Jonathan, in his Scarecrow costume, loomed over a beaten, bloodied and bruised, form. Sneer down upon his foe with unbidden disgust. As if the person on the floor were nothing more than a swine ready to be butcher by his own hands. A ‘mercy’ killing. Though as any good villain would Jonathan felt compelled to make some sort of jab at his weakened foe.

“You are nothing. Always have been, always will be.”

The ‘hero’ as the people called the pathetic wretch at the villain’s feet gave a wicked grin. Exposing bloodied teeth, one having been chipped from the fight, in an animalistic show of confidence. A wheezing, wet laugh clawed up from that thing’s throat as it looked up at the Scarecrow.

“If I were nothing you would not wake in the night as dread chills your spine and my image haunts your mind. If I were nothing I would not make you feel fear.”

And the villain paused. He paused for the words were true. The thing, the ‘hero’, at his feet had awoken him from dreams most unpleasant with a spine chilled from cooling sweat. A shudder ran course Jonathan’s vertebrae in unease at how the broken hero read him with unnerving ease.