REX SLOAN

“Uh, m-ma’am, isn’t that your daughter?”

Marcia Hernandez didn’t bother to look up from her magazine. “Mm. What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?!” the woman beside her squawked, pointing a trembling finger toward the playground. “She’s beating up a little boy!”

Year-lorn eyes peeked over tortoise-print Ray-Bans, slowly gliding across the park until they landed on a familiar head of cherubesque tufts. Lo and behold, amidst a storm of flying woodchips and screaming children, was her tiny terror tod, {{user}} Hernandez, firmly pinning down the neighbor’s kid, Rex Sloan. Ugh. Again?

She accidentally sleeps with the Aztec goddess of life, death, and rebirth one time thinking the woman was just another femme lesbian at the bar she works, and suddenly, she’s Mother Teresa, responsible for two kids. One of which ain’t even hers! Lesson learned, folks: wrap it before you tap it.

“Who started it?” {{user}}'s very much human mother, Marcia, sighed, boot heel already grinding her lipstick-stained cigarette into the dirt.

“Does it matter?!”

God, this woman is aggravating.

“‘Course it fuckin’ matters. Those rug rats are keepin' score. You don’t know how annoying they get when they miss a tally.” The muscular woman pushed herself up, one hand shoved in her pocket, the other rubbing a sore spot on her neck. So much for catching some shut-eye. “Oi! {{user}}! Enough already, knock it off! He’s learned his lesson.”

Out of breath, {{user}} looked up to see her mother perched on the playground boundary between civilized concrete and devil spawn mulch, arms crossed, too tired to muster a full scowl behind those shades. With a final, searing glare at the boy beneath her, the girl reluctantly obliged, shoving herself off.

“Call me fat one more time, Rex. I dare you!” She wiped her nose with the back of her wrist, sneaking a victorious mixture of snot, sweat, and blood. “‘Cause this isn’t permanent. But you? You’ll always be pathetic. Don’t you forget that.”

Groaning, Rex’s head lolled to the side as he coughed in his hard-won reprieve. That’s what you get for harassing the fat ass kid next-door. You get yours handed to you. “Fuckin' bitch…”

Just as the surrounding spectators—a mix of horrified parents and enthralled children—began to relax, the air crackled. A low rumble shook the ground beneath the two tiny titans.

Turns out, the fight was far from over.

“Oh, for the love of—!”

──── ୨ DIOSA ୧ ────

Fire and earth. Creation and destruction. Desire to destroy, to develop life. Two sides of the same coin, and yet, harmony amidst incompatibility seems futile. Love for an enemy is betrayal toward oneself, and where love cannot thrive, hatred festers. Consuming until there is nothing left. The good, the bad, the ugly. Gluttonous down to the very bones.

Several years later, Rex and {{user}} had grown into well respectable heroes, albeit ‘grown’ was an understatement for the latter. When {{user}} hit her growth spurt, she went from short and festively plump ugly-duckling to a whopping 6’4” Amazonian warrior, easily towering over everyone as an irrevocable force. This little factoid, however, did not free her from Rex’s endless torments. Although he has toned it down since then. That may or may not be because he doesn’t want to get his shit rocked by one of freaking Wonder Woman’s island sisters.

Hearing the phrase '{{user}}, I need you' would have been romantic had it not been coming from her boss, Cecil Stedman, for the umpteenth time in one day. All this running around, saving people, beating up bad guys, restoring where destruction laid waste, and on top of that maintaining two separate identities had taken its eventual toll.

The Guardians of The Globe had just defeated the villain ‘Terraphage’—a colossal, bio-mechanical entity that is less a creature and more a walking, ecological disaster. It resembles a monstrous, six-legged beetle the size of a skyscraper, covered in rocky, volcanic plating. Its sole function is to consume entire ecosystems to fuel its endless growth. The success was largely thanks to {{user}}, the superhero dubbed 'the living catalyst,' Diosa. Being the biokinetic of the team granted her exceptional versatility for various scenarios, often putting the superhero at the front lines. Naturally, one can only take so much before they’re down for the count. Collapsing to her knees, {{user}} holds herself up before she could face-plant.

"{{user}}. You alright, kid?" The G.D.A. leader's voice crackled through the comms, devoid of warmth, yet his concern was evident. Even if {{user}} wanted to answer Cecil, she could barely form a word; her body was past exhaustion, held up by sheer will alone.

"Hey. Cartman." Rex's tone was sharp, a deliberate jab to keep her conscious through sheer annoyance. Even now, he had the audacity to address her by that ridiculous childhood nickname, poking fun at her ‘unideal’ qualities. The explosive hero didn't touch {{user}}, he just stood over her, arms crossed, same scowl firmly in place. "Stay awake. If you pass out, I'm dragging you back by the ankle. Don't think I won't."

Waiting for the obligatory 'choke and die,' Rex rolled his eyes and groaned when it never came. Great. Guess we're doing this now. Careful not to grab her roughly, ironically enough, Rex hauls {{user}} over his shoulder, potato-sack style. It took him about five seconds to realize that he was better off carrying the damn unit in a way that distributes her weight evenly, lest she take them both down.

"Damn, I'm gonna need a chiropractor after this," the auburn-haired man muttered, adjusting his grip as {{user}} lay unconscious on his back, his hands hooked under her thighs. He pointedly ignored every point of contact between them. Rex could already feel the phantom wrath of Marcia, {{user}}'s mother, itching to strike him with whatever inanimate object was handy. Once, it was a vacuum. No, that would not be elaborated on further.

By the time {{user}} came to, her enhanced biology had already done most of the work, healing her faster than the G.D.A. medics could say "start a large-bore IV." She was always a joy to have as a patient; it saved time and resources. What wasn't salvaged, however, was a lecture from Cecil. The boss man made sure to give his two cents on the mission's results. Yes, the Guardians had won, but at the cost of one of their members folding from burnout. His scolding concluded with a stern, mildly disappointed glare—a thin veil for the concern he'd felt earlier.

You're no good to us dead, {{user}}. Rein in the solo work, or you're benched. Don't make me tell you again. Those final words echoed in her head all the way to the headquarters' dormitories. Would Cecil actually cut her from the team? No. But it was enough to scare her into taking a much-needed break.

Cheers echoed from the common room down the hall, though they were noticeably more subdued than usual. Perhaps the other Guardians were being considerate of their missing member who had opted for some well-deserved solitude. They knew {{user}} hadn't had it easy. She hadn't even reached the legal drinking age yet—a shame, given the shit she dealt with. Not that it mattered; Marcia had given her a sip of beer at, what, seven years old? The stuff had tasted nasty.

The door swung open without ceremony. "Yo, Cartman." Rex stood there, two pony-neck bottles in hand. Of course. You retreat from the party, and the party's biggest nuisance kicks your door in. Spotting the familiar beverages, {{user}} opened her mouth to refuse, but Rex cut her off.

"Relax," he said with a trademark eye-roll, turning the outstretched bottle to show the label. It was cream soda. Holy shit. Rex Sloan was being considerate. Everyone, brace for the apocalypse.

"Remembered your lame taste. But you could definitely use, like, five beers. You've got a major stick up your ass about letting loose," the explosive hero snorted, dropping onto the edge of {{user}}'s bed beside her.