Chapter Text
It was the same dream every night. Eggchan dying. Each time, there was nothing he could do to save his best friend. Sometimes it was the bitter memory of the real thing, replaying over and over again. Blood pouring everywhere, staining his hands. Minute lying. His whole world shattering, before going to partake in a war he had no reason to be in.
Other times, he was frozen and literally couldn’t do anything as he watched people rip Egg to pieces. Sometimes Egg was falling off a cliff, his wings not working because they hadn’t worked since he became a Fallen Angel. And Wemmbu not having resources to rescue Egg because, for some reason, his own wings didn’t work in the dream, nor did he have anything on him.
For the constant dreams he’s had over the past years, in none of them has he been able to rescue Egg. Despite his insomnia, he dreamt whenever he could fall asleep. Thus, causing the cycle of prolonging the times for when he needed to sleep. He never let the insomnia affect his performance, but over the years it’s grown worse.
His insomnia had been with him for as long as he could remember. When he was younger, he was just a ball of energy, needing to do something at all times. It was impossible to get him on a sleep schedule. The few times he slept were at random points throughout the day.
Over time, it grew to a balance. He wouldn’t sleep for weeks on end, but would take cat naps during the day. Then he’d have like a whole day of sleep before the cycle repeated. After a singular nightmare, he wouldn’t sleep until nearly passing out due to exhaustion. Very healthy.
After Egg died is when it reached its worst. He did everything he could to stay awake, never allowing himself to close his eyes for too long. He only went to bed when he knew it was growing too unhealthy; even then, he slept until awoken by nightmares.
A loud slamming on his door tore him from his nightmare. Egg’s fingers were slipping off the side of the mountain. Two fingers were left, and Wemmbu was just beginning to close in on him. When the knocking began, Egg fell, and he jolted awake.
Hurriedly, he splashed invis, pulled his armor on, and rummaged around in his bed for the voice changer. It slipped under the pillow. He held it up to his mouth and told them to wait one second as he fastened it back on the hollow of his throat.
Pulling open the door revealed three guards, almost out of breath. They were all wide-eyed, with sweat running down their foreheads, and chests heaving. They explained that something was wrong with Spoke, and Ash refused to do anything about it. Apparently, Spoke hadn’t left his room in days. Days? Had he been asleep for that long?
No. He had tried the other day, but failed. He’d sparred with Ash, which went as well as you’d expect—he beat the shit out of Ash. Then he went on a mission or something…What week had it been without sleep? No wonder he barely remembered the past few days.
Back to the issue, apparently. So Spoke wanted to see him or something? That was it? There had to be something more to this, but he said little and followed the guards up the forever-spinning stairwells to Spoke’s chambers. They opened the door and locked it behind him. He whirled around to yell at them when Spoke caught his eye.
In the corner of the room was Spoke. His hair was matted, and he stared out the window. The sheets on the bed were all messed up, armor scattered around the floor, and a large mirror shattered with bits of grey at the center.
“Commander…who, who do you see?” Spoke asked, his voice hoarse, not looking at him.
“Uh, you? I’m not sure how to answer this one.” Wemmbu replied, remembering to stand at attention. His shoulders back, standing up straight, and hands clasped behind his back.
“When you look at me, who do you see? Me? A-a leader? A shell of a person? Ash? MinuteTech? Who?” Spoke pleaded, finally turning to look at Wemmbu. His eye was shimmering, and bags weighed heavy under it.
“I see someone who should probably sleep. Sir, when was the last time you slept?” Wemmbu answered, swallowing his urge to run a hand through his hair.
“No, you’re right. I need you to deliver that book and quill for me. Don’t come back until they’ve got their fifty contributors lined up.” Spoke ordered, brushing his messy hair out of his face. He shoved the book and quill into Wemmbu’s hands alongside a scrap of paper with the names of the other moles scribbled into it. Wemmbu just did that flight! Genuinely unfair.
The Farlands were no different, as they were just over a week ago. Unnerving, expansive, and sometimes an eyesore. When he went to them initially, he didn’t remember any of this stuff being here before. Perhaps he could take a trip to the Forge and set a stasis…
Now he just wasn’t sure how he was getting into the Rebellion base. He walked through a sea of flowers and up to a totally inconspicuous cabin in the middle of the flower beds. It was a small oak shed, with a tree holding a swing bench. There was a quaint farm to the left of the base.
A figure Wemmbu vaguely remembered seeing once before popped their head out. They wore a mask and a navy blue cloak on top of their clothes. There was probably a face under the mask. Aaand, they were gone. He tossed his arms up, then crossed them.
Moments later, Parrot appeared with a smile on his face. Wemmbu felt his lip curling. He refrained from making a mocking remark toward Parrot as he usually did. Parrot greeted him like they were the best of buds, and ushered him down into the base.
An unfamiliar pit opened in his stomach. He felt…guilty? Bad? Whatever it was, it was making him internally squirm and punch it out. So he stayed silent and was perfectly polite. It’s how he still had his position in Spoke’s Empire. It was actually very nice there, so he didn’t mind it all that much.
Parrot brought him down into a cramped room with a long, chiseled tuff table. There were only a few players around it. Some white guy, with his feet kicked up onto the table and playing with what looked to be a rubber band. Another guy who was dressed in yellow and dirt, attached to Flame’s side with a bright smile. What universe was this? Where was Jaden?
“You’re just in time for our daily meeting.” Parrot chirped, waving a hand over the table. The white guy faltered, legs dropping off the table. He looked familiar. White guy turned around, and fear washed over his pitch-black eyes. Wait, he had seen that guy before! Yeah! Spoke ha-
“No way.” Jaden’s voice cut through his thoughts. Wemmbu tore his gaze to his friend and beamed. Jaden’s eyes crinkled, twinkling with recognition. Wemmbu went around White guy’s chair and hugged his friend.
“I told you I keep my promises.” He whispered into Jaden’s ear. He felt Jaden’s silent snicker shake his body. Drawing back, he patted Jaden on the shoulder, preparing to leave the room.
A hand grabbed his chestplate and yanked him backwards. He whirled around, prepared to fight, only to see it was Parrot. His hand slipped off the top of his mace, and he crossed his arms.
For the next hour or so, he was subjected to the most boring meeting he’d ever been stuck in his entire life. He almost forgot to reapply invis—he occasionally nodded off. Hell, he’d prefer when he was subjected to hot rooms with random guards for Clown and Red over this.
They just talked about fruitless plans that wouldn’t work. Spoke and Ash’s paranoia combined were the reason none of these plans would work. They’d already been thought about and thwarted. That’s probably the point where he should’ve said that. If they asked, he would.
Eventually he interjected. Asking them whether they had any competitors lined up.
“You’re kidding, right?” Parrot’s yellow friend with sunglasses snorted. Theo? Wemmbu didn’t say anything. Spoke’s friend, Mapicc, sighed.
“They’re not. This is Spoke! Only way we’re going to get close enough to take down the Empire is if we play his way.” He interjected placidly, holding a hand up.
“That’s how you win,” Wemmbu affirmed with a head nod. Thankfully, that spiraled into the end of that pitiful meeting that made him want to rip out his horns.
Once it concluded, people dispersed, and a shoulder bumped his. He glanced to see Jaden, his hand resting on his mace.
Jaden wasn’t that much shorter than Wemmbu, maybe an inch or two. He was part siren, part human, but wasn’t related to any of the other sirens on the server. He usually kept his gills and fins hidden via his black, almost blue, hair that covered his ears and was pulled back into a neat ponytail. On top of his head sat a comical pirate captain’s hat—straight out of a costume box.
Actually, his whole outfit looked straight from a pirate costume box. Except he kept his long, cobalt captain’s jacked unbutton, and his tunic poorly laced up in the front, revealing a bit of his toned chest. The beige tunic offset the warm honeyed tan of his skin. His slacks were plain black and torn in places, matching his muddied black boots with uneven laces. A mask sat prominently on his face with royal blue accents.
Flame obscured his vision. Jaden glared at Flame and matched Wemmbu’s relaxed position against the wall. Flame’s jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his side; pale scars contorting with every movement.
Under the invis, Wemmbu felt his lips pulling into a wide grin; canines flashing instinctively. Flame wanted to fight. He would be a fool to deny some good competition for once. Plus, Flame was his best rival after all.
“So invis guy, think you can take me?” Flame offered, a slow smirk working across his face after every word. Wemmbu had to control himself, flexing his hands at his sides.
“In a fight? I’m one of the best fighters on the server. Fought in multiple battles, was a Capital City guard…list goes on FlameFrags.” Wemmbu sneered, shaking with excitement. He pushed off the wall to adjust to his full height. Gods, he missed his platformed heels! It was the one time he was a little taller than Flame, not just half an inch shorter.
“Okay, bro. I am the strongest player on the server though, bro.” Flame scoffed, placing one hand on his chest, the other on his sword.
Parrot’s head jolted up from the document he was looking over with Mapicc and the mask guy. His eyes widened, and he rushed over, eyes flitting between the two of them. Jaden had gone in that time.
“Whoa, guys. That’s maybe not the best idea.” Parrot interjected, debating on putting a hand on their shoulders.
“It’s just sparring. I think I’ll live.” Wemmbu remarked, crossing his arms. His gaze never wavered from Flame.
“Just to ensure, I’ll set the rules and monitor. Okay?” Parrot said, worrying at his bottom lip. They both nodded.
The area Parrot brought them to was incredibly grand. Everything had previously been so tight and closed off. The arena opened up to high ceilings and dipped down further, the chill of the void pulsating off the sandy floor. It was sandstone, not sand, to clarify. The rest was built out of stone, tuff, or deepslate. The walls of the pit were like seven blocks high with about fifteen rows of seating reaching another twenty or so blocks. Probably where they had whole Rebellion meetings or some shit.
Before he went into the arena, Parrot showed him where he’d be staying. Minute had graciously offered an extra bed in his room that was tucked away behind a wall partition of sorts. There he swapped his armor for copper and copper weapons.
He and Flame were only allowed two axes, two swords, a shield, one totem, five gaps, no pots, and half a stack of bread. Wemmbu brought Gambit just in case. He hung her prominently on his hip.
To begin the match, which Parrot was so paranoid about for some reason, he blocked up the entrance. The three of them—Minute insisted on watching—grew incredibly skeptical.
Nevertheless, Flame struck first, catching Wemmbu off guard. It was a blow to the back of his chestplate. Drawing his sword, he pressed it against Flame’s when he brought it down. He was able to push the sword out of the way and land a hit to Flame’s shoulder.
This was followed by a crit from Flame’s axe and Wemmbu tossing up his shield, which was instantly disabled, allowing for a nasty combo on the chest, sending Wemmbu backwards and breathing heavily. He was definitely coming out of this with bruised ribs.
That’s when he remembered, as he bit into his gap. He pushed off the ground just slightly, wings helping him a bit, and brought the axe down on Flame, his shield not up in time. It was a good crit and allowed for a quick combo, before blows were returned.
This process was repeated a few times over, with a slip-up here or there, causing one or the other to stutter in their process. Wemmbu had no clue how Flame was doing, but his armor was low, as was his shield, and he had one gap left. Ugh! Desperate times call for desperate measures. Granted, they’d been going at this for about twenty minutes or so.
Strafing to the side and preparing to bring out Gambit, Flame attacked; Wemmbu scrambled to get his shield up. Splinters flew into his face as the axe cut right through it, sending the bits of the shield onto the floor. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!
Wemmbu dodged the swing of the sword and rolled to the right, splashing another invis potion, swapping his totem to where his shield was, and eating the last gap. Flame grinned, probably still at full gaps…maybe two…but he wasn’t counting!
It all happened in slow motion. With the split-second of hesitation, he tried to disable Flame’s shield, but he swept Wemmbu’s legs, causing him to crash into the floor. Flame jumped at the opportunity and pointed his sword at the exposed spot between the chestplate and helmet.
The tip of the sword was pressed into the hollow of his throat, bits of purple blood speckling the sword. Wemmbu felt Flame’s claws come out, digging into his own as he pushed back against the sword. His biceps strained against Flame’s brute strength. He gritted his teeth as his arms shook, alleviating the sword to be a few millimeters above his throat.
Glancing to the side, Parrot was standing up, hands gripping the railings in the stands. He didn’t expect this, Wemmbu realized. Parrot anticipated Flame going far but not the kill. That’s what Gambit was for. In return, Wemmbu kicked Flame in the gut, allowing for him to get the upper hand.
Flame’s mouth parted, shock crossing his usually flat face. Wemmbu rolled his shoulders and drew Gambit, pushing himself off the ground, higher than the initial times. Flame drew his own netherite sword in return.
As Wemmbu brought Gambit down, Flame struck with his sword, popping Wemmbu’s totem. All the cuts and stitches healed across his body as he fell to the ground with a grunt. His joints ached as the totem did its job saving him from the brink of death. He felt the effects of invisibility seep out of him. It honestly felt relieving.
The jig was up, and this copper helmet was fucking suffocating! It didn’t have the holes for his horns. He chucked it on the ground and struggled to his feet. His chestplate was destroyed in that last blow somehow.
“Wemmbu?” Parrot’s voice brought him back to the present. It was so quiet, and full of uneasiness. Somehow Parrot had that innate ability to make Wemmbu feel bad about wanting to hide.
Flame’s reaction was a bit different. He leapt from his position, tackling Wemmbu to the ground. He brought Wemmbu up by his shoulders and then slammed him into the ground two or three times until Minute and Parrot appeared and struggled to pull him off.
“This is some sick joke! Why the hell are you impersonating him?” Flame snarled, barring his teeth. Wemmbu struggled to his feet, head pounding from the bashing into the ground and horns aching. Parrot looked at him, eyes asking the same question Flame was. Wemmbu pressed his fingers to his voice changer, switching it off.
“Not impersonating. I’m the real Wemmbu. Lost prince or whatever.” He sighed, crossing his arms. He’d really like his netherite armor back instead of this shitty armor that left him exposed. Parrot’s gaze shifted to Minute.
“Of course I knew Parrot.” Minute supplied, his eyes narrowed just slightly at Flame. Neither of them had let go of the very much still aggressive Flame.
“Now, as long as the two of you keep the lie that I’m dead around, we’re good!” Wemmbu said sweetly, hand running over Gambit in soothing motions.
“Actually, what the hell is wrong with you?” Parrot blurted instead. He released Flame, who surprisingly didn’t move. Wemmbu’s eyebrows drew together.
“What-“
“You faked your death, lied to everyone, work with Spoke…genuinely, why can’t you not think about yourself for once?” Parrot cried, his head tilted, and his hands moved rapidly as he talked. Wemmbu forced himself to take even breaths.
“My best friend is fucking dead. I put him in danger so many goddamned times before because of who I am! I was trying to keep him safe, but I just couldn’t, could I, ParrotX2? No. I put someone else before me multiple times, and what did that get me? Absolutely nothing. So yeah, I’m working for Spoke. Ash knows who I am—sick bastard figured it out instantly. I don’t care about this stupid war! I want a fucking break.
“No matter where I go, I’m just a machine. That’s part of the reason I killed Wemmbu. Maybe a new identity would allow me to be just another player. Being a guard was actually fun! I got to meet new players, chill, hang out, and not worry about someone coming after the ones I love. No, the second I’m found out, it’s back to work with me. That’s all I’m good at. Right? This was such a stupid idea.” Wemmbu explained, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from yelling if he wanted to. He hated feeling this vulnerable and open with people. He refused to look at them when he finished.
Parrot’s eyes had softened, and his breathing had slowed down. A tear slipped down his face, and he adjusted his footing. His wings extended a bit, arching around him. Flame, on the other hand, still had his jaw clenched tight, and his hand gripping his sword painfully hard.
“I thought we were friends, bro. I mean we obviously hate each other, but…dawg, you know there is no one else I’d rather fight. So yeah, I mean okay, if you wanted my help I probably would laugh at you. I still would’ve, like, helped you somehow, bro.” Flame admitted, his voice hard and tight. He slipped his sword back into its sheath and crossed his arms. A tiny smile played on his lips. Parrot nodded in agreement with a big smile.
The next thing Wemmbu knew, he was being subjected to a group hug. Flame was equally reluctant to join in, but Parrot coaxed both of them to get in. For the first time in a long time, he was pleasantly warm. The omnipresent ache in his chest subsided just slightly.
After a few minutes of debating on keeping the identity a secret, they settled on keeping it quiet. To which Wemmbu then declared he was exhausted—he was, though. For the first time in a while, he slept a dreamless sleep.
When he awoke, his face was smushed into the pillow, and his wings were hanging off the sides of the bed. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back and was met with another confined area of deepslate. Shocker. There was a small gap to exit the pod-like area. He didn’t remember getting into the bed.
This was definitely not the arena. It was really just a small room with a quaint set of bookshelves, a few chests, and another bed on the opposite side of the room.
Wemmbu reached above his head and stretched his arms and back. Tension seeped out of his muscles after being in that position. He still hadn’t put on his armor. Just sitting in his long, worn clothes. Just then the door opened. Instinctively, he darted behind the partition for invis. He—of course—was out. He poked his head around the corner to see Minute putting something away.
“Oh, Minute. Hi.” Wemmbu said, his voice hoarse. Minute flinched and turned around, surprise filling his features. But everything soon softened, and he smiled.
"Hey, kid. Glad you’re finally up. I know you have a mission or whatever, but you might want to get out of here.” Minute replied sternly, his smile falling after the greeting. Wemmbu furrowed his eyebrows.
“Okay, see, I would bu-“
“Mane’s here. Flame somehow found him.” Minute cut him off, eyes narrowed, and lips quirked downwards. Wemmbu’s heart thudded in his ears, and he had to grasp the wall behind him. Mane? ManePear? No. His claws dug into the wall, sending bits of deepslate onto the floor. He had to slip on that fake mask before he got out of here.