[ WP ] Write a story about a person with a superpower that has a consequence/limitation more interesting than said power .

It was a simple miscalculation, really. But with magic, that was all it took. 
 
 For three years Stephen Sohn practiced the mystic arts long believed to be a myth by the outside world. Wearing the black robes and skull mask of Executioner, under the cover of the Shadow Lantern, he could stalk evildoers unseen, arriving to catch them red handed and deliver his own brand of summary justice -- - or, was it vengence? Executioner was having trouble distinguishing the two these days. 
 
 If the perpetrators he caught were **lucky**, they had done nothing more than threaten and rob. Then they might get off with returning what they had taken, and a glimpse inside the Lantern which would deliver their own deepest terrors to them in return for the fear they had sown on others. Most survived, though they were never quite the same afterwards, and as far as Executioner was concerned, that was nothing less than they deserved. But tonight would be different. 
 
 A hollow eyed junkie was riffling the pockets of his latest victim when Executioner hooded the Lantern, revealing himself. As he expected, the junkie tried to flee the scene. Word on the street had painted the mystic stalker larger than life, and most of them ran these days. Executioner dashed after him, tracing a shape in the air which was reflected a moment later by a similarly shaped glowing rune upon the pavement into which the fleeing junkie stepped before he realized it, and fell forward as if an invisible hand had grabbed his ankle. 
 
 Ignoring the pleas from his captive, Executioner hauled him up by the scruff of the neck and pushed him back to the scene of the crime. With a touch of shadow from the Lantern, he bound the man while he knelt and turned over the junkie's victim to examine him. How bad was it this time, he wondered, already feeling slightly tired from his exertions so far. It seemed to get a little worse each time. 
 
 It was the very worst case scenario: The man was dead -- his throat had been callously slit. Executioner felt the hellish heat of the Lantern pulsing in time to his own anger. `` WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?'' he snarled. 
 
 The junkie thrashed in his shadow bonds and pleaded. Three years ago, the man who then still thought of himself as Stephen Sohn would probably have felt pity for this wretch. But each time he'd used the Lantern and the Dagger, he had moved a little further from Stephen Sohn, and a little closer to Executioner... now aptly named indeed. 
 
 Setting the Lantern on the sidewalk between the junkie and his victim, Executioner drew the Mirror Dagger. It's silvery blade glowed with a soft light like anticipation. He raised it, and swiftly stuck -- - the hood of the Lantern raised under its own power and the voice of the junkie was drowned in a wave of otherworldly screaming like a thousand damned souls. Executioner held the Dagger firmly as the junkie's face aged rapidly, acquiring decades within a matter of seconds, until he was an old, old man, and at last gasped weakly, and fell over. 
 
 The Dagger now shone like a fire was running across it. Executioner turned quickly and plunged it into the victim's chest, and again the otherworldly shrieks were heard as the victims blood gathered from the pool on the pavement and returned to his body. Injuries knitted and the life returned. The victim opened his eyes with a gasp as the Dagger was withdrawn, leaving not a mark. 
 
 The man was, understandably, upset. He gibbered incoherently finding himself face to face with the grim skull mask of Executioner. Executioner was greatly weakened by the exertions, but he struggled nonetheless to reassure the man. He was less than successful, and was growing impatient. God, this was exhausting work. At last, though, he understood the source of the man's agitation: It was not at all what he expected. 
 
 There... a few dozen paces away, and partially concealed by a parked car was a young woman's body. Her throat had been slashed, similar to the way the man's had when Executioner had first found him. 
 
 `` No,'' Executioner murmured. `` Two of you? I did n't see... But I ca n't... I already...'' He shook his head, as if denial could change it, but he knew it could not. *If* he had seen them both, he could have restored them both with one touch. But now, the spell of the Mirror Dagger had run its course and would need to be started anew to restore a second life. But he could n't. There were no more perpetrators to punish. It went against everything he vowed when he took the Lantern and the Dagger. He hung his head. 
 
 He knelt beside the woman's body and drew the Dagger, setting the Lantern on the ground beside her. The Lantern's metal body felt cold for once, the chill matching the one in his own heart. He knelt there for a time, listening to the sobbing of the man behind him and he knew what he had to do. In a way, it was a relief. 
 
 Before he continued, he removed the skull mask and let it fall to the side. If he did this, he wanted to do it as just plain Stephen, not as Executioner. His hands shook as he took the dagger in both hands and then plunged it into his own chest. 
 
 The Lantern's hood flew up of its own accord and the otherworldly screams filled the night. The shadow energy emerged from the Lantern and poured over the woman's body as Stephen coughed and felt blood trickling from the sides of his lips. He could feel his skin become tighter and brittler, and with what was to be the very last of his strength, he pulled the dagger free, and ever so gently laid it across the woman's torn throat. 
 
 As he collapsed over her, the voices of the Lantern screamed a scream that was almost a cry of victory, and the woman gasped as she opened her eyes. Then the hood of the Lantern slammed shut like the clanging of the iron gates of Hell. 
 

