Author's Note: The few Barron Battle fics I've seen paint him as either purely evil or as a sort of turn-coat who was good but then became evil. I always saw him slightly differently. This is my attempt to put that into words. Or something like that.

Disclaimer: Disney owns the characters. I own the story.

Synopsis: What is virtue? What is vice? Where does the one begin and the other end? What turns calm into chaos, confidence into desperation? What turns peace into battle?

"Prelude"

I used to have a name, back in the old days when I was still in school. Everyone's forgotten it now, though. Even I've forgotten it. Nowadays, everyone calls me something else.

"Battle!" a voice bellowed into my ears, somehow reaching above the roar of the flames swirling around me. "Battle! What are you doing?"

Battle. Barron Battle, that is. That was the name they gave me at graduation.

"Battle, you've got to stop this!" the voice continued, insistent over the roar of the flames. "You've got to stop this now!"

Stop? No. No, this needs to be done, I thought. I took a step forward, deeper into the inferno that raged before me. This is what I've got to do.

"John!" the voice said finally.

John? Was that it? Yeah. John Peace. That was my name.

I turned away from the crimson flames to look behind me. Someone was standing there, in the excruciating heat that I thought only I could stand. The figure was wearing a newly tailored supersuit, its three-tone color scheme washed over in red by the fire. Of course. If there was anyone who could have a chance in here, it was him.

"Steve, I told you not to follow me," I said flatly over my back. "This isn't your concern."

"John, this was my concern from the beginning. This city is my assignment. You made it my concern the moment you attacked Maxville, John."

Steven Stronghold, or the Commander as he was now known, had been my best friend all through our four years at Sky High together. Even so, I'd always played second fiddle to him. I was strong, he was stronger; I was brilliant, he was a genius; I was suave, he was so cool he could freeze the sun if he got close enough. And when graduation came, and we were all given our security levels, I was Unyielding and gained clearance for top-secret, high-risk jobs, but he was Invincible and got a whole city as his assignment to boot. So now, of course, he thinks he can talk me down, make me stop.

I turned all the way around to look my friend in the face. Sweat streamed down his cheeks from his forehead, his smartly coiffed hair losing its sheen and falling flatly against his scalp as the raging heat melted his fancy styling wax. I extinguished the flames licking around my wrists and cracked my leather-clad knuckles. "We're supposed to keep people safe," I said. "As far as I can remember, Steve, that's been my assignment. Isn't that what yours is, what everyone's is?"

"John, who is this helping?" Steve said pleadingly. "Who is all this keeping safe?" He gestured desperately at the scene that surrounded us. And for the first time, I saw it.

We were downtown. But you couldn't tell that from the surroundings. This looked more like a war zone, like London after a air raid. Fire leapt around and danced across the street, devouring and consuming buildings, light posts, cars, trees, and anything else in its path. Bonfires as much as a storey tall raged across the sidewalks and in the street, while other blazes flew up into the night air from the rooftops, staining the velvet sky a brilliant crimson. The sounds of falling beams, shattering windows, and the occasional exploding engine filled the night.

"Who is this possibly helping?"

He must've thought that would bring me around, that I'd see his point and that I'd "calm down and think rationally." But I couldn't "calm down," couldn't "think rationally." Not if I wanted to keep her safe. Not if I wanted to keep both of them safe. This had to be done. And I wouldn't let anyone stop me.

"John, please stop this," Steve said, his voice barely reaching above the roar of the flames and chaos surrounding us.

"I can't, Steve," I said. "This must be done."

"Don't make me, John. Please, don't make me stop you."

"I'm sorry, old friend," I said. I summoned the fire to me and felt the raging heat of the inferno swirl around my body, letting it engulf first my hands, then my wrists, then my arms entirely.

Steve's head hung to his chest. He raised it slowly, locking his eyes, which I now saw filled with hardened determination, with mine. "I'm coming," he said, surging forward, his left shoulder forward and his right hand, now balled into a fist, pulled back, ready to strike.

I raised my now blazing arms above my head and willed the fire together into an concentrated fireball. I thrust my arms forward, sending the fireball hurtling towards him, on a collision course with his now completely decoiffed head.

"I can't let you stop me."