Work Text:
It didn't take a genius to see that something was wrong with Wemmbu.
Just odd quirks here and there, how his eyes stared into your soul, somehow knowing tiny, insignificant details about you. How he seemed to speak before his mouth even moved. His laugh, too pitchy, too loud to be natural.
But everyone seemed to dismiss it. Because really, Wemmbu was one of a handful of people who just seemed…off. Besides, Wemmbu’s power and reputation were more of a thing to worry about than some weird quirks he had.
So, who cared?
Well, Lettuce certainly did.
Lettuce sighed as he flipped through Wemmbu’s files again, absent-mindedly scanning through the pages with only candlelight to help him see in the dim office.
PRISONER W-05
NAME: WEMMBU
AGE: EARLY TWENTIES
RACE: UNKNOWN (SUSPECTED DEMONIC HERITAGE)
HEIGHT: 5’10”
WEIGHT: 161 lbs
DANGEROUS. DO NOT LEAVE HIM UNGUARDED. SUSPECTED ABILITY OF MIMICRY AND SHAPESHIFTING. NEEDS FURTHER TESTING.
He stared disapprovingly at the lackluster amount of information they were able to gather about Wemmbu over his time at the prison. Moreso theories than concrete facts, built-up suspicions over time.
The only reason they knew so little about Wemmbu was that he never stayed the same.
Small, dismisible changes. But, if you really looked, you could tell something was off. Wemmbu always looked different from the last time you saw him. It’s hard to tell when he didn’t see Wemmbu for a long period of time, but now he's locked up under constant surveillance… it's quite simple to see the inconsistencies.
Sometimes his horns changed shape—going from being elegantly twisted to straight, sharp, and imposing. Deep obsidian purple to void black.
His wings—one of the reasons why Lettuce never felt comfortable with classifying Wemmbu as an avian demonic hybrid, because it never fit—being structurally akin to a bat one day, and another fashioning metallic feathers that reflected rainbow in the minimal light in the prison. Sometimes Wemmbu just—didn’t have his wings.
It was infuriating how Wemmbu seemed to hide nothing about himself but still be one of the biggest mysteries on the server.
He stared at the files again, deep in thought.
“I’m actually, like, almost six feet if you think about it—” Lettuce shrieked, toppling over in his leather chair when Wemmbu’s voice suddenly popped up in his ear. He landed on the floor with a loud thump, quickly pointing a netherite sword in Wemmbu’s direction.
The slight glow of the sword allowed him to see the deep purple of Wemmbu’s eyes, filled with pure amusement. “Aw…” Wemmbu pouted, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Don’t be like that, Letty! I just thought you looked lonely reading that.” Wemmbu leaned closer to attempt to reach the files that had fallen alongside him, pausing when Lettuce thrusted his sword further.
“How—how did you get in here?!” Lettuce strained through gritted teeth. His mind ran with questions. How did Wemmbu get past the guards? How did he know the location of Lettuce’s office? Why was he here?
Wemmbu smirked, “Was it supposed to be hard?”
Lettuce’s heart dropped. This—this has to be some kind of trick, some hallucination—this couldn’t be happening—!
He opened his mouth to yell for the guards stationed outside his office, but when he tried to talk—
Nothing came out.
“Cat got your tongue?” Wemmbu asked, grin turning sharper at Lettuce’s newfound helplessness.
“What—” Lettuce gasped for air, “How did you—”
Wemmbu shrugged, “Don’t want you yelling for your guards and ruining my fun.” Wemmbu stepped closer, letting the sword’s tip barely graze his torso.
“Aw, you’re shaking,” he commented, before wrapping a hand around the blade, effortlessly tossing it to the side with a loud clang. “A piece of metal can’t protect you anymore.”
Lettuce shrank away, ears flattened to his skull, trying to push himself away from Wemmbu, heart beating into his ears. “That’s—get away from me–!”
Wemmbu tossed his head to the side, quietly giggling. “That’s funny,” he remarked, “I thought I was the prisoner here. But now you’re scared? That’s not fit for the future King.
He frowned at the lack of answer from Lettuce, “C’mon…fight back or something…I’ll even give your sword back!” Wemmbu walked over to kick his sword back with a screech against the floor.
Lettuce trembled as he picked up the sword, just proven moments that it was a faux protection against him. He got up to his feet, wearily pointing the sword at him.
Wemmbu’s eyes glinted in joy, “Finally…maybe you’re not a coward after all,” he egged on, waiting for Lettuce to strike.
Lettuce did the opposite.
Lettuce dashed to the entrance of his office, desperate to escape the suffocating pressure, “GUARDS!”
Wait. He could yell now?
Guards burst in at his call, weapons raised. Lettuce frantically pointed behind himself, “Prisoner W-05—Wemmbu—escaped confinement and—just CAPTURE HIM—!”
“Sir?”
“What?” He hissed out, they were giving Wemmbu more time to whatever he was planning to do—
“No one’s…there,” The guard hesitantly said. Lettuce whipped his head around, ready to point out the clear presence of the other in the room.
But…there was no one.
“What?” Lettuce sputtered out, “He—he was right…there.”
The set of guards went to check the room, searching for any spots that Wemmbu could be hiding in.
“Nothing,” they confirmed.
Impossible. Lettuce knew better than to think it was just a hallucination; it must be one of Wemmbu’s tricks.
“Bring me to his cell, now,” he commanded. The two guards shared a quick look before nodding.
Lettuce suppressed his tremors as they walked down the cold stone hallways. His guards glanced at him in concern, and maybe—distrust?
Did they think he was lying? Did they think he was crazy?
Did they think he was unfit to rule?
He took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts to stop spiraling into something dangerous. He would prove to them that Wemmbu had somehow escaped from his cell to terrorize him. Then, he needs to implement tighter security and speed up the election to finally execute Wemmbu.
His heart thrummed in his ear as they entered the prisoners' ward, striding to Wemmbu’s side of the ward.
He froze as he saw the familiar vibrant purple hair from a distance.
No. There’s no possibility that Wemmbu somehow managed to slip past them to go back to his cell…so how?
“Loppezz,” Lettuce said, trying to summon as much authority as he could, “Has the prisoner attempted anything… suspicious?”
She tilted her head in confusion, “No, nothing so far, surprisingly. Why?”
Lettuce’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Are you sure?” He pushed, desperation leaking into his voice.
“I can’t even walk a step without looking suspicious!” Wemmbu cheekily called from inside the cell, “The security is strict!”
His blood ran cold. He took a couple of steps towards the cell, “You were in my office moments ago. How did you get past security?” He accused.
Wemmbu cocked his head to the side, “Was I?”
“You were! I saw you—you were threatening me—!”
“I don’t know man…” Wemmbu said with a lazy drawl. “I’ve been cozy in here this whole time.”
Loppezz glanced uncomfortably between the two of them, fidgeting with her sword, “I don’t know, Sir, he was in here the entire time. There was no chance of him getting out.”
He gritted his teeth, “Well. He was in my office. So he did somehow break out.”
There must be a way to prove it, a way that Wemmbu somehow broke into his office…
“Well, too bad you don’t have any… cameras in there…do you?” Wemmbu said, voice on the edge of taunting.
Cameras. They should have installed cameras!
Lettuce backed up, Wemmbu’s mischievous stare digging into his fur.
He’s planning something.
Don’t falter Lettuce. You’ve shown too much weakness around him.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself.
“Take me to the security room.”
__
“There’s nothing sir,” A guard told him, “You’ve searched the same footage over and over again; he’s not there.”
Lettuce clenched his jaw, eyes peering over the footage that he’s been rewatching for what felt like the past hours.
Nothing. Not even a hint of the familiar purple lavender or whatever Wemmbu was feeling that day.
Of course, Lettuce should’ve expected this. If Wemmbu could get into his office, he could find a way to mess with the cameras.
“Assign more guards to Prisoner—Wemmbu. I want all eyes on him at all times, make sure we see everything he’s doing,” Lettuce ordered.
The guard briskly nodded, pulling out her communicator to inform the other guards about the new orders. After she sent them out, she raised her head, “...are you sure it’s worth it?”
“Are you questioning me?” Lettuce coldly replied.
The guard seemed to shrink into herself, “No, sir,” she began, fidgeting with her sword, “It just feels a bit much. He hasn’t been doing…anything to warrant this behaviour.”
“He hasn’t been doing anything?” Lettuce snapped, “He broke into my office. He’s a threat.”
The guard just stiffly nodded at his answer, knowing better than to push Lettuce when he was dead-set on this decision.
There was something bitter about his guards not believing him, instead choosing to advocate for a known war criminal's innocence.
But he would show them Wemmbu’s true nature.
He would show them all.
__
Lettuce stared blankly at the papers in front of him, feeling the exhaustion of the day finally crumple onto him as he dusted the files.
He was tense, a strain in his shoulders that he could not smooth out.
He doesn’t know why he was so nervous. Wemmbu was finally dead, after Lettuce fulfilled his promise to execute him.
Wemmbu was dead.
He was dead.
(“Today,” Lettuce’s voice rang clear across the clearing to the masses below him. “That Wemmbu’s reign of terror on the server…ends.”
The people—his people, now that he was king—were quiet, all anticipating the next move.
Lettuce nodded to his executioner, refusing to look at the shackled prisoner.
For some reason, despite how much he wanted to see the final moments of the man that has been tormenting him, he just couldn’t bring himself to lay his eyes on him.
He quietly counted the moments before the sword would be brought down onto Wemmbu’s neck.
One.
The executioner changed their stance, sword hovering.
Two.
The executioner jerked the sword up and—
Three.
A sickening crunch reverberated in his ears as the sword made contact with Wemmbu’s neck, and Lettuce’s eyes snapped onto the fountain of blood gushing out of the wound.
Wemmbu was dead.)
Lettuce saw him die. He was the one who ordered guards to drag his body and decapitated head off the stage. The body and head were chucked in a fire like they were disposing of trash, which he felt was fitting. He was just paranoid. He’s always been paranoid about Wemmbu.
(But maybe if he turned to look at Wemmbu a moment before the sword came crashing down, he would’ve seen him mouth: “I’ll see you again.”)
His chest seized for a brief second before he slowed his breathing down again. Nothing to be scared of. There are guards outside his office. He’s possibly the most protected player on this server right now
That didn’t stop Wemmbu.
…and Wemmbu’s dead.
Nothing can hurt him.
“That’s what you think.” A voice barely whispered out.
Lettuce snapped around to the source of that voice and—
His entire body froze, eyes blown wide.
A snarky voice emanated from the shadows.
“Miss me?”