The Ascendant

He was terrified of small spaces, and she knew the prolonged darkness of their hiding place would only further irritate the problem. But, just like many times before, the mission came first-before his discomfort, before his protests, before her own inability to see past the main goal. Was it written in like that, he wondered, or perhaps an unfortunate side effect of being the main attraction?

The mission was the priority, and at all costs, it was their job to carry it out. Well, her job. He was merely canon fodder, and he had slowly come to terms with that fact over the years. It's not like he was built for anything else; the book was named after her, the series was hers, and she was the sole object on the front of the damn cover.

For years, when the book was shut and the next one was still being written, he had hoped and prayed, and wished that he would get his own spinoff. Many others have; some who would've been better to be killed off than to get a whole cover-to-cover escapade of their inner most turmoil. How could a comic relief have any real conflict? Or a romantic interest have any thoughts or motivations outside the main character?

Tom shook his head. Any spinoff pales in comparison to the protagonist's adventure. That's why it's not even considered a sequel. Nothing screams "unnecessary" quite like a title that starts off with "based on the epic tales of …" but that didn't stop Tom from wishing that for once, it would be his name.

Starla, the unfortunate heroin in his story, signaled to him to move. And like a good dog, he did. Even if he preferred to stay in that dark, small confinement, his legs were moving. They advanced on the diabolical villain's-he couldn't remember his name-base of operations, for the umpteenth time they've done in the dozen or so entries of The Starla Light Chronicles. Has it been more than a dozen? Tom would've thought Starla would realize the super bad villain's miraculous escape at the end of each adventure would point to a more logistical reason. But she would just strike a pose, much like the one on the cover of the offending issue, and surmise that he just "got away", never once considering it was too convenient for it to make sense after the third time.

"We've got him this time, Tommy boy!"

He groaned inwardly, trying to recall when that lovely little moniker was introduced. Didn't matter that he hated it, or that it made no sense since he was significantly older than the person calling him boy.

"He's as good as dead," Tom monotoned, or at least he did in his mind. The author had written him as screaming it, but he just didn't think it warranted all of that.

The building loomed in front of them, and for some reason, Tom was just as surprised to see it as he was the first handful of times they'd advanced on it. The normal concentration of guards were gone, and the main entrance was lit up like a Christmas tree. How original was that?

Starla pulled them both to a stop, sliding in their military boots, if that was even possible. In the world of fiction, anything was, he supposed.

Starla gripped his shoulder with characteristically firm fingers and a dangerous gleam to her eyes. "We'll divide and conquer to trap him in his penthouse." She didn't wait for an answer before splitting off from their makeshift huddle and while Starla bolted-half crouched in a comical way-Tom did little more than hustle around the side of the building.

It threw him off, since they normally raided the entrance together, each taking equal bad guys down in their wake, but who was he to question the omnipresent God who dictated everything he did? So Tom lengthened his strides and proceeded up the staircase and could only wonder what his heroine was up to at the same moment. He shrugged it off; if he needed to know, he would've.

He topped the last step and realized he hadn't broken a sweat, despite racing up at least twenty flights. Muffled voices bounced through the walls and he followed the sounds around the corner. Facing a double door at the end of the hallway, he took a moment to appreciate the serenity of being behind it. Starla may have all of the attention all of the time, and a series named after her, but he had the quiet shield of anonymity while she was constantly under fire, or coming up with a new catchphrase every book.

He promptly decided he didn't want any of that; he enjoyed the passenger seat. And that mentality was only secured as he barged through the heavy doors that led to their archenemy's penthouse.

Starla was struggling with a particularly heavy-looking brute; her sword swung wildly but the henchman was able to deflect each blow. Tom had a millisecond to dig for his dagger and another to fling it in her direction before the golem grabbed the blade of her sword and ripped it from her hands. But the dagger stopped any further attacks as it sank into the towering brute's neck with a resounding thunk. The sound of the monster falling to its knees was louder however.

Starla didn't waste any time moving onto the next opponent, barely pausing long enough to scoop her weapon off the floor. No thanks, not a glance, no indication of any acknowledgement of Tom's aid in her quest. As per freaking usual.

But like he's done many times before, he ignored the flippant disregard of his presence and moved after her, preparing the next dagger in his hand.

Starla was yelling something as she ascended the wide steps leading up to the villain (he should probably learn their enemy's name at this point). Starla turned on Tom but before any words could be uttered, something large and heavy blind-sided them, knocking them both to the ground and Starla's sword clattered out of her grasp.

Looking up, Tom was surprised to see teeth-large canines actually-behind a wall of black fur and yellow eyes. A wolf. In all the iterations of Tom and Starla's adventures, a beast had never sat at the villain's feet.

But there it was; snarling and snapping its teeth at him. Starla yelled something from behind Tom, but all he could focus on was the animal's advance on him. He managed to stay out of the path of the jaws, but the hot breath still tickled his skin.

Starla was yelling now, but Tom didn't dare look away for fear of giving the mongrel a chance to dismember him. Suddenly, the wolf froze, as if someone hit the pause button. But instead of staying in place, it crumpled to the ground, the hilt of Starla's weapon sticking from its ribs.

He turned and noticed the shock on her face, pulling the sword from the thing's body. It fit his hand like a glove, like it was made for him. He shook his head: that's not right. It was hers. This was her story, her fight, her weapon. But once he palmed the leather grip, he couldn't let go, no matter how much he wanted to.

He locked eyes with her before the villain unleashed some form of magic toward her. Then the wave of green light hit her in the chest and she unleashed a scream that must've took all of the air from her lungs. She was flung backward, hitting the far wall and sliding to a crumpled form on the floor. She didn't move.

"Starla?" Tom's voice had taken a breathless to it; perhaps it was his scream that took the air out of his chest.

She didn't move.

She didn't even twitch.

That's when Tom realized being an adventurer's sidekick wasn't the worst thing to be. Sure, he avoided the action. Admittedly, he got the least exciting plotlines, skirted the best dialogue while he was out doing off-page-sidekick-errands. He would happily go back to being the forgotten no-sur-name-having character, though, if it meant Starla kept breathing; kept main-charactering; kept Starla-ing.

As he turned to face the villain and felt the heat of the antagonistic intentions boring holes into his plot armor, he loathed the perfect fit of Starla's sword; hated the epiphany of what he needed to do to stop the man (or wizard?) responsible for her death; absolutely despised the fact that he had just mocked Starla for juggling all of the motivations and thoughts racing through his brain now. The image of his longest friend taken so quickly and unexpectedly now seared into his brain as a terrible backstory, he came to one, simple conclusion:

Being the sidekick was better than being the adventurer. And he'd much prefer either of those over being the reason the adventure ends.