It wasn't right.

Nothing was, anymore.

Not in this town.

After what had happened, he could hardly take sides anymore. Coon and Friends, Freedom Pals… what was the point anymore? No, there was no point. The only thing he could do now what to try his best to make things right, no matter who he had to fight.

Mysterion took no sides, for both sides had rejected him.

The town was laid out before him, houses darkened and slumbering. Stores laid dormant, awaiting the morning to come. But not all people laid asleep. Not all people were quite… human.

No, much like Mysterion himself, many in this town possessed superhuman qualities. Capes billowing behind them, harsh glances and powerful fists. Caped crusaders fighting in the night. But not all bestowed with powers did kind. Not all were good. Mysterion knew this well.

He'd had many encounters with the evil, whether it be such elusive characters as Professor Chaos or selfish money-grabbers as the Coon. Whether it be on this or that side, evil always laid dormant. Not even the Freedom Pals were entirely good. He knew that well.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on the situation at hand. The cold, chilling breeze tore at his cloak, biting his skin and freeing his heart solid. He stood perched atop the Postoffice, his eagle's eyes panning over the town, making note of every rat and every stray dog that passed by. Not many people were out at this hour.

The odd drunkard stumbled by, laughing and red-faced, trying their best to not fall into the pillow-like snow that littered the street. Meth-heads and hobos huddled around fires, keeping watch for those that lay asleep underneath cardboard and newspapers. Nothing much to see, not for Mysterion and certainly not for any other South Park resident.

But there was a chill in the air.

Sure, the air was always cold up there in the mountains, but this was of the eerie kind. Something here was particularly off. Sighing, Mysterion fearlessly leapt off the roof, and with a seasoned roll, he stuck the landing, leaving him to stand tall in the main street. Sure, he wasn't much tall, but neither was anybody else his tender age.

The wind was strong, and even though he was right by the ground, it threatened to rip his dark hood right off. And if it did, his coolness would be totally lost. And that would be, like, totally not rad.

There!

In a darkened alley, empty of hobos and homos alike, something glinted, like a lone star in the night. Only one thing could make such a shine at this hour.

Mysterion sprinted at the sight, fearlessly running through the empty streets. His feet, although only covered by socks, did not pain him. Instead, his focus lay on the fight ahead, for there was sure to be one.

Finally, breath hitched, creating small puffy clouds of white smoke, he found himself at the entrance of the alley, jammed in between two old dark houses. He took a deep breath. The freezing air fought all the way down, biting his throat and sinking it's talons into his lungs. But he needed it to calm down. No matter how often he did this, he would never get used to this. To this calm, hollow sense of anticipation. Like waiting outside the surgery room, uncertain and scared and unsure.

And then it was gone. Over, passing like a dormant stormcloud.

He entered.

The darkness shrouded him, covered everything but his eagerness.

There it was, another gleam. A flash of silver, the bellow of a cape, the thump of a heavy foot.

"Chaos!" Mysterion called out, already taking positions, ready for a fight any moment.

There he was. Large and powerful and crushing. A presence beyond any mortal. At least 8 feet tall in height, he completely dwarfed the young Mysterion. With the flick of a metal-covered wrist, he allowed the cowl covering his face to fall, revealing the ever-sneering face of Mysterion's arch-enemy: Professor Chaos.

"Mysterion, what a pleasure," that suave voice of his said, and he turned fully to Mysterion.

Mysterion knew fully well he couldn't take on this man himself. Sure, as of recent, he'd lost all his followers much like how Mysterion had lost his involvement in the groups, but even so, he was one of the strongest superheroes in South Park, if he could be called that. Mysterion, although his power could be deemed one of the most desirable, was no match for him. Of course, few people knew about his actual power, Professor Chaos not included in that short list.

Mysterion's wisest move would be to run. Run, and hope Professor Chao wasn't feeling especially vengeful tonight.

However, although Mysterion was hardly a fool, his need to do good and find the truth far outweighed his more rational urges. And so, he stood his ground.

"What are you doing here, Chaos?" Mysterion asked, his cautious gaze fleeting between the man in question and what he stood next to. Strangely enough, the frighteningly muscular man seemed to have been rummaging through a rubbish bin, his titanium-gloved hands slightly dirty.

Professor Chaos, in turn, glanced over at the rubbish bin Mysterion was standing over, and down at his dirty gloves.

"I-, um-, nothing," he lied, hiding his hands behind his back.

See, this is why Professor Chaos was seen as a wild card. Sure, he was a large fully-grown man who was evil for the sake of it, but he was also strangely immature and seemed almost foolish at times. However, with that intimidating countenance, there was no way anybody could comment on it to his face. If they did, they might just have gotten a lightning-bolt to the face, after all.

But Mysterion was not one to back down so easily. Even when faced with people with more physical superpowers such as Fastpass or Wonder-Tweek, he wouldn't back down. Not that he needed to back down to those two, in particular, he had more trouble with people such as the Coon, and… and that's pretty much it. But still!

"Why did you hide your hands? What's in the bin?" Mysterion asked, taking a step closer and pointing an accusing finger at both the bin and Professor Chaos himself.

"I-, I was-, MWAHAHA! You may have tried to foil my plans, but I shan't be brought down so easily! You may believe yourself the victor of this verbal game, but I orchestrated it all! Now, unless you wish to have a piece of me, I recommend you run, you pathetic hero!" he boomed, grinning broadly, arms both stretched out in an attempt to intimidate the immortal youth.

Mysterion, although he knew this was not a battle he could win, would not give in to such techniques. Instead, he doubled down.

"Very well then, bring it on!" Mysterion said, putting his hands into position and dashing at the much larger enemy.

"Huh? R-, really!? Ah-! No-, wai-,"

Professor Chaos faltered, stumbled and put up his hands in defence.

Mysterion was no beginner in fighting close-range. And, furthermore, he knew very well that Professor Chaos was not one to fight with fists and weapons, despite how buff he looked. Closing the distance was his first step, and that he did within a second. Sure, he wasn't especially strong, but he was fast enough.

Mysterion was quick, quicker than a shadow, and stronger than the biting chill.

"Hey-, you-, I-," Professor Chaos stammered, trying desperately to get a hold of Mysterion, but he couldn't. The young immortal was as slippery as a salted eel.

"L-, listen-, you-!"

Curiously enough, Professor Chaos hadn't activated his powers. Usually, the buff man would activate his electromagnetic field and spend the majority of the battle ten feet in the air, raining attacks from above. And yet, now, he was as passive as a plant, using only his physical aspects to do anything.

And it wasn't working.

With every second that went by, Mysterion laid down another punch on him, another kick. Sure, Professor Chaos' titanium armour protected him well enough, but it was all so pointless! He didn't have time for this! Irritation and annoyance simmered, boiled and overflowed. His muscles flexed, his jaw clenched, his white, empty eyes flashed in a rare form of anger.

"LISTEN TO ME!" he roared, slamming his clench fist into the side of Mysterion's head, the young boy slamming into the ground with a disgusting crunch and a sickening pop. Professor Chaos breathed deeply. His white eyes trailed down, beyond his clenched fist, and down at the limp form of the child he'd just now fought.

The ground beneath him was cracked, and red, all-too-clear blood was filling the cracks.

"M-, Mysterion?..." Professor Chaos called out weakly, going down on his knees to bend down fully. His powerful, life-ending arms turned the child over, titanium-plated fingers poking at its form, innocent blood staining the mirror-like alloy. Carefully, he pulled the body onto his lap. Blood trailed across the pavement and over his metal-woven skirt. "Hey-, hey, are you… you're not alright, are you?..." he mumbled, leaning in on the silent form.

He cradled the body. Hugged it tightly. Tried not to think. Tried not to accept the facts.

But he couldn't help it.

Tears welled up in his silver eyes, and fell down his cheeks, staining his metal headpiece.

"N-, no…!" he stammered weakly, feeling all control over himself fading. Over in the rubbish bin, that accursed bin he'd tried to hard to protect, for the sake of his image (hah!), he heard a litter of kittens squeak and meow. But what did that matter now? How could he possibly care for that now?...

Before his control was completely lost, he glanced back down at Mysterion. Or, what was formerly Mysterion. Tears continued falling, blurring his world, as if everything was covered by the sea. He couldn't. He just… he just couldn't. His gloved hand carefully reached for the face, and as gingerly as a man could, he removed the mask, letting the hood fall as well, revealing a pale, blond-haired face.

"K-, Kenny?..." and that was about all Butters could say before his form completely collapsed, leaving him as he truly was: a child. A small, young, sad little child, hugging the body of his friend about as close as a man can hold anything.

He couldn't say anything more.

Inhibitions shedded, he wailed. Cried and wept and mourned. He buried his face in Kenny's blood-stained chest, feeling his warm tears mingle with the cold blood. Nobody heard him. Nobody came to help. Not that anybody could help.

No, Butters was alone. Alone with his sin, alone in his agony.

But then he wasn't.

When Kenny awoke, he was greeted with an odd sight.

Indeed, Kenny had died many a time, but never once, not a single time, had he woken up in someone's arms. Especially not someone who was crying.

They must have been crying for a long time. Their sobs had long since turned from steady tears into sporadic twitches. Long pauses with intermittent sobbing. This had passed all that, into mere shock. Tired, unmoving shock.

How long had he been out? The moon was almost gone, the stars had faded, and yet the boy still held him.

"Uh, what is-," Kenny mumbled, his tired libs rising up to try and remove the boy from his chest, but he had an iron grip.

"Y-, you're not real, s-, stop that," the boy said, his young voice muffled by Kenny's chest. The boy's face was somewhat covered by a strange helmet made of aluminium foil. But beneath that, Kenny could swear he recognized that tuft of wheathen hair.

Slowly, not answering the boy's words, Kenny removed the helmet, forcing the young boy to realize that he was not alone.

"H-, huh-?" the boy said, his face reluctantly dislodging itself from Kenny's chest.

It was Butters.

Face covered in dried blood and smudged dirt, his baby-blue eyes locked with Kenny's. Kenny knew instantly that Butter's had been crying for a good while. There were dark bags under his eyes, and although his eyes were usually bright, innocent and sunny, at this moment they were less like the cloudless sky in May, and more like a silver-blue moon in November.

"B-, Butters-!?" Kenny exclaimed, forcefully bringing himself up to a sitting position. Butters yelped as he stumbled a little.

"K-, Kenny-, I-!" Mutters stuttered in his little vibrato voice, hesitantly releasing Kenny from his grip. "How-, how are you alive?..."

"I-..." Kenny was about to try and answer, but with that comment, he came to realize his situation once more. He had died. Sure, that was one thing, but… why was Butters here? And, furthermore…

Where was Professor Chaos?...

That one thought sent Kenny spiralling. Hopping to his feet, he scanned the alley, his frantic eyes searching for something - anything - out of the ordinary. Some crack, some hole, someplace where Professor Chaos could hide. Somewhere he could jump out from, hand raised and ready to end his life once more.

Kenny shuttered.

His eyes fell back on Butters once more.

Butters was sitting on his knees, his chest, lap and arms covered completely in dried blood. But, more than that, he wasn't wearing the most normal attire either. No, unlike his regular turquoise jacket, he now wore an erratic costume, with gloves, booths and helmet made of aluminium foil, a little green cloak laid out behind.

It was a classic, recognizable costume, one that Kenny had seen many times. Soonest of all would have been just before he died.

Professor Chaos.

"Butters, you…?" Kenny said, glancing between Butter's tired face and his green costume.

"I-, uh-," Butters stammered, his eyes following Kenny's down to his clothes. "No-, I-, I'm not-, it's not what it looks like!"

Kenny was hardly convinced. Instead, slowly, hesitantly, tired limbs trembling, he brought up his fists. Took his stance.

"K-, Kenny! Please, we don't have to fight, let's… no… I-, I guess you're right, but… But I can't let you win this!" Butters said, slowly getting up to stand as well. His knees felt weak. He could barely stand. The blood on his costume felt heavy, too heavy. His eyes were dry.

He picked up his helmet and put it on.

Kenny didn't even have time to react before he was back in the darkness.