Chapter Text
Ranboo Belovi, otherwise known as the villain Maine (He is not from Maine, just so you’re aware, he just thinks the spelling is nice) makes it a point to always be presentable. They wear their nicest outfits outside simply to showcase that they can buy it and to look nice, but they also try and have a smile anywhere they go. Would hate to be rude to anyone after all.
But you didn't come here to see his immaculate taste in clothing and accessories. You came here to see his powers.
That's right- Ranboo Belovi, AKA Maine, AKA hero enemy numero uno, has the most overpowered power to ever power, ever.
And it doesn't even change his appearance. Outwardly nothing looks off, and he appears to be a perfectly normal individual with a normal life. Nine to five job (that probably shouldn’t be a nine to five), one room apartment they share with their cat (Enderchest, their darling little kitty), and the occasional call from their ‘aunt’ (Whose not really their aunt, but Puffy is a nice woman who helped them age out of foster care smoothly so they figure it’s the least they can do to answer the odd call that asks after their wellbeing).
There are speculations, he supposes, over what his power is exactly. At least, he knows the heroes all lose their heads trying to figure it out, but he doesn't think they’ll get there.
You see, Ranboo Belovi, a normal seventeen year old, has a power he likes to call: Main Character Energy.
Now you see where his villain name comes from- but Main is such a boring spelling, that silent ‘e’ at the end that doesn't really constitute as a silent letter because he’s the only one who knows that it is not supposed to reference the state, really adds onto his finesse.
The laws of their power are… how to put it in simple terms… laughable. And a bit ridiculous.
Their days are sometimes spent normally, where it all bleeds together in front of their eyes of events that are so similar to one another weeks pass at a time before they even realize it. That does have the unfortunate drawback that their memory is… flighty at best. If it doesn't happen at a time where they have full clarity, then chances are they won’t remember it.
However, it gives him, as the name suggests, main character energy. He feels like he has the energy of a book character except he’s the author, the character, and the audience all at once.
His power grants him insane luck, to the point it's a bit ridiculous. Lacking money? Oh wow, look at this bank robbery gone wrong, clang, there's a bar of gold at his feet. Feeling depressed? Well would you look at that, his favorite cat café is holding a free session to simply pet cats for an hour.
Don’t want to go to work? Blizzard in June that keeps everyone inside but conveniently doesn't break any of his internet, power, or heating, like it does for others.
It varies in strength and magnitude.
Sometimes they can’t control it, how strong it is, how it will sometimes force plots and subplots on them that they have to do because it’s in their better interest or whatever. Other times, and thankfully most of the time, they have complete control over whether or not their power flares up and the level it will assist them.
They’re… not quite sure how to make things happen exactly as they want them to, but their power doesn't work like a genie, simply gives him plot armor, and luck, and convenient timing. Despite their memory issues they have never missed a birthday or forgotten a present.
Not like he doesn't have difficult days. He doesn't like working at the shady bakery on the corner of 69th and 420th. Freaky stuff going on in the basement, he thinks. Something to do with the plants his boss is obsessed with, but the demon shaped man- BadBoyHalo, that is his real name, Ranboo asked- has always been nothing but nice to Ranboo since he was hired.
Yeah he has to work from, as he stated, nine to five, opening and closing shifts, every other day and all of the weekend, but it's all together not a bad work environment. He can sit behind the counter, and doesn't have to do any of the baking- he had offered, but Ranboo hilariously cannot cook or bake for his life. It’s one of the only things he’s bad at and it excites him to no end, but Mister Halo had politely said that he was the only one allowed in the kitchen and if anyone ever tried to bake in there that wasn’t him well.. The man insinuated that it wouldn't end well.
Ranboo thinks it’s great. They do supposedly have coworkers, and they met the rest of them in the beginning but they've all just slowly stopped showing up for work. It’s the oddest thing, but they haven’t gotten the tugging in their chest that says that they have to follow that particular plot point so they won’t waste their time sniffing about it. Besides, Mister Halo doesn't seem worried, and their manager, Skeppy, looks exhausted 24/7 and Ranboo would just sooner not talk to the smaller, prone to swearing as loud as he can to annoy Mister Halo, diamond man.
As for why they are the heroes least favorite individual as of late and not the public’s, well. Wouldn't you like to know? How’s he supposed to make you keep paying attention if he just tells you? So silly.
–
Ranboo goes through the motions most days, their power helping them along by speeding up the days and the monotonous stream of consciousness no longer affects him. It’s not very often that they snap back into reality, either because something funny is about to happen, or something important.
So when his vision clears as he focuses back into the world to him handing a box of pastries to a woman with pink hair, he furrows his brow and frowns confusedly. He almost drops the box in his blunder but luckily the lady catches it in her arms.
He fumbles for his words but ends on a half muttered ‘sorry’ as he re-familiarizes himself with the inner workings of his place of work. A surprisingly brightly colored little building full of soft burgundy wood and little pastel accents lining the walls and tablecloths. His nametag is crooked on his chest, his ‘he/they’ pin hanging on by a thread but never breaking though it should have fallen off a long, long time ago-
“Thank you Ranboo.” The woman interrupts his thoughts in an accented voice, smiling at him with an air that screams he’s supposed to know who this is.
“Ah- right- yes. You're, uhm, you’re… welcome..?” They stutter out, brushing a hand into their hair as they try to remember if she’s paid yet or not.
Her facial expression softens and- yep. They definitely should know who this is because her next words just confirm it.
“Oh, you look very clear headed all of a sudden, hello Ranboo. I’m Niki.” Ranboo swallows, ducking their chin to their chest a bit.
“...Right. Hi.. Miss Niki.”
She doesn't seem to be bothered at all, she simply nods, swipes her card, and leaves with a cheery wave.
…Sometimes they wish their power didn’t wipe their memory of the nice people- the people who want to know them as casual acquaintances. They wish sometimes that they didn't have any power at all but… well. Not all dreams can come true or should, and they suppose they should just be grateful for what they have.
Still…
Ranboo flicks his eyes around. Why is it that he’s here now? It seems relatively normal around, or at least nothing jumps out at him as odd. There’s a man in the corner booth sipping his coffee, tip tapping away at his laptop, a mother and her young son walking by the window but not turning into the shop no matter how much the boy pleads, and a group of teens clustered around a table with drinks, pastries, and a sundry of homework scattered around the table.
But… nothing bad or dangerous or interesting. And he supposes that seeing Miss Niki was nice, if he could remember her, but he doesn't and it was barely a minute of conversation, not enough to warrant a break from his mind melding.
Unease prickles at his neck, and instinctively his feet move from behind the counter, pushing through the ‘employee only’ door with a hand in his hair. They stumble out the back door, light shining in their eyes and blinding them for just a moment.
And… nothing. It’s the same alleyway as always. Clean with nothing spectacular to it, hell, it’s not even closed off to the street, and when he goes and peeks around the corner nothing obvious appears to be wrong. So why-
Thump.
A sound like a body hitting pavement and a bone cracking fills his ears behind him, and he laughs at himself for a moment because that would be silly but then he turns around and there is, indeed, a body slumped in the back corner of the alley. Guess that’s what the clarity is for.
Worst of all, it's his nemesis, Blade. The number one hero in all but name because some dude named Dream hypothetically has better publicity. So what that Blade is a bit awkward in interviews and prefers to talk with glares and huffs? Ranboo will have you know that the man is actually quite witty when they fight, when they allow for it.
Not that they’re defending their nemesis. But you know. Credit where credit is due.
And maybe… just between you and him, a little part of him- the childish wonder that still flickers in his chest at the idea of heroes and powers and doing good- Blade may be his favorite hero. Or at least Ranboo’s favorite- Maine doesn't have a favorite hero, just preferred enemies.
The man groans and his head rolls, boar skull mask chipped and cracking and a piece of it is missing in the upper left corner of his face to reveal pale, bloodied skin.
Ranboo shuffles forward, beat up shoes silent on the pavement as he wanders slowly. It’s not like they have a choice really, if they don’t follow this plot point willingly their power will do it for them and they’d rather be in control of their actions when dealing with their idol thank you very much.
Nemesis. Dealing with their nemesis.
It's only when they get a foot away from the man that his eyes fly open, the one eye visible a red that blends into the blood dripping down his forehead. The other is hidden by the mask, only visible because whatever it’s made of makes it glow a bright intimidating blue.
The man is breathing heavily, wide awake but at the same time not present. Blade has gotten like this before, a few times in fact, where his cuts were a bit sharper and his swings with his axe thrown with a bit more carelessness and a whole lot more killing intent. Ranboo knows intimately that the man’s punches hurt a lot more when he’s in this hazy state between adrenaline-driven human and bloodthirsty monster.
Oddly enough, the crazed man freezes once he actually looks at Ranboo’s face- wide eyed and stiff, they’ll admit they weren't exactly ready to be eye to eye with the other, had they had time to prepare they think they would have changed their appearance a little- the guy shivers, shudders, eyes screwing shut before opening with a much nicer brown color.
Geeze, this guy likes his eye colors to mean something huh? Sort of lazy writing if Ranboo is being honest.
“Kid.. get out’ve here..” Blade grits out, and it genuinely takes Ranboo a second to realize he’s being spoken to because; what. Blade has never called him that in all the times they’ve spoken before.
So why would he- ah. No mask. Seventeen years of age. He does count as a minor still he supposes… he’ll let it slide.
“Ah- uhm-” Ranboo blinks, shuffling forward with his hands wrung in front of him. “Mister Blade Sir, is- are you okay?”
A dumb, stupid question, but Ranboo isn’t in the habit of mouthing off to people who can crush them in one hand when they aren't in uniform. Well. His Maine uniform, not his pastel red (Not pink, he knows how that sounds but not pink, it’s a very nice red he swears), cute caricature of a muffin on the front with devil horns and a tail, uniform.
Blade laughs, a barely there huff of a thing that immediately has him clutching his side, which Ranboo graciously ignores if only because they’re too busy stuffing down the swell of pride that wells in their chest at making their hero even faintly amused.
“No- no ‘m not okay. But that… that isn’t your concern Kid.” Is what comes next, which, is really what Ranboo expected. It’s not as if they themselves would have trusted anyone else with their injuries, but this is a hero so…
“..Is, is there someone I can call then? The Hero Organization doesn't really… come down here but, but I’m sure someone could come collect you?” His voice sounds painfully awkward even for his lowered standards, and he winces, inwardly berating himself for even asking. It’s true, The Institution of Super Powered Beings, or the ISPB, or the Hero Organization, doesn’t often bother to waste their time fiddle farting around in the poorer areas of Endwell, NY.
“Don’t call the Organization.” Blade reaches out to grab at Ranboo’s wrist- oh man, oh man, when did they get that close, fuck, what if the fact that they’re Maine bleeds out of them? What if he emanates Maine Character Energy?
Haha.
No, cause, his power? His alias? No? Just him? Okay.
The grip on his wrist tightens, to an almost painful degree, and Ranboo winces for real this time, hand flinching and curling until he breaks the hold and brings it close to his chest. There's already a circle of bruising starting on the pale skin there in the shape of fingertips. He looks forlornly down at it.
Man. Mister Halo already thinks he’s getting abused, even though he has said multiple times he lives by himself and does not and has not ever had parents to even mention the names of. This is not going to help.
Blade looks at least a little guilty about it though, sad sheen to his eyes as he stares at the ring of purple on their wrist. “Just… don’t call them. You-”
The man swallows, before struggling to grab his phone out of his pocket- “Heroes carry their phones on them?” “Normally no, I just… forgot not to this morning.” “How… convenient.”- hands shaking terribly.
“There's a contact in there, Wilbur, call him and do not snoop through the rest of it.” Not like Ranboo would. Sure this is their nemesis, and yeah it would help if they knew stuff about his personal life, but Blade isn't actually all that bad of a guy as far as heroes go. He doesn't deserve his family and friends being endangered just because Ranboo got a little curious and suddenly some rando is thrown into their line of plot.
So Ranboo, seventeen years old and definitely not a super villain, does as their told.
There’s no lock on the phone, which they find odd at first, but they suppose who needs a password when you’re the literal number one hero, right? They scroll through the contact list, names popping up in their vision even as they try not to focus on them.
Dad, Tommy, Tubbo, Mom–
Which reeks of trouble. When they start having names come into their vision forcefully it means that person is going to play an important character. They really don’t want more characters, so with a bit of energy they force their power down and the names settle on the phone screen.
He eventually stops on who he assumes is Wilbur, the contact name of Wil (Twin) and a string of nonsense emojis, glares up at him, a profile picture of brown floppy hair, golden glasses, and a mischievous smile staring into the camera like the other can read his thoughts through time and space and pixels.
They shrug, hitting ‘call’ with only half a thought not to.
The phone rings for a moment, held out in his palm as he crouches down next to Blade, before it answers with a click.
“Techno! Darling baby brother, what can I do for you?”
…Yikes.
Blade, Techno his traitorous mind whispers, sighs heavily, looking up at the sky, so Ranboo deems it necessary to answer for him.
“Uhm.. This isn’t… Techno..”
“...Well who the hell is this? And why do you have his phone?” The voice on the other end is significantly less nice now, cold and calculating, and yeah, Ranboo would be shocked if the other isn’t crazy powerful like his brother.
“Blade sort of, well he’s trying to pass out in the alley beside my work? And, and he said I should call you to.. Pick him up?” Ranboo glances at the man in question, voice pitched up in question, until he gets a small nod in return.
“Yeah, pick him up. Please?”
It’s silent for all of two seconds before he speaks again. “Well you’re definitely not Blade, he would never say please. So sure, why don’t you just send me the address ‘kay?”
Oh thank the universe. Ranboo did not want to be here-
–
-anymore. Fffuck.
It happened again. He blinked and the time changed. Where he had been sitting next to Blade with his phone in his hand before, moments before for him, he’s now watching a curly haired man hoist the hero’s arm over his shoulder.
Ranboo wrings his hands, trying to blink the fog from his eyes, the haziness keeping him from taking in details, but it just won’t leave.
The curly haired man- Wilbur- turns to look at them, smile on his lips. “Hey thanks for calling, I really appreciate it, you know?”
“O-Of course, it was whatever…”
“It wasn't but thank you anyways. Hey, would you do me one more favor?”
Ranboo tilts his head, not at the words, but at the way Blade tenses and snaps his head to the side to glare at the side of Wilbur’s head, to which the man ignores.
“...Sure. What is it?”
“Forget.”
–
When Ranboo comes to, he’s back in his apartment, dressed in his Maine uniform, mask held in hand. Really, considering the minimal way he lives (can’t attract too much attention after all), his costume is very misleading.
All streamlined, dark fabric that lets him blend in, outlined with strips of glowing purple (don’t ask them where they got it or what it’s made of, because the answer is both illegal and they don’t totally know themselves), headed with a mask that seemingly melds onto his face, two long, horn-like shapes protruding from the tops and eyes that glow a red and green respectively. They look like a cryptid, if you ask them, and they will delightedly tell you so.
On instinct they begin to crawl out of their window, claw like additions on the end of their gloves making it easy to scale the wall up to the roof of their building. They crouch low over the ledge, the radio in their ears playing gentle music instead of whatever police station they’re probably expected to be listening to.
Maine may be a villain, evil all the way down, super powerful and super strong but… they don’t actually want to hurt anybody. They’re more keen on wandering the streets and having their name float around this neighborhood to dissuade anyone from doing anything too illegal. This is his turf after all.