mattered less than the desire to look into her eyes again, and all he had to do was look up from her lips to become eye-to-eye, and mesmerized yet again. His forehead pressed against locks of red hair and her forehead as he dove into her eyes, ever-searching for a bottom that wasn't there.

"Kneel," she commanded, and the ease to which he fell to his knees surprised her. His eyes were still fixed on hers, but could also see her gorgeous face framed by natural red hair, and the moon just above her pointy hat. She extended her hand to him, and he just knew she wanted it kissed. His lips covered the back of her hand, in her palm, and covered each fingernail, all while still being locked in her gaze.

"That's quite enough now. You've pleased me greatly, my hero," she told him while caressing his face.

"Let us retire to a more suitable place. It would be very unbecoming a hero to continue here."

Scryer began walking toward the door he used to access the roof, and noticed he began crawling behind her.

"Stand up and walk Striker," she laughed. "There's no time to waste in pleasing me like I want. And don't forget your face mask."

"Yes Scryer," he said dreamily, moving to comply with her every request.

* * *

Sabrina stretched her arms over her head and shivered in pleasure a bit over the exertion her boyfriend put her through, and the control she exercised over him. The love-making was easily tender between them, but commanding him to move how she wanted gave her such a sexual charge. The mind games she played was like the ultimate aphrodisiac for the red-headed hypnotist, and the man whose mind was perfectly wrapped in her suggestions was the mind she loved playing with the most. Tonight's mind games made a life-long dream of hers come true.

Sabrina, or Scryer, wasn't really a witch, but no one could argue that she was rather bewitching in her own regard. Like Jon and his martial arts skills, years of practicing hypnosis and brainwashing techniques on a wide variety of minds made her a hypnoteuse to be reckoned with, followed promptly by obeyed. His head slept in her cross-legged lap, while his mind slept in her spell, still in his hero mode. Her being cross-legged on the roof was his idea, subconsciously, as she probed his mind for imagery he would've liked or expected to see in their role-playing. With any kind of hose or tights, she certainly didn't feel like damaging them sitting like that on the roof's surface. Letting him imagine that she levitated herself to standing fit perfectly in the fantasy though, as his first literal sight of Scryer was standing.

She thought about the name Scryer, still wondering if it was the right choice. She'd thought of so many names that worked for a witchy persona, trying to find one that sounded mysterious but not too cheesy. She thought of scrying, a seer's ability, and decided that was original enough for her. It fit the allure of her Irish accent that came naturally to use; she mostly used her practiced-American accent in everyday life, but she always preferred trancing with an accent. She looked at the stack of comic books on her dresser that she used for research to prep for her game. Several of them in the pile helped shaped Sabrina into the mesmerizing woman she'd become. As a young, avid comic fan who became even more avid about mind-control in comics, she enjoyed the exploits of Jean Grey, Zatanna, the Enchantress, Poison Ivy, Saturn Girl, the White Queen, and many others. Any woman with mind-control powers could instantly become her hero, or one of her favorite fictional characters. And while she never grew out of reading comics, she eventually decided to become her own hero, filling the void of more hypnotic and wicked women given appropriate exposure.

She looked above the comics and into the dresser's mirror, seeing not only Sabrina Marks, successful hypnotherapist, but Scryer, bewitching sorceress who held one of the strongest heroes in her grasp now. Her regard for mental strength was always particularly significant to her, and Jon was strong in mind and body. Jon basically was Striker in terms of personality, and the ability to fall as easily into her charms. She loved that about him, how he made her try harder than most, and still fell sweetly to her persistence. The world-building in his mind was just as fun as seeing it all play out, with a city full of heroes he worked alongside. There were countless directions to take their game, and she would be sure to savor every moment she spend preparing or playing with him.

Jon began to stir in her lap. Sabrina smiled sweetly down at him, kissing his forehead. Her lips still felt the liveliness of his own as he tried preventing her from casting any more verbal spells; it was a pattern with him, going as far back as when they first got together, and one she never minded. He was naked in her bed, as was she, save the witch's hat. He dreamed of everything that happened that night, encountering Scryer, listening to her explanations and challenges, fighting her assertive charms as long as he could. The strange happiness that followed losing consciousness made him feel more than think about it. That happiness would lose its sense of being strange over time, or sooner than that as she prepared to begin their next round.