Chapter 8: The Otaku Gets Misunderstood (again)
---
A month had passed since the attack on the safehouse.
In that time, Meliodas had learned a few things about life as a semi-famous vigilante in Harlem.
First: People talked. A lot.
Second: What they said about you was almost never accurate.
Third: The more inaccurate it was, the more they believed it.
"You're famous," Miguel announced one morning, sliding a stack of printouts across the common table. "Well, not you specifically. But there's a lot of chatter about a 'sword-wielding demon' who helped take down the Kingpin's operation."
Meliodas, mid-bite of Mama Rose's pancakes, nearly choked. "A demon?"
"That's what they're calling you. Apparently, someone saw you fight with that... whatever it is that covers your skin. Thought you were some kind of monster." Miguel grinned. "Also, there's a rumor that you can control time."
'Well, that one's technically true.'
"And that you're immortal."
'Not yet. Working on it.'
"And that you're actually a thousand-year-old vampire who feeds on criminals."
Meliodas stared at him. "A vampire?"
"The skin thing, plus you're never seen during the day? Someone made a connection."
"I'm seen during the day CONSTANTLY."
"Not by the people spreading rumors, you're not." Miguel shrugged. "Welcome to New York. Where facts take a backseat to a good story."
Tandy appeared behind them, grabbing a pancake. "What's the latest crazy theory?"
"They think I'm a vampire."
She snorted. "A vampire? That's a new one." She bit into the pancake. "People are so weird."
"You don't think vampires are real?"
"I think people who believe in vampires have watched too many movies." She gave him a strange look. "Why? You believe in vampires?"
'If only you knew.' "No, no. Just curious."
"Right." Tandy walked away, shaking her head. "Vampires. Next they'll say werewolves are real."
Meliodas said nothing.
'If only you knew.'
---
That afternoon, Meliodas decided to test his newfound "fame" by going for a walk.
He kept {Indistinct} active, but dialed down—just enough to avoid drawing attention, not enough to completely disappear. The streets of Harlem were busy, as always. People going about their lives, oblivious to the chaos that had erupted here weeks ago.
He passed a group of teenagers.
"—heard he tore through fifty guys by himself—"
"My cousin saw him. Said his skin turned into like... bug armor or something."
"Bug armor? That's gross."
"No, it was cool! Like, alien-looking. And his eyes glowed—"
Meliodas kept walking.
'They saw the chitin. Great.'
He passed a bodega. The owner, an older Dominican man named Carlos, waved him over.
"Hey, kid! You the one who helped Poppy with the Dragons?"
Meliodas hesitated. "I... helped, yeah."
Carlos's eyes widened. "I KNEW IT! You're the vampire!"
"I'm not a—"
"My cousin's friend's brother saw you fight. Said your skin changed, got all shiny. Only vampires do that, right? Some kind of blood armor?"
"That's not—"
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." Carlos leaned in conspiratorially. "You want blood? I got beef blood in the back. Very fresh."
"I don't drink blood!"
"Of course not. Of course." Carlos winked. "You want human blood, you let me know. Discreet. I know a guy."
Meliodas walked away, facepalming.
'Vampires aren't real. But Carlos thinks they are. And now he thinks I'm one because of the chitin. Great.'
---
The misunderstandings continued.
At a food truck: "Two hot dogs, please."
"You're that vampire kid, right? The one with the monster skin?"
"I don't have monster skin. And I'm not a vampire."
"That's what they all say. Here, on the house." The vendor pushed extra toppings at him. "Don't eat me, okay?"
At a park bench: An old woman sat next to him, knitting. She reminded him of Mama Rose.
"You're the one," she said.
"The one what?"
"The one who saved the safehouse. My grandson lives there. Danny. The phasing boy."
Meliodas relaxed slightly. "Oh. Danny's cool."
"He says you're a good kid. Strong. Kind." She studied him. "He also says you're not a vampire, despite what everyone thinks."
"I'm not."
"Good. Vampires aren't real anyway. Just movie monsters." She went back to her knitting. "But you DO have something strange about you. That skin thing Danny mentioned."
"It's... complicated."
"Everything's complicated, child. The trick is not letting the complications define you." She patted his knee. "Now go. You have that look. The look of someone about to get into trouble."
She wasn't wrong.
---
{Danger Sense} pinged.
Not immediate—but close. Someone watching him. Someone with ill intent.
Meliodas stood casually, scanning the area. {Keen Vision} picked out details blocks away—a figure on a rooftop, facing his direction. Holding something.
A camera. Not a weapon.
'Just watching. For now.'
He walked toward the figure.
---
The rooftop was accessible via a fire escape. Meliodas climbed slowly, deliberately, letting the watcher know he was coming.
The man was waiting when he reached the top.
He was young—maybe mid-twenties—with nervous eyes and a camera hanging from his neck. A journalist, maybe. Or worse.
"You're him," the man said. "The sword kid. The one who fought Fisk."
"Who's asking?"
"Name's Peter. Peter Parker." The young man shifted nervously. "I'm... I'm a photographer. For the Daily Bugle. Well, freelance. I sell photos. And I heard about you and I thought maybe I could get an interview or some pictures or—"
He was rambling. Fast. Nervous energy pouring off him in waves.
Meliodas stared.
'Peter Parker. Peter PARKER.'
'As in SPIDER-MAN Peter Parker?'
{Knowledge Mage} flickered, but the name alone was enough. His otaku brain was screaming.
'SPIDER-MAN IS STANDING IN FRONT OF ME. SPIDER-MAN. THE SPIDER-MAN. OH MY GOD.'
"—and I know you probably don't want your face out there, which is totally cool, I get it, secret identities are important, I totally understand that, but maybe just a silhouette or—"
"Peter."
"—and I could do a whole article on the vigilante scene in Harlem, which is really underreported, and—"
"PETER."
The young man stopped. "Yeah?"
"You're Spider-Man."
The silence was deafening.
Peter's face went through several expressions—shock, panic, denial, more panic—before settling on something that resembled a drowning goldfish.
"I—what—no—I'm not—I'm just a photographer—that's crazy—why would you think—"
"Dude. I know."
"You CAN'T know. There's no way you could know. I'm very careful. SUPER careful. The most careful. I wear a mask and everything—"
"You just told me your name and that you work for the Bugle. Also, you have webshooter residue on your wrist."
Peter looked down at his wrist. There was nothing there.
"There ISN'T—" He stopped. "Wait. There's nothing there."
"I know. But you looked."
Peter stared at him. Then he laughed—a slightly hysterical sound.
"You're good. You're really good."
"Thanks. You're not bad yourself. For a high schooler."
"I'm in college!"
"Sure you are."
---
They sat on the rooftop, two vigilantes having an impromptu meeting.
"How'd you really know?" Peter asked. "About me."
"Lucky guess." 'And years of reading your comics.' "Also, you're not as subtle as you think."
"I'm VERY subtle."
"You literally just walked up to a suspected vigilante and introduced yourself by your real name."
Peter opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"...Okay, that's fair."
Meliodas grinned. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
"Thanks. I think." Peter looked at him curiously. "So what's YOUR deal? I've been trying to find information on you for weeks. There's nothing. No records, no history, no nothing. It's like you appeared from nowhere."
'If you only knew.' "I'm new."
"New how?"
"New as in... I woke up in New York a month ago with no memory. Just... here. With swords."
Peter stared. "That's... that's the most origin story origin story I've ever heard."
"I know, right? Very anime."
"Super anime." Peter nodded sagely. "So you're like... a mutate? Magic accident? Weird science experiment?"
"No idea. Woke up, had powers, been figuring it out since."
"Huh." Peter leaned back. "Well, whatever you are, you're impressive. Taking on Fisk's operation with just a handful of allies? That's huge. The Bugle's been running stories about it for weeks."
"They think I'm a vampire."
Peter snorted. "Yeah, Jameson loves that angle. 'Vampire Vigilante Terrorizes Harlem.' He's convinced you're real. He's already planning a follow-up: 'Are Vampires Taking Over Our Cities?'"
"He's the publisher?"
"Editor-in-chief. And a complete lunatic. But he pays well, so..." Peter shrugged. "So, vampire thing—true or false?"
"False. Very false."
"Didn't think so. Vampires aren't real anyway." Peter waved dismissively. "So, the skin thing—that's why people think you're a demon?"
"Apparently."
"Makes sense. People see something weird, they jump to the craziest conclusion." Peter shrugged. "I got called a mutant for years. People are dumb."
'If only you knew how not-dumb some of those conclusions are.' "Yeah. People are dumb."
Peter stood, stretching. "Look, I should go. Got a deadline. But hey—if you ever need backup, let me know. Spider-Man's got your back. And if you want to talk powers or whatever, I'm around."
Meliodas stood, offering his hand. "Same. Thanks, Peter."
Peter shook it, grinning. "No problem. And hey—try not to let the vampire thing get to you. Rumors fade. Eventually, they'll call you something else."
"What, like demon-of-the-month?"
"Exactly." Peter shot a web and swung away, leaving Meliodas alone on the rooftop.
'Spider-Man. I just met Spider-Man. And he wants to be friends.'
'This is the greatest timeline.'
---
He walked back to the safehouse, mind buzzing.
The streets were quieter now, evening settling over Harlem. People headed home, lights flickering on in windows. Normal life, continuing despite everything.
A woman passed him, pushing a stroller. She glanced at him, did a double-take, and grabbed her child protectively.
"You're that vampire," she whispered.
"I'm really not—"
"Stay away from my baby!"
She hurried away, leaving Meliodas standing alone on the sidewalk.
'...I need to fix this reputation.'
---
Back at the safehouse, Miguel was waiting with more printouts.
"Good news and bad news," he said. "Good news: Your legend is growing. People are talking about you everywhere. Bad news: They're saying you're a demon who feeds on fear. Also, someone got a blurry photo of you during a fight and your skin looks... weird in it."
Meliodas looked at the photo. It was definitely him, chitin active, moving so fast the camera had only caught a smear of motion and texture.
"Where'd they get this?"
"Internet. Someone's selling it as 'proof' of a demon in Harlem. It's going viral."
"Of course it is."
"Also, there's a guy in Queens who claims you're actually a mutant experiment gone wrong, and he has 'proof' in the form of that same photo."
"Naturally."
"And a woman in Brooklyn says you're an angel sent by God to punish sinners."
"...An angel?"
"She's very religious. Also very convinced. The 'shiny skin' reminds her of descriptions from the Bible."
Meliodas put his head in his hands.
Tandy appeared, smirking. "Told you. Use it."
"I don't WANT to be a vampire/demon/angel/mutant experiment."
"Doesn't matter what you want. Matters what they believe." She sat beside him. "But here's the thing—if they believe you're something scary, they'll think twice before messing with Harlem. That's a good thing."
Meliodas looked at her. "You really believe that?"
"I believe that fear keeps people alive. And right now, the people who need to be afraid of you are." She shrugged. "Let them talk. Let them spread rumors. As long as it keeps the peace, who cares?"
He wanted to argue. But she had a point.
"Fine. But if anyone asks, I'm not a vampire."
"Obviously. Vampires aren't real." She paused. "You're not secretly a demon, right?"
"I'm NOT a demon."
"Just checking. Would've been awkward if you were." She walked away, leaving Meliodas to stare after her.
'If only you knew how many things that ARE real would surprise you.'
---
That night, Meliodas sat on the rooftop, watching the stars.
A month in this world. A month of chaos and danger and people trying to kill him. A month of making friends, fighting enemies, building something.
And now, apparently, a month of being mistaken for various supernatural creatures based entirely on people getting a glimpse of his chitin.
'Life is weird.'
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Hey, it's Peter. Found your number through Miguel. Hope that's cool. Just wanted to say thanks for today. It was nice talking to someone who gets it. Let's do it again sometime. - SP
Meliodas smiled.
Definitely. And Peter?
Yeah?
Don't tell anyone about the skin thing. The vampire rumors are bad enough.
LOL. Your secret's safe with me. But for the record, I think the skin thing sounds cool, not demonic.
Thanks. I think.
No problem. Also, if you ever want to test those powers, I know a great abandoned warehouse in Queens.
...Tempting.
He laughed, low and quiet.
'Spider-Man thinks my chitin is cool. Spider-Man.'
'This is still the greatest timeline.'
---
High above, on a rooftop across the street, a figure watched.
Dressed in black, face hidden, movements silent. They'd been following the boy for days now, watching his patterns, his habits, his friends.
He was interesting. More than interesting.
He was an anomaly.
And anomalies needed to be studied.
The figure melted into the shadows, gone before anyone could notice.
---
The next morning, Meliodas woke to {Danger Sense} tingling.
Not an attack—something else. Someone nearby, watching. He sat up slowly, scanning the room.
A note had been slipped under his door.
Plain white paper. Black ink. One sentence:
You're not from this world. I know. We need to talk.
Meliodas's blood ran cold.
'Who...'
He grabbed the note and ran to find Mama Rose.
---
She read it calmly, her expression unchanged.
"Interesting."
"Interesting? Someone knows who I am! Someone knows I'm not—"
"Child." She looked up. "You've been in this world a month. You've fought a crime lord, made allies, gained enemies. Did you think no one would notice?"
"But—"
"This could be a threat. Or an opportunity." She handed the note back. "Meet them. But be careful."
"Alone?"
"Take Tandy if you want. But whoever wrote this knows things. They'll expect you to come."
Meliodas stared at the note and thought.
'Who are you?'
---
END OF CHAPTER 8