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Boring.
So, so boring.
Nikolai watches boredly as Kamilo pecks at the dead man’s body, the white pigeon feasting eagerly yet so primly. Fukuchi picked a really ugly one this time; the corpse’s face was a swollen mess of purples and blues from hitting the tower’s walls as Fukuchi dragged him up.
He turns around on the bed, flopping onto his stomach. “Ahhh,” he groans to himself. “This tower sucks. I wish someone would take me out already! Kamilo, won’t you be a dear and fly me out of here?”
Kamilo doesn’t respond, too busy tearing out an eyeball.
“Ugh,” he mutters. “You can fly out any time you want, but I am stuck here, up this stupid tower, all alone!”
He grabs a pillow, mushing his face into it. “I just wanna get out of here.”
Freedom, he laments to himself, is his greatest dream. To be free to fly without the fear of falling, to travel the world without the burden of a physical boundary. How lovely would it be, he wonders, to be so free?
“Hello?” A distant voice yells, so softly he almost mistakes it for a hallucination. A ridiculously loud horn immediately follows, rattling Nikolai’s brain and startling Kamilo into fleeing out the window.
He rushes to the window, peering out curiously. There, at the base of his tower, stands a man. He has dark hair and a dark cape. Interestingly enough, he is not a corpse; he is a living, breathing human, similar and yet completely different from the soulless bodies brought to him in his tower.
Through the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he can hear a voice. Low and smooth, a pretty voice to match a (presumably) pretty face.
“Nikolai-san,” he hears. Nikolai. So this stranger knows his name? Perhaps he was sent by Fukuchi, but that doesn’t seem likely.
The stranger speaks up again.
“Please let down your hair.” Their voice is monotone, perhaps a little dead, but Nikolai can’t help but find it seductive, as if it were a bewitching cadence luring him in. Peering at the man’s shady outfit, he comes to a decision.
“Okay!” He grins, and his hair tumbles down, glossy and lightly curled, white locks reaching the grass in front of the man, caressing the delicate flowers with its ends. He’s only a little jealous of it.
He watches eagerly as the man latches onto his hair. His face falls when the man fails to climb up.
He hums to himself. Disappointed he may be, the man falls gracefully, sliding down with ease whenever his strength runs out. Well, no one has ever interested him like this before. Perhaps he should help him out.
“Hey,” he calls, voice loud and carefree. “Just grab on, I’ll pull you up!” he giggles a little as the man stands stock-still, perhaps contemplating his choice. The smile grows when the man grabs onto strands of white hair without making an effort to climb. Gripping his hair, Nikolai hauls him up as gently as he could, making sure to not injure the first interesting person he has ever met.
-
“So, what did you come here for?”
“Nikolai.” Said man blinks, surprised. “The man trapped in an ivory tower, unable to descend, spending his days confined to what little of the world he can access.”
Nikolai smiles. It’s not a pretty smile. “How rude! Is this how you greet new faces? With an analysis of their problems?”
The man smiles back. It’s a pretty smile. “Would you like to come with me? Out of the tower, I mean.”
For a moment, the world stops. Nikolai stares wide-eyed at the man who had just offered him his dream.
The man hums. He’s prettier up close, all scholarly features and slender grace. His hair is short, resting right around his shoulders, but really, Nikolai can’t judge him. His own hair is over ten times his height, and honestly, humans probably wouldn’t need hair that long if they worked like his books said they did.
Regardless; the man is beautiful. Nikolai sort of understands what the picture books mean when they talk about love at first sight.
His heart is racing.
“You seek freedom,” the man begins. “Beyond physical freedom, you seem to seek it in all aspects; freedom in religion, in choices, in behavior…”
“Perhaps it is because you were stranded in this tower for so long, but you have truly developed a splendid state of mind.”
He continues, “You are a fantastic creature.”
Nikolai can’t help the blood that rushes to his face, the irises in his eyes dilating into pinpricks.
“What is your name?” he asks.
The man looks into his eyes. His own eyes are a gentle violet, surprisingly light for his odd, stilted aura.
“Fyodor Dostoevsky.”
-
“Alright!” Nikolai cheers, jumping down from the painted wall. “Let’s get out of here!”
His room is ransacked. Fyodor blatantly pockets a few books, but it’s not like Nikolai could read them anyway, so he doesn’t care. More importantly, Nikolai has trapped the place to kingdom come. Thirty different knives are set to shoot at random intervals once someone enters the room, and there is a bucket of whatever concoction Fyodor cooked up hanging around, the innocuous mixture of water, flour, and various cooking herbs somehow sizzling like acid and melting through the floor. Almost every inch of Nikolai’s room has some kind of lethal trap, and Nikolai is extremely proud of his work. He hopes Fukuchi gets his beard melted off. And also his face.
He’s getting caught up in his head again.
“Soooo,” he drawls, playing around with a deep pot he round and attached a metal handle to. “How did you plan for us to go out?”
Fyodor looks at him. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
He does, but he was hoping to be wrong. It was an obvious choice; Nikolai has long hair as strong as rope and the experience to maneuver with it. It would be common sense to descend the tower with his hair.
But he can’t. He can. He really can’t.
He remembers startled screams, the wind whooshing past his face, the green grass coming to meet him. He remembers Fukuchi’s irritated face, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, the ache in his back.
He really can’t do it.
-
He’s doing it.
He’s strapped to what Fyodor calls a harness, a tight contraption Fyodor had taken upon himself to design. The contraption hinged on the pulley system Nikolai had crafted years ago, now reinforced with Fyodor’s ingenuity, and he had already watched Fyodor easily descend the tower with rope he knows is flimsier than his hair.
Closing his eyes tightly, fingers trembling and heart pounding in his ears, he jumps off the windowsill.
For a moment, the wind rushes around him, and he almost curses Fyodor in his mind as his knuckles go white. But then with a near-painful yank, he slows, sinking down gently until his feet touch what must be grass, his body falling backwards onto solid ground. Splayed out on a soft carpet of green, he looks at the sky blankly as Fyodor hovers over him and unfastens the harness. It is only seconds after that he leaps up, head whipping back and forth as he takes in the scenery. Fyodor observes from behind, an amused expression adorning his face as he watches Nikolai prance around the vast field he once yearned to touch.
Nikolai laughs as he runs, unfeeling towards the sharp rocks that prick at his bare feet or the strange feeling of stepping on bugs and mud. The wind whips around, blowing what short strands of hair Nikolai has into his face. It tastes like the lavender soap he hates. It tastes like dirt.
It tastes like freedom.
-
“Soooooo,” Nikolai starts. “Why are we here? Though I can’t claim to know you well, you don’t strike me as the...” he gestures to the run down casino. “Materialistic type.”
Fyodor glances at him, unmindful of the loud curses being thrown about as people huddle over poker games and cups of dice. “I am not. However, I have someone to meet here; they should be arriving soon enough. Besides, ignoring the gambling, the Sky Casino is a surprisingly well organized business with professional workers and quality products.”
Nikolai hums, swaying his legs to the jaunty tune being played by a group of musicians in the corner of the establishment. “A shame I can’t play,” he sighs. “These games sound so fun, but I’d hate to lose money over something so trivial. If only someone would play with me without trying to gamble…” he steals a glance at Fyodor from the corner of his eye.
Fyodor raises a delicate eyebrow at him. Nikolai snorts. “Come on, now! You may not like gambling, but I’m sure you’re knowledgeable about card games and the like. Come on, teach me?” He pouts exaggeratedly, widening his eyes pitifully at the other man.
Fyodor shrugs. “There is still time before my informant arrives.” He pulls out a deck of cards from his satchel, calmly beginning to explain the rules of poker as Nikolai watches on with bright, shining eyes.
-
“Hahah! Score!” Nikolai bangs his hands on the table, laughing delightedly as a chorus of groans sound out around the table. His opponent, a large and burly man, leans back in disappointment, leaving the table defeatedly as Nikolai sweeps the small pile or porcelain chips into his own rapidly growing pile of chips,filling up his pan-pot.
Fyodor is seated at a table far from the action, watching disapprovingly. Even so, he doesn’t call the other man back, instead sipping tea silently as his informant mutters to him the latest political shifts in the Furui Kingdom.
From his peripheral vision, Fyodor spots a flash of silver and orange, quickly tugging a cape in the scant few seconds he had before two figures burst into the building alongside an armored brigade.
“Where is the manager of this casino?!” The shorter knight with bright orange hair demands.
The other, a tall brunette, waved around at the casino goers with a friendly smile. “We don’t mean to cause trouble, but we’ve caught wind of an urgent situation we need the manager for. If you could point us to him, we’d be very grateful.”
Despite his friendly tone, the people in the casino seem wary. Tension spikes, and Nikolai, ever-curious, slowly makes his way to Fyodor, whispering, “Who are they?”
Without looking, Fyodor silently takes out a sheet of paper and writes down an answer. Nikolai squints at the paper, then back at Fyodor.
“I can’t read,” he mouths.
Fyodor makes a face, gesturing at Nikolai to lean in. “They are the two most notorious knights of this kingdom. Showing up here means the manager has either committed a grievous crime, or been in contact with someone who has.”
“So, who’s the manager of this place?”
“His name is Sigma. A surprisingly mild person, though he has his moments. Perhaps it is because he runs the casino so well, but as you can see, most of the people here are reluctant to interact with the knights.”
Nikolai huffs in assent, returning his gaze to the knights just in time to see the orange one breaking down a large wooden door. He blinks as the group storms inside, tilting his head curiously. “I didn’t realize knights were allowed to do that.”
“They aren’t, but drastic situations call for drastic measures, I suppose. It is unlikely that the manager will escape this unless he has already fled the premises.”
Nikolai nods, about to agree, before stopping. Following his gaze, Fyodor spots a lithe figure with lavender and white hair being roughly handled by the guards.
“That must be Sigma,” he comments. Nikolai is still staring at them in interest.
“Fyodor. Hey. Hey Fyodor, don’t you think this is a little unfair?”
Fyodor looks at him. After a beat of silence, he snorts. “So you want to save him?”
Nikolai nods.
“By all means, go ahead, but I must warn you beforehand that those two knights are quite the formidable duo. You may be unable to handle them.”
Nikolai could only grins at him before he saunters over to the commotion. “Heyyy,” he drawls. “What’s happening here? There’s no way you arrested this guy because they were so criminally handsome, right?”
The orange one looks at him like he’s stupid. “He’s being arrested because he’s a black market dealer.” The man in his grasp twitches, a startled look crossing their face. Nikolai blinks innocently.
“What, him? No way! He’s too cute to be one!” Nikolai has no idea what a black market dealer is, but he figures pissing off the knight hard enough will give the pretty man some time to escape. “Are you sure you have the information right? Maybe you’ve been deceived?”
The knight’s eye twitches, grip on the other tightening as he straightens up. “Listen,” he begins. “This isn’t public business. Back off before I start using force.”
The brunette next to him gasps dramatically. “Chuuya! That’s no way to speak to a citizen!” He turns to Nikolai. “However, my good sir, whether or not mister Sigma here is truly guilty must be investigated, no? Please allow us to take him into custody, so we can give him a fair trial and establish his innocence.”
The three lock eyes, two playful and one irritated, as well as the man, Sigma, staring at them nervously. The silence mounts, a few patrons discreetly fleeing the establishment as the tension grows.
A cough. “My, a fair trial? I fear Commander Dazai is spouting propaganda here.” At the first note of Fyodor’s voice, Dazai narrows his eyes, commanding the group of soldiers to surround the man.
Taking off his hood, Fyodor smiles genially at Dazai. “Perhaps the knights should reassess their ranks a bit, if this is the best they can do.”
At that remark, the knights point their swords at him, heedless of Dazai’s sharp warning to “keep your distance!”
Nikolai can’t help it. He really, really can't! He sees weapons being pointed at the man who’d essentially saved him, and for all that Nikolai tells himself that this man is simply his ticket to freedom, he can’t help but enjoy his company.
So when he sees the blades point at Fyodor, poised and ready to strike, something hot curls in his gut. It’s scorching; it’s something he’s never felt before. He desperately wants to hit someone.
On the table closest to him, he spots his pot with its delicate porcelain chips.
-
Before he realizes it, he’s already smashed through a knight's head. The man wobbles a bit before collapsing. The dented skull hits the ground, blood and viscera splashing on the previously clean wooden planks.
Someone screams, but Nikolai is deaf to the world. He ducks and hits, scrabbling at necks and eyeballs and teeth, ripping out hairs, breaking fingers, and bashing at skulls. He uses his own hair as an aid, tripping feet, choking throats, and scratching faces. He also throws around porcelain chips, cracking teeth, smashing eyes and noses.
It’s a little fun.
Soon enough, there is no one left to attack; the orange and brown knights have already taken what people they could and retreated.
He’s a little disappointed, but it’s fine. He’s fine.
More importantly, Fyodor’s fine. He’s sitting at a table in the corner, sipping his tea peacefully even as he grimaces at the permeating metallic stench.
Oh right, Sigma. The guy is sitting on the floor, looking around at the trashed building full of corpses and blood with a devastated look on his face, as if he's lost his entire lifeline. Maybe he has. It doesn’t really matter to Nikolai.
Fyodor gracefully stands, walking towards Sigma while avoiding the pools of blood and scattered organs with elegant footsteps. He stands in front of him and reaches out a hand.
“Mister Sigma,” he begins. “Would you like to come with us?”
There’s a moment of silence as Sigma looks at his hand, then the casino, then at Nikolai, and then down at himself. Nikolai can see the calculative gleam in his eyes, numbers, people, and plans running through his mind like water rushing down a waterfall. Sigma takes Fyodor’s hand, two slender hands meeting in a soft clasp.
“Alright,” Sigma sighs. “But don’t call me mister.”
Nikolai cheers, scuttling over and throwing a hand around Sigma’s shoulders, ignoring their yelp as he smears blood on their white clothes. “This has been great,” he starts. “But more people are coming! Pack it up, buttercup, because we are leaving in less than five minutes!”
“What?!” Sigma shrieks, sprinting off in a hurry.
Nikolai snickers, sharing a look with Fyodor as loud crashes and clatters echo through the room.
By the time Dazai and Chuuya arrive with reinforcements, the casino is long abandoned. They find themselves with the cooling corpses of their comrades, offices of paperwork burnt to ashes, and important items stolen away.
Dazai’s voice is ice cold. “Track them down.”
“Yes Commander!”
-
“Whew, that was fun!” Nikolai lays on the grass, basking in nature’s embrace as Sigma lays down a few bowls of freshly cooked soup and Fyodor takes out a book from Nikolai’s tower.
“Not really...” Sigma sighs, bringing out a little mouse and laying it inside a small teacup.
“Oh, cute rat! What’s its name?”
“Mouse. And I haven’t named her yet, I just found her yesterday sneaking around the kitchen.”
“Hoh, how kind of you to take it in.”
“Her.”
“Of course! How kind of you to take her in.”
As Nikolai watches the sky, he notices a bird flying by. “Ah! Kamilo!” The white pigeon perches on his stomach primly. “Did you have fun? Anything interesting to share?”
The pigeon stares at him, something in her gaze conveying a sense of condescension. “Don’t look at me like that, dear! I may have finally found part of the freedom I wanted, but you’re still the model, you know!” Turning her head, Kamilo ignores Nikolai, instead locking onto the dozing mouse. Nikolai watches amusedly, certain as to what will happen next.
“Anyways, the soup is do- wait! What are you doing?!” Sigma shrieks as Kamilo ambushes the mouse. The bird gobbles up the little animal, almost swallowing the mouse whole before Sigma latches onto her neck.
Sigma frantically pries Kamilo’s mouth open. “Spit her out, she’s not food!” After a few terse seconds, Kamilo gives up, hacking and spitting as Sigma’s damp mouse tumbles out of Kamilo’s abnormally large beak.
Sigma sighs in relief, patting down her pet to make sure she didn’t sustain any injuries. “Nikolai, what in the world are you feeding Kamilo? I didn’t think any birds of her species ate animals?”
Nikolai hums, “I don’t know! It’s not my place to dictate what she eats, you see, so I let her eat whatever she wants! She normally likes eyeballs, but the heart works as well.”
“...Of animals, right?”
“Nope! Human corpses, one hundred percent natural!”
“Oh my god, get me out of here.”
“No can do!” Nikolai jumps up, grabbing his soup and a wooden spoon. “Ooh, I’ve never seen these before!”
Sigma raises an eyebrow. “A spoon?”
“No, you silly soul! The stuff in the soup.”
“They’re tomatoes. Are you telling me you’ve never seen a tomato in your life?”
“Yep! I’ve seen them before in books though. They’re like squishy apples right?”
Sigma groans. Fyodor chuckles, not looking up from his book.
“Rather than a sweet fruit, a tomato is typically acidic and sour, used more for cooked foods. It has only been recently released on the market, seeing as previously, they were regarded as poisonous.”
Nikolai giggles, rolling around the soft grass as he considers Fyodor’s words. “So were they really that poisonous? Are we gonna die eating these?”
“Fortunately, rather than tomatoes being poisonous, it was the fact that their high acidity leached out the lead from people’s plates that caused death.”
Nikolai cackles. “Haha! Imagine that! Hey, hey, how many plates do you think people threw away? Did they burn them? Crush them into bits and use them as fertilizer? Donate them to the poor so the poor people die?”
“My God,” Sigma quietly gasps.
Fyodor narrows his eyes. “Do not speak the Lord's name in vain.”
“Eh? Why not?” Nikolai blinks. “Actually, no, wait, what is God?”
Fyodor looks at him with an inexplicable expression that has Nikolai’s stomach churning in a bad way. “Fine,” he sighs. “Seeing as you have not had a chance to be enlightened, allow me to bestow upon you God’s word.”
-
“-and as such, it is important that one does not invoke the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Wow,” Nikolai breathes, sprawling on the grass. “You know, as much as God seems cool and all, I don’t think I could ever get on with that. He sounds su~per stuck up!”
Fyodor frowns at him. It’s only a little unpleasant, but by now Nikolai has figured out some of his facial expressions; he’s not that offended. “God is not what you would call stuck up. He is wonderfully benevolent given his power. Regardless, I did not expect you to agree to my point of view; I merely wanted to share.”
“Uh huh! Point taken!” Nikolai rolls over to his front, cradling his head in his palms. “So, like, I didn’t ask this before, but what did you even help me for? Like,” he sits up and leans on Sigma, using their chest as a cushion. “Apparently you’re a super duper cool bad guy! I’m pretty sure that aside from my shiny magic hair, I don’t really have anything very... Useful to you, no?”
Fyodor huffs, ignoring Sigma muttering “magic hair?”. “You may not know this, but you are actually the prince of Furui.”
“Eh?”
“He’s WHAT?!”
“As such, despite your state of isolation, you would be enthusiastically welcomed should you ever meet the kings. As long as you are able to prove your birthright, you are free to do virtually anything without repercussions, including changing laws.”
“Ohh,” Nikolai starts. “You want me to like, promote your religion? Or make tomatoes the royal fruit?”
“Yes to your first answer. I find it a goal of mine to convert at least one kingdom into a theocracy, to unite all peoples within it under the true God. To cleanse the world of sin is perhaps my greatest ambition, my true role in life, and to do that I must start with a seed of change.”
From the corner of his eye, Nikolai spots Sigma making a weird face. He’s not really sure what emotion they’re making, but she looks really funny. “I mean, sure! As long as you don’t force me to practice all that, though.”
“N-no, wait!” Sigma cuts in. “You’re going to force people into believing your religion?!” She turns to Nikolai. “And you’re okay with this?!”
“Well, yeah!” Nikolai grins at Sigma, who wheezes with her face in her hands. “It’s not like I’m really cut out for real prince-y stuff, since I’m, you know, so underqualified. Fyodor’s smart, so he can call the shots, and if he rules the kingdom in my place, I’ll be free to do whatever I want!” Said man is already taking his book out, ignoring the conversation once again. Rude.
Nikolai can tell Sigma is finding something wrong with his totally sound idea, but ignores that. “Fedya, can I call you that? No? I’m going to anyway- Fedya’s got this whole ‘everyone has a role to play’ shtick, and if he was a little more boring, he’d probably be like a top official in some kingdom, even though right now he’s a total criminal. I, on the other hand, am the total opposite! I want to live free as a bird; uncaged, unchained, unfettered to any burdens. Being a prince, fancy as it sounds, doesn’t seem very fun. So I’m not going to! Fedya is nice to me, so I’ll help him in his overthrowing of the government, but nothing else.”
Sigma is still looking at him like she regrets ever meeting the two of them. Nikolai pouts at their expression. “Wow, you look so unhappy. Cheer up! Live a little! You were a black market dealer or something, right? Just, I dunno, have some fun instead of living in a cage you’ve made for yourself!”
“And what would you know,” Sigma squints judgmentally. “Didn’t Fyodor say you were stuck in a tower your whole life?”
“Wow, way to hurt a guy. You’re right, though. I don’t know much! That’s what happens when you can’t read, folks, you can’t learn shit!”
“You're illiterate? The prince of Furui is illiterate?!”
“You two.” Fyodor calls, packing away his book. “People are coming.”
“Ah!” Sigma rushes to the soup pot, efficiently cleaning up all traces of their presence and grabbing her mouse from its teacup, putting it in her shirt pocket. “Nikolai, get the blanket!”
As soon as they finish their sentence, a group of knights burst into the clearing with swords and bows brandished. “Stop right there!”
“Woah! We’re caught!” Nikolai laughs, bundling up the blanket and running in the opposite direction, towards a dense forest. Sigma screeches, following him with harried footsteps while Fyodor gracefully sprints along.
“Get back here!” Chuuya yells, close to grabbing Fyodor’s coat before Nikolai nails him in the head with a stray rock.
“Blehhh, catch me if you can!” Waving around the pot-with-a-handle, Nikolai bangs on a particularly speedy knight’s helmet, snickering at the clanging noises while the knight collapses. He throws the picnic blanket on another soldier, cackling as they flail around on the ground.
Fyodor blinks at the path ahead of them, spotting another lance of knights with Dazai at the forefront. “Heads up,” he calls. “We’re being surrounded at the front as well.”
Nikolai glances at where Fyodor is looking, brightening up once he realizes none of the knights present are wearing helmets. “Kamilo!” he whistles, the piercing tone ringing through the clearing. “That’s your dinner right there!”
With an alarmingly loud cooing noise, Kamilo dives at the men. Her abnormally large size allows her to tackle them and peck at their eyes. Dazai grimaces at the sight, seemingly figuring something out before yelling at the rest of the group.
“Retreat!”
“Huh?” Sigma furrows his brows as he sprints towards the forest. “It’s great that they’re backing off, but why?”
Nikolai laughs at him, enjoying the feeling of wind as he bashes in another man’s head. “Well, my dear Sigma, I have a big metal weapon and very strong arms! Also, Kamilo is probably strong enough to take on at least ten of these guys by herself! I trained her, you see, and she likes hunting deer for sport.”
“Your bird hunts game for fun?!” Sigma sounds hysterical and out of breath, yet he’s still the fastest person of the three.
“A-an amazing skill,” Nikolai hears Fyodor huff. Looking at him, he suddenly notices Fyodor’s pale and shaking frame as well as his slowing movements. “However, I may need some assistance.”
“Wah!” Nikolai gasps. “Fedya! You’re a twig, how could I forget that!? Sigma, take the soup pot and hit people with it!” He grabs Fyodor in a princess carry, smoothly passing his own pot into Fyodor’s hands, and starts running.
“Wait, what?!”
At this point, most of the soldiers have already fallen back, resting at the edge of the clearing as they resentfully glare at the disappearing backs of the criminals. One of the knights remains stubborn, though, resolutely charging after them even as Dazai orders them to stop.
As the straggler rushes over, Sigma, in a moment of delirium, angles the pot of still-hot soup and aims. The knight screams as scalding liquid hits his face and eyes though his helmet, waving around his arms before becoming enraged. Through the pain he charges straight at Sigma while waving his sword around blindly, chopping off a large portion of hair before Sigma resolutely bludgeons his head with the clay pot. It shatters over his head and knocks him to the ground. Sigma takes one last mournful look at the broken pot before following her companions out.
Sigma’s not sure how they feel, but Nikolai is laughing, and Sigma can’t help but laugh along even as their head feels light and their mind dizzy.
-
It’s only a few weeks later when Sigma gets fed up with the weird looks thrown at her and Nikolai, dragging the three of them to a modest boutique in the city.
“Fyodor looks fine as is; there’s not much we can do about his hair, and his clothes are inconspicuous enough. You, however, need a massive outfit change, and so do I.”
Nikolai salutes Sigma, peering around the boutique as Sigma chats with the workers. Squinting, he finally spots a section full of oddly patterned and uniquely shaped clothes. An employee notices his gaze, walking over professionally.
“This is a new system we have recently introduced to our boutique; we call it the clearance segment. Here, special clothes that did not sell well in their initial debut have their prices marked down, so our valued customers can enjoy reduced prices on items they may have been hesitant to buy beforehand.”
Nikolai nods, proceeding to ignore the employee’s attempts to help as he pokes around the clearance segment. Obviously, there’s a lot of ugly stuff; muddy dresses and vividly bright shirts litter the area, as well as exaggeratedly small and large clothes.
For Nikolai, it’s a mini playground.
Well, not really. He’s observed enough about the outside world to come to the conclusion that manners and reputation are incredibly valued. But more than that, Fyodor told him to not cause trouble on this trip. Nikolai hasn’t found it in himself to refuse Fyodor yet, so he squishes down his instinct to toss clothes at the workers and handles them normally instead.
It doesn’t take long before he stumbles upon the perfect fit; nothing like the alarmingly colorful garments that take up most of the clearance segment, but also nowhere near the drab designs of the store’s normal clothes. The outfit is almost completely black and white, owing to the fact that Nikolai hasn’t yet found his favorite color.
He gathers the set with a triumphant crow, bouncing over to Fyodor and holding it up for him to see. “Fedya, Fedya! Look! Doesn’t it look like it matches me perfectly?”
Fyodor looks at him blankly but nods anyway. “The theme suits your personality quite well, though I recommend you take this up with Sigma.”
“Okay~” Nikolai finds Sigma, staring at the skirt section longingly, and pokes them hard in the shoulder.
“Ow! What the- oh, Nikolai. What do you want?”
Nikolai holds up the clothes. “What do you think? Dashingly beautiful? Amazingly gorgeous?”
“I’ve never heard of these word combinations before,” Sigma sighs, before taking a closer look. “Surprisingly reasonable considering your personality.”
“Hey!”
Sigma leans over, feeling at the shirt material. They examine the corset, humming appreciatively at the quality, then at the boldly checkered vest. “The patterns fit nicely together, so it’s not a fashion disaster, at least. I guess I should have taken you for the jester type.” They feel around some more before freezing.
“Nikolai.”
“Yes?”
“Is that a skirt?”
“Is that what they’re called? I just thought it looked nice; They didn’t have any big pants or anything, and I didn't feel like wearing trousers. They suck. Skirts are nice though; they give me freedom of movement, or whatever it’s called. Is there a problem?”
Sigma pauses. “...No. They’re only made for women, though.”
“So?” Nikolai raises an eyebrow. “I want it. What are they gonna do, strip me down to find my gender? I have long hair anyways, and I know a lot of women have long hair too, so it’s fine.”
Sigma furrows their brows for a moment, ultimately giving up. “Life of a fugitive, I guess...” she mutters. She straightens up. “Speaking of hair, you should really get a hair tie for that. I know you like keeping it down, but it’s dragging on the ground everywhere and people keep stepping on it. At some point, you’re either going to tear it out or it’ll get so dirty that I’ll have to cut it out of disgust.”
Nikolai squints his eyes. “That feels like an insult. Well, I guess you’re right, loathe as I am to admit it.” He jumps back over to the clearance segment, rifling around the bins before he finds a cute ribbon with a red pompom alongside a jester hat. “Oh, perfect! Really matches my energy, right?”
Sigma nods. “Sure...”
Contrary to Nikolai’s bold choice, Sigma themself chose more generic and lowkey garments. A fairly standard shirt with multiple utility belts, as well as a quality but unobtrusive cloak. They chose loose pants as well, the kind worn less by men and more by women who usually wore skirts but needed something a little more practical. They fiddled with their short hair, probably unused to the length.
“Let’s check out now,” they say, already heading towards the cashier. Nikolai follows them, expressing his concerns over Sigma’s boring outfit as the employee looks over their clothing tags.
“Your total will be 1205 silver,” the cashier says.
“1205 what?” Nikolai whispers to Fyodor.
“Money.”
“Oh, shit, do we have any?”
“Only technically.”
“Right.”
Looking around, Nikolai spots the perfect thing. “Hey, can you give us a moment? I really gotta talk to them about something.” The cashier nods, unphased, leaving their purchase on a side table before talking to the next customer. Nikolai pulls the two over to a corner of the store, pointing out the large window.
“Look at that.”
Sigma stares at where he’s pointing, then back. “What?” they ask. “It’s just a statue.”
“A silver statue.”
“Yeah, Sigma. Just like Fedya said, it’s a silver statue. Which, you know, we’re supposed to pay in? So if we can take that and melt it down, we can use it to pay!”
Sigma pulls back. “What the hell?” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “One, we don’t have any coin molds, and two, that’s illegal!”
Nikolai stares at him. “We’re literally on the run, do you think I care? Also, I don’t know what the laws here even are, so...”
“Right, stuck in a tower. Have you read a book on them?”
“Get with the times, darling. I can’t read.”
“Right. Illiterate. Look, is there anything else we can do? I can pay if we really have to, but I’d prefer to save those funds for more important things.”
“Clothes are important,” Fyodor starts. “But yes. Over there by the fountain.”
Looking over, Nikolai spots a group of young adults gathered together. They appear quite wealthy, with grandiose dresses and suits with crisp outlines and golden jewelry. The one in the middle is a blond with a particularly eye-catching brooch, but everyone around him is also adorned with beautiful accessories.
“Perfect,” he grins. Sigma scoots away from him, intimidated by his malicious aura. Fyodor simply smiles. “Give me a bit,” Nikolai says, exiting the store. “I’ll be back very soon!”
-
“Holy shit!”
Sigma yells as the windows to the boutique explode, pelted by rocks and miscellaneous items. Fyodor ignores him and ducks to the employee-only room, taking advantage of the chaos to slip out some coins and documents.
Apparently, Nikolai had done more than steal from the group of wealthy people. He was caught, and under threat of getting arrested, pretended to be a worker at the boutique before insulting them to kingdom come. Sufficiently angered, one of them, a lady in a light turquoise dress, called the guards to arrest him. Then, contrary to anyone’s expectations, Nikolai managed to incite a riot as he ranted about abuse of power, noblesse oblige and oppression, of which Sigma knew he had no knowledge about. Then, once there was enough unrest in the crowd, something he said set them off and had them attacking the boutique.
Sigma has no idea how he did it, but she’s not taking the opportunity for granted. As the store workers run to the back exit, Sigma hurriedly shoves their selected clothes into a nondescript bag and grabs as many expensive-looking goods they can see, from necklaces to brooches to straight up cash.
“Sigma.” They whip their head back, finding Fyodor standing behind them with a massive bag over his shoulder. “Please carry this for me.”
“What the-” a citizen finally musters the anger to enter the store, charging in with an iron hoe and a battle cry. “Oh, fine, give it here!”
The two escape the store via an escape route Fyodor found, locking the rooms behind them with a stolen key and making a smooth getaway as a rack of ball gowns in the boutique catches on fire. Nikolai meets up with them as they exit the city gates, hair blown into knots with a wild look in his eyes.
“Guys,” he starts. “That was the most fun I’ve had in my entire life. And check this!” He pulls out a fancy shirt tied into a bag. “I got a shirt! And a bunch of stuff in it too!”
He unties the shirt sleeves, opening up the underside for the other two to see. Inside, they find an ungodly amount of fancy jewelry, from gold watches to diamond earrings and ruby bangles. “Want any of these?”
Sigma stares at Nikolai’s hair, his outfit, and the bag of stolen clothes. “You know what?” They sigh. “Yes.”
She pilfers through the bag, stopping at a pair of earrings shaped like four-pointed stars. “I’ll take these,” she announces, putting them on. She’s caressing them like she’s having a crisis, so Nikolai will be nice and not tackle her just yet.
Fyodor, though.
“No.”
“Awww, you know me so well, and it’s only been a few weeks! Fine, I won’t hug you and throw you in the river, but you have to make it up with something else, kay?”
Fyodor stays quiet, still staring at him with an explicable gaze.
“Okay, taking that as a yes! Sigma~”
“Wha- woah!”
Fyodor closes his eyes peacefully at the sounds of laughter and water splashing surround him, breathing contemplatively alongside the wind.
-
Over the course of three months, they’ve been through quite a bit.
They’ve stolen-
“How the hell are we going to sell a gold statue of the city’s mayor?!”
“We’re not selling it, we’re burning it!”
“Idols are not to be worshiped.”
“Seriously!?”
They’ve trespassed…
“Wow, this church is creepy! Dostoy, are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“Take another left.”
“Is that a fucking shrine dedicated to the devil?”
“That’s why we brought the firestarter.”
And they’ve explored more about each other.
Nikolai is not sure when it started. Perhaps it was back when he and Fyodor first met; perhaps it was when he encountered Sigma.
The three of them sit in a clearing, a blanket under them and containers of food and pastries made by Sigma scattered around. It’s a clear day, strikingly similar to the day Nikolai and Fyodor met Sigma.
“So, Sigma,” Nikolai says as he bites into a sausage. “What did you do to get arrested? Well, I know you did black market stuff, but I don’t think it means what I think it means... Unless it really does mean selling dead bodies!”
“What? No!” Sigma nearly does a spit take, choking on his pretzel. “Black market just means illegal, not... Bodies. I usually sell advanced weapons and information, or stolen things like signature stamps and paintings.”
“Ooh, weapons?! Do you have any with you?”
“Well, yeah. I always keep a hand-sized gun on me, and I picked up some other weapons when we first ran. Most of it is in a different place, though.” Sigma looks uncomfortable, raising a hand up to fiddle with their earrings.
Nikolai doesn’t notice, pestering Sigma with more questions about her previous job and crimes.
Fyodor munches on a pastry, entirely unbothered by the awkward atmosphere.
“Can we please move on? I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Sigma finally blurts out a frustrated response. Nikolai shrugs.
“Sure, if we must. Ah!” He claps his hands, ignorant to the oil smearing his fingers and palms. “I should tell you guys about my time in the tower! It was dreadfully boring, you see, but there were some interesting times. Any guesses?”
“Oh, right.” Sigma blinks, finger coming up to point at his chin. “You said something about magic hair a while ago, right?”
“Ding-ding-dong! Absolutely correct!” Nikolai cheers, waving his arms around. “It’s what makes me unique, well, aside from the prince thing. For reasons completely unknown to me, my hair can heal injuries by transferring them to other people! Fukuchi gets hurt a lot, so he always climbs up my tower with random people for me to heal him. Then, you know, those people are close to death, so I get them to teach me words in exchange for killing them painlessly.”
“That sounds..” Sigma trails off, eyes staring into nothingness as she feeds breadcrumbs to her mouse.
“It was boring, is what it was! Sometimes if they’re too bland or too rude I let Kamilo peck them to death.” Nikolai shrugs in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way, flopping down backwards into Fyodor’s lap and onto an open book.
“Say.. Fedya, what are you doing?” Fyodor looks down on him, sipping tea from a delicate white teacup.
“I was reading about your powers.”
“What?!” Nikolai shoots up, nearly hitting Fyodor’s chin. “You mean there was a handy-dandy tutorial book right there in my room this whole time?! I sliced my eyeball open for science and it was for nothing?!”
“You what.”
“Yeah!” Nikolai turns around to meet Sigma’s incredulous gaze. “Fukuchi kept telling me not to cut my hair, so when I was trying to cut my hair, he barged in and I cut my eye instead! And then, well,” he shrugged. “I healed myself! Which is why, if you ever see Fukuchi, he has a scar on his eye just like mine, just uglier and not as sparkly. Only other difference is he’s blind in that eye too, heh.”
Fyodor smiles peacefully. “Treating you like a tool only makes him a fool. Your ability, though derived from stealing from nature, is a marvelous skill that should be treated with respect.”
“Ohh, Fedya!” Nikolai squeals exaggeratedly, hugging Fyodor’s midsection. “You’re so sweet, you’re going to make me blush~” He’s nearly vibrating, jostling Fyodor around like a toy.
“Wait, Nikolai!” Sigma’s shout comes too late, Fyodor’s tea spilling out of its cup and drenching Nikolai’s hair. Despite the lukewarm liquid leaking into his eyes and the sticky feeling seeping into his clothes, Nikolai feels warm.
He’s not sure where it started. The fluffy emotions welling up inside him are against what he wants; shackles tying him in place, a gilded cage. He craves it anyways- the joy, the laughter, the excitement, the domesticity.
He’s going to ruin himself.
-
“A fireworks festival?”
“Indeed.” Fyodor answers. “To commemorate your existence. King Fukuzawa wanted something more grand, but King Mori felt the strain on resources was too great. The kings set off specially crafted fireworks every year, while the citizens treat it as a holiday of sorts.”
“Ooh, fun! Can we go?! It’ll be a dramatic entrance or something! We can come in with explosions and blow something up with glitter!”
“Hm...”
“Absolutely not!” Sigma cuts in. “Seriously, how are you two so different yet so ridiculous together? Blowing anything up will just get the guards called on us.”
Nikolai huffs, “Fine, party pooper. Still, can we go?” He blinks at Fyodor, widening his eyes and clasping his hands together.
“Of course.” Fyodor replies. “Admittedly, it is an ideal time to reveal ourselves.”
“Yippee!” Nikolai cheers, throwing his hands up and hugging Fyodor with all the grace of a dog with two left feet.
“Let’s get going, or we’ll be late and I’ll cry!”
Sigma sighs fondly at the other two, unconsciously twiddling with her earrings as she smiles.
-
“Purple orchid fireworks! Only ten silver per package!”
“A drink with a kick to it! Goat’s milk with rum, sure to warm your belly through the night!”
“Fresh schnitzel for sale! Buy three and get a complimentary slice of bratwurst!”
“Wow, it’s so lively here!” Nikolai marvels at the bustling streets, eyes sparkling as he glances over gleaming candies and hearty foods.
Sigma looks over from where she’s eyeing a ring stand. “Well, it is one of the most celebrated holidays in the kingdom. Most people take a day off to prepare, and the children get to set off fireworks.”
Nikolai makes a sound, nearly squeaking as he perks up and rests his chin on Sigma’s shoulder. “Can you get me some? Pretty please? I’ll probably get scammed if I do it myself!”
“Fine, fine,” Sigma pats Nikolai’s head and turns to Fyodor. “You’re coming along right? Anything you need?”
Fyodor shakes his head. “I do not care for these festivities. Please, enjoy yourselves first. We have much to do later on.”
“Okay, thanks!” Nikolai pulls Sigma over to an uncrowded stall with Fyodor following behind them leisurely.
“Heyo, mister!” The person manning the stall, a thin and tall man with long silver hair, stares blankly as Nikolai shoves himself into his face. “What do you sell?”
The salesperson blinks. “... blood sausage.”
“Ooh!” Nikolai practically has stars in his eyes. “Are they made of blood? What kind of blood? What do you eat them with? How much?”
The salesperson looks like they’d rather be at home in their bed. “Yes. Pig. Bread. Two silver per four.”
“Wonderful!” Nikolai beams, and Sigma sighs exasperatedly as she hands over two gleaming coins.
“Have a good day,” the person manages to say before falling asleep upright. The other three move along quickly, Nikolai eagerly biting off chunks of the sausage alongside bites of bread like a heathen.
“So, Fyoyo,” he starts, mouth full. “How is this grand reveal gonna go?”
Fyodor ignores the nickname. “Ideally, we should be able to get an audience with the kings by talking about the prince in the first place. If not, we may have to intrude. So long as they believe you to be their true son, we won’t be charged for it. Not the most ideal option, but it will have to do.”
Nikolai shrugs. “I don’t care.”
“I do!” Sigma interjects while handing a glass bottle of warm peppermint tea to Fyodor. “You’re not going in there unarmed nor with obvious arms!”
“I have my pot!” Nikolai brandishes the heavy pot with a handle, huffing triumphantly as Sigma recalls him beating up the knights in their first meeting.
“Okay… unconventional, but not actively threatening. Fyodor?”
Fyodor smiles genially and brandishes a dagger he stashed behind his back, under his cloak.
“Not the greatest either, but it should do in a pinch.” Sigma hands both of them a small orb. “Look, those are smoke bombs. They don’t last long because they’re meant to be as safe as possible, so be careful, okay? I’ll be there with you but I might not be close enough if something happens.”
“Awwh,” Nikolai squeals, “you’re too kind!” He tackles Sigma into a hug and nuzzles into their chest.
“Ah, Nikolai, you’re sweet too, I think, but please, you’re going to get sausage grease on my clothes!”
Nikolai immediately rears back and plasters an innocent expression on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do! Ugh, and I was trying to be nice!”
“You are nice! And so am I!”
Fyodor watches the two bicker, the odd flicker in his chest that he’s been nursing for months rearing its head.
-
“Halt! What brings you to the imperial palace?” A set of guards block them as they near the castle gates.
“Hello, my good sirs! I’m-”
“We’re here to see King Fukuzawa and Mori. We have information about Prince Nikolai.” Sigma interrupts Nikolai, already sensing Nikolai about to make a terrible decision.
The guards startle before scrutinizing the trio closely. Calling over a messenger, a brief conversation is had before they turn back to the three.
“Please wait in the courtyard as we inform his highnesses of your appearance.”
The guard calls a maid over to escort them. The maid, a young woman with blonde hair, swiftly leads them to the garden, which only takes a few minutes to reach. She leaves immediately, but as she steps back into the building, Fyodor leans over to mutter, “We’re being watched.”
Nikolai and Sigma survey the area, spotting several employees pretending to be busy without really doing any work. “Wow,” Nikolai whistles, “I didn’t know we looked that good!”
Sigma flicks Nikolai lightly on the forehead, ignoring his dramatic yelp. “They’re not here because of our looks,” she says. “They’re basically spies in case we’re enemies.”
“Oh.”
Nikolai sits at the edge of a stone fountain, kicking his legs lightly as Fyodor and Sigma sit beside him. It’s quite a beautiful evening; the hustle and bustle of the common folk are easily audible even within the royal castle’s land, and colorful sparks of light fill the lower skies sparsely. The wind is gentle, the evening stars glimmering, and Nikolai closes his eyes to savor the precious moment.
He hears thumping near the edges of the courtyard. Muffled yet heavy, like corpses.
“So this is where you’ve been, Nikolai.”
Nikolai snaps his eyes open, head jerking back to meet Fukuchi’s unascertainable gaze.
Fukuchi grins. The scar on his eye crinkles with the motion.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
-
“Who is that?” Sigma frantically whispers into Fyodor’s ear.
“Fukuchi.” Fyodor replies as his eyes narrow at the man. “Nikolai’s captor.”
“Nikolai,” Fukuchi calls, hand resting on his sword handle. “You shouldn’t have run away. The repercussions to your escape affect more than just you and me.”
“Ah, but!” Nikolai holds up a finger. “Consider: I don’t care!”
Fukuchi’s eyes narrow, a stormy expression taking over his face. “How foolish. I have nothing more to say to you.” Just as he raises his sword to attack, a gruff voice echoes throughout the clearing.
“Fukuchi Gen’ichirō!”
Fukuchi’s head whips around, spotting a green-clad figure alongside a man in black. “Fukuzawa. I did not expect to see you here, old friend. What business do you have in your garden? I was sure today was the celebration of your dear son.”
King Fukuzawa’s eyes scan over the garden, taking in the amount of unconscious bodies and Fukuchi’s sword pointing at Nikolai. His face furrows. “We received guests that presumably had information regarding him. What are you doing here?”
“Ah, I found suspicious people lurking-”
“That’s us!” Nikolai raises a hand up, ignoring Sigma’s hushed warnings and waving energetically at the two kings. “We’re the ones with that information! Also, Fukuchi’s the one that knocked out all these people, so don’t blame us, okay?”
King Fukuzawa’s face grows conflicted, looking between his friend and the trio of relatively harmless looking guests. “What is the meaning of this?”
King Mori peers around with faux-innocent eyes. “Why, my dear, it seems our loyal lion may not be so loyal after all.”
“Yep yep!” Nikolai beams, “He’s the guy that locked me up in a tower for the first uhhh..”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty years of my life!”
“Twenty years...” King Mori mutters, hand on his chin. His eyes widen - “Nikolai?”
Nikolai nods cheerfully, bouncing like a cat on crack. “That’s me!”
“Indeed,” Fyodor says, startling the others. “Nikolai here is the prince of the kingdom, and General Fukuchi is the one who stole him away and locked him up, presumably for both his powers and because your majesty, King Fukuzawa, did not fight on the frontlines during the Great War.”
He tilts his head, a condescending smirk on his face. “Which is awfully petty since, although King Fukuzawa did not participate directly in the fighting, his presence was still prominent throughout the war and he experienced the same perils as the soldiers. Perhaps General Fukuchi was simply uninformed and envious, or-”
“Enough!” King Fukuzawa bellows. His eyebrows are furrowed, a hard edge taking its place on his face. “Genichiro…”
“Fukuzawa, do you really think so low of me?” A disappointed look on Fukuchi’s face spreads, something sad and furious and yet completely resigned. “You were my dearest friend. But the world waits for no man– to protect this kingdom, I will do what I must. Even if it makes me a villain.”
Fukuchi stares at Fukuzawa’s raised sword, eyes glinting briefly in melancholy before hardening. “Even you cannot see my reasons, Fukuzawa. I have withstood pain and hardship, hoping that one day I could become a hero of the world. That is no longer the case; my eyes have been opened to the harsh reality and I realize the horrors of humanity. But even so, I, Fukuchi Ōchi, will harden my heart and steel my soul, so that this kingdom may prosper!”
Fukuchi charges at Fukuzawa, sword unsheathed and gleaming a bright silver. Fukuzawa wastes no time and proceeds to counter Fukuchi’s shimmering blade without hesitation, completely lifting up his own sword in a wide arc. The two clash in a ringing of bright sparks. A flurry of blows are exchanged as Sigma herds Nikolai and Fyodor out of harm’s way. Eventually, Fukuchi frees a hand to execute a quick uppercut, causing Fukuzawa to back away quickly. With narrowed eyes, they race towards each other once again.
As they lock blades, Mori swiftly throws a set of daggers from the sidelines. Fukuchi sidesteps them, but Fukuzawa takes advantage of the opportunity to strike, managing to make a deep slash at Fukuchi’s non-dominant arm.
“Isn’t there any backup they can call?!” Sigma cries. Fyodor shakes his head, silently answering Sigma’s desperate question.
“Knights Dazai and Chuuya are both out on a different expedition, and it appears that Fukuchi has already knocked out most of the forces present.”
“Wow...” Nikolai utters. He watches the fight with rapt attention. “I’m going to get to that level and then we won’t have to worry about Fedya and Sigma dying without me there.”
Sigma’s not sure how to feel about Nikolai wanting to be there when they die. They think Fyodor might enjoy it though, considering his weird fondness for she and Nikolai but no one else.
Nevertheless, Sigma continues to look around the castle for a safer spot, unfortunately realizing that all the doors are unable to be opened and much of the foliage is decorative and sparse. She curses under her breath and ushers her boys over to a row of bushes, pushing their heads down so they’re less visible before squatting down herself.
“Do not start yelling.” she whispers. Nikolai nods at her with innocent eyes and peeks at the fight once more, drawing circles in the dirt. Sigma huffs and searches for other spots, steps inaudible over the screeching metals echoing through the courtyard.
It only takes a few minutes before Fukuchi suddenly pivots, and Nikolai watches as he parries and strikes, wholly enraptured. Fyodor, on the other hand, sports narrowed eyes with a calculating gleam; there’s a frown on his face and had Nikolai seen him, he would have known something was wrong.
Nikolai startles as Fukuchi suddenly locks onto his gaze. There’s only a split second to comprehend before he hears a pained shout and finds himself sprawled on his back, something hot and sticky seeping into his clothes. He gazes downwards, eyes dilating into pinpricks as he realizes the past few seconds’ events.
Fyodor is lying on top of him, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gritted as he holds his arm. Or, well, what’s left of it. His right arm was completely severed below the elbow. The appendage itself is lying on the ground in front of them, blood seeping out of the exposed flesh and staining the ground red.
“Fedya!” Nikolai freezes, stock-still as his hands hover over Fyodor’s body. Fyodor is panting, sweat beading down his forehead and hair sticking to his face while also deaf to his surroundings, his senses narrowing his world into pain. There’s a spot of blood on his cheek, the angle of the blade spraying the liquid in a clear arc across the vegetation.
Nikolai gazes around and sees red. There’s red in the grass, specks of red on the trees, red on his clothes, on his hair, his hands, and so very damning on his dearly beloved Fedya.
His vision distorts, his ears are filled with the sounds of nothingness, and Fyodor on the ground clutching his arm turns into a pure white skeleton, a thing of ivory bones and hollow eyes and still no right arm. Nikolai’s surroundings become fuzzy, a red haze slipping over his gaze. He looks at Fukuchi, who matches his stare with a contemptuous gaze of his own.
Nikolai looks down at the skeleton in his arms. He sets it down as gently as he can, giving its cranium a gentle kiss before standing. He readies his pot in his hands, the thick and heavy metal a solid weight in his hands. He scowleds at Fukuchi, still dueling the kings all the while glaring at him with a heavy gaze.
He charges.
The pot hits Fukuchi’s shoulder blade with a heavy clang, the man groaning in pain and cleanly disengaging Fukuzawa’s blade.
“Childish.” he remarks. “A weapon as haphazard as yours could never live up to the quality of a sword forged in bloodshed.” He raises his blade, sweeping it towards Nikolai’s head while Fukuzawa chases after him.
Nikolai raises his pot just in time and winces at the screech of clashing metal right next to his ears. Fukuchi stops his next sequence of attacks to let him recover, snorting coldly at the heavily damaged pot. “As I thought. You have no talent in fighting and no talent in strategizing. You are kept alive only by your instinct. The only thing useful about you is your healing.”
“Genichiro!” Fukuzawa roars, his blade poised to strike.
“Shame,” Fukuchi says. “That we must part for now. Enjoy my little gift.” With that, he throws his arm out as fast as a snake, barely grazing Nikolai’s neck.
When Nikolai stumbles back, his head swishes around much faster than it should. He looks down, and his eyes widen as he freezes stock-still.
His hair, always so glossy and beautiful, the one constant he’s had throughout his entire life, lay lifelessly on the grass. It’s not attached to his head.
Fukuchi cut my hair, he distantly notes.
It is only in this moment that he realizes the gravity of what has just happened. Fukuchi had cut his hair. This in itself is not important to Nikolai.
Fukuchi’s words echo in his head. The only thing useful about you is your healing. Healing. Something he can no longer offer, something that could have saved Fyodor’s arm.
He’s made a mistake.
-
On the sidelines, Sigma watches quietly. He’s worried, panicked, in fact, but just stable enough that he doesn't rush out of his hiding spot.
The weight in his hands drags heavily on his heart.
-
“Ougai!”
King Mori nods in assent, flinging a volley of knives and rocks into Fukuchi’s joints with as much accuracy as he can muster. “I’m nearly out of knives!” He calls, darting around the garden to pick up as many fallen blades he can find.
King Fukuzawa grits his teeth; he’s flagging, and Fukuchi can sense it too. With his last effort, he manages to fling Fukuchi’s sword away, but he can only gasp as Fukuchi merely grins and brings out a smaller, but no less deadly, secondary blade. There’s an arrogant twist to Fukuchi’s face, a malicious aura corrupting the bright and confident face Fukuzawa once knew.
Fukuchi lunges forward, and Fukuzawa closes his eyes in acceptance. Mori yells from a distance, something unintelligible but tinged with desperation.
Bang.
Fukuchi’s face slackens. Fukuzawa watches with stunned eyes as Fukuchi collapses forward, quickly catching him in a weak embrace.
Looking around nearly frantically, the two kings finally spot Sigma emerging from the bushes with a smoking gun in hand. She blows out the smoke with a quick exhale, an anxious but determined look decorating her face.
“He deserved that.”
-
“Fedya!”
Nikolai cradles the limp body gently, his own face making a pained expression as he listens to Fyodor’s rattling breaths. Blood is pouring out of the wound, too much for an able bodied person, and definitely too much for a body as fragile as Fyodor’s. Without his healing, Nikolai knows Fyodor’s life will end. He knows already that without healing, he is nothing; without companions, he is nothing; without a purpose, he is nothing.
And to think that this all started because he wanted freedom. Fyodor’s death would be its own freedom, a sign that his obligations were cleared and he could be as he pleased. But how could freedom be worth the pang in his chest? How could freedom possibly compare to the all-encompassing warmth being with Fyodor and Sigma brings?
His vision blurs. A sickening feeling wells in his gut as a tear rolls down his cheek. He grits his teeth, grasping Fyodor’s body like a lifeline as Sigma runs over to them.
“Nikolai?” Sigma gasps as Fyodor’s body comes into view. It’s a horrifying sight. Fyodor’s skin is pallid, sweat beading and mixing with the scent of iron. His severed arm hangs like dead flesh on a hook. Crimson blood oozes out of the wound, coagulating into thick rivulets that stain the pinkish-white bone. It’s a mass of gnarly purple-pink flesh, and Sigma nearly vomits from the sight.
“...What do I do?” Nikolai nearly croaks out the words. “I can’t heal him. He’s going to die.”
The tears beading down his cheeks turn into streams as Nikolai grits his teeth. He brings Fyodor’s remaining hand up to his cheek, closing his eyes and anguishing in the icy sensation. He doesn’t notice the way his tears shimmer, leaving glimmering traces as they seep into Fyodor’s faded skin.
As Nikolai despairs, Sigma and the two kings gasp in shock and awe. “It’s..!”
Fyodor’s arm, previously messy and gorey, has stopped bleeding. A shining purple light found its way to the edge of his wound, regenerating his arm in a flurry of sparkles. The arm itself grows slowly, flesh appearing inch by inch as bone lengthens and smooth skin materializes. It is a beautiful yet infinitely disturbing display as the magic closes up Fyodor’s wound, disappearing with a wink of light off the tip of Fyodor’s newly grown fingernail.
“How…” Sigma breathes before snapping back to attention. “Nikolai!” He grasps Nikolai’s shoulder.
Nikolai opens his eyes slowly, blinking out his tears weakly. “What?”
“Look!” He gestures down to Fyodor’s fully grown arm. “You healed him.”
Nikolai stares at Fyodor’s skin, unmarred with blemishes, with disbelieving eyes. “Fyodor… he’s fine?”
“More than fine,” Sigma responds. “Whatever your tears did, he looks better than he ever did!” And they are right. Fyodor had always had a weak and unathletic body, unsuited to his clever mind. But now, even unconscious, Nikolai could see a healthy flush slowly making its way to his cheeks, his breathing no longer as shallow as it had always been.
As if ordained by fate, Fyodor’s eyes flutter open.
“Nikolai.”
Like a man possessed, Nikolai brings Fyodor closer, leaning in to the point their noses are touching. “Fedya,” he whispers, glistening tears once again making their way to his eyes.
Fyodor huffs a gentle laugh, his voice as smooth and ethereal as when they first met. “What am I to do with you?” He pushes his face upwards, meeting Nikolai’s lips in a gentle kiss and pulling back slowly. Nikolai looks at Fyodor, spellbound, before his breath hitches and his lips wobble.
“Fedyaa!” He warbles, pushing his face into the crook of Fyodor’s neck. “You’re okay!” Nikolai presses his lips to Fyodor clumsily, relishing in Fyodor’s warm and living presence. His lips are thin, cracked, and nearly purple from sickness. Those very same lips press stiffly into Nikolai’s own plush lips, stilted and unyielding, but are so incredibly charming and amazing that Nikolai wants to live in this moment forever and ever and ever. Behind them, Sigma stifles a cough, sliding her eyes away from the pair in respect.
When Nikolai pulls back with a gasping breath, his eyes are sparkling like stars. He’s speechless, but his eyes flicker over to Sigma and back to Fyodor, seemingly asking a question. Fyodor nods.
Nikolai giggles, carefully heaving Fyodor into a sitting position. He stands up and snatches Sigma’s arm, dragging them back over to Fyodor.
“Sigma~” he trills. Before Sigma can respond, he pushes his lips to theirs with a loud and dramatic “mwah!” before pushing them over into Fyodor’s lap. While Sigma lays stunned, Fyodor leans in with a soft peck, straightening up with amused eyes and Sigma remains frozen with dizzy eyes.
“What…?”
“Ahem.” Nikolai’s head snaps over to the disturbance, finally registering King Fukuzawa and King Mori awkwardly standing around.
“Oh. Whoops.” Nikolai snickers, sharing a look with an amused Fyodor as he gets up to introduce himself properly to his parents.
“So!” He claps his hands before gesturing to Fyodor with Sigma in his lap. “Dad, other dad, meet my new beloveds!”