Work Text:
Being a hero is inherently virtuous, something good.
Being a hero means that people look up to you and see you as a symbol, an example of morality and humanity.
The problem begins when you lack any of the aforementioned qualities.
Theo, no matter how hard he tries, cannot fully belong to the society of heroes. He painfully outshines every second of his existence around people fulfilling this role. He's not heroic; his first instinct is to fight, not to help; his second thought is to flee, not to talk. It's not even just their differing morals—their outfits differ as well. Nymph prioritizes practicality, agility, and speed, while the rest seem to forget this crucial aspect, choosing increasingly absurd outfits. Everyone wears oversaturated photos as costumes and then wonders why they're an easy target. When he was still working against heroes, it was always easiest to assassinate one of them—they command all the attention.
Not to mention their nicknames. Every time they introduced themselves, he suppressed a laugh and the lingering question, "Who hurt you?".
But he'd tried to understand. Ever since joining Parrot—or X2, as he'd chosen his nickname—he'd been asking questions. Silly questions, perhaps, to anyone else, but motivated by a genuine desire to learn, to discover, and to understand concepts so alien to him. Sometimes he wondered how his friend hadn't grown tired of his constant questioning.
(“Why are you wearing so many colors! You can see against absolutely any background, how am I supposed to protect you if you can be seen a mile away?” Theo nervously adjusted his sunglasses, cracked from the explosion. They had been too close to a battle. He could have sworn he was already starting to see his last seven minutes! His head felt light from the number of times his skull had been pierced in half, only to be snapped back to its former state by the totem.
Parrot almost died. Again. Theo almost died! He has every right to be worried and angry and point out illogical behavior. If I want to live to continue my work, maybe I shouldn't look like a walking traffic light? Ah, what does he know, just talk nonsense – a former assassin.
His friend only smiled, gently flapping his wings with such naturalness that it was impossible not to compare this behavior to the one he had been in a few minutes earlier, when he had been terrified; it would have been an interesting anomaly.
“Theo, we wear all these colors so others know we're the good guys,” he said calmly, as if It was obvious, but not something he should be ashamed of not knowing.)
The two heroes stood on a rooftop, surveying the city's shadowed alleys. They were so similar to the same alleys he'd once lived in, in the Farlands. This place held the same aura of misery and human desperation, but in a different way. If emotions could have accents, Theo could say that the misery of the poor districts of the Farlands and the misery of Capital City had different accents, even different languages, but they shared one thing: human suffering.
He didn't know why, but this conclusion didn't move him any more than the spring breeze. Perhaps he really was evil, since he dismissed human suffering so easily in favor of philosophizing about other languages of their suffering.
The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the surface of the gray concrete. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that they were about to find themselves in some terrible predicament.
And his instincts had a way of never failing. The situation had been extremely sensitive for a long time, ever since the ideology of survival of the fittest had consumed society like a plague.
And Theo didn't blame them, he couldn't, not when he himself had once thought the same.
And that time, as it turns out, wasn't that long ago.
(“Tell me, Theobald,” Reina tilted her head. It was a rare moment when they both had a free moment, left alone on the balcony. Parrot was busy with some high-ranking people. “Do you hate me for being here? That by making it easier for others to climb the social ladder, the rest suffer?”
The nymph touched his chin thoughtfully, then shrugged. He didn’t give it much thought.
“Frankly, I couldn’t care less if you took the easier route than not. So no, I don't hate you, you’re useful…”
He was about to add her name, but stopped himself. It still sounded wrong on his tongue.
It was easy for him to express his opinion. He didn’t understand this whole campaign against lower-class people. Sure, giving them equal rights caused some economic chaos, and people starved to death… but so what? Sacrifice the individual for the common good, that sort of thing.
Maybe somewhere deep in the heart. He knew his teenage self would be thrilled to know he didn't have to be strong to be treated with respect.
"...You're so unflappable, it's actually comforting."
"I mean, sure, people dying is terrible...but it's a necessary evil, isn't it? If we let the strongest be at the top of society, people like Wemmbu and FlameFrags will never get a taste of their own medicine, and that's not something would Parrot want, that's not something Parrot wants. Defining others solely by their strength seems...stupid."
He explained, perhaps more seriously. Exceptionally selfless of him, because he knew that under the old system, he was still high enough, people still respected him for his strength, not out of principle, not because he deserved respect simply for being human.
"Right...thank you, Theobald."
"At your service, bro.”)
Besides, calling yourself Cindercrest…or whatever they were called, is so lacking in aura!
You want power for the powerful, but you can't think of a cool name.
Theo might be a bad guy, maybe he is. But you won't see him alive in a group that sounds like Apple Cider.
"I have a bad feeling, Par-X2," the blond quickly corrected himself, pulling his leather gloves further over his fingers, preparing to use his explosions. Parrot doesn't like the way he fights, but he doesn't comment on it aloud. He only mentions that blowing up an opponent doesn't give them a chance to change.
They shouldn't kill.
In fact, they can't.
But Theo can't fight any other way than to kill. He looks for weaknesses and attacks them, not to weaken them and take them into custody, but to end the enemy's life. Keeping an enemy alive is like keeping a hungry lion in a cage with weak bars. It's asking for disaster.
“You always have a bad feeling about Th—” he couldn’t finish.
“DOWN!”
Theo threw him to the ground, a second later a gray scuttle flew past Parrot, leaving a dent in the concrete.
Is that Wemmbu or Shoebilly?
By the gods, let it be Wemmbu.
He felt the color drain from his face and his heart skip a beat.
He threw Parrot in slow motion toward the covered space; in any other situation, he would have laughed at Parrot flying like a ball.
But not now.
He had less than a minute.
He grabbed his bombs and bow.
CRACK.
The sound of cracked totems and the echo of an explosion echoed across the rooftop.
CRACK.
Swords clashed.
Theo and Billie’s fight was like a dance, where only they could hear the music and one knew the steps better than the other.
Shoebilly's sword flew too close to his face to rest. He couldn't catch his breath. It was like a fire, filling your lungs with smoke. It was two forces colliding, fighting to be that one second faster in the enemy zone.
Another totem shattered as the sword struck his carotid artery.
Shoebilly soared into the air. Theo couldn't see him in the gray clouds. Until he appeared against the moon, obscuring him with his wings for a fleeting second as he dove down.
(It was a cool spring night; they always had the most orders when the travel season started—someone got on their nerves, said something bad to the wrong person.
And those people would then come to them, with their name and a sum of money.
A very high sum. Usually so high that a normal person could rebuild their life for that amount.
They didn't have many details for today's mission. Or at least Theo didn't. All Shoebilly had told him was the time and place, as usual, expecting them to meet there. The smaller bird supposedly had everything ready when the older one arrived. It was a tiring business, but he was just a student, so it probably made sense. He'd learned not to ask more questions than necessary.
Looking back, maybe he should have asked more. Pretended to be sick and not go, quickly find another mission. Anything.
Because what happened would stay with him, in his head, no matter how much he pushed it aside.
"I'm striking from above." "If I miss, you take aim and go to the cave. If I hit, burn the forest to the ground, Goldie." The gray bird presented his plan for the second time that day. Exceptionally, he added a B option if he failed—which isn't often the case. Who were they attacking this time? The President? That the great Shoebilly had to consider failure? And somehow, he'd even used that stupid nickname. His hair wasn't even gold! Just yellow.
Theo's head twisted in irritation.
"And who exactly should I take to the cave? That would be helpful, a lot, if your bird brain has already forgotten, you haven't told me anything!" This is the only time he can afford such comments. If they were home, Billy would hit him so hard he'd see the light. Just as a reminder that he can and will.
"You'll know when I hit, hide." His mentor spread his sharp wings. He had once been convinced they were made of knives, but that was a foolish and childish belief; now he knows that wings are the least dangerous part of Shoebilly.
He didn't wait for an answer as he took to the air.
"Sure, leave me with absolutely nothing, I guess..." he muttered half a breath, still obeying the order. He had work to do.
The forests in this part of the world had something magical about them—maybe the fact that they still existed and were so close to the spawn point. Some force must have kept him alive, but oh well, if that force wasn't enough, soon the whole forest would go up in smoke. He couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for destroying nature; you know, survival of the fittest, and those too weak must obey. That was what Billy had drilled into him, along with a million other things. To never get attached or feel sorry for their victims. Theo had learned to look at them all through darkened glasses.
Although lately, they'd kill more people at the bottom of the hierarchy, not those at the top.
Theo didn't want to think about what would have happened if he'd stayed on the bottom.
Focus.
He watched a group of people walk along the path toward the designated point. Three men, two women, and one girl, probably in her teens, as if he had to guess pre-teen, maybe around 11. They didn't look wealthy—their clothes, to his professional eye, were average at best. They had lots of pockets, so maybe it was a safety issue. Only he knows how many weapons can be hidden in clothing; after all, he has a whole arsenal sewn into his clothes. (He tries not to think about that lesson where Shoebilly sat down with him and started explaining how to sew. He showed all those weaves with a natural ease. As if holding a needle came to him as easily as a sword. It was one of the few moments where everything was...calm.)
Theo smiled at the youngest girl, though she couldn't see it. It's a shame they were about to kill one of her guardians. Whom is he kidding? He doesn't feel sorry for them.
He went through his equipment one last time, breathing in the pleasant forest air. He placed explosives in some trees that would explode if the temperature rose sharply, and buried a few bombs in the ground. He secretly hoped he'd get credit for this. Doing something like that isn't easy!
A shadow suddenly obscured the group, Billy probably blocking the sun again, a show-off. But somewhat effective—because it caused the group to pause to look up, probably thinking it was a sign of rain.
It was a mistake.
As Billy folded his wings just as quickly and dived, the only sign of the attack was the loud crack of the hammer hitting the ground.
Beside the girl, who jumped back. Her greenish hair whipped with the force that would take her life. He saw the terror in her eyes that would dictate her escape. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to start running before Theo caught her.
He pulled a grenade from his belt and threw it where he remembered he'd left the bombs; it would be enough to set off a chain reaction.
He started running.
Without looking back, without wanting to look back at what he'd done. He had no problem killing adults, but merely a teenager?
Talk to Billy, maybe he'd attacked the wrong person…
If only she'd stop kicking and screaming!
He already held her awkwardly enough, slung over his shoulder (because he has no clue how to carry people, he thought). As he made his way through the forest.
The trees seemed to be judging him, sticking out their roots to make him stumble, to make a mistake. Unfortunately for them, he knows what he's doing; a stupid root won't throw him off balance. (He remembers when Billy told him to run through the forest when he said he was sick and couldn't train, and his mentor started hunting him like some kind of prey. He wasn't aiming to hurt, but to kill. He remembers thinking he wouldn't survive it. How the fever fogged his mind and his skull ached from the number of times the totem had to repair it. He remembers the exhaustion when he reached the other end of the forest and fainted. He remembers waking up in base camp with a cold compress on his forehead and medicine by the couch.)
He reaches his chosen cave, takes a second to breathe, another to check if anyone has found her.
He sets the girl down on a rock, and she slips from his arms and sits on the ground. Theo hates that he knows why. That her legs scream for escape but at the same time have no strength, that they shake, that they can't support her weight, so she's left at their mercy.
He wonders where Billy is.
He doesn't want to know.
He allows himself to rest. Also still watching the kidnapped girl, but a voice in his head tells him she's not going to escape, not anymore. The smell of smoke wafts even here, carrying another sad story for the press—they'll quickly figure out whose handiwork this is. Because they want them to know. Their very names send a message to those in the know. That whoever hired them has enough money and influence to convince them to cooperate. Tomorrow morning, the papers will appear, saying that the infamous "The Butcher" and "Goldie" have pulled off another perfect hit. (How much he hated that nickname, someone must have heard Billy call him that on the phone.)
The kick in the back is a consequence of his lack of concentration. It's so hard it takes his breath away and hurts enough to leave a bruise.
"Never let your guard down, Goldie," Billy says, because of course he's the one attacking him. He didn't even hear him enter, he remarked with frustration. Another reminder of how different levels they are.
"The client ordered her body mutilated and left in the main square," he said as casually as if he were discussing the weather. But Theo knew what that meant. It was nothing more than another message to society; some would say it was awful, while others would agree, only to write online that it was all very well and that the weak should live in fear.
"Are you sure? That's a bit ex-" His doubts were silenced when Billie's hand slapped his cheek, leaving a red imprint. Theo coughed to hide the pain and spat out blood. He had to bite his tongue through the impact. It kept him silent. Arguing would do no good; if he said anything more, this time he'd get hit so hard that his lights would go out.
"What part of you gave you the impression that I needed your opinion? It was information, not a suggestion." The dryness in his voice hurt more than the slap itself. It should have been the other way around. He didn't care about Billy. They weren't friends. He'd proven that enough times. Theo was using him for money and training. That's all.
"Stupid little Goldie" The Assassin abruptly changed his tone, practically chirping, almost knocking him off guard. He directed his steps toward the girl, tilting his head. She wasn't stupid, just scared, constantly listening. If Theo had been watching her, he would have seen her scribbling something on the paper she'd just pocketed. But he was too focused on Billy. He wanted to say he wasn't small, he wasn't stupid, and his name wasn't Goldie! He didn't even have golden hair.
“Is all your training going to waste because some girl is lowering the age average?” He continued, still smiling, until he stopped. “Paying attention to such things is for the weak,” he tossed a blunt knife at him, which he hesitantly caught.
“Cut off her head, Theo,” so no longer Goldie? Apparently, he can use his name! Too bad it was when he wanted to be that stupid Goldie instead of himself.
Shoebilly stared at him as if he were trying to prove something. As if it were a test. Because it was a test. Was Theo worth keeping and training? And Theo… he wasn’t about to fail.
He gritted both his teeth and his grip on the knife. Then he practically spat, rolling his eyes for effect, pretending his heart wasn’t racing. “Okay, it's not like I care.”
He grabbed the girl by her hair, slightly frayed, lacking proper nutrients, greenish hair—Billy liked to do things for show, so this act was nothing more than a game.
Theo noticed she had a flower hidden behind her ear, a white rose, if he had to guess. But he'd never been well-versed in nature…besides, it didn't matter.
He didn't look away as he plunged the knife into her throat. It wasn't quick. He didn't kill her instantly; the blade was too dull to penetrate the delicate skin in one blow. He had to use force. Blood splattered on his glasses.
The girl began to scream, choking on her own misery and pain. Because he hadn't managed to pierce her spinal cord.
For agonizing seconds, she struggled, staring at him, opening and closing her mouth. She tried desperately to force out her last words. It was a shame they were directed at her killer. (She pressed the note into his hand with a strength astonishing for a dying man. But perhaps he underestimated the determination the stubborn girl could possess.)
“Reina”
“What?”
“Rei-na”
She repeated, determined for him to remember that specific name. She didn’t speak anymore, merely fixed him with a look that made him uncomfortable, so he nodded, confirming he understood.
Then she closed her eyes one last time. With a strange calm.)
Shoebilly’s mace struck Theo, shattering his skull, green-gold sparks showering down, sealing the wound. He felt the phantom pain of the fatal blow.
He wanted to move, to fight, to defend Parrot—if he was still where he’d told him to be, which he probably was, because he didn’t know when to retreat. But his body hit the hard concrete of the roof, this time struck by Billy’s boot.
“THEO!” Sure, reveal your position, that's what's needed. It must be serious if he's using his name instead of the stupid alias "Agent X2."
Oh, because it is serious. Theo should know that Billy isn't the type to hesitate to kill him.
But he's still alive. For some reason. Even though Shoebilly has more than enough to cut off his head, he doesn't.
“Theo Theo Theo” An unbearable voice buzzes in his head. Too loud, everything echoes. “Tell your friend that one more step and he'll have your head.” He knows this is no joke. He feels the tip of the blade at his throat. “I have to hammer one last lesson into that thick skull of yours before I decide to cut it off. After all, it would be a waste if my apprentice died before he learned anything useful.”
Silence fell; Theo didn't bother to repeat the message. Parrot looked at the two of them warily, with something unreadable on his face. One hand behind his back.
“Apprentice?” Something in the yellow bird's heart trembled; this was the end. Everyone would know what kind of person he was, and they would either kill him or lock him up.
“Oh, didn’t you know? It’s good to know Goldie remembers a lesson or two.” Shoebilly looked a little too smug for his liking, but no matter how much he wanted to beat him to a pulp right now, he couldn’t.
“Goldie?” His friend’s face twisted in understanding, painful understanding. Filled with betrayal. It hurt Theo more than a shattered skull.
“SHOEBILLY!” He hissed weakly, sounding pathetically close to a plea. “STOP! JUST SHUT UP, SHUT—”
“Shhh, adults talking.” The larger bird pinned him to the ground until he heard the crack of broken ribs. “I’m teaching you a lesson.”
“I don’t understand.” Theo groaned in pain, his breaths coming in labored, unmanageable gasps.
“Because you didn't want to listen. I knew you were stubborn. I know stubbornness very well.” His former mentor sighed, as if scolding a very irritating chick. For some reason, the cockatiel felt ashamed. “You wouldn't learn that attachment is wrong just by me saying it. You are going to waste the rest of your life chasing behind everyone who would make you think you are friends. Dreaming about this worthless weakling.”
Theo remained silent, no longer even trying to speak or look at Parrot. Somehow, accepting that it was over.
Until someone kicked him, that someone was Shoebilly. He automatically sat up, immediately knowing what was wanted from him. He hated it. He gritted his teeth, curling up pathetically in pain, noticing far too late as his mentor approached Parrot.
“So I have to show you. Words aren't your strong sidr, are they? You always needed a demonstration. Don't do that, you're going to get hurt, you get hurt, and don't do that again. That's why you couldn't learn the most important lesson about friendships—and it makes all the sense in the world, because I couldn't teach you without you having a friend first.” He continued, shaking his head as if he was truly sorry he had to do this because Theo couldn't listen to him. Then he smiled, drawing his sword.
“The most important thing about friendships is that—they end.” He took a swing, about to smoothly sever Parrot's head.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”
A confident voice stopped Shoebilli mid-movement. With unnerving synchronization, mentor and apprentice turned their heads to see…
Wemmbu.
The purple demon, even with those stupid moles under his eyes, looked decently terrifying. His wings—now spread from landing, but also ready for flight—blended into the night, and the moon cast its rays upon the large mace in his hands.
The most powerful creature in the world.
Which, incidentally, is their enemy.
"Wemmbu? That's none of your business," Shoebilly growled, irritated. Still, he didn't touch his sword. This was the first time anyone had listened.
"Yeah, I don't want to interrupt your boring family business. Seriously, it's fun to watch, but I can't let you kill this little fella, nothing personal." The demon's black tail swayed dangerously close to the ground. Despite his cheerful tone, his entire demeanor suggested he was serious.
“We're on the same side, return to Arachnid like an obedient dog.”
“Don't make me kill you, you've already lost once.”
Shoebill seemed to consider this, then shook his head.
“It doesn't end here.” The words were empty as he spread his wings and flew away.
A silence fell.
A particularly awkward kind.
Wemmbu rested his chin on the tip of his weapon in boredom, looking like a particularly bored and irritated cat.
Theo felt like he was about to faint, but he didn't want it to happen before it was clear.
He tightened his grip on his last totem.
"Parrot, I can explain—"
"Explain."
Oh.
It was a quick acceptance; he expected her to leave and leave him at the mercy of Wemmbu (he still had no idea why he was there or why he hadn't killed them).
"I... I did terrible things. I was a bad person, I probably still am." He coughed. He had to keep his words short; each breath hurt like it might be his last. "But I don't subscribe to that anymore. I'm trying to be different, better. Because you're better." Theo's voice broke here. Maybe with pain, maybe with shame.
"Was that fake?"
"What?"
"Our friendship, your being a hero. Are you a spy? You pretended to like me to get information?"
"By God, Parrot, no! Of course not! I stopped being an Assassin when we met..."
He hesitated, and Parrot, of course, saw it, he always did.
"Tell the truth."
"Well... when we met, I was still one, I was going to kill you. But when I got to know you better... I changed my mind, you showed me it wasn't worth it."
He had already fallen silent, his strength failing him. He bowed his head, waiting for his verdict.
The silence was loud.
But also the sound of the demon's tail on the ground was louder. Reminder that he was still here, seeing his most vulnerable moment.
Apparently he wasn't the only one having emotional conversation again.
“Theo…I” Parrot hesitated. “I want to hate you for that, that you lied and everything, that you are a murderer. But…I can't blame you, not really. There are things I didn't tell you either, things that would make me a hypocrite”
An Avian hybrid looked behind him. At Wemmbu, Theo realized.
“You probably wonder why he is here, why he helped us.”
“Duh” Both pvpers made this sound.
“See.. that's why I can't hate you for being a murderer. Because Wemmbu is my brother. And I don't hate him, not necessarily”
“Wait, you don't?” that was truly shocked voice of someone who a few seconds ago was checking if his nails are still pretty.
“shut up, I'm the one having emotional moment now” Theo said, eating gapple just so he would be able to keep up with conversation.
“You both shut up. And Wemmbu you can leave”
“Yeah no”
“Whatever…” Parrot sighed “The thing is…I'm still hurt, that you lied of course. But I understand. And the most important…you try to change, even if it's hard. It's something not everyone does. " He didn't say a name, but the context made it clear enough that he was talking about said brother. “We still have to talk about it. But I won't let you die because you hurt my feelings Theo. You look like a ghost”
“Thanks” Cockatiel smiled, letting his…best friend get him up, even if it hurt like hell.
“Okay don't wanna destroy the emotional moment, but you are aware I want at least a shulker of golden apples for helping you?” The purple demon coughed, very visibly fighting for attention. Even though he did nothing but just showed up.
“You will get you stuff, go away now”
“Mimimimi” Wemmbu giggled, maybe annoyed, but in fact he flew away. It was easier than he thought it would be. Especially after their last fight, where he almost killed them both. Theo really doesn't understand their relationship. Maybe he doesn't want to.
“you do realize you have to talk to Reina?”
“Oh my god”