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The gooey sculk squishes sickeningly underneath his boots. As he runs, he can hear the soft thunks that the black material makes as it drops off in wet, gleaming hunks to the grass below. Should’ve used that dead guard’s boots. His grey boots are going to suck so bad after this.
Footsteps sound behind him as a diamond guard chases after him. He breaks a fishing rod, listening to the satisfying sound of explosions beneath his feet as he’s sent rocketing into the air. His ears ring and his wings sting from the explosions, but he doesn’t need to hear to kill. He plummets downwards, hoisting Gambit over his shoulder and dropping the heavy metal weapon on the unfortunate guard’s head. Their diamond armor cracks, but they keep running. A deafening roar sounds behind him - one too familiar.
His heart quickens as he thinks of times long past - times in a glittering cave surrounded by pulsing heartbeats all around. He needs to focus, but his mind is in the past. Surely he won’t die to some puny wardens. Surely Egg won’t die to them either. Egg won’t die to some stupid chunguses, Wemmbu promises himself as he smashes a warden’s head.
The liquid head caves inwards, but with a mighty groan, the warden rights itself and chases after him. Unfolding his wings, he glides towards the nearby forest. He perches himself on a tree branch, watching the black-blue monster groaning beneath him. He’s about to reach into his ender chest when-
A sonic boom sends him tumbling through the air, crashing into another tree as the warden chases. Oh, yeah, Wemmbu thinks. I’m definitely gonna have a… concussion after this. Well, dizziness and nausea isn’t exactly what you want while fighting people, but he can deal with it, right? He’ll deal with it, for Egg’s sake. Can’t let him die like… like Rejoice, after all. His bruised and bloodied wings unfold, exposing midnight dragon scales as he glides off the tree, smashing the warden’s head again. The wind whistles through his hair as he’s shot into the air from Gambit’s Wind Burst I enchantment. A moment later, he’s plummeting and he’s hit the warden again.
Egg won’t die to a stupid chungus or a warden, is what Wemmbu is thinking when the spear pierces his left wing.
The spear gleams brightly in the sunshine, the blood erupting from his wing in a fountain of red. The once-turquoise spear turns a brilliant, crimson red. A gasp tears itself from Wemmbu’s mouth as, all of a sudden, he’s falling. He reaches into his leather pouch, and produces a glinting golden apple. Three bites, and the bleeding’s stopped. He’s back on the ground now, on the overtrodden grass. The air rushes through the hole in his leathery wing in a wrong way, in a strange way. So utterly wrong.
“Shoot,” Wemmbu says, and that doesn’t even begin to encompass the situation. Egg is dead or dying or imprisoned; Wemmbu is flightless and half-dead. “Shoot,” he repeats. He launches another stab shot at his feet, flying high up into the air. He extends his wings to their full extent, wincing as they scream in protest. He’s tilted to one side, wobbling strangely in the air as cold wind rushes through his inky wings. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s all so wrong.
He descends on a strange meadow, tumbling onto the ground. In a moment, he’s set an ender chest on the ground, frantically rummaging through it. The wholesome watermelon red of a healing potion catches his eye as he downs it in one gulp - swallows - prays.
The natural pain of the healing magic runs through his wings. Hissing in a breath between his teeth, he turns to look at his left wing. The wound is much, much smaller and half-clotted. It’ll heal. Well, actually, there’s more of a 50-50 chance if it’ll heal right, but he would rather not think about that. Unfolding his wings, he glides along the ground as he heads back to the battle. After all, he has a certain Eggchan to rescue.