Chapter Text
Minute was a strange grown up in Wemmbu's eyes.
Wemmbu, a small seven year old child, couldn't help but think as he stared at the adult below him. The small child sat on a nearby chorus tree with a confused tilt of his head. His purple skin glistening under the permanent stars of the void, wings pressed tightly against his back while purple hair fell past his bare feet. There were small white freckles spreading through his cheeks, a sharp contrast with the black tips of his horns.
A chaos demon that had barely escaped a hybrid trafficking ring with his best friend—Eggchan, a child seraphim— only to be found by Minute a couple of days later who took the both of them into his home without batting an eye.
The man didn't ask for anything, didn't fret over Wemmbu's demands or rage at the overflow of questions falling from Egg's lips.
Minute was a strange grown up.
When Wemmbu demanded a tiara, the man laughed before making one for him. When Wemmbu fell from climbing the trees surrounding the area, Minute's eyes held a mix of disappointment and worry for his well being as the man patched each of his injuries before kissing the bandages for good luck.
When Egg wailed as his first feathers started growing, the man had held the seraphim close like he was something precious.
And really, most days, Wemmbu waited for the other shoe to drop.
Weeks passed under the permanent night of void above the kid's head, a mix of lessons and warm food that kept Wemmbu almost content.
Safety was a dangerous feeling.
And yet, one night where Wemmbu pretends to be sound sleep —his bestfriend curled to his side, a hand wrapped loosely over his waist— the man slowly approaches their sleeping form, hands reaching to cover both of their bodies with the discarded blanket. The small purple child can't help the feeling from clawing at his body, making him feel fuzzy and warm.
Things slowly start to settle into a faint routine.
Minute insists they both learn past the basics, insists on teaching them ridiculous topics like politics, insists on making the both of them study as much as they can.
"Education is your ticket to freedom Wemmbu" Minute would say under the faint light of the oil lamps, his hands patiently guiding Egg's smaller ones through the motions of the alphabet.
"Galactic's not! Only book nerds study galactic" Wemmbu had whined, throwing the quill as far as possible. The small thing landed on the wooden floor with a crack, black ink slowly bleeding to the carpet.
"Galactic is part of your culture Wemmbu. I know your species is almost extinct but it's still part of you" Minute huffed softly, eyes staring at the small unruly child before the kid stood up with his arms raised in mock defeat, going to retrieve the quill from the floor.
"Yes bu' it's not that bad! don't be a drama queen" Egg chirped from the side, eyes shining while continuing to write in that clumsy loopy handwriting.
"You are suppose' to be on my side!" Wemmbu whines, not really that mad, as he returns to the desk before flopping back down with a frown.
Minute had laughed, a small chuckle at the interaction, his hands reaching for Wemmbu's paper.
"If It makes you feel any better, I had to learn void language at your age. I hated it" Minute replied almost nostalgic, a hand reaching to play with his black hair.
The man was a voidling, or at least, Wemmbu thinks so.
His completely pitch black skin mixed with the white glowing eyes seemed to indicate that. Big horns with small fangs and the ability of shifting some of his physical traits at will.
One that seemed too gentle for the collection of weapons that he hid inside of a vault.
Then things change.
They change too quickly for Wemmbu's taste.
They change in the form of a sentient puddle that shifts and moves under the yellow stone that surrounds the world. One that makes Minute's eyes go wide with surprise as the man basically runs to the house to retrieve something. Egg is standing behind the purple tree where Wemmbu is sitting, his eyes wide and curious.
The small demon just stares at the piece of void on the floor, at the way stars sing and galaxies mix inside of that puddle with a suspicious expression on his face. His hair is held in a neat bun, magenta clothes way too formal for any kid to use. The tiara on his head only serves to make him look like royalty.
Minute had seemed confused on Wemmbu's insistence for stuffy royal clothing and long hair. Yet no matter his apprehension, he had still created a safe corset for Wemmbu to use.
There's a hand poking from the piece of void, small, swirling matter that doesn't seem to know how to make itself corporeal almost like sculpting with melted wax. It looks gooey. Wemmbu scrunched his nose in disgust, uncaring of the unproper expression on his face.
Minute hadn't cared about stuff like that, in fact, he found Wemmbu's sudden fascination for etiquette a little unsettling for his age. He never voiced it in front of the kid but Wemmbu is far from stupid. His magenta eyes flicker once more to the puddle.
It looks…
Eww.
Minute doesn't seem to hold nearly the same disgust as Wemmbu for that puddle of dark matter since the man is kneeling beside it a couple of moments later with towels on his hands. Hands reaching to hold the substance on the floor and slowly coaxing the puddle to take form.
A child emerges from the puddle, dripping, skin almost the same starry color of Minute's. The child looks gooey, completely nude, as he slowly opens a pair of completely white glowing eyes. Relaxing under the soft touch of Minute's fingers who seems focused on drying the kid as much as he can.
His skin seems to reflect the void surrounding them.
A voidling as Minute had said a couple of hours later, the kid snuggled close to his chest. Stealing all of the attention for himself like some sort of parasite that left Wemmbu feeling strange.
Wemmbu didn't like the new child.
The mess of clumsy limbs is apparently five, five and unable to form a single sentence past watching the rest of the family like weirdos. His bug like eyes big and unsettling as he analyzes his surroundings with a confused expression. Wemmbu huffs frustrated at the child who seems to have gained even Egg's heart.
Was Wemmbu the only one with basic common sense?
The kid doesn't even act like a proper voidling, he seemed too much like a cat. Wemmbu didn't understand why the cat like creature gained so much attention when the kid did nothing interesting past blabbering. Wemmbu watches as the kid approaches Minute once more, raising his arms to be carried around like the lazy child he is.
And Wemmbu just wants to scream.
Because he doesn't understand the ugly feeling that twists on his gut each time he stared at the voidling child, doesn't understand the strange hybrid behaviors and why the kid seems so focused on trying to get Wemmbu's attention too. It felt mocking. It made Wemmbu hide up on the trees until the creature lost any interest on him.
The child's name is Spoke because Wemmbu had named him that.
Wemmbu had told Minute to name him Spoke after the strange whispers that came from the puddle where he had formed. Back when the child seemed more interesting than annoying, back when the kid was endearing and cute.
The worst thing was that Spoke didn't do a single thing.
Dressed on white and gray clothes, he did nothing but small pranks and try to interact with Wemmbu with an almost hopeful smile.
His eyes flickered from the top of the tree, to the small frown on the kid's face as Spoke stared almost sadly at Wemmbu. Small black hands reaching to hold the purple wood of the tree while staring at the fruits surrounding the branches of the tree.
A small sound escaped his lips, one of genuine confusion, one that almost made Wemmbu feel guilty. Instead of gracing the child with a response, Wemmbu reached to grab one of the nearby chorus fruit, dropping it into the kid's hand before going back to ignore the creature.
It seems enough to distract Spoke who gurgles happily while sinking his fangs into the purple flesh of the fruit. The juices stained everything purple, a sweet mess that would be disgusting to clean up after—a mess that Minute probably won't be very happy about.
Good.
Minute brought the child here, Minute dealt with the consequences.
When Wemmbu is eight, Minute gifts him a beautiful purple cape.
Wemmbu is also eight when he's grounded for the first time in his life.
Sure, pushing Spoke to the ground for reaching the fur of his cape had been an exaggeration.
It hadn't really been Wemmbu's fault.
The ugly bitter feeling on his chest had just gotten too much for his brain to process without lashing out at the small child who had just been curious about the strange material. Spoke had even waited a few days before reaching to touch it. It wasn't like the small kid had stolen the attention of Wemmbu's birthday or anything like that.
Wemmbu was just angry.
He hated how that made him feel like he was going crazy. The feeling suffocating just like the weight of Minute's soft confused yet disappointed tone when Spoke had hit the floor. At first, the man had asked Wemmbu to speak and Wemmbu had shouted at Minute with a strange venom on his voice.
Then Minute had sent Wemmbu to his room with the door ajar. Present, watching him from the living room while Spoke played with Egg on the floor. Ready to hear whatever was burdening Wemmbu when the kid stopped lashing out at everything.
It was unjust.
It made him feel dirty with guilt.
A small crystalline tear slipped out of his eye, landing on the claw that had pushed Spoke, the claw that had grazed the kid's cheek and left a small superficial cut just below the kid's eye. A hand reaching to hold the cape close to his body while a slow shudder travels through his entire body. Small breaths falling like gasps through his chests.
Wemmbu just can't understand this weakness.
Wemmbu hadn't cried once back at the trafficking ring, not when they took vials of his glimmering purple blood or samples of his horns.
And yet here he was crying over Minute's disappointed frown like a baby.
There's a small figure in front of the door, wide white eyes watching Wemmbu with a small grin on his face. Having wandered from the living room—where Minute had started reading something to Egg—to the door of Wemmbu's bedroom with a childish smile.
Spoke's eyes where full of joy while he slowly started crawling towards Wemmbu's body with his hands on his pockets. There's a small rainbow bandage wrapped around his cheek while he stares at Wemmbu's messy hair with a strange frown. A small black hands reaches into the pockets on the kid's colorful hoody, Spoke's tongue hanging out on concentration.
Taking out a small sticky candy.
"Bu, look!" Spoke hums, making the candy on his hands disappear through a void like portal. His hands make a dramatic poof like motion before the candy reappears on Wemmbu's hands.
It's gross.
It makes Wemmbu laugh, a loud, ugly sound that echoes through the room.
Minute is standing near the door, near enough to intervene, yet far enough to pretend he's not paying the both of them any attention. Wemmbu's eyes flicker to the kid's cheeks where small tear tracks are still visible before opening his arms.
Spoke lights up, crawling into his brother's arms with a small satisfied purr. A small nose nuzzles against the fur of Wemmbu's cape, cold arms reaching to his neck. The voidling is cold yet somehow warm against Wemmbu's chest, trusting his brother even when that had gained him a small scar on the corner of his face.
"Yoo' group hug!" Egg chirps from the side of the door, rushing to Wemmbu's side with a huge smile on his face. The small white wings of Egg's face twitch slightly from the place where they are covering Egg's eyes.
Wemmbu ends up tucked against Egg's side, a white wing covering Wemmbu's small firefly like ones while Spoke purrs even louder from his spot on Wemmbu's chest. It's peaceful, it's warm and the bitterness that was constricting Wemmbu's chest disappears almost completely for that moment. The scene is a messy mix of limbs on the hardwood floors, only illuminated by the soft lights of the oil lamps.
Footsteps begin approaching the group of children on the floor as Minute finally decides to enter the room.
Minute's eyes are soft while he sits on a nearby armchair, continuing the book he was reading. A small black tail slithers and wraps against Wemmbu's arm, a soft reassurance, a reminder that the man was still here. There's something about being surrounded by everyone that makes Wemmbu feel drowsy as a slow calm voice fills the space with some nonsense about plants.
For the first time in years, safety feels as something real— something more than hope.
Because Wemmbu feels loved.
When he wakes the three of them are on Minute's bed, the man sleeping on a nearby armchair.
Growing up next to Spoke is an experience after that, one full of joy.
Egg slowly becomes more obsessed with his studies, absorbing every single piece of knowledge he could get his hands on.
Wemmbu instead becomes obsessed with learning how to fight, a hunger for power, for approval that seems to unsettle their caregiver. One that doesn't desist no matter how many times the man tries to talk to Wemmbu about it.
Spoke's chaos is slightly more destructive then before— the child struggling with accountability.
It's a messy combination, a horrible one.
They are much older now but not any less impulsive than their small child selves.
Spoke is barely seven years old, a small colorful bandana holding his hair in place while he drags Wemmbu to the secret vault with a mischievous smile on his face. That same careless smile on the kid's face while he destroys the entry without a care of the consequences it might bring. Things like these happen constantly.
Sometimes Wemmbu would venture to discover some sort of dead creature in the hands of his little brother while the kid tested a new trap with a grin. Other time's Spoke managed to get both Egg and Wemmbu into difficult situations through the right lies.
The purple child had heard the man murmuring under his breath with a psychology book wide open. The title had read "Psychopathy: Identify the signs since childhood." which was a bit strange for a nine year old to really understand.
Up until that moment Spoke just was his weird little brother who got bored easily and did bad things when he was bored.
Wemmbu thought it was a consequence of the strange biology inside the small kid's body, after all, Minute had taught that to all of them. The way sometimes your appearance could say something and your instincts a completely different thing. How sometimes people had conflicting nature's or hidden traits that manifested differently and that was something normal.
At nine, Wemmbu doesn't understand Minute's worried stares at every single one of Spoke's pranks, doesn't understand the worry every time Spoke laughs about getting Egg to do something for him or the way each lie seems to just make the man more concerned.
Why would he?
Spoke was just bored, and boredom made Spoke do stupid things.
It wasn't that difficult to understand.
He's the kid who sneaks candy around the house with a shiny smile or causes Minute to laugh on a good day.
Yet Wemmbu is uneasy, he's uneasy when Spoke smiles at him and asks Wemmbu to please go instead of him. He's uneasy at the whines of boredom that fall from the child's lips.
The place where they are standing is basically the basement of the house— a place where Minute hid all of the weapons— and while usually Wemmbu didn't mind getting into forbidden places something about this whole situation seemed suspicious.
Spoke's insistence that Wemmbu must be the first person to step into the vault is one of the first red flags.
Usually, Spoke is too energetic to resist exploring on his own, so why? why was he hiding behind Wemmbu like some sort of scared child?
"You sure this is a good idea?" His voice sounds rough, uncertain as he looks into the younger child's eyes with a frown.
"Bu' don't cha trust me?" Spoke asks sounding hurt, his cheeks puff up, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.
Not really, Wemmbu wants to reply.
Instead he nods, walking into the strange room filled with chest to the brim. The place smells like dust, nothing but old weapons scattered around each inch of the room. Maybe with some luck Wemmbu could actually convince Minute to let him practice with a real sword instead of a wooden one.
Wemmbu is too fascinated with the shiny weapons surrounding him, too focused on going through the chests, to hear the small click of a defense mechanism activating.
Then there's a black hand, eyes wide with fear as the person throws Wemmbu's body backwards just in time to avoid a nearby chest from exploding on his face. There's a faint burn on the elbow of the purple child, the skin raw and ugly from where the blast had touched him.
Wemmbu just freezes, staring into Minute's scared eyes before shifting to look at Spoke's almost sheepish expression.
"You're okay." Minute says breathless, slowly easing his grip on Wemmbu's wrist before turning to look at Spoke with an icy rage. "Spoke, go upstairs"
"But Dad! I was just bored-" Spoke whines, hands hanging limply to his side.
"Spoke, upstairs now! I'm not playing" The tone makes Wemmbu flinch slightly. It's a kind of anger and disappointment he had never heard from the otherwise composed adult.
"No fair!" Spoke replies before turning around and running up the stairs with a sniffle.
It's a pathetic sound, one that would have made Wemmbu soften under any other circumstances. Instead he stands there numbly, staring at the red blistering skin of his elbow with a complicated expression on his face. Wemmbu hates the way his hands shake slightly at the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Hates the way staying with Minute had made him weak.
The man is slowly humming at him, rubbing his knuckles and softly bandaging the injuries with shaky hands. Yet the only feeling coursing through Wemmbu's veins is the aching biting cold of a strange feeling settling on his chest.
Because Wemmbu trusted Spoke.
Because Spoke was his little brother and yet…
"I told you both to not come down here" It's a simple fact. There is no anger behind it, no rage—just a quiet exhaustion behind Minute's words.
"I know" Wemmbu's voice cracks, sounding incredibly childish even to his own ears. Every single part of his body is shaking with the leftover adrenaline coursing through his body. Purple skin bruised red from the rough grip that had saved his life from becoming just ashes on the floor.
Minute doesn't say anything else's, instead wrapping his arms around Wemmbu's shaking shoulders with a faint smile on his face. Hands slowly passing through Wemmbu's long hair while he holds him tight. The man is shaking too, something deeply complicated on his eyes while he stares at Wemmbu with a guilty expression.
Slowly grabbing Wemmbu's wrist, the man guides him upstairs with a solemn expression on his face. Leaving the kid in the living room while he hurries to search for the medical supplies on one of the nearby chests.
There sitting on a small circle is a moody Spoke and a very confused yet sympathetic Egg. Wemmbu's best friend has a book on his lap, as he stares at the small child with a gentle expression on his covered eyes. White wings slowly reaching to touch Wemmbu's back, a gesture that makes the purple kid relax.
"And he screamed at me! just cause I was bored" Spoke whines, that childish whine of someone who doesn't grasp the gravity of his actions past the part that actually catches up to him.
"Really?" Egg raises a brow surprised, his hands coming to rest around Wemmbu's shoulder.
"Yuh huh." Spoke replies kicking his legs on the air, his eyes still somehow innocent.
"You almost killed Wemmbu, Spoke. Stop omitting things that you know you did wrong." Minute's voice is ice cold as the man starts walking into the living room with his arms full of supplies.
The seraphim goes very still at Wemmbu's side, wings puffing defensively while they cover the exhausted body of the purple child in white feathers. His eyes turn to look at Spoke with something akin to fear.
Wemmbu doesn't pay much attention to it, too busy letting the adrenaline crash through his system.
"He's fine!" Spoke states, turning to look at Wemmbu's body sheepishly.
"That's absolutely not the point! What were you even thinking? I told you the vault was full of deadly traps." Minute snaps his jaw twice, a voidling instinct, one that Wemmbu recognizes as a way of telling them they are in deep trouble.
Minute's cold arms are gentle while he slowly starts disinfecting every small scrape and burn with a soft shushing sound.
Wemmbu swears he sees actual guilt on Minute's eyes, flickering every time the man turns to look at him. Guilt that makes his pride ache— guilt that makes him want to bite at the man bandaging his wounds. It's an ugly feeling, one more to the already growing list.
"It was Egg's fault then!" Spoke proclaims from his place on the floor where he's sitting on the white carpet of the living room floor.
"Me?? What did I do?" Egg whines, looking at Minute with a completely lost expression on his face.
Wemmbu laughs softly at the complete indignation falling from his bestfriend's.
"You told me about the re- hm.. respwaning thingy" Spoke said, butchering the pronunciation of the word beyond recognition. "I was bored and wanted to test it"
Minute's face goes even darker at the words uttered from Spoke's mouth. Wemmbu didn't think it was possible for Minute to get any angrier at the situation, he had been wrong clearly. The man takes a deep breath while his eyes stayed glued at the wounds on Wemmbu's arm. And really, the purple child still didn't understand what part of that explanation made Minute's anger increase.
"You do know that the person needs to die for the respawning to work, right? Egg must have told you that" Minute replies, something that makes Spoke go still on the cushions of the sofa while the small kid stares at the three of them with a frown.
"Yeah, but, Egg told me they woke up in their bed!" Spoke's defense sounds weak, his eyes look lost as he stares at Wemmbu with something strange on them. "Wemmbu's strong"
The phrase sticks into the purple's child like glue covering his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Suddenly the air on the small warm house seems to turn very very cold.
"And what if I wasn't there? what if it didn't work Spoke? what then! Please explain that to me" Minute asks, his voice rising enough to make Wemmbu flinch before the man slowly caresses the injured child's cheek with a faint smile.
"It was going to work" Spoke's voice sounds smaller, a bit more hesitant than before. Deep pearly white eyes turn to look into Magenta ones with something strange swirling in them.
There's love on the way Spoke stares at Wemmbu, there's actual admiration, and that makes the older child want to climb a tree to escape it.
"No it wasn't Spoke because you need a player tag for it to work. You and your brothers are too young to have one." Minute's voice is stern yet tired as he stares into Spoke's eyes.
The kid actually starts trembling, yet in his eyes there's still some sort of lost confusion at the entire situation like he can't yet grasp the impact of his actions beyond simple facts.
"So no Spoke, it wasn't going to work." Minute hums lightly, holding Wemmbu on his arms and walking in the direction of Egg's and Wemmbu's bedroom with a faint huff.
The kid wants to complain about being carried around like a baby, instead he lets himself go still on Minute's arms. Magenta eyes slowly closing while he stares at his youngest brother's trembling form on the Sofa cushions. The voidling's skin illuminated under the soft oil lamp while white eyes stare at Wemmbu with confusion.
Spoke still didn't understand.
And Wemmbu thinks that's okay, he didn't do it on purpose.
The covers surrounding him are soft as Egg slowly climbs into bed with him, curling around his bestfriend like a makeshift shield. Slowly, Wemmbu falls asleep to the sound of Minute's stern voice. The argument continuing even after bedtime.
Spoke doesn't get better after that, he just gets better at hiding.
His pearly white eyes are still devoid of any remorse as he slowly starts growing up. Wemmbu stares at the countless of puzzle boxes and redstone contraptions littering his brother's room. Things that Minute had bought in a desperate effort to actually stop Spoke's boredom from getting out of control. The room is painted in colorful colors, a messy explosion that seems in character with his little brother.
Neither Egg or Wemmbu are allowed to follow Spoke into rooms without asking for Minute's permission, a silly rule that sometimes neither of them actually follow.
As Lying and manipulating situations starts getting easier for Wemmbu with the pass of the years, his eyes shining with greed for power and a desire to cause chaos—no matter where he went. Maybe it's the cost of growing up with Spoke at his side, maybe its the consequence of his instincts as a chaos demon. One that leaves Minute confused and conflicted.
There's a big difference between Spoke and Wemmbu.
And that's Egg.
His best friend's calm demeanor while the seraphim slowly diverges Wemmbu's attention to other topics with a book on his hands. The small seraphim is sitting by the tree shade with a gentle expression on his face while he stares at Wemmbu's wooden sword. The bright white wings on his head still cover his eyes, walking around with the blurry eyesight of his instincts instead of the pair of eyes on his face.
Minute had explained that Egg's eyes were dangerous for demons, no matter the species.
And while the man had slowly started teaching Egg some of the basics on using a bow, most of the fighting fell on Wemmbu's shoulders.
The three of them were dangerous, that's something eleven year old Wemmbu understood well.
Egg knew far too much for his age.
Spoke craved chaos no matter the consequences, nothing was ever his fault.
And Wemmbu, Wemmbu wanted power. The purple child still didn't understand why that was such an issue to the man that had raised him.
He didn't understand Minute grew more and more stressed by the day as Wemmbu slowly started sneaking out to fight.
Didn't understand why each kill of Spoke's trap made the man's eyes shine with worry.
Didn't understand why each ominous proclamation that fell from Egg's lips was received with an unsettled expression on their caregiver's face.
The man was far from a puritan, they all lived in an anarchy server after all. Killing was the norm. Traffickers that slowly filled the dimension surrounding them, soldiers craving a fight instead falling into a trap.
The children no longer resemble their most innocent years.
Yet as Wemmbu's wings flutter with a strange accumulated energy while he focuses on the seraphims wings, A small sudden joyful squeal echoes through the whole training area— one that nine year old Spoke usually reserved for his trap kills. Pearly white eyes sparkling with awe as he approaches his siblings with clumsy steps.
"Dude, your wings changed! THAT'S SO COOL!" Spoke shouts, a hand coming to touch the delicate feathers that had morphed from the once bat like wings. "They melted like poof!"
"they did?" Wemmbu's voice carries some sort of excitement, hands reaching to touch the feathers with a completely blinding smile. A small warm feeling threatening to burst from his chest while his eyes flicker to the house. A thrill escaping his lips while Egg squinted at the wings on Wemmbu's back.
It's difficult to explain the rush of awe and complete happiness that flows out of his body at his brother's attention. The way his instincts preen with pride as he slowly fluffs the feathers on each one of his wings.
Minute was already running outside with a disheveled appearance— having learned a long time ago that those joyful innocent screams often accompanied some not so joyful innocent activities. A soft expression of confusion starts taking place on his face while the man stares at the three children almost fondly.
Slowly Minute starts walking in their direction.
"What's got you all so excited?" Minute hums, eyes flickering between Wemmbu's smile and the wings on his back.
"Wemmbu can change wings, look!" Egg says with an excited smile before gesturing to the purple child to do as he's told. The kid complies almost immediately, the sensation of wax falling from his back making his shudder as the wings start forming again.
Beautiful delicate purple cicada wings appearing instead of the feathers from before while the kid turns to look at Minute with an smile so full of awe—Wemmbu feels like his heart might melt from the sheer pride that invades his body at the surprised expression on Minute's face. The man is looking at Wemmbu like the child is seven once more.
The expression makes his purple cheeks heat up while his eyes focus on a nearby purple tree.
"Dad! Can I change too?" Spoke speaks up from next to him, hopping on one feet in the direction where Minute is standing.
"You don't even have wings, spoke" Minute's voice is gentle while he slowly kneels to carry the energetic child on his arms before reaching Wemmbu's side in seconds.
"Aw, bummer." Spoke says not sounding sad at all before jumping from Minute's arms and crashing into Wemmbu's side with a mischevious smile on his face. The whole situation makes the small purple child laugh joyfully, mirth shinning on his eyes.
Minute's hands hover right before touching Wemmbu's wings looking at the child for silent permission. The small purple child puffs his cheeks before slowly relaxing his wings so Minute can access them better. Under the faint light of the endless void surrounding them, the glass like patterns on Wemmbu's wings almost seem to glow.
Minute's cold hands are gentle as the man slowly spreads the wings apart with gentle concern, touching the spots around Wemmbu's back and measuring each wing with a faint hum. They almost look like the fairy wings from that one stupid movie saga that Spoke used to love so much. Still Wemmbu lets the man examine each wing in search of cracks, lets him hold the tissue with gentle hands and a small smile on Minute's face.
The attention feels good on Wemmbu's brain, even if he thinks the concern is a little exaggerated.
Even after all of the crimes both Spoke and Wemmbu had started committing, that same loving expression doesn't seem to disappear from Minute's eyes. Almost like the man is incapable of it.
And Wemmbu doesn't know why the feeling leaves guilt growing on his lungs.
Guilt that only seems to amplify as his sixteen birthday approaches.
His obsession for power had soon developed into some sort of weird fascination with explosives. Magenta eyes stared at the small piece of dynamite on his open palm before fleeting into the helpless eyes of whoever his new victim was. They are pleading, their red hair swirling on the air while they stare at the demon with fearful eyes.
Wemmbu had heard of countless stories of merciless assassins who bared scars from a messed up childhood. He's not the first one around this servers to commit atrocities in the name of gaining power over his situations. His purple hair is tied on a neat bun as he slowly lets the dynamite fall right next to the player's chests without a care in the world.
Wemmbu was just one more of the horrible adults that filled this world.
Wemmbu was also the first one without a real justification, without someone to blame.
His actions had been his own, his path craved with blood that he had decided to spill. There was no traumatic childhood where he had to learn to survive, no catastrophic event that forced him to this type of destruction that slowly thrummed underneath his veins.
Wemmbu hadn't suffered from any type of abuse. He wasn't like the feral children of the streets who took odd jobs with distrustful eyes and uncaring movements. Hell, he wasn't even like Spoke. Spoke whose mind had clearly something wrong on it ever since childhood, whose boredom had caused him to be callous.
Wemmbu had been once a refined child who longed to be a prince with huge wings hanging behind him. The royal motif hadn't disappeared from his identity with all of the fighting, it had enhanced as he grew. Minute had encouraged it, buying all kid's of makeup and head accessories with a smile on his face.
Sometimes he saw the consequences of his own destruction and wondered what exactly he had done to deserve Minute's unconditional love. How he could arrive to the house, boots tracking blood all over the marble floors, and only receive a tired disappointed reminder to clean the stains.
Because somewhere, Minute had gotten tired of fighting with him over his fighting habits.
Because Minute had seen the thrill on Wemmbu's magenta eyes after the first kill, had tried everything he could to make Wemmbu see value in morals, and had decided that it wasn't something that he could really change.
It had happened with Spoke's morals too.
After countless of fights that often caused one of the children to just flee with a prideful expression, Minute had decided that it wasn't worth the risk—because if Wemmbu and Spoke still returned home after that latest massacre, the man wouldn't need to wonder whether they are alive or not.
It had been then that Minute had decided to just try to love them as they were because fighting the both of them hadn't worked in anyone's favor.
They were bad influences on each other.
Spoke's chaos fueled Wemmbu's power hungry brain and Wemmbu's destructive strikes provided Spoke with something interesting to watch. A feedback loop that no one, not even Egg, seemed capable of breaking completely.
Their relationship had grown complicated with the passing of time, neither of them were the wide eyed children—with dimples on their cheeks and laughter that filled the house—anymore.
Wemmbu thinks that Spoke must love him, in his own special psychotic ways. Even after the child tries manipulating the teen into dangerous situations, even after the kid throws him into another arena with a new challenge.
It becomes frighteningly easy to predict Spoke's traps.
Destroying his brother plans over and over again just by being his usual rebellious self. Something that drove the small thirteen year old crazy each time it happened, each time he locked Wemmbu inside of a cage full of soldiers and the teen decided to just destroy the cage instead of fighting.
Their relationship is bitter with the suspicion that constantly shines on Wemmbu's eyes and the anger that flows out of Spoke's body after each of his plans fail repeatedly.
Maybe that's the worst thing.
Maybe watching Minute's face, as the both of them try to destroy each other, is the worst thing.
It stings.
It stings watching the sorrow fill the adult's eyes as he slowly starts to make sure the both of them are as separated from each other as humanly possible.
So Wemmbu's not surprised when Minute finally snaps.
It had been by all means an ordinary day, just Wemmbu chasing Spoke down with a sword on his hands. The stars twinkle above both of their faces, light reflecting on the bloody sword to the yellow stone in mess of kaleidoscopic colors. The teen circled around the purple tree—the same one he had climbed years ago—with a frown on his face.
Careful of the floor beneath his feet while he resumed his chase after the energetic thirteen year old. And Minute had found them. The voidling's head had snapped from Wemmbu's black bloody sword to Spoke's hand that was holding a lever.
And the teen swears he can see the exact time where it clicks for the older man what he's seeing—can see the way white eyes take inventory of the raw burns on Wemmbu's hands and the superficial cut on Spoke's throat.
The exact moment Minute realices that just keeping them apart isn't enough anymore. That this isn't just a phase both of them will outgrow with time and care. His black skin goes tight around the edges of Minute's face, eyes full of determination and somehow resignation.
A hand reaches to grab the both of them roughly—not enough to hurt them, just enough to make escape difficult—as Minute slowly starts walking in the direction of the house without care about the children's complaints. The teen just watches silently as the man opens the doors with shaky fingers before pushing the both of them inside.
There's something about this situation that makes Wemmbu uneasy, especially since Minute goes through the trouble of searching for Egg too. Wemmbu's eyes shift to where Spoke is lying on the sofa looking completly bored.
Minute tosses the medkit to the sofa, a silent order for Wemmbu and Spoke to patch themselves up without any help. And it's a testament to Minute's anger the fact that he's making them treat their own injuries instead of helping like he always did.
"Want to be a fighter? Heal you own injuries then" His voice is gruff and slightly cold while he stares at the two children in front of him.
Spoke for once doesn't complain about unfairness, grabbing a roll of bandages on his hands and playing with it almost lazily. There's no remorse at the completely exhausted expression on their guardian's face, no indication that he cares to understands just how much this has been affecting their day by day lives.
Wemmbu's expression is slightly more complicated, he feels his cheeks heating up under the stern weight of Minute's disappointed stare, wings slowly tensing behind him. Slowly he reaches for the burn cream with an faint frown on his face, clumsily bandaging each burn on his own.
Minute's gaze feels uncomfortable like the man is judging every single one of their steps from the way their bandages are done to the blood staining their swords. It makes Wemmbu feel like he's lying on an operating table ready for dissection.
"You aren't planning on stopping, are you Wemmbu?" Minute's voice comes out wrong, too resigned. His white eyes are staring firmly on the bandages on Wemmbu's face. The teen only gives him a faint defiant smile as an answer. "You aren't going to accept any other guidance?"
The teen just looks at Minute strangely like he doesn't really understand where the man is going with this.
"Then I fear you have outgrown me, Wemmbu." Minute's smile turns sad while he stares at the teen sitting on the sofa. The man grabs at the edge of his nose before huffing. "I don't think there's anything else I can teach you."
Wemmbu feels like a bucket of cold water is falling through his spine, an uncomfortable sensation that makes him want to wail— to run into Minute's arms the same way he had done back when he was a small eight year old child. Something about Minute's resignation is difficult to stomach to the strong teenager.
"You're leaving me? because of something Spoke did too?" Wemmbu's voice is defensive, anger flickering inside of his body while he stares at Minute with something akin to betrayal. To his side Spoke actually whistles, amused by the situation like the little psychopathic thirteen year old he is.
It makes Wemmbu want to leap across the couch cushions and strangle the life out of those pearly eyes that once followed him around full of wonder and admiration.
"No, I'm not. I'm making sure you don't end up dead in a ditch because of your decisions." Minute says completely leveled, eyes flicker between the three children—conflicted, lost yet determined to try his best to salvage the situation. "It's time you get your Player ID, maybe sometime in another server will do you good."
There's an unsaid "Maybe sometime far away from spoke will do you good"— One that stings.
"What about Spoke?" Wemmbu asks, rage pouring out of his body.
"Spoke will stay until he's of age then the exact same thing will happen. He has outgrown me too but he's still to young to get a Player ID." Minute says watching the thirteen year old with a mix of bitter hope and actually deep bone exhaustion on his eyes.
Wemmbu is unsure of the completely pathetic expression on his face but he knows it's enough to get Minute to soften a bit, slowly reaching to caress the teens cheek with eyes full of love.
"It's normal for kid's to outgrow their parents, it's healthy. You three have always been an impatient bunch. It makes sense that you would outgrow me quicker too." Minute's voice is soft even after all of the pain that the three children have forced their caregiver to go through.
It was idiotic.
Minute should really stop loving them so much, especially when they repaid the man with tears.
"Come on, it's time you get your player ID in order. Egg you too" Minute slowly gives a hand to the pair of teen on the couch, helping them stand up before turning to stare at the confused eyes of a very young Spoke. "Say goodbye Spoke."
"Wait wait, your really sending Wemmbu away? What kind of dad are you?" Spoke sits up suddenly, for the first time some sort of hysteric disbelief coloring his face instead of the usual bored smile. The kid had tried to kill Wemmbu countless of times with each elaborate crafted trap.
So the teen didn't why the sudden animosity at the idea.
Why Spoke was suddenly against his departure?
"One that is trying his hardest Spoke. If you have children in the future then you can judge me then. Say goodbye to your brother." Minute looks hurt at the accusation yet he doesn't back down from the decision.
"I don't want to!" Spoke actually whines, those same whines that his mouth had produced back at five years old. For a second, he looks like Wemmbu's little brother. Spoke looks like the innocent child who made small magic tricks to make everyone laugh, who climbed to Wemmbu's bed during thunderstorms, the one from before that admiration had turned deadly.
"Spoke, you have two options. You say goodbye or you don't. It's up to you" Minute says patiently watching the child for any sign of lashing out.
"No! I hate you!" Spoke proclaims, his eyes filled with that same lost confusion of always— the same confusion of a child that didn't understand how their actions had actual consequences on their surroundings.
Finally, he relents. Spoke collides to Wemmbu's side with a small sniffle, hands grasping the coat while he hides his face in the teen's stomach. The voidling's dark skin glimmers under the warm light of the oil lamps surrounding them while his eyes stare at the deep magenta ones of his brother with something truly lost.
It becomes clear then.
Spoke loves Wemmbu but Spoke doesn't understand how much his actions have affected his brother.
He wasn't like Wemmbu who was aware of each of his actions, aware of how overprotective his behavior sometimes is towards Egg.
Spoke truly doesn't understand how his games have resulted on this outcome. Spoke actually believes he was having fun, that the whole adrenaline of the chase, the stimulation was a game that has been interrupted by a mean mean adult.
And Wemmbu doesn't know what to do with that realization.
Because Wemmbu wasn't like Spoke.
The teen was aware of how his choices affected his surroundings, of how his hunger for power left a path of destruction he could never ever erase—the teen had made his peace with that fact a long time ago. And he truly didn't understand what was wrong with Spoke's brain for the child to stay that oblivious to his surroundings.
Was everything a game?
"Stop being such a baby" Wemmbu whispers yet his hands slowly start carding through the messy black strands of the child pressed against his body. Each feeling leaves him raw, uncomfortable while the kid continues sniffling on his stomach. Spoke only laughs wetly in response, an ugly hysteric noise, one that is somehow the truest thing that had fallen from his brother's lips in a long time
The child detaches from his side after that, reaching to hug Egg before stepping back completely. For once Spoke looks his age, he looks like a small frightened thirteen year old who is watching his older brothers leave—on his hand there's a small rubik's cube. He's not the child that spend thousands of components on traps nor is he the child that had killed countless of people in a pursue of actual stimulation.
That moment he's Wemmbu and Egg's little brother.
And somehow, that makes leaving harder.
"Bro, I'm gonna miss that little menace" Egg says, squeezing Wemmbu's hand, tears falling from his cheeks while he continues following Minute in the direction of the portal.
At least, his best friend is still by his side even after all these years.
At least, Wemmbu will not be alone in this new adventure.
And that makes him feel a little bit better.
Eventually the both of them will separate too, Egg insisting on joining university while Wemmbu continues fighting under someone else's tutelage. A man named Sharpness.
The man's beauty is striking, blond locks falling over his shoulder while deep emerald green eyes slice everything on his way. The soldier was strong and had taking an interest on Wemmbu's abilities after the teen had killed a group of adults with sloppy sword technics. Someone whose impulsiveness almost always seemed to drag him down, childish yet stern during his lessons.
He's not gentle like Minute was, yet he's not cruel.
He's not the smartest adult out there nor is he the most emotionally mature one. In fact, Wemmbu is sure that Spoke could manipulate the man with just a few well placed words.
Yet Sharpness teaches him how to fail, how to fall and stand up. His hands are gentle while he slowly teaches Wemmbu how to apply eyeliner with a small smile on his face. And really, the teen learns to admire the soldier for his graceful way of fighting.
The man even goes out of his way to ask one of his friends— or at least Wemmbu thought they were friends, their relationship had been strange— to teach the teen how to survive different traps. A strange bunny hybrid with a pair of mechanical goggles that give the illusion of his eyes changing colors.
A bunny hybrid with a mix of predator's instincts and the ability of incredible speed and agileness. The man doesn't fight, in fact, he's a lousy fighter at best. No, the man lures people into traps with bloodthirsty eyes before taking the kill in a couple of swift movements. Jude's instincts were a deadly combination that made the man an actual threat even if his body was a bit on the weaker side.
The man teaches Wemmbu to be paranoid of every single space he enters, teaches to detect the slightest changes on the environment and more importantly… he teaches Wemmbu on how exactly to gain advantage through his instincts.
And the teen always ends up in the bottom of a modified trap, one not meant to be deadly.
The order had been easy catch Jude.
"Just touch a piece of that idiots hoody" Sharpness had said with a faint hum of a smile, something almost fond as he stared in the direction of the bunny hybrid.
It had sounded easy.
But Jude's skills were built over his prey instincts, the rabbit knew how to run, where to run and how exactly to bait the teen into falling through yet another trap.
"And…that's the third trap! Sweet!" Jude chirps from the place where he's standing just outside the iron bars of the normally deathly chamber. His eyes are mischievous in a way that almost reminded Wemmbu of Spoke.
The teen groaned dramatically from his place on the floor completely exhausted. Really what was the point of chasing after an impossible target? It felt like a waste of his time.
"Hmm, sulking are we?" Jude says approaching the chamber with the key on his hands. His dark greasy purple hair illuminated from their makeshift base on the hoplite server. "You know? Sharpness falls for these traps all of the time, even ones I have showed him before. He's a bit of an airhead"
There's that same fondness bleeding into Jude's voice, one that seems present each time one mentions the other. It's some sort of strange respect mixed with a deep rivalry that almost made the two of them glued to the hip. The teen really didn't understand— didn't understand how they stayed after killing each other so many times.
Each death caused Sharpness to get revenge and in turn it caused Jude to try and trap the guy once more.
"Really?" Wemmbu asks slowly sitting up with a faint hopeful hum, his hand reaching to touch the bump on his head.
"Oh for sure, Sharpness is not very sharp." Jude says with a chuckle before his eyes completely light up for the first time since Wemmbu met the man. An idea flowering on the rabbit's head as he slowly opens the cage with a please hum. "You know what? how about we make a temporary truce and you help me trap your mentor?"
A small mischievous smile starts growing on Wemmbu's face at the idea.
"You sure he won't be mad?" Wemmbu asks slowly dusting his corset off with a small uncertain smile on his face while he stares at the rabbit in front of him.
"Oh he's gonna be livid! So angry at me for corrupting his precious student." Jude actually preens at the idea, his eyes flickering with excitement while he starts walking with a smile. "It's going to be perfect!"
The teen just stares mutely at the mirth mixing with bloodlust on Jude's face. He suddenly gets the idea that he will never understand the two adults and maybe this is one of those complicated relationships Minute loved to tell during bedtime— the ones that are unable to be labeled thanks to the history existing between them. Wemmbu had thought it was complete bullshit… now he's actually not sure.
"Sure… you both are weird" Wemmbu says slowly walking out of the open cell with a teasing smile on his face.
"Thank you! I'm taking that as a compliment" Jude exclaims grabbing Wemmbu's wrists and dashing out of the door with a brilliant smile on his face. The rabbit tan skin reflects the sun while the both of them run to assemble something unexpected enough to catch Sharpness.
Assembling a trap was a horrid experience that Wemmbu couldn't understand how it could bring so much joy into Jude's eyes. The sweat clung into his skin making his hair feel sticky and gross while his hands struggled with the redstone contraptions. The mechanic calculations make his brain spin while Jude continues running around the place with mirth on his eyes.
The rabbit seems content to be surrounded by the sticky stuff while he designs and makes the trap. It's a deadly one because while Sharpness had gently asked Jude to not kill Wemmbu during any of the chases, that same grace wasn't extended to his mentor. There's some sort of killing chamber at the end that will swiftly execute whoever falls first.
And finally, it's Wemmbu's turn to be the bait.
And maybe he's a bit too obvious since no one falls for the trap during the first hour of the teen's efforts.
Slowly, he uses the same small manipulation he had used back home, making sure to look vulnerable while running around. He uses his wings to run even faster than before.
Finally during Sharpness spar, he makes a show of faking an injury to make sure the man actually follows him through the foliage.
Part of him feels guilty as his mentor chases after him with a confused expression before falling through the trap almost instantly. It feels mean to do something like this.
"you are such a bitch Judee, this was not part of the plan!" Sharpness actually laughs through the anger on his chest before he disappears into a mix of particles.
For a second, Wemmbu doesn't even breath, staring at the bed in the corner of the room with his heart on his throat. Waiting for the man to actually revive, to see the first actions of the respawn system. Jude is holding some sort of object to revive the man since apparently this server has different rules for that type of thing.
Then suddenly Sharpness is there with a mix of pride and exasperation.
"He's supposed to be my student" The blond guy whines with an actual smile on his face before dashing after Jude's already retreating form.
"Not my fault I'm cooler!" Jude screams with a laugh before running away once more. The thrill of Sharpness chasing him making the man glow with mirth as they both disappear behind the treeline.
Free.
Yep Wemmbu is never going to understand those two.
Things change when everyone joins unstable, in a bad way, in a bitter way.
Wemmbu is finally reunited with his whole family. His relationship with Spoke slowly turning more bitter after discovering this whole vault created with illegal items beneath one of the pillars.
Minute stays in the end, guarding it while receiving his children with open arms.
And Egg, Egg decides to document their whole journey with a completely serious face. The seraphim becomes his only anchor to the world surrounding him, the only person capable to stay by his side without any fear of betrayal. Minute calls it codependence, Wemmbu thinks the man is spilling bullshit.
Just because Wemmbu is constantly protecting Egg from a place where death could actually end completely with your code, it didn't mean Wemmbu couldn't learn to separate from his best friend… He just preferred Egg to stay on his sight at all times.
The next time he sees Sharpness, the man is completely wrecked with grief— dull emerald eyes staring at Wemmbu before flying off with the demon's mace with an empty hum.
He never ends up discovering what happened to Jude, but he has this uncomfortable feeling that the man's code might be forever lost in the void of the unstable server. And it hadn't been by Sharpness blade, no, the man wasn't that stupid to actually haunt the rabbit down on a server like this one.
It leaves his twenty year old self with a strange bitter feeling on the back of his throat. Even after his hands are able to regain the mace that Sharpness had stolen with a swift fight.
In the end, under the faint light of the moon with Egg curled around his side.
Wemmbu wonders if there's a single universe, where the three of them turned any different.
If there's a universe where Sharpness and Jude are still chasing each other freely.
If there's a place where Wemmbu and Spoke grew to be something else—where they escaped this cycle of violence that ended up stranding them into this anarchic server.
At least Spoke seemed a bit more stable in this place, surrounded by that red hooded friend that he dragged around in different adventures.
But part of Wemmbu's heart still longs for their relationship from a long time ago.
Still wonders if there's a place where they didn't part until bitterness made it impossible for them to interact past a few war strategies.
He hopes there is.
Unknown to him, a man that's running from his youngest son makes a similar wish under the starry skies— heartbroken and helpless while his leg bleeds slightly from the attack. Someone of his family.
Guess some things really are hereditary even when you don't share the same blood.
It seems desires are hereditary too.