Chapter Text
"Wifies, didn't you die?" He whispered, confused and surprised, purple eyes widening in shock.
He had gotten sidetracked during one of his missions for Arachnid—a trail of suspicious players and activity being way more exciting than blowing up yet another civilization. It really wasn't his fault, he simply lost track of time… and his sense of direction.
There wasn't really any way to sugarcoat this to Arachnid later, but that was not his problem—"Yo, my bad, bro, I got lost and ended up millions of blocks out! Won't happen again, dude" or something, whatever, that's the only explanation the spider would get—right now, he was more focused on the dead-alive man standing in front of him.
Because Wifies was supposed to be dead. Parrot had told him, and well everyone else at District 13, that Wifies had died sacrificing himself in the battle against the mafia. And Parrot was a lot of things; a bum, loser, smart, annoyingly determined, etc. But he was not a liar. If the bird said he was dead, then he was dead. Parrot would never lie about something like that– I mean, the guy was half in tears just announcing the death, that's quite literally the only reason why Wemmbu even remembered that moment!
But then, if Parrot didn't lie, then how else could he explain the very-much-alive man in front of him right now?
Wifies was slouched slightly, his dark, black eyes accompanied by dark circles and a strange emptiness in them. The left part of his face was completely scarred, the skin was burnt roughly and slightly reddish—the right side of his face wasn't any less injured either, with cuts and bruises somehow byspassing natural regeneration with permanent scarring.
His brown hair was matted and unevenly cut, with various strands of charcoal and bits of debris, and his left ear was seriously and obviously damaged. Wifies was wearing a black, ominous cape that grazed the ground and covered his body completely, so he couldn't tell you for sure but Wemmbu was 67% sure that the burn scars trailed down past his neck.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to go quiet, as Wemmbu simply contemplated his fate and why he was the one to always get involved with the strangest of lores—
A sword cut through the air behind him, and pure muscle memory twisted his body to the side in time.
Some chungy–BarfGriefer1738–had decided to take Wemmbu's minute of stillness as an opportunity; that, not surprisingly, led to BarfGriefer67's quick, sharp and painful death. Wemmbu simply huffed as he drew his bloodied sword back, the chungy's body falling to the ground with a thud, before diapering into soft white particles—Wemmbu needed to lock in, he was currently in a fight after all, there was no time for deep, existential internal monologues about the permanence of death.
Wemmbu equipped his elytra, flying up quickly, feeling the familiar breeze of the wind whipping by as he flipped in the air to sharply descend down. His mace—Gambit—thrummed faintly underneath his palm as he swung the giant club down, the ever so nauseating sound of skulls being cracked open and blood being splattered helped him ease into a familiar rhythm, as disgustingly creepy as that may sound. It wasn't long before he killed every single bandit at that camp. Which shouldn't shock anyone, honestly, what were a few lowlifes against arguably the most powerful player on their server?
While originally having been sent on a mission to dismantle an opposing civilization to the Cave Kingdom, he had gotten distracted and had instead followed after a group of bandits he recognized. They called themselves The Rat Rangers, or something, he didn't really care that much honestly, but a while back they had threatened Wheat civilization. Which again, he wouldn't necessarily care about, but they had escaped from him once already and so he just wanted to cut off any more loose ends. He's had enough of those biting him in the ass later on, partly because he forgot and/or didn't care.
Anyways, enough of the flashback, the bandits were actually surprisingly stacked—with every single bandit in diamond armor, and the leader in netherite; unfortunately all in protection 2 or 3, but it was a lot for a small gaggle of thieves.
"Yo, don't mind if I eat up this loot…" he muttered to himself as he bent down to swiftly pick up the gear scattered across the bandit camp—
"Wemmbu."
He paused. A single golden apple fell out of his grasp as he craned his neck to see behind him. It was Wifies.
Wifies stared at him with empty, unamused curiosity. His uneven, brown hair fell down his face slightly as he tilted his head somewhat questiongly.
In all honesty, Wemmbu had forgotten the man was there, and so he couldn't help the tiny surprised squeak that jumped out of his mouth. He certainly doesn't see ghosts everyday, not including the JamatoP incident. Or would Wifies qualify as a zombie? He's not that green and he's way more attrac—
"It's been a while," Wifies looks him up and down, in a slow, scrutinizing sweep, that also makes him squirm self consciously, and is so obviously meant for him to see, "You look… different."
He looks different? Has Wifies seen himself? Sure, the last time Wifies saw him was probably during the mafia when he wore simple white ruffled blouses, dark purple corsets and vests, and black dress pants—and yes, maybe the outfit he's wearing right now has deviated a lot from then; tight black turtleneck, netherite vest trimmed in glowing amethyst, and a thin, translucently black spidernet-veil that shimmered with crushed pearls that Jaden had gifted him back in Pirate City.
Maybe it was a huge transformation aesthetically, and yes maybe his eyes were shinier back in the Mafia, and yes his hair was longer and healthier back then—but Wifies, formerly dead and presently scarred, should not be talking about his change in appearance.
Wemmbu let out a flabbergasted chuckle, "Wha– Dude, you can not be talking right now. I look different? Hah, You're scarred, like blown up by a world-ending-nuclear-explosion scarred," He gestures fantastically at Wifies, his voice pitching through sheer bafflement, "Like, dawg, what even happened, I was told you were like, dead, bro."
Wifies, shockingly, didn't even smile at Wemmbu’s amazing analogy. In fact, Wifies' face hardly twitched at all, instead staying disturbingly expressionless. Wemmbu remembered Wifies as someone who's expressions were usually calm, but definitely not nonexistent.
"Well, as you can see, I'm very much alive. Though I wouldn't say I'm thriving." Wifies hummed, motioning uselessly to himself with a pale, dirtied hand. That much was evident. "You wouldn't mind helping a guy out, would you?"
Wifies smiled sweetly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes; he spoke softly, but his voice was threateningly cold.
For a quiet moment, with only the slight gushing of wind in the background—they stared at each other. Dulled, purple eyes met empty, black ones.
Wifies softened first—undeniably from the comfort of confirmation still unspoken, still edging behind Wemmbu's lips warily. Wifies' confidence made him falter, pause with his mouth still half-open—because somehow, he wasn't sure, it seemed Wifies had predicted his reply before it was even uttered into existence. Before Wemmbu himself had known the answer.
It made him feel naked, seen through, and it honestly made him hesitate. Not like that mattered anyway.
"…I- Uh. Haah, fine, yeah, whatever. Not like I have anything else to do."