Seven Devils (Patreon)

Now that I'm here, I also wanted to properly request a follow-up to the Nocturne snippet.

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First part included for ease of reading...

The door to their flat was open. The villain edged forward, jaw clenched, and almost hoped that whatever scumbag had tried to rob them this time was still there. Then they’d have an excuse to do some damage. Practically an invitation.

Someone was there.

Just not who they expected.

“I know we are in a profession stereotypically known for our arrogance, but this…” Nocturne clicked their tongue. “This is something else entirely. They have the audacity to make you pay for this?”

Nocturne was one of the top supervillains in the city, shrouded in mystery as much as the shadows ever present at their fingertips. The air around them felt charged, like it held the strange noise-quiet of a room falling silent at the end of a song, where the very lack of sound became its own tune. They were sitting on the edge of the villain’s bed - so, the edge of a mattress on the floor. Somehow, it looked less pathetic when Nocturne did it.

The villain froze in the doorway.

Nocturne’s dark gaze pierced through them.
“I’ve packed a bag for you. Do you need anything else?”

“W-what?”

There was a duffel bag resting next to Nocturne’s side. With a flick of Nocturne’s hand, darkness plucked it up and carried it into the villain’s arms.

“Is there anything else in this rotting pit of a health code violation that you want before I demolish it?” Nocturne asked. “I assume you are not particularly attached to the mould.”

The villain’s mouth felt dry, their brain reeling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, Night Watch said you’d say that.” Nocturne pushed to their feet. “But unlike her, I am more than content to knock you out and physically drag you somewhere with working central heating. We can have a chat about exactly why you are refusing help later.”

The villain’s face burned with a mixture of shame and fury. Their fists clenched at their sides. The itch to attack rose again, unbidden, but Nocturne wasn’t a fight they could win so easily.

“Stay out of my business.”

“No.”

The villain spluttered. “You can’t just say no.”

Nocturne raised a brow. The room around them had already been dim due to the electricity going off again, but now it felt like night had crept in, coalescing around the supervillain standing opposite them. It deepened as Nocturne moved closer to them, stopping when they were face to face.

“No,” Nocturne said, and there was something to their voice that the villain had never heard before. Nocturne was deadly at the best of times, but cold, distant. That no was not cold. The look in Nocturne’s eyes was not cold. It was livid. Livid and…protective?

The villain shivered.

“You don’t want to owe me, I get that.” Nocturne continued. “I also get that you do not necessarily want your living conditions to be under my power. However, if you stay here, you will die. It is freezing, there’s no hot water, and we’re not even in the middle of winter yet. I’m pretty sure if you didn’t have ice powers, you’d already be dead or dying. Do you understand that?”

“I’m not - it’s not -”

“My literal dungeon has better living conditions than this. Night Watch, bless her, has a thing about choices. I don’t give a crap about your choices when they mean you get hurt. Do you understand that?”

“I can’t just leave,” the villain hissed, feeling near tears. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me or start walking.”

The villain glared at them, and Nocturne stared back, utterly unyielding and without mercy. Certainly no hero, like Night Watch, to care about agency or consent. The silence ticked between them. The villain turned away, hands shaking as they dragged their fingers through their hair with agitation. The grim apartment looked even worse when they could see it through Nocturne’s eyes.

“The place belongs to Seven. I -” They didn’t want to say it. “I belong to Seven.”

If Nocturne was one of the top supervillains in the city, then Seven was the top supervillain in the world. Nocturne stilled in their periphery vision. The room stuttered pitch black for a second.

“They planted me here to infiltrate you,” the villain mumbled. “You and the others.”

“And you betrayed Seven so now they want to murder you via asbestos in the walls…?” Somehow, Nocturne’s voice was still calm, as melodic to the ear as ever even.

“What? No. No.” The villain squeezed their eyes shut, feeling sick, and cornered. The villain did not get a lot of the details, but Seven had known that Nocturne would pay attention to a bad home. That they would offer their own sanctuaries up in a heartbeat. “This is a trap, okay? I don’t know how, or why, but it’s a trap. I’m a trap.”

Nocturne stayed silent for a moment.
“Okay, so you didn’t need to pack anything else?”

“Did you just hear me at all!?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Nocturne’s shadows dropped the bag. “There’s probably a tracker in the toothbrush or something. I’ll get you another one.”

The villain rounded on them, barely able to breathe. “I can’t go with you. I’m not getting you killed because you’re trying to - trying to be kind.” They hadn’t expected that, coming to this city, they hadn’t expected Nocturne, but now that they’d met them. Terrifying, glorious, magnificent Nocturne. “Just - respect my choice on this, alright? This is my business.” They drew themselves to full height, summoning ice to cling to the already damp room, making both of their breath fog. They channelled the attitude that had made heroes across the world cower. “Back off.”

The darkness vanished from the room.

“Alright,” Nocturne said. “Alright.”

The villain sagged in relief, and disappointment, and too many things. Their bones ached with the thought of curling up alone for another night, and the night after that, and the one after that until Seven realised they had failed their mission and dealt a swift punishment.

“Thanks,” the villain began. “I-”

The darkness snapped tight, and lashed out, with a scream of sound and music roaring in the villain’s ears.

The villain woke up in Nocturne’s home six hours later; warm for the first time that they could remember in a while, a perfectly steaming bowl of broth already waiting to fill the gnawing void in their belly.

The news said that their old flat block had been completely destroyed, with a swirling screech of shadow left behind, echoing the same words over and over and over.

This is war. This is war. This is war.

***

“Going somewhere?”

“I – appreciate this, all of this,” the villain said. “What you’re trying to do. I do.”

“Then eat your soup.” Nocturne’s voice brooked no argument. “It’s good.”

The villain swallowed; gaze darting between the bowl of broth, the news on their phone and Nocturne’s slim figure. The supervillain had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen seconds after the villain had looked up said news and promptly fallen off the sofa in shock. The villain still had a blanket, soft and colourful and lovely, tangled haphazardly around their legs.

“But—”

“I made it myself,” Nocturne added. “The soup.”

“That’s guilt tripping,” the villain snapped. They did ease themselves up off the floor and perched back on the edge of the sofa though. They also picked up the bowl, its heat radiating soothing against their palms. Their stomach growled. Their stomach was in knots. It smelled delicious.  “You can’t start a war with Seven.” They met Nocturne’s unreadable expression, imploring. “Not over me.”

“I didn’t.”

“But the news…” The villain fumbled for their phone again, for the proof of that shocking howl.

One of Nocturne’s tendrils snatched the mobile in an instant, out of the villain’s grip, depositing it into the supervillain’s hands instead.

“Hey,” the villain protested.

“I didn’t start it,” Nocturne said. “He did. Seven. Your bastard boss.”

“You can’t call him that.”

“You can have the phone back once you’ve eaten.”

The villain hesitated, glancing between the bowl in their hands, Nocturne, and the door. Theoretically, they could leave without their phone. If Nocturne wanted to hurt them, they would have done so, right? So for all their gifts, it wasn’t like Nocturne could stop them from leaving, right? The villain wasn’t a prisoner.

Maybe they weren’t, but it also felt just a little like wishful thinking that Nocturne couldn’t stop them.

Nocturne raised an eyebrow, cool and expectant, with no hint of whatever had been on their face when they were in the villain’s apartment.

The villain huffed, took a wary spoonful of soup, and swallowed. It tasted as good as it smelled. Nourishing.

“Good,” Nocturne said, and tucked the phone into their pocket.

Even if the villain bolted, abandoned the phone, what if Seven rang and Nocturne then answered?

“Look,” the villain said, fingers twitching. “I’m eating. So, give it back. I promise not to check the news or – whatever.”

Nocturne indicated at the soup again, merciless, in reiteration of their previous words.

The villain glared at them. It had precisely zero effect, at least on Nocturne. The villain felt their panic ratchet up another twist. They focused on eating quickly, explaining again around hasty slurps as if that might make Nocturne more reasonable.

“I have to go. If I leave now, I may be able to minimise the damage. Even if he starts it, Seven isn’t the kind of person you start a war with. Everyone knows that. And like – you’re impressive, don’t get me wrong.” The villain’s cheeks flushed. “But you’re not Seven. And it was my choice to work for him, so it’s really not your problem, you see?”

“Except that he wants you to infiltrate me, according to you.”

The villain grimaced, already sincerely regretting sharing that little piece. They’d thought it might make Nocturne back off, see sense like any self-respecting self-serving villain in the world, not make them…what?

“You don’t have to feel guilty, or – responsible, if that’s what this is,” the villain said carefully. “Like, what’s the best outcome here? Seven somehow miraculously lets me go and I work for you instead? Is that it? Because that’s not going to happen. Seven doesn’t let people go. I mean, everyone knows this about him, don’t they? So more likely you’re going to end up—”

The villain’s phone started to ring. The villain froze, for a heartbeat, and then lunged for it.

Nocturne batted them back, the darkness coalescing around them and lashing out in rapid tendrils that not only pinned the villain to the sofa but caught the soup bowl before it hit the floor. And didn’t spill a drop. To top it off, Nocturne looked indifferent to the attempt, as if it were absolutely nothing.  Swatting a fly. Even when the villain summoned a layer of ice, the darkness smothered it, entirely unaffected.

Nocturne slid the buzzing phone back out their pocket and clicked ‘accept.’

There was a beat of silence as the villain strained to hear who was on the other side, dread curling in the pit of their belly.

“Septimus,” Nocturne greeted. “You’re getting slow.” The supervillain still, somehow, sounded bored. But the darkness hadn’t let the flat, it hadn’t left the supervillain who was barely visible through the smoke and shadow of it.

Septimus? Who the hell was Septimus? The villain didn’t know anyone by that name. They searched Nocturne’s expression, even as the supervillain continued in response to whatever conversation they were having.

“You assume correctly.”

“Oh, no. Entirely under duress. Not that I have any intention of giving them back.”

The villain’s insides washed icy, and they wrenched against the tendrils of darkness. Because back…back suggested Seven. Or were they reaching? Surely. No one talked to Seven like Nocturne was doing. They could be informing someone else of the situation, but then why would they be doing that from the villain’s phone? There hadn’t been any missed calls when the villain woke up.

Nocturne’s jaw tightened in response to whatever the person on the other end of the phone said.

“Don’t call this number again.” The super-villain’s voice was vicious, and for the first time they half turned away from the villain, like something in the conversation was private. “Unless it’s to beg to surrender.”

Nocturne hung up. Their breathing was a little harder than before.

The villain stared at them, wide-eyed.

“Soup,” Nocturne bit out. “You’re all skin and bones.”

The dark tendrils all slipped back, depositing the soup bowl back into the villain’s hands before vanishing.

“Who was that?”

“You know who it was.”

“No one talks to Seven like that.” The villain could hear something desperate in their voice, almost pleading. Because if that had been Seven, then there was no way to take what Nocturne had done back. And, of course, it had already been going badly when the villain hadn’t simply carried out their mission, but…

Nocturne simply looked at them for a moment.

“You called him Septimus,” the villain said, starting to find it difficult to breathe.

“Yes, that’s his name.”

“No one knows his name.”

They knew each other, didn’t they? Seven and Nocturne? They bloody well knew each other; more so, it didn’t sound like the greeting of passing acquaintances either, not if Nocturne knew Seven’s name. So what the hell had they stepped in? Got in the middle of?

“I don’t understand,” the villain said. The soup bowl rattled in their shaking hands.

Nocturne sighed, taking a step closer, and crouched down like the villain was some frightened child. “I know,” Nocturne said, more gentle than the villain had ever heard them say anything. “I know you don’t. You couldn’t possibly. You’re just his pawn.”

“Am I…am I prisoner?”

Nocturne had stated, hadn’t they, that they didn’t give a crap about the villain’s choices when they got the villain hurt.

“No,” Nocturne said. “You can go once you’re feeling better. Or once I’ve got you set up somewhere you feel safe.”

The villain laughed, a bit hysterical, because Nocturne had threatened Seven. And whatever it was, clearly, wasn’t really to do with them at all as a person, but still. There was nowhere safe for them after that. Didn’t Nocturne realise that?

“At this point it would be kinder to just kill me.”

Nocturne straightened again at that, abruptly, apparently done playing soothing.
“You’re safe here.”

“At the base of the idiot who just declared war on Seven?”

“I think I should get you a paper bag. You’re hyperventilating.”

“This is a reasonable reaction. You – you – are you even going to explain!?”

Nocturne looked at them in silence again, for a beat, seeming to consider. Then, they shrugged, but that time the villain saw through the apparent casualness to whatever had been there when Nocturne had been at their flat. Something livid. Absolutely, apocalyptically, furious.

“You know why he’s called Seven?”

“I mean. I’ve never him, and there are so many different stories. I assumed it was a seven deadly sins thing.”

Nocturne snorted, and shook their head. “Self-replication, of a strange sort. His power. He can do it up to seven times, and each version of him – each piece – has a different ability. A different element that they can control.”

The villain blinked, not sure what that had to do with anything, only that it sounded horrifyingly powerful and even more like the villain should have just done what they were told in the first place. Because who could possibly win a fight against someone, something, like that?

“Darkness,” Nocturne said, oh so soft, like it should have been obvious. “Is one of those elements.”

The villain’s mouth dried.

“Let’s just say I’m the one that got away.” Nocturne pocketed the phone again, with another little shrug. “And he really should have left it at that. Now. I'm putting the kettle on. Eat.”

That time, the villain did as they were told.