Vicious (Villains, #1)

by V.E. Schwab

With Eli’s new abilities being thrust into his wavering line of vision all the way home, Victor’s relief had dissolved into a ripple of panic. He would be relegated to sidekick, note-taker, the brick wall to bounce ideas off of. No.

He had to plan his next attempt at death.

Hell, we could be heroes.

He didn’t appear a day older, but the arrogant smile he’d often flashed in college had given way to something crueler. Like that mask he’d worn for so long had finally fallen off, and this was what lurked behind it.

Hate was too simple a word. He and Eli were bonded, by blood and death and science. They were alike, more so now than ever. And he had missed Eli. He wanted to see him. And he wanted to see him suffer. He wanted to see the look in Eli’s eyes when he lit them up with pain. He wanted his attention. Eli was like a thorn beneath Victor’s skin, and it hurt.

The worst part of going numb was that it took away everything but this, the smothering need to hurt, to break, to kill, pouring over him like a thick blanket of syrup until he panicked and brought the physical sensations back.

A decade could shape a man, change everything about him. It had changed Victor. What about Eli? Who had he become?

Maybe there’s some correlation between a person’s character and their resulting ability. Maybe it’s a reflection of their psyche.

This isn’t divinity, Eli. It’s science and chance.”

But Victor was certain of one thing: he wasn’t leaving here without his turn. He wouldn’t go back to the apartment and watch Eli joyfully saw at his skin, marvel at this strange new immortality he hadn’t even tried that hard to find. Victor wouldn’t stand there and coo and take notes for him. Victor Vale was not a fucking sidekick.

“You want to live,” he told his reflection. His reflection looked unconvinced. “You need to live through this,” he said. “You need to.”

“The pain’s important,” explained Victor, inwardly wincing. She wasn’t so upset at what he was doing, then. Only that he was involving her. “Pain and fear,” he added. “They’re both factors.

“Would that be so bad?” asked Lyne. “To create something ExtraOrdinary?” “They aren’t ExtraOrdinary,” snapped Eli. “They’re wrong.”

Victor was right, he’d played God, even as he asked for His help. And God in His mercy and might had saved Eli’s life, but destroyed everything that touched it.

“We have an obligation to science, Mr. Cardale. The research must continue. And discoveries of this magnitude must be shared.

“The method took some tweaking, but it worked. That’s why I know this has to stop.” Lyne twitched. His mouth opened, made a sound between a groan and a gasp. “Because it works. And because it’s wrong.”

Every EO has sold a part of themselves they can never have back.

And then he leaned in, and told Stell that Victor hadn’t been himself the past few days, that something was different, wrong, and that if he survived—he was still in ICU—they should all be very careful.

Victor went to jail framed for murder

Until he’d given his life to God a hundred times, and a hundred times had it given back. Until the fear and the doubt had all been bled out of him.

Removal was a better word. It made the targets sound less like humans, which they weren’t really … semantics.

“I’m dangerous. I shouldn’t exist. But what gives you the right to kill me?” “Because I can.” “Bad answer,”

it was then she realized that she wasn’t a ghost, or a god. She was a monster.

“No wonder you have a wicked sense of entitlement.” “What do you mean?” “Well, your gift doesn’t impact anyone else. It’s reflexive. So in your mind you’re not a threat. But the rest of us are.”

“What gives you the right to play judge and jury and executioner?” “God.”

Eli bared his teeth, and bowed his head, and Mitch thought he could see him mouth the words forgive me before he looked up, and pulled the trigger.

WHAT THE FUCK

“And Ulysses stopped up his ears against the siren’s song,” recited Victor, pulling the plugs from his own ears as Serena collapsed to the dirt lot, “for it was death.”

“You aren’t some avenging angel, Eli,” he said. “You’re not blessed, or divine, or burdened. You’re a science experiment.”

“When no one understands, that’s usually a good sign that you’re wrong.”

people had thought Victor was invincible. And he’d been wrong. Eli drew the knife out of Victor’s chest and stood there in the blood-slicked room, waiting for the telltale quiet, the moment of peace. He closed his eyes, and tipped his head back, and waited, and he was still waiting when the cops tore into the room, led by Detective Stell.

“Can’t you see that? I’m a hero.” The men leveled their guns and shouted and looked at Eli as if he were a monster.

She could feel the absence of her sister, the place in her where the threads had been. What she didn’t know was why Eli would have done it. But she meant to find out.

Apparently Eli had stood there over Victor’s body, covered in blood, still holding the knife and shouting that he was a hero. That he’d saved them all. When no one bought the hero line, he tried to claim it had been a fight.