Disintegration

My Dear Nightingale – unless you would like the name Erin Satake in the hands of every journalist in the country come morning, you’ll pay me a midnight visit at the coordinates below. Oh, and I’d advise you not to involve any of your caped friends—a mass-unmasking is a terrible thing to carry on one’s record. I’d hate for it to mar yours.

Erin looked up from the glow of her phone to the dark, boxy shape of the warehouse looming before her. She’d read the anonymous email countless times. Deleted it, restored it, deleted it again, then pulled it out of the trash one last time to copy the coordinates into her maps app. It was a hoax. It had to be a hoax—one of her ‘caped friends’ playing a stupid prank. She’d walk into the creepy abandoned building and find the whole team there waiting to tell her gullible was written on the ceiling.

“It’s bullshit,” she whispered to herself, stomach flip-flopping with every step she took away from her car. “It’s bullshit.”

But it was bullshit she had to deal with. She wasn’t equipped for an unmasking—hell, full-fledged, full-time, full-powered pro heroes weren’t equipped for unmasking! Just look at what happened to Starfall last summer. She’d lost her job, her kids, her wife, and every villain on the West Coast was still gunning for her. At last report, she’d gone into protective custody slash enforced retirement—and she could tear battleships in half!

Erin could tear things in half too, with her voice. Not battleships, not yet, but she was sure she could work up to that. Her songs were getting stronger every time she used them, and whoever had sent the stupid email would find that out firsthand when she sang the walls of this stupid warehouse down on their head.

First, though, she quietly sang her way through a mesh fence, then scurried up a cracked concrete incline until she reached the roll-up door, which was closed except for a gap at the base about a foot high, where it had either jammed when the last owners left, or been forced up by urbex kids. Or by whoever had sent that email.

Probably there were other entrances, but it was a minute to midnight already, and singing herself faster or time slower were not skills she possessed. Erin grit her teeth and squirmed under the gap into the darkness beyond.

She came out into a vast, shadowy space, speckled with moonlight from holes in the roof, studded at intervals with metal support poles. Others had obviously been here, judging by the piles of trash and scrawls of graffiti she could make out in the gloom. She couldn’t see anyone there now.

“Hello?” she called, then winced. Her voice echoed, small and afraid, like an idiot in a slasher movie. No-one answered. She took a few cautious steps, footfalls way too loud—god, she needed to swap out these boots for something a little less Sexy Halloween Heroine and a little more curb-stomping badass. Not that she really wanted to curb-stomp anyone. Not that she really knew how to curb-stomp anyone.

She hadn’t gone far when there was a clunk and a hum, and sickly fluorescent light flooded the warehouse. Erin squinted against the flickering glare. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Behind you.”

She whirled, skirt flying, and as her eyes finally adjusted, staggered back as all the air left her lungs.

A man, six-foot-too-much, all in black, his long, ragged coat hanging almost to the floor. A cowl and half-mask concealed most of his face, but it didn’t hide the gray tint of his skin or the terrible, black-hole swirl of his eyes.

“Dissolution,” Erin whispered. Her insides had turned to water.

He bowed, sarcastically. “My reputation precedes me. I’m so very pleased you came, Nightingale. I’ve been an admirer of yours for some time.”

“What, like six months?” she retorted, before her brain could catch up to her mouth and remind her that this man—this supervillain—could disintegrate her with the slightest touch.

Dissolution smiled. It was a thin smile, amused and condescending. “What can I say? Your international debut quite captivated me.”

He’d seen her video. Well, who fucking hadn’t? She’d taken out Saint Oblivion, mostly by herself, right in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge. The footage of her voice echoing over the water as she sang a national landmark into a near-lethal weapon had gone viral in a nanosecond, and now she had a Wikipedia page and two separate Instagram accounts dedicated to her butt.

She crossed her arms, trying to make it look aggressive, not terrified. “What do you want?”

“You didn’t have to come dressed up,” Dissolution said, ignoring her question as he sauntered closer. “You don’t have any secrets to keep from me.”

“What do you want?” she repeated. “I won’t help you, if that’s what you’re after.”

If she could keep him talking, maybe she could work out who he was. He knew her—maybe it was because she knew him from somewhere. But she couldn’t place his voice. It was gravelly, rough; vaguely British, though it sort of reminded her of her uncle Kōhei. Like English wasn’t his first, or even second, language.

“I don’t want your help.” Dissolution stopped, right in front of her, close enough to see the stubble on his jaw; the pale scar on his throat where Starfall had almost killed him two years ago. “I want you.”

He raised a hand to her face. Erin waited to dissolve, to disintegrate one agonizing layer at a time—but all he did was trace the ash-black tips of his fingers from the base of her craft-store domino mask to the narrow point of her chin. She shivered.

“Such pretty eyes,” Dissolution murmured. His hand continued down her neck, warm through the fabric of her thrifted leotard, coming to rest on the swell of her breast. “Such a lovely figure.”

“Get your fucking hands off me!” It came out shaky and pathetic. He could turn her to dust in an instant. If she moved wrong, looked at him wrong, said something to piss him off…there wouldn’t even be a body to find.

Dissolution rubbed his thumb over her nipple, the sensation muted through the sports bra she’d layered under her leotard. His eyes were fixed on hers, so she saw how the black holes in his sockets swirled as he made use of his power. A prickling, like pins and needles, then cool air on bare skin, cold enough to make both nipples stiffen.

He’d disintegrated the front of both her leotard and her bra. Outrage flickered beneath her fear—the man had turned crowds of people and entire buildings to dust, and now chose to use his unparalleled abilities to delete chunks of her outfit just to get a better look at her tits. He was no better than the boys at her high school who’d cut a peephole in the wall of the girl’s locker room.

His breath ghosted hot and damp over her skin as he lowered his head to take her nipple in his mouth. The touch of his lips made her want to scream. She swallowed it, scanning over his shoulders for something she could use. Broken pallets, a ruined mattress, piles of trash—metal walls and metal beams. If she could break one, bend one, wrap him up in one like she’d wrapped up Saint Oblivion…could she make it out of the warehouse before he got free?

“How do you know who I am?” she asked, as she queued up lyrics in her head.

“That would be telling.” Dissolution tugged at her nipple with his teeth, first playful, then painful, then his head was up and those awful black holes bored into her. “I wouldn’t try anything, if I were you. You won’t be fast enough, my little songbird. Not nearly.”

“I…I wasn’t…”

“You were.” He cupped her other breast, squeezing them together. “You’re a superhero. Of course you were thinking of ways to defeat me. But there’s only one way you leave this warehouse both alive and anonymous, and I think you know what it is.”

Her mouth went dry. God, this couldn’t be happening! She shut her eyes, throat tight as Dissolution ran a hand down her side, gliding over the curve of her hip. “If I do what you want, you won’t out me?”

“Not now, not ever. You have my solemn word.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t really have a choice, Erin.”

“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered.

He leaned close, stubble scraping her cheek. Stepped closer, and she felt—oh, god—the hard length of his cock against her thigh. “Alright, Nightingale,” he said, low, almost purring, “let’s have some fun. Open your eyes.”

She obeyed. He was holding something up and it took a moment, through the fear and the tears she wasn’t going to cry no matter what, to work out what it was.

A ball gag.

“No. No, no, no!” She shook her head frantically, but Dissolution caught her jaw and held her still. Her skin tingled, and she couldn’t tell if it was adrenaline or her face dissolving.

“Yes,” he said. “I don’t want you getting it into your head that just because I’m enjoying your cunt you can start singing yourself an escape plan.”

She shuddered. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

“Liar.” He said it almost fondly, then tapped the gag to her lips. “But you shall serenade me tonight, just the once.”

He took her arm and dragged her over to one of the rust-spotted support beams. Half-stripped electrical wire dangled a couple of feet above her head, and if she was smart, a real hero, she’d know a way to use them to her advantage. But she wasn’t smart. She was just scared. And when Dissolution told her to put her hands on the beam, she did as she was told.

“Now,” he said, “you’re going to sing yourself a set of restraints.”

The tears spilled over. Dissolution brushed them from her cheek. “Don’t cry, my songbird. It’ll all be over soon.”

“Why are you doing this?” Erin choked out, stuttering over the words.

“I told you already—I want you.” He smacked her ass, the slap of his palm on her off-brand spandex cracking like a gunshot. “Sing.”

So Erin sang. Her voice rose in a soaring melody, every note as clear as crystal. Her power went with it, sinking into the beam and taking control of its essential nature until it was hers to do with as she liked—which, for tonight, was whatever Dissolution wanted. The metal split under her palms with a groan. She coaxed it into a suitably sized gap, then altered her tune and, with tears running freely down her face, sealed it back up, embedding both her hands inside it to the wrist.

Beside her, Dissolution stood with his eyes closed, lips parted in a faint smile. “Sublime,” he sighed. Then he opened his eyes and held up the gag again. “Open wide.”

He fit the black rubber ball between her teeth, lifting her ponytail to fasten the straps around her head. When he was done, he tugged out her scrunchie, tossing it into one of the many piles of trash that littered the warehouse.

“You have such beautiful hair,” he said, fluffing it out and over her shoulders. “All of you is absolutely exquisite. I’ve thought that since the first time I laid eyes on you. I know you have your insecurities…” He trailed his hands down her back, over her ass, to settle on her thighs. “Silly girl, lamenting legs like these. Do you know how many women would kill for legs like yours?”

Stalking her. He’d been stalking her—online for sure; in real life as well? For how long? Since the video? Before that? How had she not noticed a fucking international threat stalking her? Erin shook as he ran his palms up the inside of her legs. She tried to press them together, keep him away, but he gripped her tight, holding them apart.

“Be good,” he told her. “You know what happens if you’re not.”

She froze. Her jaw already ached from the gag, which was definitely too big for her mouth, and she was drooling. She couldn’t help it; it just pooled and spilled from her forced-open lips. Dissolution stroked her crotch through her leggings, rubbing gently back and forth—then came that pins-and-needles feeling again and there went the lower half of her costume. She guessed he’d pulled the same trick as earlier, disintegrating just enough to get at what he wanted.

He didn’t put anything inside her right away, just ran his fingers over her folds, up and down her entrance, over her clit. Heat built low in her stomach, a nauseating swell of unwanted lust. How dare he? How dare he make her feel this way? How dare her own body betray her like this?

“Relax,” Dissolution said, slowly circling her clit. “It’ll feel so much better if you relax.”

She didn’t want it to feel better, she wanted it to stop. His finger slipped inside her and she gasped, jerking away from the intrusion. He caught her waist and held her against him as he pressed deeper, then added a second finger to curl into her, building speed with every thrust. The slick of it filled the warehouse, too loud to ignore. Erin bit down on the gag—the only thing she could do to combat the flood of humiliation. She wasn’t enjoying this. It would be sick to enjoy this.

She still whimpered when he withdrew his fingers. It wasn’t a voluntary noise. Dissolution hummed in approval, then she heard the rustle of fabric, the slide of a belt, a zipper. She chewed furiously, trying without success to force the gag out of her mouth. Song built wordlessly in her chest—she’d never made her power work without lyrics before but surely under duress, to save her life—!

Dissolution’s hand wrapped around her throat, tipping her head back painfully. It was the hand that had been inside her. She could feel her own wetness pressing into her neck.

“What did I say about being good?” he growled. Her skin burned under his touch, and Erin shrieked in the back of her throat and forced herself to stop moving, breathing, thinking. The burn continued a moment longer, then Dissolution lowered his hand.

“If I have to shut you up permanently, I will,” he said. “But I’d rather not. It would be a terrible tragedy to deprive the world of your voice forever.”

She was crying again. This time he didn’t wipe her tears. The next thing she felt was the head of his cock at her entrance, and she didn’t move, didn’t fight, just bit down and stared fixedly at the metal beam as he forced himself inside her.

“I should have asked before I gagged you,” he said. “Are you a virgin, Nightingale?”

She didn’t reply. His hand returned to her throat, over the fingerprints he’d already dissolved into her skin. “You can answer that without a voice, my songbird. Yes or no—am I the first?”

Erin shook her head.

“Are you lying to me?”

She shook harder.

“For generosity’s sake, I’ll take your word for it. A shame, though—I’d have liked to ruin you for everyone else.” He gave one last hard push, burying his cock to the base. “Perhaps I still can.”

He began to move. Not fast, not hard, just a relaxed pace, as if he had all the time in the world to violate her. The smack of his flesh on hers resounded through the warehouse, punctuated by grunts of pleasure on his side and staccato, muffled cries on hers. He kept one hand on her throat, but moved the other to her clit, stroking and teasing and painting her with her own treacherous arousal. The heat in her belly bloomed. She bit the gag so hard she thought her teeth would crack.

“Don’t fight it,” Dissolution said softly. He circled her clit, spiraling in and out; pressed close, bent over her back, stubble scraping her jaw. Erin whimpered as his fingers moved and his cock dragged along her walls, thick and hot inside her—fuck, he felt good. Why did he have to feel good?

“Let it happen,” he urged, kissing her cheek. “Let it happen. Sing for me again.”

She came. She didn’t want to, she hated herself the moment it crested, but she came—and moaned long and deep and shuddered around Dissolution’s cock as he fucked into her harder, chasing her through it with a grand moan of pleasure.

“Better than I ever imagined,” he sighed, removing his hand from her clit to put it, and the other, back on her breasts. His fingers dug in, squeezing painfully as he snapped his hips with more force. The awful burn of his power bloomed under each fingertip, and Erin couldn’t tell if he was hurting her on purpose, or if he was so turned on he didn’t realize he was doing it. He was certainly ignoring her cries of pain.

She was sure then that he was going to kill her. He’d gotten what he wanted, and he’d killed before—killed so many, both up close and personal and as a side effect of wanton destruction. He had no reason to let her walk out of here alive.

His cock hit deep and she gasped. They could both hear how wet she was as he drove into her, and she couldn’t tell which shivers were lingering orgasm and which were his fingers slowly disintegrating the top layers of her skin. Fear and pain and forced pleasure had all merged into one—she’d dissolved into him, into what he wanted, what he was taking. Dead or alive, would there be anything left of her when he was done?

“Almost there, my songbird,” he panted. He grabbed her waist, the better to piston into her. “Oh, but you are absolute perfection to fuck. Have your other men told you that? That you’re perfectly crafted to take a cock?” He moaned luxuriously, and with sudden horror Erin knew what he was about to do. She shook her head, making urgent noises of negation, her no nothing but an incoherent, drooling whine.

He came inside her anyway. Emptied his cock with a drawn-out, shuddering groan as Erin sobbed around the gag, sagging in her self-sung restraints. Dissolution stroked her hair tenderly as he pulled out.

“Don’t fret, songbird. I’m not going to get you into any trouble.”

He thrust two fingers into her cunt, and as his power surged upwards like a snake of static, she realized he was disintegrating his own cum. The strange, pins-and-needles shiver caressed her insides, deeper than his cock had gone, and she let out a choked, angry cry as another orgasm twisted through her.

Dissolution chuckled. “You are a precious little thing.” She heard him sucking his hand clean, humming with enjoyment at the taste. A moment later he was in front of her, and the sight of him made her burn with hatred. He touched the ball gag and the black holes in place of his eyes flared with dark light.

“That’ll be gone in five or so minutes,” he said, as the gag started to disintegrate, one flake of rubber at a time. “Then you can take yourself off home. I don’t recommend trying to follow me—it won’t end well for you.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “And don’t worry. I keep my promises. Your secret is safe with me.”

The hatred burned hotter, a supernova behind her ribs. She was going to kill him. How or when she didn’t know or care—she was going to hunt him down and sing his atoms apart. Dissolution laughed again and delivered a final, bruising slap to her ass.

“Welcome to the big leagues, Nightingale.”

Then he was gone, and the lights clicked out, and his footsteps echoed away into the dark. Erin exhaled sharply, almost snarling, and started gnawing at the gag, trying to hasten its collapse. Oh yes, she was going to kill him. And she’d find a way to make him fucking like it.