Chapter Text
Strained breathing filled the silence of the well-lit bathroom. Alhaitham sat on the floor, back resting against the bathtub as he grit his teeth, tempted to put an object between his molars while he firmly pressed a wet rag doused in rubbing alcohol to the irritated wound on his abdomen with one hand, the other gripping tightly onto the fabric of his shirt that was pulled up to his chin.
One of his stitches from the other day had, quite annoyingly, popped out of his skin earlier when he was filing some documents, and the pain was too persistent to ignore.
The gash, going from just above his kidney to in between his ribcage—an almost perfect diagonal line—pulsed in time with his quick heartbeat, slightly swollen at the edges, red and angry. Pulling the rag away, Alhaitham let out an unamused hum as the cloth was covered in deep red, his blood highlighted in the bright room.
He'd have to restitch it, or get Tighnari to do so. A task that, under normal circumstances, would be fairly easy. But this wasn't a normal circumstance, was it?
Well, it was a normal occurrence to be injured fairly badly after a battle against one of the heroes, especially a higher tiered one, but this current predicament of being practically bolted to the bathroom floor in agony was definitely new. New ish. Or a long forgotten memory.
Alhaitham hadn't gotten this badly injured in a while, for being one of the top-villains had its perks—other villains would want to fight for him, and the heroes would usually stray away from him.
Oh well, that didn't really matter. What mattered now was getting these stitches put back into place. Which first meant Alhaitham had to get up. Muttering under his breath, he twisted around slightly, ignoring the wince of pain that came with it, and grabbed onto the side of the bath with one arm before pulling himself to his feet, his other hand holding the drenched rag against his open wound, his shirt uncomfortably bunching up with his hand underneath.
Straightening up, he hobbled towards the door, using the wall to brace himself, putting all of his weight against it. Before he could even reach for the door, the wooden panel swung open.
“Ah. Stitches came loose again, I see,” his flatmate, Cyno stated the obvious, pointing a finger at him. “I guess you could say the wound wasn't thread-y to close yet.”
Alhaitham just stared at him for a few seconds, face remaining unchanged and as unimpressed as ever, before he turned his body to squeeze past Cyno, completely ignoring the (horrible) joke to instead find Tighnari, his other flatmate.
“Oh come on. No laugh? Not even a chuckle?”
“It was hardly a funny joke,” Alhaitham responded, walking away from the bathroom towards the large area that was a mixture between a kitchen, a dining room, and a living room.
Hearing faint footsteps from the right, he snapped his head around and locked eyes with his other flatmate. Tighnari’s eyes glanced from his face to the blood-red cloth grasped in his hand. “Hello. Can you restitch this wound, please?”
“Let me see that,” Tighnari said, drawing closer and motioning for him to move his hand. Obeying the command, the shorter man observed the injury, humming after a few moments and walking towards his room. “Okay. Come. How did you pop those?”
“They came loose when I was filing documents earlier. Likely when I twisted around to put papers in a box behind me, or when I placed one of the boxes on the shelf. Stretching it.”
His flatmate let out a quiet sigh, opening several drawers and rummaging in them to pull out a small first aid kit. Alhaitham sat on the bed gently, trying not to move too much or else the gash would flare up again.
Tighnari got to work right away, kneeling on the floor and examining the cut once again. He put rubber gloves on his hands and opened packets of antiseptic wipes to clean the area, before taking a needle and thread from inside the box—all whilst giving a thorough lecture about safety.
“Be careful out there, Alhaitham. You know that injuries are twice as bad after detransforming. Even the small scratches, paper cuts, grazes—whatever, they're always worse returning to civilian form. Not only are they significantly more painful, but they're more susceptible to infection. Which, thankfully, isn't what we've got going on here.”
Alhaitham hummed in response, clenching his fists tightly until his knuckles turned white while Tighnari poked and pulled at his skin, bringing the bloodied edges of his flesh close together so it could heal as efficiently as possible. Pearls of read threatened to fall and drip down his stomach, though they were swiftly wiped away with the corner of a tissue.
“There,” he said, pulling the gloves off and getting up off the floor, knees popping. “Those should hold for a while, assuming you don't move around too much.”
“Thank you,” Alhaitham replied softly. He stood from the bed, pulling his shirt down and walking out of the room, heading towards the large bookshelf they'd installed in their living room section of the apartment.
His side still throbbed uncomfortably underneath the fresh bandage, proving to be quite a nuisance. This is why he made an effort to keep injuries to a minimum, as the pain, whilst obviously being sore, was an annoyance. Like a thought that consistently kept popping up unprovoked.
All of a sudden, alarms blared through their apartment, the noise piercing and rather shrill. Alhaitham cursed under his breath, whipping around to find his flatmates pressing their fingers against their akasha terminals, the colour having morphed from a naturistic green to a warning red. From the device, a holographic screen was displayed in front of their faces.
“Villain attack,” Cyno read aloud, staring at the screen. “Nothing much. Just a couple of B-Tiers mucking around. I suppose it’d be right to assume–”
“Please don't,” Tighnari groaned, face already falling in embarrassment.
“–that the city should B ready for some action tonight.”
Tighnari just sighed loudly, a truly exhausted sounding noise, and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut.
“Is there anyone we know?”
“Nah, just a bunch of random people.”
Alhaitham tuned out the rest of their conversation, eyeing the window and subconsciously pressing his hand lightly against the bandage. His wellbeing came above the desire to learn how other people in Teyvat fought—that had been his reason for becoming a ‘villain.’
It had never really been about rallying groups of people to battle against those who deemed their actions as ‘heroic,’ but over the years, it more or less morphed into a band of villains. But what Alhaitham wanted was the knowledge of combat his opponents had.
The way everybody fought was different, even if two moving in unison, there were still subtle differences to point out; maybe one person had quicker reflexes than the other, or one had more strength in a punch, even though it looks the same visually. But it's not about the visuals. It's about how people think, the next move they were going to do, the right weapon for the job, the right armour to wear to effectively protect against melee attacks. Everyone was different. Everyone is someone.
Wordlessly, Alhaitham reached into his pocket to pull out his vision, the forest green gemstone radiating a peaceful colour, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He glanced back up to his flatmates who were bickering—likely about the joke Cyno had just made. They weren't paying attention, he could slip away very easily. With quiet movements, Alhaitham slid the window open, taking a deep breath of the cool, autumn air as he stepped out onto the balcony. The alarms were still being blasted through every intercom in the city.
Rubbing his finger across the magic stone, he gripped it right in his hand and tapped into the power that linked him to the green gem. In a flash of light, Alhaitham had vanished, replaced with his villainous alter-ego, Vultur Volans. Although, the civilians had grown accustomed to just calling him Vulture instead. A green and white sword was strapped to his back, being held by seemingly nothing, before vanishing into specks of yellow. Faintly, there was still an outline of the weapon, but it had turned almost invisible to anyone who spared him a glance instead of a proper look.
Subtly, the pain in his side began to vanish, a trait that was especially useful via the transformation of appearances—pain was dulled, durability was doubled and healing was faster when in this form. If he were in the opposing side, it'd certainly fit the criteria of being a superhero rather than just a regular hero. Though they technically were super, nobody really called them that. People just called them heroes and villains. Simple and to the point without the faff of extra words.
Jumping off the balcony and landing on the sidewalk with a clunk, Alhaiham roamed the surprisingly empty streets, scanning the crowd for heroes, as whichever direction the very few people were running from was undoubtedly where he needed to go. He wasn't really expecting to fight tonight, it was more like a patrol, or a lengthy observation. His intentions were simple; arrive at the scene of the fight and watch from afar. Easy, right?
Distant fighting could be heard from a couple of blocks away, almost acting as a calling sign for Alhaiham to walk towards. It wasn't that far away, and that was evident in the noises becoming louder.
Turning into an alleyway, he was met with the sight of one of the heroes—one he didn't recognise, a man with light blue hair and pale clothes—pinning a villain to the wall by her neck, an angry scowl on his face. The villain caught in the man’s grasp looked vaguely familiar and, as Alhaiham drew closer, he realised it was Tighnari’s student, Collei—he’d recalled what she looked like in villain form. She was quite young, had her whole life ahead of her.
So, despite what he came here to do, Alhaitham rushed forward with a surge of energy, the sword from earlier materialising in his hand, glowing green as he swung at the hero’s leg.
The hero let out a shriek, dropping Collei to the floor, clutching his thigh as he began breathing heavily, taking a step back and raising his head to glare at Alhaitham. He bared his teeth at the villain, drawing a sword of his own from his hip, the blade ocean blue, almost looking like it was made of water.
The man darted towards him in a split second, one hand still on the hilt of his sword, before suddenly a copy of him emerged from the ground, behind Alhaitham, translucent blue, dripping wet spots onto the road.
The man's sword clicked, and his attacks came in flurrying waves that, if Alhaitham had not readied himself, would've easily sliced through his flesh. While he was able to block the rapid strikes dealt by a blade by using the flat side of his sword, Alhaitham could not avoid the rippling attacks dealt by the water clone, the strikes rapid against his back, cold and bludgeoning. They weren't able to cut his skin, thank the seven, but they were certainly enough to leave bruises.
Alhiatham pushed his sword forward, sending the hero off-balance, leaving him with a small enough opening to kick him away with the heel of his boot. Like he was made of paper, the man flew backwards, skidding against the ground and jamming the blade of his pristine aqua sword into the concrete, straightening up with a few ragged breaths.
Channeling the power residing within his vision, Alhaitham extended his arm out towards the hero, snapping his fingers as he felt his body disintegrate, before reappearing behind the blue-haired man.
Using the hilt of his sword, Alhiatham jabbed it into the side of his neck, watching as his eyes rolled back into his head, knees bucking as he crumbled to the ground, unconscious. Rolling his shoulder, he glanced to the side and met Collei’s wide-eyed gaze. Her throat was rather red, eyes slightly bloodshot from not receiving enough oxygen just a few moments ago.
“Are you alright?” he asked, letting his sword fall to the floor—though, it vanished into thin air before it could even hit the ground—and approached the girl.
“Yeah, I'm– I'm okay,” Collei stammered back, seemingly lurching back into life as she stood up on shaking legs, dusting herself off. “Um, thank you for, uh, dealing with– with him. I doubt Master Tighnari would've been thrilled with finding me unconscious here…”
Alhiatham nodded in agreement before opening his mouth again, “Make it home safe.”
He turned around and walked out of the alleyway, ready to leave the barren area. He thought it was odd. For this mild chaos he'd just caused, and the supposed report of a group of B-tiered villains causing a ruckus, there weren't very many heroes around. Alhaitham thought it was strange, until an akasha terminal display in one of the store windows caught his eye, the feed. slightly muffled, but still audible
“–what appears to be a young man?” the reporter stated, the footage of one of the neighbouring blocks showing four of the top heroes circling a young man wearing a large round hat that hid his face, dark blue, almost black clothes with red accents, and a large round insignia on his chest, plated in gold. “The heroes Astro, Prinzessin, Wolven and Calamity approach with caution, claiming, ‘You never know who's a new threat and who's a new ally.’”
While the footage wasn't showing much, years of watching from the sidelines, or having face-to-face encounters with the corrupt system of being a two-toned city, Alhaitham had a sort-of sixth sense, a hidden insight to recognising who stands on what side of the coin.
The heroes stood tall, puffing their chests with wide smiles on their faces, a shining light to the civilians lost in the darkness from attacks. The glint in their eyes showed unmistakable pride. The villains, however, stood on guard constantly, preparing to be attacked for standing up to the biased law, usually having either a scowl on their face or an enraged grin. They were the darkness that overcame the innocent, hiding them away just to be ‘saved’ from those who deemed themselves a ‘protector of justice.’ The glint in villains’ eyes would show unmistakable anger towards the ‘worthy.’
Staring at the young man on the holographic screen, it was clear to Alhaitham by the way he stood, the way his shoulders tensed in preparation, the clenched fists. It wasn't the stance of someone who was ready to devote their life to saving others.
No, it was the stance of someone who was itching for a fight. Barely visible was the subtle shift in the wind, the heroes’ hair and clothes swaying more aggressively.
In an instant, the young man was high up in the air, a strange light green halo on his back. His hat, for some reason, had disappeared, now showing his crazed face, pupils small, teeth bared. He thrust his hand forward, hand radiating that same light green before a huge slash, of what appeared to be wind, was sent flying towards the heroes. Whatever it was, it was enough to slice through heroes’ flesh and bones like they were merely made out of butter.
The young man’s slashes were so rapid, so barraging, that the heroes couldn't keep up—their healing process couldn't keep up. Alhaitham watched as the heroes crumpled to the ground, bodies eventually going limp, the rise and fall of their chests ceasing, skin growing pale.
Four of the top heroes.
Dead in a matter of seconds.
The footage glitched for a few moments, before clearing back up again, revealing the young man standing directly in front of it, his face once again concealed with the large hat—only his mouth, curled into a wicked grin, could be seen.
“To the so-called ‘heroes’ of Teyvat,” he started, voice filled with pride as he gestured behind him at the bodies. “It’s about time someone put you in your place. Acknowledge the might of the Harbingers. Tonight will be your final night.”
The young man raised his leg up high, the wind picking up rapidly below his heel into a mesmerising ball of air. He slammed his foot down against the camera with a crunch, the feed cutting immediately.
Backing away from the window, Alhiatham’s curiosity for knowledge got the better of him, and he headed off towards where the heroes’ lifeless bodies lay, weapon drawn, of course. Multiple thoughts swirled through his mind as he walked. In comparison to other villains he'd seen parading around, that villain was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The speed at which the heroes were attacked, paired with the villain’s ability to stay airborne? The way he could shape the wind into long, piercing blades of wind? The finishing move dealt to the camera, a mishmash of different air speeds all forming into a pulsing ball of green energy? It was all very intriguing.
The journey didn't take long, as Alhaitham arrived at the scene of the crime in a matter of minutes. However, standing there, in a pool of the heroes’ blood, was a familiar man, with concern written on his face, and hands on his hips.
Long blonde hair tied into a loose ponytail at the back, a blue feather stuck behind his ear. Shoulder pads that connected a flowing line of red fabric at the back, like a cape, with small golden accents. A large claymore hovering just inches away from his back, a pale blue with gold pieces that popped and shimmered in the moonlight.
Mehrak.
To Alhaitham, something was different about this hero. Merhak had a tendency to focus on everyone and everything but his opponent—Where most of the heroes went straight to fighting, using everything within reach to either apprehend or kill the villain, Merhak instead prioritised civilian safety, damage control, and reasoning with the enemy before engaging in physical damage.
On the few times they'd ‘fought,’ it was usually over before it could even begin, with the hero posing Alhaitham the same query every time, “What did they ever do to you?” while slowly backing away. Since Mehrak clearly didn't want to fight him head-on, Alhaitham had to get his information about the hero’s fighting styles from external sources.
But there was something else about the hero that intrigued him, that he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was—which was a thought that came up frequently. Usually, he focuses on himself. While he wouldn't only have himself in mind when it came to scenarios, it was always his well-being and himself over others. Yet, something in his brain distantly yearned to get closer to Mehrak.
It was a feeling he didn't quite understand.
Alhaitham tried to approach quietly, until bits of grit and rubble scuffed under his shoe, causing Mehrak to spin around quickly, one hand already on his claymore.
“By the seven,” Mehrak exclaimed, dropping his stance almost immediately. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you know? You walk too quietly, it's unnerving, and it means you can sneak up on me at any given moment.”
“It's effective,” He deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Have you seen the news?”
“No, I was trying to find…” his gaze flickered from the pale bodies to Alhaitham, a hint of uncertainty showing in his eyes. “This wasn't you, was it?”
“No, I saw it on the news. Hence why I asked if you'd seen it. A new villain’s here. Capable of rapid attacks, flight, wind control. He's got a round hat that primarily covers his face, and a lot of dark clothing with a few highlights. From the screen, he didn't look very tall. Maybe… at your ribs.”
“Oh yeah? Anything else important on this broadcast?”
Alhaitham shrugged, “He gave a warning to the heroes, saying ‘Acknowledge the might of the Harbingers,’ and ‘Tonight will be your final night.’”
“What, he's going to try and kill all the heroes?”
“That's what it sounded like.”
“Ha! While I can admire that enthusiasm,” Mehrak laughed, shaking his head slightly. “There’s not a chance he can get through all of the hero commission. Sure, yeah, maybe some of the lower tiers might be easy targets, but they're always accompanied by either a B-tier or an A-tier. And besides, the jumps in rankings are surprisingly harrowing. B to A is always a shock to C-tiered villains, but A to S is even worse. Hey, there's a reason why there's so few villains nowadays, they're all scared of us, clearly.”
“I'm sure.”
“Uh huh. It'll be fine. We'll be on high alert, Vultur, I can assure you–”
“This wasn't a warning, it was a statement.”
“–that ‘Hat guy’ won't be a threat. He'll be dealt with in minutes, and you can go back to being Teyvat’s esteemed S-tier villain.”
“Nobody calls me that.”
“I wasn't giving you a title,” Mehrak rolled his eyes with a smile. “I was simply… making a statement.”
Despite keeping his usual unimpressed demeanor, his lips threatened to curl into a smile. Mahrak was... interesting to be around. The majority of the time, they had petty arguments over dumb things like the side they stood on or even things like "You wore your coat differently so I couldn't tell it was you and almost stabbed you!" Which, to be fair, only happened one time.
However, every once in a while, there would be moments like this. Where they could coexist and even make a few jokes, tease one another lightly. It was rare, and thus, made it far more valuable when it happened.
Just as Alhaitham was about to respond, the akasha terminal in the hero's ear beeped loudly, the alarms blaring once again to indicate another attack somewhere else in the city. Mehrak let out a sigh, putting two fingers to the device to silence it.
"Well, duty calls," he said, already turning around towards the sound of a building collapsing. Smoke could barely be seen in the distance, masked by the dark sky.
"Yes. Be... safe out there. That villain running loose has impressive qualities. Be vigilant, Mehrak."
"Wow, was that genuine concern for me?"
"Don't push it."
"Fine. Until next time, huh Vultur?" the hero smiled warmly, drawing the claymore from his back and running off into the night before Alhaitham could answer, leaving him alone next to a pile of bodies.
Covered from head to toe in blood that was half dried, half dripping from his face, the villain grinned wildly, eyes piercing though the hero quivering in his tight grasp. His hand was firmly gripping the protector’s neck, the skin turning an angry red.
The hero murmured something incomprehensible, mouth thoroughly coated in his one blood as he pathetically clawed at the villain's arm.
“What's that?” the villain asked, still smiling from ear to ear. “I didn't quite catch that.”
He waved his arm, a familiar surge of energy releasing from his hand as an arched blade of wind flew towards the hero’s chest digging into his skin and forcing its way out the other end, the light from his eyes fading almost instantly as his head lolled to the side, lifeless, pale. Taking a breath, the villain dragged the limp body without a care in the world, bringing his prize into the middle of the city.
In the heart of Teyvat, there lay a large and extravagant fountain depicting seven figures atop the peak, made from white marble and concrete, with a small, silver nameplate on the base reading, “For the diviners above that granted us the gift of power.” They were the first seven to be bestowed a vision, and thus, a statue was made to commemorate their efforts to abolish the first evils residing in the city.
The fountain represented hope; hope for other people with powers to join the hero commission, hope for the civilians who could live a more peaceful life under the wing of a protector, hope for the city to be rebuilt from destruction into something new. As the villain dumped the body on the ground next to a pile of others, he channelled his power from his beating heart down to the palm of his hand, outstretching it towards the deceased heroes.
With a cool breath and a shift in energy, the air stilled, before the bodies were lifted high into the air, and scattered all over the fountain, some half-submerged in the water that was now turning a shade of deep red.
Now, the fountain represents fear. Fear for any potential heroes that dare show their face on his turf, fear for the civilians so they know their protectors are gone, fear for the city that will inevitably get destroyed and reduced to ash and rubble all over again. Grinning once again and grabbing the brim of his oversized hat, the villain gazed up at his creation.
All of Teyvat’s heroes were dead, and all that was left were their cold, dead bodies, drained of life, lying in the middle of the city like a fucked-up modern art piece. All that remained of their heroic acts were the memories that were soon to be overturned and forgotten to be replaced with endless new memories of the new villain and his power.
He was going to take control of this city. And it all started here.
Alhaitham awoke the following morning to the delightful sound of their Fontainian-made television at full volume, the audio was practically blasting through the walls, too loud to be properly audible. With a huff, he rolled over, dangling his legs off the edge of the bed before pushing up off the mattress, feet hitting the floor softly.
Grumbling, he walked towards the door, swinging it open and peering his head out to stare in the direction of the device. His eyes widened as he read the headline.
Heroes of Teyvat found dead.
Cyno and Tighnari were sitting on the couch in front of the television, faces stationary in shock, their mouths agape. Alhaitham finally tuned into what was being said as he approached as quiet as ever, though the sheer volume of the TV was sure to mask his footsteps anyway.
“–entire night, the new villain slaughtered the mighty heroes of Teyvat, collecting their bodies and leaving them in the middle of the city, to be found the following morning,” the reporter stated, showing a picture of the gruesome sight. The bodies of dozens upon dozens of the city's saviours littered all over the looming fountain, drenched in blood. "We've heard that the villain told all the heroes the same, chilling, line; ‘This hour shall be your last,’ before brutally killing them.
"However, one stubborn hero seemed to have made it out alive. Our blonde hero, clad in white and gold, Mehrak was seen this morning—severely injured, but alive.”
Strangely, Alhaitham felt his heart jump at the final statement, relief washing over him.
“So, what,” Cyno started, breaking the tense atmosphere. “When Mehrak dies, the city is ours?”
“I mean… I guess so?” Tighnari said hesitantly. “But every hero except for Mehrak in one night? Done in a matter of hours? That's insane. If that doesn't scream S-tier, I don't know what does.”
“Yes, his abilities are quite impressive,” Alhaitham perked up, causing his flatmates to jump as they didn't hear him, Cyno cursing loudly. “Wind control, I believe. He also screams threat.”
"By the seven! What the– where are you last night!?" Tighnari exclaimed. "Is that why you vanished? Did you meet this guy?”
“No. I saw it on the news in a store window. Like the report said, the villain claimed that it would be the heroes’ final night before smashing the camera. Mehrak was… very convinced that the commission would be able to resist the villain attacks.
"It appears that ‘hat guy,’ as Mehrak called him, may not just be a threat to the hero and the civilians. He could very well be a threat to us. While Mehrak may indeed be willing to put up a fight, I don't think it'll be easy.
“This has undoubtedly turned the tides for the city.”