Chapter Text
Can't you see I want to be just like you?
Two weeks ago, the empire of Princezam Goldfin, the villain Monarch, was destroyed by the villain named by the public as Crucible. For he came into existence under the pressure and heat of the destruction of an Empire bombed until it became nothing but rubble and dust, a new villain like no other. Crucible is just a blurred figure in the news, but he still caused an impact like no one ever had before. His beginning came like an explosion; sudden, without explanations, just appearing out of nowhere with a bang. There were still forums on the internet theorizing about his ability, what hybrid he was, who that blur captured by the news cameras could be. Not even the Heroes’ Tower had explanations, but the internet did not rest in its search for answers.
Wemmbu liked the fame.
Despite some theories about him leaving him astonished at their absurdity.
Eggchan was preparing toast and bacon with eggs for breakfast, along with an industrial, artificially flavored grape juice. Wemmbu didn’t care about the taste. It’s what people from the upper districts drink, after all. After defeating Monarch with his orbital strike cannon, Wemmbu took for himself ores, armor, and spare weapons enough for him and his friend to live for months without worrying about lacking anything again. They even bought an apartment in Emerald Pieces, the territory of the fearsome Scorched King. Who may have explicitly told Wemmbu not to set foot there again or he would kill him—but Pierrot is very dramatic, Wemmbu did nothing to deserve such treatment.
But back to the present.
Wemmbu is savoring his food while Egg turns on their television in the living room, which is connected to their small kitchen. The apartment is nothing impressive, but it’s theirs, it has hot water, electricity, and no leaks—it’s pleasant. The bathroom may be narrow for a being with wings like him; his wingspan of 11’2 feet wide is impressive. Immense, even, by avian standards. But his ender dragon genes likely influenced the absurd size—not that they were a burden. His hollow bones allow him to fly without issue, and he may be tall, but his slender build certainly helps as well. The feathers on the upper side and the membrane on the underside have never been so bright and smooth to the touch; his feathers gleam and settle against his back with familiarity.
“Look at that, a comment section about you.”
Egg says casually, his voice relaxed as on the television screen the information banner at the bottom read, “Crucible. The One Who Destroyed the Zam Empire.”
“They’re still talking about that? I should go there and give them something new to speculate about.”
Wemmbu mocked, eating his eggs and bacon with a murmur of pleasure at the flavor.
“This is so good! Egg, you’re amazing.”
The white-feathered avian only gives him a tired look and turns his attention back to the pair on the screen. The program is popular, one that talks about villains and sometimes vigilantes with fame that seem to destabilize the internet overnight.
Wemmbu smirked. Capital City went crazy over his debut, and he barely even appeared properly in the images they managed to get of him.
“Mr. Wyll, as one of the most famous behavioral specialists on villains, would you have anything to comment about Crucible?” The interviewer was a human of ordinary appearance, but the interviewee seemed to be some kind of hybrid, with green skin, wearing a three-piece suit in a darker leaf-green tone, with a white dress shirt under his vest. “Well, he had a debut, as they’re calling it, explosive. His motivations for attacking Monarch may have been many, but according to investigations conducted by the Tower, which I am associated with, it was discovered that he may have been a lower-ranking subordinate who revolted, since there has been a lot of upheaval among the villain community in the last two months.” The so-called specialist had a smooth voice, but not an unenergetic one—just keeping his tone contained so as not to seem unprofessional on camera.
Egg murmured something unintelligible under his breath as the greenish hybrid’s voice continued to flow. Wemmbu watched the screen with narrowed eyes, the feathered tip of his tail swaying irritably from side to side. Lower-ranking subordinate? That’s worse than saying he’s an aspiring villain and not one in his own right.
“Many of the Tower’s cameras managed to capture images of who we presume to be Crucible starting two months ago, during an attack on one of the Tower’s shipments that was not disclosed to the public at the time.” Wyll took a pair of glasses from one of the pockets of his dark green vest, placing them on his nose. “He was with the number 8 villain, Conexion…” he continued. The interviewer did not dare interrupt a Tower associate, listening attentively. The more that green hybrid spoke, the more Wemmbu could feel his restraints faltering, his claws scratching the paint of the counter. “But no more than a month later, he appeared facing Tenebrae and Vermillion in a building, certainly under Monarch’s orders, considering it was observed that he seemed to be using the same golden trim patterns as the guards of the former number 5 villain.”
Egg glanced sideways at Wemmbu, who looked ready to leap over the kitchen counter and attack the brand-new television they had bought.
“Do you think Crucible emerged much earlier but kept himself hidden from the media?” the human asked, clearly curious. Wemmbu felt his fork threaten to give way under the pressure of his grip tightening around it. Hidden? He wasn’t hiding! “Certainly, but his exact origin and motivations are still unknown. It is only clear that he is associated with notable villains, facing and even allying himself only with those at the top of national threat rankings.”
Wemmbu stood up, his chair scraping backward, and in a flash he threw the fork through the air with such precision that it embedded itself in the middle of the television screen, the three metal prongs piercing the glass, and the screen went dark with a cracking sound after lighting up for a second.
“Wemmbu.”
Egg sighed at the destruction; a television wasn’t cheap, especially a flat-screen like the one they had bought. Wemmbu just cursed.
“How can they know so much and nothing at the same time?”
He shook his wings, trying to relieve the underlying tension. He was starting to get annoyed with all the Tower’s investigations into him—he should do something. But what?
“We’re not buying a new television.”
Egg crossed his arms; he didn’t want to waste all the money Wemmbu had gathered, not if he kept destroying things.
“Maybe it can be fixed.”
“Not everything you break can be fixed.”
“Bars? You’re throwing wisdom at me now”
“Delay notice, the Goldfin case report has not yet been submitted.”
Planet grumbles under the artificial voice of the Tower coming from his communicator, staring at the sheet of paper in front of him while waiting for the time of his daytime patrol. He knows he neglected his duty as a hero, which obviously doesn’t include only field action, but also a lot of paperwork—especially when it involves rescue situations after fights between two villains. Though the destruction of the Zam Empire wasn’t a fight, but a massacre. Many civilians died. Of the two hundred and fifty who lived in the small town built by Monarch during his tyrannical control over District 3, only 47 returned to their homes with minor aftereffects. Another 100 are still in the hospital recovering, and the rest were found already dead at the site under the rubble. Crucible, as the public is calling him, became a district-level threat in a matter of hours, ranking among the fifteen most dangerous villains. If he does something of a similar scale within a few weeks, he will undoubtedly be elevated to the top 10.
And the Tower does not want that.
Containing threats before they become too dangerous or notable is always the priority.
And Planet, better known as Orbital by the public, ranked 13th on the podium of the 20 most famous heroes of Capital City, is a support hero who only enters the field in situations involving civilians, such as rescues or hostage recovery with negotiation. His ability to change the gravity of a single, specific target—for example, he could make a person float or be unable to move and be pulled downward—is not exactly useful in a battle where constant movement is necessary, both to avoid injury and not to hinder his comrades who are actually PvPers. He may have training, but his area of operation does not require much confrontation, and therefore he is not more experienced than more recent heroes like Alatus, who rose to hero number three so quickly that he must have broken some record. Even Justice, hero number two, took six months to reach his position after a year of internship, while Alatus took one month less, if Planet remembers correctly.
“Orbital, want to patrol Emerald Pieces together today?”
Glacies, the 12th-ranked hero, a fox with enderian descent, greets him with a light tap on the shoulder, her voice soft despite her voice modulator trying to make her tone cold—as cold as the ice she can create out of nothing.
“Sure, I’ve already finished last week’s report.”
The white unicorn hybrid simply signs in the verification section confirming he wrote the report and stands up from the bench in the heroes’ communal area, signaling for an assistant to take the document for him.
Only those in the top 3 are entitled to residence in the Tower in Capital City, but some heroes can rest for a few days—no more than three consecutively—in the provided dormitories and in the “leisure” area available between patrols and missions.
“Oh, I heard Double commenting about the exaggerated sensationalism of reporters who won’t stop asking about Crucible.”
Glacies is close to all the other heroes—more with some than others—but she is certainly very pleasant to have around. She is a heroine who operates in Capital City, but also in Snow City, being the standout hero there. She usually stays a few months in one and then the other. She is skilled in combat, but she is not known for it.
“Well, it’s still recent. In another week the media will forget everything, as it always does.”
Planet walks beside the purple and pinkish-violet fox, their footsteps echoing softly through the white and pristine corridors of the Tower. Their casual conversation is swallowed by the sound of assistants and heroes in training going back and forth, the artificial white lights above them quickly replaced by the gentle sun of an autumn morning.
“I heard there have been some spikes in crime in Emerald Pieces. Hopefully we catch one of the offenders.”
Glacies commented distractedly, her thick, fluffy tail swaying excitedly at the prospect of catching some criminal. Orbital smiles faintly behind his mask that covers his entire face with spirals of blue and purple.
Comrades like Glacies make being a hero easier.
The Tower is not something singular only in Capital City; there are many others, all connected, in nations across the Great Sea, in archipelagos so far away that it almost seems insane to think that an entire society of heroes revolves around just a few strategically built structures in the largest nations. In Capital, the top 3 heroes are The Guardian, Justice, and Alatus. The latter debuted nearly eight months ago. Alatus and Justice are a recent duo, having been paired after Justice’s partner died in a confrontation against the now former villain Monarch and two of his best guards, Infernos and Liones, both of whom split up and haven’t been seen for days; certainly the destruction of the Golden Empire led them to go their separate ways.
The only ones who know what happened were there to witness everything.
Wemmbu was searching for Liones so that he could train him to properly use his mace. But the villain disappeared, having left after his battle against his own brother, Infernos, and not stayed to see the destruction that Crucible’s orbital strike cannon caused. Egg told him to wait for the dust to settle; reluctantly, he said he would do that. Maybe trying to make a name for himself would make the famous Spear Master agree to train him more easily, so he focused on making his villain persona more well-known.
But the question was how he would do that.
He could bomb a few places—that would be easy, but not preferable. Egg warned him that it would attract unwanted attention from heroes. So Wemmbu thought, why not become an assassin? But for that, he would need targets to hunt. There are many who want to see one person or another dead out there; limiting himself to Capital City would be unnecessary. He could leave Egg in the safety of the city and set off to venture across the continent—though that wouldn’t be easy. His white-feathered friend gave him many pieces of advice, some he asked for and others that were hard to hear.
“You’ll be alone. Are you sure this is what you want?”
Egg asked, his soft voice showing no emotion, but Wemmbu could feel hurt pricking at his mind.
“I can handle myself, Egg. I’ve done that for myself and for you for years.”
The half-dragon, half-avian huffed, finding the other’s concern unnecessary. Egg was smoothing his feathers with oils he had bought specifically for that purpose, to keep his wings from becoming messy during his journey out of the city.
“Sure, you can, but that doesn’t mean you should.”
The avian with two pairs of earwings sighed softly, finishing with the feathers in the middle of Wemmbu’s back that had recently grown and were still sensitive.
“Don’t be difficult. I told you it’s too dangerous for you to come along.”
Wemmbu sighed, turning to look at his friend. Egg’s single visible blue eye met his, concern clear in his irises, like the morning sky visible through the window.
“I know that, but I still think you shouldn’t go.”
Egg’s shoulders dropped in discouragement as he picked up a cloth to clean the product from his skin. Wemmbu flexed his wings, feeling relief at how each feather seemed perfect against each other.
“I promise I’ll send you messages updating you on my progress.”
The violet-haired one stepped away to grab his bag with some spare clothes and gear. He could manage by hunting for food; there was no need to carry things that would spoil if he didn’t consume them soon.
“Remember to hide your face. Crucible is a known villain now.”
Egg reminded him, picking his purple veil with golden chains that fasten around the base of his horns—a gift from his former mentor that he had kept with him.
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Wemmbu smiled slightly, lowering his head to allow Egg to place the veil over his face. The fabric covered his forehead, eyes and nose, reaching just above his lips. The lower ends had another pair of chains on each side that wrapped around the base of his feathered ears, which twitched slightly at the sensation of metal against them.
“See you, Wemmbu.”
Egg took one of his friend’s gloved hands, clad with netherite claws, and was suddenly pulled into a tight hug.
“When you see me again, I’ll be a master of combat, you’ll see.”
Wemmbu promised, pulling away with a smile as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, turning to leave through the door while settling a cape over his wings and pulling the hood over his head.
Egg watched him walk out the door with a slightly worried expression.
The Unstable continent is known for its hostile nature—forests unexplored and wild like no other, uncatalogued creatures, and inhabitants just as dangerous as the land they live in.
Wemmbu didn’t imagine that his adventure would actually take longer than initially planned.
It turns out that while he was flying toward Merchant City to resupply and rest after leaving Capital City—which is vast, considering its ten enormous districts—he passed by the Spawn, or as historians like to call it, where life on the Unstable continent began. A land so turbulent that no one has managed to dominate it to this day. That’s when he saw three invisible people ahead of him flying straight upward, beyond the clouds. They weren’t avian, but they used elytras, which gave them away. He immediately landed and looked for signs that the unknown individuals had seen him and would come to confront him, but that didn’t happen. Still, the sighting left him suspicious of activities that were certainly illegal. He’s a villain, so it’s not his problem if some guys are doing something they shouldn’t. But flying straight up for no apparent reason?
That made him extremely curious.
And his curiosity led him to prepare to follow in the same direction and find out what was going on.
He hid most of his gear and decided to take only his sword, Nightrider, and his mace with him. He also hid his armor, as it would likely be just extra weight to carry. His wings were somewhat exhausted from his constant, uninterrupted flight, but he feared that if he delayed any longer, he would lose the chance to discover where those mysterious figures were heading. There was no other explanation—there had to be something up there to justify wearing out elytras to reach it. However, he quickly realized that the farther he got from the ground, the harder it became to orient himself. He kept going upward, higher and higher. Hours stretched on, but it felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere.
But then he saw it.
A massive island, floating effortlessly in the sky, and many others connected to it by bridges suspended in the air.
SkyBlock Civilization?
Wemmbu thought that, according to legends, it would be closer to Capital City, but stories often distort the truth. He moved around the enormous white and cyan castle.
He knew there shouldn’t be people there.
He had met Jaron a long time ago, by chance, and his former mentor had told him what happened to the former king.
That SkyBlock Civilization had been invaded and taken over.
But he never knew by whom.
Time to find out.
He landed on top of the great castle, immense in size, with tall towers and beautiful, intricate details on its surfaces. He’s sure that he is at least a hundred blocks above the ground of the island where the castle stood, and thousands upon thousands of blocks above the Spawn. He could see some structures on the other islands—houses, farms, and the three invisible people now with netherite armor. He kept his wings lowered so they wouldn’t reflect sunlight and reveal his presence, his veil lowered to hide his expression. He still had good vision through the translucent fabric and could notice some movement on one of the islands, but beyond that, nothing else stood out. Everything was abandoned, but the invisible figures searched for something, combing through the other islands for long minutes. Wemmbu watched them from afar until the sky began to darken and they left.
He decided to go down and take a look inside the castle.
As he landed in front of the entrance, he noticed how the massive doors were wide open. On the floor, a red carpet stretched far ahead, and he spotted Jaron’s throne as soon as he entered—majestic and imposing. He approached it slowly, his steps silent thanks to the fabric of the carpet beneath his boots. The sepulchral silence around him made his ears twitch nervously. He realized how everything seemed to remain as it should be, as if people hadn’t even fought—or as if the battle had never reached Jaron’s palace. After all, an invasion should usually be repelled, unless the civilization’s people had no way to do so—maybe they didn’t. As he stood before the throne, chin raised while the seat of a fallen monarch silently faced him, he noticed a glimmer in the corner of his eye. There was something behind the throne. He quickly approached cautiously and saw a smooth quartz wall in front of him, seemingly harmless. But the glow, he realized as he got closer, came from a narrow crack in the wall. He searched around for a hidden button that would open the sealed entrance and looked at the back of the throne, which was fixed to the ground. Looking carefully, he saw a slightly protruding rectangular shape in the center. He pressed it without thinking and heard the sound of something heavy moving behind him. He turned to the sight of a dark room—a vault filled with riches: blocks of gold, diamond, lapis lazuli, emeralds, redstone, and glowstone. And on a pedestal in the middle of the room, atop a purple cushion with golden stitching, rested a tiara. Twisted gold shaped like clouds at the ends and in the middle of a star, a single central jewel—an amethyst—glowed softly under the faint light in the room.
A tiara for a prince or princess. But Jaron had no heirs—Wemmbu was sure of it, because otherwise his mentor would have mentioned something about them, without a doubt. Wemmbu bit his lower lip as he approached the pedestal, his wings flapping for a second before he forced them still. He looked around, noting the pillars supporting the roof and the thick crimson curtains gathered along the walls, pulled back to display the piled treasures. Then he quickly returned his gaze to the tiara and took the final step needed to reach it. After another moment of hesitation, he delicately picked it up in his gloved hands, raising it to eye level. He waited for a moment before attaching it to his utility belt—he had a debt to repay to the one who once wielded his mace before he took it from his mentor, the mercenary who stole it from the Scorched King with Wemmbu’s help. He should return this to Jaron, if he ever finds him.
He left the room with shaky legs and bristling wings. The fresh night air greeted him, and he didn’t forget to close the opening behind him, since that’s probably what the invisible people were looking for. He walked again through the long corridor he had passed minutes earlier, exiting back outside the castle.
He walked along the paths suspended in the air until reaching a small island with two houses and a little farm around the path that goes between both constructions. He noticed one with a purple banner in front and entered it—a simple one-room cabin.
He absentmindedly noticed that the bed also had purple sheets and blankets.
He removed his mace from his back, leaning it against the wall beside him, and slowly sat down on the bed.
He realized how soft and comfortable the mattress was. After a moment of consideration, he took his communicator from his utility belt and sent a short message to Egg, just letting him know he was okay.
Tomorrow he will explore SkyBlock Civilization more thoroughly.
And maybe discover who those invisible figures are.
Wemmbu woke up with sunlight on his face, which drew a grumble from him as he turned over in bed, trying to avoid the intrusive light that had disturbed his rest.
Did Egg forget to close the curtains? Wait a minute—
Wemmbu suddenly opens his eyes, realizing he is not in his apartment.
Right. Invisible people. Skyblock Civilization.
Wemmbu gets up with a groan, feeling how his back aches and his wings feel heavy as he sits on the mattress, one gloved hand rising to rub his eyes and chase away the tiredness while his muscles seem to scream for a massage. The half-dragon yawns loudly, his fangs on display as he leans back and stretches his arms over his head, hearing a crack from his spine and the immediate relief of tension. He blinks slowly at the sight of the wooden wall in front of him, where his mace is resting. He then brings one wing forward over his lap and smooths the top, fixing a few out-of-place feathers, repeating the same action with the other wing before standing up, grabbing Nightrider that he had placed under his pillow and adjusting the sheath around his hips, fastening it and correcting its position. Then he takes his mace, securing it on his back with a few quick, practiced movements.
He looks toward the nightstand, noticing he left the tiara there before passing out from exhaustion. He picks it up and for a moment examines it before placing it over his violet curls. He looks at himself in the reflection of the window glass, noticing how the tiara seems to belong between his backward-curving, obsidian-black horns. He presses his lips together, his golden eyes with black sclera staring back at him. He steps away from the reflection with a sigh, removing the tiara from his head and fastening it to his utility belt again. He leaves the cabin quickly, noticing how the sun is still considerably high in the sky, and he hesitates for a moment before going down the stairs from the small house’s balcony, stopping on the dirt path and looking for signs of anyone nearby.
He then relaxes upon concluding the invisible people haven’t returned. He flexes his wings, feeling how the muscles and tendons don’t seem tense or cramped. He then decides to take flight and return to Jaron’s castle. He flies over the other islands, this time taking his time to catalog them, noticing how the whole place could be self-sufficient, which would make it easier to remain hidden from the rest of the world, since the inhabitants of SkyBlock Civilization wouldn’t need to descend to the ground for supplies—but they would certainly be limited to what they had. There was a coliseum on a neighboring island to the impressive castle. Maybe not Jaron, since his castle has blocks that wouldn’t be easy to obtain and would need to be gathered on the continent. Especially in the absurd quantity required to build a castle of such magnitude.
He lands in front of the unnecessarily giant doors again, having flown over the entrance that precedes the bridge leading there, where the skull of an enormous dragon with its mouth open rests—he can’t tell whether it’s actually made of bone or just smooth quartz, since the shapes are extremely realistic. He decides to go up the stairs on the side this time, climbing to the second floor where he can see the entire entrance hall, the throne, and the opposite side mirroring the one he stands on. He ventures deeper into the castle corridors, searching for something that might explain what happened for the entire civilization to have been attacked and abandoned, why invisible people were flying there—but nothing reveals any explanations. The paintings on the walls, the decorations, a wealth that shouldn’t be possible. Eventually, he reaches what he assumes to be Jaron’s former quarters, notable by the sizable bed set against the wall opposite the entrance with cream-colored curtains drawn open, the extinguished fireplace to the left, with dark oak sofas upholstered in sky blue in front of it. To the right are two bookshelves, full with knowledge, as Egg could have said. There are also plenty of plant shrubs that somehow remain green despite not being cared for. On the wooden floor are red carpets embroidered with golden threads, and on the ceiling four chandeliers with extinguished candles hang above him. The walls are made of yellow bricks, with ceramic vases placed high on shelves.
Wemmbu approaches the table against the wall to the left of the bed, where some candles melted halfway sit on a small iron plate. Beside them, a book rests, clutched as if it had been abandoned in a hurry, with a quill with a black, dried-ink tip laying not far from the open pages. Wemmbu crouches to read the words written in elegant but hurried handwriting.
“If you, whoever you are, are reading this, assume I am dead or out of reach, far from my home. I thought I had more time. That I could do something, but now it is too late. Straight, Minemanner, was the traitor in the end—he brought the Invis Mafia here and now they are trying to invade the castle. There is nothing I can do to protect my people. I have a mace, but I am not a fighter, I cannot use it to protect SkyBlock Civilization. I cannot believe that the one who was supposed to protect me and my people betrayed us. Why? For more unnecessary resources? Greed is something earthly—we are all blessed by Aether for having these islands, we should have not get involved with those down below. I should never have allowed Straight to go to the continent.
Jaron Righteous, the king of SkyBlock Civilization, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace”
Wemmbu couldn’t believe what he was reading.
This is Jaron’s diary. He can feel his mace. Jaron’s mace, on his back—a comforting weight he has learned to appreciate with care and a certain reverence. He flips through a few pages, trying to find an explanation for who Straight is, why he is the traitor, about what happened. He notices that Jaron didn’t have the habit of dating his entries, only writing a few lines per page.
“I feel something has changed in Minemanner he’s colder, more distant he’s been strange since he decided to go down to the continent in search of more food for our people, since the automatic crops suddenly failed due to the intense cold so high in the sky, which damaged many redstone circuits. I would never doubt Straight we’ve been together for years since I was crowned king and made him my bodyguard and protector of the islands, he has always been very loyal and dedicated. I think I’m just worried about him I care about him a lot, more than I should the Unstable continent, as my predecessor told me, can poison the mind of even the strongest. Perhaps I should check with him if there is something he hasn’t told mehe would never lie to me, I know that, but still
Jaron Righteous, the king of SkyBlock Civilization, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace”
Wemmbu gently traced the lines on the paper, noticing how there were places where Jaron had scratched out phrases with some force, as if he regretted them immediately. The half-dragon turns to the next page without thinking twice, his eyes traveling over the words.
“I feel there is a revolt forming. Somehow, a seed of doubt has been planted since Straight was allowed to descend to the continent. I hear the people say that earthly food had more flavor, that it seemed better than the crops we have. Straight says it is just the people being inconsistent as always, easily impressed, but I feel that something is happening, that I should pay more attention, but I feel like I am succumbing. I cannot be paranoid, I cannot let fear take over. I feel as if something inside me is consuming me from within. I try to remember what my predecessor told me, he warned me this could happen, but I cannot recall his advice with the same clarity as before. Something is telling me my kingdom has been invaded by a plague that not even Aether can save me from.
Perhaps I should pray more.
Jaron Righteous, the king of SkyBlock Civilization, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace”
Wemmbu frowned. He never imagined he would compare Monarch with Jaron, but both were monarchs, and both succumbed to their paranoias, from what he could tell. He moves to the next page, his wings tucked behind his back as he tries to process the words poured out so carelessly.
“There is a traitor. I can see it with my own eyes. The council no longer listens to me, as if they doubt me. Straight tells me they are simply overwhelmed with all the petitions, since I am no longer opening the castle to the people every day to hear their complaints and requests. It is not my fault, that is their duty. I am only one, and I could handle everything, how can they, who are more than three, not? Minemanner tries to ease all my worries with his calm reasoning, but I feel as though my chest is heavy with an inexplicable fear. My dreams tell me nothing,nightmares make me wake at night. Straight now stands at the door of my chambers and does not allow anyone in. He should be training the guard, but says I am his duty above all.
It is good to have a friend like him by my side.
Jaron Righteous, the king of SkyBlock Civilization, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace”
Wemmbu quickly realizes that Jaron, even in his diary, did not write everything that was happening, as if he restrained his words, was if fearing someone might discover them. He continues reading, noticing there are three more pages until the last one, written during the invasion by the Invis Mafia.
“My people cry out for me, but I hide in my room. Straight says it is fine for me to take time to organize my thoughts, but the council has other opinions, sending countless letters every day complaining about my absence, that the people need to see their king frequently or they will doubt my power. My authority. I should be an example to the people, but I do not feel like I am at my best to appear in public. Straight still maintains constant guard in front of my room.
Perhaps I should go out, just for a few minutes.
Jaron Righteous, the king of SkyBlock Civilization, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace”
Wemmbu turn's to the next page without through.
“The people rejoice at my presence. Their eyes shine and they call my name. Jaron Righteous. Unfortunately, I do not feel righteous at all right now. I pray for Aether to show me my path, but when I sleep I see only darkness. I do not understand what the gods are trying to tell me. Straight says they are like that, confusing and inconsistent, inexplicable, as they are creatures beyond human understanding. Minemanner was never very close to the gods, despite trying to appear as faithful as the people, since he is the commander of the guard, it would be wrong if he didn’t try. I know him, or at least I thought I did he is a warrior, not a priest. His oath is to the sword and the protection of the islands, not to faith.
Perhaps Aether is angry with me for allowing a man like Straight to rise to the position of protector of the islands? Is that why my dreams no longer show me answers? Is that why, despite the people seeming happy and the council merely more irritating, I feel as if my civilization wants to throw me to the wolves for the way I lead them?
Straight says I should not worry about these things.
Jaron Righteous, the king of SkyBlock Civilization, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace”
Wemmbu frowns, realizing how much Jaron relied on Straight for a sense of security. That is not a sign of a proper ruler. A king should be a solid foundation, not someone constantly questioning himself, fearing. Not that Jaron’s fear was unfounded, since SkyBlock Civilization was indeed invaded in the end.
“Straight and I argued this morning. Very badly. I ended up saying things I shouldn’t have, and it turned somewhat physical. I pushed him with force, and he ended up burning himself on some candles. I will apologize tomorrow. Was today, Straight decided to spend all his time at the Coliseum to avoid me, and I respect that. I realized I am not myself. My predecessor would be disappointed in me.
I will apologize to Straight.
Jaron Righteous, the king of SkyBlock Civilization, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace”
Wemmbu takes a deep breath, closing the book gently. He knows how it ends anyway.
He picks up the diary, which has a chain dangling with a star-shaped pendant with a diamond in the center at the end. He hooks the chain onto his utility belt, checking if the book is secure before leaving the room, noticing nothing else remarkable in the space.
Time to return to the continent.
He manages to find his bag with his belongings, which he buried under the roots of a solitary tree with a stone beside it that he marked to find it again.
He brushes the dirt off the bag before slinging it over his shoulder, determined to continue his journey toward the unexplored forests of Unstable. He knows he will find Liones eventually. He can’t have gone far. In the meantime, he can try to learn more about the Invis Mafia and whether those invisible people are associated with it. Probably yes, considering it was the organization that invaded SkyBlock Civilization. His journey would initially take him to Merchant City, but since it is very close to Capital City, he instead decides to go to Snow City, which is far to the north, weeks of travel on foot, closer to the unexplored forests of the continent and far from the coastline, perhaps there he might find something about Liones’ whereabouts, if he went that way. If not, he can circle around and pass through Square City or Redstone City, both days away from Capital City but closer to the red sand and terracotta deserts than the jungle.
Most of the time he spends flying, gliding when he can, avoiding proximity to the ground but still able to keep a decent view so he doesn’t get lost. He follows a map on his communicator, so he has a sense of direction. He always takes breaks to sleep during the day, preferring to travel at night where he has the protection of the veil of darkness. He manages to get food fairly easily, fruity satisfies him with its sweetness and rabbit meat is tender and one is enough to fill him. Water he gets from running streams, storing it in his canteen when it empties. After five days of constant travel without deviating from the route, he arrives at Snow City, notable for being built inside a frozen mountain. There, winter is constant, and spring and summer are nonexistent, so the place is usually covered in snow all year round.
Wemmbu knows there are no heroes or villains residing there, since the city is small, but it is still a place where information flows to reach more distant places within the continent. He removes his veil but keeps his cloak, hiding his wings under the long, thick dark silk fabric lined with purple satin. His mace is a problem, but he keeps the hammerhead turned downward, the handle barely visible under the fabric, and the cloak wraps around his front, keeping everything hidden from view. He doesn’t mind the cold of the place, enjoying the food they offer, which is basically all ice-related, like shaved ice, which he loved. There is also what they call a milkshake—he tried the chocolate flavor, which was very good, though he ended up with a slight headache for drinking the cold, sweet too quickly. He found some small cabins that can be rented for a few nights. He paid a woman to stay in one of these “vacation” houses for two days, so he could rest in a real bed after so long, and of course to gather some valuable information after being away from the news for so long.
He falls asleep with Jaron’s diary in one hand, since he has been reading it frequently, trying to understand who Jaron Righteous really was, The Wielder Of The Aether Mace. Certainly a very striking title for someone who claimed not to be a fighter. The tiara remains unused, but he keeps it with his mace, resting beside his bed when he sleeps and at his waist when he goes out the next morning to ask people about news from Capital City. Apparently nothing notable has happened, just Justice and his usual heroic acts, and the lack of appearances from The Guardian being covered up by the Tower. He eventually learns from a suspicious-looking man that Liones was said to have been seen heading toward the jungle, a place of dense, little-explored forests. A perfect place for a villain who wants to disappear from the public eye.
Wemmbu does not stay a second day in Snow City, leaving immediately after learning this.
Liones will take him as an apprentice. Whether he wants to or not.
Ironically, finding Liones wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be.
He had been flying over the jungle for four days straight, sleeping on the high branches of trees to avoid the damp ground and the crawling creatures that lived there. His wings had grown stronger in the past days of long, daily flights, no longer aching when he woke up. He had bathed in a stream, using the last of a soap bar he had brought with him, and put on his last pair of clean clothes. He was truly confident he would find Liones before nightfall—and he did, noticing a colossal tree among many others that were the size of its roots. The massive tree had an opening at its base and a nearby arena he could spot from above.
As he landed in front of the base of the tree, he knew deep down he had found it.
He called out for Liones, but no one answered. He stepped inside the tree, noticing how the entire interior had been carved into levels. The first level had a short corridor lined with shulker boxes, an entrance with two sculptures of lions lying on each side, and Wemmbu noticed another lion head carved into the wood above the entrance. There were two doorways, one to the right and one to the left, with an orange carpet stretching toward an entrance divided by a pillar, leading to a spiral staircase in the center of the tree. He goes straight to it, searching for any sign of the owner.
He ascended the steps slowly, analyzing the space with interest. There were a few pots with plants here and there, nothing too remarkable, and also leaves and vines hanging from the ceiling. Upon reaching the second floor, he came across two more rooms and a balcony with an exterior staircase leading upward. But upon closer inspection, he spotted Liones in what he assumed was the bathroom, lying lazily like a cat on the toilet, snoring softly with the tip of his tail gently swaying.
“Buddy?”
Wemmbu didn’t hesitate to nudge the feline stretched across the cold ceramic. Liones woke up immediately and sprang to his feet, ears perked and tail bristling, his eyes beneath the orange blindfold wide in alert.
“Hello?”
He asked, still surprised that someone was there.
In his tree.
In the middle of nowhere. Days away from any civilization.
Strangely, he was completely fine with Wemmbu being there. Or Crucible. Or Nephilim, as he was known by the guards of Monarch.
“Did you see my place? Want me to show you around?”
The lion hybrid asked casually, walking past a Wemmbu caught off guard by the other’s nonchalance.
“uh, ye–yeah.”
The winged hybrid stuttered slightly, following him back down the stairs to the lower level.
“Come here, look at this scenery at the base, it’s personally my favorite part.”
Liones led him back to the corridor he entered through, gesturing excitedly at the five-block-tall lion sculptures at the entrance.
“Bro.”
Wemmbu muttered, catching up as his wings brushed the narrow archway.
“Could you teach me PvP?”
He got straight to the point, not wanting to drag it out. Liones turned to him, his lips no longer in an excited smile, but not exactly in a frown either. Then he chuckled, as if the request were a particularly amusing joke.
“Everyone wants to know PvP, but no one wants to learn.”
The lion walked past Wemmbu without waiting for him to come with him, leaving Wemmbu confused as to whether that was a rejection.
“What?”
The half-dragon followed the blond back to the stairs. Liones didn’t wait for him to caught up, nor did he turn back as he continued.
“My point is, bro…”
They climbed back to the second floor, and Wemmbu didn’t dare interrupt as the lion hybrid turned to face him suddenly, making him stop in his heels.
“I could teach you. I can teach anyone PvP.”
Liones didn’t stay still, seeming more hyperactive than Wemmbu remembered from the Zam Empire. Maybe the almost three weeks away from his guard duties had relieved a lot of stress.
“You know, everyone wants to learn PvP. What makes you special?”
The rhetorical question was quickly answered by the blond, who circled Wemmbu with mild interest.
“Nothing. Nothing makes you special.”
Wemmbu couldn’t stop his tail from drooping slightly and his wings from tucking in against his back, but his ears perked up as he tried to look unaffected.
“okay, that’s harsh.”
He managed to say, despite the weight in his throat nearly choking him. Liones’ indifferent voice carried nothing but undeniable truth.
“No, that’s just how it is.”
The lion turned, heading toward the small balcony that was basically just an extended step leading to the staircase attached to the massive tree trunk he called home.
“Okay, okay—”
“Everyone wants to learn.”
Liones repeated, as if Wemmbu hadn’t understood yet.
“Okay, so you can’t teach me, like, the basics?” Wemmbu followed him up the steps, barely keeping up. “I feel like I know the basics of PvP.”
His former mentor had taught him a lot, but he wasn’t exactly well-versed in more than one weapon like Liones.
“You don’t have the dog in you, bro.”
Liones shot back as they entered another opening in the tree trunk, continuing up another staircase.
“What do you mean I don’t have the dog in me, bro?”
Wemmbu exclaimed, completely offended, unable to believe Liones saw him as inept.
“I mean—”
“I destroyed the Zam Empire! I stole from the Tower, injured Vermillion, my former mentor was The Shard! I incapacitated him, maybe crippled him forever!”
Wemmbu stopped in front of Liones in an area with targets, shelves, and two armor stands—one with a zombie head and the other with a skeleton head. Liones looked at him for a moment, his blindfold hiding his thoughts.
“Did you win?”
Liones asked. Wemmbu froze for just a second, a second that was all the blond needed.
“You don’t have the dog in you, bro.”
“Okay, okay, man.”
Still, Wemmbu insisted on following him as they went back down.
“I’m not going to help you.”
The lion shook his head. They ended up back on the second floor, and Wemmbu couldn’t believe what was happening.
“I’m not going to help you, bro.”
Liones repeated, going down to the first floor and walking along the corridor lined with stacked shulker boxes, subtly revealing his wealth.
“Why? Why?”
Wemmbu asked again, almost franticly, wanting a real explanation. They ended up outside the tree, Liones walking along a gravel path, still giving no proper reason.
“I mean, it was good to see you again, but—”
Without thinking, the winged hybrid yanked off his cloak and took flight, pulling his mace from his back and swinging down at Liones with the head of the legendary weapon. But Liones was faster, his speed ability letting him react in time.
The mace barely scratched the surface of an orange shield with a symbol of three white claws.
“You thought—”
Wemmbu tried again, but missed once more, earning another chuckle from the villain.
“That was an impressive example.”
Liones commented, tilting his head as Wemmbu finally gave up trying to crush him.
“I forgot you had a mace. Never saw you use it during the Empire.”
Wemmbu tightened his grip on the diamond handle at the mention of the Zam Empire. Liones wasn’t wrong—he had never used it. It had just sat on a pedestal in his room, and he hadn’t even used it against Tenebrae and Vermillion.
“I’ll just go—”
He began to step away.
“No, no. Come back, come back.”
Liones interrupted quickly, gesturing for him to return.
“We can talk.”
“Now you want to talk…”
Wemmbu narrowed his eyes beneath his veil, already noticing Liones’ clear interest in his mace—which, if he wasn’t mistaken, suited Liones’ fighting style.
“How about this, you give me that little mace, and I’ll teach you the ins and outs of PvP.”
Wemmbu stayed silent, listening with suspicion, his tail swaying nervously.
“Because I don’t want the invis players killing you, drop you, and then you give the mace to them…”
Invisible players?
Wemmbu straightened immediately, ignoring the rest, knowing Liones didn’t actually care whether he lived or died—only what might happen to the mace.
“That’s kind of a massive throw, and I think you’d agree.”
For five whole seconds, they stared at each other—Wemmbu through his veil, Liones through his blindfold. His feathered ears twitched as he considered the offer.
“That could be kind of a throw, I mean… how can I trust you?”
Wemmbu clearly remembered Liones fleeing after Infernos struck his eye when they're confronting Monarch and his guards. He could see faint pink scars beneath the blindfold. He didn’t exactly blame Liones—his blindfold had been damaged, which would’ve revealed his identity.
“You trusted me before. I didn’t do you dirty.”
The lion tried to reason with him. Wemmbu looked down at his mace—The Aether Mace, passed down through every king of SkyBlock Civilization, somehow ending up with him.
Liones. He needed his training.
He dropped the weapon between them—and immediately a splash strength potion was thrown on him, catching him off guard.
“Here.”
Liones said casually, grabbing the mace. For some reason, it didn’t change appearance under his touch as it should have, keeping its cloud-white hammer head with gold and amethyst details. The only change was the wings beneath the head, replaced by a golden lion head.
“What– why did you splash me with that?”
Wemmbu asked, confused, looking at the orange particles over him.
“I just needed an inventory slot.”
“Oh, okay.”
Wemmbu stifled a laugh, still in disbelief.
“Oh my gosh.”
Liones spun the mace in his hand, resting it on his shoulder like it had always belonged there.
“Alright, bet. Uhm… I have aura.”
The lion hybrid kept posing with the mace like he was in a photoshoot, making Wemmbu burst into hysterical laughter—cut short by Liones.
“Wait, it has the wrong enchantments.”
“What? Eh.”
Wemmbu was caught by surprise with the sudden affirmation and change in Liones body language.
“The mace… oh my gosh. Alright, whatever. Come with me.”
Still holding the mace, Liones went back into the tree, leading Wemmbu to his gear stash, filled with countless blocks of precious ores that made Wemmbu hesitate before checking the chests, even finding one full of golden apples.
“Take whatever you need. I have a mission for you.”
“A mission?”
Oh.
Oh.