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It finally happened, FlameFrags got his fair fight. Wemmbu stood parallel to him, holding firmly to his sword.
Flame threw three potions above his head, Fire Resistance, Speed II, Strength II.
The thin glass flasks shattered against his helmet in a pool of multi-colored particles.
Wemmbu repeated the same ritual, and lunged at Flame. He took a deep breath, parrying Wemmbu's sword, jabbing and dodging.
“Bro. You’ve gotten better.” Flame commented off-handedly, his sword connecting with Wemmbu’s arm, leaving a clean slice.
“You’ve gotten worse.” Wemmbu grumbled, wind charging into the air to eat a G’apple. Flame scoffed, sure bro.
He instinctively held his shield to the sky as Wemmbu catapulted into the air; but Wemmbu didn’t have his mace. This was Flame’s fair fight, and he was going to win it.
Flame was almost untouchable to Wemmbu, as aggressive as Wemmbu’s fighting style was. But Flame played to survive, he played to win. Wemmbu played to win, but he also used up too many resources. A fatal flaw.
Wemmbu came crashing down, axe in hand. His movement gouged a dent into Flame’s shield.
They fought through the blazing sunset, and the arena dimmed to darkness. But Flame didn’t need light; neither did he need darkness for that matter. His world was always coated in the black fabric of his blindfold. But his sight was differing from the shadowed folds of the bandanna.
Flame didn’t see, not in a way that mattered. His sight was only a mental mindscape, constructed from the fabric of the sound around him, built up by the blocks he could feel under his boots.
And that’s all he needed. The tempo stayed consistent, with every beat planned.
Wemmbu short-pearled, and Flame followed suit, cobwebbing his feet as he was finishing the core of a G’apple.
Wemmbu lashed his sword, snagging into Flame’s armor. Flame pressed, swinging his axe, taking chip after chip out of Wemmbu’s chestplate.
Fight after fight, combo after combo; Flame was always the last one standing in a deserted battle field, littered with tangled cobwebs and spews of items. What a drab thing to be remembered by, a pile of items on the floor, as your body disintegrated into code.
But such a fitting jail. Ones and zeros, trapped in a main frame despite your best efforts to escape. Because you can’t escape code. Malware is only the one that’s stronger. Maybe that made Flame into a malware of his own, a virus. A plague.
It wouldn’t be wrong to assume wherever Flame stepped that Death would be the shadow behind him, looming, wielded by his human hands.
Water poured from a bucket in Wemmbu’s grip, disintegrating the sturdy cobwebs chaining him to the floor. He scooped up the water just as quickly, and pearled away before Flame could trap him in the webs again.
If one could describe Flame in a fight, they’d always say something along the lines of: Focused. But Flame could always easily fall into the trance of his own thoughts, when doing something brainless. It was odd, considering he virtually only saw with his mind.
He pearled after Wemmbu, stepping into the lingering pool of the potions Wemmbu had repotted seconds before. Wemmbu let out a noise along the likes of an annoyed huff, Flame sneered.
Back into that trance they both fell, jab, dodge, pearl, eat.
Flame had Wemmbu trapped in a cobweb again, the scene illuminated by the gentle light of the moonset. Wemmbu winced as Flames axe cut into his armor and arms, releasing himself only with a grace of water and the throw of a wind-charge.
Flame placed more cobwebs, estimating where he would land. And plummeting back towards the floor, dragged down by gravity itself, Wemmbu sunk back into the stringy snare.
Wemmbu freed one leg from the webs, kicking Flame away so he could shove a G’apple down his gullet.
Flame didn’t need his sight to know how close he could’ve been to a totem pop, he didn’t need vision to feel the panic that crackled off of Wemmbu like lightning.
Flame’s vigor was reawakened, and he fell upon Wemmbu with a swarm of jabs and slashes. He definitely didn’t need his sight to recognize the smell of blood; though it had muddled itself to his nose. It was assumedly from his constant exposure to its metallic scent.
Flame sneered as a searing heat exploded into the air with a satisfying pop. Wemmbu’s figure regained the life that he’d been missing for only seconds. But totems also came with a renewed energy.
He could hear the sort of sickening sound of Wemmbu’s many wounds stitching themselves back together into skin.
Flame wouldn’t miss this opportunity, Wemmbu had to be on low health.
…
Wemmbu equipped his totem at the last second, slumping forwards. A brain-numbing ringing exploded and echoed around his skull, erasing his thoughts, like a javelin had been punctured straight through his head.
A heat shrouded him, comforting and burning, like the searing mania he felt himself so trapped in at times.
Wemmbu’s body regained his fleeting life, the echoing sound of the totem crackling in his ears. His grip tightened onto his sword, and he deflected Flame’s blade as it beared down towards him.
He could hear the annoying cackle Flame always wore, and his breath came out ragged. Wemmbu’s skin crawled with the healing and shrinking of his wounds. His body screamed with pain and heat.
“You won’t kill me.” he managed the weak taunt, pearling away when Flame paused at the absurdity of his words.
Wemmbu re-potted his potions, the effects of which had been erased upon totem popping, his blood circulating back into his body.
His vision swept back towards the arena, and sure enough, Flame pearled towards him. Ironic, he could always count on his worst enemy to be the one always on his trail, always by his side, in a sense.
Flame could be his own personal antagonist, if he wasn’t so distasteful towards being the hero. Maybe someone like MinuteTech could be a hero, but he wasn’t someone like Minute. Far from it.
He stabbed forwards, catching the sleeve of Flame’s annoying ass jacket. Flame laughed tauntingly again, but Wemmbu forced himself not to notice.
He just had to find his flow, his dynamic with fighting Flame- and he had to adapt. But what didn’t he know about Flame’s fighting style already? He knew he was better than him; and that fact infuriated him.
He caught Flame in a combo, and his eyes widened slightly. Maybe he just needed to be angry and he’d play better? Flame always seemed to have something to be angry about. It was worth a shot.
He fought and fought, but Flame never seemed to get low, he never seemed panicked, he didn’t even seem like his mind was fully into the fight. Like he was going easy on Wemmbu.
Wemmbu grit his teeth, he let all his frozen anger melt over him, he let himself be blinded by that rage, by that hatred. He let his emotions control his sword. His claws dug into his palm from how tightly he wielded his blade.
Flame seemed slightly taken aback by his sudden switch up, but he just adapted, like he was nothing. Like Wemmbu was nothing, a bug to squash-
He stiffened that ever so slightly, and Flame took advantage of the hesitation in milliseconds, stabbing Wemmbu in the shoulder.
Wemmbu’s breath came out in a thin gasp. He sliced forwards, his blade catching near Flames face— any other time, this would’ve been a horrible play, a lash out through his anger, he’d left himself open, but- his sword connected with the right side of Flame’s blindfold, ripping it yet not quite piercing his skin.
Flame’s iris danced with sparks of red and orange, melting into a sea of brown. His eye widened at Wemmbu, and they both hesitated, staring at each other in a mixture of shock and confusion.
…
Wemmbu had gotten jerkier, more agitated, he was making mistakes, Flame could say that as obvious. He sliced with speed but lacked the precision of thought.
Fighting through the blinding thought of your emotions was a dangerous dance, but fighting someone like that, as many would inform, was even harder a tango.
Flame struck, backing up with every move, Wemmbu was playing agro; even after his potions ran out, he attacked with a blinding force. Was this some kind of trick? Did Wemmbu really bring something to the fight other than his sword and his life?
Flame was about to pearl away when he saw Wemmbu’s frame stiffen, his sword beginning to slack. And he stabbed, bringing his sword down into Wemmbu’s arm and shoulder.
Flame snickered at the blow, something a G’apple could not quite stitch together. He noticed Wemmbu stiffen with fury, he heard the grating of his armor as his arm lifted upwards.
Before Flame could rip at Wemmbu’s new wound, he felt the sharpened tip of a sword against his face, and light danced into the darkness of his blindfold. His blindfold. He watched the fabric rip away from his eye, snagged on the blunt of Wemmbu’s attack.
His eyes widened, and his mind feebly provided that Wemmbu was hesitating, but he could see Wemmbu. From the swimming black ink of his eyes to that way his scars tinted violet against the harsh purple of his skin…He could see Wemmbu.
“…why are your eyes three colors?” Wemmbu deadpanned after their hesitation continued.
The world glared around him, light shining too bright into his eyes, everything too saturated. There were so many… details? Everything crowded his vision at once.
Flame grit his teeth, blinking rapidly. He looked around at the arena. It was different then he’d assumed it was, the ground was scuffed and dirt ripped up, blood splatter was watered down, tinting the nearby cobwebs red. His mind registered the surplus of information, his sight and thought blending into a mismatched mesh of terrain.
When was the last time he had taken off his blindfold? He could hardly remember what anyone he knew looked like, only the sound of their voice or footsteps.
Wemmbu’s sword caught his chest before Flame could begin to react. Sure, he could just close his eyes, but he was used to them being open and blinking, even if no light reached his photoreceptors.
Flame reached at his face with his left hand, shoving Wemmbu away with the sword in his right. He pulled his blindfold off fully, his left eye receiving the same shock to the light.
Wemmbu recovered swiftly, where he seemed more confident, Flame was at a loss. But he couldn’t lose- that wasn’t an option. He dropped the blindfold, parrying a strike at his arms, squinting at Wemmbu.
He didn’t have time to catch and note details, he had to win. Or he’d just be another pile of items, proof that skill could be beaten, proof that unfair tactics could win— but did that even apply? Wemmbu was fighting him fairly.
Lock in. He dodged a strike at his side, but his rhythm was erased. The balance he was so used to during his battles was shattered, and he didn’t see the fight deluded by his thoughts. He could see the wounds on his body and winced like they were all new; but he was used to pain by now.
Wemmbu still looked confused, but he battered Flame, pressing him towards the center of the arena as Flame dodged and backed up, his sword useless in his hand.
Wemmbu kicked Flame’s chest, and he fell backwards into the dirt. He noticed Wemmbu guzzle down a potion of strength; that meant he was out of splash pots— Flame could still win this.
Wemmbu planted a firm foot on his chest, grabbing Flame’s forearms and pinning him into the ground. Wemmbu’s face was inches away from his own. Flame struggled, but Wemmbu had strength, and Flame did not. It truly boiled down to something so simple, huh? Was this really how he would die?
“Oh FlameFrags, look how times have changed. I’ll always be stronger than you, you know.” Wemmbu mocked straight to his face, he seemed to take great pleasure in being able to see Flame’s reaction, being able to look straight into his mortal eyes.
That was Flame’s only problem. Try as he might, he’d always be mortal. Even if Death was too afraid to take him when he was at his normal state. Too afraid to drag him into the fog of the ocean or the depths of a cave to starve or drown. Because he always found a way out, he always kept living.
He stared at Wemmbu, Flame could spiral into his emotionless black eyes, remembered only by his killer. Maybe that was the best ending for him, even if he refused to stop creating more chapters in his story.
But Wemmbu wasn’t killing him, he wasn’t even trying to, Flame realized. He saw hesitation in his taut face.
“Then what?” Flame shocked even himself by speaking, his voice was low, like he’d accepted defeat only to crawl out of his grave with dirt under his nails. “You kill me, bro, but then what? What do you plan to do next?”
Wemmbu seemed momentarily confused, he’d probably never given the players he killed time to speak before their inevitable death, but something was stopping him from doing the same with Flame. Something stopping Wemmbu from killing Flame. What an interesting idea, who would’ve assumed that Wemmbu would even take time to spare him.
“Then I go live my life.” Wemmbu said, a sense of finality in his voice. “Because if I lose then I won’t be able to; and if I let you live then you’ll hunt me down for another rematch. Doesn’t that get repetitive?”
Flame huffed. “I wouldn’t expect you to get it.”
“Then tell me.” Flame’s eyes widened as Wemmbu stepped off of him, releasing his arms but still eyeing him like he was a snake coiled to bite.
Flame was stunned, and he slowly eased himself into a stand, his back ached. He eyed Wemmbu, with what? Respect? Sure, he respected some aspects of Wemmbu, but his brain ached and swam with confusion. Trust?
Flame couldn’t even begin the list of all the reasons he shouldn’t trust Wemmbu, but there were also reasons he could, too. The only redeeming qualities of the purple imp, as Flame put it.
“I hunted you down- cause you won unfairly. Bro, you literally had a mace and actual nukes. Cause I wanted-“ Wemmbu cut him off.
“The mace is vanilla.” He stated, crossing his arms with a glare.
“Okay bro, whatever.” Flame grumbled. “I wanted to prove that skill is always better than cheats- that skill could always win against even hackers, because bro, if you let people win when they aren’t really winning, then it’s gonna change the stakes.” he was speaking faster, saying everything to justify his thought process, but it also helped to just say it out loud.
“And?” Wemmbu stared him down. “It doesn’t matter whose morals were better, it matters if you live to step out of the fight and tell the story.” he lifted his chin, staring evenly into Flames eyes. “Nobody remembers your morals if you’re ones and zeros.”
Flame bit back a retort, the counter argument was strange to his ears, because he’d heard it before, but not from Wemmbu. “Because- bro. If all the bots on the server see only cheaters at the top, do you know what they’ll do? They’ll cheat. And cheat, and cheat, and cheat. Because that's the only thing that won.
“But if someone with skill is at the top,” he half gestured to himself. “Then they’ll see that they can win without cheating.” Flame let out a deep breath, feeling a slight knot in his chest.
“And if you die with all your skill to a cheater; then they won’t look at you, they’ll look at your killer.” Wemmbu half smirked, the server had gone wild when he’d beaten Flame for the first time, all those months ago. “And nobody is going to be self righteous enough to take your place cause they’ll all die faster than you will.”
“Then I won’t die.” Flame gritted his teeth. A single name floated to his mind: ManePear. Wemmbu was using the same argument Mane had before he’d left Flame when the Zam empire was at its peak.
“You’re talking to the guy who just spared your life, you know that, right?” Wemmbu’s retort broke through his thoughts.
“You still admitted that I can survive bro. That counts for something.”
“And you are using your ‘rivals’ words to back up your own statements, bro.” Wemmbu snorted. “Your morals are so heroic and yet you don’t act like a hero in the slightest, it’s interesting, really.”
“Wars are won by the army that doesn’t retreat. And the other side only retreats when too many have died, bro.” Flame mimicked Wemmbu by crossing his arms. He could feel the dull pain of all his wounds under his armor. “Why does it matter how much blood is on my hands if I alone am the last one alive standing in the carnage?”
“I admire how confident you are in your abilities, really.” Wemmbu nodded slowly. “I couldn’t even tell you you’re overestimating, to be honest.” he took a deep breath. “I would say you thinking you could beat me was an overestimation, tho.” Wemmbu sneered.
Flame scoffed. “Bro, it’s just because you caught me off guard, do you know how long I’ve worn that blindfold bro?” he huffed, his eyes, even now, were still adjusting to the dim light of dusk.
“I thought the element of surprise was a basic combat advantage.” Wemmbu bit back, then added, “Since the moment I met you ‘til right now.” he half-laughed.
“And many years before that.” Flame muttered.
He used to take it off every once in a while, to look around and take in the world, but eventually, he just stopped. He adapted more and more to the darkness to the point that he felt more comfortable in it then he would the light.
He was easier to keep on than off, and it also proved that he didn’t need sight to have skill. A fact that he prided himself on. A fact Mane had thought was useless and not worthwhile. His thoughts provided helpfully, Flame bit his lip. He didn’t need to be thinking about Mane right now.
“What's on your mind?” Wemmbu asked, and Flame stared incrediously at him, why was this bot using basic icebreaker questions? “What do you really think is gonna happen if you tell me?” he asked after Flame didn’t respond, leaning back into his sword that was stabbed into the dirt.
“Something that doesn’t concern you nearly as much as my morals did.” Flame scowled, his voice gaining an uncharacteristic edge.
“Alright, I got it.” Wemmbu raised both of his palms towards Flame in a mock gesture of surrender. “Are we gonna take that fight again from the top or do I have to stand here staring into your eyes all day?” he whistled. “I wouldn’t mind the latter-“ Flame slapped him in the face.
“You’re the reason I wear a blindfold.” he hissed as Wemmbu giggled, rubbing the side of his face that Flame had slapped.
“I didn’t know the Immortal Demon couldn’t take jokes nearly as well as he can take a sword.” Wemmbu smirked, seemingly taking great amusement at Flame's annoyance.
Flame sighed heavily, eyeing Wemmbu. He really didn’t want to fight again, if he was going to be so honest. And not because Wemmbu beat him. More because the fight lasted literal hours.
“…Do you, uhm, want to make a truce?” It took all of Flames will power to choke out the words.
Wemmbu’s eyes widened, but he quickly laughed. “I’m shocked to hear that from you, FlameFrags.” he was practically only saying his entire name to push his buttons. “But… why not. If it means both of us can walk out of here alive, why not.” Wemmbu answered thoughtfully.
“I didn’t know you started caring about me walking alive.” Flame snorted.
“Maybe I started considering it halfway through your little hero speech.” Wemmbu tapped his chin exaggeratedly, feigning thoughtfulness.
Flame smiled slightly. Maybe that was his reason to “trust” Wemmbu in a way, he was always willing to be friendly; even if he wasn’t that faithful.
He took a deep breath before speaking. “We’re never going to walk out here as friends, teammates, if you will.” Flame said, “But maybe we can leave as allies?” He proposed the idea, and Wemmbu nodded thoughtfully. Not faking it, for once.
“I wouldn’t mind that.” The demon smiled, placing his sword in its sheath. “But if someone offers me, say, 500 dollars… I’d probably reconsider our ally-ship.” Wemmbu joked, and Flame laughed.
“Then consider us allies.” Flame said, formally. “Goodbye, Wemmbu.”
Wemmbu returned the gesture, waving a semi-solemn goodbye before elytra’ing away. Flame watched him go, flying towards the rising moon and blending into the cloak of oh-so familiar darkness.
Flame had one more thing to resolve before he left to return to his simple life, tho. He walked across the clearing, sheathing his sword in a swift motion.
He crouched down, picking up a blood-stained strip of black cloth.
“It’s been a while since I got another one of these, huh.” he muttered to no-one in particular, closing his fist over the tattered blindfold.