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Wemmbu dangles his legs over the void, enjoying the cool whispers of wind against his feet. Looking down, he spies a vague, blurry reflection of the island he’s sitting on. Distorted stars gleam in the wet lake of a void.
Don’t be fooled, Minute had said, when Wemmbu was little and his entire world was contained in the End, it’s not solid. If you go into that lake-like thing, it’ll suck you down and either kill you or turn you into someone glitched, like Ash. Don’t go there, kid.
Oh, but that hadn’t stopped Wemmbu; hadn’t stopped him from skimming over the void, dragon wings extended wide, enjoying the sudden surges of cold over his legs as darkness grabbed at him, always out of its reach but just close enough to taunt. He had never been afraid of it, for some reason. Now, he’s even less so, knowing what lies beneath it; just carries some healthy respect for it. Although he doesn’t do something as risky as gliding over it anymore.
Egg would have joined him, if he could, if Wemmbu had asked him when they were kids, but for all the angel’s dozen-or-so wings, Egg to this day still hasn’t figured out how to fly. Maybe it just isn’t possible; maybe his wings will forever be an ornament, swaying slightly in the wind, fluttering around his eyeball.
Said chungus’ footsteps sound behind him, fancy black shoes on stone. He’d adopted his tradition of dressing formally in his mid-teens, and Wemmbu teases him to death about it, even though God knows Wemmbu likes to dress a little fancy before going into a battle too.
“Bro,” Egg says, sitting next to him. “You think we can fish in there?”
“You’re looking into the all-devouring void, and your first thought is: can I fish in it?” Wemmbu scoffs.
“It’s - it’s a scientific endeavour, bro! Could tell us a lot about the mechanics behind the void. Besides - it’s not as if you’re scared of it. You used to go flying over it, when we were kids, remember? Minute got so mad at you about it.”
“I remember,” Wemmbu says simply, voice colored by something a little nostalgic. When they were six and Wemmbu-and-Eggchan had been a certainty, when Wemmbu only knew that Eggchan was a law of the world, that Eggchan had to exist. Before all of these wars and conflicts and problems. Simpler days.
Beside him, Egg is still sitting beside him. His best friend has never been as interested? enamoured? by the void. Wemmbu knows Egg’s scared of it, if anything, and it makes sense: an angel, scared by the bottomless darkness. It makes sense. He would have gone, though, if Wemmbu had asked him back then; they were both young and stupid and reckless and infinitely loyal.
He’s sitting next to Wemmbu now, despite his phobia of the bottomless pit yawning beneath them; it’s one more thing to appreciate about Egg. He’ll stick by his side no matter what.
“...So?” Egg asks expectantly. “We fishing, or what?”
“I don’t have a good fishing rod.” He pulls out one of the nuke rods he has, watching its red-and-white TNT ornament jingle as he sways the rod.
He has some cat hybrid ancestry, way, way back. Lettuce used to tease him about it, swinging bright plushy toys on fishing rods to “play” with him. Here, kitty kitty kitty, the echo of his honey-coated voice ringing in his ears. The memory leaves a sour taste on his tongue. He chews on a golden apple in an attempt to dull it - a mistake; his mouth is flooded with the metallic taste of blood.
“Well, that’s easy to fix,” Egg laughs. He plops down a crafting table, and a moment later produces a gleaming, brand-new fishing rod, handing it to Wemmbu.
Turning it in his hands, Wemmbu inspects Egg’s work. The handle is a little uneven, but it’s quite serviceable. The metal hook gleams sharply in the moonless light of the End. “Nice fishing rod,” he compliments.
“Thanks,” Egg says quietly. “C’mon, let’s fish.” Wemmbu doesn’t refuse, just casts his bobber into the dark pit, watching as it hovers just above the so-called lake’s surface. Even as Wemmbu waits for a catch that’ll never come, he watches the blurry reflections of the lake’s surface.
Egg: a streak of white-and-blue, his hot pink (why pink?) tie a burning stripe. Wemmbu: a vague ripple of purplish-black. Had it not been for his purple hair, he wouldn’t have been able to see himself at all.
Suddenly, an End flash tints the world purple, a lilac blooming in the lake. It goes just as quickly as it comes, disappearing a moment later. Leaving Wemmbu in the darkness.