Chapter Text
The loud vibration of the lift filled his ears.
“So, which level should we go to?” Fukuchi hovered his finger over the lift buttons.
“According to the prison, Tartarus places its prisoners based on the severity of their crimes and capabilities. The worse the crime, the deeper you go.” The purple mist responded, its voice echoing through the lift.
“And, where does that put Gogol?”
“If I'm correct, Gogol-kun and All For One should be kept on the very bottom level of the prison.”
“C’mon, Gogol-kun isn't that bad.”
“He blew up my bar!”
“If I may intrude on your…very meaningful conversation, I suggest you go to the higher floors first.”
Fukuchi and Shigaraki both raised an eyebrow at Kurogiri’s suggestion.
“But you said it yourself, Gogol-kun is on B10, why go to any other floor?”
“You seem to sorely underestimate Tartarus’ security. Even with the three of us, it won't be enough for the lowest level. The security control room is located on one of the higher levels, it will grant us an advantage on unfamiliar terrain.” The mist answered. Fukuchi really didn't like that the disembodied voice taking the form of purple gas was easier to talk to than any of his co-workers.
“...Where is Dostoevsky-kun and the other Pro Hero?” The voice suddenly followed up.
Fukuchi paused, slightly confused by the sudden non-sequitur but answered calmly. “They're already here. They arrived before I did.”
“Then I think it would be better if we worked together, Dostoevsky-kun included, to complete our endeavors.”
“I can't believe I have to work with Dostoevsky again…” Shigaraki grumbled in what Fukuchi identified as his equivalent to a silent temper tantrum.
“Don't whine so much. I heard complaining too much can increase the risk of developing heart disease and diabetes.”
“That sounds like nonsense. If anyone should be worried about contracting that, it should be you.”
Fukuchi pressed one of the buttons for the higher floors. As soon as he did, the elevator started shaking violently, sending Shigaraki and his remaining subordinates crashing down to the elevator floor.
Fukuchi stood in place, seemingly completely unaffected with the elevator's high speed. The mist “Kurogiri” was equally unfazed, though he was floating which probably had something to do with his nonchalance.
“How deep is B10 anyways? I feel like the lift’s been moving for a long time now.”
“B10 is roughly 500 metres under sea level.”
“500 metres…” Fukuchi said softly. “Why is your boss even in Tartarus if he's so great?”
“Are you mocking my Master?” Shigaraki groaned out against the weight of gravity.
“No no, of course not.” He intoned with a smirk. “I was simply wondering since you made an effort to mention how great he is. I feel like someone so good shouldn't be in a place like this.”
“...No comment.”
The elevator came to a sudden halt on the last floor.
“How did you even survive getting blown up? You seem like the type that'd die immediately.”
“...I'm a very resilient man.” He intoned.
“Oh, like a cockroach?”
Shigaraki seethed. “No! Not a—”
Fukuchi was already exiting the lift. The hallways were wide and empty, his footsteps echoing through the corridors. He didn't bother to check if those villains were following him as he walked.
There were, surprisingly, no guards around. Just empty corridors and prison cells hidden away, never to be unlocked again. ‘So much for maximum security, eh?’
Whistling, he calmly strolled until he encountered a unique door. And by “unique”, he meant there was a giant sign on the clearly distinct door that said “security control room”.
“Eh? Convenient, right?” Fukuchi guffawed again, pointing his thumb at the door.
Shigaraki didn't look happy. “I don't have time for this, old man. Just open the door already.”
‘Buzzkill.’
With a sigh, Fukuchi moved his hand to turn the doorknob…that didn't exist. Oh, these were one of those new-fangled knobless doors?
“No, it just requires a key card.” Kurogiri calmly explained, as if reading his thoughts. “We must take a detour and find one. Even I cannot phase through the door as there are no—”
Slam!
The door fell to the ground with a harsh sound, creating dust and debris in its destruction. Fukuchi lowered his leg down from its position and calmly walked into the room, observing the massive array of screens on display on the walls.
Those screens displayed plain, white rooms and in them, there were people. Prisoners of Tartarus, Fukuchi intelligently concluded. He noted that a few of them were empty, or even had stains of blood on the walls.
“Wh— You just kicked— The door?! The door that Tartarus uses?!” Shigaraki blanched.
“Hey, boy. Mind making yourself useful and helping me out? I don't have a clue what I'm doing.” The Hunting Dog chuckled, displaying his ignorance by blindly pressing the buttons on the control panel.
The panel consisted of buttons and a single microphone. The description would have been more thorough if either he or the author had any experience with a control panel.
Shigaraki walked up to the screens, but not without making sure there was a safe ten metre distance between them. “Quit messing around, Kamui. My master—”
“Ohh.” He dragged his line out. “So these cameras over here are for B1, so if we go down the line…”
His hand pointed at the screens, slowly moving his finger horizontally until he reached the other end of the wall of screens. “These are the cameras watching the prisoners held at B10.”
‘Ah.’ Fukuchi’s head snapped up when he recognised that tuft of white hair. On display on three monitors, the clown remained completely still. He had his jester outfit stripped and replaced with a straitjacket, dressed completely in white. He simply sat in the corner of the room, staring into the wall silently.
“Uh…” was the ceremonious response.
For once, Shigaraki looked at the Hunting Dog with something other than hatred or annoyance, just pure confusion. “...These monitors record audio too, right?”
“It appears Gogol-kun has succumbed to insanity.” Kurogiri helpfully announced. “...Not that he wasn't already there when Young Shigaraki and I had the misfortune of meeting him.”
Fukuchi started fidgeting with the buttons again, trying to find the ones connected to Nikolai's cell. In the meantime, those other villains entertained themselves by staring at the very quiet clown.
He stole a glance at the strange kid. Shigaraki hadn't said anything about his master, which the Hunting Dog found unusual. He seemed like the kind who wouldn't shut up about something like that.
Connecting. Terminal. To. ********
“Hello?” He called out into the microphone.
“...He's not responding.” As Shigaraki had said, Nikolai didn't react to his call, he remained quietly sitting in the corner. Believing it to be some sort of technological mishap, Fukuchi tried calling again. Nothing.
“Can he hear me?”
“He can.” Kurogiri answered. “As shown on the screen, the other prisoners located on B10 appear to be responding just fine to your call.”
“...They can hear me?”
“Yes, they can. In fact, they're listening to you right now. I suggest you move away from the microphone if you don't want them to.”
With a yelp, Fukuchi swiftly backed off, causing Shigaraki to snicker. “You…know a way to make it one-on-one with Gogol-kun?”
The mist nodded(?) and hovered over to the control panel. Fukuchi just raised his hands up, palm out, watching literal fog work technology better than him. “Gogol-kun? Can you hear me?”
Nothing. Not even a single twitch in his body. It was as if the clown was completely shut off from the world.
“Er…You can probably hear me so I'll just say it. Me and our other co-workers are currently in Tartarus right now. We’re going to break you out.”
Radio silence.
“...Just be prepared for it. I'll go reconnect with Dostoevsky-kun and the others.” He lifted his head away from the microphone, signalling for Kurogiri to come closer.
Screens displayed every single cell, every single hallway, and every single break room. It was a security system that ensured nothing could escape its gaze, not even them.
Everyone collectively gasped when they finally spotted it. B4, everything was crimson red. Fukuchi's co-workers were wrecking chaos everywhere on the floor, whether it be by fanning the flames or just starting an entire new fire.
“...Kamui, you should revoke the title of “Demon” from Dostoevsky and replace it with “Satan”.”
Okay, so Fyodor went a little overboard and was currently massacring hundreds in the span of hours, so what? According to Nikolai, that would be considered a hobby.
“Dostoevsky-kun? Sigma?” Fukuchi tried to speak into the microphone, just as he did with Nikolai. Unlike the clown, Fyodor immediately reacted, his head tilting up slightly when he heard the familiar voice.
Then they made eye contact as Fyodor quietly stared at the screen with a thin smile. Did…Did the Jester and Demon switch bodies or something? Why was Fyodor the one smiling now, while Nikolai was…doing whatever.
A shriek was picked up from one of the cameras, the high-pitched scream could only be from one person. Sigma whipped his head around, desperately trying to find the source.
“Hey. I've got company with me. Meet at B10 as soon as you can.” Fukuchi spoke succinctly. Immediately, he turned on his heel and headed to the door.
Shigaraki finally broke his silence with a grunt, begrudgingly trailing after him. “Don't forget our deal. The moment I find my master, we’re done.”
“You know, I think your skin is actually worse than mine. Isn't that weird?”
“Were you even listening to me?”
Fukuchi stroked his beautiful, masculine mustache as he walked. He wondered what he'd do once he finally got back to his own universe. Hopefully the Hunting Dogs hadn't been completely dismantled yet.
The footsteps behind him stopped.
Immediately, his eyes snapped open to purple mist completely encircling him.
“Wh—” Fukuchi grunted, feeling the dangerous fog swirl around. The winds created loud whirling noises, causing him to instinctively cover his ears. His clothes whipped around in a frenzy.
Amidst the heavy winds, he heard a soft chuckle. “You're struggling a little over there, old man.”
With a grunt, Fukuchi dug his foot into the concrete floor, causing it to crack under his weight. It alleviated a lot of the pressure on his body now that he had more balance—
In a matter of seconds, his world was turned around. Suddenly, he wasn't trying to balance himself on the floor. He was standing on the ceiling. There was hardly enough time to comprehend the abrupt change in environment, much less react, before he was falling right back onto the ground.
As soon as he lifted his head up from the floor, purple mist started to wrap around him again. “Wh…What is the meaning of this…?!”
Shigaraki laughed condescendingly. “Did you seriously think my master would allow himself to get trapped in a hellhole like this? Those Pro Heroes could only dream.”
Ding.
“Oh. Looks like the lift’s here.” He spoke in a false sing-song voice. “I’d hate to miss this, but I've got to go to B10 now. I still need to fulfill my end of the deal, eh?”
Fukuchi's face met concrete again as he was continuously wrapped around, with the building itself becoming his enemy.
Fighting with a state of matter was definitely going to be a pain, but he wasn't worried about losing the battle. He was worried about something else.
“I know it'll be lonely for you, so I asked Kurogiri to keep you company.” Judging by his footsteps, Shigaraki had stepped into the lift. “Well, I'll see the Demon in hell.”
Fyodor ran through the halls, feeling his lungs burn in his chest, yet he continued on. Behind him, Sigma and that other guy followed closely behind. He evaded various destruction and debris, sprinting towards the lift.
Had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. It went against the rationale he had built up ever since he came into existence. He was a being nobody could understand. Not Dazai, not his co-workers, not even that clown. And yet…
His legs moved on instinct, indifferent to where it stomped. The lift was right in his sight, he just needed to run a little longer.
“D-Dosto…evsky…!” Sigma weakly called out from behind him, desperately trying to keep up. Egghead was irrelevant.
His right hand slammed onto the lift button, and he hunched over. Fyodor heaved, sucking in a deep breath. Sweat dripped down his face.
Behind him, those two finally caught up. Sigma grunted, glaring at Fyodor while he desperately caught his breath. “What is your problem?! Did Gogol-kun’s craziness finally rub off on you?”
Fists clenched, teeth gritted, Fyodor stood completely still, watching the lift ascend to a different floor. “Someone else is using the lift.”
“Someone else? Could it be a guard from one of the lower levels?” Sigma questioned, straightening out the folds in his clothes. “I know most of them had rushed over when they tried to stop us, but maybe some stayed behind.”
“What do we do now?” They looked back at the carnage they left behind. The other side was probably swarming with guards trying to take them down by now.
Not good enough. Fyodor watched the lift move at a snail’s pace. At this rate…
“There's another lift on the other side.” The Demon didn't offer anything else.
“So you want us to run all the way to the other for a lift?” Egghead groused nervously. “Wouldn't waiting be easier?”
Raising his nail to his mouth, he bit down. His fingernails were brittle and chipped away. “...No. If these guards are coming from the lower floors, it means they'll be harder to get through. Do you want a direct confrontation?”
Sigma grunted, scratching his head. “I've had about enough for bloodshed. Alright, fine…”
Sighing, both of his co-workers reluctantly turned around and slowly started dragging themselves to the other side of the hall. Fyodor stood still for an unusually long time, watching the lift quietly.
He didn't like this feeling.
For centuries, Fyodor had always been twelve steps ahead of everyone else. No one spent that long on earth and didn't become firmly acquainted with every aspect of their world. But this wasn't his world.
Humans behaved just as disgustingly as in his own world— but everything around him was different now. He had nothing but his own head to guide him through.
With a huff, he turned around to face his co-workers. They sure were taking their time. Though his legs screamed at him, Fyodor started to walk over to them.
Ding.
Fyodor was hauled backwards when something none-too-gently snatched his ushanka right off his head.
“Wh—” Right before his eyes, the hat that had made itself home on his head disintegrated. The threads and seams fell apart, dropping down as nothing more but dust. One thing was made apparent, Fyodor did not want to be the next victim.
He immediately jumped backwards, dodging a dry hand that just as quickly aimed right for him. The wall Shigaraki had touched instead, too, eroded away in the palm of his hand.
“...It's you.” Fyodor muttered, eyes wide. He could feel a cool breeze on his previously covered head. The person on the intercom was Fukuchi’s voice, so was it a decoy or did something happen to his leader?
“We meet again, Dostoevsky.” The villain let out a single, dry laugh. Behind him, a few unrecognisable people stepped out from the lift. Comrades, he surmised.
Fyodor took a step back, Shigaraki took a step forward. The other’s fingers twitched. They made direct eye contact. It was impossible to mistake that scathing glare that pierced through everything in its path.
Shouting echoed in the distance. Of course, he hadn't forgotten about those two, but it seemed like Shigaraki didn't mind having an audience.
“Are you jealous?” Fyodor smiled mockingly. “I left your “wonderful” league for these guys.”
“Who the hell is pinkie pie over there?” He growled. One of his henchmen took a step forward, brandishing their weapon, but Shigaraki raised a hand up to stop them in their place.
“This is my revenge. Do not intervene.”
Shigaraki launched himself towards him, a hand extended to touch him. In response, Fyodor took a single step to the side, evading him.
‘Ah…This is that lowly humanity I remember…’
The Demon didn't have any offensive abilities, but he did have a gun. The problem was, Shigaraki wasn't completely inept. If Fyodor pulled his gun out without waiting for the perfect moment when his guard was down, Shigaraki would just disintegrate his weapon.
So that left the waiting game. If he just kept his distance and kept his cool—
A gunshot rang out.
A small indent was made in the wall, producing a small stream of smoke. Both parties were stunned, staring wide-eyed at each other. Neither of them pulled any triggers. None of Shigaraki’s comrades had moved a muscle either.
“What are you waiting for, Dostoevsky-kun?!” Sigma cried out from the side.
‘Ah.’
For a moment, Fyodor's body regained mobility before Shigaraki did, so he did the only reasonable thing.
Kicking his knee up, Fyodor sent a knee right into the villain's abdomen, forcing a guttural groan out of him. Immediately after, he created space between them, cautiously eyeing the other’s fingers.
“Tch—” Staggering, Shigaraki hunched over himself with a hand clutching his stomach. “What are you idiots waiting for?! Get those two over there!”
“Uh— Me?!” Sigma shrieked. “I'm good, really— Damnit.”
Fyodor paid no heed to the pests Shigaraki commanded, watching them dash past the two, he only concerned himself with the man standing just as still as he was.
“Frankly, I find it upsetting that you think you're important enough to be considered a mortal enemy.”
“I find it upsetting that you think you're smart enough to get out of this alive.” Shigaraki replied with equal coolness, though his hatred was much more apparent in his voice. “An intelligence quirk, right?”
“Yes. Are you trying to imply something here?” He tilted his head to the side, his thin smile widening.
“Hah! What do you think?” A cracked finger pointed right at him. “I'm implying that you're a liar.”
‘...So tasteless.’
“How rude. To teach you proper manners, when you correctly assume someone is lying, you don't outright say “I'm saying this”. Instead, go for something like “Lying isn't good, you know?”. Isn't that much more chilling?”
“...It is.”
Screaming echoed through the hallways as Sigma and Egghead got caught in a large-scale attack. It provided adequate background music.
“And don't point your finger like that. It makes you look like you're playing a satirical role as a detective. Alternatively, tilt your head up superciliously and say it in a calm voice, it makes you look cruelly unfeeling.”
“Okay, villain class is over.” The villain grunted out. “I am going to disintegrate you and get this over with.”
“You want to touch me? Go right ahead.” He smiled ominously, raising his hands up. His palms faced the other, leaving Fyodor vulnerable.
Shigaraki’s hand refused to leave his side, wondering if the Demon had some secret ace trick. Silence permeated between them.
“...You're being serious?” He eyed Fyodor cautiously. An anxious arm was raised up.
With an air of confidence, Fyodor took a step forward and gripped his wrist tightly to keep him in place. Slowly, his hand was pulled closer to Fyodor’s chest.
“Are you scared?”
His jaw tightened.
“...Like hell I am.”
Shigaraki slowly pressed his hand onto Fyodor's chest. One finger, then three, then f—
“Hngh—” The world around him spun wildly. Fyodor stumbled backwards, feeling his legs lose their balance. The loss of gravity, the inability to breathe for a split second, the uncontrollable urge to retch. He recognised this sensation far more than anyone ever could.
The next time Fyodor blinked, his feet weren't on solid ground anymore but rather soft dirt. The earthly smell of grass with a hint of smoke invaded his senses, replacing the scent of iron that had permeated the air before, though he could still smell the slightest hint of it. Moreover, the sterile white walls were gone, juxtaposed with the open sky darkened by clouds that had replaced it.
The cage opened. The only things that awaited were clear skies and freedom.
Compared to the inside of Tartarus, there were calm winds that breezed through, moving his hair along with it. Stumbling, his feet haphazardly tried to ground itself on short notice.
A gloved hand grabbed onto his wrist to stabilise him.
“Ah…” Fyodor quietly muttered, immediately taking in his surroundings. Shigaraki had stumbled to the floor, looking around in a daze. He appeared to be on the closest piece of land to the prison, judging by the flat landscape and the nearby ocean.
And there was someone new— No, not someone new.
“Missed me?” Nikolai smirked. His hair was down, letting the long, white strands sway with the wind. The sun set in the distance, casting a perfect image of him in the sunlight. Unlike the Demon, he wasn't wearing his usual jester outfit, but instead wore a white shirt with some strange white jacket hanging over his shoulder.
For the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words.
“...You look just as mischievous as ever.” Fyodor remarked quietly. The tension in his muscles disappeared as he was eagerly pulled up to his feet.
“Oh! Fedya, Dos-kun, Fyodor, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky!” Nikolai exclaimed, knowing his hands in his. He practically vibrated in place, his eyes shimmering. “Hahaha! It's been a while!”
A cold smile formed on his face.
“What's going on here…?” A hoarse voice called out, finally making himself known. Shigaraki brushed the dust off his clothes.
Nikolai shushed him. “I'm busy reuniting here, give us a second.”
“You should learn when to let a moment linger.” Fyodor added.
“What are any of you even saying?!” They ignored him.
“How’d you use your ability?” Fyodor eyed the jacket thrown onto Nikolai's shoulder. His ability needed an overcoat to
“Well, you see.” He cheerfully pointed to his back. “I was forced to wear this straitjacket over this plain— and I mean plain, seriously this is as bland as an unseasoned chicken— shirt. Funny thing is, the straitjacket counts as an overcoat.”
“It…works?” Fyodor blinked.
Nikolai coughed, pulling glasses out of his portal and putting them on. “A coat is typically an outer garment for the upper body, worn by any gender for warmth or fashion. An overcoat is a type of long, thick coat intended to be worn as the outermost garment—”
“Do not recite Wikipedia pages to me to explain what an overcoat is.”
Shigaraki grunted, stomping his foot into the ground to catch their attention. “Okay— Enough messing around. We’re settling this now.”
“I don't see the point in engaging in meaningless violence with you.”
He tutted, shaking his head. “Are you forgetting that your dear companions are in my hands? I've got Kamui busy with Kurogiri, and those other two are dealing with my men.”
“If you decide to cower away and teleport, I'll just give my men the signal to kill them. Either way, at least one of them dies. I don't think you'd tolerate any of them if you didn't need to.”
‘…Hmph.’
Fyodor frowned. If only he had been in his own world, he wouldn't have to face half the trouble there.
“...A fight is what you want? Then me and Gogol-kun will be more than happy to oblige.”
“You will?”
“We will?”
A soft grunt involuntarily escaped from Fyodor's throat, earning confused looks from both of them. Nikolai always had a penchant for ruining his infallible schemes with his own antics, but he wished that, for just this once, he would contain himself. Though, he supposed the clown couldn't be faulted this time.
Shigaraki slowly pressed his hand onto Fyodor's chest.
Had Nikolai not intervened right then and there, Fyodor would be a “goner” in the eyes of anyone else.
Simply allowing himself to be disintegrated would have been much easier, since it would save him the trouble of having to actually kill Shigaraki. Now that he had Nikolai for an audience? Out of the question.
“Kolya.” He intoned, immediately causing Nikolai to snap his head towards him. A stoic expression crossed his face. “It’s time.”
“...Ah.”
No clown costume. No jokes. No pranks. He couldn't even keep up a silly expression. Just a smile. Nikolai nodded at him, his hands falling to his sides.
“Don't think that means I'll take any of this with a serious expression.” He stuck his tongue out playfully, holding his straitjacket in his hands.
Shigaraki slowly approached them.
“You've always been a wild card, haven't you?” Fyodor fixed himself into a defensive stance.
Reaching a hand up, Nikolai slowly removed the card that hid his covered eye, revealing the single, emerald pupil to the world. He pocketed it while humming a sweet melody under his breath.
“Dos-kun.” He called out. “For the next few minutes, I relinquish my role as a jester.”
“Relinquish your role, hm?” Fyodor repeated the phrase to himself quietly. ‘How odd…’
“I will put my current act on hold for now, just for you.” Nikolai crooned. “For now—”
“I'm focused on him.”
Shigaraki stood right in front of him, watching them wordlessly.
His foot dug into the ground.
Before it could be comprehended, a clenched fist collided with Shigaraki’s face. He was sent flying backwards from the sheer force, holding his face in his hand with a pained groan. His dry skin felt like sandpaper on Fyodor's fist.
The sky started to darken, clouds turning grey.
The final battle began.
Enraged, Shigaraki quickly recovered and made a beeline for Fyodor. Nothing changed in their dangerous dance, it was just Shigaraki furiously trying to touch Fyodor while he quietly evaded him.
“Oh my—” Nikolai gawped when, for a split second, he locked eyes with the furious villain. Whether intentional or a spur of the moment decision, Shigaraki ended up redirecting his attention to him.
In the blink of an eye, the clothing he held turned to dust, earning gasps from the duo. Fyodor’s jaw tightened.
“Eyes over here.” He called out through clenched teeth. “Your revenge is with me, right?”
With a vitriolic laugh, Shigaraki turned back to deal with Fyodor, apparently done with his slight deviation. “It's only fair for me to even the scales, right?”
Nikolai awkwardly stepped back, watching the exchange. Without an overcoat, he was essentially locked into staying on the sidelines, unless he wanted to turn into dust.
Their movements blended into each other, aggressive stomps meshing into calm steps. Rain started to pelt them from above.
Fyodor chuckled, grabbing Shigaraki's shoulder and twirling him around. The other man spun a few times, stumbling on his feet. “You aren't very good at dancing, are you?”
“We are not dancing.”
He felt his body being hauled forward against his will, forcing a grunt out of him. Shigaraki's cracked hand gripped his black coat with four fingers, smirking derisively.
“Quite the fashion sense you have.” He mocked.
Far too close. Shigaraki almost managed to wrap a hand around his neck, but a swift shove kept him at bay.
Quick on his feet, Fyodor forced distance between them again and yanked his coat off his shoulders, throwing it into the air unceremoniously.
His coat swiftly ended up in Nikolai's hands. “So...what's the game plan here?”
The Demon huffed, dodging him again. He wouldn't be able to keep this up forever, eventually he'd run out of energy. “The plan is to kill him.”
That elicited a harsh chuckle from Shigaraki. “That's it? You don't even have any schemes formulated in that oh so intelligent mind of yours?”
“Do you seriously believe that, just because I'm outnumbered, you've got a chance of winning?”
Fyodor gritted his teeth. “Kolya. Do whatever you see fit.”
He could feel Shigaraki staring directly at him. “I’m satisfied with any method, as long as he dies.”
Nikolai remained still for a moment before he guffawed. He looked down at the black coat in his hands. “That's not like you at all. I love it! You're always full of surprises. In that case—”
He dug his hand into the jacket, which immediately resulted in a portal being formed right behind Shigaraki. A gloved hand grabbed his forearm, yanking him backwards.
“Ngh—” Shigaraki grunted, feeling the wind knocked out of him. In an attempt to pry himself free, he used his free hand to try to remove Nikolai's grip.
Keeping both his hands, his only weapon, preoccupied…Fyodor always forgot to give Nikolai credit, he caught on quick.
Fanfare, climax, dramatics, Fyodor didn't care about any of that. He didn't have the time to meander about and play silly games with some puerile child.
“Struggling is futile. I recommend holding still for a moment.” He said with a silky voice.
He swiftly reached down to his coat, flowing calmly, and grabbed his gun. Without missing a beat, he raised it up and fired.
Bang!
The sound pierced through the air, causing him to wince slightly at the volume. His hand bounced backwards from the recoil, the metal warmed his palm.
Fyodor huffed, watching the stream of blood flow down Shigaraki's hand from the hole in his wrist. If the villain had stood still for a moment longer, he'd have blown his hand clean off from the impact.
Surprisingly, Shigaraki managed to break free from Nikolai's tight grasp in that brief moment of adrenaline, shoving his hand away with his elbow.
Shigaraki dug into the bullet hole in his wrist until he pulled out a small bullet, stained with his blood. It was still neatly intact after lodging itself into his body. He threw it onto the ground with a growl. “You two…are really getting on my nerves.”
Nikolai swiftly wrapped behind him, smiling blithely. “It isn't fair that Dos-kun gets all the attention, no?”
“You—” Shigaraki grumbled, immediately directing his focus on the white-haired man.
With a chuckle, he waved at him exuberantly. “Yo! Shigaraki, Shigella, Shaggy, mind telling me what happened while I was gone?”
“I'm not engaging in meaningless dialogue with you.” He seethed.
“Then what are we doing right now? Besides, it's not like we can replace our conversations with fighting. The entire fight has just been you chasing us around while we dodge you. Not much to say about that, no?”
“Stand still, then. I can cut this confrontation short right here, right now.”
Nikolai clasped his hands together. “But that seems pretty anti-climatic.”
“Do you think this is some joke? If you're not going to take me seriously, just give up already.” Shigaraki spat out.
The white-haired man giggled. “I'm not horsing around. I'm just…down-to-earth! Just like you are.”
The ground underneath Shigaraki's feet disappeared, causing motion sickness for the briefest moment. The next thing he knew, he got a faceful of grass.
Nikolai seemed concerningly entertained by his own shenanigans, snickering behind his hand. “You have to admit that was funny.”
‘You are the furthest thing from down-to-earth.’ Fyodor quipped in his head, watching the interaction in the corner of his eye. Those two were at a much safer distance from him now. Luckily, Nikolai had a knack for being ridiculously annoying, so the Demon was sure he had already evaded Shigaraki’s mind.
His partner seemed to be having a fun time playing with Shigaraki's sense of gravity, so he let them be.
Cautiously avoiding his line of sight, Fyodor fiddled with the gun in his hands. Only one bullet left.
‘I can't take my chances. Not with a moving target.’
Well, this was going to be humiliating. Fyodor begrudgingly dropped to the ground, tediously sifting through the leaf blades. His hands were covered in fresh mud as the rain started to grow heavier.
He perked up when he felt something solid between his fingers. A small bullet. Fyodor immediately got back on his feet, reloading the used ammunition back into his gun. Not to shoot Shigaraki with it, of course.
‘Pfft…’ The gun sounded out weakly when he pulled the trigger. His head lifted up to determine the situation.
“Damnit! Get me out of this!” Shigaraki yelled, trying to pull his right arm buried deep into the ground after Nikolai had teleported it there. A cracked pinky finger stuck out from his yellow portal, writhing.
Fyodor calmly approached the two, gun in hand. Looking up at him, they both flashed with recognition that could only mean they forgot he existed.
“Hah! Are you going to shoot me again? I thought you were more creative than that.”
The Demon shot Nikolai a quick look. “Step back.”
Without missing a beat, Nikolai's feet stumbled away from Shigaraki. He did it before he even questioned his words, making him scowl inwardly.
Shigaraki sensed that something was amiss too late, not that he could do anything about it when his hands were stuck in the ground.
“...What are you—”
Fyodor threw the gun right at him. The weapon flew through the air before unceremoniously landing right in front of the villain.
“...You just…?” Both of them gawped at him.
“Maybe I did. That doesn't change anything for us.” He smirked.
The gun was within arm’s reach for Shigaraki. With his free hand, he could easily grab it and put an end to this. Yet he hesitated again.
“Are you still scared?”
Shigaraki snapped. Immediately, he reached out for the gun. He could feel the cold metal in the palm of his hand.
‘...Still so easy.’
“You…” He hissed out, his head tilted up to the Demon. There he was, standing over him like he was nothing more than an ant.
He wasn’t some pest.
“You piss me off.”
He pulled the trigger.
A raucous explosion erupted, sending sparks flying in all directions and shrouded Shigaraki in a black smoke. The sound alone was enough to temporarily paralyse a person. Had Fyodor not been prepared, he didn’t doubt that his eardrums would be ringing right about now.
Nikolai coughed into his hand, accidentally inhaling the smoke. The sudden fulmination caught him off guard, freezing him in place. “Wh…What just happened?”
“I killed him. That’s what happened.”
The duo looked at each other. “So that’s just it? We just blew him up…again?”
The smoke around them obfuscated their surroundings, but he also didn’t hear or see any movement in the fog that suggested that he was still alive. After a while, the smoke would fade out and there would be nothing more than a burnt corpse on the ground.
“There’s no need for melodramas. We have other things to worry about, so—”
The smoke parted.
In a flash, Shigaraki was suddenly right in front of Nikolai. His face and body were scarred with burn marks from the scorching heat from the explosion, yet he moved as if it didn’t bother him at all. Four charred fingers pressed against Nikolai’s shoulder.
Time slowed to a halt. In that instant, millions of thoughts swarmed his head. From all his years of experience, he had enhanced his reaction time and thinking. He was always ahead of others, and if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t take long for him to come up with a plan.
It was all for nought now. All that time he spent honing his abilities was wasted, because as he watched Nikolai about to witness his own death, he threw it all out of the window. For the first time in his life, he didn’t think before he acted.
Firmly gripping Shigaraki's arm, he immediately redirected and pressed it against his chest, right where his heart lay.
His heart stopped.
Only after processing his own actions did Fyodor make eye contact with Nikolai. Their eyes widened at the same time at the same realisation.
A single gasp filled the deafening silence.
“...Oh.”
Before anyone could process it, Fyodor started to disappear.
Every single atom that joined together to form “Fyodor Dostoevsky” disintegrated into black bits, flowing away with the uncaring wind. The quirk didn't care about giving Fyodor any last words, it simply ate away at his body until there was nothing left to consume. It all happened too fast.
Before he knew it, the only man who ever understood him ceased to exist.
His heart pounded in his ears, sending a sharp pang through his chest. Faint laughing echoed in his ears, it was near yet it felt so, so distant. Nikolai hadn't realised he'd forgotten to breathe until his lungs burned. He blanched, his legs growing numb and keeping him frozen in place.
“So that’s that.” Shigaraki muttered quietly and rubbed his fingers together, remembering the sensation of soft flesh on his digits.
The black coat draped over his shoulders suddenly felt heavier, cursing him under its weight. Rainwater ran down his face and dripped down onto the ground.
“He put up a fight, but in the end, I'm the one still standing— Huh…?”
‘...I was still the clown, up to the very end.’
Nothing more than a jester, making a fool of himself.
“Ah…” Shigaraki lightly gasped, holding his hands up. They started to tremble lightly.
Neither of them moved. His vision was blurring.
The soft whimper quickly turned into a pained groan, then a shriek.
“Ah!” Shigaraki screamed out from the bottom of his lungs, finally snapping Nikolai out of his trance. The villain’s body twisted like a corpse, trembling violently.
His hands desperately clawed at himself, indifferent to his clothes slowly withering away from his touch. The agonised shrieks awakened Nikolai immediately. Unsure but dangerously curious, he took a step back, observing him closely.
‘Is this…?’
Shigaraki’s body bent and convulsed, his face contorted with pain. It was almost as if he was being torn apart from the inside. A shudder shot through his body, seizing him in place.
The man ripped off the hand that had obscured his face, revealing his bulging red eyes. His pupils dilated with agony.
For a moment, they made eye contact. Though it was probably an instinctive reaction, Shigaraki stared at him with an almost pleading look. If he had the ability to control his screams, Nikolai wondered if the villain would be begging for help.
Then the skin on his already charred face started to peel off, torn away by some invisible force. The scene wasn't gory, there wasn't blood nor bones cracking, but it sent chills nonetheless. But what laid underneath the skin that was ripped off wasn't flesh.
It was clean, smooth skin.
In the blink of an eye, his face exploded and sent layers of skin flying in every direction.
Darkness. He instinctively shut his eyes. He let his body control, which he found even more disgusting than the body horror he had just witnessed. There was a bad taste in his mouth.
The world around him froze.
“...Missed me?”
Repulsive. Abhorrent. Disapprobation. Oh, how Nikolai despised just how quickly his eyelids snapped open. It was deplorable how his heart skipped a beat, not out of fear but vehement hope.
A cold smile greeted him.
‘Once again, things didn't go the way I planned.’
The duo stood side by side, staring calmly at the darkening sky. The scent of petrichor filled their noses as the rain poured down on them. Rainwater slowly soaked Fyodor's entire body, yet he remained completely still. Ragged fabric clothed his body.
Finally, he stole a glance at his partner. An unusual, doleful expression crossed Nikolai's face. His lips formed a thin line, blinking slowly at the sky.
“...So that's your ability?” His voice cracked, low and melancholic. Fyodor sighed, nodding with disclination. He turned his head to face his partner.
Nikolai hummed, fishing through his pocket. In his hand was a small card.
“So I was always fighting a losing game, hm? Even if I killed you, I would've died as well. Worst of all, I wouldn't even be the only one to kill you.” He chuckled. “Ah, this really sucks.”
Slowly, he lifted the eye patch to his face and returned it to its rightful place, right over his eye. Nikolai smiled thinly.
“Well! I guess I'll have to just adjust my goal. Maybe I can change killing you to…making the rest of your life a living hell?”
Fyodor felt rain run down his face. He spoke, his voice hoarse. “I’d like to see you try.”
That elicited a laugh from him. “You're tempting me, but I'm still curious. Why did you do that?”
‘Because I—’
“Because it was the easiest outcome. Being disintegrated and coming back shortly after, even if that meant exposing my ability, is much simpler. Unless you wanted to slowly beat him to death?”
Nikolai clicked his tongue. “You still took the death for me in the end.”
A frown formed on his face.
“...It wasn't like there were any stakes for me besides exposing one of my strengths.”
“Aw, just admit it. You did it because you care.” He joked, dragging out the last syllable. His eyes locked onto Fyodor's expression, almost as if anticipating something in it to change. “Why else would the great Dostoevsky allow little ol' me to learn something like this?”
Fyodor bit the inside of his mouth. “It had more pros than cons. I prefer not to have any major changes in the script I wrote on the page.”
“Hm...You're really losing your touch, aren’t you?” Nikolai gloated with a snicker, earning an annoyed stare from the Russian.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I'm saying,” He approached Fyodor, his every step purposeful. “I'm finally starting to understand you, bit by bit.”
Fyodor stared at him.
Nikolai was, in every sense, a jester. Someone who only existed to entertain. Someone who only existed as a joke. A clown. He tried to find his freedom, to break free of his mold and become something new.
But in the end, he was so painfully easy to understand.
Not that Fyodor minded. Nikolai could pretend he was free, and Fyodor could pretend he was understood by someone, even if only a little. Though, they had one thing he could share together, something no one could have expected.
A relationship that went against every notion of “love” that existed.
That thought only excited him.
“You're a good clown. You're going to make me laugh.”
Too close. Nikolai moved until he was right in front of him, a grin plastered on his face. “Isn't this fun? To break out of the shackles of expectations?”
Fyodor narrowed his eyes at him. He could feel Nikolai's warm breath on his face, making the air feel much more suffocating. The tension continued to linger.
Was Nikolai going to make some insane declaration to him again, just like he did when he proclaimed he was going to kill him? Was this some strange sort of scare tactic? Out of all the outcomes Fyodor immediately thought up, he had a feeling his partner would find some way to defy his expectations—
Nikolai kissed Fyodor.
His breath hitched. His lips were warm against his, immediately seizing his attention. Fyodor's eyes snapped open, staring at him shell-shocked. Nikolai easily met his gaze with his own, piercing through him easily.
‘Is this what it feels like to be the prey?’
He could get used to this.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His hands shook with nerves as his heart raced. So this was the feeling he'd always avoided. It felt nicer than he would have liked to admit.
Just as quickly as it came, the moment ended.
Nikolai pulled away with a laugh, his hands shaking with equal nervousness. He smirked and poked Fyodor on the forehead with his index finger.
“I like when you're easy to catch off guard.”
It took a long time before Fyodor recovered from his stunned state, realising he hadn't responded.
“...I think I like it too.”
With a laugh, Nikolai pulled the coat the Demon had lent him. “Huh…Well, I'm used to being surprised by you, so I'm not that affected.”
“Those ‘heroes’, the opportunities we left behind, all the melodrama…What do you say to eventually coming back to those?”
“I definitely want to finish what we started someday. After we get back to our own world though, I think I'm going to pass out for a few days!” Nikolai laughed.
His partner extended a hand to him. “Well? We've still got some utterly hopeless co-workers to rescue.”
“...”
Fyodor took Nikolai's hand.