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“Flame, please.” Lomedy pleaded, his voice cracking so sharply it sounded like it might shatter altogether. The hopelessness in his eyes was undeniable, trembling on the brink of tears he refused to let fall. He was gripping Flame’s hand far too tightly, fingers digging in as if afraid the other might disappear the very second he let go. As if loosening his grasp would doom everything he was desperately trying to hold together.
They were so close.
So painfully, unbearably close to living a normal life. Close to avoiding fights, chaos, disasters. Close to never having to look over their shoulders again. So close it almost hurt more than being far away ever did.
Lomedy didn’t want much. He never had.
He didn’t need to get stronger. Didn’t need to expand his influence. Didn’t need power or authority over anyone else. He didn’t need to attract attention, and he certainly didn’t want unwanted guests knocking on his door with demands and threats hidden behind politeness. He just wanted a quiet and peaceful life. A normal life.
He wanted to wake up with the sun and feel the familiar weight of routine settle into his bones. To tend to his crops, feel the soil crumble between his fingers, watch seeds grow because that was what they were meant to do. Harvest. Replant. Repeat. That rhythm was his comfort, his grounding. His way of existing without hurting or being hurt.
Lomedy just wanted to farm and farm and farm. That was his nature, to farm. That was the role he had chosen when he first joined this server, and he had chosen it deliberately. Farmer. Nothing more, nothing less. He wanted to stay exactly as he was, unchanged and unnoticed.
And quite frankly, he had never asked to be involved in anything or with anyone.
His life had already been going smoothly before all of this. Peaceful, even. He didn’t need companionship to feel complete. The quiet suited him. The solitude made sense. Sure, there were the usual farm wars—that sometimes spiraled beyond his control. But even then, it was, again, out of his control.
During the time of The Mafia, he had served as one of their farmers—of their suppliers. Someone who worked quietly in the background, unseen and only reasonably bothered. He never complained.
The compensation was good. Really good. Better than what most people who openly opposed the Mafia ever received—assuming they lived long enough to receive anything at all. Not that Lomedy had the power to oppose them in the first place. He was just a farmer.
He wasn’t one for fighting, but there was one thing he understood better than most: if your enemy outgears and outnumbers you, then fighting back is just another way of dying faster. Can’t beat ‘em? Then join them. Survival mattered more than pride.
He had kept his mouth shut, didn’t bother on telling anyone, didn’t bother fighting. And, to be fair, none of the guards who came to collect his produce ever even spoke to him. They only used signs for communication, and albeit Lomedy preferring to speak outright, they didn’t seem to bother. In fact, they seem to not mind him at all, given that it was faster than all of them using signs to relay out words.
And in turn, he got his payment. Goods exchanged. Good payment. No questions. Because he was just a farmer.
He had built his house and farm at a decent distance away from his village, and since then, little to no villagers ever came to bother him. Though… occasionally, a friend, an invisible player, would take their time to visit. They would visit from time to time, appearing without warning and leaving just as quietly. They didn’t exactly bond or talk or anything, they weren’t even exactly friends per say, he just preferred calling them that. He didn’t even know what the person looked like.
They had just… come and gone every so often.
Until they didn’t.
The last time Lomedy ever saw them, he was in the middle of his sleep when a sudden crash tore through his house. He jolted awake, heart hammering violently in his chest, disoriented and uneasy. He even forgot to grab whatever he could for protection before rushing into the living room.
That was when he saw it.
An invisible figure lay sprawled across the floor.
Though Lomedy couldn’t see them, the presence was unmistakable. The stench of iron filled the room, thick and suffocating. Blood, so much blood, had pooled around the spot where the figure lay. Even the netherite armor, diamond-trimmed and usually pristine, bore the unmistakable marks of fresh violence.
His breath hitched.
Then he noticed movement, slow and uneven. The faint rise and fall of a chestplate. They were still breathing.
Lomedy went rigid. He didn’t know if he should be glad or not. His nerves screamed, ears ringing so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts. His body refused to move, locked in place by terror. His friend was dying—he knew it with a certainty that hollowed him out. He couldn’t see their face. Couldn’t see their wounds. But he knew.
His friend was dying. He was frozen in place and his friend was lying on the ground, dying.
Something was wrong, very wrong. His hands were shaking, his heart was beating so loud and fast, even his pupils were dilated. His friend was dying, bleeding out, and he was doing nothing.
Then something inside him snapped.
He straightened abruptly and rushed to grab his medkit. He knew he couldn’t exactly speak to them. Couldn’t give them milk to remove the invisibility and properly see the damage.
But he knew he could take the armours off.
Though, as he reached for the clasps, an arm suddenly shot up, gripping his wrist with surprising force. Lomedy gasped, startled.
A sign appeared in front of him.
Don’t… It’s already too late, it’s hopeless.
Lomedy read the words in silence. His lips parted, then pressed together again. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to argue with someone who had already accepted their fate. Every instinct screamed at him to try anyway, to save them, just that doubt gnawed at him just as fiercely.
The words written on the sign were deleted. But before another could be written, the sharp, unmistakable blast of a horn echoed outside.
His friend froze.
Then, without hesitation, they pushed themselves up. Blood pooled heavily where they had been lying, revealed like a cruel, twisted offering. Lomedy watched in stunned silence as his friend pulled out a shield and sword, movements desperate despite their injuries. They opened a nearby chest.
A string of words were then written on the sign.
The helmet turned towards Lomedy, Lomedy stared at the eye holes.
Lomedy understood that being part of The Mafia was practically a death sentence, you pop? You die. You talk—make a sound? You die. You run out of invisibilities? You die. You were deemed useless? You die.
Being weak meant getting killed.
Thank you, please take care of my items.
And now—back to the present—seeing his friend being adamant in fighting, Lomedy couldn't help but feel that same feeling of dread looming inside his systems.
To Lomedy, Flamefrags was the epitome of wrath, of pride, of that certain quench of power that continuously gnaws inside until you submit. Flame was the embodiment of a raging fire that never stopped blooming, swallowing everything that threatened to block its path.
He knew from day one that Flame was uncontainable, that Flame still had a long way to go, that one day, Flame would leave him despite everything.
And at first, he was okay with that. Their first meeting wasn't even all that… pleasant. Flame had broken into Lomedy's home abruptly, threatening him into helping him hide.
Flame had looked ragged, terrifying, covered in blood that probably wasn't even his. He looked like an untamed beast gone berserk. Just a blade at Lomedy’s throat and an ultimatum spoken with the certainty of someone who had already killed before and would do so again without hesitation.
Lomedy didn't have much of a choice, didn't he?
He hid Flamefrags inside his house, lied when people with drawn weapons and bloodied armour knocked on his door asking if he'd seen anyone around the area. The thought of every uninvited guest leaving him after was the only sense of comfort that clung to him.
Lomedy stayed quiet, provided shelter, food, and some simple equipment. He learned that Flame carried violence like a second skin, that wrath and pride burned in him constantly, never quite cooling. And yet, as days turned into weeks, something shifted. Flame saw Lomedy in a new light.
He lowered his weapon, stopped threatening Lomedy, and somehow, even managed to get into things the other liked. What formed between them was never grand or spoken aloud. No. Flame was, as Lomedy had called him, too emotionally sensitive to the point that it made him emotionally constipated. Lomedy never tried to change Flame. He knew better than to believe fire could be taught to stop burning. He simply let him be himself.
And overtime, Flame saw Lomedy as someone interesting, someone who lived too normal, he seemed suspicious.
The farmer would often claim how much he hated being involved with anything too disruptive for his life, yet, Flame had managed to sense something else lying beneath his character. Lomedy was just a farmer, but deep inside, something in him thrived in the thrill of blood. And that became even more evident during their farm wars with Spongs and his partner.
Though, despite his curiosity to uncover more, he just ignored it.
They didn’t really say it, but they had already become closer than they had initially liked. They had become best friends, maybe something less, maybe something more. Nonetheless, their relationship had managed to improve significantly.
Then—
Flame came back at dusk, and the first thing Lomedy noticed was the smell.
There was the smell of blood, but he was already used to smelling that one. There was something else. Ash clung to Flame’s cloak and hair, settled into the lines of his hands like it belonged there. He stood in the doorway as if unsure he was allowed to cross it, eyes too bright, jaw set too tight. Lomedy froze where he was, fingers still curled around the handle of his hoe.
“…What did you do?” Lomedy asked quietly.
Flame didn’t answer right away. He shut the door behind him with care that felt wrong, then leaned his forehead against the wood, shoulders rising and falling. “I didn’t mean to come back like this,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “I… Wemmbu and I… there was… there was…”
Lomedy stared at him as if he was staring at a ghost. “Flame… what did you do?” He repeated, more unsettled this time.
“...I… We… killed a thousand people…” The words slipped from Flame’s mouth like bile, like saying it only made his entire situation so much worse.
Lomedy’s chest tightened. He led him to their underground base, dragging Flame behind him because the other couldn’t even take the initiative to budge. “You’re covered in blood and ash,” Lomedy said. “The Law is not going to let you go…”
Flame turned to face him, guilt plastered all over his features. “I know.”
The word hit harder than any number could have. Resolution was a fine enemy of the young man before him. Anger was one thing, but resolution was another. Lomedy swallowed. “Man, they’re really not going to let you off the hook,” he said immediately, panic bleeding into his voice despite his effort to keep it steady. “You can’t even be seen here. If the guards come—if anyone talks—” He stopped himself, realization dawning at him.
“Flame, I never bothered to ask you this question before,” Lomedy’s tone dipped lower. “Who—why were you getting hunted down that night?”
Flame’s eyes widened for a moment before managing to settle himself. That night. The night when Flame got heavily injured in battle, and just happened to stumble into a base without even thinking. “Bro, I…” He bit his lip, as if he didn’t even know what to say.
“Flamefrags…” Lomedy whispered softly.
“It was the Law. Happy?” Flame clenched his fists tightly. “They were chasing me because of my past crimes for being a former mafia member, for killing other people—innocent people. They chased me nonstop. Bro, are you happy now?”
“No,” came Lomedy’s sharp reply. He looked straight at Flame. “We can leave. Tonight, if we have to. We’ll go somewhere far. No names, no past. Just land and soil and seasons. We can farm. We’re already good at that.” His voice trembled despite him. “Please.”
Flame stared at him like he’d been struck. “You think I can just… stop?” he asked. “After all of that?”
“Yes,” Lomedy snapped, the word sharper than he intended. “I think you can choose to stop. I think you can choose to live.” He stepped closer, hands clenched at his sides. “They’ll arrest you. Kill you. Or worse, they’ll take this place apart looking for you. I won’t watch that happen.”
Flame shook his head slowly. “You don’t understand. If I walk away now, all of it means nothing. Every life I took—” He cut himself off, breath hitching. “There’s a path I have to follow. I’m already on it.”
“And what about me?” Lomedy shot back. The fear in his chest twisted into something raging, more painful. “What about the life you already built here? Was that just… what? A place to hide until you were ready to burn again?”
“That’s not fair,” Flame said, his voice rising. “You knew who I was.”
“I knew who you could be,” Lomedy replied, eyes burning. “And I believed in that. I believed that staying mattered. That our friendship mattered!” His hands trembled now, no longer contained. “But you’d rather chase blood and call it purpose.”
“No, that’s what you don’t understand. I’m doing this to save the world, I’m doing this to prove myself, I’m doing this to keep this farm safe, to keep you safe.”
“Well, your hubris is going to be your downfall. I’m not even kidding. You’re far too… high for your own good.”
“I… sorry, bro,” Flame muttered quietly, the words barely surviving the space between them.
Lomedy closed his eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh. When he opened them again, his anger was still there, but drowned out by regret and defeat. “Flame,” he said softly, “you are a lost cause, bro.”
Flame’s breath hitched. “Lomedy, I have—I need to get stronger. I need to stop them. I…” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Flame straightened. “Goodbye, Lomedy.” And with that, he turned and left without looking back.
Flamefrags and Wemmbu’s faces were plastered on the very front page of every newspaper. Lomedy’s face went deathly pale as his eyes skimmed over the contents of the news, the words blurring together even as their meaning sank in far too clearly.
Dear netizens of this server, this is LettuceK.
Following the massacre of one thousand individuals and the successful capture of Wemmbu, the Law is now officially declaring a server-wide bounty on every player affiliated with Wemmbu and the Flamerags.
Please ensure that all targets are brought in alive.
The message felt heavy, oppressive, like it was pressing down on his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. His hands trembled faintly as he lowered the paper.
Then came the knock. When he opened the door, a guard stood there, unmistakable, the Law’s seal glinting obnoxiously proud in front of their shield. Lomedy’s gaze lifted to the figure just as the newspaper slipped from his hand.
The guard did not flinch, didn't even lower their gaze.
“Lomedy,” they said, voice flat, devoid of sympathy. “You are hereby officially declared a wanted criminal. You are ordered to surrender yourself immediately, or you will be taken by force.” Their eyes remained fixed on him, their hands already hanging at the hilt of their sword. “Attempt to run, and you will be hunted down. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you.”
….
“What made you think he's gonna come back?” Lomedy spit out, voice seething with anger, hands tightly gripping the prison bars bar. “We're already done. He already left. Flamefrags doesn’t—”
“And that's where you're wrong… Lomedy” Lettuce cut off calmly, he took a step closer towards the bar. “Flamefrags do care. You're his friend. And I know that he can be selfish at times, but he will never abandon someone as important as you.”
Lomedy laughed. It was so stupid, it was too pathetic. “You’re stupid, like actually stupid. Even if he does care, do you think he'll risk everything just to free me?” Lomedy countered. “And even then, with me as bait, what made you think you could catch him?”
Lettuce chuckled, voice dripping with twisted, disgusting sweetness. “My friend, that's for me to know, and for you to… see and find out.”