Chapter Text
Egg wasn’t surprised when Wemmbu abruptly told him he wanted to start a new life. To a mimic, changing identities was essentially the same as changing clothing styles. No big drama, just a shift from old to new. Or it could be better described as a reptile shedding old skin. No attachment, no absence. Just… a shell left behind while the creature lives on.
His best friend was one such mimic, never staying with an identity too long. He in particular went through identities quickly — not that the angel had met any other mimics to compare him to — as one year he was talking to a fox hybrid, the next a dragon.
At first the changes felt jarring to the angel, suddenly his best friend just… wasn’t there anymore. Replaced by a completely different man that acted differently as well. But he’d since learned that no matter what identity and reputation the shapeshifter took on… his soul, goals, and emotions remained the same. His best friend was still there.
The angel had learned to see the similarities between the vastly different people the man had become. To anyone else it would sound utterly stupid if they heard about it. But for Egg it was like second nature now — he has even found himself checking random people accidentally — if you knew what you were looking for, it was possible to discern that some things remain the same within the mindset of the mimic. Things one cannot change, and are quite tedious — and frankly foolish — to hide. Like somewhat consistent fashion choices — if you could even call it that — or his way of carrying himself, and generally just… what he personally finds pretty.
Luckily, it had always been things nobody but the seraphim would ever even think to check — even then he had sometimes been fooled by his best friend — after all, who would think to look for similarities between two random people for the chance of them being the same one? Nobody but some paranoid idiot would ever put in the effort to check for the way a man ties his shoes or how tightly he ties his tie and what not. Only a truly paranoid individual would ever even think someone they just met is the alter ego of someone they had met years ago.
Even with the low chance of discovery, the shapeshifter had always been truly thorough about making sure that his identities could not be tracked. Going as far as reinventing his fighting style a couple of times. The most recent change had been especially drastic. He had gone from a sword fighter with a few too many limbs to an elytra-mace wielder. That change was extreme in general. Mev and Wemmbu were similar — of course — but oh, so very different.
Eggchan had even been worried that it was far too much. That it would weigh on his friend a considerable amount. But it hadn’t seemed that way. Wemmbu had taken to the mace very quickly. The mimic had always been a good fighter — in Egg’s opinion. The angel himself was a horrible fighter — barely a threat even with the best gear to ever have graced the planetary system — only having become somewhat decent with a bow recently… so to him the mimic's decision to change entire fighting styles and weapons on a whim… was utterly baffling.
But the seraphim had gotten used to the perpetual chaos. To the constant changing, fighting, moving. That was how they’d lived for a while — until he got stuck in the End. It wasn’t ideal… or anything either had wanted. As while… he had wanted to settle down and just… relax. This whole situation was far from what he had imagined for them. Egg had always wanted a small, comfortable hut near a body of water to fish in — and whatever else Wemmbu would want. The giant End island and its grandiose halls weren’t his ideal living space but he had carved out a space for himself. His cozy room, the packed library. It almost made him want to add a whole library to that ideal of his.
Many people have called Eggchan adaptable. And he’d agree. With how frequently the mimic would get bored of his identities he had to. The seraphim became quick to adapt, easily covering up his best friend's shed skin every single time. He even had to cover for his best friend without any context whatsoever a couple of times. Forced to make up a story on the spot. For an angel he became quite the convincing liar.
The mimic always expected the angel to just… deal with it. That he’d have his back. To haul away a metaphorical dead body of yet another dead identity. At first it was difficult — sometimes even painful — pretending like the man he could see right in front of him was someone he’d just met. That he was not the fake dead body he was forced to bury. Yet he’d done it. No matter how difficult, how taxing… he did it. All while ignoring the scratching climbing up his throat every now and again. Something akin to grief of the identities lost, or sadness at his friend wearing a stranger's skin. But it had no space in their lives, so it had to be put aside. He wasn’t going to be defeated by that. After all, the seraphim was nothing if not resilient. He might not be a fighter, but he sure as hell is a survivor — even quite the actor these days — and no matter what, he still had his best friend beside him… even if it was difficult to remember that sometimes.
He had often been granted the mercy of most identities being friends with him publicly, yet… some weren’t. Those were Eggchan’s least favorite ones. He was pretty sure there had even been identities he’d never even met. Be it a long term one or one of the throwaway one-day transformations. Things he didn’t know about his best friend.
It was quite overwhelming sometimes. So many identities. Much more than he could ever hope to remember. Some of the shed skin became a corpse for him to mourn. Sometimes a missing person case for him to try and solve — while knowing what an impossible task it was — his favorites were when they’d just abandon a world together. When there wouldn’t be a body, or anything… but there were also cases where he’d been left behind.
So with this rapid overturn of identities and lives he was used to, it was quite jarring how long Wemmbu as an identity had lasted. For a while Eggchan thought his indecisive friend had actually settled down. That there would be no more changes, no more hiding, no more running, no more death, just… Wemmbu. He had actually been hoping for a while that that would be the case. That finally winning against Flame and becoming the strongest — finally achieving the goal of this identity — would bring the mimic so much satisfaction that he’d never want to get rid of this particular face. Not to mention that Egg also started to suspect that the appearance and personality of the purple menace was the most authentic self the shapeshifter had ever adopted.
Honestly, the angel had been under the assumption that by now Wemmbu had become far too valuable. Far too much time, effort, money, resources, training and what not had been poured into this one identity. The achievements and all were far too much to just… throw away. Eggchan had honestly thought that even if the mimic changed again, he’d keep Wemmbu as an option. That they’d just… send him travelling. Traversing and exploring the farlands off on his own since the seraphim remained trapped in the End. Maybe even send him on a mission to save Egg.
He had even started making preparations for how they’d send Wemmbu off. He had a whole shulker prepared as well. Filled with the essentials — like diamond armor for the new identity — and traces for the mimic to leave just so people wouldn’t get suspicious. Even other things that weren’t really necessary… but in his opinion, they were very useful.
Everything was planned. Everything was prepared. He was just waiting for word from his best friend and he’d spring the plan into fruition.
Only to see that dangerous void-like quality in his eyes again. That drifting, empty look… that expression… it wasn't a look he’d ever seen on another being. It was most certainly an emotion exclusive to shapeshifters. Egg could never find the best way to describe it. To the outside eye, it might’ve looked like dissatisfaction or something similar. But he was pretty sure it was something between boredom, irritation, and sadness. It certainly wasn’t pleasant.
So any plan on sending Wemmbu out to explore was soon scrapped from his mind. Thrown out a metaphorical window like a bad politician. Replaced with methods of killing the identity in the most believable way. He hadn’t blinked when Wemmbu brought up changing his identity. The angel had known it was coming. He hadn’t even allowed himself to grieve the demon he’d never see again.
That wasn’t what his best friend needed. What he needed was support.