Wither’s Reckoning

By Hannah Carter

“Who does she think she is? The daughter of a villain, trying to be a hero?”

A punch hit me square on the cheek, smacking my head against the road. Fingers tightened around my throat, and I struggled to breathe—an all-too-familiar feeling.

Decay’s superpowers activated. I gasped as my fingertips began to shrivel and turn black. He’d really use his wither power on me.

He’d really kill me, his own daughter.

Better me than innocent bystanders, though. They staggered out of cars and fled into nearby businesses. Some dashed into Central Park to find safety in the trees.

All the while, my father’s vice-like grip tightened against my neck. Using his withering power against me might be new, but strangulation wasn’t. He’d done that for as long as I could remember. Punishments, he’d called them. Whenever he got drunk, whenever he lost to a hero, whenever one of his schemes backfired. I had always been there for him to take his problems out on.

I kicked at his thighs and knees as I squirmed. The wither—that awful, destructive power—crawled past my wrists. My hands curled and grew decrepit, like a zombie’s.

A part of me wanted to fight back, but my hands shook when I tried.

Prejudiced words from schoolmates echoed in my head, opinions that had made me an outcast. Wither is an ugly, villainous power. It can only corrupt.

“You’re a traitor, Arielle,” Decay hissed. His grip threatened to crush my esophagus while his words did the same to my soul.

I wheezed and beat at his thick arms with my blackened fists. I guess ten years in prison hadn’t lessened the sting of my disloyalty. When the heroes had raided our home, I’d told them where my dad was hiding. I’d always been terrified he might kill me one day.

And that day might be today.

Tears leaked from my eyes. The world grew dark around the edges. He should have been my protector. The man who loved me most. He was my father.

But blood didn’t matter in the face of betrayal.

Was it destined to shape my fate though? If I dared to fight, would I be like him?

“Arielle!” a deep voice bellowed. Tangles of ivy erupted from the ground and snaked around Decay’s throat, throttling him while he held me.

A man with unkempt black curls hurtled into view. He slung his arms forward. More vines broke through the pavement and wrapped around my biological father. The plants tried to tear the two of us apart, but even as they hoisted Decay into the air, he kept his grip on me.

My frantic eyes landed on the newcomer—one of the heroes who had rescued me ten years ago.

The hero who had adopted me, a villain’s daughter, an outcast shunned by most people. Who had packed lunches for school and made sure a traumatized eight-year-old girl had a nightlight. Who kissed me goodnight and wiped away many tears. I didn’t want my dangerous powers, didn’t want to be a monster who hurt people like my biological father had.

But I didn’t have to be like Decay. I could choose.

My dad—my real dad, reminded me every day.

I could choose to be like him. I could choose peace, even if my powers brought destruction.

“Fight!” Dad bellowed. “Don’t let him take you!”

Another of Dad’s vines pounded Decay’s side. A third grabbed his feet. A fourth wrapped around his eyes.

I thrust my zombie-fied hand against his face and tried to shriek.

No sound escaped my oxygen-deprived lungs. I could hardly see, but I channeled every frustration, every fear, and every bit of my anger into my hands.

It’s terrifying. Wither works with her emotions to steal the very life force out of someone—what good can come of it?

A black vein slithered up his face. His face shriveled and sank under my power.

I screamed until his stranglehold slackened. As Decay released me, Dad’s vines held me in the air like I could fly, like how he played “airplane” with me as a kid.

A crowd gathered below. The sound of blood whooshed inside my ears, and I fought for deep breaths. My vision cleared, and my fingers began to regain their coloring without Decay’s poisonous touch.

“Don’t ever come back here again!” I held out my hands, but they trembled as years of mental blocks fought against me.

No. I could be stronger.

Decay ripped the vine off his eyes. His gaze met mine, full of malice and pure hatred. His wither raced up the plant, which shriveled and turned black.

He didn’t have to say anything. I knew he intended to rip away the very person who had replaced him in my life.

My heart sputtered, and I dove for Decay in mid-air. My wither crept down his neck and past the collar of his prison outfit.

“Leave—us—alone!” With one final screech, my powers exploded out of me. Wither shriveled up Decay’s body, and the vine dropped from his hand before he could infect my Dad.

Decay and I both dropped to the ground. He twitched on the cement. My shoulders drooped as the anger drained from my body.

I held up my hand and watched the last bit of the blackness fade away. I hadn’t killed him, so there was a good chance he’d regenerate. But with a blast that powerful, he wouldn’t be able to return for a very, very long time.

The onlookers shoved closer to me. Whispered.

“Isn’t that Decay’s daughter? Is she a villain, too?”

Wary eyes watched as I sank into Dad’s arms.

“I’m not the daughter of Decay.” My throat hurt from my screaming, and I swallowed. “Because blood doesn’t determine who you are. My name is Arielle, and I’m…” I choked and met Dad’s eyes. He nodded. “I’m the daughter of a hero.”

Dad squeezed my shoulders. “Yes…but also a hero yourself.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hannah Carter is just a girl who wakes up every day hoping it will be the day she discovers she’s secretly a mermaid. Her work has been included in several anthologies: Whispers From Before, The Depths We’ll Go, Havok’s Prismatic, and Finding God in Anime. Her short story, “Lara,” won a competition, and she has two published novellas, “Amir and the Moon” and “Seashells.”

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