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britishassistant · 1 year

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People Die When They Are Killed (So Let’s Keep You Breathing)

“Kalim!” His footsteps pound as he races through the hallways of the school, breath coming in harsh pants. “Kalim!!”

Not here. He’s not at the front desk, not in the classroom, not in the Light Music Club room, so where—?!

Jamil’s eye catches the full moon rising outside the window.

He grimaces and throws open the next door.

He’s got to find him. The punishment for returning to the Asim compound without Kalim doesn’t bear thinking about. And that’s even if his stupid master has just done something totally innocuous in the name of having a “proper Japanese high school experience”, like go over to one of his many, many friends’ places for a “jam session”.

On the night of the start of the Fifth Holy Grail War.

The back of Jamil’s hand itches.

He grits his teeth. It’s a rash, just a rash, nothing more. He’s Kalim’s aide, a servant, maybe one with the potential for magecraft, but nothing compared to the Asim heir, one of the seven participants in this new Grail War.

He’s the one to do the dirty work, take care of the practicalities of technology and slit throats in back alleys. If they ever thought differently…

Why did he humor Floyd’s mood in basketball club this evening?! If he hadn’t, he and Kalim would be safe in the compound, preparing for the summoning. Instead he’s running through a dark school, searching for—!

“Jamil?”

He whips around on his heel to see Kalim emerge from a storage closet.

“Ah! Jamil!” The stupid, asinine, self-absorbed, obsequious, pusillanimous blockhead cheers as he waves. “Did’ja come here looking for me? Sorry I’m so late! Lilia asked me and Cater to put all the stuff back after club this evening, but Cater had a date to get to, so I told him to go ahead so I’d do it! But then the guitar amp got jammed, and it scraped the wall, so I was looking for some paint to—”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?!” Jamil hisses, marching over. “We need to get back to the compound right now!”

“Huh? Why?” Kalim tilts his head to the side.

Jamil fights the urge to pull his hood over his face and scream.

“It is,” The very edges of his tone are teetering with enforced politeness. “The first night of the Holy Grail War. The one that you are summoning a servant for, and participating in. It’s not safe to be outside right now.”

Kalim frowns even as Jamil begins frogmarching him away from the closet and towards the stairs, bucket of paint still in hand. “Well, yeah, but Uncle said that they wanna wait until like, really late to try it, right? And it’s just the first night, everyone else will still be summoning themselves.”

It takes everything Jamil has not to facepalm.

“Except,” He grits out. “There are certain times that are more ideal for summoning certain servants. You’re aiming for Caster at 2AM, but some servants will be summoned later than that, and most will be summoned earlier. And it’ll be a win for the master of the Shroud family or the Kingscholar family if they manage to take their opponents out right away rather than wait until everyone’s summoned and ready. Honestly, do you pay any atten—?”

He doesn’t even see anything coming.

One moment, he’s pulling Kalim along, intent on getting back to the Asim compound—

The next, he’s hitting the ground, instinctually throwing his master under him as the windows next to them explode.

It almost sounds like the very wind itself is trying to kill them, the whines and shrieks of gusts as wave upon wave upon wave of arrows pierce the walls and doors on the other side of the corridor.

Kalim is screaming, crying, and it’s all Jamil can do to try and push him to crawl towards the stairwell.

It’s a servant, he thinks as he tries to ignore the way his heart is pounding, the terror trying to get him to lose focus. The servant of a rival master, taking the opportunity presented to murder the heir to the Asim and any witnesses. Probably Archer, if the arrows are any indication, though Caster or Berserker aren’t totally out of the realm of possibility—

Kalim shrieks again as the windows on the floor below are shattered, the brightly colored fletches quivering where they’ve embedded themselves in the floor.

Right. Enemy servant. They need to either get out of the building (bad idea, open space with nowhere to hide from the threat, death sentence) or else find somewhere to hide and call for help.

Somewhere the servant can’t easily pick them off from the outside—!

“The coach’s office,” He gasps, “Behind the locker rooms, go Kalim, go!!”

Kalim’s eyes are wet and scared, but at least he responds to Jamil’s order, nodding and darting down the stairs as fast as he can, running bent double with Jamil hot on his heels.

The locker rooms are on the ground floor, right by the stairs. While they had thin slits of windows near the ceiling, to provide some natural light for the occupants, Coach Vargas’ office, piled high with dusty paperwork and sparkling trophies, does not have the same luxury. Small, contained, with no easy access from the exterior—it’s the only truly secure room in the building that they can easily reach.

Kalim raced through the door and Jamil pushes it shut behind them, frantically straining to drag the coach’s desk in front of it and fumbling around in the dark to find the fire extinguisher and loop it’s cord around the handle, just to be sure.

There’s a moment where he and Kalim are panting in the dark, ears straining to hear anything.

A distant crash.

His phone is in his hand before he even knows what he’s doing, jabbing in the number for Jakuzure-san, the senior steward of the Asim compound in this country.

“Viper-san?” Comes Jakuzure-san’s indistinct, shaky voice. “Where are you and Kalim-sama? The masters expected you both back—”

“We’re at Night Raven College.” Jamil says, barely able to keep the panic out of his tone. “Kalim and I, we were—there’s a servant outside. They’re using arrows, they’re trying to kill us, I, I don’t know if the master is nearby or not. We’re in the coach’s office, hiding for now, but it won’t last long. We need help, backup, now.”

“A-ah! Right!” Jakuzure-san’s voice gets even more tremulous, if possible. “I shall inform the masters, and they shall have our contingent of mages—!”

“Jakuzure? Who’s that?” Are the muffled words that Jamil can barely make out.

“Namir-sama! It is Kalim-sama’s aide, Viper-san. They are trapped at Night Raven College by a rival servant!” Jakuzure-san wails.

“What?!” Jamil can hear Namir Al-Asim’s voice much more clearly as he raises his voice and gets closer. “That little fool is…wait. Stop. Don’t you dare—! Give me that you doddering old fool—!”

“But Na—!”

There’s nothing but a dial tone.

Jamil stares at the phone in disbelief. He hits redial, and again, and again, and again—!

“Ja-Jamil?” He looks up to see Kalim’s quivering form in the corner, barely able to make out his features in the dark. “Th-they’re coming, right? W-when are they getting here?”

He wants to tell the truth for once, just once. No one’s coming, Kalim. They’ve left us for dead, so that Jawad or Namir can take your place as heir. We’re going to die. We’re both going to die here, in Coach Vargas’ office, and it is all. Your. Fault.

His throat tightens.

“They’re held up. Some other master is trying to get into the compound.” He lies. “We. We need to get ourselves out of this.”

The distant crashes are getting closer.

“Oi~~! Young masters~~! Come out, come out wherever you are~!” The voice calling out is light, boyish, like it could be one of their underclassmen. “It’s seriously lame for super powerful mages like you to go playing hide and seek like little kids! Won’t you come give me a challenge~?”

Kalim’s whimper is like a gunshot. Honestly, does he want this servant to catch—!

Wait.

“Kalim,” Jamil’s whisper feels too loud, far too loud, but this may be the only way they survive this. “Do you remember how to draw the summoning seal?”

“What?” It takes a moment, but he sees the metaphorical lightbulb go off. “Oh! Oh, so if we summon my servant in here, we can deal with the guy outside and go save everyone at the compound!”

“Yeah,” And, Jamil adds in his head, if you have a summoned servant already, then Namir’s plans to usurp Kalim’s place as the Asim representative and heir will come to a screeching halt. “You didn’t drop that can of paint?”

“Nope!” There’s a sloshing sound. “Ah! I think I spilled some.”

It’s hard, trying to ensure the lines and characters are correct when daubing white paint onto the carpet with their fingers by the dim light of Jamil’s phone screen.

Kalim shifts as Jamil places the finishing touches. “Wh-what about the catalyst? It’s back at the compound.”

“We’ll have to do without.” Jamil replies brusquely. “It’ll be harder, but not impossible. Just means we won’t know which servant will come.”

He hears Kalim’s intake of breath as he prepares to ask another question.

The next crash is right outside the office.

“Huh,” The servant’s voice is bright, slightly exasperated. “Are you hiding around here, little princelings? I’ve torn most of the building to shreds, so this is the last place left to look~! Jeez, you brats really love to make a guy work for it, ya know?”

Jamil tries to stifle the terror in his gut as he finishes the last sigil. “There! Kalim, do it now!”

“R-right!” Kalim’s whisper is filled with resolve.

He rubs his hands together, and Jamil feels the small room begin to fill with the cool feeling of Kalim’s magic, like standing by one of the canals or in the spray of a fountain on a scorching day. The incantation rises and falls, like steps to a song almost forgotten.

There’s a muffled thump.

Nothing happens.

“Kalim?” He whispers. “What—?”

Three arrows pierce through the thick, reinforced wood of the fire door to Coach Vargas’ office with sharp, staccato thuds.

“Found you~” The servant sing-songs.

“Kalim,” Jamil starts, volume rising with the number of arrows destroying the door. “Any day now would be great!”

“I-I can’t!”

“What do you mean, you can’t?!” Jamil snaps, stress making his voice crack. “Either you do this Kalim, or we die!”

“I’m trying, I am, but I, I, just—!” And there’s the wobble in his voice that Jamil has hated ever since they were kids, the one always heralded a crying fit, that lead to his parents taking him aside and saying be nice and let Kalim do better than you this time, you need to let him win, he is an Asim after all. “I can’t, Jamil!”

The noise that emerges from his throat is inarticulate and nearly bestial with frustration.

“Get out of the way then!”

“Wha-Jamil!!”

It may be fine for Kalim, who can mess up and mess up and mess up and still be fine because he’s the heir of the Asim, doted on and praised and adored.

But Jamil is a Viper, is the one who always has to clean up these messes, who has to cover for these mistakes, and he has never ever had the luxury of being anything less than perfectly vigilant. Not when it was the life of his master and his own head on the line.

Please, he thinks as he opens the magic circuits he’s avoided using, that he’s been taught to pretend aren’t there, as he recites the incantation he’s not meant to know, somebody, anybody, come here and help me fix this. Don’t let me and my stupid master die like this!

He pushes—!

It burns, like sand scraping the nerves of his arms raw.

There’s a blast of bright light that fills the tiny office and whites out his vision.

The first thing he feels is the cool night breeze on his face.

The next is Kalim, quivering behind him. His hands are fisted tight in his hoodie.

When he finally blinks his eyes open, he finds his master unharmed, if ruining his favorite hoodie with the white paint coating his fingers. Instead Kalim seems to be staring at something…behind…him…

Jamil Viper turns to look.

The figure standing silhouetted in the moonlight is a monstrous one.

Towering horns protruding from its head, its eyes bulging and yellow, the stark white of its face contorted into a fearsome grimace which bare the tusks erupting from its maw. It looks like it walked out of the museums Kalim dragged him to when they first came to this country, thick leather and tarnished steel buckled over flowing, bloodstained silks. It clutches a polearm, the long, thin blade at the top gleaming viciously under the moon.

Behind the figure stands a grotesque beast that can neither be cat nor weasel for all that its features bear some resemblance to those animals. It’s head is maned with what could be an octopus’ tentacles, and its tail and hindquarters are scaled, with a hood cobra head swaying at the end of its tail, tasting the air. The grasping hands which serve as its forepaws clench and uncurl, the black skin of them cracking as the main head swings around to take them in, phosphoric blue flames leaking from its eyes, it’s ears, seeping out from between its bared teeth.

Jamil stares, mouth dry. There’s a throbbing in his right hand.

“I ask of you,” You say. “Which of you is my master?”

The boy with short white hair lets out a whimper and shifts closer to the one with long dark hair. “Ja-Jamil…!”

That one hasn’t stopped staring at you with a mixture of shock and awe since you materialized. Maybe not the most conventional summoning, especially since you can’t really feel much mana flow from him to you, but hey, you’re here, aren’t you?

In a physical body and breathing again since you died, what? Two hundred, three hundred years ago?

You shift your mask to the side of your head to get a better look at the boy you’ll be calling Master for the rest of this Grail War.

Hm. Skinny, but not underweight, some muscle on him from the way he’s crouched in front of his friend (who, white-haired, better fed, less muscular, better quality clothing, adorned with jewels, hiding—silver spoon heir or you’ll eat your mask). Wary line of the mouth, so not some idealistic brat you’ll have to babysit and cater to the whims of. Maybe a bit untrained in the magic department, but there’s potential there, you can feel it. Lovely hair, silky and well cared for, worn long as a samurai’s should be.

And your command seals on the back of his hand.

Not bad. No, not bad at all.

You kneel before the boy—this “Jamil”— and bow your head respectfully before your liege lord. Behind you, you can feel Grim mimic you, as best he’s able.

“Well met, Master. I am servant Rider. I and my allies will be in your care from now on.”

Your Master swallows, licks his lips. Is he nervous?

That’s kind of cute.

Which is, naturally, when you hear a bow being loosed.

Your naginata snaps out, slicing the arrows in half before they can touch your new master.

“Excuse me,” You lift your hannya mask back over your face, turning to confront the interloper. “We are trying to have a civil conversation here.”

The red-headed Archer gasps. “Oh no! I’m so sorry mister, I’ll just put killing you on hold…not. You’re in the Grail War now, newbie! Ya snooze, ya lose.”

“What was that, ya punk?!” Grim snarls, tail lashing and hissing. “Minion! This guy is challenging the authority of the Great Grim Sama! The strongest yōkai and the finest hero who ever lived!”

“And I’ve never heard of you!” The Archer says cheerfully.

Grim lets out an inarticulate shriek of rage.

You sigh as you study the Archer.

That garb…definitely old Europe, pre-1600s at the very least. Noble bearing, but someone who’s got used to roughing it. Plus that red hair and those arrows that strike as fast and true as the wind…

“You know, I always thought you’d be a bit nicer.” You say conversationally, “With the whole tragically dispossessed noble, steal from the rich and corrupt shit. Right, Ace Trappola?”

Ace Trappola, servant Archer, actually begins choking on his own spit.

You guess this is why people say never meet your heroes.

“Wh-how the hell does some freaky-ass masked weirdo know who I am?!” He demands.

“I was born in 1853,” You deadpan. “Even we’d heard of legends like you by then.”

The guy actually scuffs the floor with his boot, lets out a borderline embarrassed laugh as he scruffs a hand through his hair. “W-well, of course you have! You’d hafta be from some backwater to not have heard of—!”

Your naginata swipes across where his throat would have been had he not sprung backwards.

“Yes.” Your sweet smile under the mask is apparent in your voice. “I also heard how you unfortunately died to some monk bleeding you like a stuck pig. I may not have the same level of finesse as he did, but please forgive me if I get too rough, okay?”

Ace Trappola lands in the center of some kind of dusty field, teeth bared in a fierce grin. “That wasn’t cute at all, you know! Ah man, just my luck that I’d be stuck educating a crazy upstart of a junior.”

“First lesson,” The arrow in his bow quivers, appears to split into hundreds and thousands of itself even before being loosed. “Don’t get so cocky, brat.”

The arrow screams as it is fired, blotting out the moon and the stars with how many of them are covering the night sky and converging on you and your master.

“Grim!” You bark.

“On it, fgnah!”

Grim inhales to the point where he’s swollen to almost twice his usual size, the flames around his head sputtering and almost going out.

When he exhales, the night is lit with a torrent of his blue fire.

You knock away a few errant arrows from your master and his friend that managed to escape being melted in the inferno.

“W-wait!” The friend cries. “You, you can’t fight him!”

You blink at the inherent ridiculousness of this statement. “Yes I can. That’s what we’re doing right now. Fighting him.”

“N-no! I mean,” The friend wrings his hands, flaking white stuff. Is that…is that paint? “I mean we don’t have time for you to fight him! There’s, there’s a master attacking the compound, we gotta get there and help them out right away! Right, Jamil?”

Your master says nothing, still staring at you.

“Jamil?!”

“Huh? Oh, ah,” He coughs, suddenly looking anywhere but you. “Yes, Rider, it. It would be best if we made a strategic retreat for now. We need to return to the Asim compound, as we don’t know what Archer’s master is planning.”

You could take him. You and Grim could make mincemeat of Ace Trappola, given enough time and property damage. But if your master says otherwise…

“Alright.” You nudge Grim’s flank. “If that is what my master desires, your wish is my command. Would you be able to direct me and Grim if you rode in front?”

Your master and his friend nod.

“Heh! Be grateful, humans!” Grim boasts as he kneels down and you hoist yourself onto his back. “Thanks to my minion’s begging, I, the Great Grim Sama, shall allow you to ride me!”

The friend scrambles up with all the eagerness of a child mounting their first pony. Your master looks a little more wary as he approaches and grips Grim’s fur to get a good handhold to swing himself up and over.

“Don’t worry,” He stiffens up as you murmur to him. “I won’t let you fall.”

Oh, you think as he clutches at his ear and twists around to stare at you, wide-eyed. You like this one.

“Running away so soon?” Ace Trappola jeers, nocking another one of those multiplying arrows. “As if I’d let you!”

You lean over your master as Grim begins to run, your body weight pressing him and his friend down below the protective mantle of Grim’s manes. You’re not exactly eager to find out what those arrows will do to you if they lodge into you, but better you get turned into a pincushion than your master.

And if this Archer thinks that wielding your naginata one-handed will make you any less precise, then he’s about to pay dearly for it.

You see his arm prepare to let the arrow(s) fly—!

Something large and black comes hurtling through the air and hits Ace Trappola in the face.

You stare as Archer topples over under the weight of…

“Is. Is that a pot?” Your master asks, squinting.

“It’s a cauldron. I think.” You tilt your head.

“Nyaha! Nice one, minion!” Grim cheers, “That’s what you get for messing with the Mighty Yōkai Grim!”

“But that wasn’t—”

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Ace Trappola screeches, flailing under the huge mass of cast iron. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! DID YOU SERIOUSLY THROW A FUCKING CAULDRON AT ME?!”

“It’s dishonorable to attack an enemy’s back.” A serious voice calls. “As heroes, we should obey the laws of chivalry when engaging in our battles.”

The servant who has entered the field is the very picture of a knight in shining armor at first glance. His plate and chainmail gleam under the moonlight, his spear polished to an unearthly sheen.

But his face is decorated with a blue warpaint that makes you suspect his legend is much older and less clean-cut than he initially appears.

“Oh yeah, and it’s real fucking CHIVALROUS to throw COOKWARE at someone fighting a battle that YOU AREN’T INVOLVED IN, DUMBASS!!” Ace Trappola finally unearths himself, looking worse for wear. “What, did your mom drop you on your head ten times over or something?!”

The new servant’s expression darkens.

His posture shifts until he resembles a rowdy brigand more than a noble warrior, the new shadows blotting out some of the gleam from his armor, making it appear rougher and used.

“Hah?!” The blue warpaint turns his face into a mask almost as terrifying as your own. “Ya got somethin’ t’ say about ma lady mother you snot-nosed little fuck?!”

And there it is.

“A lady?” Ace Trappola smirks, bow now aimed at a new target. “That wasn’t what she sounded like last night~”

Wow. You didn’t know someone could turn that color from rage.

The servant—probably a Lancer—launches himself towards the Archer with a war cry.

“As fascinating as this is,” Your master mutters in front of you. “Maybe we should use this opportunity to make our escape?”

“Seems like it could be fun to watch,” You gently nudge Grim’s flanks. “But that probably would be best. Now, we’ll just make our escape qui—”

“FGNAH! SO LONG, SUCKERS!” Grim proclaims at the top of his lungs, heedless of your and your master’s attempts to get him to shut the fuck up. “YOU MAY LIVE TO SEE ANOTHER DAY THIS TIME, BUT THE GREAT GRIM SAMA WILL RETURN TO CONSUME YOUR MEASLY SOULS!!”

With a single bound, Grim leaps from the ground to the roof of the ruined building your master was taking shelter in. He takes a running start, and vaults over the flimsy fence at the top into the air.

Your master and his friend scream.

You grin.

The flames that form beneath Grim’s legs aren’t like wings, you don’t think they serve any practical purpose to help him fly. But it makes for an astonishing sight nonetheless—looking down and seeing blue fire between you and the sprawling city below.

“Fl-flying!” Your master’s friend gasps. “We’re—we’re actually flying!! Look, look Jamil! It’s like we’re on a magic carpet, for real!! We’re flying!!”

“Kalim, be careful!” Your master scolds as he yanks him back from where he was leaning over the side to get a better look. “You are not going to break your neck after everything we’ve gone through to get out of this!”

“It’s not like it’s a big deal.” Grim rumbles beneath you dismissively. “Even if he fell, the Great Grim Sama would catch him, ya know?”

“That’s not the point,” Your master groans.

There’s a faint crash behind you.

You twist around to see Ace Trappola pull himself out of the roof of the ruined building and begin yelling at the Lancer back on the ground.

Did. Did that Lancer try to stop you all from escaping. By throwing another servant?? At you???

You shift back around. “What kind of troublesome war have you gone and got us involved in, Master?”

Your master groans, burying his face in his hand. “Don’t blame me for his incompetence.”

You can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes you with that sentiment. How many times in life have you thought the same thing?

You think this is the start of a beautiful partnership.

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britishassistant · 2 years

Note

Hi and Happy Belated Birthday! I was wondering if I could formally request the special addition of that time Jamil had the Reporter stuck in an hourglass and had to get them out himself? The very idea of it had me cackling in my chair, it seems like such a hilarious scenario! Quite possibly my favorite one in the entirety of your brilliant Supervillain AU.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“Is this really necessary?”

The question’s enough to make Kalim look back, nervous. But Jamil sets his shoulders, tilts his head to the the side.

“Well, if you can’t be well-mannered enough to be trusted to remain tied to your chair, reporter,” Snake Charmer hisses, “Then you shouldn’t be surprised when we resort to extreme measures.”

The aforementioned reporter has the nerve to look indignant as they’re pushed into the top half of the hourglass.

“See if I save you from a dunking next time then!” They fume, pouting in a manner that’s both distracting and likely exaggerated to try and throw Jamil off his game.

He leans against the control panel, pretending to rub his “beard”, but being careful not to actually smudge it. “Unfortunately for you, reporter, there isn’t going to be a next time. Water Boy?”

“All set, Ja—Snake Charmer!” Water Boy chirps obnoxiously, slamming the glass door shut like Jamil’s told him not to dozens of times and scurrying down the ladder and clear of the mechanism. It always means it gets wedged too hard, leaking sand and being a royal pain to open later.

Jamil tries not to sigh too obviously, and instead takes pleasure in pressing the button that activates this particular trap.

The reporter stumbles as the half of the hourglass they’re in begins to tilt, trying to balance on the slick glass before tumbling, quite literally, arse over teakettle. They end up uncomfortably sprawled on their shoulders with their knees over their head and groaning softly by the time the rotation is finished. The brown lining on the inside of their neat little blazer clearly visible.

The seat of their jeans also appears pleasantly full, thanks to this position.

“…mer? Snake Charmer?”

Jamil doesn’t quite start at the sound of Kalim’s voice, but it’s a near thing.

“Hm? Ah-a-ahem!” He recovers admirably, if he does say so himself, walking around to sprawl against the control panel with the kind of artful carelessness that it’s taken him months to perfect. “As you can see, Mx. Radcliffe, you have until the sand fills the bottom of the hourglass to beg for mercy and repentance, and swear to tell me everything you’ve learned about my…esteemed colleagues during your time with them, and I may take pity on you. If not…”

The reporter rolls into a crouch, scooting away from the stream of sand that’s begun to pour down to cover the floor of the hourglass.

The defiant glare they shoot him makes something curl warm and satisfied in his gut.

“I suppose you’ve got a little under half an hour to reflect upon your regrets.” He leans closer to the glass, amused when they pointedly don’t shift back or look away. “How about it, reporter? You’ve spent so long uncovering the foibles of others—care to share a few dirty secrets of your own?”

There’s a flash of suppressed alarm in their eyes that sends goosebumps over Jamil’s skin.

He feels his own eyes growing hot as he opens his mouth—

“Not so fast, snake!”

It’s only years of experience dodging Kalim’s assassins that allow Jamil to fling himself back and away from the hero who has so rudely interrupted. It’s that same experience which allows him to stifle an irritated groan.

There, dressed in his absolutely ludicrous tiger-themed costume that Jamil still can’t quite believe he allows himself to be caught dead in, crouches Namir al-Asim. Kalim’s second-eldest cousin, who went into heroics to bolster the Asim reputation and work off his aggravation at not being Kalim. (Not entirely successfully, if his latest lawsuit is anything to go by).

The control panel Snake Charmer was leaning on now has large chunks swiped out of it and is sparking dangerously.

Jamil tries not to imagine what would’ve happened if he hadn’t gotten out of the way in time.

“Ah, Asim.” He lets his tone drip with all the venom he usually has to keep under lock and key. “So gracious of you to drop in.”

“I’ve told you,” Namir growls, nails lengthening into claws, “it’s—!”

“I don’t care.” Snake Charmer cuts him off. “Are you here on behalf of the important members of your family, or is this a social call? Either way, as you can see, I’m already entertaining.”

Namir actually does a double take at the sight of the reporter, as though he hadn’t even noticed they were inside the giant hourglass. He growls, “I told you to stay out of this!”

“I didn’t even do anything this time! He’s the one who kidnapped me!” The reporter’s retort sounds tinny and warped through the glass. “Also if this is what you call ‘entertaining’, Snake Charmer, then I’d hate to see what you do to bore people. At least Royal Flush gives me snacks.”

Snake Charmer feels a competitive grin curl over his face, and bows with a flourish. “My deepest apologies Mx. Radcliffe. Though perhaps you’ll revise that opinion once you see our aquatic performance? It’s said tigers are good swimmers—let’s put that to the test.”

Which is all the warning Namir gets before Water Boy unleashes the tidal wave he’d been building up since his cousin arrived.

“Sorry!” He yells, which makes Jamil roll his eyes behind his mask.

At least Kalim hasn’t accidentally alluded to the familial relationship between him and the hero again.

Yet.

They’re just lucky that Namir’s never been known for his listening or critical thinking skills. It makes it so much easier to have one of them play ‘bait’ and attract his attention, while the other preps a trap for the hero to fall into or call for reinforcements.

Snake Charmer does both.

Admittedly the pit traps and buzz saws aren’t quite enough to really slow Namir down that much, what with his enhanced reflexes. Neither are Asp, Adder, Boa, Krait, Ikeheka, or Python, regardless of the fact that Asp and Boa run a capoeira dojo together in their civilian guises, Adder used to box professionally, and Krait, Ikeheka and Python are in consideration for national-level synchronized swimming.

To be honest, Jamil wouldn’t be entirely comfortable betting on himself or Water Boy being able to overcome his cousin one-on-one— Kalim’s still got a streak of soft-heartedness in him that all the trials of his and Jamil’s childhoods hasn’t been able beat out of him, while Namir’s got a chip digging into his shoulders that seemingly is only alleviated by inflicting assault and battery on dubiously guilty members of the public. Jamil himself is good, as a Viper he’s had to be, but he’s not “take on a raging powerhouse face-on and emerge unscathed” good.

But all together? All at once?

Then Snake Charmer is very confident that if they can’t defeat this jumped-up figurehead of a hero, they can at least beat him within an inch of his life and make him think twice before he sets foot into this particular nest of vipers again.

At some point during the frantic rush of trying to direct machines and people and improvisations to slow Namir’s efforts to break everything Snake Charmer has built for himself, Jamil becomes aware of an odd thudding noise, that isn’t quite following the sounds of battle.

He ducks away from a potentially nasty blow from a flung axle to chance a quick scan of the room.

Oh. The reporter’s begun throwing themself at the wall of the hourglass.

The bottom-half of the hourglass, which is now just over half full of sand. The aforementioned sand is now covering the reporter’s shoulders and rapidly reaching higher. And despite the reporter’s best efforts and their increasingly panicked expression, the glass holds firm against their attempts to brute-force an escape.

As it would, it’s reinforced to hold a person’s weight, and will take more than unarmed blows to put a crack in it. Jamil should know. He paid for it.

Which. Is fine? Not ideal, certainly. By his reckoning, Namir should’ve freed the reporter from the trap by now, even if it was just to dump them in a barely defensible corner and get back to fighting. That he hasn’t is…mildly disconcerting, but. No matter, surely? It’s a victory for him if they die in the hourglass, right?

Sure, it’ll be a pain for him if they die before he can pump them for information on Royal Flush, King, Leviathan, and Octo Dealer’s weaknesses. Rather a disadvantage actually, given all the trouble he’s gone through to kidnap them and bring them here only for Namir to interfere. If they die now…

No, no, focus, Snake Charmer, focus. You can’t risk everything over a reporter. You’re overreacting. Namir will be saving them at any moment now.

Right?

Namir doesn’t seem to have noticed though, doesn’t even seem to care in his mission to inflict as much bodily harm on Snake Charmer’s minions as he possibly can. If it wasn’t for the way the ears on his ridiculous costume twitch with every weakening thud, Jamil would think him genuinely oblivious. As it is, he clearly is just bad at prioritizing.

Water Boy keeps shooting Jamil and the hourglass worried glances when he really should be paying attention to the battle, even foolishly attempting to bait his cousin into accidentally hitting it by placing himself in harm’s way. Luckily Ikeheka and Adder are focusing on their primary directive of ensuring no permanent harm comes to Water Boy, but it’s beginning to interfere with Snake Charmer’s meticulously improvised defense.

Fine. Fine! If you want a job done right…

Under the cover of two pit traps under each of Namir’s feet activating simultaneously, alongside Asp and Boa’s impressive offensive, Snake Charmer slinks around to the back of the hourglass.

Honestly, it’s just a good thing he thought to install a door that can be unlocked from the outside on—!

The door is jammed.

No matter how often he flicks the lock or how hard he tugs on the handle, it won’t budge. A thin trickle of sand is all that escapes, but that’s it. The door’s wedged past its own frame. It’ll take ages to release it, requiring the entire hourglass to be flipped the other way and careful unscrewing of the hinges.

That’s time the reporter doesn’t have, even without taking into account the fact that Namir destroyed the control panel that could flip it back upright.

Jamil glances up frantically, to check how much time Yuu Radcliffe does have before he needs to start panicking.

Just in time to see the reporter’s head disappear under the sand entirely.

Shit.

“Swarm that hero!!” Snake Charmer almost doesn’t recognize his own voice as he yells.

The whisper he’d implanted activates in all the minions aside from Water Boy. Their attacks become more relentless, driving Namir into a corner, with no recognition of pain or injuries they sustain. He’ll need to give them all bonuses in addition to compensation later, not to mention ensure they have the appropriate time off to recover, but for now—

“Water Boy!” He commands, “The Forget-Me-Stick!”

It takes a moment but Water Boy’s eyes eventually light up in realization. “Ah—Right!”

Snake Charmer was not expecting Water Boy to lob the Forget-Me-Stick at him rather than actually hit the hourglass himself like he is perfectly capable of doing, but what else can he really expect out of him?

At least it means Jamil has a reinforced weapon to hand capable of freeing the reporter.

The first hit just fractures the glass rather than truly cracking it, hairline webs of lines that are more accusatory than helpful, not even breaching the interior.

Jamil grits his teeth and puts his back into the next two swings.

It isn’t until the fourth blow that the glass finally shatters and gives way, spilling sand and shards out across the floor.

Even then it takes some digging to actually locate the reporter’s body and drag them free of the debris, ensuring this suit will need a through dry-clean in the process.

The reporter’s worryingly still, eyes shut, sand encrusting their features.

He’s not entirely sure they’re breathing.

Jamil pinches their nose and blows air into their mouth before starting chest compressions. He’s practiced this hundreds of times, had to just in case Kalim ever needed it, but never on a genuinely unresponsive person before. Are his compressions hard enough? Should he be working to dislodge something from their airway instead? He leans down again—

They cough. And keep coughing as he draws back and helps roll them onto their side, moaning softly as they spit out sand, their breathing juddering and unsteady.

“Sn-Sna-ake?” Their eyes are unfocused as they flutter open. “Ow. Wh-wha…?”

Jamil can’t quite help the way he deflates in relief.

“Yuu!” Kalim’s shout rings out and brings with it awareness of the battle raging on behind him. “You’re okay!! Hey look, Namir, Yuu’s okay!! Isn’t that great?!”

“GET OVER HERE SO I CAN RIP YOUR ARMS FROM THEIR SOCKETS, VILLAIN!!!” Namir roars back.

Jamil has officially reached the end of his willingness to deal with this. He strips off his jacket with business-like efficiency and folds it up so it can function as a somewhat passable pillow under the reporter’s head. Then he rolls up his sleeves as he stands and pulls his whip back out.

His minions have done an admirable job of temporarily subduing Namir, even if it’s clear he’s on the verge of breaking out of Adder and Krait’s holds.

Snake Charmer’s whip flashes out and wraps itself around the moronic upstart’s throat, yanking him around to look directly into the supervillain’s eyes.

“Snake Whisper.”

It’s almost satisfying to watch the dawning horror cross Namir’s face before it drops in dopey, slack compliance.

“You will actually fulfill your role as a hero,” Jamil orders. “And take Mx. Radcliffe to the nearest hospital for treatment. By the time you arrive at that building, you’ll have forgotten the location of this lair entirely. Understood?”

At Namir’s blank nod, Jamil clicks his fingers.

With muttered curses and pained grunts, his minions come back to themselves and don’t quite let go of Namir so much as fall over on jellied muscles that have been pushed to their limits. Water Boy immediately scuttles over, muttering small reassurances and frantic questions of how’s everyone feeling, do they want any water, a hot compress, a cold compress, some crackers?

Namir shambles over to where the reporter lies curled up, and scoops them up with a gentleness that could only come from external control. As he turns and begins to bound back over and up through the hole in the ceiling he burst in through, Snake Charmer’s eyes catch Yuu Radcliffe’s.

Their gaze is wide, stunned, almost reverent. Like they don’t understand what’s going on, but desperately want to.

And then they and Namir are gone, vanished into the sunny afternoon.

Snake Charmer heaves a heavy sigh, collects his jacket and tries his best to shake the excess sand out of it. He does not think about how it smells a little like Yuu the reporter. He certainly isn’t briefly smacked in the face with the intrusive thought that their lips were actually quite soft, weren’t they?

“I need a nap.” Jamil grouses as he stalks out. “Get someone in to clean this up.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #supervillain au #jamil viper #snake charmer #kalim al asim #water boy #twst yuu #twisted wonderland yuu #jamil x yuu #namir al asim

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britishassistant · 2 years

Note

I feel like knowing Yuu is the biological child of The Night Raven would cause some in-fighting between the heroes. On one side you have the heroes, who've gotten to know Yuu and kinda understand their point in criticizing hero. On the other side, you have the heroes who didn't like Yuu from the start and didn't take too kindly to their criticism.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

And oh, ho, hoo, you’ve hit the nail on the head.

Chen’ya has always had a soft spot for that little reporter who R-kun’s sweet on, felt they sometimes have a moral backbone that certain inherited aspects of the RSA keep the heroes from really considering. After all, a lot of this power in the heroing business is inherited, or goes to people who are already powerful in society, no matter how much they claim to fight for the disenfranchised. Heroes are too used to being unquestioned or unchallenged for their actions in his opinion, because it’s “anything for a good cause”, right?

It’s a small part of why Niko Niko Neko is so outrageous in his rescues and methods—almost trying to call attention to how much leeway he’s allowed with his theatrics because he’s “heroic”. Why shouldn’t they listen to someone calling attention to how mad it all is?

And on the other side, you have Namir al-Asim.

Namir, for whom the power of the Asim name has been both the major benefactor in his life and always tantalizingly out of reach.

Namir, who defines himself by his superiority to both members of his family and laypeople with that name and his heroic work. After all, it’s not like Kalim actually contributes to society by getting rid of its scum like Namir does, right??

Namir, who does not take it well when either source of his power and agency is questioned.

Namir, who throughly believes that someone’s family name determines their worth in this world…

#twisted wonderland #twst #supervillain au #rsa #twst rsa #royal sword association #royal sword academy #twst chenya #niko niko neko #namir al asim

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britishassistant · 2 years

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There’s only a couple big named heroes whom are also on Yuu’s shit list for various reasons: Rielle, he originally was pretty high on the “do not forgive, do not forget” rankings, but unlike the Champion, he acknowledges that his hero technique has flaws and is actively working to fix it. Doesn’t mean he’s entirely out of the doghouse. Crimson Muscle is just above where Rielle is. Mostly because he has yet to realize that Yuu/Perfect is just as capable as him without superpowers. And his broadcasted smiting of poor Hermes doesn’t do him any favors. Champion is third place. The one to actually earn second place on the list is Briar Patch (Twst Briar Rose/Aurora) because he is obliviously spoiled and naive. If champion’s checkerboard mentality is obnoxious, then Briar patch’s fairytale view is WORSE. Malleus is nothing but a big dumb dragon to slay and Yuu is the damsel in distress that he’ll ride off into the sunset with for a happy ending. Regardless if he just helped set ten blocks on fire waving his sword all Willy-nilly blocking Tsnuotarou’s fireballs trying to be showy to Yuu. His fairy Godfathers will just simply magic the damage away, no big deal… First place go Crowley. -🍋

Thank you for the ask, 🍋 anon!

And oooh, I love the name Briar Patch for Diasomnia’s hero!! Nice job with it!!

Chen’ya is Yuu’s favorite hero. Given that when they first met, he dropped Yuu from a stories-high balcony, that probably speaks to the tenor of the rest of the list. In reality though, Niko Niko Neko is one of the few that actually seems to be able to see these situations outside of the black-and-white mentality of his peers, and is more concerned with pushing the envelope in the name of teammates’ and civilian welfare rather than doing the “heroic” thing.

White Neige is…well…he’s so flashy it’s kind of embarrassing? Yuu feels bad about thinking that, because he and his seven dwarves are genuine, hardworking heroes, compassionate enough that he’s one of the few who’s more likely to take it a bit easier to protect civilians or extend a hand of mercy to his enemies. It’s just he’s so earnest, when admiring the strength of the Prefect, or professing to Yuu that he’ll protect them, and that transformation…it’s mortifying for them even to watch. They didn’t need that view, thanks.

Rielle might be more careless than Yuu would like with his abilities, especially considering their power to deprive merpeople of their free will and agency, but he’s at least willing to recognize that he’s still new to the heroics business and take constructive criticism onboard, or listen to Yuu or the Prefect when they’re cooperating against the supervillains and take their advice about how to best solve the situation. He’s young, but he’s learning and growing.

Lion Guard appears to be everything a model, older hero should be—brave, considerate, self-disciplined, and just. The only downside is that he has serious blinders when it comes to his little brother. He’ll go far too hard on Leona’s minions and then weirdly easy on Leona himself because he so desperately wants his brother to be “redeemed”—enough that he’ll even consider things that should be clearly morally dubious from the outset. Yuu hasn’t forgotten needing to stand between Farena, a younger Twst!Leona, and a brainwashing.

Crimson Muscle isn’t as fawning as the previous two junior heroes, but his determination to “protect” those without superpowers is patronizing in the extreme. He refuses to even consider the other, more mundane accomplishments someone without powers can achieve, instead viewing them in an infantilizing fashion results in him getting in the Prefect’s way and impeding Yuu’s investigations more than the villains sometimes. His destructive tendencies when fighting “enemies on his level” also leave a sour taste in Yuu’s mouth, even if he says he’s sorry for what he did to Ortho.

Champion has the worst black and white mentality they’ve ever seen, quite literally from how Yuu’s seen him speak of events entirely as if they were moves on the world’s strangest chess board. All heroes versus monsters, not even acknowledging the villains as people. The man’s clearly working with some kind of eating disorder in mind in the context of his powers, and he’s trying to get better with Che’nya’s help. Yuu would feel sympathetic towards him, but. But they keep seeing Ace collapse, limp and bloody, in front of them. The Prefect can work with the Champion, and Yuu can be civil and pleasant towards him, but they can’t forget that.

Briar Patch somehow manages to best the Champion to this spot in Yuu’s list, which would be impressive if he wasn’t so…creepy. Seriously, who sneaks up behind someone, grabs them, and starts singing at them?! …Admittedly a lot of the supervillains, but they’re villains, and if Yuu kicks up enough of a fuss they’ll keep their hands to themselves. This guy? He’s clearly never been told “no” before in his life, spoiled rotten by those three fairy godfathers that follow him around like a weird parental cheer squad. So even when Yuu’s yelling the word in his ears, he just acts like they’re playing hard to get and grabs harder. The Prefect has only narrowly escaped having their own head lopped off when he tries fighting Tsunotaro, he has no regard for who or what gets hurt in his aims to vanquish the “villains”.

Namir al-Asim holds a special place of disdain in Yuu’s heart. Arrogant, belligerent, and inconsiderate are probably the tamest words that can accurately describe his approach to heroics. The fact that a guy like him is still tolerated as part of the Royal Sword Association is what damages Yuu’s faith in the organization most.

Crowley is still at the top of Yuu’s shitlist though XD XD

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britishassistant · 3 years

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Have hero RSA never heard the saying "Villains aren't born evil, they're made"? Just someone's parent is evil doesn't guarantee that the child will be evil. Especially when said parent didn't even raise said child.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

Yuu can’t breathe.

It hurts, the hand gripping their throat and holding them off the ground, claws biting into their flesh.

“I always knew.” The hero who cornered them as they came out of the news station says, eyes fixed on their gradually purpling face. “I knew you were nothing but a distraction. A villainous temptation, meant to distract those who are really trying to protect the city. You may have had the others fooled with your little act, but oh, I knew.”

Yuu can’t help the half-choked scoff that somehow escapes their throat. “Tell…that…to…your…lawsuits—gghk!”

Their body slams into the dumpster with more force than can really be good for it. They take the opportunity to gasp for breath, before the hero’s boot pins them in place, pressing into their sternum with enough force that it feels like their breastbone is in danger of fracturing.

The hero’s expression of revulsion and fury is clear with the absence of a mask, one glove full of claws drawing back for a blow. “You little bitch—”

“Get away from them.”

The hero freezes. Yuu twists their head as best as they’re able at the sound of the familiar voice.

Yuuken stands at the mouth of the alley, camera propped up on one shoulder and arm steady. The red light that shows the camera is recording is on. The eye that the reporter can see is devoid of the normal candor and good humor their friend is filled with.

“I’m warning you. Step back and let them go, unless you want tonight’s headline to be about how you assaulted another civilian in broad daylight.” Yuuken’s tone is like ice, cold and unmoving.

The hero snorts, though from their close perspective, Yuu can see the way his eyes tighten as they fix on the camera. “A civilian? This thing? It’s nothing more than a puppet, a toy for the villains to drag around opinion in this city as they please. Who cares if the Night Raven’s spawn gets hurt?”

Yuu can’t quite control their flinch at that.

“Children can’t control who their parents are. That doesn’t make them lesser, or guilty of their crimes.” Yuuken states, voice low and sure. “But if you’re so sure you’re in the right, I’m sure you’ll have no worries about this footage being broadcast and the city taking your side, right? Mr. Hero.”

There’s a tense moment where Yuu’s sure the hero’s going to hit them anyway, just to prove a point. Yuuken’s arms are coiled and trembling slightly, like he’s ready to throw his camera at Yuu’s attacker should it come down to it.

Then the hero pushes off of Yuu with a kick that leaves them winded and coughing. Over their desperate gasps for breath, they hear him say, “Tch, whatever. Don’t come crying to me once you work out this thing’s playing you.”

Something hot and rancid hits their cheek. Then the hero is gone, in a tiger-like bound.

“Yuu!” Yuuken’s by their side in almost an instant, the camera down and off his shoulder and arms reaching out towards them. “Are you alright?”

The reporter brings up their sleeve and wipes off their face. “I-I’m fine. Ugh, what kind of asshole even spits on people anymore?”

Yuuken’s face goes stormy as he tilts their head up to catch a glimpse of their throat. “I’m sorry, I should’ve got out here sooner. If we go back in now, I’m sure the boss lady will let us run the footage as part of the evening—”

“No.”

That stops Yuuken short. “No? Yuu, you almost died because of that guy. If we run this—”

“He’ll have his lawyers on the station and the footage taken down within the hour.” Yuu interrupts, rubbing their throat to try and ease some of the strain. “Plus, who else do you think watches the news?”

There’s a moment where Yuuken’s face is blank. Then he connects the dots and goes still. “…They’ll know anyway. All they have to do is kidnap you and they’ll know.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I can convince them I—I burned my neck with a hair iron or something, I don’t know. I don’t know.” The reporter looks up at their friend, eyes shining fiercely. “But I’m not about to be the cause of a-a gang war between the RSA and the NRC because those guys got it into their heads to fight for my honor or something dumb like that. It’d just get more civilians caught in the crossfire, and that’s what I want to avoid.”

Yuuken’s jaw clenches, and he looks away. “Let’s get you some bandages then. I think we still have that cold compress in the break room—”

“Plus,” Yuu continues, tone more conciliatory this time. “If we don’t run the footage, that means it can be entered into a court of law as evidence of discrimination and non-heroic conduct on that jerk’s behalf.”

Yuuken blinks, and a slow grin curls across his face.

“How many lawsuits did you say that guy had against him, again?”

#ask #twisted wonderland #twst #supervillain au #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #enma yuuken #twst yuuken #namir al asim #twst rsa #rsa #royal sword association

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