When he called the Crimson Tide, he didn't know if there would be a response. It was late at night, not that that mattered much to villains and heroes. If they were lucky, it might mean no spectators.

As he wiped blood and tears from his cheek and donned his elegant mask, the young Tiger made a silent wish for luck that night. Somehow the scales had to balance. He'd fought too hard to give in softly.

"Meet me in the grove of ghosts, at the boulder that reflects the light of the moon. This all ends here."

That was all he'd said in the call. Now he prowled between trees barely visible against the night sky, face quivering and thoughts dangerously silent. This all ends.

The details of their battle mattered little, for the location and time ensured no spectators. The Crimson Tide waited for him, as she always did. He had never fought a battle alone, and quickly found himself in the air and trapped within the long ribbons of her cloak, slowly tightening around his neck. He could still speak, if he wanted to. He said nothing.

"Someone hurt youuu," the Crimson Tide echoed.

"If you're going to kill me just do it."

Her face was hidden, but she drew closer. "No."

A tear squirmed its way down his cheek, squirming hopelessly as the ribbons bit into his skin.

Then she let go, and he dropped to the ground. He became aware of her figure towering over him, crimson cloak shining softly in the moonlight.

"Hurt them back." She extended a hand - a real, human hand, coated in glove but no cloth tendrils. "Join us."

The Tiger looked up. He took the hand.