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If there's one thing Quackity knew about heroes, it's that they clung to their morals. No matter how hard you tried, in the end, the only way to get them to break those morals was to break them first.
He truly, wholeheartedly, did not believe that heroes had the stomach for murder. Especially not heroes who were all about rescuing people. Not the heroes that clung to a naïve sense of justice either. The 'heroic' ones. The 'true and just' ones. They couldn't do it. It takes a lot of willpower and guts to actually take another life.
Now, he did believe that anyone could be pushed to it. Anyone can be driven to murder if the circumstances are correct. It was one of his core beliefs, actually. Morality is fragile at base. And so easily shattered when the right pressure is applied.
But he didn't think he had driven Wilbur to that point.
...He should've known to not underestimate the magpie avian.
His nemesis was spiteful after all. And had an intense desire to prove people wrong about him. He should've known that from the start, really. How long had he been fighting Wilbur now?
The standoff was currently an odd one.
Quackity hadn't exactly interrupted many of Wilbur's patrols but he did have a tendency of pulling him away from them. That was normally what happened. He doesn't usually catch his nemesis in the middle of a takedown.
But he supposes this time he did. Judging by the villain that was currently pinned under his songbird's talons.
"Wilbur," the villain greeted. "Apologies, am I interrupting something?"
"Ace," the magpie avian snapped back, barely restrained fury hidden in his voice. "You are, actually. Do you mind?"
"Oh I don't mind at all actually," Quackity grinned.
The taller of the two looked frustrated at that response, slowly breathing out, "Ace. I am not in the mood to deal with your bullshit today."
"Ooh, feisty this morning, pretty boy? Trouble in paradise maybe?"
Wilbur breathed in again, slowly exhaling in a deep sigh.
Quackity noticed a slight twitch run through his gloved talons that were still holding down the villain he was in the middle of catching.
"Ace. I am only going to say this one more time-"
"Oh and what are you going to do? Kill me?" The shrike avian laughed. "You wouldn't have the will for that, songbird. I'll talk all I want and, really, there's not much you can do about that. Unless you plan on shutting me up."
He should've recognized the danger in the hero's eyes.
"Uh-A... Ace. If I might interject here," the villain his songbird had pinned gulped slightly, clear fear in their eyes. "Um... maybe... maybe don't provoke him?"
The TNT Villain sighed, rolling his eyes, "He's a rescue hero. I don't know what you're so scared of. He's not actually going to-"
SNAP
Quackity felt his feathers stand on end and his eyes widen as the limp body of the minor villain fell to the ground with a sharp thud.
Wilbur slowly rose to his feet, wings flapping once or twice before folding on the hero's back neatly. Sharply elegant. Eyes focused on the shrike avian as if daring him to say anything.
The villain's gaze slowly slips down to see a neck bent out of shape, cleanly snapped with no struggle.
Eyes slowly trailed back up to meet the unwavering stare of his nemesis.
And Quackity recognizes it now.
The posture, the glare, the feral savagery in twitching talons and wings that ever so slightly unfold.
He remembers it. Remembers those feelings. When frustration and anger mixes with instincts that you've bottled up. When you've tried to fight it for so long and it all explodes into one, massive, instinct driven accident.
What happens when an avian with predatory instincts that they've been trying to suppress, suddenly stops fighting it?
Well for him, that came in the form of a starving shrike doing what he needed to do to survive. That came in the form of him later becoming a villain and experiencing predator high after predator high and enjoying every second of it.
And for Wilbur?
The magpie avian took a deep breath, posture tensing before relaxing again, wings spreading out to their full length. The pupils in the hero's dark brown eyes begin to expand, making his brown gaze look black behind his mask.
Scents of death and fear, the shorter realized. Perfect circumstances to trigger a predator response.
The taller's lips pulled into a snarl.
"Run."
One step back.
One step forward.
Quackity turned and flew.
The shrike avian didn't understand fear very well. It had been a long time since he's experienced it potently after all. He's had a couple of minor scares, some adrenaline here and there, but not the utter terror he felt back when he was a vigilante. He hasn't felt cornered or genuinely terrified in a long time.
And now suddenly he is. Realizing exactly what he's messing with.
Because despite being a hero, despite Wilbur constantly sacrificing his own health and happiness for others, saving people who never acknowledge him, he's still a predatory avian.
And magpies are natural predators of shrikes.
The villain realizes he really should've read the warnings on the walls. A magpie avian probably wasn't something he should've been provoking if he was already pissed.
He wonders what had Wilbur so riled up, now that he thinks about it-
Quackity dives last second to avoid his nemesis, squawking in terror as he narrowly avoided outstretched talons.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He forgot how fast Wilbur can fly.
Okay, okay this isn't good.
Hell, he didn't even have his gloves on, the shrike avian shudders, quickly turning and flying down a different street.
The villain barely registered the people on the streets pointing out the two avians as they went back and forth from their nighttime shopping and jobs. His mind focused on trying to get away from the hunting magpie.
He flew as fast as his wings would carry him, occasionally dodging around when he felt the air start to shift with the other's wingbeats getting closer. Quackity swore as he narrowly avoided another grab.
Fast, part of him observed. Fast, strong, and very determined.
Strong hunter-NOT NOW STUPID SHRIKE BRAIN!
The bird just cackled in that strange little chirping way that it did.
"SONGBIRD WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS!" He called back to the angry hero, swiftly weaving around another corner and starting to fly up the side of a building. "WE CAN NEGOTIATE LET'S NOT RESORT TO MURDER RIGHT NOW!"
All he heard behind him was a very angry set of clicking noises followed by a long hiss. He tilted his wings to swerve as the taller suddenly shot past him. Barely keeping his feathers clear of the other's ungloved talons.
Vicious~ part of him purred.
Don't fall into instincts right now, don't fall into instincts right now, he practically begged himself.
He turned, pulled his wings in, and dove to try and get away from Wilbur. He could feel his instincts creeping into his mind at a rapidly alarming rate and he really couldn't afford to take that gamble with a magpie on a predator high.
Quackity had to find a way to escape.
He was flying up as high as his wings could carry him with Wilbur circling in slow lazy spirals to follow him.
At some point, he thinks they might've both lost themselves. Because it didn't feel like being hunted any more.
It felt like courting. It felt like dancing.
If he just relaxed his wings and...let himself fall...
The call was out of his lips before he could stop himself, falling right into the arms of the hero that had been spiraling below. Thankfully the taller did not decide to shred him to pieces.
It was as if even he could recognize the call of a shrike that had been satisfied with their courting.