Sylar awakened to find the sun beating down mercilessly upon his bruised and aching head. He slowly sat up and took a look around him. Waves gently undulated onto an unfamiliar shore and he squinted into the distance, trying to make out landmarks or at least some sort of coastline. He moved once more to stand and sudden pain hit him and he fell gasping into soft sand. He grimaced. He was used to pain, in fact, it was often the impetus he used to go on. But this was different, this was maddening, and it was unending. He gasped once more and then felt the pain slowly ebbing and he relaxed. His head began to clear and he smirked.
He could always overcome pain, with or without his powers. He stood and looked down at his soiled clothing and frowned. He'd have to find a store, or perhaps a man who was about his size and height and change clothes. He didn't want people to ask questions. Not that he cared what anyone thought—but questions were something he could not afford at this juncture. He noticed a line of blood pooling around his midsection and raised his shirt. A long gash ran from around his navel to his right side. The wound was superficial, but it still elicited a trill of alarm.
Sylar watched for a moment, willing the wound to heal, to close. But it did nothing except continue to ooze blood, though it appeared it was coagulating. Sylar's pulse began to race. No, this was impossible. His powers—they couldn't—they couldn't be--
He tried to make electricity crackle against his skin, but felt nothing except an insane itch dance across his fingertips. When he dropped his hands, the itching disappeared. He tried to levitate, and only succeeded in making his headache return. It was official. He had somehow lost his powers. He forced himself to fight a rising tide of panic. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd been without powers. He had always found a way of getting them back. It was usually just a matter of time, he reassured himself.
He began to survey his surroundings once more. It was apparent that he was on a beach, and he quickly took in the dancing palm trees and tropical fauna swaying daintily in the breeze. "Hmph," he murmured. It was all very strange. Especially considering that the last thing he remembered was running down an icy street trying to dodge the government bounty hunters. He'd made his way to the Midwest, and it had been mid-December. He had just gotten the ability to transmute objects—oh, he sighed, a lovely little ability—and he'd been surrounded by men decked out in black and sporting heavy artillery.
He hadn't been too alarmed, considering most of the goons were incredibly stupid and easily distracted. But they had newer, better weapons, weapons that actually harmed him and deflected his powers inward. Each time he'd thrown someone, he'd gotten thrown, and each time he cut someone he'd gotten cut. Being the recipient of your own punches and injuries had not been the highlight of his day. So he'd done the one thing that was necessary and absolutely counter to his nature—he ran.
He'd run all the way to an icy lake and had fallen in, and as he felt the water rushing into his lungs, he had begun to feel a sense of peace, of purpose and invincibility, because he would never--could never die. Then, he'd awakened—here.
But where was here? He mused. Had he been captured and this was some elaborate illusion? He shook his head and smirked. He had a strange sense of déjà vu. If it was some sort of illusion it wouldn't be the first time he been pulled into someone's sick little fantasy world. He snorted. In fact, because of the woman he'd long ago disposed of (he couldn't quite remember her name or her face), he had a rarely used and quite useless ability to only slightly alter people's perception of reality. He could make a ten dollar bill look like a twenty, but only for a few minutes. He could make a man think he looked like a woman—but only for the space of few heartbeats. For some reason the ability hadn't taken root in him, and he hadn't been able to figure out why.
As he began walking down the beach, he noticed incredible details about plants, the surf and even the scuttle of little crabs that were here and there about the beach. No, he thought, even the illusionist he'd met hadn't been this detailed. He could still feel the sun beating down on his head, could still feel pain. Physical discomfort had been conspicuously missing in the illusion she had woven. No, this--this may just be real.
He continued sloshing through the water and sand and then felt a strange sense of compulsion, of something pulling him inland. He didn't like it. He didn't like feeling controlled or tied down by anything other than his own needs and desires. But his all-consuming curiosity won out. The compulsion was like a problem to be analyzed, and he couldn't resist its lure. He traipsed across verdant brush and thickets.
He was surprised every few moments by the scurry of a plethora of animals, the brunt of which he had never laid eyes on, either in life or in a book. A butterfly flew by his face and he steadfastly waved it away before realizing it really wasn't a butterfly. It was a person. A very small person—with iridescent wings.
Stunned, he stopped in his tracks. Little people with wings did not exist. He must be feeling the effects of a drug or chemical. Perhaps this was all a dream and he still in a snow covered alley back in Michigan. He fought to gain control of his warring emotions. If this was a dream, he reasoned, he would see it through and he'd wake up safe and sound. Cold, perhaps, but none the worse for wear.
Yes, that's it. He was dreaming. He'd probably gotten knocked out and was sitting in a darkened alleyway, or if he'd been captured he was in a cell. He felt his anger rise. That would explain why he had no powers. They'd given him some concoction that would probably have him out for days. He chuckled with sinister glee. Let them think they were safe. When he came around, they'd be sorry they fucked with him. He'd make sure of it.
He pressed on and soon heard the roar of a waterfall. Its beauty shocked him, and he sighed dazedly as he took in the colorful blooms of oversized flowers, the sweet smell that hung in the air and the lush run of vines and grasses surrounding the inlet below the waterfalls' reach. The rocks around the waterfall shined and glistened like diamonds and Sylar quickly stripped off his clothes. This was good—very good, he thought. He could scrub his clothes against the rock and clean them—and himself too. And besides, he continued, he deserved to relax a bit. He hadn't felt this clearheaded in a while.
He waded into the pool and swam toward the torrent of water. The water was pleasantly warm and felt good against his tired muscles. He scrubbed he clothes and then laid them aside and relaxed beneath the water. He hadn't felt this good in a long time. He tried to remember feeling so relaxed. Hmm… he thought. He hadn't felt this relaxed since he and Elle last made love—he abruptly stopped his chain of thought. No, he would not wax sentimental about the bitch that had lied to him. She'd lied to him and gotten what she'd deserved. The emotions had probably been a lie too. All designed to trip him up and keep him from his goal. He became angry with himself for lowering his guard. For feeling relaxed even for a moment. Anger was good. It kept him from thinking too much, from overanalyzing a situation—from making a mistake. It had been a mistake to fall for Elle, he thought, a mistake he wouldn't make again.
He was making his way from the warm pool when he felt something brush his thigh. He tensed and became very still. He waited for a few minutes before resuming movement. Then he felt the sensation again, except it was along his legs and back. Look, he told himself, if this is a dream nothing can harm you. An exquisitely scaled tail broke the surface of the water. It gleamed as the sun hit it, illuminating the gold design interlaced in the fins before it went back under the surface and Sylar tried to stymie a rush of panic. Dream or no, whatever was in the water was beginning to worry him.
He hated all things aquatic. They seemed to have no purpose except to eat, shit and swim endlessly across the bottom of the lakes and seas with their beady little eyes showcasing nothing but blind cruelty and need. (Deep down, he could admit that he was really creeped out by fish and ocean creatures. So much so, he'd never have a seafood dinner or stand to be near an aquarium.)
He watched as a blonde head rose out of the water. Lovely cerulean eyes stared back at him from an even lovelier face. Another head—brunette this time, broke the surface. Once again a curious pair of female eyes stared back at him, only this time they were dark brown and the lovely face was dark brown as well. Both women had full, beautiful luscious lips and noses so perfect and pert, Hollywood actresses would have been lining up and asking them for referrals.
"What do think that is, Ailil?" the brown skinned woman asked.
"I don't know. I think it's a man," the other woman remarked.
"A man?," the brown one snorted, "There's no such thing as a man. They're a legend."
"Not true, Aydra. I saw one with my own two eyes two hundred years ago. He even showed me his special place. And we did the special dance beneath the moonlight," she sighed contentedly. "It was wonderful! Like being at festival and eating tabby apple stew all wrapped in one!"
Aydra wrinkled her nose in disgust, "You mean, you mated with it? At least that's what it sounds like to me."
Ailil rolled her eyes. "Of course you can't say I mated with it. I mean, he didn't even offer me half his kingdom. It was more like—like a really nice kiss."
Great, Sylar thought to himself, I dreamed up the dumb slut of the merworld and her sidekick. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.
"Look, look," Ailil exclaimed excitedly, "I think it wants to talk. Some of them can talk you know," she added smugly.
"Who the hell—What the hell are you two And where the fuck am I?" Sylar said between clenched teeth.
"Why, it isn't very nice," Aydra replied.
"I concur," Ailil nodded and brought up a golden fin from the water. She flexed the thin lining between the bony ribbing and sighed. "He's bloody boring besides."
"Yes," Aydra replied and a silver fin broke the surface. She flexed hers as well before letting it fall back beneath the surface.
"Shall we menace the sharks?" Ailil asked, "They're always good for a laugh."
Aydra thought a moment before shaking her head. "No. We did that yesterday. Though I admit, it was fun watching the little buggers try and outsmart us."
Ailil came closer to Sylar and jumped back and stiffened. "Hmmm…," she murmured. "Maybe we can play with his special parts. That's always fun."
Aydra snorted. "Definitely not. If I mate with anyone, even a man, he'll be sure to give me more than half his kingdom."
Ailil giggled, the sound tinkling like ice cubes floating in a cold beverage. "You're such a shelldigger Aydra. I don't think there is a merman alive that could please your thirst for treasure."
Aydra shrugged delicately. "I don't mate for pleasure. There's no purpose."
Sylar assessed Aydra coolly. She had just become a tad bit more attractive in his eyes. Purpose. Ah, he thought, he lived for it. She definitely earned a point or two of respect.
"Let's take him to Mirell. She'll know what to do with him. And if she's pleased, she'll throw a grand party, and that's sure to be a lot of fun. Though, not so much if the orcs are invited."
Ailil rolled her eyes. "The last time they got drunk, became terribly loud and boisterous, fought everyone and ate all the cake. I was not amused."
"Neither was I. But perhaps this time they won't come. Especially having to cross Winter's land. Bring him. She may very well be pleased. Shall we go?"
"Let's," Ailil agreed. Sylar struggled as they took hold of his arms. It was like being gripped by metal vises and Sylar soon exhausted himself. He gave a whimper of defeat before being pulled under the water.
He renewed his fight as the current sucked him down and the mermaids' grip only tightened as he thrashed. They raced underwater with unbelievable speed and soon they broke the surface. Sylar sputtered and spit out water. He took in great gulps of air and glared at the women holding him captive. If this was a dream, then he had some deep-seated issues he'd have to deal with. He made a mental note to go see a really good shrink once things settled down. Well, he thought, unless the shrink had abilities. Then he'd resolved his issues and then he'd kill the shrink. Wait….he thought….that can't be healthy. Maybe I do have issues…..
