Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wemmbu could hardly discern the path ahead. All he knew was that Flame probably had no reason to lead him towards a trap. He wasn’t someone who lured you into drinking poison when he could lift his sword, and kill you in one clean swipe. They weren’t friends, that’s for sure, but Wemmbu at least knew Flame wasn’t about to face The Law with no backup, not when Wemmbu had proved himself.

As much as Flame downplayed him for using the mace, Wemmbu was useful. He’d gotten better, he could survive, and that was so much more than he could have hoped for only a few months ago. He could stand on his own two feet without having to run away or end up hiding underground. Even the memory of stone and dirt almost suffocating him, knowing there was people digging, hunting him. He quickened his pace, catching up with the demon.

Flame worked with no one. Sure, honour was above anything else, but he always played solo. Wemmbu had Egg, at least. They could no longer travel together like before, but knowing he had his best friend made it a little easier to keep going, even if he now had to deal with his identity no longer being in secret. Flame, on the other hand, hardly worked with anyone else.

Seeing the other’s outline ahead ignited something inside Wemmbu. He didn’t know what exactly, but now it seemed like Flame just didn’t mean violence. Seeing Flame ahead, quiet in the night, posture relaxed, truly shifted something for Wemmbu. It was strange that Flame was still here, letting Wemmbu follow him.

The only light source around was the muted glow of their enchanted armours, and Flame’s right arm. Still, he kept walking, the demon knew his way around and all Wemmbu could do was follow slightly behind. He knew they were in a snowy taiga biome, the air was frigid, the trees were tall enough to block any sight of the moon and their boots crunched on snowy grass. Putting his arms around himself to somehow keep himself warm, Wemmbu couldn’t help but feel the cold seeping further into the crevices and slits of his armour.

The protection was against attacks, not the frigid temperature. There even was a stinging deep inside him, in his centre. He sighed, and his breath formed a small fog in front of him. Wemmbu didn’t know why, but the image of Mane’s tree came to mind, the gardens under the sun and the warmth of the night. Back then he’d hated the heat, it didn’t make training easier. Now he couldn’t help but long for it again. He couldn’t stop himself from longing for a place long gone.

Neither of them had talked much ever since they left The Law’s territory, and now that they had to beat an army of hundreds, both of them agreed they needed more resources. Flame’s allegiance with the mafia had once proved fatal to Wemmbu, but now it was quite the opposite. They were on their way to another secret location Flame was sure was almost untouched, where they could re-gear and even lay low until they had to face Lettuce’s army.

Wemmbu’s legs had begun to stiffen, and his chest hurt, perhaps from the constant icy air flowing into his lungs. Flame, on the other hand, seemed to run hot no matter what. Wemmbu knew Flame could tolerate unimaginable heat but now that they were deep in the forest, he couldn’t recall if Flame actually tolerated this weather. With that question in mind, Wemmbu also realised him and Flame had never spent so much time together, away from a fight. Digging through his memory, Wemmbu remembered when him and Flame had quote unquote teamed up in the icy spikes of the Farlands. It had been cold there too, but they were both getting attacked, and by the time Wemmbu was back safely with Egg, Flame was gone. They never spoke about it either. And why would they? Still, Wemmbu can’t help but wonder if Flame even remembers that fight.

Wemmbu winced, his hands hidden under his armpits, but still numb. He hated the cold so much. Still, he could feel a warming sensation continuing to settle deep inside his torso. “Do you realise we’ve never done this?”

Flame didn’t answer right away, perhaps absorbed in his own thoughts. Eventually he muttered back, but didn’t stop walking, his gaze ahead in the dark. “Done what?”

“Travel together? Or the silence?”

“Silence?”

“Okay, you know what I mean dude.”

The demon slowed down, Wemmbu thought for a second he was going to turn around and snap. But he didn’t. He only slowed down, not looking back. But he huffed, his voice hushed. “I guess you’re right.”

The Flame that kept walking ahead of him was such a stark contrast with what Wemmbu had known the demon for. Flame was sharp, brash and loud around Wemmbu. Flame’s thought in his mind would have stirred anxiety in Wemmbu’s head, and he was skilled enough he could fight with everything while he taunted Wemmbu. It was a mess. Once again, Wemmbu understood that he mostly knew the Immortal Demon, not necessarily all that encompassed Flame.

He then turned to look at Wemmbu. “But this is just to take down The Law, alright? Don’t get any ideas, I’m still gonna beat you later.”

“Well, you can try.” Wemmbu had done nothing but affirm he could beat Flame, but he actually had no idea if he could. He guessed it wasn’t so bad to doubt himself now when there had been a time when fighting Flame equalled to defeat, or even guaranteed death if the demon wished so.

“Yeah, alright bro.” He was dismissive, perhaps aiming to be malicious, but it had fallen flat. As if he didn’t actually mean to be cruel. Or Wemmbu was starting to imagine things. Either way, the longer they kept walking, the more unbearable it became to even take another step forward. But he kept moving nonetheless. Despite the weird sting increasing within him due to the cold, Wemmbu kept going.

Then he heard a soft drip from behind, but close enough for him to pick up. Droplets falling one after the other, paused but constant drip. He looked around him, was the snow melting from a tree they had passed? That made no sense realistically, but he also was beginning to feel warmer, and the air only became harder to breathe in, even worse than before. The dripping continued and Wemmbu began to drag his feet, making a long line in the snow. He needed to say something to Flame, even if the demon laughed at his inability to keep himself warm. “Flame—”

A daunting realisation settled in his chest and he let himself drop to his knees, the motion making a loud thump against the snow. It was as if Wemmbu had begun moving in slow motion, like the world around him had almost slowed to a stop.

Untucking his hands from where he’d kept them warm under his arms, Wemmbu touched the thin slit separating the chest and abdomen armour pieces. Digging both fingers inside, he felt a warm, wet sensation, he tried to grip but his fingers slipped against the pulsing wound he had patched up earlier. It was worse than before. “Oh fuck.”

Unaware of anything else, he could only stare in disbelief at the blood that stained his fingers, it was beginning to seep and trail down in long droplets against the netherite.

He began to assume Flame just didn’t hear him and had continued walking, probably long gone, too far for Wemmbu to try and stop him.

He tried to shout but nothing came out. His obliviousness had somehow sheltered the shock and the pain of bleeding out in the snow but now it hit him hard in the face. Flame was gone. And now Wemmbu was going to die.

Wemmbu knew he looked pathetic, weak as he tried to press with both of his hands. He couldn’t even think of a way to remove his chestplate without making it worse. He began humming, or whimpering. His ears were ringing, and he was trying to remain calm, he really was, but his chest felt heavy, Wemmbu was tired.

Only then did he sense Flame in front of him, who immediately placed a hand on his shoulder. He heard nothing of what he was saying. At last, the world around him was turning blurry, but when he tried to close his eyes, Flame gripped both of his shoulders. He gripped too tightly, and Wemmbu whimpered again. He couldn’t do this.

“Bro, Wemmbu, open your eyes, don’t sleep now.” And Wemmbu couldn’t go against him, not when he so desperately didn’t want Flame to go away.

“I—“

“No, don’t move, here.” He turned around and placed an ender chest, rummaging through its contents. Pulling out a shulker box, he placed it and looked inside. It didn’t take him too long to retrieve a red potion bottle. Wemmbu wanted to let himself fall into the snow, he could no longer keep himself upright. He shifted him until he was laying back, propped up against a stone.

Flame then uncorked the potion and helped him drink it all. Once it lay discarded, Flame didn’t waste another second. He helped Wemmbu out of the armour, and although the younger winced through the motions, Flame didn’t hesitate. “I’m shit at patching myself dude,” Wemmbu said through barred teeth, trying hard not to close his eyes for too long. The wound had been from their earlier fight, and Wemmbu had tried his best, but ultimately, it reopened.

“Yeah, I can tell you don’t usually do it for yourself. If you did, you’d be dead.”

“Wh— ow, it hurts.”

“I know, you tied the bandage too tight, you stupid idiot.”

“You do this for yourself then?”

Flame looked taken aback. They’d been looking at each other, but then he avoided Wemmbu’s eyes and fixed them back on the wound. “Well— I mean, yeah. Who else?”

“I guess.”

Neither talked for a bit, and then Flame reached inside the shulker again, taking another healing potion out, and guiding it towards Wemmbu’s mouth. Wemmbu frowned but took the bottle in his own hands and drank it.

Seeing Wemmbu’s reaction, Flame scoffed. “You’ll thank me later. We still need to keep going or we’ll freeze to death here. The temperature’s dropping quick, but I need to close the wound now.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“Chill, it’s the healing effect, that’s the point. What I’m gonna do now would hurt a lot without it.”

“No, don’t. Please, just wait until I heal more with the potion, then I’ll—“

“You think I want to do this? If I don’t you’ll just bleed out more. Your stupid wound is tender. Plus you’ll freeze to death.”

“Only me? What, are you actually above death?”

“Well— no, I’d die too, but it would happen to you first. Look at you.” Flame just kept moving, ripping open the undershirt with his hands.

“What the hell Flame?” Wemmbu could only stare in disbelief, while Flame removed the soaked bandage and then He grabbed another potion from the shulker box, this time to splash it over the uncovered wound. As soon as it touched the skin, it began to heal, regenerating tissue around and over it. Thus far Wemmbu had done the same previously, but then he’d bandaged it and called it a day.

Flame wasn’t done. He turned to his healing shulker and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a small box. He uncapped the bottle and drenched his hands with the liquid, then opened the box that looked like a sewing kit. His heart dropped immediately.

“Flame, what —”

“Do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Forget about everything else. Now, right here, do you trust me?”

“I— yeah.”

“Okay. Good.”

“But—”

“Shut up. Let me work.” And he did. The needle was sinking into this skin, then lifting, the thread knitting his skin together. It didn’t hurt, but Wemmbu was sure he would faint now. He had no choice but to trust Flame was capable. It didn’t take long, then the demon wrapped a bandage around his torso. “Okay, can you feel your legs now?”

“Uh, no?”

“Bro, I swear to all that’s heavenly— dammit. I’m going to carry you like a sack of potatoes —” Flame paused, his voice becoming louder when Wemmbu began to complain “— or I’m leaving you here. Your choice. We’re so close to the base.”

“You could just leave me here.”

“Why would I?”

“Well, not too long ago you wanted to kill me. You and Parrot.”

“We didn’t want to kill you. Are you dumb? We wanted to tear down your invisible knight theatre. I wanted to fight you.”

“Dude, no one calls me invisible knight.”

“What? You call yourself that.”

A spasm ran through Wemmbu’s abdomen, he winced. “No! I don’t! Do you really believe everything Parrot says? Also, I could walk back myself, if you hadn’t almost poisoned me with healing.”

“Okay, we’re done here.” Once he’d finished wrapping another protective, thicker bandage around his torso, he began to remove Wemmbu’s helmet, and the remaining piece of chestplate. “I need to remove it or carrying you will be a nightmare.”

“This is already a nightmare.”

“Well, if you weren’t so dense maybe we wouldn’t be here. Why would you tie it so tight?”

“We were in a hurry. Not everyone is as good at everything as you.”

The demon finished by taking off the leggings, leaving Wemmbu in his black underclothes, torso bare to the freezing cold. “Okay bro.”

Only then Flame stood up, packed the blood-stained armour and shulker in his ender chest. He turned around to lift Wemmbu, throwing him behind his shoulder with enough carefulness to not re-open the wound, but the movement and the position made Wemmbu feel dizzy. “I hate you so much.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t thanked me. I just saved you from bleeding to death.”

“You could carry me more carefully. I’m hanging upside down.”

“Yeah sure, and carry you like the princess you are?”

“I’m— not a princess, shut up.”

“Says the guy wearing a tiara.”

Wemmbu huffed, feeling more dizzy but at the same time, he began to feel calmer, as if he was floating. “That doesn’t mean I’m a princess.”

“You had your hair longer before, right?”

“Yeah. So?” Wemmbu breathed out. He didn’t know why, but he began to laugh softly. Flame had only one arm securing him, so Wemmbu latched one arm around Flame’s hip for stability, half expecting the other to shove his hand away. But Flame didn’t. Maybe out of pity, or something else.

“Why’d you cut it?”

“To remain anonymous, I suppose.” His hair now reached just above his jaw, still longer than normal, but compared to its previous length, it was nothing; it fell across his face now. Flame kept walking, and he stopped talking. Wemmbu didn’t feel particularly talkative, so he allowed his eyes to shut, just a little. He supposed now that he’d taken so many healing potions, he could rest.

Flame shifted him a little, like he was making sure Wemmbu wouldn’t fall from his grip. “I still don’t get why you did it.”

Wemmbu half-smiled. “Yeah, I know. But it’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“What, you regret unmasking me?”

“No, I just— I guess I wasn’t expecting you to arrive like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like— so defenceless.”

“Well, Theo might not be as good as me but he’s still—”

“I didn’t mean—that. I don’t know. Forget about it.”

“Forget—? Okay, fine.”

Ignoring Flame’s previous warnings, Wemmbu fell into unconsciousness still thrown over the demon’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

“Are we really going to do this? It’s been all night.”

“Well, yeah, you thought I’d just forget? That we were, what, friends now?”

Wemmbu looked taken aback, but Flame couldn’t begin to understand why. “Aren’t we?”

Flame struck hard against Wemmbu’s helmet, and at last, it broke. The latter stumbled back, and fired a wind-charge to step away from him. It only served to fuel the fire that kept burning deep within Flame.

“We’re rivals. Did you really forget that? Did you forget the state you left me in, when you claimed your first and last victory against me?”

He laughed, but his words were only dripped with his half-broken anger that kept turning into something else, something that matched the unshakable loneliness ringing inside him. Teaming up had done nothing to change his mind, just like receiving a new mace and elytra hadn’t changed his view of the world. Wemmbu could act like using the mace was something worthy of respect, and it still meant absolutely nothing to Flame. They couldn’t be friends. That just was not possible.

Wemmbu only equipped his elytra, flying high enough to flash his mace, but he missed his shot. No. He had to pull himself together. This was not vengeance anymore, this was justice. Did Wemmbu think Flame would accept it? When Wemmbu had but a fraction of Flame’s pure, unadulterated skill? When Wemmbu had barged in to cover him in nukes?

“It’s like you’re not strong enough physically to beat me.” He couldn’t stop spewing venom when it felt like the only truth that made sense to him, so he kept his shield up, and Wemmbu kept missing his mace attack every time. Once he landed back in the ground, Wemmbu was out of breath from the strain of flying up and down with the weight of the mace over him.

Flame wasted no time. He swung without thinking about it too much, and his blade struck right through the crack of his armour, driving deeper than he meant (what did he even mean to do?), and the sword sunk into the soft flesh of Wemmbu’s gut.

Flame’s breath hitched, instinct hit him first and he almost reached to yank the sword free, but his hand stopped halfway, fingers trembling. Wemmbu tried to stagger back but the tip of the sword was still buried in him. The first thing he did was try to cover around the spot with his hands, but the blood didn’t stop flowing. His eyes were wide, they weren’t fixed on Flame, but on the blood that had begun to well between his fingers, dripping down in long strings.

Wemmbu gasped, his body giving up and sagging against Flame. “You— you healed that spot before—”

“Shut up. Just shut up. I have one healing potion.”

“Your sword is still inside, ah, me.”

“I know that.”

Flame swallowed hard, his free hand hovering, useless, then he placed it on Wemmbu’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop trembling, but he gripped hard. He hadn’t aimed to kill. He didn’t want to kill Wemmbu, that just defeated the purpose, it went against everything he believed in. He couldn’t kill Wemmbu because he, unlike the other, actually had honour. Wemmbu would live to see another day, and he’d have to live with the fact that Flame was stronger. There was no easy way out. He couldn’t die.

Wemmbu let out a weak laugh, airy and staccato. “If I had known you’d patch me up only to strike the same place again—”

“I said shut up.” Flame’s jaw clenched. He shifted his grip.

If he left the blade in, the potion would do nothing. Or maybe it made no difference and he was as good as dead now, but he could only hope. Wemmbu had no time to waste, so he wouldn’t waste it either.

He pulled. Wemmbu’s cry broke ragged and raw, and Flame nearly dropped him as hot blood spilled over. But he caught him, and moved to hold him half upright, half holding himself together.

He fished the potion from his inventory, and tore the cork off. Flame pressed the bottle to Wemmbu’s lips and with his free hand he tilted the other’s head back. “Drink.”

The liquid drained from the bottle as it slid down Wemmbu’s throat. The wound began to stitch itself together, knitting enough flesh to keep him breathing. But they both knew that Wemmbu needed more than just one healing potion.

Wemmbu kept groaning, but once his body wasn’t sagged against Flame anymore, the latter immediately stepped back, shaking his hands from the excess blood, but the stains weren’t gone. He averted his gaze away from the sword he still had in his hand, letting it drop to his side.

Flame dared to look at him when he heard him drop to the ground. There was Wemmbu, kneeling in the grass, but no longer bleeding to death. His grip steadied on the mace, and he exhaled shakily. “You had me dead.”

“I don’t want you dead.”

Wemmbu paused, still kneeling, and in the next instance he was striking Flame’s shield with his axe, his eyes still wide but now staring back at his. There was something instinctual about it, something that had surged from deep within Wemmbu. “Then what?”

Flame stepped back, bloody sword drawn up, but he stopped there. The night was beginning to shift into day, the sky was a bright, but muted purple. “We can be done here. If you admit I’m stronger than you.”

He snickered. He had no boots, no helmet, and a half broken chestplate. He looked exhausted but all the desperation he’d seen in his eyes before just vanished. It was replaced with something Flame couldn’t even pretend he understood. Wemmbu spoke, still moving further away from him but not too much. Like he didn’t believe Flame meant it. “That’s really what you wanna end the fight with?”

“I mean, I already proved I can kill you. I don’t need to kill you. Instead, you’ll live knowing that I’m better.”

Wemmbu continued to wind-charge high and away from his reach, but he seemed different. He wasn’t turning around anymore to find an easy way out of Flame’s range. He turned to look at the crater behind him just once, and then returned to see Flame. Right then and there, Flame saw something shining in his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if it was resolve, or tears that threatened to slip from Wemmbu’s eyes.

He threw one last wind charge, soaring high and then he dropped into the crater.

Flame just stood there, not daring to take another step, but the urge to know if Wemmbu had just killed himself growing with every passing second. Had he? Was that worse than killing Wemmbu?

He walked across the field, until his feet were right on the edge of the crater. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, he couldn’t stop shaking. He lowered his gaze to the crater, and saw Wemmbu standing alive on the edge of a stone. He exhaled, exhausted. His grip on Flagger softened a little.

“Can you just admit I’m stronger than you?”

Wemmbu didn’t look up, but Flame knew he’d heard because he sagged his shoulders. “Yeah, you can be the strongest.”

Flame’s chest tightened. He stared and hoped Wemmbu could meet his gaze, maybe then he could understand what he meant. “So you don’t care anymore? Or did you finally realise that it’s not close? And that you don’t stand a chance?”

And Flame couldn’t see him properly, but Wemmbu finally turned to look back at him, he was smiling. It wasn’t the usual grin he flashed whenever he pissed Flame off. It wasn’t him trying to hold back his laughter, or smiling bitterly at Flame. His eyes were no longer shining, they were softer. Wemmbu was smiling but Flame felt it hit harder than any blow Wemmbu had managed to land. He was still, and Flame knew he was tired too. But not for the same reasons. “I guess— I guess you’re the strongest.”

Seeing Wemmbu below didn’t make him feel stronger. It only aided in carving the emptiness inside him further deeper. This wasn’t right. But, if this was wrong, what was left? “Just remember that”

“I’ll remember.” Wemmbu sunk into the rock below him, sitting on the edge and resting his head on the wall. Before, he had fought to avoid Flame’s eyes, and now all he did was stare right back at him.

Flame looked away first. “So next time you fight me, just remember I’m more skilled than you.”

Wemmbu let out a breath of a laugh, soft and breathless, it slipped out of him. Through gritted teeth. The healing potion was probably running out of its effects. He gripped his mace once and then let it drop to his side. “You can be more skilled than me, that’s fine.”

Flame’s voice wasn’t sharp this time, only flat, stripped bare of any emotion. He shifted his weight back from the crater’s edge, sword still hanging loose from his hand. “Don’t even step up. I’m going home, I guess.”

“Bro guesses.” It’s not mocking, but Wemmbu still laughs.

“I mean— yeah, wasn’t very interesting.”

Flame shrugged. He was done, right? He got exactly what he wanted. This was his honour back, his strength finally recognised for what it is. His shoulders slumped, and if he had stopped long enough, he would’ve realised this wasn’t what he wanted, regardless of right or wrong.

“Okay.”

Flame didn’t answer, didn’t bite back. He turned away from the precipice and wiped the blood off his sword on the grass. He didn’t bother looking back down again.

He half hoped Wemmbu would chase after him, but when he sees the mesa biome ahead of him, Flame stops hoping.