Stand Tall: Origin of a Supervillain
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 4: The Massacre Continues
Through the scanners, Stan watches Bella disarm all three succubi in a flurry of movement that’s almost too fast to track. Her snow cone weapons shift and change—katana to three-section staff to bo staff—adapting to each opponent.
“She’s down to the third floor now,” Sugar Mama reports. “Scanners are picking up ... let’s see ... twelve more hostiles between her and Cupid’s bedroom. Also, I’m detecting someone ordering pizza three buildings over. Not relevant, but the scanners are very thorough. Superman really schmeissed away quality tech when he threw me out.”
“Why did he throw you out, anyway?” Stan asks, genuinely curious despite the ongoing assault.
“Feh, who knows with that man? I offered helpful suggestions. I provided emotional support. I told him his cape looked nice. But noooo, apparently I was ‘too clingy’ and my ‘maternal protocols were interfering with mission parameters.’ You know what that is? That’s meshugas, is what that is. A little mothering never hurt anybody.”
Stan smirks. “His loss, Sugar Mama.”
“Damn right it’s his loss. Excuse my language. But yes, his loss, your gain. At least you appreciate good advice. Sometimes. When the mood strikes you. Which isn’t often, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Through the scanners, Stan watches Cupid in perfect clarity. The self-proclaimed god of love lies sprawled across silk sheets in his master bedroom, flanked by two naked women who giggle as he pours champagne.
“Oy vey iz mir,” Sugar Mama mutters. “This is what passes for a holiday mascot these days? In my day heroes had standards. This schmendrik is in bed with two women while his people are getting their tuchus kicked upstairs.”
One of the women is a leggy blonde with wings that shimmer faintly—a lesser succubus, probably. The other is human, a visiting actress from one of his “productions.”
“So I told the studio,” Cupid says, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, his voice carrying clearly through the audio sensors, “Valentine’s Day is just marketing, babe. The real money is in content. Subscription-based, premium—”
A muffled crash echoes from somewhere above.
The blonde pauses, champagne glass halfway to her lips. “Did you hear that?”
“Bella just cleared her last obstacle,” Sugar Mama reports clinically. “What were the teddy bears thinking when they allowed her to leave the picnic.”
Cupid waves dismissively, his white wings rustling against the headboard. “Probably just Candy and Essence getting rowdy again. You know how succubi get when they drink.”
“He has no idea,” Sugar Mama says, almost admiringly. “The chutzpah on this one. Bella’s literally destroying his entire security force and he thinks it’s a party. Stanley, you picked a good first target. This putz won’t know what hit him.”
Another crash. Closer this time. Followed by a scream that cuts off abruptly.
The human woman sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “That didn’t sound like partying.”
“Smart girl,” Sugar Mama observes. “At least one of them has seichel. The other two? Feh.”
Cupid sighs, annoyed. “Fine. I’ll check it out.” He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. “Security better have a good explanation—”
The bedroom door explodes inward.
Through the display, Stan watches Bella somersault through the opening, landing in a crouch. Her snow cone is already shifting into a katana that catches the low light. The black obi around her waist is splattered with something that might be champagne. Or blood.
The women scream. Cupid scrambles backward against the headboard, wings flaring. “What the—”
Bella tilts her head, button eyes somehow managing to look both adorable and deadly. “Cupid? Stand Tall sends his regards.”
Then—
“Stanley,” Sugar Mama’s voice cuts in suddenly, oddly sharp. “The scanners are experiencing some interference. Technical issue. Kryptonian tech is very sensitive to ... uh ... electromagnetic fluctuations. I’m going to need to recalibrate. This might take a few minutes.”
Stan frowns. “What? Sugar Mama, I need to see what’s—”
“Trust me, bubeleh, it’s very boring technical stuff. Lots of hitting, probably some begging, the usual henchperson activities. Nothing you haven’t seen before. Why don’t you prep the extraction route? Make sure the sled is ready? I’ll let you know when she’s secured the package.”
“But—”
“Stanley, are you questioning my technical expertise? Me? A Kryptonian AI? I invented half these scanning protocols. If I say there’s interference, there’s interference. Now go check the sled. Shoo.”
Stan stares at the blank display, confused but not particularly suspicious. Sugar Mama has never steered him wrong before. “Fine. But let me know the second it’s fixed.”
“Of course, of course. You’ll be the first to know. Well, the second. After me. Because I have the scanners. But you know what I mean.”
Cupid’s eyes go wide as Bella approaches, but not with fear. Recognition. Something else. The two women scramble off the bed, grabbing robes, rushing for the bedroom door.
“Wait,” Cupid says, holding up a hand. Not to the women. To Bella. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, petite, cute, and deadly.”
Bella’s katana melts back into a snow cone as the two barely dressed women rush past her. She tilts her head, button eyes somehow conveying amusement. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Didn’t expect Stand Tall to come after you first, Cupid. Though I can’t say I’m disappointed.”
“Is that right, Little Ms. Tightass?” Bella sashays closer to the bed, casual, like she didn’t just fight through his entire security force. “Your people put up a decent fight. Couple of them might need medical attention.”
“They’re insured.” Cupid leans back against the headboard, wings spreading slightly. Even disheveled, he’s gorgeous—sharp cheekbones, perfect hair, the kind of face that belongs on magazine covers. “So. Here to rough me up? Make an example? Or does your boss want something specific?”
Bella stops at the edge of the bed. For a moment, they just stare at each other.
“You know,” she says slowly, “I’m supposed to secure you. Bring you to Stand Tall for a little ... conversation about your future business arrangements.”
“Supposed to,” Cupid echoes, a slight smile playing at his lips. “But?”
“But that could take a few minutes.” Bella sets her snow cone on the nightstand. “And I worked really hard getting down here. Very strenuous. Very ... physical.”