Chapter Text
Wemmbu's breath quivered; he didn't know what now. Somewhere behind his eyes, he can feel the pain starts to stab—He knew that he would collapse to the floor if he doesn't sit down right this second. He knows the Two versus One Thousand fight killed him—his energy.
He can hear footsteps behind him, Flamefrag's aura—as much as he liked to ignore it—was very much there and present.
He could hear Flamefrag's clothes rub against one another, but it wasn't loud since he's damped with sweat. He could hear the labored breathing of his, the one he has when its too hot and he's too exhausted
They are rivals, enemies.
He shouldn't turn his back to Flamefrags, shouldn't relax in his presence.
But nothing attacked him. He could feel the want Flamefrags radiated off his body, the pure desperation of wanting to fight and hurt Wemmbu, but he didn't. Instead, Flamefrags sat down, his legs dangling off the edge of the destroyed building.
"Wemmbu—" A deep breath was taken as Flame settled down, Wemmbu looked down, his eyes examining Flame's bloodied clothes and face.
"Wemm- Wemmbu. Don't look, 'aight?" Flame requested, Wemmbu sat down, confused.
Flame's fingers were on the knot of his blindfold, his head is down. Wemmbu swallowed and nodded, then he looks back to the scene they created.
Sitting next to Flamefrags wasn't something most people on the server will be able to achieve. Wemmbu didn't know how he managed to get to this point, but it was peaceful.
His eyes followed bodies of Law, banners and shields were all coated with a deep red, so was the diamond armor most of them wore. A lot of the bodies were missing helmets, the ones that had helmets still on showed the dents Wemmbu made with his mace.
What once was a beautiful build became a Law graveyard, a graveyard LettuceK won't care about—at least that's Wemmbu's belief.
Flamefrags' blindfold falls softly to his lap, Flamefrag's hair covers his face—not that it needs to, Wemmbu won't look.
He and Flame may not be close—the chaos maker and the strongest flame—but Wemmbu has pride. Not a lot, but enough to respect his rival when he's injured, when he's tired and hurt.
When he's here, not hurting Wemmbu, the same way Wemmbu isn't hurting him.
"You might get better, but you're never going to be perfect." Eggchan's voice rings in Wemmbu's head. He was right—his seraphim friend, Wemmbu will never be perfect, but neither will Flamefrags.
Both Flame and Wemmbu were tired, "You might get better," and Wemmbu had worked so hard to get to Flame's level, to surpass Flame, "but you're never going to be—" But starting a fight when they are both tired, when the air is peaceful and their gear is broken, "—perfect." it wasn't worth it.
Silence stretched between the two—between the demon who's wounds started bleeding again, between the blazeborn who's head was pulsing and blood was drying.
Between a tired Wemmbu and an injured Flamefrags. And it was obvious to the two—they aren't going to continue their fight anytime soon.
"Your uhm…" Flamefrags started, but his voice was unsure—as if speaking to Wemmbu when he's not fighting feels weird, unnatural. Wemmbu lifted his head just a bit, just to indicate he's still awake, that he's listening.
"Eyes… Your eyes are—" Flame took a deep breath, trying to speak normally even though his head injury is killing him. "—are darker" he finished, groaning softly at the effort it took to get that out.
Wemmbu huffed, yeah—they are darker, the invisibility potions he continuously took for a month had caught up at one point. But Flame grumbled at the huff, so maybe Wemmbu should speak. He wants to speak, of course. Flame had broke the silence, so it was only right for Wemmbu to respect that and answer.
"Yeah they ar—" He was stopped as he turned his head to Flame, seeing his body slouched to the side, head down. The groan wasn't for the effort—was it. Flame passed out, is he dead?
Wemmbu can feel himself panic before he knows what to do, should he leave Flamefrags here? Should he bring Flame to his base?
Wemmbu didn't have a base of his own, a protected place where Flame could be. But the Law base is right next to Flame's house, not just that its miles away, but it is not safe.
Wemmbu's pulse hammered in his ears. Flame wasn't moving—his chest rose, but barely, shallow and uneven. Not dead, then.
But unconscious on the edge of a half-collapsed build, bleeding out, surrounded by the corpses of Law… that wasn't much better.
"Flame," Wemmbu whispered, as if saying the name too loudly would shatter whatever fragile thread kept Flame breathing, his voice didn't feel his in that moment, calling Flame in such a small, caring voice—a voice he normally reserved for Eggchan's ears only.
He reached out, hesitated, then let his hand hover uselessly in the air. Touching him felt wrong. Leaving him felt wronger.
He swallowed hard. His throat burned.
Looking at Flame from this angle—he can see Flame's face, without a blindfold—it feels violating, like he shouldn't have the right to see, the right to breathe when Flame was so defenseless next to him.
Flamefrags never passed out. Not in front of him, not in front of anyone.
Wemmbu's mind raced. He could drag Flame to the Law base, but that place was crawling with traps and enemies. And Flame's house—Flame's house was too far. Too open. Too exposed. If anyone saw Wemmbu carrying flame like this…
He clenched his jaw. No. He couldn't think about that.
A soft crackle of embers escaped Flame's chest with each breath, dim an weak. His flames were usually loud, alive, burning with that infuriating confidence. Now they flickered like a dying campfire.
Wemmbu forced himself to move closer. He pressed two fingers to Flame's neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, but faint.
"Idiot," Wemmbu muttered under his breath. "You should've told me you were this bad."
As if Flame would ever admit weakness, especially to Wemmbu of all people.
Wemmbu's hands shook, he curled them into fists.
He needed to make a choice.
He needed to move.
He slid an arm under Flame's shoulders, lifting him carefully. Flame's head lolled against Wemmbu's collarbone, heat seeping through his torn short. Too much heat. Feverish. Dangerous.
Wemmbu hissed as Flame's skin scorched his own, but he didn't let go.
Flame is heavy. Both of them are strong, but Flame is bulky while Wemmbu is leaner. It made is it harder to carry Flame comfortably.
Wemmbu looked out over the ruined battlefield.
Smoke curled from shattered stone. The banners of Law lay trampled and soaked in blood. No one else was coming, no one else was alive.
He exhaled shakily.
Fine—Fine! If Flame couldn't go to his own home, and he couldn't go to Law territory, then there was only one place left—one place no one would think to look.
Wemmbu's first civilization.
It wasn't much. Half forgotten, dusty, blown up. But it was never touched after the fights with PrinceZam, it was never used again, never housed another soul.
It was safe enough, and the two needed safe.
Wemmbu adjusted his grip, pulling flame into his arms as much as he could. Flame's weight sagged against him, heavy and warm and wrong in every way.
"Don't die," Wemmbu muttered, stepping carefully over rubble and a body. "Not like this, not on me."
The wind carried the smell of ash and iron. The sky above them was a dull, bruised gray.
Wemmbu took one last look at the battlefield—their battlefield—before turning away.
He didn't know why he was doing this.
Rejoice.
He didn't know what it meant.
Jaden killed him.
He only knew one thing.
"We should forgive and forget."
Maybe it wasn't worth fighting for.
"I like sunflowers."
But Flamefrags… Flamefrags was worth saving.