Chapter Text
If you're reading this, I'm dead.
Parrot walked past a book store, smiling as he saw his book featured on one—no—a few of the tables.
He picked it up and saw his name under the title. Superhuman nature, it read. He felt pride well up into his stomach, although it was a hard year writing this book, he's glad.
He recalls the nights he drew a poorly-made stickman version of Wifies just to crumple the paper up and throw it against the wall.
Or the times it was so bad he went to Reddit of all places to go for advice for the plot.
But he made it.
He flipped through the pages and felt so content—he wrote it all.
And people liked it!
Sorry, that was just a hook, I'm probably not, considering the setting of where I'm writing this... I'm not dead currently. This isn't the afterlife as far as I'm aware.
They actually took the time to read it, they promoted it, they thoroughly enjoyed it. He had considered just leaving it on a cliffhanger, meant to be up to interpretation, or for fans to write what happens next...
It was such a success, how could he not write a sequel? He had a vague idea anyways, and there was still so much left for Wifies to do. So many more areas for Wifies' character to go. Plus lovable side characters that he could try to explore too. Parrot was already halfway through the first-draft, it's looking good so far—which is surprising, due to the amount of editing his first book gone through.
I'm an author. Or.. more specifically, my name is Parrot Extwo. Unique name, not the point.
He gently placed down the book, still admiring the cover engraved into his head. It's of every single other character, colored, bright, distinct, and Wifies as a blurry figure, peaking through the crowd. It's fitting—considering the fact that Wifies feels like a side-character in his own book. Debates about whether or not he should even be the main character are still around. But it's purposeful. Parrot swears.
The second book cover—which he had been working with a commissioned artist to do—has future Wifies staring back at his past self, surrounded by the same figures dead on the ground.
While in the first cover, Wifies is bright and distinct from everyone else, in the second cover, he's dull, and the bodies are bright pink.
I wrote this book, you see, it blew up, I was halfway through a sequel when...
Genius! (Right?)
The story got people engaged enough, and everyone told him it was good... so it must be.
It has to be.
For them
He can't explain it all—too much lore, instead, Parrot needed to get home soon. He was just finishing up from his job from his cafe job.
Parrot walked towards his car—which he parked on the far end of the parking lot, it was so crowded, and he got to his job late—he heard tire screeches, but he reacted too late and, or he froze, he froze, which was completely out of character for him—
The bumper of the truck collided into his side. He's sure a few bones broke—no, shattered.
A truck hit me. Cliché, I know.
He felt the air leave his lungs, his spine break, his stomach twist, and his heart pounding, the last heartbeats it'd get to send.
Parrot coughed up blood, when he opened his eyes again, he looked around to see his back smashed into the hood of another car. Severely damaged, not to mention his bones... He felt his head ache, it was like his brain was shaking at every little movement... maybe because he got a concussion. Or the sun was too bright.
I'm dying in radiant daylight. On some ahh Monday.
Ugh... that's not cinematic at all, is it? Maybe if—if only that old guy would shut up.
Some old guy was yelling—he was southern, maybe smoke a lot—and Parrot found it aggravating to listen to. Who wants THAT to be the last words they hear from another person?
Maybe it was the truck driver... but Parrot couldn't muster the effort to check.
He leaned his head back, his brain sliding in his cranium, was that even metaphorical? Parrot's not sure. He winced when the sun dared beaming in his face again, shutting his eyes closed. He tried ignoring the buzzing fleeting feeling, like his soul was slipping away from his body.
And focused on other things—his novel, his favorite songs, the games he liked to play...
...his family.
I can finally see them again.
I... can apologize.
Though the seer amount of blood he lost was distracting. It tasted like if someone blended copper up and force-fed it to him.
I'll be okay, it's all okay. He, well, lied to himself. There wasn't a way he could recover from this one, logically speaking. His hip got destroyed, and he must have a brain injury. His back felt cooked too.
It's all fine, I come back from injuries. There's still tomorrow left to live.
I have so much more to write.
Wifies' story isn't finished. He's—he's left on a cliffhanger! That's so unfulfilling!
I can't die... that's too ridiculous.
∷ᒷ⋮フ╎ᓵᒷ, ᖋリ↸ ∴ᖋℸᓵ⍑ ᖋነ ॥フ⚍። ∴フ።↸ነ ∴╎ꖎꖎ ℸフ ።ᒷᖋꖎ╎ℸ॥
ʳᵉʲᵒⁱᶜᵉ, ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱᵗʸ
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
When I was dying out on top of a totaled car, I heard someone call out to me in a language foreign... yet I somehow understood like my own.
Maybe it was the brain injury that got to him, but an alien-ass voice called out to him and said that. Parrot wanted to pry open his eyes, but death's grasp was already taking him—so no light for him...
Parrot's "last thought" was full of bitter confusion.
I wasn't sure what the voice had been saying, total gibberish, it seemed. But now, now that I'm here...
...I think I'm somewhat aware of what they meant.
———
Wifies is a cafe worker.
He works from 8 to 11, you might think that's insane—it is, the saying "I work a 9 to 5" was mainstreamed for a reason—but it's not like he has plans. Five days-a-week. Plus, he gets breaks every two hours, of his 15 hours, if that goes against Workplace Environment code, then... it's not like LAW will ever drop by his door. His employers aren't much LAW abiding citizens regardless.
Wifies poured the hot coffee into the mugs, the steam evaporating, a nice peaceful rhythm he built working here. A line full of colorful figures, at least that's what it seemed like, since his sense of color is kind of dull.
In a coffee shop in highly populated area such as this one, it's reasonable that he'd get so many customers.
The TV in the seating area buzzed with LAW news, reporting on whatever Gambit and Phoenix are doing. This time, it was of them running past each other during a raid on LAW in Highwater. Gambit with his beloved mace, and Phoenix sneering at Gambit. That act was nearby, actually. The media love them. Always the same title, IMPERIAL FIRE SHOWDOWN?! Just for it to be an interaction of them spotted in the same area.
Wifies is never sure what their goals are.
How enticing is power for people to turn out like this?
When the "Imperial Fire duo"—Gambit and Phoenix—daily reports were finished, another face showed up. A man with a striking white hair tied into loose bun, pale skin, a sinister grin, two moles under his eyes, dark yellow eyes, and a black and crimson crown.
Recently, the news has been showing new faces, General Scoria and his group, Cindercrest.
"Cindercrest have been attempting to destroy Skymore civilians. Appropriate measures are being taken to protect the citizens of Skymore."
Wifies didn't listen to the rest, another customer.
"Hi, what can I get you?"
A man, glaringly similar to Scoria, same sly look too, from the TV, instead wearing a basic T-shirt and jeans.
"Don't you just love Cindercrest?"
The man wearing a T-Shirt with the printed design "VOTE FOR SCORIA" asked him.
...
"Yes." He lied. Quietly. Controversy can send away customers.
"Great!" The white man grinned, Wifies still felt threatened, "I'll take... a matcha!"
I'm gonna assume he means a latte.
"That'll be $5.99, cash or card?"
...
The white man didn't budge. Only looking at him with fairly dark pupils... and red eye-contacts? Definitely eye-contacts. They're too bright of a shade for it to be natural.
"Sir, that'll be—"
"Y'know, isn't it so SO sad?"
"..what is?"
$5.99.
"The pay gap!" He started hitting the counter with his fist. "It's just so unfair! You know the beautiful, ethereal, empathetic, kind, loving, caring, strong, humble leader of Cindercrest is a feminist?"
"Yeah I agree," Wifies nodded, "The pay gap is pretty bad." He waited a second in tense silence. "...but that'll be $5.99."
"I hear that Lettuce K HATES women."
Okay bro.
"DESPISES them, in fact, would you vote for such a horrible person?"
Now come to think of it..
"I'm not sure I'm—"
"NO! If you're a good person, you wouldn't even THINK of voting for Lettuce K. That's why I think you should vote for the humble honorary lesbian, me—COUGH, ehem, I mean the leader of Cindercrest."
"I'm... not sure if I'm legally allowed to vote."
This part is true, his age is a mystery to himself and others. Maybe he could vote? But is he even a legal citizen?
Scoria froze. He stared at Wifies like a cockroach to crush.
"Are you kidding me...?" Scoria muttered under his breath, "You know what, I'll give you grace, youngling—"
"Saps."
Loud footsteps, ones that didn't care about indoor voice, probably... hm... combat shoes, the military kind, just by the sound of it.
A man with a ton of layers, a long-sleeve grey shirt, a short bleak orange poncho over a jacket. A scarf, plus the hood, obscured most of his facial features, but his eyes were piercing and dark. He had grey (again) combed back hair, and sunglasses perched on the top of his head.
"You have no fun, honestly. I was only going to convince this cafe, or..." Scoria, maybe "Saps", looked back at Wifies. All Wifies could see is focused intensity, it's the kind of eye-contact boxers have before going after an opponent. Not a very good sign...
The poncho dude grabbed Scoria by the back of his shirt, dragging him out the door. "We have a meeting." He stated, just loud enough for Wifies to hear.
Well, not really loud, he has good hearing.
"Tch, you're such a kill-joy, if you weren't so strong, I'd hate you."
"Who cares? You hate everyone."
"You said it not me."
They were out of earshot by then.
...and Scoria didn't even pay.
With an unamused huff, Wifies was going to continue working when catching a glimpse of a phone's flash in the corner of his eye.
Everyone is recording, Wifies realizes. Ken and Wato are gonna pester me about safety in Capitol city again.
All before 9:00 AM by the way.
———
フ⚍። ᖋ⚍ℸ⍑フ።, ᒲᖋ↸ᒷ ⚍ነ フ⚍። ↸ᒷᖋ። ᓵᖋリ⍊ᖋነ
ᵒᵘʳ ᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳ, ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵘˢ ᵒᵘʳ ᵈᵉᵃʳ ᶜᵃⁿᵛᵃˢ
ᒲᖋ↸ᒷ ⚍ነ フ⚍። ⚍リ╎⍊ᒷ።ነᒷ
ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵘˢ ᵒᵘʳ ᵘⁿⁱᵛᵉʳˢᵉ
ʖ⚍ℸ ⍑ᒷ ╎ነ リフℸ ።ᒷᖋ↸॥, ㅓ⚍╎ꖎℸ-።╎↸↸ᒷリ ᖋリ↸ ነフ።።フ∴⎓⚍ꖎ
ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ⁱˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉᵃᵈʸ, ᵍᵘⁱˡᵗ⁻ʳⁱᵈᵈᵉⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒʳʳᵒʷᶠᵘˡ
∴ᒷ ᒲ⚍ነℸ ᕊ።╎ㅓ⍑ℸᒷリ ℸ⍑╎ነ ↸╎ᒲ, ᕊꖎᒷᖋꖌ, ∴フ።ꖎ↸
ʷᵉ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇʳⁱᵍʰᵗᵉⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵈⁱᵐ, ᵇˡᵉᵃᵏ, ʷᵒʳˡᵈ
⋮⚍ነℸ ᖋነ ⍑ᒷ ╎ᒲᖋㅓ╎リᒷ↸
ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ⁱᵐᵃᵍⁱⁿᵉᵈ
Am I dead?
Is this the afterlife?
It's a pretty sucky afterlife. There's so many eyeballs looking at me.
Wait.
Fire crackled in his ears, the warmth of a blaze both terrifying and comforting in a way. "Am I in hell?" He drawled.
When he opened his eyes, eyes looked back at him.
⍑ᒷ ╎ነ ነフ ᕊ።ᖋ⍊ᒷ
ʰᵉ ⁱˢ ˢᵒ ᵇʳᵃᵛᵉ
∴⍑ᖋℸ ᖋ ㅓフフ↸ !¡ᒷ።ነフリ
ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ
Ϟ⚍ᓵ⍑ ᖋリ ╎リℸᒷꖎꖎ╎ㅓᒷリℸ ነℸ⚍↸ᒷリℸ
ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᵗᵉˡˡⁱᵍᵉⁿᵗ ˢᵗᵘᵈᵉⁿᵗ
ᖋ ᓵᖋ።╎リㅓ ᕊ።フℸ⍑ᒷ።
ᵃ ᶜᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵇʳᵒᵗʰᵉʳ
They whispered.
Isn't that insane? They're eyeballs...
Hundreds or them—perhaps even thousands. All surrounding him in nothing but a black void. They were focused on him. Him. Him... but this is almost forced. Was it nice? Was it creepy? Did it have to be one or the other? Looking down, below him were a sea of oculi, they were focused on him. He tried shutting his eyes—he physically couldn't, like someone clipped them open— that doesn't really work when you're in the eye dimension, huh?
He tried reaching out, only to find nothing. He tried standing up, running away from whatever this was, but he didn't.
They're focused on me.
They're focused on me, they're focused on me.
Maybe he didn't want to run.
Maybe he liked all the eyes on him.
But, that twisted feeling of appreciation didn't last long, those gazes of adoration quickly burned into judgmental stares.
All looking, inspecting, watching him.
Their once curious observations now felt like he disappointed them in a way. He didn't live up to their expectations.
ነ⚍ᓵ⍑ ᖋ ↸╎ነᖋ!¡!¡フ╎リℸᒲᒷリℸ
ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵖᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗᵐᵉⁿᵗ
It's not true.
╎ ℸ⍑フ⚍ㅓ⍑ℸ ⍑ᒷ ∴フ⚍ꖎ↸'⍊ᒷ ᕊᒷᓵフᒲᒷ ነフᒲᒷℸ⍑╎リㅓ ነフ ㅓ።ᒷᖋℸ
ⁱ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʰᵉ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗ
ℸ⍑ᒷ॥ ᖋ።ᒷ ↸ᒷᖋ↸ ᕊᒷᓵᖋ⚍ነᒷ フ⎓ ॥フ⚍
ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵃʳᵉ ᵈᵉᵃᵈ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘ
That's not true.
ᖋリ↸ ॥フ⚍ ᓵᖋリ'ℸ ᒷ⍊ᒷリ ᕊフℸ⍑ᒷ። ℸフ ።ᒷᒲᒷᒲᕊᒷ። ℸ⍑ᒷᒲ._.
ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉᵐ.
॥フ⚍ ᖋ።ᒷ リフℸ ᖋリ ᖋ⚍ℸ⍑フ።
ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳ
॥フ⚍ ᖋ።ᒷ ᖋ ᕊ።フꖌᒷリ ⍊ᒷ።ነ╎フリ フ⎓ ℸ⍑ᒷ ⍑ᒷ።フ ॥フ⚍ !¡ᖋ╎リℸᒷ↸ ॥フ⚍።ነᒷꖎ⎓ フ⚍ℸ ℸフ ᕊᒷ
ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃ ᵇʳᵒᵏᵉⁿ ᵛᵉʳˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉʳᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᵗᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ
IT'S NOT TRUE—
He ran.
He ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until he couldn't feel his legs.
He dug into his ears; as if that'd make the whispers go away; as if the quiet would change the truth.
He scraped his nails into the palm of his hand—making it bleed.
He could hear them—not the sentient eldritch horror eyeball creatures, no—he could hear them. Their voices, ones he thought were lost to mind.
He could see the bed they all crawled into when it happened to thunder.
He could feel their tiny fingers grabbing his.
He could smell the fresh scent of cut grass stained onto their newly brought pants.
He could taste the horrible cake they made for his birthday.
When his lungs were on fire, his breath a pathetic gasp, weary legs, limp, scarred hands, blood caked underneath his fingernails; he had to accept it.
I'm a failure. His thoughts echoed across his mind. Repeating in his head like a some kind of cruel time loop.
Not then, not now.
He laid down on the floor—if there was one—and his lids drooped down on their own.
This wasn't the best place to pass-out, so he tried not to.
He focused on the eyes instead.
The eyes were so wide open, the veins were bleeding, the sclera was bleeding too. Red tears. Red. All red. The pupils stared at him with such an intensity you could mistake their pupils for a black hole.
It had such pull towards it too.
But... slowly, the eyes disappeared into the darkness. The loud whispers leaving along too.
One after one, they quit looking at him.
Quit dissecting him. Quit judging him.
He didn't know how it made him feel, as bad as that sounds. Some part of him was relieved that all the freaky eye monsters are gone...
Another part of him just wants to know how it feels being stared at like that... with such admiration.
That everyone wanted to be him, idolized him...
It's...
...a nice feeling.
Parrot closed his eyes.
He saw them, all grown-up, with smiles on their faces and beating hearts, they're taller than him, his worse nightmare.
Maybe now I'll see you guys.
———
Squiddo rolled in at around 8:22 as she does, "Dude, I just had the c̵͕͈̈́raz̷̼͝i̷̧͒͂e̴͙͚̽̾s̵̄ț̸̖̀̈ dream.😳" She started with, Wifies hummed as a response, letting her continue.
Wifies started making her a drink that contained [INFORMATION REDACTED, UNSAFE TO TRY AT HOME].
"I saw a bunch of stuff, half the city gets nuked—what else is new, amirite? Eÿ̵̝͓͇̫̳̟́̈́̎́́̎͐̈̾e̸̲̭̮̦̿̈́b̵͍̫̔̔͝a̷͙̙͕̪͖̋̿̐̔͛l̶̅͂̇̐̀̓̐̚l̴͉͕͍̳͖̮̾̆̇́́̊̚͜ ̸̗͇͚̺̞̗̰͔͎̒́͆͜͠ͅc̶̰̠̯̄̈́͐r̶̝̼͎̆̄̿͘͝ea̶̢̮̯͉̿͐̋͝t̵̨̛̟̮̾̇̇̄ù̷̹̱̤̠͌̉̿ṛ̵̡̗̳̗͖͓̔̊̏̆͠ͅȩ̵̛̝́͒̑̎̈́͝͠ş̸̮̠̤̪̦̖̣̞͛̇́̈̉̃̐͗ appear, but they like me I think—they're chill..." They described a multitude of things, talking super fast and slurred.. Wifies becoming evil (no comment), an "(un)stoppable presence"—as they themselves put it—crash-landing into the cafe through the windows, and....
"Wemmbu finally freaking dĭ̶̪̥̔̍es̴̰̠͇̝̱̝͊͑̈̃͘ͅ!!😆😆"
He paused pouring in the 100 grams of sugar into their "coffee". (For legal reasons, that is an exaggeration)
Squiddo staring at him with pleading eyes.
"That's nice, Squiddo, I'm glad you're sleeping well." He said, not really considering what would happen if Wemmbu, Squiddo's "serial killer" neighbor died. He finished with whip cream, mango syrup, pink and blue sour powders, all while Squiddo continued on with her stories.
It's... funny, the first time Squiddo ever said one of her ridiculous stories, it had come true.
1000 players really did try to break into Ken's home.
"But I-I don't know, it was just his annoying hammer—the mace or whatever—he carries around to threaten little kids, i̶̛̭̖̥̹̪͊̂̀̅͘ţ̶̀͋̾̎ w̷͇̍͌̒͂͝ͅā̶̢̳̟̜̰̞̤̅͘̕s̴̫̾̃ ̵͑͒bĺ̷͉͖̫̎͊̽͛͝͠o̴͉̎̊̈́͂̋̑̈́ö̸̺̝̯͇̑͌̈͗͗̚d̵̹́̈́͂͒̾̎̊ỵ̸̡͙̙̞̈́̂͒̾̏͐͋, not him himself.🙄"
"Sounds like the villain Gambit, don't you think?"
Squiddo shrugged. Always vague whenever Wifies attempts to converse more. She shrugged with still shoulders—unlike her usual carefree attitude to serious events. They probably know something more about Gambit.
What could he even do with that information?
Wifies is a normal cafe worker.
Who's just a bit nosy, but never does anything with the information he naturally gathers.
That doesn't compare to anyone with power.
SLURPPPPP
Oh, yeah, Squiddo is still here.
Squiddo sipped the drink, and their face turned a hue of dark blue, Wifies could visibly see their soul slipping away, before squealing in a frequency only dogs could comprehend, shoving their soul back into their body, and skipping away.
"THANKS WIFIES TALK TO YOU LATERRR 😆😆😆!!"
Did she just say the emojis vocally? In person too? ...well, I guess it's not the weirdest thing Squiddo's done.
———
"Urgh... where the heck am I?"
He pried his eyes open, contrary to whatever bullshit dream he was having before, the sound of flames crackling especially got him up.
"I'm really hoping that was a crazy dream I got because I thought I was dying." He murmured, his limbs oddly asleep. He felt a throbbing at his palm, noticing the scratches and the dried blood under his nails...
I'm going to choose to ignore that.
Parrot got up off of the ground, stretching as well as taking in his surroundings.
He is encircled in flames.
During bright daylight again, dammit why can't any of his dying spots be scenic?
Great.
It took him a while to comprehend the loud buzzing of helicopters, or the sirens of a police car, and the two people aura-farming over him.
A purple blob and a glowing-red blur.
He might've been tearing up because of the smoke, so he wiped it away with his sweater's sleeve, and squinted closer at the two figures in the distance. One had dark skin and warm-toned colour palette, not to mention the red glow that surrounded him, a blindfold concealing his eyes, a sword dragging on the concrete he was standing on. The other had long flowing purple hair in a ponytail, purple fading on his fingertips an neck, holding a mace—
—wait a fricking minute.
That's Wemmbu and Flame.
That's genuinely Wemmbu and Flame.
They look kind of like...
"Yo!" Wemmbu quickly cut his thought off. "Who the hell are you bro?? You showed out of nowhere."
"For real bro! You started summoning eyeball demons or whatever, horrible power to fight by the way, but I still did—"
"—WE still did bro."
"Why are you lying?? You started squeaking like a little kid!"
"Ohhh my gosh YOU'RE the one lying bro! Always tryna get me to mess up in front of the public!"
"You were all like "EEEEEEK!!" and—and "AAAAAAA!" not a single freaking hit oh my bro you're genuinely fried at fighting new things. No adaptability whatsoever. Like—"
Huh, they even fight like they did too...
It brought a small smile to his face.
"THE FUH YOU SMILING FOR BRO?? WE'RE SLIMING YOU OUT FIRST??" They said in sync... exactly like—
—glass shards were left on the ground as Wemmbu and Flame held their weapons.
Aaaaaand that is Parrot cue to go!
"Behind you!" He yelled. Surely that won't work on them too, right?
They glanced.
Parrot hopped on someone's car to leave the scene. "Sorry," He said, running, running like he always does.
The road up ahead was a complete disaster. Stopped and crashed cars left scattered all over the road. A torn-off door here, a rolled off wheel there. Smoke dominated the air, leading to Parrot coughing uncontrollably. The carbon monoxide might start its effects. I really can't afford to pass out when two supervillains are chasing me.
Despite the disastrous setting, he didn't notice anyone distressed.
People followed precaution.
They escaped through the designated exits.
They covered their mouths with spare masks or with their shirts.
They calmly walked out.
As if this was normal, like the route to work, or a followed part of their schedule.
This is exactly how I described Capitol city.
"This can't be real..." He muttered.
"It's real, alright!" Wemmbu shouted. Leaping across tanked cars like some sort of acrobat. Dammit, why did I decide to add potions to the worldbuilding? "One of my best fights yet!"
"ONLY BECAUSE YOU WON!" Flame countered, a little further behind, with visible ash over his face and head.
"Nah, you're just mad 'cause I beat you??"
Parrot continued to sprint when—
Squiiiiiiiiiiiiishh
—his foot touched something fleshy.
He slowly looking down... hoping it wasn't what he thought it was...
But it was.
It was an eyeball surrounded by void.
Nopenopenopenope not to-fucking-day.
He followed his instincts.
He clawed up the thing with his bare hands and chucked it towards Wemmbu head. Wemmbu slammed it across the ground with his mace, staining it with black goo.
Some got on his face.
"EEEW WHAT THE HELL BIRD-MAN????"
Bird-man? Parrot questioned, but he ran, he had the chance.
"GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!" Wemmbu whined like a child, probably incapacitating him for a bit, Flame was right. But Parrot knew that, he had childish in mind when writing Wemmbu.
Parrot heard Wemmbu's voice fade out, and he dashed through the crowd of people, his eyes darting for any locations to hide... Unfortunately, he stood out like a sore thumb because he was running. Everyone else had probably assumed he was a debuting villain or something.
I don't want to hurt anyone as collateral.
Flame was trailing closely behind him, definitely more physically capable and probably about to slime him out if he didn't do anything.
"I don't know who you are thinking you can interrupt a fight like that," Flame said, "but at the very least don't use your trump card and then flee like a coward." He sneered.
"What did I—"... even do. Is showing the enemy you have less information than them the right move?
Flame pounced off the ground with the superhuman strength Parrot decided to give him, flipping over him, cutting him off. Flame sliced lashed his sword at Parrot's neck, he staggered out the way, Flame missed by a mere inch.
"FLAME, that's MY kill you piece of—!" Wemmbu.
Flame momentarily stopped attacking, probably about to engage back, Parrot lowered his stature, barely rolling out the way when he slammed his mace down.
That didn't stop the impact of the sheer force.
THUD
Parrot collided with some wall, hitting his head...
"Crap... wake up," He commanded, lightly smacking his cheek. "Wake... up..." He struggled to stand upright, he's concussed, his head is pounding again.
I get hit with a truck like some isekai protagonist and now this BS.
Flame dashed to where he was standing, drawing out his sword, Wemmbu from behind, (how am I seeing behind? Like a pair of eyes. But I'm in front of Flame. Not behind Wemmbu) he wound his mace back.
Parrot wiped his nose, it dripped with blood, he was out of breath by now, he couldn't run.
So he didn't.
Flame's sword was an unstoppable force, Parrot couldn't tank it.
Someone else could.
It grazed his shirt as he side-stepped, Wemmbu blinked as his mace missed its target, and a blade that was already moving.
Don't hurt each other, you're brothers—
Parrot sprinted.
He didn't look back, even if Wemmbu had the same childish demeanor, the same toothy grin, the same unserious spirit.
Even if they looked similar, they weren't.
They aren't.
The streets he dragged his feet through became blurry. The fire passed by, new buildings and calmer conversations were murmured. He heard a few people whisper about him, —his burnt clothes, sluggish walking—he couldn't muster enough brain power to care. The blood from his nosebleed dried and was crusted, he sniffled, attempting to preserve some dignity.
I give up. He thought, but that sounded too pathetic, he doesn't give up. I'll rest now.
The neon lights of an open sign flickered, he couldn't be bothered to read the shop's name, but it was nice enough.
He sat down bit further from the dumpster. The alleyway surprisingly well-kept with a few street cats staring at him curiously. He rested his head against the bricks, shutting his eyes, and curling up into a ball.
Just a rest. I didn't give up.