Shard

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Zee’s Apartment.
💀 Ristorante de Luce.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 None.

---

With that blank, prolonged stare which had, at this point, bored a hole through Azhar’s computer, the pale-skinned mutant inhaled a sharp breath. He did not expect a conversation with his mother to net an ending like that. She had always been a rather playful individual, and it was quite obvious where Azhar’s personality had found itself inspired. However, claiming acceptance and understanding from his home country had been a laborious task. Whereas the first fifteen years of his life warranted the nickname Devil from more than a single source, Azhar wasn’t going to add further scandals onto an already fragile image.

It was quite a shift, he was willing to admit, when stepping onto American soil. The Devil had been translated into Requiem, a hero that while unknown, seemed somewhat popular amongst the less socially inclined. When seeing an image ripped from his likeness presented on a t-shirt in Hot Topic, Zee recalled merely laughing at the find. There was no anger expressed from the monstrous young man, and nor was there fear aimed towards him. It was endearing. Plagiarism, but endearing. In fact, he bought the t-shirt, and earned an odd look in the process, one met by a sharp-toothed grin.

Indeed, things had changed. Though he found himself in America, the land of opportunity as they said, it would be a lie to claim that Azhar’s mind had followed long. The same fears remained, whether it was based around his powers, appearance, or sexuality. ’Own your shit,’ a tagline the young hero lived by, and one he often dismissed when met by adversity. It would soon be replaced by ’You are a fucking joke,’ before circling back to the previous, once Azhar had managed to douse his insecurities in Energy Drinks, soda, and candy.

Clenching his teeth, Azhar reached for the mouse at his side. Claws did not work well with a pad, it would appear. Opening the emoji window in Discord, he hovered the cursor over a heart symbol, silently staring at it. "Own your shit..," he sighed, those black eyes closing as thoughts began to circle his mind. There was a noticeable tension which washed over him, the boy’s clawed hand gripping the mouse in desperation before eventually managing a breath. "Ya’ ibn el sharmoota," came an Arabic utterance, something which quite literally translated into ‘Son of a bitch’. Accompanying the small, barely visible smirk displayed upon his pale lips, Azar closed the emoji window.
’Thanks, mom,’ the boy wrote, followed by that symbol which had been nagging him ever since opening the small pop-up square where a red heart intently stared back into those abyssal orbs. He pressed Enter.

Inhaling a long, deep breath, Azhar closed the laptop screen, his eyes shifting towards Dracula who had been lazily stretching out across the ghostly creature’s bed. Though a desire to lay down and delve into a world of dreams appeared nearly intoxicating, the rumbling in Azhar’s scrawny belly begged to differ. The mutant wasn’t good at taking care of himself. This much even the cat could attest to. Some days, he ate like a glutton, while hours could pass of another without the young hero even considering a meal. Least of all a healthy one. Though, yet again, Azhar would insist that all food was merely energy, to him. Good or bad, his powers treated it all the same, abandoning discrimination. While appearing like an excuse, it was, in fact, the truth. Azhar could eat another human being raw if the situation demanded, and it may as well have been a burger. Though, that thought was quickly discarded in disgust.

Yes, the mutant truly was a monster. Though, as he often told himself, a monster was nothing inherently bad. It all amounted to what a freak like him decided to do with their abilities. A single look towards his closet would reveal a black, ominous outfit used during missions, with a skull mask obfuscating his face. It was a statement, loud and clear. A statement which assessed that heroism didn’t wear a specific cape, and that good was born from actions, not the shell exacting them.

"Alright, screw this," Zee stood, his slender arms stretching above his head as the boy groaned. "Don’t destroy the place, Dracula," Azhar pointed a claw at the cat where it lazily splayed out, that monstrous feline a perfect reflection of its owner. "Or God help me, ba’mellak schelektak," the Arabian mutant smirked.

Slipping into a jacket to prevent a growing nip in the air from chilling his tender skin, Azhar pushed the door open, careful not to slam it on his tail again, before affording his beloved feline friend a quick farewell. Ristorante de Luce, it was close by, and the dark hero had frequented the establishment on several occasions. When a decent salary was accompanied by a cheap apartment and barely any bills, a lazy young man like Azhar could afford to eat out far more often than he should. It was what brought him down the side-walk, hands gently resting within his pockets as he proceeded across the stretch of an evening path.

Ristorante de Luce, a mere ten-minute walk from where Azhar called home, displayed its proud presence with a title expanded over the door. Pushing it open, Zee stepped inside, claws running through his black, messy hair before noting a waiter approaching him.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Zee’s Apartment.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 None.

---

The fridge was comparable to a wasteland, not because Azhar’s salary was negligible, nor because he didn’t require food. He most certainly did. However, the boy was a worthless chef. At nineteen years of age, he was able to microwave dinner, or turn the knob on an oven, but when five solid minutes of dedication found itself mandatory in the production of a day’s meal, it was usually met by little more than a groan. A closer look would reveal more packets of blood in Azhar’s fridge, than actual food, a sight Dracula, the monster cat, was quick to engage. "Don’t rip it open!" The mutant exclaimed, swiping the packet before closing the door with a soft clang of soda bottles erupting from the contact. "Come, you fucking blood thirsty fiend..," Azhar managed a quiet sigh, his obsidian orbs turning towards the four-eyed cat eagerly leaping towards its bowl.

It was unclear whether the experiments conducted on Dracula had raised the feline’s intellect, but the time spent with this creature surely indicated that development. Dracula appeared to not only understand what Azhar was saying, but also acted in ways considered uncommon, or rather unnatural for a house cat. The mutant often uttered an explanation in jest, claiming that his cat was spliced with a dog, which a single deduction could easily dispel. Something had been done to the creature, and calling Dracula a cat, still, was perhaps more out of the ordinary than the creature he had become. Even so, Azhar found a certain irony in considering the creature little more than a house cat.

Tearing open the blood packet, Azhar poured its contents into a bowl portraying its purpose through the paw print displayed upon its shape. The vampiric feline scarcely waited before its barbed, red tongue went to work on lapping up all that Vitamin D. With a stretch, Azhar yawned, his own cherished drink brought to his lips for a long, grateful sip. It was no Java Monster Energy, but it worked. A less desirable outcome, but one the deathly creature could very much enjoy when abandoning thoughts of a lost prize.

Azhar’s apartment was a small spectacle, little more than a square offering the necessities of a bed, computer desk, kitchen, and bathroom. When every aspect except the very last were built together into a single room, one could not complain about effectiveness. Every inch had been used, and not a section forgotten. With another sip, Azhar dropped to his computer chair and opened the program Discord which he had used to speak with his parents three times per week. It was his mother who mainly dedicated time to the exchange, where Azhar’s father often found himself busy. It was quite fair, however. Azhar never considered himself close with his male parent, and rather enjoyed conversing with Ayla, instead. A woman who had been present throughout his life.

Shifting his gaze towards a digital clock, Azhar opened the program before being nearly attacked by the sound of a ringing phone. She had been waiting for him. “Habibi!” The woman’s voice trickled through Azhar’s laptop, “kifak, ya’ ibne’?”

"I’m alright, mom," Azhar took a swig of his drink, seeing his mother’s expression shifting on the screen. Their video conversations left little to be hidden.

“Baa’dak ab’ tishrab.., what do you call them..,” she shifted to English, the woman’s thick Arabic accent draping every word, “Ennerjee’ Drinks?”

"Don’t worry mom, they won’t kill me," came a response from the younger hero, before seeing his mother’s head shaking in disapproval. He had been told, throughout his life, to avoid junk food. Going to America did not help in that endeavour, but at the very least, food had little effect on Azhar. Good and bad.

Eventually displaying a grin, the woman relieved a heavy sigh, “how is Amerrika’?” The boy’s mother leaned back in her seat. “Is it still mabrook?”

"Still beautiful, yes," Zee echoed his parent’s expression, his sharp teeth coming into view. Their conversation continued, one pleasantry following the other as an hour proceeded to pass. Azhar told his mother of the robbery he had managed to stop, but left out the most critical part. His drink didn’t survive the ordeal, a loss he couldn’t possibly impart.

“So have you found someone, yet?” A question slinked through the laptop, along with a playful wink from Alya.

For a moment, Zee’s cheeks darkened, and the young man turned his attention elsewhere, "you know I don’t have time for that, mom."

“Oh, is that it?” She chuckled, before affording her son a grin, “or are there just not enough.., mahdoomeen.., uh.., cute guys in America?”

"I mean, some of them are cu-.., WHAT!?" The exclamation was born through shock. It wasn’t what had been asked that nearly caused Azhar to fall off his chair, but rather, who had asked the question.

“Oh, look at the time, I have to go, habibi!” Alya playfully sent a kiss through the camera before ending the call, leaving her son staring blankly at the screen. As far as he knew, his parents were left in the dark. They wouldn’t understand, he told himself. Indeed, he had told ’himself.’ Perhaps he hadn’t given his mother enough credit.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 7-Eleven Store.
💀 East Flank.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 None.

---

For the past two years, since joining H.E.R.O, Azhar had taken the role of a background character. He didn’t go on missions with others, and outside of scarce moments spent with his coworkers, Azhar barely knew those he called teammates. One could say that it had been a deliberate decision, this social but paradoxically reclusive boy maintaining a withdrawn disposition. Could one truly blame this exotic creature, however? Azhar, or Zee, still recalled the days where he was called ’L’shaitan’, The Devil. Thinking back on his earlier days managed to conjure forth a slight chuckle, but they spoke of public acceptance. Someone like Azhar wasn’t a Hero. His bracelet allowed for him to adopt this role, but without it, there was no possibility to maintain the act. Picturing the days before he was blessed by deliberate the shackle hugging his slender forearm exposed images left forgotten. Images revealing the boy’s true nature, something pacified by current circumstances.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Azhar’s focus found its mark, no longer obfuscated by thoughts of the past. Management, that being Mr. Hugo Powers, had taken the boy into his office recently. ’You are part of the brand. You can’t keep hiding in the shadows forever.’ Whether it was an undisturbed quote from the man, or Azhar’s own interpretation was growing less discernible by the day. However, Azhar was able to fill in whatever blanks lingered following his conversation with Mr. Powers. The boy had maintained a backstage role, because his powers didn’t quite fit in with the rest. Majestic Fire, Mystical Gravity, a Siren’s Song, a Sovereign of Water, and more. As if the Greek pantheon given life and presented to the public. Among them, Azhar was Hades, his ironically favorite God, but one considered evil at worse, and dark at best.

Typically, none of this would bother the Middle Easterner. With a shrug, he would offer one of Zee’s trademarked, sharp-toothed grins, and claim that his powers were his own, and they served the purpose he had set out for them. Recent scenarios somewhat toyed with this disposition, however.

He could no longer hide behind that coy presentation. He was expected to mingle with his fellow Heroes, and Mr. Powers wasn’t known for saying his piece, followed by simply discarding it. No, when Hugo Powers presented a demand, a Hero was expected to oblige. ’This is America, after all, where the dark is Edgy, rather than frowned upon,’ Azhar often thought. For such a self-confident and steadfast individual, being a part of something bigger seemed oddly intimidating. One would be forgiven for mistaking it stage fright, a disturbance this bar singer hadn’t felt in years.

Perhaps that was why something as simple as a Java Monster Energy drink meant so much. It was the simplicity of it, and the familiarity of its chilled, cold presence. The drink had been a comfort, something to divorce Azhar from the expectations now placed on him. To ’play nice with the real Heroes’. Now, that comfort was drenching the floor, the cream-colored substance spreading across those tiles like a darkening cloud.

It was an escape, a fix. Azhar wanted his favorite beverage in an attempt to dismiss growing insecurities, if only for a brief moment. Something which had now been taken away from him. "Come on, Dracula," the boy spoke, his faint Arabic accent trickling through those ghostly words.

“Th-thanks!” A stuttering, disheveled young woman managed as she stood, eyes falling to the burglars unconcious upon her workplace floor. “I’ve..,” she breathed, “I’ve called the police.”

Affording the clerk a soft nod, Azhar paused. His favorite drink had been robbed of him, but he could pick something else. A substitute. Turning back towards the fridge as Dracula leaped onto Azhar’s shoulder, the boy wrapped his clawed fingers around the handle, and pulled the door open. A wintery, pleasant chill ran over his exposed skin, Zee’s alien-like black eyes falling on another option. "Good," came a response, if somewhat late as the mutant approached. Three cans of Pipeline Punch in all of its pink glory had been placed by the cash register before Azhar reached a hand into his shoulder bag.

“Wait, no!” The clerk exclaimed, “it’s on the house, I mean..,” she motioned towards the scene, “you did the thing.”

"The.., thing?" Azhar raised a thin, black brow as he watched the clerk bagging his drinks.

“You did the Hero thing, dude!” There was a delay in Azhar’s response, the boy’s raven gaze lingering on the young woman. She continued before he was allowed a chance to speak. “I haven’t seen you on TV or anything, though,” she explained. “You work for H.E.R.O?”

With his clawed, demonic fingers resting on the counter, Azhar would eventually raise his digits towards that plastic bag and accepted the gift he had been offered. "Yeah, I do."

“Cool!” Came an excited response. A blatant shift in demeanor, to be sure, from scared for her life to basking in the safety of having a Hero so close. “What’s your Hero name!?”

Managing an appreciative expression, the ghostly boy was unable to hide his sharp-toothed smile. "Requiem," he answered. A fitting name, one related to Death.

“Sweet! Can I have an autograph?” Incredibly unexpected, but not an unwelcomed request, one which brought laughter from the Arabic boy, before he obliged. Tracing the tip of a pencil across a blank, white surface, Azhar wrote his Heroic handle in both English and Fusha, the written form of Arabic, before sliding the haphazardly picked gift card back to its owner.

Only a fool would have missed the gathering crowd outside the 7-Eleven, however, the sound of a gunshot bringing far more observers than the police. Many with a cellphone ready, and recording. "I should, uh..," Azhar thumbed towards the door.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks, again!” The clerk finished, seeing the dark mutant slip out of the store, before bringing her phone up to open a chat window.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 7-Eleven Store.
💀 East Flank.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 None.

---

Obsidian claws traced their shape across a row of aluminum bottles, black eyes carefully deducing what had been printed onto their cold, chilled surface. Monster Energy, Pipeline Punch, Java Monster. It was at the third option where those claws halted their advance, gently clicking against the metallic surface before a bottle was pulled from its confines. ’They told him don't you ever come around here, don’t wanna’ see your face, you better disappear..,’ Azhar slowly bobbed his head in response to the music trickling into his pointed ears. It was, in fact, quite uncommon to see him without his earbuds firmly planted into place. On those days off, one could not blame the boy for enjoying life’s more casual pursuits, which in itself indicated his current presence at a 7-Eleven during the golden embrace of a setting sun. It was when comfort replaced annoyance, when that massive sphere of radiance dove beneath the horizon as time dictated.

Indeed, Radiance, an ironic word, considering Azhar’s name which translated into just that. He had often asked his parents about this peculiar decision, naming a boy with an aversion to the sun, whose powers dipped into death and decay Radiance. The response he had been afforded was generally along the line of a grin, often accompanied by laughter. ’La’an enta dao hayati.’ Because you are the light of my life, an answer which bridged a tender smile across Azhar’s pale lips. His mother had always been a warm presence for the boy, an embrace he missed, and one he oftentimes recalled.

One could not blame a teenager for the universal desire to witness life, to experience the world, something which was locked away from Azhar during his time in Lebanon. A dead-end, as he called it. However, the bird’s longing for their ancestral home would always be present, long after they spread their wings. For Azhar, it was no different. America afforded him an experience incomparable by the rest of the world, which also strung along the small pleasantries in life. Indeed, the dark mutant was thankful for his inability to gain weight or the countless flavors his shark-like teeth had bit into would undoubtedly have netted him an un-hero like weight, by now. Granted, the scrawny and underweight body he did, in fact, posses wasn’t much better. However, that was one aspect of himself the boy couldn’t change. He had often been told that he possessed fearsome powers, but they came at a cost.

Raising a clawed hand towards the creature perched upon his shoulder, Azhar, or rather Zee as he was so often called in the States, tenderly combed those sharp digits through Dracula’s fur. A curious cat that had found itself in the boy’s care following its rescue. A dark creature with wings, razor teeth, and quite notably, four glowing, green eyes. As if made for each other, the two were a troupe. A duo clearly fitting a theme, something Azhar was well aware of. ’Own your shit, a statement often uttered by the goth-life entity that was Zee.

"Just one left, huh?" Came a sigh, Azhar’s attention lingering on that empty space which had only moments prior been confiscated by the Monster Energy drink in his hand. At the very least, the downside to his powers allowed him to eat whatever junk food he wanted without an effect. It wouldn’t make him feel any better, and it certainly wouldn’t make him feel any worse. Closing the fridge, Zee turned towards the cash register where a clerk sat toying with their cellphone, something which would likely be unacceptable by any customer who cared just a tad more than this particular mutant.

It was when Azhar had reached the snack aisle that the boy stopped, his stride halting but not because those raven eyes fixed themselves on a Pringles can, but rather because he heard the door open, followed by a click. A sound he was aware of, and one he often heard when he wasn’t off. "Please, not now..," the boy cringed, before he peeked around a shelf.

“You know what to do,” came a voice belonging to a hooded individual with gun in hand. A Glock, if Azhar had paid any attention during class, or simply watched enough movies.

“I..,” the store clerk tried, a trembling teenager no older than seventeen, working a part-time job, likely because her parents forced her into the notion of responsibility.

Turning his attention towards Dracula who had leaped down from Azhar’s shoulder, the mutant eyed his friend’s many, glowing emeralds. An air of frustration washed over him, before the Hero finally revealed himself. It was with a simple, nearly nonchalant swipe of his hand that Azhar conjured forth a spectral presence that engulfed the criminal who had singlehandedly put an end to Azhar’s calm, relaxing evening. Ghostly energy circled the man, licking over him as if a spell that had been cast, before he fell limply to the ground. A keen eye would have been able to spot the bracelet clasped around Azhar’s thin forearm, a futuristic trinket which afforded a dim, blue glow in response to his power, a glow which vanished in echo with the energy conjured forth.

"He’ll wake up in a few hou-..," Azhar began, before hearing a loud gunshot ringing out across the small store. It was through mere instinct that the boy stumbled back behind the shelves, and tripped on Dracula where the cat had been standing. Plummeting to the floor, a frustrated groan left the teen Hero, something which would develop into a whine once he noticed just where the bullet had struck.

Any normal individual with their senses intact would have considered themselves lucky. A single bullet was enough to end a life, but for Azhar, total misery replaced relief as he felt the cold, creamy substance previously contained with the Monster Energy drink flow down his hand, and onto the floor.

With widened eyes, the mutant slowly turned the can around. Less than an inch down and his hand would have been shot, but even so, Azhar’s sense of loss had reached its peak. "Oh no..," the boy uttered, his eyes nearly watering in response to his lost prize.

Clenching his teeth, the mutant rose to his feet. He had made a fatal mistake this evening, by not analyzing the area before acting. There had been two robbers, not just one. The other had been waiting outside, keeping an eye out for passersby. A lookout who had now drawn their gun and aimed it into the store. “What did you do to him, you freak!?” A loud shout rang through, followed by careful footsteps.

"That was the last one..," Azhar clenched his fist, those claws nearly digging into his palm as he looked down towards the now empty Java Monster Energy drink. Raising his eyes towards the clerk, Azhar noticed how she had hidden, and it brought the boy back to his senses. At least one of them had their wits undisturbed. "Do you fucking know.., what you’ve just done?" Zee seethed, listening for the robber as they were slowly approaching their fallen friend with gun still raised.

“Fuck you, dude!” Came a response as fingers desperately moved towards the fallen robber’s throat, to feel a pulse that remained undamaged.

"I came to this country..," Azhar began, spectral energy now brimming from him, "to beat the shit out of bad guys, and enjoy your unhealthy fucking drinks," the Middle Easterner explained, that ghastly force now concentrating around his right hand. "You just took away one of those things." There was no response, but rather a terrified expression that met the mutant once he finally revealed himself. It was a quick motion, one birthed from knowing that his enemy held a firearm. However, it mattered little once a burst of Necrotic Energy slammed into the robber, knocking them out with that dim, blue glow emanating from Azhar’s bracelet. "And now I have neither.., I hope you’re fucking happy."

《 H. E. R. O. 》

-

《 H. E. R. O. 》

@Hitman

I will write something up.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

If you're still accepting, I may make a character for this.

Age of Amalgam: Heroes

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Age of Amalgam: Heroes

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Amalgam Universe: New Heroes

After two months gone, I will be joining this RP, as well.