The Mirror, darkly.

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 10 Wins!

Brutal - 2 Fatalities

AFFILIATION

Alignment: Villain

Team: Freelance Villain

VITAL STATS

Strength: Weak

Agility: Weak

Mind: Superior

Body: Standard

RECORD

Personal Wins: 10

Personal Losses: 2

Psyche

The mirror, darkly.~And I looked out beyond the parapet of my ignorance, to find my life reflected, as though a mirror darkly, in the actions of my progeny.~The mirror took pride of place in his quarters, an ornate silver and glass affair, a spoil recently liberated from its former possessor. Not one to fetch much, an ornament of the highest calibre. Each and every morning before duty started, he would shave in that mirror, and lament that each and every morning; a new grey hair was to be found in his beard. ~"If I were ten years younger..." he would sigh to himself.~And in the mirror, he would find his reply. ~"There's no good wishing your life away."~And he would brighten, and leave for duty.~But with each passing morning, after ill-slept nights filled with darkening dreams, his laments would grow lengthier, and the mirror would respond harsher in kind. He became filled with resentment of the man the mirror showed him; bitter. ~Sleep became lost to him, spending every moment staring at the twisted parody of his own features in the mirror, unable to shut the taunts and jeers from his mind.~"You know what you must do."~And he did.~In the night, he released himself to the dark, freezing waters, his last moments of life ebbing away, to the sound of that mocking laughter.~The next morning, a man stepped out of his cabin, those same features, but something else behind the eyes, something older.~"You look rested, finally got some sleep?"~He nodded slightly in response, and left for the galley.~The mirror was gone, lost in the night, left to find another victim. It's owner, dead, driven to the depths of resentment, loathing and malice to feed the mirrors insatiable and macabre appetite. Only he lingered, the man from the mirror, shadow-echo of the one consumed.

It exists, only to feed.

He is you.

     Illusion Creation: Supreme

  • Auto-Hit Attack

 

She padded down the cobblestones of the sleepy port town, careful not to loose her footing on the sea-spray slicked street. She needed to get that mirror out of her mind, the one she's found washed up in the cove a week earlier after the storm, remarkably unscathed; and the best way to do that, was to fill her mind with something else, or make it too numb to think. She favoured the latter, and was going to the pub to get completely ratarsed.~The street was quiet, the occasional flutter of discomfort from the oil lamp flames at their assailment by the salty sea blow the only sound. Not even the rats were out this night.~Her footfalls were joined by that of a second person, a woman, from the timbre of the sound, matching her pace, step to step. She never saw it coming. Struck from behind, she reeled around just enough to glimpse the face of her assailant. ~Her own face.~A single, silent syllable escaped her lips, and she slipped into quayside, blood pooling around her long black hair in the water, as the first few raindrops of a storm peppered the surface of the bloody emulsion. ~Nobody would know she were dead.

 

– "You know what you must do"

     Telepathy: Supreme

 

"It was your grandmothers," remarked the woman, gesturing to the dusty silver mirror propped against the back wall of the attic.~"Is it a magic mirror mummy?" enquired her daughter, a tender being of gone six years, with bright saucer blue eyes. ~" No, it's just a boring old mirror, what makes you think it's magical?"~"It told me it was."

 

Lament

     Emotion Control: Supreme

  • Auto-Hit Attack

 

"Remarkable, isn't it?"~The young couple gazed over the tarnished silver mirror, prize place as it was in the window of the sleepy antique shop.~"I'd say it's early Elizabethan, though I can't be sure, there's no hallmark, or makers insignia. I'd imagine it's a one off, specific to whoever bought it, it doesn't have the trends of any particular mirror maker I know of, and I know a lot of mirrors.~The couple murmured to each other a moment, before stating they'd like to buy it.~Money and thankyous were exchanged, and the Mirror left with its new owners.~The shopkeeper turned and departed to his backroom, to tear up the list of things he hated about himself he had felt compelled to write. Seemed rather pointless now, and he couldn't put his finger on why.

 

Sentience of the entity

     Mental Defense: Supreme

  • Reinforced Defenses

 

They sat around the round eight seater, crimson tablecloth spilling over it's polished, hardwood edges. The séance was in full swing.~The medium sat at the first seat, her eyes firmly closed, and hands on the table in front of her. Her lips moved too quickly and silently for the words to be discerned.~"What are you?"~But the only response she got was laughter. That chilling, mocking laughter.~"Are you a spirit?"~"You cannot fathom -my- spirit, do not attempt to. I am beyond the ken of your present development. My mind does not work as your mind works."~The medium blinked a moment, opening her eyes to the faces around her.~"Did you find my mother? Is she here?"~"No, she's not... I'm sorry..."

 

Anticipate and react.

     Detective: Superior

 

He looked at the face of his attacker, his own face, twisted to a mask of murderous entropy. He reached down to his hip, to his gun. But the Echo was faster.~He had just enough time to cogitate a retort, before his chest was filled with several high velocity lead slugs.~"Bastard, he knew exactly what I was about to do."

 

Elsewhere

     Phasing: Superior

 

He raised his gun to the tarnished silver slab, the Mirror. The phantasms still clawed at his peripheral vision, muscles aching with induced fatigue. The gnawing terror pressed at the back of his head like a cancer, throbbing, threatening to overwhelm him. He squeezed off the trigger, three rounds spinning through the air towards the -thing- on the wall.~He sagged to his knees, no longer able to take the pressure on his shoulders. He heard three dull thumps, dragging his sight to the wall.~The bullets had passed straight through.