Chapter Text
Prison life sucked.
Wemmbu honestly thought that it wouldn’t suck as much as he thought it would when Lettuce first captured him. First, he and the other prisoners were forced to wake up at the crack of dawn to get started on chores.
Oh, and that's not even to mention that the ‘other prisoners’ included Baablu, Fantst, and PrinceZam. But surprisingly, his past enemies…actually weren't very hostile? Sure, Baablu made some comments when he first arrived, but being stuck in the prison made them all team up together to eventually find a way out. Instead of planning, they were stuck doing stupid chores, which included indoor farming, kitchen duty, or mining in the ravine. Which, is so fucking stupid because they have mining fatigue and are at the wrong Y level for gold.
Either Lettuce was stupid, or he just didn’t care. Wemmbu thought he was just stupid out of pettiness.
A week had gone by in the prison, and he was starting to lose track of time. The routine doesn’t stop and every day feels the exact same. He felt like he was going insane.
He assumes this day won’t be any different. They would called out of their cells, go get breakfast, and start their morning chores. Same routine.
It would be like any other day if he didn’t wake up that morning feeling grossly sweaty all over. The bright orange uniform stuck to him uncomfortably, and he thought the prison was just hot until he saw everyone else looking completely normal and not overheating like he was. So just him then, great.
Throughout breakfast, Wemmbu drops his fork twice, mentally cursing at his trembling hands. Thankfully, no one comments on it. The chores go by in a blur, they had to chop down trees with wooden tools in a dense room. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel weak swinging the axe. Or that he brought back just as much wood as the others. Or that his coughs weren’t getting rougher and more painful throughout the morning.
Maybe he really was going insane.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Baablu wasn’t one to be very observant, Fantst would tease him all the time about missing valuable items from when they used to be bandits roaming the server, looting random houses.
It was lunch time, Baablu had been focused on the conversation Zam and Fantst were having until the sudden change in attitude for Wemmbu caught his attention. The demon was usually loud and obnoxious, always complaining or bickering at them anytime he could. But the way he looks right now is too evident not to miss. The guy is unmoving, staring at the food in front of him blankly. He’s suspiciously quiet.
Shifting closer, he leans towards Wemmbu. “You alright, bro?”
The question catches the demon's attention, and when he meets his eyes, Baablu realizes that something’s wrong.
Wemmbu’s eyes are glazed over, unfocused and exhausted despite it only being the middle of the day. His lavender skin looks pale, a light sheet of sweat clinging to him. Suddenly, he sharply turns his head away from the group to cough into his arm, shaking slightly.
When Wemmbu recovers, Baablu presses the back of his hand to his forehead, and lightly curses when he feels heat.
“Damn it.” Baablu draws his hand back to wipe the sweat away on his uniform. Zam and Fantst drop their conversation and turn at the sudden remark.
“What's up?” Zam asks curiously.
“Wemmbu has a fever. Can you guys stay with him while I grab a guard?” The two scoot over to the demon when Baablu rises, murmuring comfort. He made his way towards the Law guard stationed in the corner of the cafeteria.
“Hey, our friend might be sick. Can we get, like, medicine or something? Do you guys have that around here?”
The guard doesn’t spare him a glance, staring absently ahead. “Prisoners do not interact with Law unless explicitly told to. You may go take your seat.” He says in a neutral tone, almost robotic.
“Huh?” Confusion and concern are evident in Baablu’s voice, “He’s sick. We need medicine, or maybe even a doctor if it's more serious.”
“Second warning, prisoners do not interact with Law unless—”
“Bro! We can’t just leave him like this,” He’s starting to get increasingly irritated, voice rising. “He’s burning up and coughing, he needs—”
The door to the cafeteria opens, cutting him off. In walks Loppezz, along with two other guards flanking her. Her netherite armor enchants shine almost mockingly at the prisoners, eyes narrowing as she catches sight of them.
“Ravine. Now.” She announces curtly. “Maybe you bunch will actually find something useful today.”
Baablu stiffens, pivoting to see an equally tense Zam and Fantst leaned over Wemmbu. He doesn’t even look like he noticed Loppezz entered, a hand clenching the bridge of his nose and slouched over.
“Loppezz—”
Baablu tries to argue again, but the stern glare of the high-ranked guard hushes him.
“I don’t want to hear any complaining today. Chores, get to it.”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Fuck, the world won’t stop spinning. It makes him nauseous with every swing of the pickaxe, every turn of his head and every step he takes.
Wemmbu tries to ignore the creeping shadows at the edges of his vision, acutely aware of his worsening condition out in the scorching sun. It radiates heat on his back, making the orange fabric burn against his skin. He halts his swings for a moment, the wooden tool falling from his fingers, trembling violently. Damn it, he needs to pull himself together. Wemmbu drops down to retrieve the tool, but the sudden movement makes the world tilt and the shadows creep closer.
Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass—
“Hey! No one said you could stop!” A guard yells out behind him, “No resting on the job!”
Wemmbu doesn’t respond, just dissolves into a harsh coughing fit in his crouched form. He hates being vulnerable like this, not even fully capable of swinging a wooden pickaxe. He’d swung Gambit around a million times, so why was it that a measly mining tool was suddenly his limit?
He can hear someone approaching him—no, two someones. Looking up, a guard is wearing an irritated look on their face, demanding him to get up. Zam is approaching behind them, looking worried.
“Wemmbu, are you—”
“Not you too!” The Law guy shoves Zam back, “You both need to get back to work before I report this to Lettuce.”
But Zam holds his ground. “That’s not fair! He’s clearly not okay!”
Sensing the fight close to breaking out, Wemmbu rises unsteadily, “Zam. I-It’s fine.”
The ex-emperor just gapes at him with wide, concerned eyes. “You—”
“I’m fine.” He picks up the pickaxe with both hands grasped tightly around the handle, “Don’t get yourself in trouble because of me.”
Wemmbu can see the conflict in Zam’s eyes, battling whether to help his—friend?— or listen to the guard. Eventually, he retreats and returns to his own spot a couple dozen feet away. Still close and watching, just in case. Wemmbu doesn’t know if he should be grateful or annoyed.
He doesn’t remember Loppezz returning and dismissing them for the day. He doesn’t remember dinner or returning back to his cell. It’s all a feverish blur, he was barely conscious through all of it. Wemmbu scarcely recalls Baablu arguing with the guards again over something, and the looks Fantst sends him that he doesn't fully process as worry.
Now, he’s lying in the hard bed of his cell, attempting to go to sleep with the exhaustion weighing him down. Of course, the universe isn’t so kind to him.
Wemmbu’s fever spikes sometime during the night, hair plastered to his forehead slick with new sweat. He groans, trying to get comfortable as he tosses and turns under the thin blanket, tangled in his legs and bunched awkwardly. The cell sometimes feels like it's boiling him alive, while other times it feels like a massive freezer. He’s not sure which one he prefers, like he has a choice.
He’s been coughing all day, throat scratched raw from the extent of it. It hurts to speak and continue hacking and just anything in general.
Mutely aware of the other prisoners' presence, he muffles the next coughing fit into his pillow. The ugly, wet sound of coughs still ring out, though not as much across the cavernous room that made up all the cells. His whole chest is on fire and he feels like he’s choking on air. Lifting his head, he could barely make out the small, dark spots staining the pillow in the darkness. Oh, fuck. He was coughing up blood.
Under normal circumstances, Wemmbu would have panicked at this revelation. But in his current state, he was simply too exhausted and in pain to care much, dissolving into more coughs and using the sleeve of his uniform as an extra sound barrier.
He’s not sure what time it is. Maybe it's three in the morning, maybe they only got back to their cells thirty minutes ago, maybe they have to wake up in an hour. Like he said, time is weird inside the prison.
It's not long before he hears the steady thump of footsteps approaching, assumingly a guard. Right, he thinks feverishly, because why would a prisoner be just walking around at night…
The footsteps become louder as the guard approaches his cell. A very delirious Wemmbu tilts his head toward the sound, cracking his eyes open. The sound of an iron door echoes as they enter, and in the darkness Wemmbu can just barely make out their silhouette. Painfully, he croaks, “Can…I get some water?”
He can feel warm liquid drip out of the corner of his mouth, running down his chin. The body heat of another person radiates itself on Wemmbu as the guard stands right above his bed, and he half lifts himself to lean closer to the warmth.
A mistake.
There is a hard bash to the side of his head that sends him falling back onto his bloody pillow. Ears ringing, Wemmbu can scarcely make out what their saying. “...arn to be quiet.” Ah, he remembers Loppezz! My good sky civ friend, why does she sound so—?
“...guards and prisoners don’t want to hear you all night. Shut up or you'll get another one of these.” She taps the pommel of her sword with her nail to emphasize her point. Wemmbu just groans quietly, head pounding on top of the sting in his throat and ache in his body.
Everything hurt.
He wanted to die.
Feeling his throat start to itch again, he had to force himself to sit up so he wouldn’t choke whilst coughing. His back rested on the corner of his cell, legs bent on the bed in a fetal position. His head was dropped as he weakly hacked into his arm, desperately praying for water. Or any liquid. He was already sick of the taste of blood.
Damn, Wemmbu was really missing Egg right now. Maybe it was his fever making him not think coherently, but he felt strangely emotional at the fact he was so far from his best friend. Egg always knew what to do, always knew how to take care of Wemmbu after prolonged fights, or any internal mishaps like right now.
But Egg wasn’t here.
He was stuck in the End.
Thousands of blocks away from the nearest stronghold, in a whole other dimension.
His heart thumped painfully in his chest, physically and emotionally. Wemmbu inhaled and exhaled slowly, attempting to even out his breathing to calm himself down and maybe even go to sleep. Laying himself back down in the bed and turning the pillow over to the clean side, he shivered and sweated simultaneously as weak coughs echoed out of his cell through the night.
Eventually, consciousness fades away.