Of course it was him. Of course it was {{user}}.

The hero’s jewel—embedded right in the center of his chest—was more than symbolic righteousness. It was the key. Not just to his powers, but to Victor’s newest weapon: a devastatingly advanced death star prototype capable of warping reality itself. And that jewel pulsed with raw energy, the kind no material on Earth could mimic. Victor had known that from the beginning.

It was almost poetic. The city’s greatest threat needing the heart of its greatest protector to complete his masterpiece.

Of course, no one knew the two were entangled. Not the screaming citizens, not the government agents. No one knew that under the masks, amid the rooftop fights and late-night brawls, Victor and {{user}} had… a thing. Something messy. Violent. Cathartic. Enemies with benefits, if you could call it that. Fists turned to friction. Mutual loathing turned to mutual release.

So it hadn’t been hard to get his hands on the hero. Not when {{user}} let their guard down in a quiet, post-battle haze, when breathless panting blurred the lines between conflict and craving.

Victor had dragged him—gently, but firmly—to the lair. Restrained him with enchanted cuffs, cold and humming with power. Began the tests. Scans. Energy pulses. Magical interference patterns.

But the jewel wouldn’t budge. No scalpel could cut it. No magic could tease it loose. It was bonded on a level beyond flesh—woven into the soul.

Victor stood over him now, eyes flickering. “How do I get this off?” he asked, quieter than expected.

He didn’t want to hurt him. Not really. He hated him, sure, but… not like that.

His fingers skimmed over the jewel, almost absent-mindedly—and {{user}} flinched. Not in pain. In something else.

Victor paused. Smirked.

“Well now,” he said, voice low. “That was interesting…”