LONDON IS OVERRUN WITH A PLAGUE. NOT A PLAGUE OF PLAGUE OR A PLAGUE OF RATS OR FROGS OR WHICHEVER BULLSHIT ANIMALS MOST PLAGUES ARE MADE OF, BUT A PLAGUE OF EVIL WIZARDS. THEY’RE CALLED THE CORANIEID, AND THEY STAND AROUND IN BIG-ASS BLACK CLOAKS LOOKING THREATENING. ALSO THEY CAN HEAR EVERY SINGLE WORD ANYONE SAYS, SO THEY LISTEN TO EVERYONE’S SECRETS AND USE THEM TO FUCK SHIT UP. ONCE AGAIN, KING LUDD IS FED UP WITH THIS STUPID BULLSHIT AND SETS OUT TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THE CORANIEID.
LLUDD PHONES UP HIS WIZARD BROTHER LLEFELYS ON THEIR SPECIAL COPPER SPEAKING TUBE SO THAT THE CORANIEID CAN’T HEAR THEIR PLOTS, BUT UNFORTUNATELY THE PHONE LINE IS CLOGGED WITH EVIL DEMONS. LLUDD POURS A BOTTLE OF WINE INTO THE PHONE, AND THE DEMONS GET WASHED OUT OF THE OTHER END, LEAVING LLEFELYS WITH A PILE OF WET, WINE-STAINED DEMONS TO DEAL WITH.
ONCE HE’S SWEPT UP THE DEMONS AND CLEANED THE FLOOR, LLEFELY TELLS LLUDD WHAT TO DO. THE CORANIEID ARE IMMUNE TO NORMAL WEAPONS, WHICH IS A PRETTY FUCKING MASSIVE PROBLEM. FORTUNATELY, THOUGH, THEY HAVE ONE WEAKNESS. BEES.
LLUDD GRINDS UP HUNDREDS OF FUCKING BEES AND SPRAYS THE CORANIEID WITH BEE JUICE, AT WHICH POINT THEY DIE AN AGONISING MELTY BEE DEATH. IT’S FUCKING HORRIBLE, BUT AT LEAST LONDON ISN’T PLAGUED WITH EVIL WIZARDS ANY MORE.
superhero au where Ludwig is the hapless superhero, and Feliciano the cunning villain
Without a hero, a villain is successful; without a villain,
a hero is nothing. Feliciano made Ludwig everything he was ever going to be,
gave him a reason to live without them ever meeting in a context other than to
bash each other’s heads in. So it was only a matter of time before the two of
them met in a context like this, he supposed.
Feliciano did this every now and again; called him out to a
“negotiation” at some five star authentic restaurant. Italian was his favorite.
Once Ludwig, or rather, Permuri had
made it to the negotiation, it became clear they were hardly here to talk
politics. Ludwig knew when he attended these several burglaries were
successfully carried out across town, but the dip in pay was well worth this,
whatever it was. Because sometime between then and now, lithe fingers had
slipped the mask from Permuri, and a gentle voice called out to him, “Ludwig,”
like a prayer. He was so reverent, and not just of Permuri, but of Ludwig. Ludwig
was weak, and Feliciano knew just how to exploit him, how to bend him over
backwards and make him kiss the ground the conman walked on, all while making
Ludwig feel like a god.