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EMF has made many changes over their time as Champion. Good ones, they pray for them all to be, though they doubt that their most recent changes will be as gracious to their civilization as they once hoped.
A dog whose leash has just been cut is an apt descriptor of Seawatt nowadays. He was a wreck the last they saw him, face a canvas with how streaked it was in tears, his voice rough enough to the point where they wouldn’t doubt the possibility of him screaming himself hoarse, and his steps a newborn player’s with how hesitating and clumsy they were. Captivity has not served him well, despite what Evbo tells them.
Chains brittle and fragile, giving way easy under EMF’s commanding hand. Evbo doesn’t come here anymore, telling them not to bother Seawatt either. This was his punishment, he told them, made to suffer through the circumstances he forced on everyone else, to endure and struggle as he made Evbo do so.
EMF knows themselves to be a sinner for what they’ve done to sully his demands. It matters very little. Confession will cleanse them and their sorry soul.
It’s within an afternoon, sunny and devoid of shadow, only three day-cycles after the escape of Seawatt when Evbo finally asks after his absence.
“My friend,” he calls for them, tone as an owner’s to a misbehaving pet, and well-trained is what they are because they turn their head to meet his gaze immediately, attention solely on him rather than the command blocks which require their expertise. “Do you remember what I told you?”
“Might you specify?” they retort, dancing around the dread which creeps down their spine, the ever consuming thought that he knows, he knows, and he knows it's all your fault. Evbo doesn’t visit him, he told them that himself. How could he ever find out?
“About Seawatt. About Seawatt and how much of a danger he was when let loose. Remember?”
Swallowing past a lump in their throat, EMF nods, not trusting their voice to not shake with the terror they’re feeling.
Evbo considers them with a look which makes them want to squirm. Is this what those Pros felt, when they’d watch them after an obvious lie? Perhaps.
“Are you sure?” he urges, gentle tone evidence of his disbelief and the fact that he knows, he knows what they did– EMF quietly inhales as they nod again.
“Yes,” they finally respond back, cursing the way the words shake on their tongue which twists into a knot, protesting at the lie. “Of course I do, Evbo, he tortured me. We both experienced him first-hand. What’s the reason behind all these questions?”
He looks away at the reminder, always uncomfortable at the face of what happened to them during their time in Seawatt’s hands. They tire of his avoidant nature, but that’s not the point, not right now.
Obvious in its unspoken accusation, he levels them with a heavy stare, “His coordinates are hidden, and he’s gone from his cell. The Fighters told me the last person they saw near his pris– apartment was you. What happened?”
Their heart threatens to collapse into their stomach at the words.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” is all EMF can choke out.
The only thing their mind can grasp upon is the fact that Evbo didn’t say anything about finding Seawatt yet. The best case scenario is that he’s still running through the Fighter layer, searching for a location inhospitable to even God, and they pray it is the case.
“What are you trying to imply, that I what; that I was the one to release Seawatt?” they mockingly point out, ignoring the fact that the ridiculous idea is in fact the truth.
He makes a face at their tone, a frown scrunching his lips. “Don’t say it like that. Who else knew where Seawatt was?”
“Have you considered the possibility that the Fighters were lying to you?” EMF suggests, sending their silent condolences to the innocent Fighters which they have thrown under their trail. “Are you certain that no one else knew of Seawatt’s location?”
“I’m sure,” Evbo snaps back, and EMF watches from the command blocks as he rises from their throne to walk over to them, frozen in place on the pedestal, unable to force themselves to move. But all he does is pull on their sleeve to tug them down to his level, forcing their feet to stumble off the block and onto the tile floor.
“Just tell me the truth,” he asks of them– though a more accurate descriptor would be that to pleading or even begging, both things unbecoming of a God. “What’s the matter with you? I won’t be mad, I could never be mad at you,” he says, and despite the obvious lie, EMF manages a crinkling of the eyes at his tone.
“I know, Evbo. I know.”
“Do you?” he presses once more, not intent on leaving this behind. “Do you understand how serious this is? My friend, this is the very player who threatened civilization two separate times, if I find that you’re hiding him then–”
Anger grows to be a pulse, the pressure behind every nasty thought the closest they'll come to having a heartbeat again, and it's obvious in their temper when EMF interrupts him, asking him indignantly, “Then what? You’ll take away my boots? You’ll kill me? Or will you put me in prison with Seawatt once you find him again? I thought everyone deserves a second chance.”
Evbo makes way to reply, before clamping his lips shut into a tight line, eyes narrowed in frustration in response to their thoughtless words. Shame washes over them like a baptism at the reaction, making them wish that they could cut out their tongue in the face of his silence. Anything would be better than this, they think to themselves. Say something, they beg of him, and because he is a gracious God, he obliges in their prayer.
“Everyone does deserve a second chance,” he breathes out, and EMF can feel their shoulders lowering at the confirmation that their God hasn’t shed all of his morals yet.
“But,” he continues on, the hope within EMF’s ribcage shattering at the single word, “Seawatt’s been given more than enough chances. He’s shown me and shown you that he’s not fit for this civilization. He’s a weed, and we’re the caretakers of this beautiful, beautiful garden, don’t you see? We have to pluck him out in order to cure our people of the plague that is his influence, in order to truly save this civilization.”
“I… see,” they lie, choosing their words delicately, and correctly, judging by how Evbo offers them a smile, looking the happiest he’s been at the moment.
“I knew you’d understand. You’re smart, after all,” he praises, his fingers coming to close around their hand in a loose grip.
“Thank you, Evbo.”
“Anytime man,” he laughs back, before shifting his voice back to a much more fitting tone as he asks, “But you’re smart enough to tell me where Seawatt is too, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know…” EMF murmurs, looking anywhere but his expectant face that which drops at their words.
“I’m your friend,” Evbo reminds, his grip pulling them slightly closer to him, his stare all consuming and possibly all knowing. “I thought friends were meant to share things with each other. Were you lying when you told me that?”
EMF shakes their head. “Not everything. Some things are—“
“Too important,” he answers for them bitterly, and they make the mistake of looking at him, watching him cast his spotlight of a gaze onto their expression, searching for something, as if Seawatt’s coordinates are drawn onto their skin. EMF resists the urge to cover themselves with a hand, on the off chance that that is the truth.
“I didn’t say that.”
EMF takes a step, the back of their shoes hitting the quartz of the command block’s support. Evbo responds with a step forward to meet theirs.
“But you meant it. Admit it, you don’t need me,” he mutters, turning his head away, hands raised to wipe his eyes, undoubtedly wet with tears.
Are they meant to beg, they contemplate, a dog at the hand of an unfeeling master? Beg for his affections when he is the one who shies from them and their attempts at caring for him?
But a loyal Champion is what they are, EMF does just that, denying his lies even further, spitting out the words he’s placed upon their tongue with an unsteady voice, insincere of the way their mind tells them to resist his tricks, to retract from the situation and do something which would classify them as being of sound mind.
“I never said that. I do– I do need you.”
The admission is a weight on their conscience. How weak of them, to be exposing themselves like this, to a man who can be argued as barely crossing the threshold between stranger and friend. It matters very little though. Later is when EMF will torment themselves over the confession. More important things lay at hand within the present.
His head lifts ever so slightly, eyes shining with expected, barely shed moisture. “You do?”
A jerky nod, then a hesitating reply; of course, all in order to see that Evbo retracts his face further from the make-shift burrow that is his palms to smile at them, expression now devoid of any previous anguish he was suffering through just moments before.
Suddenly coming to embrace them within lanky limbs, EMF has just enough time to adapt to Evbo’s admittedly light weight before he’s wrapping his forearms around their shoulders, hands coming to squeeze around their neck, fingers like a collar. His legs come to theirs, knees bumping against theirs as his tear-streaked face comes to curl around their cheekbone, his smile close enough to kiss the expanse between their collarbone and jaw.
His breath ghosts their throat, as he speaks, low and teasing. He knows. Of course he does. “You’ve never thought about betraying me, have you, my friend?”
The whisper freezes EMF in place, syllables like pins which stiffen and lock their joints in place. Their no is more a question rather than any suitable answer, but Evbo just hums in response, uncaring of the traitorous way they think and their acts of treason which he surely knows of.
His voice is something sweet, gentle, like he’s handling a rabid animal and not a player who’s merely questioning how far their God's kindness extends. It rankles EMF with its softness as he asks them, “Then you’ll tell me where you’ve hidden him, won’t you?”
“...of course, my God. Anything for you.”
“Don’t talk like that,” he laughs, letting them go, pushing them back, away from him, his smile now a grin. “You sound like the Masters, man, it’s creepy.”
EMF doesn’t bother to reply at that, choosing to instead turn to the command blocks, stumbling onto one and preparing to jump across, tuning out his voice and ignoring the way his stare is unyielding, flaying their deceit wide open, a corpse on a dissection table an accurate description of the way EMF is feeling, under his examining eyes.
Coordinates are what they reluctantly beg of code to give. Diamond soles hit the buttons of the panels with a dull thud. The panel pops up in front of their vision with a click.
“3858, 36, 107.”
“What?”
“3858, 36, 107,” they repeat, having to grit out the number through the dam of anger which has built up within their throat, a constant pressure underneath their tongue. “Seawatt’s coordinates. You wanted them.”
He blinks again, disbelieving in the face of the proof of their loyalty's extent, before his lips curl from that frown, his eyes thrumming with happiness. "I knew you'd come through," he praises, sounding more content than he was before.
They did that, EMF thinks. They made him happy. The thought has their eyes crinkling in return, the topic of Seawatt something disregarded for the current moment. He's not their issue, not anymore. He's Evbo's burden now.
It's with a soft quality to his voice, of which Evbo calls for them, snapping his fingers at them as if they're his lapdog, but their usual irritation at the gesture is delayed. "My friend, come here, let me give you something."
They follow his command without a need for decision, dropping from the block to come to him and his waiting hand, which then comes to fit against their own.
Impassively, they wait for further demand, and eventually, he delivers, saying; "I have a request to make of you. Will you do it for me?"
EMF gives him a nod, of which he squeezes their palm at. "Good, good," he praises them, his other hand coming to cup their cheek and tug them closer as he tells them, light tone ever-present, "You'll hunt down Seawatt. And then you're going to kill him for me. Can you do it?"
It was too much to hope for, the fantasy of Seawatt becoming something less than a thing of the past. Still, they tell him, "Of course I can."
Evbo smiles impossibly wider at that. "I knew you could," he coos, but before they can bristle at his patronizing tone, he lets go of their hand to pull something out from his inventory, placing it within their palm. "Here, have this. Just in case."
EMF lifts it, admiring the way the item shimmers within the sunlight.
"A compass," they comment without emotion, and he lets out a light chuckle at their apathy.
"It's enchanted. It points to Seawatt, his coordinates." Evbo's hand comes to their wrist to shift it further for them to see the vibrant sheen of magic that coats the metal. "Don't you like it?"
"Yes, I do. Thank you, Evbo."
He lets go of their hand, to give them a push, an obvious urge for them to go.
"I'm glad to hear it," he laughs back. "But nevermind that. Seawatt's no doubt not going to stay in the same place, after all. He's probably moving even now."
EMF pockets the compass into their inventory. “It’s likely. I'll come back soon, I promise."
Evbo's smile dies at that. He takes a glance back to his boots, the purple metal of them coated in dirt and grass, more like a muddy brown. EMF frowns at their appearance, leather-like and filthy.
"That's what they always say. This time, I'll hold you to it," is all he says as goodbye.
Nodding, even though Evbo will not see it, EMF makes way to descend the stairs, to go search for Seawatt like an exterminator within a pantry.
They don't turn back on the top step. They don't turn back to glance upon Evbo's face one last time. They don't kneel at his feet for his forgiveness.
EMF never tells him that the coordinates are fake.