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Oh how the mighty have fallen.
From the minute Wemmbu walked away victorious and with a title of the strongest he had snatched from Flame, the demon knew that is exactly how he would end up. His Invisible Knight shenanigans were really just him delaying the inevitable, as well as his very own personal purgatory of sorts.
He thought this would happen back in the lava-covered dome, back when FlameFrags threw an ender pearl and Wemmbu felt the netherborn's eyes, although covered by that blindfold, pierce right through his soul. Flame wanted his rematch and nothing could stop him.
But then The Law came for both of their heads and the soldiers completely disregarded their targets’ conflicts with each other.
Their team up was actually a nice change of pace for once. In the back of his mind Wemmbu knew well that this was temporary, that they were forced into this position and they had to make do with what they had. They had to swallow the hurt and anger, not let it get in the way of a greater goal of overpowering The Law despite all odds.
Wemmbu simultaneously both expected and was caught off guard by Flame pushing him down towards the rubble of the battlefield. The duel would come eventually, he knew that much, but the last thing he expected from the honorable Immortal Demon FlameFrags was a literal backstab.
In a few seconds he spent free-falling before equipping the elytra he came to peace with a thought that this was an already lost battle.
Still, Wemmbu made some futile attempts to reason with the netherborn, tried to convince him to reschedule this duel and did his best to fight back.
With each minute that passed the demon sensed that his chances were rapidly decreasing. They had just won one of, if not the biggest battles in the history of the entire Unstable, both he and Flame were in trenches when it came to resources. Flame squeezed in a restock before he began attacking so he was much better off then Wemmbu but still definitely not his best gear-vise.
Flame said something about how he doesn't want to kill him, how all this would be over once Wemmbu gives up the title.
Staying up above the ground was getting increasingly difficult for the demon.
He won't admit it out loud but Flame's dogs really did a number on him. Tears, rips from their teeth on his legs ached immensely, the fact that his armor's boots were long broken certainly did not help it at all. Besides the wounds from the animals, Flame himself inflicted so many stabs and slashes on him, it really looked like his once purple blouse changed its mind and decided to be practically black because of all the blood covering it all over.
Wemmbu landed without a sound, merely scrunched his face in discomfort. FlameFrags wasted no time, immediately went for a few new hits which Wemmbu barely managed to deflect with what remained of his shield.
Bad, bad idea. Flame fights on the ground, Wemmbu managed to hang on for this long only thanks to his elytra.
The faux wings opened up again and the demon dashed to get some momentum and get back into the air quicker.
They flapped once, then twice.
The third never came.
The thin membrane ripped in a fraction of a second and with that the demon plummeted down onto the grass, just few feet away from a huge crater from an explosion he'd created earlier.
His body hit the ground with a loud, pained yelp. Falling face-first into the mud was not only humiliating but oh so agonizing as well. After the initial contact he dragged on a bit further away. Wemmbu tried to get up, hearing as the clicking of metal boots got closer and closer but his body refused to listen. The demon gasped and wheezed, he could taste so much blood in his mouth.
Yeah. This is exactly how he expected all this to end.
“Wemmbu, bro.” Flame's voice was fuzzy through the ringing in his ears.
A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed the demon over onto his back, making the latter whine and try to wriggle out, to keep on fighting.
FlameFrags ignored his struggles completely. Fragger, still covered in blood of both the demon and hundreds of all different soldiers who were slain that day, ended up right next to Wemmbu's throat, one wrong move and the sharp blade would touch his Adam's apple.
The demon heaved, his eyes darted from the blade to his rival's face. Half of the labored breath that escaped him was followed with a strangled, pained gasp.
“I can behead you right now.” Flame spoke, way too calm and unaffected by what happened earlier, “Or you can just admit that I'm stronger.”
Wemmbu frowned at this being his only two options. If he knew one thing about himself is that he was way too stubborn all the time.
Having the title brought him way more trouble than good, he barely got to relish in his victory before everyone decided that he's a perfect target.
But being regarded as the strongest fighter on the server was nice. It brought him nothing good but it was a symbol. A sign that he'd made it, that he proved everyone wrong. Zam, those bastards in the Skyblock Civilization, Mane — each and every one who dared to doubt his capabilities.
Giving it up meant that, at least in some way, they were right.
Wemmbu coughed, a few droplets of his blood went flying and Flame's grip on the handle of his sword only tightened.
He had already made it though, hadn't he? He showed everyone that he could if he wanted, that he was capable. Strength wasn't his thing, but he still won. And like he won months ago against an undergeared rival, the man was paying him back with the same coin.
The title of strongest never did suit Wemmbu. It belonged and will belong to nobody else but FlameFrags.
Even though he had fulfilled his goal, admitting that he had no use for the title still made his head pang in ache.
“Yeah, you…” the demon croaked, “You can be the strongest.”
Clear distrust flashed across Flame's face, Wemmbu could see his jaw tightening, “That's it?”
A small dark-red pool began forming underneath where the demon was sprawled out. He gritted his teeth, tried to sound like the none of the injuries bothered him at all.
He sharply inhaled and manages to mutter out, “Yeah.”
FlameFrags furrowed his brows, frowned staring at him. The blade of Fragger caught some moonlight and it gleamed mockingly in Wemmbu's face.
The netherborn huffed, skeptical, “So you don't care anymore?” he pressed, still in disbelief at this sudden switch up, but already a bit relaxed with this apparent victory, “Or do you just finally realize that it's not close and that you don't stand a chance?”
Wemmbu couldn't blame his rival for doubting his words nor for rubbing this loss right into the demon's face. With how reluctant he was about giving up the title and how much he made fun of Flame for loosing, this really was something similar to karma.
“I guess not. I guess you're the strongest.” Wemmbu bitterly laughed, every sound made it feel like his entire ribcage was on fire. Broken ribs perhaps?
“I mean, like-”
“Yeah?” the demon smiled, eyeing the sword above his neck.
Still conflicted, Flame noticed the motion and finally put away the blade. Wemmbu dropped even further into the grass, the tension relieved a tad.
“Just remember that-”
“Okay. I'll remember.” Wemmbu kept interrupting him, smile still stretched out.
“Skill always beats power.” the netherborn still finished his sentence, “So next time you try and fight me… Just remember that I'm more skilled than you, bro.”
Next time.
Such a ridiculous combination of words made the demon laugh out loud. With how he was feeling at this instant and with how his resources looked, he'd be lucky to see the sunrise.
Flame probably blinked in confusion behind the blindfold, he continued, “So just don't even step up.”
The demon let his head roll onto one side. A few grass stems clung to his forehead, his entire face was covered in sweat, dirt and fresh blood. His hair was all over, on his mouth and his eyes but right now he could caress.
He laughed again, let his eyes close, “You can be more skilled than me, that's fine.”
Giving up was easy. Maybe if he had done it earlier he wouldn't be in this position right now. He wasn't raised to be a quitter though, which ended up being his doom.
FlameFrags gave him a long look. Studied every twitch and pained noise the demon made with great attention. He shifted from one foot to another, glanced around the battlefield.
“Well…” he shrugged, this was his victory, yet he barely looked happy to get his precious title back, “I guess I'm going to go home? GGs I guess.”
“Bro guesses.” Wemmbu giggled without looking up, head still tilted.
“I mean- I mean, yeah?” the netherborn stumbled all over his words, “I mean, that wasn't very interesting.”
“Wasn't very interesting…” he echoed weakly and let out a half-cough half-laugh, “Alright. See ya.”
Flame nodded, “Let's move on to the next thing.”
“Alright.” Wemmbu managed to open his eyes to look Flame in the face, “You're gonna leave now?”
Flame was in no rush, hid Fragger into the scabbard and dusted off his clothes, “Oh I will, but uh- Wemmbu?”
The demon frowned once more. Physical pain and the humiliations were a terrible combination to have in your last hour before death and Flame, somehow, still had something more to say. Wemmbu scoffed, no mercy for a dying enemy.
“Yeah?”
“You should equip a totem bro, that looks…” he nodded towards his bleeding gut, “Lethal. Like, you will just die from blood loss at this rate.”
Wemmbu took a peek as well, assessing his state with a furrowed brow.
“I, um. I don't have one.”
…
FlameFrags was halfway turned to leave when he heard that. The netherborn's brain short-circuited, he snapped his head back towards the frail figure on the ground.
Wemmbu's insufferable. He's way too loud in all the wrong times just to shut up when it gets way too personal for him, he's overconfident in his abilities and his ego was through the roof. He's a cheater and a trickster, a man who can wriggle his way out of any sticky situation and walk away with a beaming grin.
Wemmbu's insufferable, that's how he's supposed to be, he's supposed to have a plan or freestyle something to stay alive.
“What do you mean you don't have one!?” Flame exclaimed.
For once, it seemed like there was no chance of escaping for the demon.
“I don't.” Wemmbu confirmed with a hiss, “Not in the e-chest, not in the shulkers. I'm out.”
Flame didn't have any left as well, he realized and barely noticeably paled.
“Well chug a gapple or something!” the combat master threw his hands in the air and came up closer to his rival.
Crouching, Flame noticed just how much bigger the puddle of blood had gotten. He slipped his gloved hand under the other's nape, fingers tangling in the matted, purple strands of hair. Wemmbu complained with a strained grunt, but Flame ignored it and lifted his head higher and practically shoved a golden fruit into his mouth.
The demon tried taking a bite with great struggle. Where the apple touched his lips appeared red smears of blood. Wemmbu barely nibbled at it, as if his body refused to listen to its owner completely.
Wemmbu tried swallowing the small piece, it went down with a thick gulp. His hand shot up to his mouth immediately and he jerked violently, almost falling back to the ground.
“I can't, I-” he coughed and mumbled, “I can't, I think I'll throw up.” he turned away. Upon taking his arm away he stared at the mixture of spit, blood and tiny apple pieces that were left in it, “Gross…”
FlameFrags felt his eye twitch.
Even if Wemmbu sucked it up and ate the gapple, it still wouldn't be enough. Even a strong regeneration potion wouldn't be enough. In his journey of combat Flame had seen all sorts of injuries. He developed a pretty good eye meter for wounds, he could easily tell what cut needed stitches or could heal with a simple golden apple.
One look at Wemmbu told the netherborn that without a totem any and all attempts to heal would be in vain.
Flame grumbled, gently put the man back in his place. Still struggling to breathe, Wemmbu watched his rival's every move.
He'd never wanted to kill Wemmbu, in a way, Flame considered him a weird friend even despite all their fights. If only he gave up the title and it wouldn't come to this.
Out of his pocket, Flame pulled out a hunting knife he carried around. The demon's eyes opened wide in anger mixed with terror.
The combat master sighed and hovered it right above Wemmbu's chest, aiming it. A mental countdown started in Flame's mind. He lifted it even higher, attempting to plunge it into the already half-dead body… Only for Wemmbu to grab his wrists with both of his hands and all what's left of his strength.
Both their arms were shaking with pressure, “What are you doing, Flame?” he frantically asked, void-colored eyes as wide as they could go.
“Putting you out of your misery.” Flame yanked his hand back out of the flimsy grip, “Didn't take you for someone who wants to suffer before death.”
Flame had seen this look on people's faces way too often, much more than he'd like if he was being honest.
Fear was one thing, it's a normal emotion people need to experience for a full life. This was no fear. This was primal, instinctual.
Wemmbu wasn't staring at him but right through, there was a sweat drop rolling down from his forehead to the cheekbone and the once feared fighter was shivering violently.
“Don't-” he stuttered, “Just don't. Don't ban me. Not now.”
Flame clenched his jaw but complied nonetheless. He sighed, hid the blade back into the sheath. The combat master shifted his weight, brought his arms behind his back and leaned on them leisurely all the while the demon was staring at him in confusion.
“I thought you were leaving? Going home?” Wemmbu teased and regretted it momentarily, he folded in on himself in a coughing fit.
“I was before I found out you were dying!” the combat master shouted, “I told you, I don't want you dead bro. All this…” he gestured around them, “Could've been easily avoided if you just admitted that you've lost.”
“Hahah, yeah, I guess…” Wemmbu hummed, “I guess you're right.”
Wemmbu shifted with a strained hiss and trembled. His hands laid folded on his stomach, not putting pressure on the wounds, just resting there. Wemmbu knew that it was useless and that it would just worsen all his pain.
The netherborn huffed with no real anger behind it. He reached for his own head and untied the black blindfold, revealing a perplexed and a bit detached expression. The demon followed him with his gaze, not bothering to hide his curiosity.
“Why do you always wear that thing?” he asked bluntly, rolling his head to face his rival fully.
“The blindfold?” Flame perked up while neatly folding the pieces of cloth.
Wemmbu snorted, “No, Sherlock, the jacket. Yeah the blindfold.”
“Okay bro-” the netherborn chorteled and rolled his eyes, “I guess… You remember ManePear, right? The speed dude with a spear, always hungry? I swear you've met him in the Zam Empire.”
“Do I-” Wemmbu barked out, his eyebrows shot upwards, “Do I know him! This guy- I can't.” a breathless laugh followed.
“So you do.” Flame chose to ignore the reaction for now, “He's… You know, people used to call us the blindfold brothers. It was like, our thing. I guess I'd just gotten used to it, it's like a symbol. A part of our, my persona. People associate blindfolds with me, and sometimes with Mane, but you know, he's been away from the main server for a while now, not many people remember him nowadays.”
“Mhm…” Wemmbu smirked, “For Mane's brother, I sure didn't expect the blindfold to be sentimental.”
He'd said that cheerfully but Flame picked up on the barely noticeable tone of spite and poison hidden underneath. The combat master frowned, tried to rack his head and fish out a memory of what Mane could've possibly done to Wemmbu of all people to cause such reactions.
The last time he'd seen them together, when was that? Zam Empire? Flame's frowned deepened, no, that doesn't seem right.
He was about to be straight up and ask the demon, but then he remembered his time as a Diamond Trim. The mace that Mane swore he knew how to get, the kidnapped Eggchan and a much weaker than he was now Wemmbu, with sloppy hits and heart on his sleeve.
Still, he needed to make sure.
“Wemmbu, what was your connection with Mane exactly?”
The demon coughed and his head rolled away, facing the starry sky now, “Mentor and a trainee. He helped me learn mace PvP, provided me and Egg with a roof over our heads and a warm meal every night.” he reminisced, “Then he betrayed me, sold me out. Wanted my mace to give it to you and you wanted it for ClownPierce and-” Wemmbu's voice cracked as he rambled, words laced with old, pent-up hurt, “Left me an oak sign with an insult, was way too much of a coward to say that to my face.”
Flame bit his lip, “Sorry to hear that.” Wemmbu murmured something he couldn't hear it clearly, so Flame decided to continue, “You two are kinda alike. Besides the combat style, both of you always use whatever means necessary just to get what you want.” FlameFrags sighed, “No regard for honor whatsoever.”
Wemmbu's groan rang across the battlefield only to shift into another coughing fit. A small streak of blood rolled down from the corner of his mouth to the chin.
His voice was getting weaker and more hoarse, still he had the strength to complain, “There you go again with the honor stuff. Aren't you bored?”
“It's my life motto, bro! Of course I will stick by it.” Flame shook his head, “You could learn a thing or two.”
“Ah, right, because it's definitely gonna be useful for me later.” such a cruel but truthful joke.
Wemmbu turned away completely now, Flame could only see the heap of his purple hair. His shoulders came up and down with shaky, audible breaths.
He took a deep breath, tried to collect himself, “I like to think I have honor. In a way.”
“You? Honorable?” Flame sounded truly bewildered, “No- No, please, humor me, in what way do you think you got honor?”
Instead of a jab as a response or a laugh like Wemmbu did all throughout this conversation Flame heard… Nothing? Not silence, the demon's still alive, he knew that much, heaves and breaths still came from him, but Wemmbu hadn't said a single word.
Taking a closer look, FlameFrags noticed his shoulders were trembling.
“Bro, Wemmbu-”
“Honor is subjective.” the demon interrupted him, voice broken, “I stick with my people by all means necessary. I have principles I follow, albeit they're different from yours. Hell, for what it's worth, I was a guard at Capitol City, I didn't come up with a name that included ‘knight’ in it myself.”
Flame's mouth snapped closed. Wemmbu, in his eyes, was as far from honor as he could be, yet somehow his words made some sense.
“That's ah-” Flame fumbled, “That's surely a way to look at it.”
A few bats flew above their heads towards the forest, the only disturbance besides them two in the dead of the night around the battlefield. Wemmbu's breaths were getting shallower minute by minute, periodic gasps and grunts grew quieter. He still refused to face the netherborn. Flame himself was sitting close, not wanting to disturb his rival's very last peaceful moments.
FlameFrags wasn't sure why he's staying, it just felt right. Maybe it was guilt for causing this in the first place, even though Wemmbu did deserve a good beating up for everything he'd done, Flame hadn't lied when he said that he didn't want the demon to die.
He heard a sharp inhale from Wemmbu, Flame's eyes darted back to him.
“..Flame?” he rasped.
“What?”
Finally, Wemmbu turned back.
His black eyes seemed much duller and filled with tears. Some apparently had already fallen, there were some clean, moist spots around all the grime on his face.
“Do you think I deserve to be buried with honor?”
No hidden malice, no joking tone. A genuine question from a dying man that stunted FlameFrags to no end.
“You want an honest answer?” Flame tilted his head.
“Yeah.”
The combat master hummed, then averted his gaze away towards the horizon and what was left of a once beautiful statue of a knight. The sky was now barely noticeably getting lighter. The morning was approaching.
“In my opinion?” the combat master shrugged, “You don't bro.” he could hear Wemmbu scoff bitterly, “But… Like you said. Honor and being an honorable warrior is subjective. So…”
Flame turned back towards the demon, red and yellow eyes stared into the void-like ones.
“Do you want to be?”
Wemmbu blinked about a dozen times, opened and closed his mouth in search of an answer before he gulped, frowned and settled on one.
“Yeah… I'd like that.” a tone barely above a whisper, a confession.
A single tear drop escaped his eyes and Wemmbu smiled at nobody in particular.
“Flame I-” he sniffled, the demon looked borderline hysterical, “I don't wanna die. I don't-”
“I know. Nobody does.”
Gasping, Wemmbu tried hugging himself, “I mean, bro, I- Shit, man, I still had plans.”
He shifted, reached into his inventory. Threw a few things on the grass, he had no need for them, not now and never from now on. Lifting Gambit and Crucible seemed like hard labor at this point. He managed to shove his maces into the netherborn's arms.
“If you stop by in the end, hand them to Egg or- Or MinuteTech and ask him to pass them on to Egg.” he murmured, “Please don't burn them. It's important that you don't burn them this time.” Wemmbu, still teary-eyed, seemed the most serious he'd ever been in his life.
“I won't.” FlameFrags nodded, hiding the bloody weapons into the inventory of his own.
“Swear it bro, swear it.” the demon pressed, straining his voice.
“I swear.” he reassured his rival.
“Good. That's good…”
Wemmbu didn't say anything after that. Leaned back, watched the sky take on an emerald-ish shade of blue and the stars gradually disappear from it. Flame kept quiet as well.
Barely five minutes passed before a loud sound of a wither spawn rang through the area and the chat pinged with messages.
Wemmbu was slain by FlameFrags using <Fragger>
Wemmbu left the game
…
Nightrider felt foreign in Flame's hand as he stuck it into the fluffy dirt. This clearing in the forest was actually very beautiful, if the combat master had a little more whimsy left in him he surely would be taken aback. The canopies of large oak trees protected it from the majority of light, cascading dozens of little rays of sunshine through leaves. This area was filled with long, bright green grass and… Lilacs. A bit ironic, one of the only distinctly purple flowers happened to grow in the place Flame chose as the final resting place for a man who made the color purple practically a part of his personality.
Wemmbu's cape was soaked with already dried blood, it caked the fur and made once soft fabric stiff. He hung it over the nicely engraved guard.
Three blocks tall headstone made of cobblestone towered above the patch of dirt. On it, Flame secured a wooden sign.
Wemmbu
November 1
A warrior, a protector, a friend.
Slain by FlameFrags
The netherborn kneeled over the gravestone, head lowered, holding a minute of silence. So what if their ideas were incredibly different, if Flame disagreed with the demon more often than not.
FlameFrags would never in his life mourn an enemy, a rival.
He will, however, mourn a friend.