Reinvention, the Mask, and the Cost: Being the Hero You Choose to Be
Some of the most compelling stories ever told don’t involve capes, laser eyes, or spandex that never rips. But they do borrow the superhero blueprint to make them unforgettable.
From fantasy epics to space operas, from gritty urban crime tales to historical dramas, the core themes that make superhero stories powerful (reinvention, the mask, and the cost of becoming something more) can give any genre a much-needed punch in the narrative gut.
I’m about to unleash some storytelling hacks that will elevate your heroes from oddly-boring-despite-the-great-hair to I-must-analyse-their-backstory-in-a-3,000-word-Reddit-post level. Whether you’re writing romantasy (love triangles, but with swords!) or epic space opera (and yes, using an ion cannon on a capital ship is questionable diplomacy), these tricks will make your heroes more relatable, believable, and most importantly, the kind of protagonist who forces readers to sacrifice sleep just to see what happens next.
Before we dive in, we need a quick primer on what a mask really means, even if superheroes aren’t your thing. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.
The Two Types of Mask
Masks in fiction tend to do one of two things: they either hide who you are or free you to be something more. The MCU often treats masks like glorified witness protection (Spider-Man wears one so Aunt May doesn’t get held hostage again, and Magik wears hers as equal parts armour and escape hatch). Meanwhile, the DCU treats masks like a psychological permission slip: Batman’s cowl lets Bruce Wayne abandon billionaire brunches and punch criminals right in the nuts, while Superman’s emblem isn’t just a symbol of hope. It’s a declaration that he’s choosing to stand for something bigger than himself, every single day.
Both types of masks are powerful narrative tools. They can be a hero’s shield against the world or a way to step into the truest version of themselves. They can multitask, too: Barbara Gordon uses the cowl to reclaim her agency and personal power while shielding those she loves from the repercussions of being Batgirl.
Masks aren’t just for disguise; they’re an advertisement, a manifesto, or a neon sign that says, “I have issues.” At their core, they either conceal identity to protect someone from consequences or redefine identity to push past personal limitations, anguish, guilt, or even morality itself.
TL;DR: sometimes you wear the mask to hide, and sometimes you wear it to become.
The Superhero Blueprint: More Than Capes and Powers
There’s a thing genre fiction sometimes misses: a true hero’s journey isn’t just about levelling up like a well-fed D&D character. It’s about choosing to become something else entirely.
A traditional hero’s journey is about discovery: finding strength, embracing destiny, and maybe dipping into the whole 'chosen one' song and dance. But a superhero’s journey is about reinvention. It’s about looking in the mirror and saying, “You know what I’d look amazing in? Angst and some unresolved trauma.” Our hero leaves behind a weaker, flawed, or even unpalatable self to become the person they believe they should be… but that transformation never comes without cost.
Peter Parker was already trying to do good before he was bitten. The bite gave him power, the mask gave him freedom, and responsibility came along like an uninvited guest who refuses to leave. No matter how strong he gets, Spider-Man can’t escape the cruel math of heroism: someone always has to suffer, and it’s usually him.
Natasha Romanoff was a trained assassin before she became an Avenger. The Black Widow’s Avengers-level makeover let her reinvent herself, but deep down, she knows a sleek catsuit doesn’t erase a body count. She’s trying to balance the cosmic scales, but redemption is a tricky currency. Her past is inescapable, and she never fully believes in her own redemption.
Bruce Banner was a scientist working to better the world, but the Hulk doesn’t exactly believe in peer review. Hulk smashes, and Banner gets in a sook about it later. Deep down, he knows the green rage monster does the things he won’t. Those things, maybe, need to be done, and that’s what really keeps him up at night. Violent, capricious, judgemental, and unreasoned is perhaps the truest self Banner needs to be, and he hates it.
This dynamic isn’t exclusive to superheroes. It’s one of the best storytelling hacks out there: give a character a mask, a moral crisis, and some really bad life choices, and suddenly you’ve got a page-turner.
Reinvention: The Mask We Choose
Heroes across all genres wear masks, literal or metaphorical. Sometimes it’s a cowl, sometimes it’s a persona, and often it’s an elaborate lie they tell themselves to sleep at night. The mask isn’t just for disguise or letting the hero pull off cool stunts without tanking their Tinder profile. It’s a tool for becoming. But, like that stalker ex, the past refuses to take the hint and move the fuck on.
Geralt of Rivia reinvents himself as a monster hunter, or arguably, he reinvents what monsters are. He could have doubled down on his solid career choice, living a quiet, ordinary witcher life of drinking mutagens and fighting fanged horrors for ungrateful villagers. You might say, “Richard, my dude, but witchers are monster hunters.” The real twist isn’t that he’s fresh out of monsters, it’s that he’s widened his selection of targets to include human villains. This forced reinvention is one that most witchers avoid, but Geralt, against all odds, actually cares.
Captain Mal Reynolds was once a believer. Then the war broke him, and he decided that if he couldn’t win, he’d at least be the most sarcastic loser in the ‘verse. He reinvented himself as a rogue, a smuggler, a guy who does crime but, like, with principles. The mask slips, though. Mal wants to do good, but only if it involves giving the finger to the Alliance. But those principles keep dogging his heels. He’s an antihero who turns defeat into a way of life, except when it really matters. Then, he refuses to lose.
John Wick has a complicated mask arrangement. First, he put one on and tried to be a normal, well-adjusted guy. Then some absolute clown killed his dog. The mask shattered, revealing the Baba Yaga. Again. John thought he wanted out of the crime world, but he also kind of enjoys what the mask allows him to be. And for a little while, so do we.
I steal these tricks ruthlessly. My debut novel Night’s Favor might look like an urban fantasy werewolf story, but it’s really about reinvention. Val doesn’t just gain power. He becomes something that rewires how the world sees him. And when hiding isn’t an option, what’s left? In Val’s case, it’s pure nightmare fuel for a guy who used to work in IT. I’m doubling down on these themes in my upcoming follow-up Dawn’s Warden trilogy, because a hero’s journey isn’t about power. It’s about what you’re willing to leave behind to wield it.
How to Use This in Any Genre
If you want to write a hero that resonates, don’t just focus on their abilities. Ask what they have to sacrifice to become someone new. Powers, swords, or space lasers are all winner tools, but the real hook is what it costs the hero to use them.
1. Reinvention Should Cost Something. If your hero gains something, what do they lose in return? Can they ever truly go back?
In Batman Begins, Bruce Wayne doesn’t just disappear for seven years. He trades his rich, powerful life for a one-man war on crime. Hope he wasn’t too attached to dating.
In Logan, Wolverine wants to move on, but because of the choices he and others made, retirement is… permanent. Turns out, you don’t get to just retire from what you’ve done (especially when what you did isn’t very nice).
If there’s no cost, there’s no transformation. All you’ve done is opened the Player’s Handbook for a level-up.
2. Let the Past Haunt the Hero. Reinvention isn’t a clean break. The past lingers. It tempts. It whispers like a villain monologuing before the final boss fight.
Peter Parker won’t let people die for the greater good, even if one death would save hundreds. He’s a good man, and good men suffer for it.
Natasha Romanoff makes ruthless choices because she has to, but that doesn’t mean she gets a good night’s sleep. She’s got enough baggage to start her own airline.
Mal Reynolds tells himself he’s out for himself, but the moment someone needs him, there he is, doing the right thing, even when people hate him for it. Especially when people hate him for it. It keeps getting in the way with Inara… Mal can’t let himself be happy when injustice exists.
A true hero’s journey isn’t about getting stronger. It’s about fighting the version of yourself you used to be.
3. Let the Mask Crack. At some point, every hero should face the question: Is this really who I am?
Batman tells himself Bruce Wayne is just a role he plays, but Bruce is just Batman doing an awkward billionaire impression. But Batman yearns for Bruce’s freedom. He’s constantly tested by what could have been. It’s a sacrifice he must remake every time he hangs up his dinner jacket after networking at charity galas.
Daredevil keeps swearing off vigilantism like a bad habit, only to spiral right back into the crime-fighting chaos. He’s in more dire need of anger management therapy than the Punisher.
In Night’s Favor, Val doesn’t get a choice—his mask is permanent. The only thing he can control is how he wears it, and it turns out the answer to that is covered in blood.
If your hero never questions themselves, they’re just an action figure with plot armour.
4. Make the Villain a Mirror. A great antagonist doesn’t just confront the hero. They force the hero to confront themselves.
The Joker isn’t a funhouse criminal. He needs Batman to admit they’re the same.
Killmonger isn’t a challenger to the throne. He forces T’Challa to question what Wakanda really stands for.
In Dawn’s Warden, the enemies aren’t villains. They’re reminders of what Isolde could become if she lets the mask own her.
A villain’s job isn’t to be evil-flavoured ice cream. They’re here to make the hero look in the mirror and go, “Oh. Oh no! Am I the drama?” Their job is to poke at the hero’s deepest fears like the therapist version of Chucky.
5. Show the Slips. Reinvention isn’t a straight path. There’s always backsliding, like your gym-focused New Year’s resolution in February.
Tony Stark swears he’ll change, but oh look, another bad decision just walked in wearing killer heels. Pass the bottle.
Natasha Romanoff wants to be better, but she still plays the odds like an assassin. She can never get her ledger to black, because she’s paying off her villain’s Amex with her hero’s Mastercard.
Geralt of Rivia tries to stay neutral, but neutrality is hard when humans are worse than the monsters you’re supposed to fight. At least monsters have pure motives.
The best heroes aren’t the failure-free. They get back up, even when it hurts. They’re the ones who struggle to stay the person they choose to be.
The Takeaway
A great hero isn’t defined by their powers, their weapons, or their K/D/A statistics. They’re defined by the cost of becoming who they are.
If your hero’s biggest challenge is defeating the big bad, you’re writing an action story.
If your hero’s biggest challenge is fighting who they used to be, you’re writing a hero’s journey.
The best stories (whether fantasy, sci-fi, historical fiction, or even horror) aren’t all cool fights or flashy powers. Ironically, that shit bores audiences to tears; it’s how Disney turned the golden goose into an ordinary goose. The best stories are about reinvention, sacrifice, and the masks we wear to survive.
At the end of the day, the most compelling heroes aren’t just the ones who win. They’re the ones who change.
What do you think of using the superhero genre’s tricks to make better heroes? Let me know in the comments. And if this piece made you want to put aside the spandex for existential suffering, consider supporting me on Ko-fi:
This was a really good read and made me think about some of my characters - the ones that I know need more work - to figure out how I could apply this to them. I definitely prefer stories about people/change more than just action!