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Exhaustion pulled at Wemmbu like a cloying disease, dragging his limbs down and making him feel sluggish. He stared out across the ruined battlefield dully, mildly stunned by the damage that he and Flame had managed to inflict. They’d just killed a thousand players together—a thousand—and won.
Warm satisfaction coiled in the demon’s chest. That’s what Lettuce gets. The caracal surely won’t underestimate them again. Maybe they’ll finally get the chance to relax, a moment of reprieve after such a tiring battle.
Wemmbu sure needs it. The last few days had been a blur of events happening too quickly—like violent whiplash. His identify as the Invisible Knight had been revealed after months of pretending to be dead—all that work, down the drain in a heartbeat. Parrot and Flame had done that, had ruined his attempt at living a peaceful existence on the server.
It wasn’t something that he wanted to think about right now, especially not when his adrenaline was still pumping, hot and electric, through his veins. He sucked in a deep breath, clenching his fingers at his sides—they were faintly aching, a reminder of the long battle that he had just endured with his rival. He has fought in plenty of large battles, but this one had been the longest by far. A thousand players kitted out in netherite were fairly difficult to take down, admittedly. Macing can start to feel pretty tiresome after multiple hours of doing it nonstop, but at least Gambit’s bloodlust was temporarily fed, a rarity for the violent weapon.
But none of that matters—the unburdened freedom taking root in his chest felt too good to be ruined by a bit of pain. Void, that battle was over, and it felt good. There were countless items and bodies scattered across the ground below, with craters from his nukes and stabshots breaking up the previously flat terrain. He was covered in blood. None of it was his own, of course, which is a little gross. His arms were coated in it like the drying liquid was a second skin, and there were patches of it on his face. All he wanted to do was collapse. Take a warm shower, change into clean clothes, sleep for a week.
He heard movement behind him—Flame. The blaze must be just as exhausted as him. It had been nice to fight alongside his rival, on the same side for once. They fight well together, like they can predict what the other is going to do before they themself have even decided what their next move is going to be. Sure, they duel constantly, but it’s because they’re the only ones who can give each other a proper challenge—the two strongest players on the server, rivals before anything else.
A sword slid across the back of his chestplate, and Wemmbu went careening over the edge of the building where he had been standing. A harsh sound escaped his throat, surprise and agitation mixing together inside of him. His wings flared out to catch his fall, and he landed solidly on the ground below. There was the sound of a water bucket catching another player’s own fall, and the demon turned to face Flame.
“Are we seriously doing this right now?” Wemmbu asked, exasperated and mildly disbelieving. He really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s Flame, the man can’t ever think about resting or putting off a fight. “I barely have any gear left, bro!” He complained as he swapped to his own sword, deflecting the blaze’s next attack. It was a tired motion, but fresh adrenaline rushed through his limbs, that instinctual call to his body to focus back on a fight even when it had been pushed past its limits. They both had been pushed past their limits, he knew, but Flame didn’t seem to care. He could read his rival’s tells easily, could spot the subtle signs of exhaustion in the man’s attacks, and yet Flame still lunged forward with an unwavering intensity.
“Wow, it’s almost like I didn’t have any gear the last time we dueled too!” Flame replies with a scoff, pressing his sword harshly into Wemmbu’s. “And you didn’t care, did you?”
“Bro, I—” Wemmbu cuts himself off, pulling away to splash himself with pots. He only had a few left, and the rest of his items weren’t looking much better. Just a handful of windcharges and no more XP to repair his armor. “My bad? I thought this battle made us, like, chill with each other.”
“We aren’t chill ‘till I get a rematch.” Flame responds as he pots himself as well, redirecting his focus back to Wemmbu once he had done so. “I’ll prove I’m the strongest player on the server.”
Wemmbu groans, windcharging up into the air and dropping down on the blaze with his mace. “It’s really not that serious, bro.”
Flame lets out a fake laugh, pearling away as Wemmbu tried to mace him again. The blaze appeared a few blocks away, and Wemmbu had to drop to the ground with his sword to land a hit on the other man. “It seemed pretty fucking serious for you when you showed up at my base with your stupid nukes, bro.”
Wemmbu fell silent, not knowing what to say to that. It was true that he had really been willing to do anything to be the strongest player, but as soon as he had received that title, he had realized that it wasn’t worth it at all. He likes PVP, but doing it for the sole purpose of some stupid role hadn’t made him happy. In fact, he’d gone invisible to enjoy the server as a normal player rather than be the strongest anymore.
But, of course, he had refused to listen to anyone else before he had won against Flame. To expect the blaze to listen to reason right now was ridiculous. Wemmbu wouldn’t have listened, and he’s too similar to his rival to uselessly hope that the other might be any less stubborn than him.
However, another thing about Wemmbu is that he is also too petty at times, and he refuses to simply give up during a fight.
“Whatever, bro, but this is stupid.” Wemmbu grumbles finally, ducking to avoid a nasty hit that Flame had aimed for his torso. “We literally just finished a battle that took all day.”
Flame’s mouth tightened into a thin line, webbing the ground beneath Wemmbu’s feet. The demon used his water bucket to destroy the web, windcharging up into the air before the blaze could land a hit on him. “Just admit that I’m the strongest and we can be done, bro!”
It was Wemmbu’s turn to laugh, a disbelieving sound. “Are you serious?” He asked, though the words came out a bit breathless, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not.” Flame snaps harshly, flickers of fire dancing along his shoulders—a characteristic unique to blaze hybrids. A puff of smoke escaped his nostrils as he gasped for air, looking just as out of breath as the demon. “Skill beats out cheating, and we both know I’m the one with more skill here.”
Wemmbu backed away, repotting quickly, and clashed with Flame violently, their swords making an awful scraping sound as they collided. “It’s not—oh my Void, how is it cheating if it works?” Wemmbu asked with a groan, tired of this argument.
“Bro, you’re trying to tell me that your nukes and mace are fair?”
“Uh, okay, the nukes are maybe cheating, but who cares? As long as I win, I’ll do whatever it takes in a fight.” Wemmbu responded, his own frustration building. But along with it was the usual excitement that accompanied any duel with Flame—his rival was the only person who gave him any kind of a challenge on a regular basis during fights, which was why he even was considered his rival in the first place. “You can spout all your honor bullshit, but that won’t make you the strongest.”
Flame let out a growl, pearling right up in Wemmbu’s face, slashing his sword with a speed that made the demon’s head spin. The hit landed messily, pain flaring up through Wemmbu’s arm, blood leaking from the wound instantly. “I’ll be the strongest—and I’ll do it without cheating.” The blaze said, firm and resolute.
“Whatever you say, bro.” Wemmbu mumbles, downing a regeneration pot to stop the blood flow, swapping to his mace as he shot back up into the air. He came down with brutal speed, the force of the attack popping Flame’s totem. Green and yellow sparks erupted around then, and Flame cursed under his breath as he backed away to repot and put some distance between himself and Wemmbu.
The two of them fall into a dance of sorts, the violent display of their abilities clashing together. They know each other’s attacks and maneuvers well enough by now that they can oftentimes anticipate a hit before it has even been put into motion, and they both know how to set the other’s anger flaring.
Wemmbu switches to mainly macing, even as it irritates his aching limbs. His arms felt like they were going to fall off, his hands nearly numb by now. His lungs were burning with overexertion, and he could hear the same thing mirrored with Flame. The blaze, on the other hand, was using his sword. That wasn’t surprising, but it made things more difficult for the other man, as he could barely get any hits in as Wemmbu kept flying back up into the air before Flame could land any solid attacks.
However, as the sun finally dipped over the horizon, drenching the area into the orange light of sunset, Wemmbu could feel the shift in the fight. Both of them were low on supplies, and the demon had run out of windcharges—which meant that he could only mace through flying. It was harder to get airborne through flapping his wings when he needs to focus on repelling Flame’s sword at the same time. But Flame was also clearly starting to struggle. He could tell that the blaze was out of cobwebs and pearls, which meant that he couldn’t forcibly ground Wemmbu or pearl towards the demon when he flew away to put some distance between them.
The fight melted from an exhausted duel to a dirty scuffle, as though they were both too irritated to think clearly. Their attacks were sloppier, and their taunts were growing silent, and tempers were flaring—literally, for one of them.
“Flame, bro—” Wemmbu gasped out, dodging a punch thrown his way. A punch—since when do they resort to throwing hands? Flame’s other hand still gripped his sword, following the punch with the weapon, nearly slicing Wemmbu’s arm again. “This is ridiculous, just—just stop—”
“We can stop when you admit that I’m the strongest, bro.” Flame replied, clumsily wiping at blood that dripped from his split lip. “Are you tired? You need a break?”
Wemmbu growled, eyes narrowing as he glared at his rival. “I don’t need a stupid fucking break.” He snapped as he flew up into the air. He came down with Gambit, but Flame raised his shield to block the attack. As the mace smashed down into the wood, it splintered, and then snapped in half. Flame made a displeased sound, throwing the broken item to the side while Wemmbu returned to the air, coming down again with his mace.
Flame popped a second totem, and he didn’t bring out another one to replace it—he’s out of totems, it seems. “Oh my Void, bro, you and this mace—”
“You look like the one who needs a break now, bro.” Wemmbu taunts with a grin, swapping to his sword and returning to close combat with the blaze. “Just give up, man. If I mace you again, you’re going to die.” They both knew that he wouldn’t do that—they had an unspoken agreement between them that they don’t want to kill each other. They’re rivals, not enemies. But still, he wanted to get his point across.
“Yeah, well, I just won’t get maced then.” Flame retorts stubbornly, making Wemmbu groan in exasperation.
“Dude, being the strongest can’t be that important to you!” Wemmbu exclaimed, his frustration having reached a climax.
“It was important enough to you!” Flame replies loudly, just as angry and fed up with the fight as Wemmbu was. “Why the hell won’t you admit that I’m the strongest if it isn’t important to you?!”
“Because this is a completely stupid fight that we’re having!” Wemmbu says with a burst of emotion, raising his sword to deflect an attack from the blaze. “We just finished fighting a thousand players. We should be celebrating that instead of doing this!”
Flame pushed forward with newfound strength, like his anger was fueling his energy, steam blowing out of his nose. Fire licked across his shoulders, reaching down his arms. Wemmbu could feel the heat of it, which was annoying—he’s an End demon, and doesn’t particularly like being hot, thank you very much. Thankfully, his fire resistance made it so that the flames didn’t hurt, but the amount of fire said a lot about how mad Flame was. “You signed up for this the moment that you attacked me at my base!”
“Oh my Void, you’re so stubborn!”
“Like you aren’t?”
“At least I’m not the one trying to have a pointless duel!”
Wemmbu was forced back a step as Flame surged forward, stumbling at the strength behind the shove. “This isn’t pointless! You just can’t take anything seriously.” Flame nearly shouts, every muscle in his body straining with tension.
Wemmbu staggers, trying to pull away from the blaze to repot, feeling the pain of being too close to hot flames irritating his skin suddenly. Flame follows with a vengeance, relentlessly swinging his sword, the attacks still as precise and skilled as ever even with the blaze’s raging emotions and obvious exhaustion.
“Okay, dude, just—” Wemmbu switches from offense to defense, no longer able to keep up with trying to return attacks of his own. It was true that Flame was the more skilled one with normal combat between them, especially with swords, and the sudden switch in behavior was not good for the demon.
“Just what? Just stop and reschedule this duel so you can bring more nukes next time?” Flame cuts the demon off with a wavering voice, sounding angry and something else—maybe lost, like he didn’t even know how to put an end to the fight if he wanted to.
“Flame, seriously, it’s time to stop.” Wemmbu says, panting heavily, limbs burning with pain and fatigue. “This has gone too far and you’re acting crazy.”
Flame’s expression shutters, a mix between hurt and fury, and he bares his teeth. “Too far? It was too far when you brought your nukes to defeat me, this is—” Flame doesn’t get the chance to finish as fire lashes forward, hot and uncontrollable and just as angry as its source, lapping up against Wemmbu’s arms.
Flame stumbles as Wemmbu lets out a choking gasp, dropping his sword as his skin sizzles and burns. It reacts immediately, looking red and raw, like he had fully submerged his arms into a bucket of lava. The demon pulls away, and the blaze doesn’t follow this time, letting Wemmbu put a few blocks of distance between them.
Wemmbu hisses, staring down at his arms, watching the way the skin looks sticky and mutilated. Burns are never a clean injury, especially not when they’re from such a close distance. Wemmbu isn’t used to dealing with them, normally having fire resistance. And, honestly, it isn’t often that any of his opponents use fire in combat—Flame himself rarely even uses his fire against others. He probably thinks it’s dishonorable, ironically enough.
Wemmbu’s hands shake as he tries to open his inventory, but the health pot that he pulls out falls from his grip before he can even attempt to bring it up to his mouth. His skin is blistering, and agonizing pain radiates us through his arms, making his head feel light and dizzy. His back hits a wall, and he slides down it, sucking in a shaky breath.
“I—I didn’t—” Flame’s voice catches Wemmbu’s attention, sounding almost horrified, and the demon raises his head to look at the blaze. His blindfold hides his eyes, but Wemmbu knows how to read the other man’s emotions without being able to see his gaze, and he can spot the guilt and shame and genuine shock plastered across Flame’s body language.
“I know, I know.” Wemmbu says, tight and strained, holding his arms out in front of himself awkwardly, not wanting to further agitate the horrible burns. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not—I shouldn’t have—” Flame shakes his head, raising a hand towards the demon before quickly dropping it, looking sick. “Bro, are you—?”
Wemmbu shrugs, blinking away black dots as he stares down at the burns. “I don’t—I don’t really know how to treat burns, and, uh, it’s hard to…” He glances down at the shattered health pot on the ground meaningfully. “Kinda hard to hold anything.”
Flame straightens up slightly, staring silently at the demon for a heartbeat. Wemmbu is half-convinced that Flame is about to simply leave, knowing the duel is over, but he startles as the blaze suddenly marches forward, pulling out a potion of his own.
“We tell no one about this.” Flame warns him as he crouches down in front of the demon, holding the bottle in front of Wemmbu’s mouth. “Got it?”
Wemmbu stares at him in disbelief, glancing between his face and the offered potion multiple times before he remembers that he has to respond, clumsily nodding. “Like I’d want to tell anyone that you’re patching me up, bro…” Wemmbu grumbles, cheeks burning as Flame helped him drink the health pot. It numbed the most severe of the burns, a warmth settling through his limbs.
Wemmbu relaxed slightly, watching through bleary eyes as Flame pulled out a splash potion of regeneration to put on the demon’s arms. The fuzzy feeling of using potions invades Wemmbu’s mind, and he slouches against the wall behind him while Flame placed down his enderchest, rifling through it until he pulled out a roll of bandages.
“Wow, the Immortal Demon has a first aid kit?” Wemmbu drawls teasingly, trying to lessen the tension between them. To go from being so angry at each other while fighting to this—whatever this even is—was a sudden shift, and clearly neither of them knew what to say.
Flame huffs, the sound nearly a laugh, as he wraps the gauze carefully around Wemmbu’s arms. He was surprisingly good at it, if the demon was being honest—not that he would ever say that out loud. “Gotta patch myself up somehow.”
“Surprised you’d even admit that you actually get hurt.” Wemmbu muses, his breathing finally evening out as his body gets a moment to rest at long last.
Flame actually laughs this time, shaking his head as he threw the bandages back into his enderchest and then picked the chest up, storing it away in his inventory. The blaze looked uncertain for a moment before fully sitting down, the two of them face-to-face with each other. “I’m immortal, not invincible.”
“Bro, you aren’t even actually immortal—”
“Nah, nah—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It was Wemmbu’s turn to laugh, loud and unburdened, and he briefly realized how odd it was to have a moment like this with Flame out of anyone on the server. Someone he always fights with—sitting here and joking around with him.
But, well, he had said earlier that they weren’t enemies. They were rivals—maybe more than that, maybe friends, not that either of them would ever admit that. Flame wouldn’t have burned him purposefully, and Wemmbu knew that.
They’d have their rematch soon, when they were both uninjured and regeared, and they’d determine who the strongest was. Wemmbu knew the answer already, and it didn’t bother him, but he’d make Flame work for that first before he admitted it out loud. After all, where was the fun otherwise?