Chapter Text
Flame didn’t like the way Wemmbu smiled.
It was the kind of smile that meant he already thought he’d won.
“Bro. Bro, put the mace away,” Flame said, pointing his sword at him. “We’re doing this properly. No cheap stuff. No weird tricks. Just melee. Honor.”
Wemmbu twirled the mace once in his hand, then rested it on his shoulder. Long purple hair falling into his face as he tilted his head.
“Honor?” he echoed, amused. “You sure you want that?”
“Yes, bro. I’m tired of you hiding behind that stupid weapon. Fight me like a real player.”
A pause.
Then Wemmbu shrugged and tossed the mace aside. It hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Flame grinned under the blindfold. “Finally.”
They circled.
Flame rushed first — fast, confident, clean. Sword aimed perfectly. The kind of textbook melee engagement he prided himself on.
Wemmbu didn’t meet him head-on.
He stepped back. Slightly to the side. Just enough to mess with Flame’s angle.
Flame adjusted instantly. Good recovery.
Their blades met.
Clang.
Wemmbu blocked. Slid away. Didn’t swing back.
Flame frowned. “Bro, fight back.”
“I am.”
Clang. Clang.
Wemmbu kept retreating half-steps. Forcing Flame to advance. Forcing him to overextend just a little more each time.
Then Wemmbu kicked sand up.
Flame coughed. “BRO—”
Wemmbu rushed him while his vision was messed up, shoulder-checking him off balance instead of striking.
“That’s not— that’s not even PvP, bro!”
“You said no mace. You didn’t say no legs.”
Flame growled and swung hard. Wemmbu ducked under it, grabbed Flame’s wrist, twisted, and shoved him past.
Flame stumbled.
Wemmbu still hadn’t attacked.
He was making Flame work.
Making him tired.
Making him frustrated.
Flame charged again, faster now, more aggressive. Less precise.
That’s when Wemmbu finally struck.
One hit to the side.
Not strong — just placed perfectly where Flame hadn’t expected it.
Flame hissed. Adjusted. Swung back.
Wemmbu stepped inside his reach, too close for a proper sword arc, and elbowed him in the chest.
Flame staggered back. “BRO WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“Winning.”
Flame tried to create distance.
Wemmbu didn’t let him.
He stayed in Flame’s space, forcing awkward angles, ruining every clean swing Flame tried to make.
Flame’s breathing got heavier. Angrier.
“Fight with honor!”
Wemmbu tilted his head. “Mane didn’t think honor mattered.”
Flame froze for half a second.
That was enough.
Wemmbu hooked his foot behind Flame’s ankle and shoved.
Flame hit the ground hard.
Before he could recover, Wemmbu dropped down with him, pinning his wrists to the ground with his knees on either side of Flame’s torso.
Sword knocked out of reach.
Silence.
Flame’s chest rose and fell quickly beneath him.
Wemmbu leaned down slightly, hair falling around his face like a curtain.
“Still think the mace is the problem?” he asked softly.
Flame didn’t answer.
He couldn’t move.
Couldn’t get out.
And he knew it.
Wemmbu hadn’t needed the mace.
He’d just needed Flame to believe he did.
After a long moment, Flame exhaled sharply through his nose.
“…Bro.”
Wemmbu raised a brow.
“…Teach me.”
That smile returned.
The one Flame hated.
The one that meant Wemmbu had known how this would end from the start.