NOTE: the number 3.2 just means this is supposed to follow ch3 as a second part i guess??? and wow it's been a while and my writing has gotten worse so yeah there's not much ~romance~ here so if you're not into reading a load of action?? then you should ignore this yeahhh

“Come on knife boy, show me what you got!” A fist comes at him from the right, aimed at his face; he moves quickly to avoid the hit, but not quickly enough to dodge the counter that comes from the left. The punch knocks Mark off his feet, his back hitting the wall of the alley. He coughs, the wind knocked out of him, and the small knife that was in his hand now several feet away by some beat up crates.

“Are nicknames a thing for you two?” He hisses, voice coming out raspier than he would’ve liked. Mark keeps his eyes locked on the figure before him and wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, other hand reaching for the extra throwing knives in his boot while he’s still crouched. His lips turned downward in a frown, angry at the red against his glove, the red being all he sees.

“Our way of showing a little intimacy,” the other drawls out. “Is that all you got?” He pisses Mark off; even without looking up he can tell the villain is smirking at him. Looking down at him, underestimating him. The idea that the bad guys have been toying with not only his city, but he himself? It's absolute garbage, garbage that Mark intends on crushing under his boot along with whatever little scheme the two are playing at. The good guys will win, he repeats to himself as he slowly rises to his feet.

He has a small knife in each hand, long and thin, steel warm through his gloves. The familiar weight is reassuring, they will go the way he needs them to, and they will carry out justice.

The other is laughing now, cracking his neck as he waits for Mark's next move. Mark stares as he does so, eyes focused on his neck. The warmth in his palms get hotter and hotter, spreading up his arm; his blood boils. It's all red, from the blood smeared across his lip, the flames his fingertips, the anger that floods his vision.

“Far from it,” he growls and with a swing of his arm the knife slices through the air, fire enveloping it like a meteorite, quickly closing in on the masked villain's face. Mark doesn't wonder why he isn't moving as he sends the other knife out, arms still poised in the air after following through with the throw. For a split second he can see the others' lips quirk up in a minuscule smirk as the flames travel past his face and past the target, eyes widening in disbelief.

He never missed.

Just as quickly as Mark threw them, his opponent catches the second blade centimeters before it reaches his neck. Mark clenches his teeth and watches as the flames that were burning brightly just a second ago extinguish as soon as the other man touched it. He's angry and shocked, watching the other toy around with his knife.

“What did you do?” Mark says.

“I didn't know heroes aimed to kill nowadays, or does my partner just get special treatment?” He responds, twirling the knife in his hands.

“What did you do,” Mark demands, moving to a defensive stance with his arms raised before him. He doesn't know how the flames disappeared, but coupled with the level of combat skills the other showcased moments before, he knows he's dangerous. How does Jackson keep up with this guy?

“What?” His hand stills, knife held between black gloved fingers like a flower, glinting in the moonlight. In the hands of an enemy it's more like a weed. He brings it to his face, the tip of the blade near his lips. Mark's fists tighten. “This?”

He blows, nearly inaudible, and suddenly flames erupt around Mark's knife again. The highlights and shadows the fire creates on his face make him look more menacing, the grin more dark. And it drives Mark insane.

“Don't toy with me,” Mark keeps his voice level, getting the words out through clenched teeth. “What did you do?” Now would be a good chance to lunge, to grab the one knife he knows he has left and jab it into the man's side, so he can feel his blood boil from the red of his flames. But he doesn't, he doesn't move from his position and neither does the villain.

“Tell me, knife boy,” the knife cuts through air with a light flick of his wrist, eyes focused on the fire instead of Mark. “Can you handle the heat?”

Mark wants to scream, of course he can; he's being looked down upon again. Heat burns in his palms as he clenches his fists even tighter, his eyes never leaving the figure before him.

The other doesn't say anything, watching Mark through masked eyes. He grins, lips pulled back to show all his teeth. Briefly Mark notices that it's different from his partners', more chilling. The white of his teeth tinted orange against the flaming knife, not quite red, but Mark can still see the color there.

He doesn't have time to demand what's going on when suddenly the fire gets bigger, burning brighter and lighting up the alley. His eyes widen in shock, any thought of the other playing games wiped from his mind. There was absolutely no way, yet—

“Ready?” his opponent's voice cut through Mark's thoughts, he has to shake his head to clear his mind and focus on what's in front of him. And by the time he realizes what's happened, Mark's not pleased.

Like liquid silver, the melted steel of what once was Mark's knife drips from the other man's hand. The bright silver a contrast to the dark glove.

The flame still burns bright, fully encompassing his hand now, and begin to travel up his arm. Mark's not worried, he's dealt with flames before. Mark remembers how hot his own fire burned when the ability first appeared, and since then he's trained himself to withstand temperatures hotter than most can handle. He knows he can handle this guy's flashy second rate fires; flames flickering in and out of existence at his fingertips.

And then, everything goes red.

Mark lunges, fire in his hands and fire in his eyes, he aims a uppercut to the taller man's chin. Feeling his fist hit something solid never felt so satisfying, he almost imagines his opponent is someone slightly smaller, leaner, and all infuriating smiles.

“I'll reduce you to ash, knife boy,” he hears the voice close to his ear before a knee is rammed into his gut. Mark grits his teeth as he skids back, one arm clutching his stomach, but if he thinks that's going to knock him out, Mark will be more than happy to show him how strong heroes really are—how strong he is.

“Bring it on,” and suddenly the other man is on him again, fire burning bright on both arms like some sort of armor, giving no time for Mark to retaliate. He can only block the punches with the speed they're coming at, thankful the flames don't affect him. The hits don't stop; he's trying to look for an opening that isn't showing itself. Before he knows it, he's almost backed into the wall, not aware his opponent had been pushing him back the whole time. It drives him mad.

He refuses to be trapped like a weak animal.

With a burst of light his own flames come to life around his fists, staggering at first because Mark never liked engaging in hand-to-hand combat unlike his partner, but the split second the thief is distracted is all Mark needs to strike.

His opponent had backed up just the slightest bit when the fire appeared, allowing Mark to bring up his leg and kick him square in the stomach. How's the for revenge, he smirks to himself. This time it's his turn, he won't allow for a single chance to let the other attack.

Mark moves to stand before his masked opponent and punches him across the cheek, the smell of burnt fabric fresh in the air. He comes back with another kick, following the man as he leaps back and aims another punch to his jaw.

He spots his knife, a few feet away from where's he's standing and is about to grab it when a voice distracts both occupants in the alley.

“INCOMING!”

And before he has anytime to react, a large weight crashes onto Mark from above, just about flattening to the ground. He knocks his head against the concrete, hard enough to make his vision go a little hazy. The alley is still lit up with the villain's flaming arm—his other held up against his face, probably covering the part of his mask Mark burnt off. He's grinning for some reason and Mark is confused. Wha—

It's then he register's the weight crushing him, and the familiar black and blue clad leg in the corner of his vision. Colors he's seen way too many times since he started in this business.

“What's this? Aw Red's fallen hard for lil ol' me?” An unfortunately familiar voice cuts through his thoughts, hands unconsciously balling into fists. Mark can feel his eye twitch under his mask as he glances up above him.

As if the sudden fire user wasn't already bad enough, he has to show up.

Grinning down at him, Mark wants to destroy him and wipe the smile off that face. He tries to get up, but Jackson doesn't budge. He doesn't want to consider Jackson being knocked out. Letting his eyes close for a moment, he calms himself down and goes over his options. Before he can shove the other off him, Mark hears a groan and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

“Aw, isn't that cute?” Mark hears the “new”comer say, groaning when he looks up and sees the hazy outline of four people.

“What did you even do to him?” The fire dies and the alley becomes dark again, the hazy outlines almost disappearing in the shadows. Luckily Jackson starts to move, less than gently kneeling on his back as he does so. He thinks he sees steam come off one of them when they come in contact with each other. Or maybe it's his mind messing with him, he's still dizzy.

“I didn't do anything, he just fell, I swear! He's moving, see?”

“Is that all you did?”

“I should be asking you that, your friend there got so distracted by the giant fire he practically ran away from me. Were you always this showy? You even got your mask burnt.”

Mark doesn't hear the rest of the conversation because he's up, brushing himself off beside Jackson, who's cracking his neck, looking peeved behind his mask.

The two at the exit of the alley don't bother to finish their conversation, watching Mark and Jackson. He can't tell what sort of expression they have on, they're half in the darkness and their eyes are covered. (But he has a feeling at least one of them is grinning.) They look like they belong there, half hidden in the shadows. Like they themselves are shadows.

“Ah, I think it's time for us to go.”

“Pity,” one of them says. “Guess we'll finish next time, knife boy.” A knife slices through the air, missing his cheek by mere centimeters, embedding itself in the wall behind Mark. My knife, his eyes widen, when did he pick it up?

Jackson is a little less subtle with his surprise, tensing up beside Mark. Laughter brings his eyes back to the two figures before him—he recognizes that laugh, he hates it. It sounded too innocent, too good for that person.

He recognizes that strange handsign, fingers up and then flipped down, from the hundreds of other times Mark encountered the slightly smaller of the two. He knows it means something, but still month after month, neither him or his “team” can figure it out (along with their names, what they did with the stolen items, anything about them at all).

Mark feels Jackson move beside him, charging towards the mysterious duo, sparks flying around his arms.

“Guess he missed fighting you more than he liked talking to me,” the voice almost sounds sad, one says to the other. They don't make any attempts to move as Jackson closes in on them and is about to strike one or both of them, Mark's not sure. Thunder has a way of destroying everything in its path.

In a bright flash of light he strikes, and Mark has to shield his eyes from the blinding burst of electricity. He's vaguely aware of the crates in the alley being singed and the crumbling of debris as the smoke clears. Jackson is crouched down on one knee, fist still on the ground, breathing hard. There's a small crater where he punched, a few cracks in the ground stemming from it, but nothing else.

Nothing else, no one else.

Mark straightens up, gaze hard as he looks around carefully, as if the villains will jump them while they're unaware. Come out, come out, he thinks, twirling the knife he pulled out from the wall in his hand. He doesn't have to wait long, when the sound of laughter steals both his and Jackson's attention.

Up.

His neck snaps up, meeting the gaze of Jackson's opponent of the night. The smile never seems to leave the other's face, his eyes narrowing at how at ease he looks while staring down at them from the roof of a building.

“Get back here,” he hears Jackson all but growls from his side, sparks crackling around him. He looks to the fire user, who still has a hand over the burnt part of his mask, and frowns. Were they planning to run?

“No can do, Sparky!” Jackson tenses up at the nickname. “The night isn't so young anymore, you need to go back and study for that exam, don't you?”

That catches Mark's attention, his eyes immediately looking towards Jackson. Jackson, whose face seems to turn a little red, doesn't meet Mark's gaze and instead yells up at the other man.

“Don't make excuses, come back here!”

It's him who laughs again, but the fire user responds instead. “Until next time,” and they disappear from sight, the sound of the smaller one's laughter still ringing in the air.






“You mind telling me why the villain knew about your test?” He emphasizes “villain” to express his distaste, not that Jackson didn't already know how he feels about that particular person. They're both back in their apartment, settling back into their college student lives and rummaging around for food.

“I may have let a few things slip,” Jackson mumbles over pizza, conveniently looking away from Mark, flipping through the channels of their flat-screen t.v. (Heroism pays better than any part time job they'll ever find.)

“A few things?” He questions, settling by the kitchen counter. There are a few readings he has to do for a class, and now's a better time than any to do them—he needs to calm down. It's silent save for the t.v and low hissing of their water boiler doing its job. Mark is about to ask again, having given his housemate-slash-partner enough time to think, when he speaks.

“Just...maybe some things about having class and being in school....and maybe where we go.” It comes out choppy, hesitant, and it takes a moment for Jackson's words to sink in.

“You did what?” Mark exclaims, spinning around in his chair to face Jackson and nearly knocks over all his textbooks. He's standing now, having gotten up to stare at the other with an indescribable expression.

“Look, in my defense he's a hella smooth talker! You should know! Like, smoother than butter!”

“That doesn't mean I'm going to go around talking about my personal life! Does “secret identity” mean anything to you?!”

“It's not like I told him my name, or god forbid yours!”

“What are you two yelling about now,” a voice from the hall calls out. Both Mark and Jackson end their “argument” and turn to the third resident of their apartment.

“Sorry Youngjae, it's been a long night,” Mark apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck, and grins sheepishly at the younger boy. He's aware of Jackson mouthing “help me” and making “he's mad” motions behind his back; it's like living with a five year old.

If Youngjae is confused he doesn't show it, instead he sighs and shakes his head, walking over to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of apple juice. “Do I even want to know?”

He takes a drink, glancing from Mark to Jackson. Mark opens his mouth to fill him in on what just happened not that long ago, but Youngjae cuts him off.

“Wait, let me guess,” he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist first before continuing, “It was that team of thieves again?”

“Not team, duo,” Jackson corrects, flopping over on the couch. “I don't know what I would do if there was an actual team of them, electrocute myself til I wake up from that nightmare I bet.”

“One of them's a fire user,” Mark says, crossing his arms. He sits back down on the stool and sighs, wondering how much more difficult things can possible guess.

“Wait, what?” His partner's sitting upright again, shooting up from the couch as soon as the words “fire user” leave Mark's mouth. He didn't know? Mark questions to himself.

“Another one? I'm surrounded by elementals,” Youngjae groans, moving to sit across from Mark. He just rolls his eyes at the younger.

“Don't knock on the power of mother nature, Inspector Gadget,” Jackson shoots back, making a face.

“I don't even know what that is,” the younger grumbles, finishing his juice. “At least I have Mook on my side.”

“Anyway,” Mark steers the conversation back to the actual problem, “shouldn't you have known about this, you're the one that's apparently been chasing after him this whole time,” he says to Jackson, mulling it over in his head himself. He's 90% sure Jackson would have engaged the other man in some sort of fight—Jackson always did—so he must've seen the power before, right?

“Yeah we fight, but..” he pauses, “the guy's never shown any sign of having any ability other than his insane combat skills. If he did, I'd probably be a hell of a lot more bruised than normal.”

“Not that I don't leave him with a couple of bruises myself,” Jackson adds quickly. Mark has to roll his eyes at the attempt to salvage his ego. (He honestly didn't have to, both Mark and Youngjae know he's a capable guy, with his destructive thunder and without.)

“Then why..” Mark questions, pushing the hair back from his forehead, pensive. They've “fought” a little over two months now, a few weeks since he found out there are two thieves, tonight the first time the two went after different opponents. So why did the other use his power when fighting him and not Jackson?

“Maybe because you're a fire user too,” Youngjae suggests. “People with the same attributes are often drawn to each other.”

“I feel offended. Am I allowed to be offended?” Jackson jokes, earning an eye roll from Youngjae.

“Maybe? But..I don't think we have the same ability, I'm not sure how to explain this,” Mark says carefully, having trouble finding the words. “Obviously we both create flames, but his is different. Or well the way it manifests is different?” He looks to his housemates, a thoughtful look of Jackson's face and Youngjae looking like he sort of understands what he's talking about. He didn't notice it during their fight, but now as Mark thinks about it, when he punched the other it felt like he wasn't really making contact. Like something was in the way. And when he was on the defensive, the punches aimed at him didn't feel physical, all he felt was heat, such intense heat.

“We should put this off til tomorrow, when we see Kunpimook and Yugyeom,” Jackson breaks the silence, getting up from the couch. “Plus I gotta sleep, exam tomorrow.”

That reminds Mark of what their original tiff was about and is going to reprimand his partner again when Youngjae clears his throat and steals his attention away. If it wasn't for the serious look on the younger's face he would've thought Youngjae was covering for Jackson.

“What's up?” He says when he hears the room door close.

“The other guy, the one you're always after,” Mark bites the inside of his cheek when Youngjae describes it like that, he's not completely sure about his own reaction, but it felt a little embarrassing, “do you think he's...?”

“Also an Abnormal?”

Youngjae lightly cringes at the word, “Do you have to call it that? It makes us sound...unnatural. No pun intended.”

“Well I can't exactly call them heroes can I? And it's the term used nowadays,” Mark shrugs, unaffected by the negative connotations. “I'm just going along with it.”

“Still...”

“Don't think about it too much. Regardless how society calls it, we're going to keep doing what's right and maintain the peace,” he tries to soothe Youngjae's uncertainty and ruffles his hair. “But about the guy...well with the appearance of his partner's ability I don't know. Honestly every time I go after him all he does is run his mouth. I wouldn't be surprised if that was his ability, a never tiring voice box.”

The younger boy snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling nonetheless. Whatever was bothering appeared to be gone, to Mark's relief. “Whatever it is, we can handle it right?”

“We got some of the best of the best on our side, of course we can, Youngjae.”

“Good night hyung. Don't stay up too late.”

Youngjae leaves Mark alone in the kitchen, the door of his room clicking shut. Mark has his chin atop of his hands, somewhat feeling uneasy about his words to Youngjae.






“When are we ever going to meet these two guys?” Kunpimook whines, leaning forward in his seat that most of his upper body is sprawled across the table. “If they've got you two stuck in a circle they must be reeeeal good.”

“Why do hyungs get all the fun anyway, I wanna fight a super villain,” Yugyeom adds, punching an invisible enemy. “We get stuck with all the normal stuff.”

“We can switch if you want, I'll take your quick and easy boring criminals and you can have my dude that likes the night sky and long runs all around the city,” Jackson responds, swiping a radish from Youngjae's tray. The latter makes a noise of surprise and quickly scoots closer to Kunpimook, pulling his tray with him much to the displeasure of Jackson.

“I don't mind, plus I bet we can catch them,” Kunpimook challenges, grinning at Mark and Jackson. Next to Mark, Yugyeom nods, hi-fiving his teammate. “Three heads are better than two!”

“Yeah okay, if we can't do it what makes you think you three runts can?” Jackson shoots back, and Mark sighs at how easily he gets riled up. “What are you going to do, turn into an elephant and sit on them?”

“That's not a bad idea,” Youngjae says in between bites of his rice. “They can't run that way.” Jackson splutters for a moment, not sure how to respond because, well, that is one way to keep them from running. He looks to Mark, “Dude! Are you hearing this?”

“You guys can tag along with us on our patrols in case we see them again,” He says.

“Yeah, li—wait what?”

“Score!” The three youngest share a high five, and Kunpimook sticks his tongue out at Jackson. Mark hopes with more people they can force the duo that's been tormenting his thoughts into a corner.






“Get out of the way!” Yugyeom is shouting at Youngjae to duck, he barely gets out of the way when Mark sends out his signature throwing knives with the flair he's known for. He ignores Youngjae's whine of “I barely escaped without getting my face burned off!” watching the knives reach their mark, and runs forward. The familiar warmth is pooling in palms, swirling around in his hands.

Mark's aware he has to serve as Kunpimook's temporary replacement in their trio, working into their combination tactics as well as he could without messing up their teamwork. So as Yugyeom focuses on concentrating the wind around the figure clad in black before them, Youngjae and he wait on standby until the wind vortex swirls so rapidly their opponent can't be seen anymore.

He distracted their villain long enough with his attacks—all of them dodged, he thinks to himself bitterly—so that Yugyeom could do his thing, but he still has his throwing knives in his hand at the ready if the man managed to get out of the vortex.

Whenever he sees Yugyeom use his ability, Mark is proud but more than that, he's glad he doesn't have a cape. He has a little difficulty maintaining his footing, needing Youngjae to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. The rubble on the roof slowly gets in by the strong winds, and eventually rocks and bits of paper are flying around them towards the mini tornado the youngest created.

Mark briefly thinks if Jackson and Kunpimook are handling themselves okay, the two being separated from them while the group was chasing after the non-flame user when suddenly the latter came dashing out of nowhere from the side. His partner and Kunpimook, being the ones that were holding up the rear immediately went after him, leaving Mark and the other 2/3 of the younger team.

There's no time to mull over things he has no power over when Yugyeom calls for YoungStar, the winds swirling at an almost dangerous speed now. From beside him, Youngjae nods and walks to stand before it, careful not too close to get in.

Mark has obviously seen all their abilities before, appointed as the unofficial leader of their group when he moved from the States to Seoul, but when the younger ones combined theirs it was always a sight. Like Youngjae said the night before, he was no elemental, but that didn't mean he isn't as strong as the rest of them.

He watches as Youngjae raises his arm, fingers loosely curled leaving his index finger out as if he's drawing in the air. In a way he was, when he brings his hand up, the howling sound of the wind suddenly gets higher and higher, until the pitch becomes incredibly painful to hear. Mark instinctively covers his ears, clenching his teeth. He's sure what he's hearing isn't as it was from inside the vortex, the sound trapped in there, since he's still standing close to Youngjae.

The younger's other hand is clenched in a fist, explaining why Yugyeom looks unaffected by the increased noise around him. He looks like a composer, Mark thinks, the entire world his orchestra.

“Now!” Yugyeom signals to Mark. If Yugyeom wasn't so good with his power control, Mark would've definitely stolen him from Youngjae and Kunpimook, making him the permanent tracker of his and Jackson's team. Having the ability to sense with and through the wind is rather useful.

Mark nods to Youngjae, giving him the okay to relax as he throws several burning knives into the vortex, watching the entire thing light up in flames. He motions back to Youngjae to follow him, holding his hand up to tell Yugyeom to let the [flame] winds die down a little—as much as the villain got on Mark's nerves, he had no intention of suffocating the other.

“Looks like your friends can play,” the three of them hear when things finally die down, scorch marks on the rooftop from the fire. “Don't want to be alone with me anymore, Red?”

Yugyeom snorts at the nickname.

When the dust clears, Mark is just a little surprised the other is unscathed, looking as he did the moment they started fighting that night. The easy going vibe Mark got from him made him so angry, he can't help but think he, they're being toyed with.

“You must be 200% and YoungStar, though you look a little young,” he says, stepping out of the circle burnt into the ground. “Do you guys have class with Mr. Thunder Strike too?” Mark's hands ball into fists again when he laughs at the shocked expressions on the youngers' faces. His brows furrow when he notices steam coming off the villains arms, definitely not imagining it this time. Mark thinks back to their last encounter, when he thought he was just making up steam coming off one of them, and thinks this, this has something to do with his ability. He makes a note to tell the others later when they're done.

“But where's Bam% and Mr. Strike? It wouldn't be much of a party without everyone, right?” The villain smiles, making no move to attack or even run. With how close Yugyeom is to him, the younger could just summon winds to trap him again, but Mark has a feeling he's too stunned by the bad guy's “friendly” nature. (He knows he was extremely thrown off when they first met.)

“Come on Red, aren't you going to introduce me?” His masked eyes meet Mark's, a sly smirk making its way onto his face. “Or have you not figured out my name yet?”

“I think 'Annoying' is good enough name,” Mark replies, subtly pulling Youngjae back.

“That hurts,” the villain pouts, placing a hand over his heart. “After all we've been through? You're breaking my heart.”

“Who's breaking my partner's heart now?” A new voice floats through the air. Mark doesn't take his eyes off the person in front of him, but he can tell Youngjae looking around curiously. Even the Annoying one looks surprised to hear a voice.

A figure leaps up onto the roof, standing on the ledge a few feet behind where the mini tornado was. And then suddenly, another person falls from the sky, luckily not landing on Mark this time. He gets the feeling it's Jackson again, and when Yugyeom yells out “Thunder!” in surprise, he knows he's right. Beside him, Kunpimook reverts back to his human form and rolls his shoulder a few times.

“Ugh, he's so heavy,” he complains, throwing a look to the extra 63kg he flew up with.

“You could've turned into a bigger animal than an overgrown chicken!” Jackson bites back, rubbing his sore bottom from the fall.

“Pterodactyls are plenty big, you're just heavy!”

“You—!”

“Now it's a real party,” Mark's attention is back on the man standing confidently across the roof from him. His partner steps down from the ledge to join him, the two figures dressed in all black with matching masks over their eyes stand before them. “Shall we get started?” The fire user finishes.

He hears Kunpimook hoot, and suddenly everything is a rush of movement and energy. The shifter is in the air as some sort of bird while Yugyeom moves closer to Youngjae, the winds around them starting to pick up. Mark glances over to Jackson, who looks like he's torn between who he wants to charge first, before he picks out his knives from his belt, immediately burning up as soon as he touches them.

Mark can't keep an eye on the trio anymore, not when the other fire user is running towards him with his arms encased in flames like last time. He does his best to keep as much distance between him and the other as possible while not making it look like he was running. Jackson usually dealt the short range damage and Mark covered long range, but this time Jackson's preoccupied trying to punch a hole in a target that never stays still and Mark's stuck with a target that won't give up advancing towards him.

“What's the matter, the great En Point missing his marks?” the other taunts, driving his heel from a side kick into Mark's abdomen. He definitely a skilled fighter, Mark thinks to himself while blocking an incoming punch with the flat side of his blade.

“A hero isn't perfect,” he grunts, dropping to the floor to swing his leg around and knock the other to the ground. Mark drives his knife into the ground, clipping a piece of the villains pant leg down. He moves to do the same to the other leg, but before he can the other foot comes up and kicks him in the face, sending him backwards.

“That looked like it hurt!” Mark wipes away at his mouth and looks to the other half of the villainous duo. He's smiling in his direction, simultaneously evading Jackson's punches with ease. “Eyes on me, Shadow!” He hears Jackson say before he's yanked out of his thoughts by a fist dangerously close to hitting him. Before he can retaliate, a bird's screech pierces through the air, the sound amplified at least five times causing the ground to shake. Mark's vision gets shaky, letting himself fall to a crouch. His opponent, even Jackson and his opponent do the same, only in the enemy's case they fall involuntarily.

Mark has his knives when Yugyeom's winds blow through, pulling everything and everyone towards him. Holding onto the knives he stuck into the rooftop, he knows Yugyeom didn't mean to have he and Jackson into it, the same with Youngjae. Their abilities aren't concentrated, more fit to deal damage to a wide range, but sometimes he wished they would give him a warning or something.

He has to squint to see what's going on, barely catching a glimpse of the other fire user trying to find something to hold on to as he's sliding towards Yugyeom. Mark wonders briefly where Kunpimook is.

The answer to his question shows up in the form of a hawk diving towards his target, transforming into something larger and prehistoric when he gets closer. The winds don't stop even when pterodactyl-Kunpimook lifts the other fire user into the air. Jackson had let himself get pulled towards the two younger heroes, now standing behind Yugyeom at the ready with lightning crackling around his hands. It's just him and the more annoying villain left holding on. He notices Youngjae with both his hands closed into fists—he's muting the noise from the rest of the city, Mark realizes. Even in a more abandoned part of the city, he remains concerned about the people.

The winds suddenly die down when the sound of a elephant's cry brings everyone's attention the sky. And there, an elephant falling towards them head first with a person wrapped in his trunk is coming down...towards the other villain. Now elephant-Kunpimook lets go of the person in his grasp and transforms into something smaller and smaller until he's a hummingbird—too small for the other fire user to grab—and out of harm's way. Mark watches the shock register on the annoying one's face seeing his partner come flying at him very very quickly, but by then it's too late and the two crash into the ground.

Mark thinks he saw a sudden burst of light before the collision, but he's not too sure now with all the dust in the air.

“I can't believe you really went with the elephant,” Jackson laughs, and Mark can tell he's ruffling Kunpimook's hair in amusement. (That's what he always did, much to Kunpimook's displeasure.) Yugyeom's staring at him with a smile on his face when Mark makes his way over, “How did we do?”

“Freakin amazing, that's how we did,” Youngjae answers his teammate's own question and Mark can't help the grin on his face. “You guys are pretty cool,” he ruffles their hair (reaching a little to get Yugyeom), “for a bunch of toddlers.” The chorus of “hey's” he gets in return make his heart a little lighter.

“Ooh, heartwarming,”

“Sun-ah, why don't you ever treat me like that?” Sun?

It goes quiet again, no one making a sound. The voices don't speak again for a while, but then the sounds of rocks being moved around break the silence. Two figures slowly get up through the dust, brushing themselves off. Mark's hands reach for the knives he just tucked back into his belt, watching the two carefully.

When the dust settles, their mysterious duo is still standing confidently having picked themselves out of the mini crater they created. The fire user—Sun, as he was just called—looks fine save for a few tears in his costume. The annoying one looks a little worse than his partner, his hair that is usually styled upwards is now over his masked eyes, his lip is bloody and smeared across his cheek from when he wiped at it, and there are probably more than just a few bruises and cuts below his dark outfit. Despite all that, he still smiles at the five of them, teeth stained a watered down red.

“You can take care of yourself,” “Sun” says, briefly turning his head to look at the other, “or not.”

Mark thinks the display would be cute if two weren't criminals, continuously robbing Seoul and getting away with it. They're bad people.

“No thanks to you! I was scared I was going to be burned alive.” So he didn't imagine the burst of light, it was fire that cushion his fall last minute. Mark's not entire sure how that worked, but he can't attest for the other's ability.

“Can you guys do us a favor and maybe just stay down?” Kunpimook whines from behind Mark.

“Sorry Bambam,” Kunpimook makes a weird face at the nickname, “this one likes to go big or go even bigger.” Mark watches the two interact, the annoying one slapping Sun on the chest and Sun shoving his shoulder back. He can't help but feel like they're probably just normal guys like the rest of them. But he just can't see past their criminal image.

“Shall I show you what a Sunrise feels like?” And just like that, there's a bright burst of light surrounding Sun that causes all of them to recoil and shield their eyes. When the light dies down, Mark slowly opens to his eyes to something that looks like it was pulled from a comic book. Sun stands between them and his partner, nearly his whole body covered in flames. Coupled with his dark outfit, he looks like an agent of Hell.

“Don't hurt yourself!” His partner calls out to him while he leans back against the ledge, watching Mark with a smirk on his face. What is he doing, Mark wonders, eyes narrowing at him.

“Eyes on me, knife boy,” Sun laughs, making his face flush in embarrassment. Youngjae sends him a questioning look, but Mark just shakes his head—it's nothing.

Things are quiet; Sun doesn't move, waiting for one of the heroes to start, and the heroes don't move, not knowing what to do. It isn't long until, surprise surprise, Jackson makes the first move. His lightning wraps up his arms like Sun's flames, crackling with charged energy. Their enemy seems to be pleased with Jackson taking the initiative, meeting his punch with his punch and a smile. For a while Mark just watches them fight, having been partners with Jackson for a few years he doesn't think he's ever seen the slightly younger man go so hard, for the lack of a better word. Maybe it's because they mostly encounter criminals that are hardly worth any of their time, no one strong enough to physically fight or smart enough to evade them for long.

Next to him, Youngjae, Kunpimook, and Yugyeom are cheering for Jackson; shouting encouragements when he blocks or gets a hit in, and grimacing when he's the one getting hit. Mark, being the quiet spectator he always was, watches intently. Occasionally he glances over at the Annoying one, as if he's expecting him to just jump into the fight. As if sensing Mark is looking at him, he looks over and catches Mark's gaze. A slight tilt of his head sends Mark's attention back to the fight, barely missing the other lifting a hand up to hide his smile.

Lightning and fire clash at every end, Jackson keeping up with Sun better than Mark thought he would. Punches are met with punches, kicks are dodged; they're pretty even in skill. But in terms of power—Sun's roundhouse kick sends Jackson skidding back to nearly the other side of the roof. The rest of them know better than to interfere with Jackons's fights, that's why none of them cut in and take his place (unless he calls for it).

“What are the rest of you going to do?” The other half of team Sun asks. He's kicking his legs back and forth as if he was at the park, and not watching the clash of two opposing Abnormals.

“Nothing,” Mark replies for the four of them, “it's how Thunder does things and we're not going to interrupt. He crosses his arms across his chest, not sparing the other a glance at all.

“Are you sure? Your friend's rib might be fractured,” he says. Mark's eyes widen and turns his head over to the idle villain.

“What are you talking about?” There's no way, they've only been fighting a short amount of time, unless...that kick.

“You can see his chest heaving with every breath he takes, see he's clenching his teeth like he's in pain,” the other points out and Mark can only follow his gaze to his partner.

“He's right,” Youngjae says, suddenly looking more nervous. He sees it, the sweat on Jackson's face and how long it takes for him to breathe, something got damaged. “En Point what do we do?”

“Yeah Red, what do you do?”

It's not like Mark has many options. “Yugyeom, get him out,” he orders. He just hopes Jackson will understand and let them do what's best. The wind specialist nods, holding his hands out. Almost immediately the winds start picking up, and the two fighting begin to have trouble keeping their footing. Jackson turns to Yugyeom, an angry expression on his face, “What are you doing?!” He demands.

“Doing you a favor, probably,” Sun yells over the whistling of the wind. He's standing with his legs spread farther apart than a normal fighting stance, knees bent, trying to stay upright as the winds threaten to topple him over.

Mark is a little surprised he isn't going for Jackson while he's distracted and disoriented, but his main concern now is to get his partner out of this fight. Soon enough the wind is pulling the lightning user into Youngjae and Kunpimook's waiting arms where they set him down and lightly prod at his ribs.

With Yugyeom finished with his job, he joins his teammates in fussing over a visibly disgruntled Jackson, who insists that he's fine. Mark laughs at the sharp yelp that comes out of his mouth when Kunpimook presses down on a certain part of his chest. The three youngest scold him for being reckless, that he should've been more careful, betraying their age.

Mark can't help the smile, but realizes he still has two criminals hovering around somewhere that need to be apprehended. When he turns back to face duo, a strange feeling washes over him. They're still here. Neither of them are looking at him, Sun has his back turned and is probably speaking to the other one in hushed tones. A quick glance at his own “team” shows they're too preoccupied to pay attention to him.

And before he knows it, Mark's making his way across the roof in quick strides, one of his throwing knives in his hand. And before he knows it he makes contact, Sun turning around in time to meet Mark in his personal bubble, and the blade embedded in his side.

“J—Sun!” He hears a shout, but Mark's frozen. Maybe it's his imagination, but the air around him suddenly gets hotter and he can't breathe. He can't even look up to face the man. The red is back, beginning to stain his fingertips and falling to the ground like drops of rain. It's such a deep, dark red, almost black against his (brighter) red gloves. He's caught in a daze, not even aware of someone pulling him back until he's on the opposite end of the roof from where he was before.

The man on the other side is livid, if the snarl on his lips is anything to go by. But he isn't staring at Mark, or anyone else except his partner. He has his hand over the wound, he's trying to stop the blood. Even with the distance Mark can see the black of their clothes stained with that red. No one says anything as the duo, Sun's arm thrown over the other one's shoulders and his own hand moving to cover the one already over his wound, jump off the edge of the roof.

Almost immediately after they make their exit, Mark hears Yugyeom exhale beside him. The four break into nervous conversation: what happened, they're criminals did they deserve it, what are they going to do, does this mean they'll stop now?

Mark can't bring himself to speak, he can't forget the look of despair and anguish on his enemy's face when he pulled his knife out of his partner from where it was buried to the hilt.

What had he done?






“Come on Red, show me what the Hero of Seoul can do!” It's like déjà vu, only instead of Sun's punches he's avoiding, it's his villain's kicks. His attacks are powerful, precise, and angry. Mark can see through the strained smile and usually light-hearted challenges. The other is out for blood and he isn't playing anymore.

Mark figures it's some sort of revenge, and he stops himself before he himself admits it's justified. That strange feeling from two weeks ago is back, making him falter in his steps. He did what was right, he did it for Jackson, he did the right thing, he did—

“The world isn't black and white,” he growls, slamming his hand down on the space beside Mark's head. He hadn't even notice he was pinned to the ground, the other man hovering over him. “And neither are people, but with your screwed up sense of justice you wouldn't know, right?” His words are sharp, spitting venom and tearing him open.

But Mark is the hero.

He bares his teeth and growls, fire bubbling up inside him. “Don't you dare lecture me on justice,” Mark growls, sending his opponent off him with a kick to the stomach. “It doesn't matter what color the world is, black, white, gray, purple, red, yellow,” he pulls himself up, breathing heavy, and fire surging through his veins, “it doesn't matter because I'm the one that's going to keep it from people like you!”

The sounds of their breathing is the only sign to him they're not frozen in the moment, no movement from either party. Mark is angry, he's right and just, he's the good guy.

“Do you really believe that?” His opponent says, staring him down from across the rooftop. The wind blows through, ruffling his hair. Mark is reminded of heroes in his old comic books as a kid, standing tall under the moonlight and ready to fight for justice. Only, now he's staring at a villain.

“It's who I am,” He says back, moving to an offensive stance.

“Pity. I wonder who the real villain is here.”

And then the temperature around him drops. Even with the additional warmth inside of him he begins to feel chills. Mark's grip on his knives tighten, keeping the fire burning brightly. On the other side, his opponent seems less than fazed, breaths coming out in visible little puffs of air.

“You're—!” His eyes widen in shock, putting two and two together. The steam, and now the sudden cold.

“There's no use in hiding it if you've figured it out,” the villain looks pleased, pleased that he figured it out? His lips curl into a feline like smile, taking slow steps towards Mark. The air around the gets colder as he approaches, and he can't control the shiver that runs through his body. “Let's play a game then.”

“I won't play any of your games,” Mark spits out, forcing the flames in his hand to get bigger to protect him from the cold.

“Oh, but I think you'll like this one, Red,” the other says, stopping just a few feet away from Mark. He clasps his hands behind his back and leans forward, like a child asking for a treat, “a last man standing game, you win and I'll tell you anything you want; who I am, who my partner is, why we do this, anything. No gimmicks.”

Mark considers this, the chance to find out something about the mysterious duo is tempting. “But if I lose?”

“Then I take something from you,” he grins. The hero narrows his eyes, not sure what the other is after, but he's sure it can't be good. On the other hand, he's confident he won't lose. Not when the prize is something he wants.

“Can I ask your name then?”

“Oh,” the other looks genuinely surprised that Mark suddenly asked, an easy smile replacing his shocked expression, the dangerous glint in his eyes gone. “Well I suppose I can tell you now, after all I can't keep you chasing a nameless figure, right? You can call me JuRe.”

JuRe? Jewel? Mark thinks, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. Especially if it's surprise and curiosity.

“Though,” the other laughs behind his hand, “I woud've rathered you figure it out on your own. But having you ask is cute too.” Mark becomes flustered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks and loosening his grip on his knives. He doesn't know why his villain is so..cheeky, unlike any other criminal he's faced. And especially after what he did to his partner; was it forgotten?

“Shouldn't we get started?” Mark grunts out, wanting to rid this friendly atmosphere that suddenly appeared.

“As you wish,” the other says lightly, holding his palms out. The dangerous look in his eyes is suddenly back and Mark braces for the worst. He's certain that he's another elemental user, which one he isn't 100% sure about.

It's slow, the way the mix of white and blue swirls around in his opponent's hands, like small glittering diamonds. They solidify, forming identical shapes on each hand, and before long the other has two ice daggers floating in his palms.

“Do you think my aim's as good as yours?” He teases, making one of the blades spin and twirl in the air with a flick of his finger. If the ice is as sharp as it looks, Mark will make sure it doesn't him him no matter what kind of aim the other has.

Then it's flying straight towards him, and Mark reflexively bringing up his arm to block it. The ice blade hisses against own fire blade, melting almost instantly. A rush of steam blows across his face, coughing slightly as he brushes it away.

“Not bad, right?” Mark stares at the figure across from him, not saying anything. He wanted a fight, but all he's doing is talking. “But I'm at a slight disadvantage aren't I..”

“Then maybe you should've thought about that before suggesting this “game” of yours,” Mark says as he sends his own knives towards the other. He runs behind them, following their path to land a punch to the other's jaw.

If any of his attacks hit their mark at all. Because between him and JuRe is a sheet of solid ice, holes beginning to melt from where his punch and knives landed.

“Don't get too cocky, Red,” he says, snapping his fingers. “I'm full of surprises.”

And suddenly the ground beneath him is rapidly becoming covered in ice, large irregular spikes shooting up at him. Mark growls, grabbing his knives as soon as they start coming at him, leaping backwards until there's a fairly long trail of ice spikes between him and JuRe.

He's thinking of a strategy to get to him, but JuRe's ice manipulation is capable of long and short range attacks, not really good for him to get close at all.

But he's not going to lose. Taking one look at his knives, he nods and charges. Right into the path of ice. Mark doesn't catch the expression of surprise on JuRe's face as he easily slices through the icicles with his knives and leaps over what he's cut down. It takes a bit of energy to pour that much fire into his hands, normally lighting them as minimally as possible to do the right amount of damage. The ice is strong, he'll give JuRe that, but Mark aims to be stronger.

By the time he's directly in front of JuRe, arm's poised to strike. His opponent sees it coming, and he raises his own arm to block the hit from his face. But what he doesn't see as he's blocking is Mark faking the punch, instead spinning around to kick JuRe in his side, like Sun did during their fight.

JuRe slides to the side, nearly falling to the ground completely before catching himself. Mark doesn't give him that chance to get up when he goes in again, punching and stomping the ground as JuRe pushes himself away on the rooftop from where his hits land. Along with his fists, Mark's somehow gotten his feet to light up like fire, much like Sun did. I should thank him, Mark thinks as he delivers a punch JuRe narrowly escapes, for showing me some new things.

He knows what he's doing is different from Sun, wrapping his gloves and boots in flames rather than having the flames emit from his body—he's sure that's the difference between him and Sun. But it doesn't matter right now, not when JuRe is finally getting cornered.

The ice manipulator is literally in the corner of the roof, chest heaving, his breath still visible in the cold air.

“Not bad,” he says, eyeing Mark's flames as soon as he's a safe distance away. “but the winner's still not decided yet.” And then he's charging towards him, something forming in his hand.

Mark brings his arms to a cross above his head to block the ice lance JuRe is pressing down on him. The lean villain is definitely stronger than he looks, forcing Mark down. The contact between fire and ice makes a hissing noise, but the ice isn't melt as fast as the other times Mark used his fire. Not that Mark has time to concentrate on that anyway, not when JuRe suddenly jumps and kicks him in the stomach with both feet, flipping backwards to land on his feet.

Mark on the other hand, stumbles back, a hand over his stomach and the other out stabilizing himself. He tastes the copper tang of blood in his mouth, grimacing at the dark red when he spits it out.

JuRe stands by the edge, ice lance held in one hand as he waits for Mark.

“Courteous, aren't you,” he coughs, watching the other shrug and shift back into the offensive. Mark doesn't understand why he does it, but he can't complain at the extra time to regain his bearings. Things that the other did just made him even more confused about his real intentions.

Their fight goes on a little longer, the more fire and ice clash the more steam comes out, making the air a little hazier and dragging their accuracy down. His knives slash at JuRe's clothing, creating dark red lines on his skin, and JuRe's ice momentarily locking his movements until he can melt them off. It's easier to get rid of a block of ice around his hand than ice around his knee.

When his lance hits the back of Mark's legs and he's falling over, he knows he's lost. JuRe swings his lance around and points it against his cheek. He can feel ice slowly coming up around his legs and arms from where they touch the ground, and he stares up at JuRe in defeat and displeasure. The other slowly drags the tip of the lance across his cheek, creating a thin, shallow cut against his skin. There won't be blood, he knows, he's just doing it because he can.

If the ice wasn't so thick and he wasn't too tired to summon his fire, Mark would punch the grin off his face.

“My prize, Red,” the other practically purrs out, his words tinged with triumph and face incredibly close to his. “Anything I want, so don't go taking your words back now.” Mark keeps his mouth shut, eyes narrowed, but lets him do as he pleases. What could he possible take from him right now?

JuRe laughs, bright and loud. And in one swift movement, he pulls the mask from Mark's eyes. “Equivalent exchange, Red.”

Everything is a lot brighter, and his face feels colder and empty without the cover his mask provided. He squints, having to adjust to the lighting, but he doesn't miss the way JuRe's mouth opens in shock or the gasp that escapes before he covers it up with an easy smile. “An attempt at my partner's life, for an attempt at your other life,” he says, masked eyes looking into his own. But all Mark sees is the white of his mask. So he didn't forget. He's worried JuRe's going to sabotage him somehow, find out who the rest of his friends are and ruin them so he struggles against the ice holding him down.

“But don't worry, this is as far as I'll go,” JuRe whispers, keeping his face close to Mark's. He doesn't know whether to believe him or not, but he calms his movements long enough to hear what he has to say next. “People aren't just black and white, everyone has a reason for doing something. Remember that.” Something soft brushes his lips, Mark not realizing what just happened until after he pulls back.

“I'll see you around, Red,” he winks, and Mark can only watch as JuRe gracefully leaps off the edge. He broke his word, he thinks as he relaxes, summoning fire to his hands to melt him from his ice prison.

He took two things from him.

well now there;s a line there damn me for clicking buttons

but man if you read through this, thank you :-)