Chapter Text
When he was 13, he walked away from home. It was hard at first, later it became easier to live. Although, the later Wilbur we are talking about is rich, rich in money and rich in blood on his hands.
He he was 14, Orpheus Gold was made.
Although he first didn't like the idea of murdering, he didn't got much of a choice after a gang showed up.
They told him who to kill, and what his price would be. That price being keeping his hand, but these prices later became much more than just a hand or a limb. It became houses, villa's and, one of the exciting payments, his life.
Wilbur can only smile when thinking about that one, he was taken to kill the president. And he really means taken. There was a gang that kidnapped him off of the streets. It was exciting, if Wilbur needs to he honest about it.
At the beginning, he was just known as Soot. A nickname he was given when he fell down a chimney trying to kill a cheating wife, he also really doesn't know why someone wanted to kill his wife, but he got a good sum of money out of it, so he did what he was asked.
Later, after his 10th mission, the names became more serious. He was only 15 and he was already called 'Dream slayer', it's an awesome story to tell his grandkids one day. He killed the leader of a gang, the leader was also the one paying him, what made it even more spectacular. The leader wanted someone dead, but the rest of the members told him that he wasn't allowed to kill them, his job was to kill Dream. And he succeeded, he brought a beautiful new house from it, although he blew it up after the FBI found out that he was there.
The news thought he died, Dream Slayer was gone and the country of l'manberg thought they were save again.
That was the moment he began to work for his own good. He took his own jobs, although he already did that, those jobs were bigger than he ever thought he would succeed.
At 16, he was known as Ghostbur. He died and came back to live. He vanished into thin air, just like a ghost does.
At 17, he killed the ruler of l'manberg. And at 17 and a month he killed the next ruler.
At 18, he was knows as Royal. He isn't really proud of that story. He killed the royal family, the king and queen stabbed in the back and the 13 year old and 6 year old shot in the heart.
He was very happy with the name Royal, almost like everyone in l'manberg needed to look up at him and listen. Maybe they did needed to listen to him..
The citizens of l'manberg made a mistake on his 19th birthday though. They came in rebellion and Wilbur killed a whole town in one night. Some people survived and told the story to the rest of the country, who immediately stopped the rebellion and just stayed quiet around his murders.
Although no one really had evidence if those murders where connected with eachother, they all knew that it was the same person, killing over and over and over again.
Someday he decided that the citizens should know that it was him, should have evidence that it was him all those years.
When he was 20, he began drawing little music notes on the foreheads of his victims.
He always liked music, he played music when he was younger and he has his guitar with him to every place he goes to.
His first victim with the mark was the presidents wife, don't ask him about it, he doesn't fancy talking about that the president wanted the most feared killer in the whole country, maybe world to kill his wife.
He also doesn't like talking about it because it was a trap, placed by the president himself.
When he came into the room, there was a whole squad waiting for him.
He took this as his golden opportunity to let the people know his name.
He left the room in no time, leaving just a note behind. The was written, in the handwriting of a toddler (in wilbur defence, he stopped going to school at 12), "my name is Opheus Gold. You might know me as Soot, Dream Slayer, Ghostbur and Royal. But just know, it was all me and it will alway be me."
Later when he arrived home, the news was filled with him. They news was screaming about that the most known villains in l'manberg where just one person. They were questioning how someone so.. almost young could be so well known.
He was 20, okay? He wasn't young, he was an adult.
Everytime in the next year was about killing everyone that he was asked to kill. And sometimes walk past shops where they were questioning why he was so good at his job. He just whispered to himself 'beginning at the ripe old age of 13.'
Only after 10 years doing the same thing day in day out, he was done with it and vanished of the earth. Or, so the media thought.
He wanted to go back home, see his dad.. only Wilbur knows that Phil won't be perfectly happy with what Wilbur has become.
Wilbur know, for a fact, that Phil knows he is Orpheus Gold. Not because of that he might have shown his face, but because of the name he gave himself.
Orpheus Gold, named after a Greek myth he already liked when he was 7. And the name Gold, what was Wilbur's last name before Phil adopted him.
Yeah.. Phil knows, and he doesn't know if he is even allowed in Phil's street. Obviously, Orpheus Gold isn't allowed there, but Wilbur.. just Wilbur, the man who walked away form home all those many years ago to become the most known person in the country. And if Phil knows that he is Orpheus, no, he is not allowed back.
After almost a year of doubting to go back home, he gets homesick. After 11 years, he gets homesick. And he knows he needs to go home eventually.
He grabs his stuff, although it isn't much, a knife he bought from his first paycheck besides his Orpheus mask and gear. His sword he brought on a black market and the several golden chains and bracelets.
He leaves this city- his city, going back to where he was raised, going back where he will be send away from. He knows this is not going to have the outcome he so desperately wants, but if you don't try, the answer will always stay no. So he leaves.
After what feels like ages of walking, he reaches the streets of his town.
He is 22, he got calls from people who wanted the president dead, again. But he didn't take the jobs, he needed to get home. Even if that would take him a year.
It's his 22th birthday and his finger laying on the doorbell of his childhood home.
He bought an apartment not that far away, he placed his gear and sword there. He only has his knife with him and he hopes that is enough.
His finger is laying on the doorbell, he hesitates, he wants to turn around, run. But he knows he needs to do this eventually.
He pushes his finger down, he hears the doorbell ring and then nothing. There is nothing that tells him that there is someone in the house.
Only a few moments before he can run, he hears someone curse from inside the house. It doesn't sound like his dad at all, but that could also be the 12 years that has passed after Wilbur hearing his dad's voice speak to him for the last time.
He hears someone stumble through the hallways, he hears someone fall on the floor and then the door opens.
He wants to fight the man that is standing before him, it's him. Looking a little younger and a lot less scarred.
His hand reaches to the knife and the other man seems to notice that.
"Don't try it, I can fight better than you ever can. Don't try to use that on me, it won't work."
Wilbur needs to suppress a laugh coming from his troat. Someone being better at fighting than him? He has fought for 11 years, 11 years straight up killing people. He killed thousands and thousands of innocent and that man thinks he is better at fighting than Wilbur is?
"Just.. I like you to try it," Wilbur says, daring the man to fight him. He knows how to talk like he is dangerouse, or, like he is dangerouser than people think he is.
"I would love to try, but I wouldn't fancy gettin' arrested because of someone, that can't fight, wants to fight me."
Wilbur scoffs at that. 'He can't fight,' what a loser thinks that Orpheus Gold can't fight.
"If you really want to know, after I fought you and you died by my blade, I wouldn't get arrested for murder." He smiles, one that tells that this is not gonna be great for the man opposing him if he says something else.
"Awh, that's so good. Are mommy and daddy proud of you for saying that?" The man mocks. Wilbur sees his hands balling into fist, ready to lay the first punch if needed.
"Mother is dead, Father probably disowned me by now. So, presumably they are not."
The man looks startles for a second before talking again, "Awh, you must have had a rough childhood, little..." the man stops, remembering that he hasn't gotten a name yet. "Little birdy."
And that is too much for Wilbur to handle. He grabs the knife form his belt and punches the man with his free hand. He pushes the man against the wall and pointing the knife on his chest where his heart is.
"Don't try me," Wilbur hisses. The other man only just grins at him, saying nothing but a glimpse of victory already seen in his eyes. Wilbur doesn't get why the man would be happy about being stabs to death.
Only when a knife lounges through his stomach from behind him, he understands.
"You basterd," he says while turning around. He is startled about who the man is holding the knife.
It's his dad in flesh and blood.