Enter the Villain: Elias Kain

Chapter: Rebecca's Investigation

The gallery was vibrant with colors, but Rebecca felt out of place. She approached the counter where a young woman with colorful hair was flipping through a sketchbook.

"Excuse me," Rebecca said, trying to catch the girl's attention. "I'm looking for a street artist who might have some information on… unusual symbols?"

The girl looked up, intrigued. "Are you talking about Jamal? He's got a thing for those creepy designs. What do you want with him?"

"I need to know if he's seen any of those symbols recently," Rebecca replied, keeping her voice steady. "There's a connection to some missing people, and I'm trying to figure it out."

The girl's expression shifted to one of skepticism. "Missing people? You sure you're not chasing a ghost story? This city's full of them."

"I know how it sounds," Rebecca admitted. "But these disappearances are real, and I have to follow any lead I can get." She paused, recalling her boss's intense demeanor. "I work for J. Jonah Jameson. He doesn't take no for an answer."

"Wow, good luck with that," the girl said, smirking. "J. J. is a real piece of work. But Jamal's usually around here. I'll let him know you're looking for him."

---

Encountering Jamal

After a few minutes, Jamal sauntered into the gallery, a paint-smeared shirt and an air of confidence about him. He spotted Rebecca and approached her.

"Hey, I hear you're looking for me," he said, tilting his head slightly. "What's up?"

"Jamal, right? I'm Rebecca, a journalist." She extended her hand. "I'm investigating some disappearances linked to strange symbols. I heard you might have seen some of them around."

Jamal hesitated before shaking her hand. "Yeah, I've painted some of those symbols. They're all over the city. People keep saying they're connected to some kind of cult or dark magic."

"Dark magic?" Rebecca scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, you really believe in that stuff? It sounds like a plot from a bad horror movie."

He shrugged, grinning slightly. "I know it sounds crazy, but there's something about them. They're not just random scribbles. They've been popping up more and more lately, especially near places where people have disappeared."

"Great, just what I need," Rebecca muttered under her breath. "A connection to a cult. Do you have any photos of these symbols?"

"Sure," Jamal replied, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through images until he found one. "Check this out."

Rebecca leaned closer to the screen. The image showed a complex, swirling design that seemed almost alive. "What do you think it means?"

"Beats me," Jamal said, his tone shifting to serious. "But I have a feeling it's not good. Some people say it's a sign, like a marker. You know, something bad is coming."

"Great. Just what I need to hear," Rebecca replied, frowning. "I'm trying to find answers, not get dragged into some supernatural conspiracy."

"Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction," Jamal said, a hint of concern in his voice. "Just be careful, okay? There's a lot going on that you might not be ready for."

"I appreciate the warning," she said, trying to hide the unsettling feeling creeping into her thoughts. "But I'll be fine. I'm just following the facts."

"Yeah, well, facts can be twisted," Jamal cautioned. "Just don't get too deep into this. You might regret it."

Rebecca forced a smile, trying to brush off his concern. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the info, Jamal."

Rebecca stepped out of the gallery, the noise of the bustling street enveloping her. The unsettling feeling from Jamal's warning lingered, but she brushed it off. She had a job to do, and no amount of eerie stories would deter her.

Suddenly, Jamal's voice called after her. "Hey, Rebecca! Wait up!"

She turned, surprised to see him jogging to catch up. "What is it?" she asked, a bit impatiently.

Jamal slowed to a walk, catching his breath. "Before you go, I have one last piece of info that might help."

"What is it?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"There have been a few people who disappeared but later turned up again. They're kind of… different after the experience, you know? Like something changed inside them." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "If you can find them, they might have some insight into what's really happening."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me there are people who vanished and came back? How is that even possible?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, shaking his head. "But I've heard whispers about it in the underground art scene. Some of them talk about dark rituals and strange encounters, but no one knows the whole story. It's like they've been touched by something otherworldly."

"That sounds like exactly what I need," she said, jotting down a quick note in her pad. "Do you have any names? Any leads?"

"Yeah, there's a guy named Aaron. He went missing for a week last month and came back looking like he'd seen a ghost. A couple of others too, but he's the one who might talk. He hangs out at a bar downtown called The Void. Just… be careful. If there's something dark at play, it might be watching."

Rebecca nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Thanks, Jamal. I appreciate it."

He smiled, his earlier seriousness lightening. "Just remember, the truth can be a double-edged sword. You might find what you're looking for, or you might wish you hadn't."

"Trust me, I've dealt with worse," Rebecca replied, a hint of determination in her voice. "I'll check it out."

As she walked away, her mind raced with possibilities. The thought of interviewing someone who had returned from the brink was thrilling yet terrifying. What had happened to them? What could they tell her about the disappearances? And were they truly connected to whatever darkness lurked beneath the surface of the city?

With a newfound sense of purpose, she made her way toward The Void, her heart pounding with the thrill of the chase. Whatever secrets lay ahead, she was ready to uncover them—one way or another.

---

The flickering glow of candlelight danced across the walls of a decaying, forgotten study deep within the heart of the city. Shadows curled and slithered, distorting the space as if the room itself recoiled from the presence of the man inside. Elias Kain stood motionless at the center, the air heavy with the scent of old parchment, melted wax, and faint traces of sulfur—a byproduct of his experiments with forbidden magic.

The once-celebrated archaeologist was a far cry from the man he had been only a few years ago. His career had thrived on groundbreaking discoveries—ancient tombs unearthed, artifacts restored, lost civilizations brought back to light. His services had even been enlisted by S.H.I.E.L.D., where his sharp intellect and insatiable curiosity made him a valuable consultant. But his thirst for the unknown, for the supernatural forces that lurked beneath the surface of history, soon pushed him beyond what his peers could tolerate. He began crossing lines that no one dared approach—dabbling in dark arts, reading from cursed texts, unlocking doors meant to remain closed.

And then came the fallout.

He remembered the tribunal at S.H.I.E.L.D. vividly—the disgusted stares of his colleagues, the grim looks of the directors. His warnings about mystical threats were dismissed as delusions. His findings, dangerous artifacts from ancient ruins, were confiscated and locked away, never to be spoken of again.

"Your obsession has made you a liability," they had told him, as they stripped him of his credentials and cast him out.

Elias sneered at the memory. Fools. They had no idea what lay beneath the veil of reality, no concept of the ancient forces biding their time in shadows. He had been so close to unraveling the truth, and they had cast him aside as if he were mad. But madness had its uses.

Now, he was free—free to pursue the knowledge they had feared, free to delve into the darkest corners of the world without the burden of oversight or interference. They had taken everything from him: his reputation, his career, even the few friendships he'd managed to keep over the years. Yet Elias did not mourn those losses. In truth, they had only fueled his resolve.

And it had all led him here.

He sat at his cluttered desk, surrounded by towering stacks of ancient tomes and scrolls inscribed with symbols that most people would have deemed indecipherable. But to Elias, they were like old friends. He traced his fingers over a worn parchment spread before him, the yellowed edges brittle beneath his touch. On the page, an intricate diagram detailed a hero—the hero, chosen by the gods themselves. His heart thudded with excitement as he whispered the name aloud:

"Shazam."

The word echoed through the room, making the candle flames waver as if the name carried power even in mere utterance. Elias smiled, a glimmer of madness flickering in his cold blue eyes.

Shazam. A mortal blessed with the strength of Hercules, the speed of Mercury, the wisdom of Solomon—an embodiment of divine power. And now, according to his research, that power had awakened once more. Somewhere in the city, a new champion had emerged, bearing the ancient mantle. A mere boy, from what Elias could discern. Young, inexperienced... vulnerable.

And ripe for the taking.

Elias leaned closer to a weathered scroll, his fingers trailing over the ancient symbols scrawled across its surface. The texts spoke of the sacredness of the power, bound to the chosen one through an unbreakable word. Shazam. It couldn't simply be stolen; it had to be transferred. But the boy didn't yet understand the depths of the power he wielded—didn't understand the legacy or the dangers it carried.

Which was where Elias would come in.

The room seemed to grow colder as he reached for an object resting atop a cracked pedestal—a jagged shard of obsidian, as black as a starless night. The shard pulsed faintly in his hand, as if responding to his intent. It was an artifact he had acquired during his exile, stolen from the vaults of an old, forgotten temple. Infused with ancient magic, it resonated with darkness, allowing Elias to sense powerful energies wherever they stirred.

And lately, the shard had been more active than ever.

He whispered an incantation, and the shard hummed in response, the dark magic within stirring to life. Tendrils of shadow coiled around his fingers, twisting and writhing like snakes. Elias felt a thrill run through him. Somewhere in the city, the boy who bore the essence of Shazam had awakened—and the power was calling to him, like a beacon to a predator.

"I must find him," Elias whispered to himself, a sinister smile spreading across his face. His voice was low, reverent, as if speaking to the gods themselves. "And when I do... the power will be mine."

He set the shard aside and moved toward the center of the room, where a circle of runes had been drawn in chalk on the floor. Elias knelt before the runes, whispering ancient words that slipped off his tongue like venom. The candles flickered wildly as the air thickened with magic.

Out of the shadows, dark figures began to take shape—twisted, ethereal creatures with elongated limbs and glowing eyes. The Furies. Born from the primordial darkness, these beings were bound to his will, their very existence a manifestation of rage and chaos.

"Find him," Elias commanded, his voice sharp and commanding. "Seek out the boy who holds the power of Shazam. Bring him to me."

The Furies hissed and writhed, their forms flickering between shadow and substance. Then, with a rush of wind, they vanished, slipping through the cracks in the walls and into the night. Elias watched them go, his heart pounding with excitement. The hunt had begun.

He rose to his feet, a sense of triumph swelling within him. He had waited years for this moment—years of ridicule, of failure, of exile. But soon, the power of Shazam would be his, and no one—no one—would ever cast him aside again.

Elias turned back to his desk, his gaze falling on a worn leather notebook filled with notes and sketches of ancient ruins. On the first page, he had scrawled a single sentence in bold, angry letters:

The gods abandoned us long ago. Now, their power belongs to man.

He closed the notebook, his hands trembling with anticipation. The boy had no idea what was coming for him. But Elias did. And soon, the world would bow before him—or crumble beneath the weight of chaos.

"Let the game begin," Elias whispered to himself, his eyes gleaming with unholy fire.

This was no longer a matter of redemption or revenge. It was destiny. And Elias Kain would stop at nothing to claim what was rightfully his.