Chapter Text
Flame had never had the best luck on the server.
For as long as he could remember, people had been hunting him down. It didn’t matter where he went or what he did—there was always someone waiting to challenge him, someone trying to prove they could take him down.
And just when he thought things were finally settling down after dealing with Law, another problem appeared.
At least this time he wasn’t alone.
Flame had finally managed to fix things with Lomedy. After everything that had happened between them, after the mistakes he’d made before, Lomedy was still here—still standing beside him. That alone was enough to make Flame more careful than he’d ever been.
He wasn’t going to lose that again.
So when a new team started forming against him, Flame didn’t think much of it at first.
They were weak.
The first time they came after him, it was almost laughable. Over thirty players showed up at his base all at once, clearly thinking that numbers alone would be enough to overwhelm him.
It wasn’t.
Compared to what he had dealt with during Law, thirty players felt like nothing. Flame cut through them quickly, barely even slowing down as one after another fell.
That should’ve been the end of it.
But it wasn’t.
Instead, their numbers started growing.
At first it was small things—people passing by his base more often than usual, unfamiliar names showing up nearby. Then the attacks started happening more frequently. Groups would appear out of nowhere, trying to ambush him before running off again.
Every day, it seemed like there were more of them.
And their goal had become obvious.
They weren’t just fighting him.
They wanted Flame dead.
Flame could deal with that part. Being hunted wasn’t new to him.
But then they started bringing Lomedy into it.
The first time someone mentioned Lomedy in a threat, Flame didn’t even hesitate. He tracked them down and killed every single one of them before they could say another word.
That line wasn’t something they were allowed to cross.
Still, the attacks didn’t stop.
The team had been formed by Arachnid, and somehow they kept getting stronger. More players joined, more resources appeared, and yet strangely enough… no one else seemed to be affected.
Only Flame.
Flame knew Arachnid’s group had visited Wemmbu before. They had passed by him without doing much at all.
So why him?
Why were they so focused on Flame?
Why threaten Lomedy?
The questions kept circling in his mind, never leaving him alone.
Even now, as he sat near the base, Lomedy was talking beside him—going on about how Spongs had tried to move into their base again without asking.
Normally, Flame would’ve commented on it. Maybe mocked Spongs a little, maybe teased Lomedy for letting it happen in the first place.
But today he barely heard a word.
His eyes stayed fixed on the distance, watching every movement outside their base, every player that passed by.
Because the truth was, the attacks were getting closer.
And Flame knew exactly what that meant.
While Lomedy continued ranting beside him, completely unaware of the thoughts running through Flame’s head, only one thing repeated over and over in Flame’s mind.
I can’t lose you.
Not again.
—
“Let him go.”
The words left Flame’s mouth low and controlled, but the tension behind them was impossible to hide.
Across the stretch of burning sand stood Arachnid.
And beside him—
Lomedy.
He looked painfully out of place there. No armour, no weapon, nothing to protect him. Just standing there with Arachnid’s sword hovering dangerously close to his side. One hit. That was all it would take.
The desert sun beat down mercilessly, heat rising in waves from the sand. But Flame barely felt it.
His entire focus was locked on Lomedy.
“Careful,” Arachnid said lightly, almost amused. “One wrong move and he’s gone.” He tilted his head, a smirk creeping onto his face. “I’d be very careful if I were you, Flame.”
Flame tightened his grip on his sword until his knuckles hurt.
Every instinct screamed at him to attack.
Just rush forward. Swing once. End it.
But he couldn’t.
Because Arachnid’s blade hadn’t moved an inch from Lomedy.
If Flame miscalculated by even a second…
No.
He forced himself to stay still.
“What do you want?” Flame asked.
Arachnid burst out laughing, the sound echoing strangely across the empty desert.
“You’re serious?” he said between chuckles. “You really don’t get it?”
Flame didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached.
“At first?” Arachnid continued casually. “I just wanted loot. Simple stuff. Armour, weapons… you know how it is.”
His smile widened.
“But now?”
His gaze flicked to Lomedy.
“It seems like I can get anything I want.”
Silence stretched between them.
The meaning behind his words settled heavily in Flame’s chest.
“Who knew,” Arachnid went on, voice mocking, “that your biggest weakness was Lomedy?”
Flame’s grip tightened even more around his sword.
He didn’t deny it.
Didn’t argue.
Because it was true.
“You want my armour?” Flame said slowly. “Take it.”
Arachnid’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“I’ll give you everything,” Flame continued. “Just let him go. He has nothing to do with this.”
For a brief moment, Arachnid looked almost impressed.
Then he grinned.
“Oh, this just keeps getting better.”
From his inventory, he pulled out a fishing rod.
Flame’s stomach dropped.
He already knew what it meant.
Arachnid twirled it casually in his hand.
“Any funny moves,” he said, “and I pull this.”
The thin line hung loosely in the air.
Flame knew exactly what it was positioned for.
Right over the edge.
“Drop your armour.”
For a second, Flame didn’t move.
His pride screamed at him not to do it. His reputation, his strength—everything he had built.
But then he looked at Lomedy again.
And the decision became easy.
Slowly, Flame reached for his helmet.
He removed it and let it fall.
It landed softly on the hot sand with a quiet shh.
Piece by piece, he continued.
Chestplate.
Leggings.
Boots.
Each one dropped onto the burning ground.
The desert heat immediately felt harsher against his now unprotected skin, but he ignored it. His eyes never left Lomedy.
Arachnid stepped forward carefully, collecting each piece as Flame dropped them.
“Wow,” Arachnid said mockingly. “You’re actually doing it.”
Flame said nothing.
His sword now felt strangely heavy in his hand without the armour to match it.
Finally, the last piece fell.
Flame stood there with nothing but his weapon.
Arachnid gathered the final piece of armour, admiring it.
“Impressive set,” he said. “You worked hard for this.”
Flame’s voice was quiet.
“You got what you wanted.”
Arachnid looked up.
For a moment, Flame thought it was over.
That Arachnid would push Lomedy forward and walk away.
Instead—
Arachnid lifted the fishing rod.
And pulled.
The line snapped tight.
Lomedy’s body jerked backward.
There wasn’t even time for a reaction.
One moment he was standing there—
And the next—
Lomedy fell out of the world
Gone.
The world seemed to freeze.
Flame didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Lomedy had vanished right in front of him.
No sound. No warning. Just… gone.
The empty space where he had been felt wrong. Like something had been ripped out of the world itself.
Flame’s mind struggled to process it.
He had watched it happen.
Watched his best friend fall.
And he hadn’t done anything.
Arachnid’s voice broke the silence.
“You’re really not that smart, huh.”
Flame didn’t look at him.
His gaze remained fixed on the empty space ahead.
Arachnid had lied.
Tricked him.
Turned him into a complete fool.
Flame had given up everything—
And it still hadn’t been enough.
But something inside Flame changed in that moment.
Because the truth was simple now.
He had nothing left to lose.
Slowly, Flame reached into his inventory.
He placed down an ender chest beside him.
Arachnid frowned slightly.
Flame opened it without a word.
Inside sat another set of armour.
Perfectly prepared.
Without hesitation, Flame began putting it on.
Piece by piece.
The helmet.
The chestplate.
The leggings.
The boots.
When he finished, he finally lifted his head.
This time, when Flame looked at Arachnid—
There was nothing holding him back anymore.
—
Flame didn’t remember the moment he swung his sword.
He didn’t remember the instant his feet pushed off the ground, or the second his body chose to move. One moment he had been standing there, staring at Arachnid with a fury so sharp it felt like it was cutting through his chest—and the next he was already lunging forward.
The sword was raised high above his head, his hands gripping the hilt so tightly his knuckles burned. His vision had narrowed to a single point: Arachnid. Nothing else mattered. Not the desert wind scraping across the sand, not the heat pressing down from the sun, not even the dull ache spreading through his arms.
Just Arachnid.
Just the man who had taken Lomedy from him.
Flame’s mind had stopped thinking entirely. There were no plans, no careful movements, none of the precise control he usually fought with. All that existed was a violent, desperate instinct screaming at him to strike.
To make him pay.
But before the blade could fall—
Nothing.
Arachnid vanished.
The space in front of Flame suddenly emptied, like the man had never been there at all. The sword cut through nothing but air, the force of the swing dragging Flame a step forward before he managed to stop himself.
His breath came out rough and uneven.
Arachnid had stasised away.
For a moment Flame just stood there, frozen in place, the sword still raised slightly in his hands. The desert stretched endlessly around him, silent and unforgiving, but he barely noticed it.
His chest rose and fell rapidly.
It felt wrong.
It felt planned.
Almost like Arachnid had expected this exact reaction.
Like he had known Flame wouldn’t hesitate. Like he had known that even after everything Flame had tried to change about himself, those old instincts—the ones built on fighting and anger and survival—would still take over.
Flame slowly lowered the sword.
His breathing didn’t calm.
If anything, the anger inside him only grew hotter.
His best friend was gone.
Gone like he had never mattered.
The thought hit him like a blow to the chest.
Just hours ago Lomedy had been there beside him, walking through the base while complaining about some trap design that wasn’t working properly. Flame could still hear the way Lomedy had laughed afterward when they both realised the mistake.
Before that there had been the farm.
Lomedy’s old farm that always looked a little messy but somehow still felt peaceful. The place where Lomedy insisted on planting things in the most inefficient ways possible while Flame pretended not to care enough to fix it.
They had spent hours there sometimes.
Talking.
Laughing.
Doing nothing important at all.
And now those moments were nothing but memories.
Flame’s jaw tightened.
He could kill Arachnid.
He knew he could.
The thought was clear and simple in his mind. Arachnid had crossed a line that couldn’t be taken back. Flame had fought stronger players before. He had survived worse situations. If it came down to a fight, Flame would make sure Arachnid didn’t walk away from it.
But another thought crept in quietly behind the anger.
Would Lomedy have wanted that?
Flame’s grip on the sword didn’t loosen, but the hesitation crept into his chest anyway.
He hated it.
The desert wind blew across the sand, carrying heat with it, but Flame barely felt it. The sun burned overhead, yet the warmth couldn’t reach him.
All he could think about was the empty space where Lomedy had been standing.
And the quiet, crushing thought that had started repeating in his mind.
You failed him.
Flame’s feet finally moved.
Slowly.
Not toward Arachnid.
Toward the exact spot Lomedy had been standing moments before.
Each step felt heavier than the last. The sand shifted under his boots as he approached, but he barely noticed the sensation.
He needed to see it.
Needed to know it was real.
Because some part of him still refused to believe it.
Flame stopped where Lomedy had been.
The place looked completely normal. Just another patch of desert sand, untouched and empty.
Like Lomedy had never been there at all.
Flame’s eyes drifted down to the corner of his screen.
The chat.
He had been staring at it without even realising.
The words felt wrong.
Almost foreign.
Like they belonged to someone else’s world instead of his.
Lomedy fell out of the world.
Flame read the message again.
And again.
Each time it looked less real, like if he stared long enough it might disappear. Like maybe it had just been some glitch, some mistake that would correct itself any second now.
Because just a few hours ago Lomedy had been right there beside him.
They had been laughing about some stupid mob that had gotten stuck in their base.
Lomedy had been alive.
Here.
Talking.
Smiling.
But now—
Nothing.
Flame’s chest tightened painfully.
He had promised.
A stupid promise made during a quiet moment, when Lomedy had been worrying about all the enemies Flame had made. Flame had brushed it off easily back then, confident like always.
“I won’t fight unnecessarily, trust me.”
He had said it like it was obvious.
Like it was guaranteed.
And now Lomedy was gone.
Because of him.
Because Flame had spent so long building a reputation around fighting. Around defeating anyone who challenged him. Around making enemies instead of allies.
Those enemies had followed him.
And Lomedy had paid the price for it.
Flame’s thoughts spiralled for a moment.
If he had been stronger.
If he had stayed at the base instead of leaving for materials.
If he had never dragged Lomedy into this mess in the first place—
No.
Flame shut the thoughts down forcefully.
Blaming himself wouldn’t change anything.
It wouldn’t bring Lomedy back.
Slowly, Flame straightened.
The hesitation that had been sitting in his chest earlier began to burn away, replaced by something colder.
Something sharper.
Arachnid had done this.
Arachnid had planned this.
And Flame was going to make sure he regretted it.
His sword lifted slightly again as his grip tightened.
The desert stretched out endlessly ahead of him.
Somewhere out there, Arachnid was still alive.
Flame took a step forward.
Then another.
His eyes finally left the chat.
There was only one thing left for him to do.
He was going to find Arachnid.
And this time—
Flame wasn’t going to hesitate.
—
Flame didn’t slow down as he made his way toward Arachnid’s base. In his mind, there was only one image playing over and over—Arachnid standing over Lomedy, sword raised, that smug look on his face.
He could already imagine it.
Arachnid sitting comfortably somewhere inside his base, surrounded by his followers, laughing about the kill. Maybe even holding the armour Flame had worked so hard to get. Maybe wearing it like some kind of trophy.
The thought made Flame’s grip tighten around his sword.
His footsteps quickened.
Soon enough, the dark outline of the base came into view, towering against the sky. As he got closer, the air around it felt heavier. Name tags began appearing through the walls—dozens at first.
Then more.
And more.
Flame slowed just slightly, counting without really meaning to.
Not thirty.
Not fifty.
There were easily close to two hundred players gathered inside.
For a normal player, that would have been enough to turn around.
Flame only felt his anger burn hotter.
They had all stood there. All watched it happen.
They were all responsible.
And he was going to make sure none of them walked away.
He stepped through the entrance.
The chatter inside the base died almost instantly.
Heads turned.
Weapons shifted.
Players who had been laughing seconds ago suddenly froze as Flame walked forward, his expression unreadable but his intent painfully clear.
At the far end of the room sat a throne made from blackstone and obsidian, raised above the rest like a stage. And sitting there, relaxed like he owned the entire world, was Arachnid.
He leaned slightly forward when he saw Flame, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“You found this place?” Arachnid said, almost amused. “I’m impressed.”
Not a single hint of guilt.
Not even a trace.
Flame didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached into his inventory and began throwing potions at his feet. One after another shattered against the ground—strength, speed, fire resistance. The particles flared around him, lighting the floor beneath him in flashes of red and gold.
Only then did he pull out his TNT minecart stacks.
And finally—
his sword.
The quiet inside the base turned tense.
Arachnid tilted his head slightly, studying him like a curious experiment.
“You’re really going to fight all of them?” he asked, gesturing lazily toward the crowd.
Flame still didn’t speak.
He only stepped forward.
That was the moment the first player rushed him.
Flame moved instantly.
A minecart slammed onto the rail he had placed in the same motion, fire flashing into existence—
The explosion tore through the front line.
Several players were thrown back before they even understood what had happened.
And just like that—
the fight began.
The room erupted into chaos.
Players rushed him from every side, swords swinging, arrows flying. Hits landed against Flame’s armour again and again, knocking him back, forcing him to move.
But Flame didn’t retreat.
He pushed forward.
Minecarts dropped in quick, practiced movements—place, fire, detonate.
Explosions ripped through the crowded room, sending players scattering as health bars disappeared one by one. The tight formation they had built quickly turned into panic.
More rushed him.
More fell.
Flame barely seemed to pause between movements. Every step forward was another explosion, another swing of his sword, another opponent gone.
What had started as a confident crowd slowly turned into something else entirely.
Fear.
Players began backing away.
Some tried to escape through the doors.
Others hid behind pillars, hoping not to be noticed.
But Flame kept moving.
One by one, the numbers dropped.
The once-crowded hall grew quieter with every blast, every clash of steel.
Until eventually—
there was no one left standing between him and the throne.
Smoke drifted through the shattered base. Broken blocks littered the floor, and the silence felt almost unreal after the chaos that had filled the room moments ago.
Flame stood in the center of it all, armour scratched, potion effects still flickering around him.
Across the room, Arachnid slowly rose from his throne.
For the first time since Flame had arrived—
the grin on his face had changed.
Not gone.
Just sharper.
“Wow,” Arachnid said, clapping slowly as he stepped down from the throne. “I knew you were good.”
His eyes flicked briefly around the empty hall.
“But I didn’t think you were that good.”
He drew his sword.
The blade glinted in the dim light as he rolled his shoulders like he had been waiting for this moment all along.
Then his gaze locked onto Flame.
“Now,” Arachnid said calmly, stepping forward into the ruined battlefield, “let’s see if you can do the same thing to me.”
—
Arachnid stepped down from the throne slowly, boots crunching over broken blocks and scattered loot. The ruined hall was quiet now—far too quiet for a place that had been filled with nearly two hundred players minutes earlier.
Only two people remained standing.
Flame didn’t move.
Potion particles flickered faintly around him, drifting upward like sparks in the dim light. His sword was still in his hand, pointed slightly toward the ground, but his stance was steady—ready.
Arachnid rolled his shoulders and twirled his sword once.
“You know,” he said casually, glancing around at the destruction, “I really should be angry about this.”
He nudged a dropped helmet aside with his foot.
“All my players gone. Base wrecked. Quite the mess.”
Flame said nothing.
Arachnid looked back at him, eyebrow lifting.
“Oh? No speech this time?” he asked with a small laugh. “That’s not like you.”
Still nothing.
Flame’s gaze never left him.
Arachnid tilted his head, studying him more carefully now.
“Wait…” he muttered. “You’re not talking.”
A slow grin spread across his face.
“Oh, I get it.”
He pointed his sword toward Flame.
“You’re in that little ‘focus mode’ of yours, right? The one you picked up from that trainer—what was his name again?”
Arachnid snapped his fingers.
“Itz. I’m honestly shocked you managed to get the top 2 player to train you.”
Flame’s grip on his sword tightened slightly.
That was the only reaction he gave.
Arachnid chuckled.
“Wow. Dead silent.” He shook his head. “That’s honestly a little creepy.”
Then he suddenly lunged forward.
The clash of steel rang through the empty hall.
Flame met the attack instantly, their swords colliding in a sharp spark before they both pushed off and circled each other.
Arachnid attacked again—fast, aggressive, testing.
Flame blocked.
Countered.
Dodged.
Not a single wasted movement.
Usually during fights, Flame talked constantly. Taunting, laughing, commenting on every move his opponent made.
But now?
Nothing.
His breathing was steady.
His eyes focused.
Every motion precise.
Arachnid slashed again, then feinted low and came up with a quick strike toward Flame’s side.
Flame stepped back just enough for the blade to miss.
Then he moved.
Fast.
His sword struck Arachnid’s armour with a heavy hit that sent him stumbling a step back.
Arachnid blinked in surprise before quickly recovering.
“Oh, you’re serious serious today,” he said with a grin. “No jokes, no comments?”
He swung again.
Flame ducked under it and drove his shoulder forward, knocking Arachnid backward across the floor.
Arachnid slid, boots scraping against stone before he regained balance.
He laughed breathlessly.
“This is great.”
They clashed again.
Sword against sword.
Step.
Block.
Strike.
The fight moved across the ruined hall, sparks flying with every impact. Arachnid kept talking the entire time.
“You know what the funniest part is?” he said while parrying another strike. “You came all this way for revenge.”
Flame’s sword knocked his aside.
“But Lomedy’s already gone.”
Flame’s attack didn’t slow.
Arachnid barely blocked the next strike in time.
“Nothing you do now brings him back,” he continued, voice teasing.
Flame’s sword slammed into his armour again.
Harder this time.
Arachnid staggered.
“…Still not talking?” he asked, breathing slightly heavier now.
Flame stepped forward.
Strike.
Strike.
Strike.
Arachnid was forced backward with every hit.
His grin slowly faded as he realized something.
Flame wasn’t just fighting.
He was dominating.
Another blow landed, knocking Arachnid’s sword out of position.
Then Flame’s blade struck again, sending Arachnid crashing into one of the broken pillars.
The impact knocked the air out of him.
Arachnid barely raised his sword in time to block the next attack.
For the first time since the fight started—
he looked worried.
“Okay—okay,” he said quickly, backing away.
Flame kept advancing.
Arachnid stumbled again, his health clearly dropping fast. His totem popped, the crystals flashing in the air.
One more clean hit.
Maybe two.
That was all it would take.
Flame raised his sword.
Arachnid suddenly threw his own weapon to the ground.
“I surrender!”
Flame’s sword stopped inches from his neck.
The silence returned.
Arachnid raised both hands slowly.
“Hey, hey—let’s think about this,” he said quickly, glancing at the blade hovering near his throat.
Flame didn’t move.
“You want revenge, right?” Arachnid continued. “You want the person who actually killed Lomedy.”
Flame’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Arachnid noticed.
And smiled.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t me.”
Flame’s sword pressed a little closer.
Arachnid swallowed.
“I mean it,” he said quickly. “I didn’t kill him.”
Flame didn’t lower the blade.
But he didn’t swing either.
Arachnid exhaled slowly.
“There’s someone else,” he said. “Someone above everyone here.”
Flame’s silence felt heavier now.
Arachnid leaned back slightly against the pillar.
“They call him the Director.”
The name hung in the air.
“He’s the one who ran this team anyway, I didn’t start it,” Arachnid continued. “The wars. The fights. The alliances. All of it. It was him.”
Flame’s grip tightened slightly.
Arachnid continued carefully.
“And Lomedy?”
He shrugged.
“The Director killed him.”
For the first time during the entire fight—
Flame spoke.
“…Where.”
His voice was quiet.
Cold.
Arachnid laughed weakly.
“That’s the problem.”
Flame’s sword lifted slightly again.
Arachnid quickly raised his hands.
“I’m serious! Nobody knows where he is!”
Flame didn’t look convinced.
Arachnid shook his head.
“I’ve never seen him. None of us have.”
Flame frowned slightly.
Arachnid pointed upward vaguely.
“He’s always invisible,” he said. “Always watching. And when he talks, he uses some kind of voice changer.”
The ruined hall was silent again.
Arachnid met Flame’s gaze.
“I’m telling the truth,” he said. “The Director has never revealed himself to anyone.”
Flame’s sword was still hovering in the air.
One swing.
That was all it would take.
Arachnid waited.
The question now wasn’t whether Flame could kill him.
It was whether he would.
And somewhere on the server—
someone called the Director was still watching.
—
Flame had spent the last few days fighting.
It was the only thing that helped. The only thing that kept his thoughts from circling back to the same place over and over again.
Lomedy.
He knew Lomedy would’ve been disappointed. Lomedy never liked it when Flame fought. He always said there were better ways, better solutions.
But Flame couldn’t stay in his base anymore.
Because if he did, the silence swallowed him whole. Every corner reminded him of Lomedy. Every unfinished trap, every half-built wall—things Lomedy had been working on.
Things he’d never finish now.
So Flame kept fighting.
Players he didn’t know. Players who had nothing to do with it. He cut through them anyway, barely even registering their names.
None of it mattered.
Because he was looking for someone.
The Director.
The one Arachnid had mentioned.
The one supposedly controlling everything.
Arachnid could’ve been lying. That was normal for him. But something about the way he’d said it hadn’t sounded like a lie.
And so when Flame saw a group of players carrying shields marked with a spider web, he didn’t hesitate.
He attacked first.
His sword slammed into the nearest player’s chestplate, sending them stumbling back before they even realized what was happening.
The others reacted instantly.
Twenty players turned toward him at once, weapons raised.
Flame didn’t slow down.
His movements were automatic, almost mechanical. Perfect critical hits landed one after another, his blade flashing through the air as players fell.
Twenty became fifteen.
Fifteen became ten.
And just as the numbers started thinning—
A voice cut through the chaos.
“Stop.”
The voice sounded… wrong.
Artificial. Distorted. Like it had been dragged through a voice changer.
Flame stopped instantly.
Almost like his body reacted before his brain did.
He turned.
An invisible figure stood nearby, barely noticeable except for the faint outline of dark armor trimmed with gold.
Something clicked in Flame’s mind.
Voice changer.
Invisibility.
Armor like that meant status.
Power.
The Director.
Flame’s grip tightened around his sword.
“You.” His voice came out low and sharp. “You’re the Director… or whatever you call yourself, right?”
His nails dug into his palms as adrenaline surged through him.
“You’re the one who killed Lomedy.”
The Director didn’t react.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the distorted voice said calmly. “You’re not going to kill me, Flame.”
A pause.
“And yes. I killed Lomedy.”
The words landed like a punch.
Flame felt something twist in his chest, but he forced himself to stay still.
“But tell me something,” the Director continued softly. “Would Lomedy really be proud of what you’re doing right now?”
That hit exactly where it was meant to.
Because the Director wasn’t wrong.
Lomedy would’ve hated this.
The fighting. The killing. The way Flame had been cutting down players without even thinking.
And worse—
Flame had broken the promise he made.
Flame stayed silent.
What could he even say?
The Director clearly knew him better than he should.
“Did that hurt?” the Director asked, almost curiously. “It should.”
The invisible figure took a slow step forward.
“I spent a long time watching you two, you know.”
Flame’s head snapped up.
“You were always the violent one. Reckless. Angry.”
Another step.
“But Lomedy…” the Director continued, voice quieter now, “Lomedy balanced you out. Kept you human.”
Flame’s jaw tightened.
“I said don’t say his name.”
The Director paused.
Then laughed softly.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Flame’s hand twitched toward his sword.
“But here’s the funny thing,” the Director continued. “The moment Lomedy disappeared… you proved exactly what I thought.”
Flame’s voice dropped.
“And what was that?”
“That without him,” the Director said calmly, “you’re just a weapon.”
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Flame could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“If you really wanted to avenge Lomedy,” the Director added, “you wouldn’t be wasting time slaughtering random players.”
“Shut up.”
Flame hated the way the Director talked about Lomedy like he knew him.
But the worst part was—
Everything he said about Lomedy was true.
—
“Why don’t you just show yourself?” Flame shot back, his voice rough along the edges, the words leaving his mouth more like something spat out than spoken. “Or are you that scared?”
The Director didn’t seem bothered.
“No,” the distorted voice replied calmly. “I’m not afraid of myself the way you are.”
The words lingered in the air between them, quiet and heavy.
“You should stop killing players,” the Director continued, almost thoughtfully. “I’m not sure Lomedy would have liked what you’ve become.”
And just like that—
he was gone.
Not a sound. Not a trace. One moment there, the next swallowed by empty air, as if he had never been standing there at all.
The battlefield fell silent.
Flame stood alone, the wind brushing against his armor, his sword still heavy in his hand.
Too many questions filled his head—
and not a single answer to quiet them.
—
Flame fought harder after that conversation.
He knew it felt wrong. Worse—he knew the Director had been right about some things. The truth of it lodged somewhere deep in his chest, sharp and difficult to swallow. So instead of thinking about it, he kept moving.
Every swing of his sword grew heavier with desperation.
He fought like someone waiting to be stopped.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Flame held onto a single, stubborn hope—that one day Lomedy would appear again. That he would storm across the battlefield and mace Flame and demand he stop. Maybe he’d shout. Maybe he’d be angry. Maybe he’d hate what Flame had become.
Flame didn’t care.
He would take the yelling. The anger. The disappointment.
Because all of that would mean Lomedy was still here.
Still breathing.
Still alive.
Still himself.
Flame knew how it sounded. If anyone else had said it, he would’ve called them insane. But the thought clung to him anyway, refusing to fade.
He just wanted his best friend back.
Even if Lomedy came back despising him, at least Flame would know he hadn’t truly lost him.
And the Director—
The Director had to die.
Maybe the man had spoken the truth. Maybe Flame had played his own part in what happened. But the Director had still set everything in motion. He had still stood there and let it happen.
For that alone, Flame couldn’t let him live.
So Flame kept swinging.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until his arms burned and his body ached, until the feeling drained from his fingers and the world blurred at the edges.
And in a strange way, that was better.
Because if he kept moving—if he kept fighting—then he didn’t have to think about the moment Lomedy died.
He could stay numb.
And numb was easier than remembering.
Life, unfortunately, was never that simple.
Flame could try to outrun his choices, bury them beneath battles and the clash of steel, but they had a habit of circling back. His actions followed him like shadows—quiet, patient things that waited until he stopped moving to catch up.
And sometimes they didn’t even wait.
The Director appeared again.
Flame noticed him the moment he stepped onto the battlefield, standing just far enough away to avoid the fighting, just close enough to watch it unfold. The gold trims along his outfit caught the light in thin, quiet glints.
For a split second, it twisted something ugly inside Flame.
Gold.
Lomedy had always liked gold details on things—said it made armor look less cold, less like something built only for war. The memory flickered across Flame’s mind before he could stop it, and he immediately shoved it away.
The Director’s voice came through that same artificial distortion again, the voice changer humming softly as it twisted his words into something unfamiliar.
Hidden. Masked.
Like he was afraid of being known.
Flame hated that.
The Director had a habit of appearing like this—always when Flame was in the middle of a fight. Always when the ground was already stained and the air was thick with the sound of steel.
It reminded him too much of Lomedy.
Lomedy, who used to stand on the sidelines of Flame’s fights with his arms crossed and that irritated look on his face. Lomedy, who hated how easily Flame jumped into battles. Lomedy, who once told him—half serious, half joking—that if Flame kept fighting people for no reason, he’d drop him as a friend.
Flame remembered the way Lomedy had pointed a finger at him back then.
“Next time you pick a stupid fight,” he’d said, “I’m actually leaving you there.”
Flame had laughed.
He didn’t laugh now.
“You should stop.”
The Director’s voice cut through the battlefield, calm and distant.
Flame ignored him.
Steel clashed again. Someone lunged forward. Flame stepped in to meet them without hesitation.
His sword moved before thought could catch up.
One strike.
Another.
Another.
The fight blurred into motion and instinct, every movement sharper than the last. He didn’t slow down, didn’t hesitate, didn’t acknowledge the voice standing just beyond the chaos.
If the Director kept talking, Flame didn’t hear it.
Or maybe he simply refused to.
Bodies fell one by one until the battlefield began to quiet. The shouting faded. The clatter of weapons hitting the ground came less and less often.
Flame didn’t stop until there was no one left standing.
Only then did the silence settle.
His breathing came out rough, uneven, each inhale scraping against his chest as if the air itself had turned heavy. His hands were still wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, his grip so firm that his fingers had started to ache.
For a moment, he just stood there.
The world felt strangely distant, like everything was happening a few seconds too late.
Then he turned his head.
Slowly.
His eyes landed on the Director.
The man hadn’t moved. He stood exactly where he had been the whole time, watching everything unfold like it was nothing more than a performance meant for him alone.
Flame stared at him through ragged breaths.
The Director had watched Lomedy die.
He had set things into motion.
He had stood by and let it happen.
Flame tightened his grip on the sword.
This time, when he looked at the Director, there was no hesitation left in his mind.
No doubts.
No distractions.
He was going to kill him.
And this time, nothing was going to stop him.
—
Flame moved first.
The moment his breathing steadied enough for him to stand, he stepped forward. His boots crunched softly against the uneven ground, passing broken weapons and scattered pieces of armor left behind from the fight.
The Director didn’t move.
Not even when Flame raised his sword again.
For a long moment, the two of them simply stood there in the quiet aftermath. Smoke drifted lazily through the air, curling between them. Somewhere in the distance, a piece of metal finally tipped over and clattered against the ground, the sound echoing faintly across the battlefield.
Flame stopped a few steps away.
“You wouldn’t kill me if you knew who I was.”
Flame didn’t answer at first. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, the silence stretching between them.
“I would,” he finally said.
There was the slightest hesitation in his voice—barely noticeable—but he held his ground.
The Director gave a quiet, almost amused hum.
“You know, your friend… Lomedy.”
He tilted his head slightly. “I heard he hated it when you fought. Didn’t you make a promise to him? To stop?”
Flame’s jaw clenched.
“What do you think he’d feel,” the Director continued softly, “if he saw you now?”
Flame said nothing.
“Follow me.”
Flame didn’t know why he listened. He could probably end this right now—one clean swing and the Director would be gone.
But instead, he followed.
They walked in silence for several steps before something about the surroundings made Flame slow.
The sand.
The empty horizon.
His stomach dropped.
The desert.
The same desert where Lomedy had died.
The Director stopped walking—almost deliberately—right at the place where Lomedy had disappeared.
“You recognize this place, don’t you?” he said.
His voice was quieter now.
“This is where your friend died.”
“…Don’t say that.”
But the Director continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“You gave your armor to Arachnid,” he said calmly. “Only to learn it was all a lie.”
His gaze lingered on the ground beneath their feet.
“That you were never meant to survive.”
A pause.
“That you were nothing more than a sacrificial lamb.”
Flame didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
The words caught somewhere in his throat, heavy and immovable, like if he tried to speak they would break apart before they even left his mouth.
The Director watched him quietly.
Then he said, almost casually, “Lomedy could still be alive, you know.”
Flame’s head snapped up.
“What?”
For the first time since the fight began, the steady control Flame held over himself cracked.
His breath hitched.
“What did you say?”
The Director didn’t repeat himself immediately. He simply looked at him, as if observing the way hope—dangerous, fragile hope—forced its way back into Flame’s eyes.
“You never actually saw him leave the game,” the Director continued.
And that was enough.
“Where is he?” Flame blurted.
The words came out too fast, too rough, like they had been trapped inside him for too long.
“Where is he?” he repeated, stepping forward. “If he’s still here—if he’s still alive—then where is he? What did you do to him?”
His voice was losing its edge of anger now, slipping into something far more desperate.
“You’re lying,” Flame said quickly, like he was trying to convince himself. “You have to be lying, because if he’s alive then—then why hasn’t he—”
His voice faltered.
But he forced himself to keep going.
“Why hasn’t he come back?”
The Director finally interrupted him.
“If he was still alive,” he said calmly, “he wouldn’t be happy to see you.”
Flame didn’t even pause.
“I don’t care.”
The response came instantly, without hesitation.
“I don’t care if he hates me,” Flame said, his voice rough now, cracking under the weight of it. “I don’t care if he never forgives me. I don’t care if he never even wants to speak to me again.”
He took another step closer.
“As long as he’s still here.”
His hands were shaking slightly now, though whether from anger or desperation even he didn’t know.
“You’re telling me he’s alive,” Flame said, his voice dropping quieter, almost pleading now. “So where is he?”
Silence stretched between them.
Flame swallowed hard, the words leaving him in a rush.
“What did you do to Lomedy?”
Another step.
“Please,” he said.
And that word alone sounded more broken than anything else he had said.
“Just tell me.”
The desert stretched endlessly around them, waves of heat rising from the sand and clinging to their skin like a second layer. The air felt thick, suffocating.
Flame barely noticed.
All he could hear was the Director’s voice.
That rusty voice changer scraped through every word, mechanical and distorted, and with every sentence it grated harder against Flame’s nerves. It sounded wrong. Artificial. Like the person behind it was hiding far more than just their identity.
Flame forced himself to breathe.
If Lomedy was truly alive—if there was even the smallest chance—
Then maybe all of this meant something.
Maybe everything he had done on the server, every fight, every mistake, every promise he had broken… maybe it hadn’t been for nothing.
Maybe he could still fix it.
Before Flame could ask again—before the desperate words could spill out of him—the Director spoke.
“Aren’t you curious to see who I am?”
Flame didn’t even hesitate.
“I can figure that out later,” he said quickly. “Just—bring Lomedy back.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“How can he be dead if I saw the death message?” Flame continued, his words coming faster now. “I watched it happen. Everyone did. The system said he died. So how is he still alive? What did you do?”
The desert wind shifted slightly, dragging sand across the ground between them.
For a moment, the Director didn’t respond.
Then he sighed.
“Flame.”
The way he said the name made something in Flame’s chest tighten.
Slowly—deliberately—the Director reached into his inventory.
Flame’s eyes followed the movement instantly.
An item appeared in the Director’s hand.
A milk bucket.
Flame froze.
For a second he didn’t understand. His mind tried to catch up, racing through the possibilities. Milk removed potion effects—disguises, invisibility, status effects.
The Director held the bucket loosely, like the moment meant nothing.
But the silence between them had suddenly become unbearable.
Flame’s heart started beating faster.
Because whatever happened next—
Whoever was standing behind that voice—
Everything was about to change.
“I am Lomedy.”
The words landed softly.
Too softly.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then the potion effect faded.
The faint shimmer surrounding the Director flickered like glass cracking under pressure before dissolving into nothing. The disguise peeled away piece by piece, the strange distortion around his figure vanishing as if it had never been there at all.
The Director lifted a hand and removed the voice changer.
The mechanical rasp that had followed every word disappeared with it.
And suddenly—
It was just him.
Lomedy.
Standing right there.
Alive.
The same face Flame had watched disappear in the desert. The same person he had spent weeks chasing revenge for. The same person whose death had hollowed something out inside him.
Flame’s mind refused to process it.
For a second he thought he was imagining it.
The desert heat blurred the horizon, the air wavered with mirages, and maybe this was just another one of them. Maybe this was just some cruel trick the server was playing on him.
But Lomedy didn’t disappear.
He stood there quietly, the wind tugging faintly at his armor.
Flame stared.
“You—”
The word died before it could fully leave his mouth.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.
Relief hit him first, sudden and overwhelming, like his lungs had finally remembered how to breathe.
Lomedy was alive.
Alive.
The weight that had been crushing his chest for weeks loosened all at once.
But almost immediately after—
Something darker followed.
Because Lomedy hadn’t just been alive.
He had been the Director.
The one pulling the strings.
The one watching everything.
The one who let it happen.
Flame’s grip on his sword tightened slightly.
“You’re…” His voice came out hoarse. “You’re the Director.”
Lomedy didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
The answer was simple. Calm.
Like it was nothing.
Flame laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it.
“You were alive this whole time,” he said slowly. “And you just… watched?”
Lomedy’s gaze didn’t waver.
“I had to.”
Flame looked at him like he had just said something ridiculous.
“You had to?” Flame repeated. “You faked your death. You let me think you were gone. You let everyone think that.”
“And look at what you did after.”
Lomedy’s voice wasn’t loud.
But it cut through the air sharper than shouting.
Flame fell silent.
“You started hunting people,” Lomedy continued. “Player after player. Anyone who got in your way.”
His expression tightened slightly.
“You promised me you would stop fighting.”
Flame flinched at that.
“You promised.”
The desert wind picked up again, blowing sand between them.
“And the moment I was gone,” Lomedy said quietly, “you broke that promise.”
Flame’s jaw clenched.
“They killed you.”
“They didn’t.”
“You were supposed to be dead!” Flame snapped. “I watched it happen! I watched the message appear! What did you expect me to do?!”
Lomedy didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes drifted toward the scattered sand beneath their feet.
“I expected you to stop,” he said finally.
Flame stared at him in disbelief.
Instead, Lomedy continued.
“You didn’t just fight back, Flame. You started hurting people who had nothing to do with it.”
The accusation hung heavily in the air.
“You scared them,” Lomedy said. “Players avoid entire regions of the server because of you now.”
Flame looked away.
“And that’s why I became the Director.”
That made Flame look back up immediately.
“What?”
“I needed control,” Lomedy explained. “Someone had to stop things before the server turned into chaos.”
A small pause.
“And someone had to stop you.”
Flame’s expression darkened slightly.
“So that’s it?” he muttered. “You fake your death, run the whole server from the shadows, and now you’re going to pretend you’re the hero?”
“I’m trying to protect people.”
“From me.”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Flame let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Lomedy said something that made Flame freeze.
“I’m going to have you imprisoned.”
Flame blinked.
“What?”
“You’re too dangerous to leave alone on the server anymore,” Lomedy said steadily. “Too many people have already gotten hurt.”
His voice softened slightly, but his resolve didn’t change.
“If you stay locked away, no one else will have to get hurt because of you.”
Flame stared at him.
The words felt unreal.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Flame laughed again, this time harsher.
“You disappear. Fake your death. Watch everything I do from behind a screen—”
His voice dropped lower.
“And now you think you get to decide what happens to me?”
Lomedy didn’t respond.
Flame looked at him for a long moment.
And despite everything—
Despite the anger.
Despite the betrayal.
Despite the quiet hatred forming in his chest—
A small part of him was still relieved.
Because Lomedy was alive.
And Flame hated how much that still mattered to him.